Becky’s memory spun back twelve years. “Mandaljara,” she murmured, the very name wrapping her in a magical cloak of euphoric memories.

            It was twelve years since she’d set foot on Emma Springs. The 3,000 square kilometre cattle station sprawled through the untamed timelessness of Australia’s far north and adjoined Mandaljara, a property of similar size.

            Twelve years since she’d stood before the boy who’d been her teenage love and allowed him to be branded a thief. Even now her heart ached, remembering how she’d watched the light in his eyes die—twelve seconds for love to turn to hate...

            Still holding the letter, she gazed down at it thoughtfully. Only a few weeks ago, Uncle Howard had been killed in a road accident and, to her utter shock, had named her the sole beneficiary of Emma Springs, and now this. Tenderly, her fingers feathered the two words that comprised Hunter Kincaid’s name. Was this an omen that it was time to return to Australia to seek his forgiveness and, at last, lay to rest her burden of guilt and remorse?

                      Mandaljara Station. The Northern Territory of Australia.

            Becky knew they were waiting for Hunter Kincaid to arrive—so was she. She glanced toward the safety fence edging the cliffs and found herself walking up to it. A sense of wonder surged through her. Once more, she was gazing out at the stark grandeur of the vast Outback of Australia. Lying just below was the River Barton. Serene and easygoing in the Dry Season, now, in the Wet, it made a spectacular show, cutting a path through the rocks in a raging, turbulent torrent.

She turned and retraced her steps. A young cowboy riding by smiled and touched his hat brim.

            “You waiting to see the boss, Ma’am?”

What a fine figure he cut, even in his casual working clothes. Wash-faded jeans tucked into the tops of dusty cowboy boots and a black broad-brimmed cattleman’s hat shaded his face. The black sleeveless vest he wore emphasised his sun-goldened skin and hugged each muscle, toned and hardened by the nature of his work.

A relaxed camaraderie existed between Hunter and his men. They greeted him robustly and gathered round as he started to speak. But, when the young cowboy stepped forward and said something, he stopped. He turned toward her and the blood drained from her face—they'd made eye contact. With slow easy strides, he was closing the short distance between them and her heart fluttered. As he drew nearer, however, she could see he wore no smile of welcome as she'd hoped, just a cold hard expression. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come unannounced. He mightn’t have wanted to see her at all. At first, she thought she’d ring him from Emma Springs, sort of friendly and casual... but no, that wouldn't do, she knew she had to see him. It was more than his offer to buy Emma Springs; she yearned to see Hunter face-to-face and make peace— but was coming here going to prove to be a mistake?

            The sound of her name on his lips was like a sensuous touch and a tremor went through her. “Very well, thank you,” she replied softly, watching him take off his aviator sunglasses. Her senses took a spin when she caught sight of those sapphire-blue eyes, eyes that could knock a woman dead at twenty paces. The familiar features were now magnificent with the strength of maturity—the adolescent had grown to a man. 

            “The manager at Emma Springs told me you didn’t live at the homestead anymore with your mother, so I just thought I’d come on out to your new house,” she said, her voice reflecting the strain that was creeping up on her.

            “Your lawyer told me you’d be coming, but I had no idea I’d be included in the visit. Anything in particular you wanted to see me about?”

            For a moment, Becky staggered under this veiled hostility, and she struggled to ignore it. Any hopes she had carried that the years might have mellowed his anger and pain were quickly fading, and unsure of where to start, she said “I... I wanted to talk to you about a few things.”

            He snapped a glance in her direction. “Like what?”      

“If you go on to the house, you’ll find some garden chairs...” Starting to leave, he called over his shoulder: “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

               Becky watched his strong purposeful strides take him down the dirt road, back to where the men still stood idly waiting, their loud raucous laughter a sign of their enjoyment of some free time.  

            Breaking in horses, he'd said. Her mind did a flashback. Horse-whispering, Uncle Howard had called it when Hunter was handling the wild horses for Emma Springs. He always had Hunter come over from Mandaljara for this particular purpose. He said Hunter had a way with animals.

            Her gaze lazily scanned the familiar view. At least that was the same. Well away from cattle and fences, the strip of land along the cliffs was Mandaljara’s own picnic spot to where the Kincaid's had occasionally invited her along. It was to this place that Hunter and she had sometimes stolen away, to walk or just mess about with a dinghy and fishing gear on the river.

            “It’s what one expects in Wet Season,” he said absently and set a brisk pace along the rough walking track to the house. “This way,” he called, but finding her lagging behind, he slowed down and drew level with her.

