and low scrub below, a stand of boab trees and the glint of a river in the distance. An enormous homestead emerged beneath them, the cool white of its weatherboards and the greenness of its surrounding gardens crisp and inviting in the harsh sunlight.
And then the airstrip came into view. Waiting to one side was a white four-wheel drive ute. The air left her lungs on a whoosh. Emmy hadn’t lied. It appeared that Harry’s father was in charge of a cattle dynasty that rivalled Jarndirri’s in size and scope.
The plane descended. She stared at the white ute and her stomach started to churn. She hadn’t rung Liam Stapleton. She hadn’t sent a telegram or an e-mail or anything. She hadn’t wanted to give him a chance to surround himself with lawyers, to fob her off—to fob Harry off.
The plane touched down and she fought back the panic scratching at her throat. Staring down at a sleeping Harry, she squared her shoulders. She was doing the right thing. Harry belonged with his father. After his initial shock, Liam Stapleton would see that too. He would do the right thing by Harry. She’d make sure of it.
Sid jumped out of the plane the moment he brought it to a halt. Sapphie glanced at Harry, who’d remained sleeping. She bit her lip and then glanced back outside. She wouldn’t be far away. If Harry woke, she’d hear him. Filling her lungs with air, she scrambled out of the plane after Sid.
‘G’day, Liam,’ Sid drawled.
‘Sid.’
Sid hitched his head in Sapphie’s direction. ‘Got your visitors here in one piece.’ He rubbed one ear. ‘Not sure about meself, mind.’
A pair of the most startling eyes Sapphie had ever seen swung around to survey her. Blue. Bright blue. ‘Wasn’t expecting visitors, Sid,’ he drawled. All the same he pushed away from the ute towards her.
Sapphie forced herself forward, hand outstretched, though for the life of her she couldn’t seem to find a smile. ‘My name is Sapphire Thomas, Mr Stapleton.’
Long, lean, work-roughened fingers closed about her hand. He was so big! She stared up into his face. She had to throw her head back to do so—he stood at least six feet two inches. It was a hard face, grim and lean, tanned, but it didn’t frighten her. Just for a moment she let the relief trickle through. If he’d frightened her she’d have had to climb back on board the plane and fly back to Broome and leave all this up to lawyers. She always followed her instincts.
Always.
‘Should I know you?’
The dry, rough drawl skittered along the surface of her skin and for a moment she thought it might raise gooseflesh. She let out a breath when it didn’t. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Mind telling me what you’re doing here?’
It almost made her smile. Kimberley cattlemen—they didn’t waste their words.
And then, just like that, it suddenly struck her. She’d spent the last two days thinking Liam Stapleton would try and duck out of his responsibilities and reject Harry, but the longer she stared up into this man’s face the more convinced she became that he would do no such thing.
He pushed the brim of his hat further back, as if to give her a better opportunity to study his face.
A face like that—grim and stern—it could do with some joy.
A child was a joy.
A child was a gift.
‘Well?’ he drawled.
The worry and stress of the last two days all suddenly seemed worth it. A smile broke through her. ‘Mr Stapleton, I’ve brought you your son.’
Liam planted his hands on his hips, told himself to breathe deeply. ‘Did you just say son?’ He uttered the words with cutting precision.
The ridiculous smile that lit up Sapphire Thomas’s face started to slip. ‘That’s…that’s right.’
He hadn’t left Newarra in nearly two years. He hadn’t been with a woman at all during that time. He’d never met this woman in his life. He’d have remembered if he had. He folded his arms, raised an eyebrow. ‘And how old is this particular son of mine?’
Anyone who knew him would know from the tone of his voice that now was the time to back off. Sapphire Thomas didn’t.
‘Twelve months,’ she said, without so much as a blink of her eyes.
Anger, swift and hard, punched through him. With the effort of long practice he reined it in. ‘Ms Thomas, I do not have a son.’ His ex-wife had made sure of that.
‘But—’
‘No buts!’
He let some of the anger from the black pit of his heart reach out to touch her. Her eyes widened. She swallowed and took a step back. Good.
‘So you can haul yourself back on that plane and return to wherever it is you come from.’
Her mouth opened and closed. ‘But—’
Liam turned away, told himself he didn’t care. He would not be the fall guy for a desperate woman ever again.
‘Twenty-one months ago at the Perth agricultural show you met my sister—Emerald Thomas.’
Her words rang clearly in the still air. They sounded formal, with the same tone a judge would use when casting sentence. They sounded rehearsed, as if she’d gone over and over what she was going to say countless times. His lips twisted. They sounded fake.
‘You spent a week together at a resort on Rottnest Island.’
Against his will, he spun around. Rottnest Island! His heart pounded loud in his chest.
The Thomas woman raised an eyebrow. The gesture seemed somehow wrong in the white pallor of her face. Her eyes flashed green, and it occurred to him she should be called Emerald, not her sister.
If there was a sister.
‘Rottnest Island,’ she repeated. ‘Ring any bells?’
Yes, damn it. His hands clenched. But…
A baby’s screams suddenly and abruptly split the air. Sapphire Thomas swung away to dive inside the plane in instant response. She emerged a moment later with a baby capsule cradled in her arms. He found his anger again. Lies! These were all lies, and cruel ones at that.
One thing was clear—this child was not his. This woman could take this baby, get on the plane, and slink back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of. He would not let her take advantage of his family’s grief.
‘Hey!’ he shot at her when she lifted the child from the capsule. ‘I told you to get back on that plane.’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘You can take your baby and get back on that plane, because there’s no way—’
The baby turned to stare at him.
‘No way that—’
The
