learning their individual strengths, guiding them towards paths that could lead towards successful futures, encouraging them to fly as only they could…and always, always, welcoming them home.
CHAPTER ONE
Twenty-two years later…
JOHNNY ELLIS rode into the old western town that had been built for the movie. Behind him was the Arizona desert. In front of him was the film crew, cameras rolling. It was all he could do to keep a straight face, in keeping with the character he was playing—cowboy on a mission.
An inner grin was twitching at the corners of his mouth. On the country and western music scene, he’d made it to the top, selling umpteen platinum albums of his songs, but this was Johnny’s first movie and he was having fun, doing something beyond even his wildest dreams.
Having learnt to ride at Gundamurra, he was a natural on a horse, and being big and tall—there weren’t many movie stars with his physique—had snagged him the part. Of course, he did have a box-office name, too, a point his agent had made much of. Whatever…he was here doing it, and it sure tickled him to think of himself as following in John Wayne’s footsteps.
Mitch and Ric had laughed about it, too.
But he had to be dead serious now. The cameras were zeroing in to do close-ups. Time to dismount, tie his reins to the rail, walk into the saloon, cowboy on a mission. This was the last take of the day, the light was right for it, and Johnny didn’t want to mess it up. He was a professional performer, used to being onstage, and getting it right was second nature to him.
He didn’t miss a step. The saloon doors swung shut behind him and the director yelled, ‘Cut!’ Johnny allowed himself a grin as he came back out to the street, confident there’d be no need to do this scene again. The grin grew wider when he spotted Ric Donato lurking behind the camera crew.
His old friend had made the time to come!
Johnny had invited him to the film set, the moment Ric had called to say he was in L.A., checking on that branch of his worldwide photographic business. It was a pity Lara and the kids weren’t with him. Ric’s wife was one lovely lady and their children had the trick of melting Johnny’s heart, they were just so endearing. Little Patrick, who’d turned three just before last Christmas, would have loved a ride in the camera crane.
‘Great to see you, Ric!’ He greeted his old friend with immense pleasure. ‘Want to be introduced around?’
‘No.’
The quick and sober reply took Johnny aback. He instantly regrouped, seeing that Ric didn’t look too good. In fact, he looked downright pained, something bad eating at him. No happy flash in his usually brilliant dark eyes. They were dull, sick.
‘Could we go to your trailer, Johnny? Have some privacy?’
‘Sure.’
He gestured the way and they walked side by side, not touching. Any other time Johnny would have thrown an arm around Ric’s shoulders, hugging his pleasure in his friend’s company, but that didn’t feel right, not with Ric so uptight and closed into himself. Johnny’s stomach started churning. It always did when he sensed something bad coming.
He couldn’t wait until they reached his trailer.
‘What is it, Ric? Tell me!’ he demanded grimly.
A deep, pent-up breath was expelled. ‘I had a call from Mitch,’ he stated flatly. ‘Megan called him.’
‘Megan Maguire?’
A vivid image of Patrick Maguire’s youngest daughter instantly flew into Johnny’s mind—a wild bunch of red curls, freckled face, eyes the grey of stormy clouds, always projecting fierce independence, spurning his every offer of help with work on the station, defying him to imply in any way that she wasn’t fit and able to run Gundamurra just as well as her father did.
Which was probably true. She’d worked towards it, not wanting to do anything else with her life. Johnny knew he’d never made any criticism of that choice. He actually admired her very capable handling of the work she did. What he didn’t understand was why she couldn’t just ride along with his company whenever he visited, make him as welcome as her father did. She invariably shunned him as much as possible and when she couldn’t, her scorn of his chosen career invariably slipped out.
Yet she’d liked listening to him play his guitar when she was a kid, hanging on his every word when he sang. Why she’d grown up into such a hard, judge-mental woman he didn’t know, but be damned if he’d let her attitude towards him keep him away from Gundamurra. Patrick was like a father to him. Best father any guy could have.
‘Patrick…’ He felt it in his gut. ‘Something’s happened to Patrick.’
Another hissed breath from Ric, then… ‘He’s dead, Johnny.’
Shock slammed into his heart. His feet stopped walking. He shook his head, refusing to believe it. Denial gravelled from his throat as it started choking up. ‘No…no…’
‘Two nights ago,’ Ric said in a tone that made the fact unequivocal, and he went on, quietly hammering home the intolerable truth. ‘He died in his bed. His heart gave out. No-one knew until the next morning. Megan found him. Nothing could be done, Johnny. He was gone.’
Gone…
Leaving a huge black hole—a bottomless pit that Johnny kept tumbling down. He was barely aware of Ric’s hand gripping his elbow, steering him. His feet moved automatically. He saw nothing. It wasn’t until Ric thrust a glass of whisky into his hand that he realised he was sitting on the couch in the mobile home provided by the movie company.
‘It’s a hell of a blow. For all of us, Johnny.’
He nodded. Couldn’t speak. Forced a swallow of whisky down his throat.
‘I’ve booked flights to Australia for both of us. I guess you’ll need to clear that with your people here. Might mean a delay in their schedule if they can’t shoot around your absence.’
The movie…meaningless now.
The deep ache of loss consumed him. Ric had Lara and their children. Mitch had Kathryn, with a baby on the way. They’d both made homes of their own. For Johnny, Gundamurra and Patrick was home, and with Patrick gone…it was like having the roots of his life torn out of him.
There was no longer any reason for him to go back.
Megan wouldn’t want him there.
But he had to go back this one last time…say goodbye to the man who’d always treated him as a son, even though he was no blood relation. Megan couldn’t begrudge him that. Ric and Mitch would be there with him. All three of them, remembering what Patrick had given them…the big heart of the man…
Why had it stopped?
He looked up at Ric, his inner anguish bursting into speech. ‘He was only in his seventies.’
‘Seventy-four,’ came the quiet confirmation.
‘He was so strong. He should have lived to a hundred, at least.’
‘I guess we all thought that, Johnny.’
‘It’s only been three months since Christmas. He looked well then. Same as ever.’
Ric shook his head. ‘There were no warning signs. Maybe the stress of the drought, having to kill so many sheep, lay off staff…’
‘I offered help. Whatever was needed to tide them over, see them through the drought however long it went on. You know I’ve got money to burn, Ric.’
Ric’s mouth twisted into an ironic grimace. ‘I made the same offer. Most likely Mitch did, too.’
‘He helped us, dammit! Why couldn’t he let us help him?’ Johnny’s hands clenched. ‘I bet it was Megan who wouldn’t take what we offered. Too much damned