            The close proximity of walking beside him was wonderful. She felt as though they had never been apart and when her hand brushed his thigh, the feel of hard muscle under the denim cloth shot an exquisite tingle up her arm. She wanted to touch him again, but Hunter walked a little apart, clearly avoiding any physical contact.

            His formality was unnerving, making her uncomfortable. This was his home, she thought, with equal measures of admiration and curiosity. What did it look like upstairs? What furniture? What books? What anything? He hadn’t even asked her upstairs into his living room. He’d kept her here, downstairs, as though she wasn’t worth the bother.

            She missed the familiarity of the past, and she felt it like a blow. Instinctively, she drew out the gold chain that hung low against her breasts, hoping that somehow it would soften her disappointment. She toyed with the pendant. One half of a two-part lover’s heart, it was a comfort when she needed it. Hunter had bought the pendant, had it engraved with their names, and they had exchanged the halves. He’d said it was to remind them that from the first day they’d set eyes on each other, their spirits had merged, soul mates forever. She replaced the tiny object and thought about just going, but that would be weak and achieve nothing. The time had come, the time she’d waited for, the time to make her peace. It wasn’t going to be easy, but at least she was here and that was a start.

            “That was nice of David,” he said and shifted his sitting position to one that he found more comfortable. With one ankle draped over the other knee, he rested his hands on his thighs. The masculine pose was far too distracting., Her fingers ached to follow her eyes along his powerful limbs, the broad span of his chest, his hair... but, when she found herself being viewed with cold disdain, she bowed her head to hide the glow as it began its slow seep into her cheeks.

            “Can we cut the small talk?” he said, “I think you came to discuss Emma Springs. Actually, I thought the lawyers were handling the sale.”

            Becky’s gaze lingered on him, and a sadness settled over her. She searched for the boy who’d loved her, but in this steel-edged man that boy was difficult to find.

He glanced at his watch, and Becky sensed his impatience. His tone, too, did little to quell her uneasiness. “You know, I really don’t have the time,” he said, “so if there’s nothing more...”

            The flicker of a distant memory crept into his eyes, turning them to the hardness of quartz, but difficult as it was, she’d pretend they were still the sparkling, deep-blue pools of laughter she had known all those years ago.

            His eyes narrowed and resentment drew taught the firm line of his jaw. “I see,” he said with deceptive calm, discouraging apologies. But she’d carried the burden of guilt for too long. They’d shared too much in the past to hide behind a mask of politeness. At all costs, she must make amends for the past. 

            Stunned at his savage reply, she felt a sharp retort spring to her tongue, but she held it. She’d come to make peace and, after all, his anger was understandable. Taking a moment to regain her composure and re-evaluate her situation, she fixed her gaze to the orange dust covering his boots, then up again to his face. “Well, that’s what I came to say—sorry! I—”   

            “‘Sorry’ nothing! After what you did? One word to justify and cancel out all the humiliation heaped not only on me, but my parents as well? You’ve got to be kidding.”

            Becky gasped at the rage that licked through his words, dragging up those painful memories, and she wondered if she could go on without drawing even more anger. Though her pride staggered alarmingly and she burned at his rebuke, she was determined to go on.

            “I know. You don’t have to remind me.” The breath ripped from her. “When I returned to America, I tried to talk to you on the phone, to explain, but you weren’t there. I left a message on your answering-machine, but you never returned the call.”

            “Did you really expect that I would?” he snapped.        

            She dropped her gaze. “No, I guess not.” All the pain churning up inside him made her feel helpless.      

            Pained silence lay thick between them until he spoke, restraining his tone. “Let’s drop the subject. I haven't got all day and my men are waiting.”

            Becky, overwhelmed by the entire sorry situation, sighed and desolation filled her heart, her soul. There was no use trying to pursue this further. She came to her feet and drew herself up. She met his gaze levelly, even though the hard cold she saw there scared her. Her grey eyes deepened as her feelings reversed from pleading to absolute wrath. “Twelve years I’ve carried this guilt, and I came to make peace between us, not have a show-down with guns blazing!”

            He let go of her and she stepped back. She could hardly believe what she’d heard, every word a vicious sting.

            His eyes pinned her, and his voice sank to a murmur. “Go away, Becky. Return to where you belong—go back to America!” An undercurrent of menace chilled his tone. “And if you don’t want to do that, make it easy on yourself—stay away from me!”