Home to Eden (22 page)

Siggy, who'd raced onto the veranda in the grip of a dreadful premonition when the shooting party returned, had made only one despairing cry—a sound of utter desolation. Now, eyes closed, she sat in her chair, struggling to keep herself under control. She'd lived with such terrible suspicions about her son for so long now that his attempt to kill Nicole and his subsequent death weren't as massively shocking as they might have been. She knew in her heart of hearts that Joel was capable of anything. Years ago she'd seen him
seethe with hatred for her sister, Corrinne, who wanted to send him away. It was clear to her now that he'd killed Corrinne and David McClelland, and probably that nice psychiatrist Dr. Rosendahl, who must have come to understand Joel too well and had been about to blow the whistle on him. Why hadn't she seen the extreme danger to her niece with Drake McClelland on the scene?

She glanced at her husband. Alan's chest was heaving, and tears ran unattended down his cheeks. Did he feel a tremendous loss? Joel was his son, after all. She supposed that somewhere beneath Alan's theatrical veneer was a man capable of loving his son, if not his wife.

So Callista McClelland had been right all along, she thought. A Cavanagh
had
caused the death of her beloved brother. But much of Callista's life had been wasted blaming the
wrong
Cavanagh.

J
OEL WAS LAID TO REST
on Eden station in a small private ceremony. Afterward the Cavanaghs and the McClellands had returned to their respective homes, still trying to come to terms with the tragedy of the present and the tragedy of the past.

Nicole, as in all times of deep stress, turned to her painting. Alone, locked away at Eden in a frenzy of activity, she made inspired use of her suffering and irrational sense of guilt, covering canvas after canvas with powerful images that not only called up the truth about the past and the present, but also soon began to reveal signs of hope and signs of healing. Her most recent work, a large desert landscape, held the promise of heart-stopping beauty. She had laid down the stormy, lurid palette that had predominated so far, turning to softer yet vibrant colors, the colors of the living desert. The time was at hand when Nicole Cavanagh was ready to lay her ghosts to rest.

 

S
IGGY AND
A
LAN
, separate individuals and never true partners, finding themselves confronted by accumulated guilts and griefs, agreed they could no longer carry on the pretense of their marriage. Both wanted to lead different lives, although Alan being Alan was not prepared to lose the lifestyle he had become ac
customed to during his marriage. He demanded a settlement. A very large settlement. In that, he'd underestimated Nicole as head of the family, and head of the family trust. When Siggy approached her with Alan's demands, Nicole called him into the study to discuss the matter.

Twenty-five minutes later Alan emerged frowning and spluttering, threatening to take the matter to court. It never happened. Whatever Nicole said to him—neither of them divulged exactly what—Alan finally accepted a sum fair enough in the circumstances but modest compared to his outrageous initial demands.

“Which just goes to show how tough my girl can be!” was Heath's dry comment.

Very strangely, considering how frighteningly ill he'd been when he arrived on Eden, Heath was responding remarkably well to the treatment regime prescribed by Dr. Sarah McQueen. Heath, who'd always had an eye for beautiful women, had taken to the doctor at his very first visit, in no time seeing beyond her obvious attractions to what a fine doctor she was. The clearing up of his wife's death seemed to have drained a lot of the toxins from his bloodstream. Physically and psychologically he was a different man.

“I don't know what I'd do without you, Heath,” Siggy often told him now, at peace in his company. After Alan had left Eden with his settlement, as much a stranger as the day he set foot on the station, Louise, Siggy and Heath began to realize how easily they rubbed along.

There were no secrets now. No dreadful inner conflicts. No blotting out things that should never have been ignored. Jacob Rosendahl's widow, Sonya, had
been required by the police to release Joel's file. The police examined it thoroughly. It seemed that in their sessions, seven in all, Joel had never identified himself to Rosendahl as the person who had caused Corrinne Cavanagh's vehicle to go over the escarpment. The gifted psychiatrist, however, had his methods of getting Joel to talk about the tragic event in such a way his probing would eventually have led him to the truth. But with no actual proof beyond circumstantial evidence, the police could not be sure that Joel had committed the hit-and-run. The file would have to remain open.

