FIERY POSSESSION
By
Margaret Tanner
ISBN: 978-1-77145-081-2
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
Books We Love Ltd.
(Electronic Book Publishers)
Chestermere, Alberta
Canada
http://bookswelove.net
Copyright 2013 by Margaret Tanner
Cover Art Copyright 2013 by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Chapter One
1860’s North Eastern Victoria, Australia.
“Bloody fool.” Luke Campton stepped forward as the driver hauled in on the reins to pull up the Melbourne stagecoach. The horses’ sides heaved, sweat glistened on their coats and flecks of foam clung to the harnesses. They had been driven hard under the whip. No need for such cruelty. If any Campton employee had showed such little regard for an animal, he would be dismissed.
With any luck the English letter he had been waiting months for would be amongst the mail. He flicked a cursory glance at the young female passenger as she alighted, but when she stepped away from the coach and he could see her full on, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
What a beauty. A swathe of flame-colored hair had escaped from the confines of her green bonnet and drifted across one milky white cheek. As he gazed into her fiery emerald eyes, his heartbeat escalated. He surveyed her now, making no attempt to disguise his admiration. She had undone the top two buttons on her gown, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of smooth creamy flesh. What he saw he liked.
Jo Saunders returned the tall stranger’s intense gaze. What a splendid specimen of arrogant, proud manhood. His snug fitting brown moleskin trousers accentuated his long legs and strong masculine thighs.
His charcoal grey eyes were bold, assessing. Full, sensuous lips parting into a smile softened his ruthless features. He wasn’t classically handsome. His character-filled face, like the front cover of a well-read book, appeared worn and jaded.
How would it feel to have those hot lips pressed against her own, to taste their fiery passion? Was she mad? The sun must have addled her brain. She shook her head to clear it. Well brought up young women did not think of men in such a wanton fashion. Her genteel mother would have had a fit of the vapors. As for her father, he might have been a military man, but this kind of boldness from his only daughter would be abhorrent to him.
Of course, her nerves were shredded. She had just survived a stagecoach hold up hadn’t she? The driver had driven like a man possessed then dumped her in the middle of nowhere. No wonder she had these wicked fantasies.
“No need to have driven those horses so hard,” the tall man said curtly.
His voice sounded surprisingly well educated, and she nodded her approval. Strong men who cared for the well-being of animals had always appealed to her. And this man made her heart flutter like a bird in a gilded cage.
“Any mail for Luke…”
“I know who yer are.” The driver scowled. “Bloody bushrangers held the coach up near Riley’s Crossing. Damn lucky they didn’t get yer mail.” He pulled a bundle of letters from inside his waistcoat and flicked through them with grubby fingers.
“They stole my money, too,” Jo fumed.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss. You’re an American? Not much of a welcome for you,” the man called Luke sympathized.
Jo watched his tanned, slightly callused hand reach up to collect his mail.
“Yer being met?” the driver growled at her.
“My brother is meeting me.”
“Might have forgotten. Yer best come into town with the other passengers.”
“No, thank you, he's just running late.” As always. Ian had never been early in his whole life. She laughed to cover her nervousness. If he didn't come, she would have to start walking. In the dust and heat of this rough, unknown frontier country, the thought terrified her, but she wouldn’t let it show.
“Would you mind getting my trunk down, please?”
The driver grunted something incomprehensible, probably unsavory, as he climbed down from the stage. The surly oaf dumped her carpet bag and battered trunk on the ground and stomped back to the front of the coach.
The man called Luke picked up her heavy trunk with ease, leaving her to carry the carpet bag. She followed a couple of steps behind as he strode towards a lean-to shelter shaded by the overhang of an enormous gum tree.
Without speaking, he lowered her trunk to the ground and she deposited her bag on top of it. “Thank you, I doubt if I could have managed on my own.” She coughed in a mouthful of dust as the coach lumbered away, leaving a red swirling cloud in its wake.
“Who are you waiting for Miss, er...?” The man’s speculative gaze lingered about her throat. Close up, he was even more ruggedly handsome than he had first appeared. The dark stubble of beard on his jaw and chin did not look out of place, in fact, it added to his blatant masculinity. Was he a wealthy rancher? No, she must remember that wealthy landowners were called squatters out here.
“Josephine Saunders.” Smiling, she put out her hand.
He took it in a firm grip and raised it to his lips. “Luke Campton.”
“Campton!” Anger crushed her disappointment and she snatched her hand away and wiped it on her skirt. According to Ian, this ruthless squatter was hell-bent on driving him off his land.
His lips tightened but his voice remained even. “What’s a Yankee woman doing out here?”
“I'm flattered you recognize my accent, Mr. Campton.” She injected a haughty coldness into her voice to cover her tumultuous feelings. “I’m visiting my brother.”
“If he doesn't show up, you better come home with me. A pretty face is always a welcome diversion.”
Shock almost riveted her to the spot. “Th…Thank you for the offer, but I am being met. Besides, your wife might not approve of you bringing a strange woman home.”
