The Convict and the Cattleman (8 page)

“I could help you clean up, Mrs. Jackson. With Olivia asleep, I have a few spare moments.” It couldn’t hurt to extend her friendship.

Martha turned her back and scrubbed the frying pan.

Perhaps Farjana was right. The house felt empty and sad. Its mistress was missing. The house wasn’t a home without a family. The rooms were too quiet. Pushing thoughts of spirits out of her head, she settled in the study. It was a man’s domain, from the painting of hunting dogs and horses to the furniture, ashtray and box of cigars on the desk.

Dusty shelves held rows of leather bound books. An impressive collection. They must have been costly to buy and bring to the station. A big wingback chair beckoned her. Bridgit sank into the cushions, closed her eyes and recalled the sound of children’s laughter. If she thought about it hard enough, she could picture her home. Her father smoking his pipe as her mum darned by lamplight. How Collin and Donovan played with a top on the floor. Bonnie learning to read, sounding out words while Bridgit listened and encouraged. It was such a pleasant memory, she almost missed the rumble of distant thunder.

The storms that blew into Parramatta were the fiercest she’d ever seen. At the Factory, the gaolers expected the convicts to work regardless of the noise and lightning. The sandstone walls of the gaol were seldom damaged by the winds, but this house could be. She buried her fingers in the chair arms as the thunder intensified. Above the noise, her own heartbeat pounded in her ears.

When the clap ended, she bolted out of the chair, wondering where she might hide. Memories of the ship pitching and tossing swelled over her. The smell of sickness surrounded her as surely as if she was inside the hold. The terrible crushing certainty the
Margaret
would sink into the deep, black ocean haunted her.

She tripped up the stairs, aware the walls would do little to stop wailing winds that might tear apart the wooden structure. If that happened, there would be no protection against the lashing tongues of lightning. Shaking at the thought, she curled up on the bed.

Helped along by the gathered clouds, darkness fell with the speed of a hawk diving for a mouse. How much time passed, she didn’t know. Everything was quiet, except for the sounds of the storm and horrors playing through her mind.

Without warning, a great peal of thunder rattled the windows. Bridgit pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper. The door opened and Mr. Andrus entered, his shirt darkened by splatters of rain.

“What are you doing? Martha said she called for you before she left, but you didn’t answer.”

Feeling foolish, she sat up. Clasping her hands, she wished for something more solid to hold on to. Before she could answer, lightning lit the night and she flinched. He didn’t seem aware of the danger around them.

“Going to be a long night,” Mr. Andrus stated. “Alright here?”

He shifted awkwardly, but her gaze flew to the window. If the squall bothered him, he didn’t let her know. She heard him come closer, his footsteps light against the rug. His weight caused the ropes holding the mattress to groan. His side pressed against hers.

“You’re frightened of storms?” His voice was quiet, free of mockery.

When he touched her, the fear faded. They hadn’t been so close since he’d checked her ankle.

The frequent brilliant flashes of lightning made his features clear. Thunder rumbled overhead. A ragged sob escaped her. She jumped to her feet. His hand shot out and grabbed hers. He pulled her down onto the quilt. His fingers entwined with hers.

“Are you afraid of the storms?” he asked again.

“We’ll be blown away.” Her voice came out a harsh whisper. She struggled to free her hand, but his grip was unmovable iron.

“No, we won’t.”

He turned toward her. Bridgit bit her bottom lip, not at all reassured. The clatter of debris hitting the house belied his words.

“This is just a small storm. Trust me.” He used his free hand to smooth stray hair from her face. “There isn’t anywhere else to go. If this worries you, you won’t make it through the spring, love.”

He squeezed her hand and let go. He’d called her
love
once before, when he was protecting her from a stranger. What did it mean? She was baffled by his actions. Before she could ask what he was doing, he reached out and took her by the shoulders, pulling her against his chest.

She placed her hands against his chest, tried to push away. He didn’t have the right to be so close. They were nose to nose. The next flash of light revealed his smile, combined with a wicked glint in his eyes. All the strength left her body. Her will vanished as though tossed away on the violent wind. When he pressed his lips over hers, the power to make rational decisions was rendered useless.

His mouth bruised her lips in a hungry kiss she returned. She’d never kissed a man before and her attempts were clumsy.

He caressed her breasts through the material separating their flesh. As his hands inched down her side, she moaned with pleasure, wishing he touched her bare skin. He planted soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck. The top two buttons of her dress opened with the flick of his fingers. With her collarbone laid bare, he kissed it too.

“I’ve itched to taste you since yesterday evening,” he murmured.

A heat as foreign as the landscape rushed through Bridgit. The thunder seemed distant. Somehow he made the worry fade with hot kisses and searching hands. Beneath the rough material of her dress, her nipples hardened into tight peaks. Thumbs taunted them until they ached. For what, she couldn’t say. Surely it was inappropriate to want his mouth there.

Mr. Andrus leaned her back against the bed and stretched out beside her. Evidence of his desire pressed against her leg, but she wasn’t afraid. He grabbed a handful of skirt, pulling it up, baring her thighs. Gentle fingers traced an invisible line over her knee to the top of her stocking-clad thigh. Liquid fire coursed through her limbs. If his fingers moved up a few inches more, he might soothe the ache growing between her legs.

Mr. Andrus stroked the side of her face. “I want you, Bridgit.”

She melted against him. His sensuous mouth hovered above hers. Parting her lips, she moaned when his tongue slid along hers, hot and seeking.

With a sudden jerk, his head snapped up and he stared at her as if he couldn’t comprehend what they were doing.