 

T
HE TOWN OF
Koomera Crossing came to the conclusion that the death of Joel Holt had been a disaster waiting to happen. For years Joel had given the impression he was the king of the castle, a man who would always have his way. The theory was—no one knew who had started it—that Joel had succumbed to a dangerous mental illness, a mix of paranoia and rage, after his grandfather left Eden to his cousin, Nicole, and not to him. Joel had always appeared maladjusted—no one would easily forget his violent behavior at Mick Donovan's—so it was a simple matter to deduce Joel couldn't abide a woman taking precedence over him. If a few people in town had other theories, they kept them to themselves.

The Tyson-Logan wedding went ahead, if not according to plan. Because of the shocking developments on Eden station, the best man and maid of honor decided to dissociate themselves from that happy event, marred only by their absence. So ecstatic were the bridal couple, so high was the emotion, everyone
managed to have a wonderful day. The unanimous decision was to leave recent events separate from the bridal festivities. Bride and groom promised at some future date they would make it up to their friends, who had stood aside rather than cast the faintest shadow on the bride and groom's perfect day.

 

O
N
K
OOLTAR STATION
Drake found himself profoundly lonely even as he accepted Nicole's need for this very private time to herself. No matter Joel's failings, more terrible than anyone had ever suspected, Nicole and Joel had been raised as siblings. No matter what horrible deeds Joel had done, Nicole, Drake knew, still retained a spot for him in her heart. Joel's obsession with her had led to his death. Drake had to face the fact that he'd played a major role in Joel's demise, even if it had been Judah's spear that had finished him off and even if Joel had to die to save Nicole's life. Killing a fellow human being was abhorrent under any circumstances, and Drake actually welcomed the time to come to terms with it.

Dawn to dusk he drove himself; the evenings and the long nights he craved her. Talking to her over the phone didn't suffice. She talked about her painting. She told him how much better her father was, how Alan had taken off and good riddance—her grandmother and Siggy were coping better than she'd ever have thought. Neither of them mentioned Joel. That would have shattered the odd calm.

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. She must have read his mind, because she asked him to come for her and take her to Kooltar.

“I need to see you, Drake,” she told him. “It's time
I settled my life.” She spoke with extreme steadiness, as though she had already made up her mind. Joel's death had arisen directly from his sexual conflicts about Nicole. That knowledge and her ability to draw men to her, like her mother, might drive her into flight. Away from him. Drake couldn't discount it as a possibility. As for him, all he wanted was to make her his wife. She could do whatever she liked with Eden. Sell it to another buyer offering the right price. Engage a properly experienced, competent overseer to run it. He could help her there. She could give it away, for all he cared. All he wanted was her. And as soon as possible. He knew her work, her painting, was very important to her.

Callista was providing him with another cause for worry. Her powerful negative feelings toward the Cavanagh family hadn't diminished in the wake of Joel's death. She spoke of sins and punishment, suffocatingly moral. At one point she said Corrinne had deserved all she got. Her brother, David, would be alive today if he hadn't come under the spell of “that woman.” There was no way she was sorry for the family. They'd brought it down on their own heads. Drake may have saved Nicole's life, but in doing so, didn't he see that once more a McClelland could have been the victim?

The last thing Drake wanted was to cause his aunt further unhappiness, but he had permitted her to stay on Kooltar too long. Remaining there had made it easier for her to relive the old tragedies. There was a big world beyond Kooltar. Being part of it might help her regain some kind of normality.

Before he left to pick up Nicole in the helicopter, he resolved to speak to Callista. No need to go in search of her—she was in the drawing room, at the piano.

“Cally, could I have a word with you?”

She looked up smiling, resting her hands on the keys. “But of course, dear. What is it?”

He didn't beat about the bush. “I'm going over to Eden to pick up Nicole and I'm bringing her back here. She's been under enormous stress. I can't think you'd want to add to it, Cally.”

At his words she looked shattered. “What stress has she suffered we haven't, Drake?” she demanded, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. “You were forced to kill a monster to save her life.”

His expression darkened. “I don't need reminding. I had no other choice. I love Nicole, Cally. I'm going to do everything in my power to get her to marry me.”

Callista flinched, then rose from the piano seat and stalked off several feet. “I don't believe this!” She clutched her throat, a familiar pose. “I thought as you weren't seeing her, you'd come to your senses.”

He was so angry for a moment he didn't trust himself to reply. “I was giving her space, Cally,” he said at last. “I considered that important. Nicole loved her cousin, even if he did try to kill her. Can you imagine what her feelings are, knowing his love turned to such hatred he turned a gun on her?”

