Free The Outback Bridal Rescue by Emma Darcy

lemons, slightly tart but light and refreshing, completely unlike the erotic muskiness of other women’s perfume.
    And she stood beside him as Patrick was buried in the designated plot beside his beloved wife. With the extra elevation of high heels, the top of her head came up to his chin. Not as little as he had thought her. She held herself with very straight and tal dignity. Patrick would have been proud of her.
    Afterwards, when they returned to the homestead, Johnny could not stop his gaze from fol owing her every move—greeting the guests who’d flown in to attend the wake, graciously listening to what they wanted to say, serving them with drinks or food. Many people he didn’t know had come, but she knew them al and their connections to her father. It brought home to Johnny that this was her life and he had only ever been a visitor to Gundamurra, not an integral part of it.
    The people who lived on the station knew him, welcomed his company, chatted to him. Somehow it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be at Megan’s side, sharing the responsibilities of outback hospitality, familiar with everything that was familiar to her. The sense of being an outsider— the pop-star —grated on him, especial y when Megan’s attention was courted by young men attached to other pastoral properties.
    Men who were smitten by the way she looked today.
    Men who won kind smiles from her.
    Men who might be eager to offer themselves as partners, given some sign of encouragement.
    Johnny’s charm started to wear thin.
    A previously unknown possessive streak hit him, driving him to insert himself into the private little tête-à-têtes these men sought with Megan, making his presence at her side felt and forcibly acknowledged. Though that didn’t work too wel . He found himself viewed as a curiosity, not a threat to their interests.
    He managed to hold himself back from crassly declaring that he now owned forty-nine percent of Gundamurra, which he’d saved from the brink of bankruptcy, so Patrick’s daughter was not quite the attractive prospect they might imagine her to be. Futile move anyway, he argued to himself. How she looked today was drawcard enough.
    Perhaps he was less than subtle in cutting out one guy who was definitely coming on to her. Megan threw him a look of exasperation and grittily declared, ‘I do not need a big brother standing over me, Johnny.’
    He’d never felt less like a big brother.
    ‘Seems like you’re not sour on al men after al ,’ he shot back at her.
    Her eyes widened.
    Johnny realised he sounded jealous. He was jealous. He wished he’d given in to the temptation to kiss her last night, kiss her so hard she wouldn’t be thinking of giving any other guy the time of day. He wanted to grab her arm and haul her away from everyone else right now, have her to himself, convince her that he was the man for her.
    But was he?
    And what damage might he do to the working partnership they had to have, if he made the move and it was wrong for her?
    ‘I’m just trying to be as good a hostess as my mother,’
    she said, her chin lifting in defiance of his criticism.
    ‘Right! Wel , I’l leave you to it.’
    He backed off, sternly reminding himself of the company they were in—people here for Patrick. However, he spent the rest of the wake simmering with frustration, though he took considerable satisfaction in the number of glances Megan threw his way. She’d wel and truly disturbed him.
    Let her be disturbed, too!
    He was glad when al the guests were gone and he could busy himself helping with the cleaning up, chatting with Evelyn in the kitchen, feeling at home again. There was no formal dinner tonight. The family picked at leftovers, flaking out in the sitting room once the homestead was back to normal. The consensus of opinion was that the wake had been al it should have been for a man of Patrick Maguire’s standing—a man who would be sadly missed by many.
    Emotional and physical fatigue gradual y