'But my aim was wrong, Johnny. I wanted to shoot you down in flames and…and I had it so screwed up…'
'It's okay,' he soothed.
'It's not okay!' she flared, not wanting to be indulged. 'Mitch told me I didn't know where you were coming from and I just brushed that aside because I didn't want to see… didn't want to know any good reason for Dad choosing you.'
'I'm sorry it was such a bad shock, on top of everything else.'
His thumb caressed her palm, sending warm tingles right up her arm. It was difficult to keep her mind focussed on what had to be said. All her defensive instincts were urging her to reject his touch, not let herself feel this treacherous thrill of pleasure in it. Yet if she stopped being negative, stopped fighting…
'I never asked Dad about you…' she blurted out, determined on at least clearing the air between them. '… about your life before you came here. You were just Johnny to me. Then later on you were Johnny, the star, making a big name for yourself.'
'All through your childhood and teen years, I liked the fact I was just Johnny to you, Megan. I would have liked it to stay that way. I had more than enough people only seeing me as
a star,' he said drily.
She was glad he couldn't see the angst stirred by that statement. 'I'm sorry I took a…a bad view of you.'
Whether he sensed the angst, she didn't know, but he instantly injected some humour into his tone, trying to lighten the conversation. 'Well, it was certainly a change from the usual reaction I got from women. Brought me down to earth with a thump every time I came back to Gundamurra.'
'Stop it, Johnny!' she cried in exasperation. 'I don't want your charm. I'd rather know what's behind it.'
She sought his eyes but he looked away, his gaze lifting to the stars in the sky. His hand started to squeeze hers, then relaxed again, as though he was very conscious of not transmitting tension. Yet she sensed it was coiled inside him, wound tightly around whatever it was he didn't want to reveal.
'When the three of you went off to the bunkhouse tonight, I had a talk with Lara and Kathryn,' she pressed on. 'I didn't know what any of you had done to bring you here to Dad in the first place. I learnt a lot about Ric's background. And Mitch's. But they couldn't tell me anything about you, Johnny.'
'They had nothing to tell about me because there is nothing,' he stated tersely. 'Both Ric and Mitch have a family history. I don't.'
'But you must have a history,' Megan persisted, determined to know. 'Even an orphan has a history.'
'None that I remember.' He shot her a glittery look. 'I was told my mother was a prostitute who died of a heroine overdose when I was two years old. No-one claimed me and I was placed in foster care. Whoever my biological father was—' he shook his head '—no way of knowing.'
A two-year-old. Megan wondered how long it was before someone had found him after his mother had overdosed.
Probably best that he didn't remember. 'Your father was a father to me, Megan.'
Yes, she understood that. Yet… 'What of your foster parents, Johnny?'
Again he shook his head. 'There are people who should never be put in charge of children. I dropped out of the system when I was twelve. Went on the streets.'
Megan was shocked. He had spoken about abuse this morning, but how much abuse? What kind? She sensed he wasn't about to tell her. He was brushing over the bare facts as it was. She moved on to what he might answer.
'What about your education?'
'The best education I got was from your father. It has served me far better than any academic learning could.'
Her father again. She hadn't realised how very much he'd meant to a boy whose life had been empty of caring. Worse…a life that had surely been coloured by total mistrust of anyone—a smile to ward off evils.
'Where did you learn music?' she asked.
'The technical stuff from musicians. Guys in bands. But I made music in my head from very early on. It blocked out other things.'
And she had mocked his music as clever commercialism!
From what he'd said, even his songs were linked to what her father had taught him. Probably everything Johnny was now could be linked back to her father.
'Dad gave you a guitar,' she remembered.
'Yes, he did. I still have it. It's the one I play for our Christmas carols.'
What he'd been given here meant so much to him. So much. And her father had known it.
Why choose Johnny Ellis?
Because Johnny had been more his adopted son than the others?
Was she more his daughter than Jessie and Emily?
She liked to think so, yet she had no doubt he'd loved them all, each for her own different and very individual qualities. She hadn't ever really appreciated how lucky she and her sisters had been—brought up in an environment where caring for them was taken for granted, parents who loved them, listened to them, did their best to provide whatever was needed so they could pursue their interests.
Her childhood had been very happy. Her teens had been mostly a fun time, though she'd missed Gundamurra while she was at boarding school. It was only her fixation on Johnny that had blighted her later years.
Not his fault.
She'd acted like a spoiled bitch because he hadn't come to her party, hadn't fulfilled the role she'd cast for him. So she'd cast him in another role that didn't fit him, either.
Well, her perception of him had certainly been changed today. The problem was…it made him even more attractive to her.
'I haven't said I'm sorry…for your loss.' She squeezed his hand to impress her sincerity on him. 'I am, Johnny.'
His gaze swung back to her and it seemed to hold the dark intensity of eternal night—no stars. 'Will you stand with me tomorrow? At the graveside? Patrick put us together, Megan. I want us to be together.'
Her own desire for togetherness with him—far beyond what he was asking—zinged through her entire body, twisting her insides, heating her blood. She hoped he couldn't see the rush of heat to her face. 'Yes,' she whispered, her throat almost too tight to speak.
'Thank you.'
For a moment the air seemed charged with a sense of closeness that wildly fired up all Megan's hopes and dreams. Johnny rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. Her heart started galloping. He dropped her hand and she thought he meant to draw her into an embrace. The yearning for it inside her swamped any cautious thought she might have had.
She heard his sharply indrawn breath, saw his broad chest lift, expand, and looked up to find his head bent towards hers. His hands clamped around her upper arms. His gaze fastened on her mouth. Her own pent-up breath parted her lips. Anticipation kicked through her mind, scattering all her wits. He was going to kiss her. Johnny Ellis was going to kiss her.
But he spoke instead.
'I always used to think of you as my little sister, Megan.'
No-o-o-o… The silent scream reverberated around her head.
'If you could think of me…as your big brother…standing by you…'
No…no…no!
'…I think your father would like that.'
Rebellion cried this had nothing to do with her father.
Nothing!
'You should go to bed and try to rest now,' he said, his smile a twist of brotherly caring. And he dropped a kiss on her forehead. 'Goodnight, Megan.'
He released her arms, backed off, turned, and headed across the lawn to the guest wing which housed his room.
She clenched her hands, the urge to fight, to hurl herself after him and beat out every shred of brotherly feeling, was barely containable. Pride forced her to hold still. Common sense directed her to go to her own room, shut the door and wait until tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would show him she was a woman, not a little girl. Her femininity would not be neutered by men's clothes. As for her hair…
She would show him.
No way was she going to let him pigeonhole her as his little sister!