Callista's dark eyes glittered and her whole body trembled. “Women like Nicole Cavanagh precipitate tragedy. They're dangerous women. She and her mother. You're playing with fire, Drake.”

“I'll be the judge of that, Callista, not you. I've indulged you and your difficulties long enough. You play no leading role in my life as you seem to think.”

Callista caught at the back of a chair like a woman about to faint. She sat down heavily. “I love you, Drake. You're all the family I have left. I've devoted myself to your well-being.”

His mouth twisted in pity. “You have in your way, Cally, and I've tried to respond by offering you a home and the freedom to do whatever you like. As it's turned out, it was a big mistake. I should have been encouraging you to find yourself, instead of allowing you to get stuck in the one role of grieving sister. The way my uncle loved you wasn't in any way the same as the way you loved him, Cally. Face it. David totally lacked your obsessive streak.”

Callista looked as if the sky was falling on her. “You don't know what you're talking about. David and I couldn't have been closer. We were soul mates as much as brother and sister. It was Corrinne who destroyed our very special relationship. David adored my playing. He would sit for hours.”

“Okay, so he did. He was a genuine music lover and you're a gifted pianist. Did you have to fantasize he adored you? I'm sorry for you, Cally. You've wasted your life, living in the past instead of tackling the future.”

She stared at him with unconcealed rage. “Why turn on me? I'm no danger to you.
She
is. You'll pay a great price for getting mixed up with her just as David did with her mother. I'm very afraid for you.”

He managed to bite back a harsh answer. “You're
better and brighter than that, Cally. You're an attractive woman. A fine musician. You're financially secure. It's time for you to make a change. Get a life of your own. Sometime in the near future I intend to bring Nicole to Kooltar as my wife. I won't have anyone show feelings of anger or hostility to her. That means you, Callista.”

For the first time fear and uncertainty entered her eyes. She sat utterly still. “You're being shockingly direct, Drake. Can't you see I'm broken inside? Surely I don't deserve such condemnation. Your uncle's death was witness to a dangerous woman's power. He did die, you know, at a Cavanagh's hands. Bad blood. Doesn't that frighten you?”

“Some people might think you were slightly mad, Cally,” he answered quietly, though his expression was troubled. “Nicole has been the innocent victim in all this. She's suffered, but she's fought to survive. You're simply being intolerant, small-minded, valuing all the wrong things. I suppose what I'm trying to say is you've never become an adult, an independent human being.”

Callista made a horrified, choking sound. “Are you trying to tell me Nicole Cavanagh is?”

“That, and she's also very brave,” he replied. “It was a dreadful thing that happened to her as a child but she managed to pull herself back from the brink. You haven't and you were an adult when it happened.”

“So what's the answer?” Callista stared at him.

“Simple, Cally. You have to move out. Get a life.” Drake turned to move off, every inch the cattle baron.

 

H
E FOUND HER
waiting for him at Eden's airstrip. She was pale, subdued, her beautiful hair drawn back and tied with a silk scarf.

“Hi!” he said simply, bending to kiss her cheek, not her mouth. They might have been a couple on the brink of breaking up, run out of words. “Let's go.”

“How are you?” She searched his eyes.

“I'm fine.” The lie out came easily. “What about you?”

She shook her head a little. “Getting there. Some mornings I wake up and think the whole thing didn't happen. That it was just a dreadful nightmare.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” Would he ever forget that split second of horror with Joel taking aim?

They started to walk. After a moment Nicole caught hold of his arm. “Do you think we could touch down somewhere along the way? The wildflowers are out. I want to see them from the ground, as well as from the air.”

“Sure.” He let his eyes rest on her, resisting the powerful urge to haul her into his arms, cover her face and throat with kisses. Always slender, she looked fragile, some flicker of expression in her beautiful eyes holding him at arm's length. Was she going to tell him she intended to return to New York? He knew she still communicated with her friends, the Bradshaws, there. What would he do then? He doubted if he could take her departure without a great deal of pain.

They climbed into the cockpit of the chopper. Drake started up the engine, listening to the roar of the rotor blades whirling above them. Nicole sat quietly, not trying to speak. In moments they lifted off vertically. Nicole's eyes were on the distant ranges. Choppers
could fly high and fast. They were wonderful for viewing the landscape. They had revolutionized the cattle industry. One man in a helicopter could do the work of more than a dozen stockmen. Helicopters could land almost anywhere.