Trophy Wives by Jan Colley Read Free Book Online

arrived.”
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    Ethan watched her walk away to stand at the edge of the gorge. “Poor little rich girl” went through his mind. Beauty, money, prestige. But it wasn’t all roses in this garden of Eden. Dyslexic. Cut off from the love she craved, the love of her parents. Maybe, he thought, the two of them were not so different after all.
    Except that she still found it within herself to be loyal toward her jerk of a brother and compassionate in the face of her parents’ indifference. Could he?
    His own proud and aloof attitude toward his fatherhad never softened over the years. He had long ignored the resignation in his father’s voice when Ethan once again cancelled a family dinner or rushed off ten minutes after arriving.
    He knew he didn’t have it in him, like Lucy, to be compassionate toward a man he had no respect for, purely because that man was his father.
    â€œLook!” Her voice, girlishly excited, roused him. He rose from the rock and walked to her.
    â€œA rainbow.” She pointed out over the valley, squinting a little in the silvery haze.
    Ethan exhaled, coming level with her. “You can see forever.”
    Lucy nodded and let her head loll back a little.
    â€œWhere does your place end?”
    Her arm, still outstretched, made a long sweep. They stood at the head of the valley with the Alps at the far end. It was not a picture-perfect postcard; it was too rugged. The mountains jutted from the milky water of the winding river. Gouges, crude and immense, were hewn into closer, dun-coloured foothills that had their own kind of magnificence. Great swatches of dark, dull green denoted forest that halted and then started up again without any sort of order.
    He could barely take it all in. The vision seemed magnified, too big for a country the size of New Zealand. A long-buried scrap of wonder rose up from his jaded mind and soared from the bottom of the far-off rainbow, which curved down to kiss the silvery rock, to the hazy tips of the mountains.
    It was another world from the one he knew. He was used to taming land. It was his profession. But the lands that attracted tourists were calm and tranquil places. There was no calmness here, it was savage in parts.
    He was reminded of his childish pledge, at the age of twelve, that one day he would farm. The land he had grown up on was cruel, endless and dry, spirit-sapping. He and his father had not been good enough to save it. Somehow he had always wanted to put that right.
    And his time was coming, he knew. Once Turtle Island was done and dusted, he would have the rest of his life to search for the perfect piece of land, the perfect wife and set about proving he could be a better farmer, husband and father than his own father had been.
    The vista soared and roared. He turned to look at Lucy. The wind, stronger here at the edge, lifted her pale hair toward the weak sun. It sparkled and he could not help himself—he who maintained control in every situation, who never lost sight of his goals. He reached out and touched her hair and she turned to face him with a soft cry of surprise that was stolen by the fitful breeze.
    It almost burned him, the look on her face of pride and ownership and fierce love for this land of hers. She was part of it. She was nature, but not in a robust way—more childlike. The blue haze of the mountains shone in her eyes. The silver of scree and rock were mirrored in her hair. She moved with the graceful sway of the trees. She would change with the seasons and the ebb of the atmosphere, and he admired that—wanted that—because he and his father had failed so abysmally.
    Entranced, he moved toward her, wondering if she realized that he was going to kiss her. His fingers laced through her hair. His other hand pulled on the side of her open jacket, his eyes on hers, clearly signaling his intention.
    She did not step back, although her arms seemed to clamp to her sides.
    Oh yes, I am going to