Heart of the Outback by Emma Darcy Page B

herself was deadly serious. Alida had to protect her rights as Andy’s mother and the only parent her son had known up until now.
    “What’s Andy like, Alida?” Gareth asked quietly.
    She flicked a glance at him. He had not sat down. Nor had he stepped towards her. He stood with his legs apart, his hands resting loosely on his hips. There was an animal quality of stillness about him, his whole being concentrated on watching every minute response from her. Watching and waiting for his moment to move in on her, Alida thought wildly.
    She looked at the rocks on the other side of the waterhole, as old as time and just as unfeeling, sentinels to the futility of fighting what cannot be changed. Accept it, Alida, she told herself. Gareth was not going to go away. Ever. Not for her, nor for all the restless yearnings he evoked in her, and not for Andy, who should be allowed to love his father.
    “A normal four-year-old,” she said shortly.
    He looked at her patiently, waiting for more.
    “He’s beautiful,” she said at last, truthfully. A smile teased at her lips as she thought of her son. “Endlessly inquisitive, too adventurous for his own good, noisy, full of the excitement of life.”
    “Has he asked about me?”
    Alida grimaced. “He asked why he doesn’t have a father.”
    “What did you reply?”
    She shot Gareth a defensive look but found no aggressive resentment in his eyes, only a patient watchfulness. “I pointed out that he had a grandfather and two uncles and not everyone can have a father as well. He seemed content with that answer. He spends a lot of time up here so it’s not as if he hasn’t had any male companionship and caring.”
    She hoped Gareth got the message that Andy wasn’t in need of him. He was perfectly happy with the family he had.
    “Jill Masters said that you retreat here for four months of the year.”
    “At a minimum. More than that usually. Andy loves the life on the station,” Alida added with a touch of defiance. Gareth couldn’t offer her son anything that she didn’t already give him. Andy was certainly not a deprived child in any sense whatsoever.
    “Wouldn’t Riordan River serve just as well, Alida?”
    Shock rippled through her. She searched his eyes in alarm. Intense and unwavering purpose stared back at her. “You can’t mean you want Andy with you all the time,” she cried in vehement protest. “You can’t expect so much. It’s not fair!”
    “Alida…” He winced, took a deep breath, and the blue eyes bored into hers. “I meant for you to be with him, as well.”
    “Oh, that would be really good!” she replied sarcastically. “Just like old times!”
    He winced again. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
    It was like a punch to the heart. The pain of such cynical calculation was agonising. Her stomach contracted. She felt herself begin to shake. There was a buzzing in her ears. Somehow she found the strength to push away from the tree, to walk away from him, away from the proposal that would have made her the happiest woman in the world. If it had been offered with love.
    Alida’s feet seemed totally disassociated from the rest of her body. They were directed by a terrible shrieking in her mind. Even when they staggered in the soft sand, they were still driven on, impelled by her need for solitude, the need for time to lick her emotional wounds, to gather her pride and stiffen her backbone.
    “Alida…”
    A harsh urgent cry, echoing in her head, like the echoes of dreams that had never been fulfilled, never would be fulfilled. Birds flew away at the strident sound, all the birds with their simple lives. It was right for them to fly away, to leave behind the ugly mess of human emotions. What carefree creature would want to witness that?
    Hands gripped her upper arms, held her steady.
    “Let go of me, Gareth!” Was that raw sound her voice?
    She felt the heat emanating from his body, the tensile strength of his hands, his reluctance to release