“Dammit. We shouldn’t get involved like this. You’re here to care for Olivia, not see to my needs.” He sprang from the bed. Deep shame replaced her desire. Her face burned with embarrassment and she was grateful for the darkness. Tugging her skirt into place, Bridgit sat up. She professed to be a lady, but a few randy touches and some kisses were almost her undoing. Could she claim to be any better than the women at the Factory who threw themselves at men?

When she raised her eyes again, his back was turned and long fingers swept through his dark hair.

“I’m going to bed now. Good night.” The words were short and his tone clipped. Heavy steps and a few quick strides took him out of the room.

Mr. Andrus was as flustered as her, though she couldn’t imagine why. A man like him must have dozens of women at his beck and call when he visited town. Why did he feel guilty for something she’d willingly participated in?

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, committing the taste of him to memory. As long as she lived, she’d never forget this night. She didn’t know how she’d face him tomorrow, not after admitting she’d let him have his way with her.

Far away, thunder rumbled. The storm was nearly over, but something else was beginning.

8

Jonah hadn’t expected her to look so vulnerable. It was one thing to comfort her fears, help her get past them. It was another to savor her the way he would a sweet wine.

He’d made mistakes concerning their brief relationship. He couldn’t have let the stranger on the road know she was a single convict woman. Protecting her had been the right thing, but laying with her hadn’t. Attending her injury was right, but dreaming about her body wasn’t. And spying on her at the Paynes’ was the biggest mistake he’d made yet.

Without a shadow of a doubt he knew the matron’s plan: Send the pitiful young woman with a virile grazier. Bridgit was beautiful; she possessed manners and a soft-spoken way about her. She’d handled the scene in the kitchen without panic and she knew how to take care of children. What more could a man want in a wife when women were scarce?

Not him. It had crossed his mind to marry, although he balked at the idea. His thirtieth birthday loomed, but why did it mean he needed to produce an heir right away? Nothing wrong with waiting a few more years.

For now, he planned to stick it out as a bachelor. He wouldn’t return to Bridgit’s bedroom. He’d forget her silken skin, the way she yielded to his touch, and her moans of pleasure. It didn’t matter after he left her room, he’d lain awake half the night imagining those things.

He worried she might seek out one of his hired hands to ease her needs. Would she heed his warnings about taking a lover? He wouldn’t stand for any of his men pursuing her. She was too delicate, too sensitive for them. They’d use her and throw her back to the slums of Parramatta before they did the honorable thing. The notion galled him.

“Boss, Lucy threw a shoe last night. Should we let her rest today?”

Jonah turned his head to acknowledge the speaker. Phillip Banner, one of the permanent jackaroos, held a chestnut mare’s lead shank.

“Aye. Be sure you tell Rupe to put a new shoe on her and check the others.”

Phil nodded. “Sure thing. How’s your new girl workin’ out?”

The question sounded innocent enough. Jonah searched it for clues anyway. Phil was single, a few years Jonah’s senior, but young enough to find a missus and get started on a pack of brats.

“She’ll do.”

“Rupe said she’s pretty,” Phil continued, clearly fishing for information.

“Did he?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes.” Phil swallowed. “Will it be a problem if I introduced myself to her? I’m sure she was tired last night. I didn’t aim to be a bother.”

Jonah bristled at the idea. “She’s off limits, if you must know. She isn’t here for rough bushmen to paw at.”

Phil didn’t blink at the tone. “You puttin’ some kind of claim on her, mate?”

“No, but I’m sending her back straightaway. What’s the sense of getting involved with her?”

It was true enough. Let Phil challenge it. Friend or not, Jonah wasn’t afraid to fire him. The nerve of the man, asking a question like that. Everyone was presumptuous when it came to bringing a new woman to Laurie Lark. Exactly the reason he’d wanted an older female.

“Oh. Well, I reckoned she could do with a friend while she’s here. Must be hard comin’ to a place like this all by your lonesome.”

“She doesn’t need friends. She’s a prisoner, she’s not here for a tea party.” He jerked the girth tight, causing the gelding to shift uneasily.

“That’s cold, Jonah. Everybody needs someone to talk to. I can’t see her wantin’ to be mates with Martha, either. That old bird is meaner than a mob of brumbies.”

“It’s none of your affair, Phil.” He glared at the jackaroo. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Phil’s brows shot up. He turned to leave, muttering, “Touchy, ain’t we?” and sauntered off without another word.

Jonah stared after him. Let any one of the men ride to the Factory, or any gaol for that matter, and get a bride if they were so fired up about having a woman. Bridgit was his. Help. She was his help. He shook his head.

His sister should’ve been there, taking care of her own daughter. If Jonah ever got his hands on Langnecker, he’d have hell to pay for ruining Charlotte.

He took the gelding’s reins. There were chores to see about. Work that would help him bury these feelings. He’d already spent too much time on them. Staying around the house would make things worse.

* * * *

Embarrassed didn’t begin to describe how Bridgit felt. Shame kept her awake most of the night and didn’t let go during the day. Faced with the choice, she’d let Mr. Andrus kiss and touch her again.

Relief surged through her when she discovered he’d gone out early. She had a hard time meeting Martha’s eyes over breakfast. If they looked at each other too long, would Martha suspect what happened?

At least the housecleaning was going well. A warm, waxy scent filled the parlor. She’d spent the entire morning wiping down shelves, bookcases and furniture. There was something satisfying about removing the gray dust and revealing the true colors of the objects beneath. Such pretty things, and the house was beginning to look lived in again.