Page 17 of Cinderella and the Outback Billionaire

Reid accepted the tumbler of twenty-year-old malt whisky Judah handed him and raised it to his lips for a hit of fortification before returning to the argument. ‘You’re the one with the title,’ he said with possibly a little too much relish, because with that title came onerous responsibilities. ‘You’re head of the family. It needs to come from you.’

It was the afternoon of the twelfth annual Jeddah Creek station ball and already people were rolling in and setting up camp in the paddocks beyond the homestead. Caterers had taken over the mess hall and kitchen that the station hands usually used, and one end of the grand ballroom was in the process of being turned into a fully stocked drinks bar that would be the envy of any big city hotel. Every little detail concerning the glamorous society event had been hammered out months ago. Every last detail but for who would make the welcome speech and expose a family secret that had been hidden for years.

‘If I make the announcement, no one’s ever going to come forward,’ argued Judah. ‘They’ll probably think I’ll murder them.’

‘Bull. You haven’t murdered anyone in years.’ If indeed his brother ever had been responsible for the loss of a man’s life. ‘Besides, it was self-defence.’

‘The fact remains that you’re far more approachable than I am.’ Judah was having none of it. ‘And people want to see you in action after the accident. They want to know you’re up and running, full speed ahead.’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Reid was beginning to lose this argument, he could tell. ‘All you have to say is that it’s recently come to our attention that we have a half-sister out there and we want to find her. Simple.’

The thud of something falling to the floor reached his ears and both he and Judah turned towards the direction of the noise. Was someone else in the room? He couldn’t see anyone—not that his eyesight was all that reliable when the lights were dim. Or when the lights were bright, for that matter. But this part of the house was supposedly off-limits to the catering team, bar staff and musicians who’d flown in this morning, and as far as he knew Judah’s house guests had yet to arrive.

‘Who’s there?’ asked Judah sharply.

‘Awkward,’ came the muffled reply, and then a hand rose from behind the couch, followed by the outline of a young woman who looked to be barely out of her teens. When she stood up, she had a little dustpan and broom in her other hand, half full of broken glass. ‘Hi,’ she said weakly. ‘Gert sent me to clear up a broken vase and so here I am. I was doing that when you came in so I just...’ she waved her free hand about ‘...decided not to interrupt your very important conversation.’

‘Gert sent you?’ Something didn’t add up. ‘And who are you?’ She seemed familiar. More than that, she sounded familiar. That bright, melodic voice was like a burr beneath his skin.

‘I’m Ari. Ari Cohen.’

Was that supposed to ring a bell?

‘Gert’s niece,’ she said next, looking from him to Judah. ‘She said you wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands back here today, so here I am. Bridie okayed it. I used to come here with Gert when I was a kid. She used to take us kids on her cleaning run sometimes in the school holidays and stuff.’

‘And stuff,’ he echoed quietly. It was true that Gert had often brought various nieces and nephews along for the ride, but that was a long time ago.

Memory pinged of a barefoot little girl who’d attacked dusty windows with a dirty dry rag and uncommon zeal. Once finished for the day she’d entertained herself by making racetracks in the dirt if she’d brought her matchbox cars with her. And if she’d forgotten those little cars, or lost them, she’d turn her hand to making pictures in the dirt using whatever came to hand. More than once, she’d ventured way too far from the homestead looking for different coloured dirt and Gert had sent Reid out to find her. He’d been in his teens and she’d been, what, seven or eight? ‘You used to make the rock gardens.’

‘That’s me.’ She smiled, and more memories came rushing in.

That smile.

That wide, cheerful smile she used to offer so freely for no good reason other than the sun was shining and she had company. He turned to his brother. ‘Do you remember her? They might have been your prison years.’

Young Ari snorted and drew his gaze away from Judah.

‘You didn’t remember me either until I reminded you, hotshot, so don’t go getting too carried away with how smart you are.’

Judah’s cough sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Reid ignored his brother’s rare lapse of composure. ‘How much did you overhear?’

‘All of it,’ said Ari. ‘I’m not deaf.’

Which for some strange reason set Judah off again.

Again, Reid ignored him in favour of the admittedly pretty young woman with the dustpan in hand. ‘Who do you think should give the speech?’

‘Hey, I’m just the hired help. Don’t ask me.’

Her voice... He rubbed at the scar tissue at his hairline. It still gave him trouble, still itched abominably at the oddest times.

‘Although your brother’s probably right about people wanting to see for themselves that you’re okay. You’re kind of important around here,’ she continued. ‘Why can’t you both stand up and have one of you welcome everyone and then the other one gets down to business? Everyone likes a united family front.’

Reid caught Judah’s eye and spread his hands out, palm up. ‘Makes sense.’

Something thumped against a solid surface and Reid sensed movement in his peripheral vision. ‘What was that?’

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