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She was pale. Not pale in that peaches-and-cream English rose way, either, but pale as if all the blood were disappearing from her body. She rolled her lips together, her throat shifting as she swallowed convulsively.

‘Say it.’ He closed his eyes though, as if that could stem the brutal reality of this.

The words were whispered, but they landed against him just as hard as if she’d shouted them into the heavens. ‘I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER THREE

STRANGELY, IT DIDN’T even occur to him to question the paternity. When his mother had approached his father, Tate had been four years old. Though so little, he could still remember so many of the details of that day. The way the Outback had tasted in his mouth, the air arid and with the tang of the red dirt, as he’d stepped out of the car. The heat against his skin. The way the light had fallen in a long, skinny triangle, over the polished timber floorboards. The man’s—his father’s—reaction. A muttered oath, the kind of word Tate had somehow just known was forbidden. His mother’s sob, another woman’s scream, and then, of course, there’d been Rex, watching from the doorway. Three years older, bigger, and about to have his whole world ripped down around him.

But it hadn’t been so simple.

There’d been paternity tests, legal fights, media scandal, and, finally, the court battle, which had never seemed to end, and had resulted in him being claimed as a Carrigan, to be raised at Ironbark Ridge Station. Away from his mother, and the small but comfortable apartment in which he’d started life.

He knew, courtesy of the Internet and an older brother who’d—back then—wanted to punish Tate even for existing, that his mother had taken a financial settlement to fade into the background. She’d had the option of seeing Tate in the school holidays, but it was not something she’d pursued often. With her generous settlement, Jenny Marshall had taken her second chance at life and left Tate for dust. Even now, he heard from her twice a year—on his birthday and at Christmas. Sometimes, not even then.

Memories surged through him—memories he wished like hell he could erase, once and for all. Not just the memories, but the imprint of pain. The weightiness of having known he was a problem. The cause of hurt and destruction, blamed for all the grief that had come after his arrival.

For though he’d been raised at Ironbark Ridge Station, he’d known that his being there had been like a bomb in the middle of Rex’s life—and it was a long time before Rex had forgiven Tate for his part in that.

‘Did you hear me?’ Her voice was louder now, dragging him unceremoniously back to the present.

He jerked his head in silent agreement.

‘You’re sure—’

‘You’re the only person it could be. Contrary to what you might think of me, I don’t make a habit of falling into bed with random men.’

He believed her on that score, too. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’

He pierced her with his gaze then, as though, if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see all the way into her soul.

‘No?’

‘How certain are you that you’re pregnant?’

‘Well, I took a few tests, and spent most of last week hunched over a toilet bowl, so…’

Her voice trailed off. ‘Anyway…’ She buzzed a hand in front of her face, waving off an errant fly. ‘I just wanted you to know, before I leave.’

The reality of the situation thundered through him. The fact she had a flight planned, for the next day. That same awful imprint of pain stammered to life once more, making him feel, for the briefest of moments, like a vulnerable, scared child, rather than Tate Carrigan.

‘We need to talk about this.’

‘We really don’t.’

She was digging in her heels. Fair enough. After the way he’d treated her, he could hardly blame her. He’d just wanted to get rid of her, before he did something really stupid and asked her to stay another night. And then another night. And as many nights as it took to free himself from the powerful hold she had on his mind.

He had never once used his financial situation to incentivise a woman into his life. Unlike his father, he believed relationships should never be complicated with expensive gifts. Put it down to a childhood of being shown he was unwanted, but when he had a woman in his life, he needed to know two things: she was there because she wanted him, not his money, and that he could walk away whenever it suited him.

That was why seeing Sarah again had riled him up so badly. Because he’d found walking away from her a strange kind of torment, and he hated that.

‘Look.’ He kept his tone bland, reasonable. ‘You came here to talk to me, so let’s talk.’

‘I thought you had somewhere to be,’ she reminded him.

Belatedly, he remembered the meeting he was supposed to be at down at the sheds, but he shook his head once. He liked to go to those sorts of things to show his face, to keep abreast of what his ringers were working on, but the world wouldn’t stop turning if he didn’t show. His station manager and right-hand man was one of the best in the business.

‘This is more important.’