“I don't have a wife.”
No, he didn't act like a married man - too arrogant and sure of himself. When he wasn't smiling, his lips drew into a thin, almost cruel line. Jo shivered in the hot sun; instinctively she knew he had never been touched by the softness of a woman’s love.
A jagged scar running across one dark eyebrow added to the savage splendor of him. His black wavy hair nudged the collar of his blue work shirt. His garments, although dusty and sweat-stained, appeared to be of the finest quality.
“Do you know my half-brother and his wife? Ian and Fiona Morrison.”
“You're related to that other Yankee,” he grated. “I should have guessed.” His eyes darkened to the color of flint.
Jo threw her head back proudly. In the presence of Luke Campton and his kind, she vowed to wear her nationality like a badge of honor, even though she had lived in Australia for several years. “There’s nothing wrong with us Americans. My brother paid good money for his farm.”
“That land rightfully belongs to me and I intend getting it back. He tricked an old man into selling it to him. It was in my family for years until some misbegotten government legislation gave it away.” Luke bared his teeth in a snarl. “I also lost a prized ram because of your brother. I tell you this, Miss Josephine Saunders - I intend evicting him and all other incompetent farmers like him before they destroy this country.”
She glared at him. “Greedy, land-hungry tyrants like you grab up all the land so poor men have none. I
t's indecent. Ian wouldn’t have killed your ram on purpose. He doesn’t have a vicious bone in his body.”
Cold fury washed over her as she thought about how this man tried to ruin Ian. The devastating, shockingly wanton feelings he aroused fed her rage. She wanted to dent that arrogant pride, physically attack him, but haughty disdain was the best she could manage.
Letting her gaze wander down over his body, she gave a dismissive toss of her head. His stance stiffened. Anger darkened his eyes, but common decency must have stopped him from leaving her alone in such isolated surroundings.
Luke Campton patted his horse’s neck then mounted in an easy, fluid movement. He sat there, motionless, staring straight ahead. King of all he surveyed.
The wheels of Ian’s buggy crunching on the rock hard earth raised little swirls of dust and she could have collapsed with relief.
“Ian!” As she raced towards her brother, she glimpsed Luke Campton galloping off. Ian leapt from the buggy and lifted her feet from the ground as he gave her a rough bear hug.
“Jo, it's good to see you. Fiona's been so eager for you to come. Did you have a good trip?”
She ran a hand across her perspiring forehead. “Some outlaws robbed the coach.”
“My God!” His eyes widened with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but the wretches took a pound out of my purse.” He looked so worried she forced herself to make light of it, even though she would probably have nightmares about it later.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he persisted as he helped her into the buggy.
“Yes. They wanted money and gold. I’m fine, truly. Now, how are things with you?”
He jumped up on the buggy, took up the reins and before driving off, turned towards her. “Things aren't going too well, the squatters are making life tough for us. A number of farmers have packed up and left. I'd be tempted to go myself, but I've sunk everything I own into the place. Maybe it wasn’t such a smart idea talking that old man into selling it to me instead of Campton.”
It was a ludicrous idea for a man with a delicate wife and baby to undertake such a venture, but she didn’t say so. What good would it do now? It was too late. All they could do was make the best of a bad situation. “Things will be better now I'm here.” She touched his hand. “You won't have to worry about Fiona or the baby.”
“Thanks for coming. That cattle drive I told you about is too good a chance to miss. It means a bit of money coming in.” He raked his finger through his blond hair. “If I hadn’t been so desperate, I wouldn't have written, but Fiona couldn't manage alone if I went away.”
“I’m glad you sent for me.” She played with the ribbons on her bonnet. “Everything seems so dry.”
“It is. There’s been practically no winter or spring rain. The creek flow is little more than a trickle, and if the well runs dry we're finished. I've lost most of my stock, not that I had many to start with. It's cash only, no credit for small farmers like me. Campton and his kind have an iron-clad grip on the whole town. They’re hell-bent on squeezing us out.”
With a pang, she noticed the lines of strain etched on his face. When she’d last seen him he’d been happy, brimming with confidence. He had used all his savings to purchase the property, paid more than it was worth in her opinion, although it did have a homestead on it. Now she knew why the price had been so high. He had obviously outbid Luke Campton. “How are Fiona and the baby?”
“Lucy isn't a baby anymore, toddles around everywhere.”
“Fiona?” she persisted.
“She's trying hard, but she’s finding the loneliness difficult to deal with. We're so isolated. Most of the farmers’ wives are so busy trying to make ends meet they don’t have time to socialize.” He gave a weary sigh.
“Don't worry. I'll soon get them organized. Is there a school handy?”
“No.” There was a bitter twist to his mouth. “The squatters’ children have governesses until they’re old enough to go to boarding school in Melbourne.”
“I knew there wouldn’t be a government school, but I thought the well-to-do might have provided something, in lots of places they do. The community pays half the cost of the building, the government the rest.”
