Page 27 of Return of the Outback Billionaire

Shame about the service stopping for the night, because he’d have ridden that ferry until dawn if he could have, and if that made him odd then so be it. Being out on the harbour soothed him. He’d missed the movement that came of travelling somewhere. That and horizons—he’d missed them too. After growing up in the outback, not being able to see a horizon every time he looked up or looked out had nearly broken him.

But he’d done it. Made it out, still young and fit and wealthy enough to live a life of riches and privilege others could only dream of. Viscount Blake, with a brother who worried about him and a beautiful woman who wanted his kisses, and, failing that, wanted to be his friend.

All told, he was a very lucky man.

He let the fifty-dollar note in his pocket drift to the floor as he passed the old woman on his way to the exit ramp. She had a trolley with her—one of those two-wheeled contraptions with a handle and a little seat—and a backpack as well. For reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint he figured she had nowhere to go. Ride the ferry, kill some time. Try not to give in to quiet desperation.

‘Young man?’

He paused.

‘You dropped your money.’

She had a look of steadfast honesty about her. As if it was all she had left and she wasn’t giving it up without a fight. It was the same way he felt about his integrity. Other people could think what they liked about him, but he knew he was a man of principle.

‘No, I didn’t.’ He picked it up and handed it to her, and helped her with her trolley as she tottered down the ferry ramp ahead of him.

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ she asked.

‘No. And you? Where are you from?’

‘Long story.’ She had kind eyes and a twin suit with pearl buttons, this elderly woman with no home.

‘Buy you a coffee over there if you have the time.’ He nodded towards an all-night coffee house. ‘I have time.’

By the time they parted, Mary—her name was Mary—had a room in a nearby hotel for a week, breakfast included, all the money he had on him, and his phone number. She’d worked as her late husband’s bookkeeper all her life. Her husband had been a gambler, but she’d always had a roof over her head. Until he died and the creditors came calling.

‘My accountant is looking for a bookkeeper,’ he told her. ‘You’d have to relocate to a small town in western Queensland and you might not like either the place or the work, but I can vouch for the people. If you’re ever interested in taking a look, give me a call. I’ll get you a plane ticket there and back so you can have an interview.’

‘Sweet man, don’t waste your money. I’m sixty-seven years old. Who’s going to employ me?’

‘Well, the accountant’s seventy, so you still have a few years on him.’

She laughed and it was a hearty sound. He liked that. Other people’s indifference to her plight hadn’t yet broken her. ‘I’ll give it some thought. Thing is, I’ve lived in this city all my life. I don’t know if I can change.’

‘I understand.’

‘You’re a good man.’

‘I want to be.’

By the time he reached his hotel on the harbour it was three a.m. and his hyper watchfulness had dimmed to a casual interest in his surroundings, made all the more possible by the lack of people.

He nodded to the night staff. Clocked their features and the names on their badges and headed for the suite. His room had a wall full of windows and a sliding door out onto the terrace, and maybe this was the moment he’d finally bed down inside a building rather than out.

The bed on offer looked softer than a cloud, all fluffy whites and soft greys with some navy stripes thrown in for variety. There was a feather and down quilt. Or maybe an even flasher just down model. Definitely no shortage of pillows. This was bedmaking at its finest, complete with turn-down service, slippers and a chocolate on his pillow, which he ate because it was there.

If this much bed wooing didn’t fix him, nothing would.

He thought of homeless bookkeeper Mary and her fear of the unknown.

He thought about Bridie the shut-in and how far she’d come.

And shucked down to his boxer briefs and gave the bed a try.

Bridie woke early enough to catch the sunrise and this time she reached for her camera. She loved this time of day when the light still glowed softly and magic stirred the land. Judah lay sleeping on a recliner on the terrace. She didn’t mean to wake him—she thought she was being stealthy and quiet—but when she turned back after getting her shots his eyes were open, even if shadowed by the forearm he’d flung across his face.

‘I couldn’t help myself. Look at that view.’

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