“There's no school of any type here as far as I know.”
“I'll open one.”
“Jo,” he groaned. “Don't start any of your mad schemes out here.”
She ignored this. A scheme for a school was sensible. Every child should have an education regardless of the wealth of their parents. “Tell me about this Campton character?”
“Be careful of him.” Ian tightened his grip on the reins. “He's the most powerful man in the district. His word is law.”
“Not with me it isn't.” She watched the passing countryside with interest. Thick scrub lined the track, and timbered mountains surrounded them on three sides. The swirling dust rising from the wheels of the buggy trailed behind them like a dirty brown ribbon.
“It’s inhospitable looking country.” She glanced around at the brown, sparsely grassed plains shimmering in the sun. “Are you far from town?”
He slapped the horse’s rump with the reins before answering. “About ten miles. We're situated in a pretty little valley, and if Campton hadn't dammed the creek everything would be all right. We're only getting a trickle of water through now.”
“Dammed the creek? He can't do that. Go to the law, have him arrested.” She banged her fist on the seat of the buggy.
“He and his cronies are the law out here. What the squatters say goes. This is an isolated community, miles away from any decent sized town and the local police are useless.”
“The squatters have only got as much power as people let them have. If all the farmers banded together…”
“Please, Jo, don't start anything, we're not in the city now.”
He gave a sudden boyish laugh. He was twenty-nine, yet worry made him seem years older. Anger against Luke Campton for persecuting him smoldered, but it burst into a flaming inferno when she remembered her body’s wanton, primitive reaction to him. How could she have such wicked feelings for someone so ruthless?
“Campton said you killed one of his prized rams.”
“I did.” He grimaced. “Accidentally. I heard some rustling behind a clump of bushes, mistook the ram for a kangaroo and fired. I suppose I should have checked first, but we were running low on meat and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of getting something for the pot.”
Of course you should have checked. She bit her lip to stop the words from falling out of her mouth. He had always been careless and thoughtless, never stopping to think of the ramifications of his actions. Even though he was so much older, she had extricated him from so many scrapes over the years it became second nature to keep on rescuing him.
Undeterred by the searing heat pouring down from the vivid blue sky, colorful parrots of various hues wheeled overhead.
They came upon the farm, nestled against a backdrop of timbered mountains. The grass in the paddocks was brown, brittle-looking, with areas of bare earth giving it a patchwork appearance. The slab homestead had been weathered a silver grey by the elements. A spiral of smoke unfurling from the stone chimney drifted over the rooftop.
Fiona waited on the verandah for them. The moment they stopped, Jo leapt from the buggy and dashed toward the slim, fair girl.
“Jo, it's so good to see you.” Fiona hugged and kissed her.
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Doesn't your husband deserve a reward for bringing Jo here?”
Fiona wrapped her arms around Ian’s neck and pressed her mouth to his. Jo felt quite moved at the obvious love they shared. This is how it will have to be for me. She watched Ian kiss Fiona before he moved away to attend the horses.
The homestead appeared to be built of rough timber uprights that had been split down the middle, with the gaps between them filled with clay. Was that why the place had an earthy kind of smell, she wondered. T
he parlor, situated in the front of the house, smelt of beeswax polish. In the kitchen, a huge open fire with a carved over-mantel dominated one wall.
Hessian bags trimmed with colorful pieces of leftover material covered the dirt floors in an attempt to soften the primitive harshness of the room. Faded blue curtains, strung on a rope across the window, billowed in the hot breeze. She winced, but gave no outward sign of noticing how grim it all appeared as Fiona showed her around.
She ran her fingers over the familiar pieces of silverware that had belonged to her own mother. They gleamed proudly from the mantel. Fiona had obviously worked hard to turn this dreary place into a home.
“You do like the way we fixed things up, don't you?” Her lips trembled. She was so eager to impress, so sweet, Jo hugged her.
“It's nice.” Jo stepped back. “I love those mats. Did you make them?”
“Yes, I did. There’s not much else to do at night.”
Ian needed a wife who could survive the terrible harshness of this country, work by his side and make their land profitable. Fiona could offer him none of this. She was born in Australia, but as an only child of doting parents, always had servants to wait on her. As she watched the gentle caress as their hands touched, the softening of the worry lines on her brother’s face when he gazed at his wife, it was hard to regret his choice of bride. They had little money, yet were happy with what they had. Jo had always been strong and fearless, but she’d accepted long ago that the clinging, helpless types like Fiona brought out the protective instincts in most men.
Her bedroom, a portion of the back verandah that had been enclosed, contained an iron bedstead with a colorful patchwork quilt. She rested her bonnet on a cedar dresser.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Several willful curls had escaped from the chignon she always wore and clung to her forehead, but the deep auburn color of her hair complemented her green eyes. She did not have the classic, fragile beauty of Fiona, but knew her appearance would be presentable once she washed off her travel dust.
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