Fiery Possession

by Margaret Tanner

  “You should write a book about your experiences, Granny.”

  “Too old.” She slurped her tea. “Anyway can't write, don't want to learn either. I just like what I'm doing now.”

  Jo left the house with a smile on her lips. She didn’t believe Granny's superstitious stories, but nevertheless avoided the wattle growing near the river. They gathered armfuls of gum leaves, which they rested in sheaths at intervals along the barn walls.

  “Why don't we make daisy chains,” Amy suggested.

  “Good idea. Let’s pick different types of daisies, sew them on strips of calico and drape them over the rafters. We could pick the flowers now and stand them in water to keep fresh until we’re ready to start sewing.”

  They returned to the homestead, their arms laden with flowers. Flora found several large containers for them. “I’ll get one of the boys to bring up some water from the creek after lunch.”

  The other boys and William came home for lunch, and Jo crowded around the scrubbed pine table with them to share freshly baked bread and cold mutton.

  As soon as lunch was cleared away, they started preparing their decorations. Jo cut long thin strips of bleached calico from what had once formed part of a covered wagon. They strung together some of the flowers, others needed sewing on, but the end result proved gratifying.

  Endless cups of tea, and granny telling them about how unlucky it was to bring peacock feathers into the house, had Jo leaving with a smile on her lips. What an enjoyable day. Most women would be exhausted, especially when they had to attend the evening activity as well, but she reveled in it all.

  ***

  Luke sat in his study sipping a whisky. His eyes narrowed as they skimmed over the notice Tim had ripped from a fence post. Slowly he screwed the paper up into a tight little ball. Taking careful aim, he threw it into the fireplace.

  He muttered a curse. What made this Yankee woman defy him all the time? He could have any woman he wanted because of his wealth and position, yet he wanted Jo Saunders with a desperation that bordered on madness. What he wouldn’t give to taste those soft sweet lips. To let his aroused manhood drown in the honeyed nectar he knew he would find in her feminine cleft. She did to him what no other woman had done in years. Set his pulses racing, exciting him to the point where he nearly lost control.

  Damn Jo Saunders. Damn her to hell.

  Chapter Four

  Jo let Fiona do her hair for the dance.

  “I can’t wait,” Fiona said as she swept Jo’s hair up from a central parting and fastened it on top of her head, with some ringlets left hanging loosely about her shoulders.

  Jo was well pleased with her appearance. Her evening gown had a square décolletage, and was made of green satin, with a deep, tied back swathe edged with deeper green. She had talked Fiona into wearing a black satin gown with a high collar and small turnover, its edges embroidered in a deep rose color.

  Ian looked rather dashing in a grey frock coat over dark trousers, with highly polished knee-length boots. The baby was going with them but would sleep up at the homestead under the care of Granny. She smiled when she remembered the old lady saying she wouldn’t be attending the dance because she could not be bothered rushing about getting dressed up in fancy gee-gaws.

  Jo clamped her hand over her mouth when she saw Ian stowing his rifle under the buggy seat, next to the scones and cakes Fiona had baked for the dance.

  “Why are you taking a gun?” she asked.

  “A couple of bushrangers have escaped from jail and are said to be heading this way.”

  “Really!” Jo didn’t even try to hide her shock.

  Millions of twinkling stars, sprinkled across the black velvet sky, lit the way as Ian drove the buggy at a steady pace.

  “I’m frightened.” Fiona shivered in the warm evening air.

  “You're quite safe, my darling. This is just a precaution.”

  “Of course it is,” Jo soothed. “It would be foolish leaving the gun lying around our homestead in case those escapees broke in and stole it.”

  “Jo!” Ian's sharp tones stilled her wayward tongue.

  “I'm sorry, Fiona, I'm an idiot. Don't listen to a word I say.”

  They passed a slow moving buggy, but several horsemen galloped past them.

  “The road is crowded, it’s going to be a successful night,” Jo crowed.

  “You're exaggerating as usual, sis.” Ian slapped the horse’s rump with the reins.

  “But I think you're right, half the district will be here.”

  Light thrown out from the lanterns burning at the entrance of the Kirkman property danced between the bushes, lighting up the darkened corners. The aroma of a pig roasting on a spit made her mouth water, even though she had recently eaten. Fiona stopped off at the homestead to leave the food and settle the baby down, while Ian drove Jo straight to the barn.

  Several buggies were already there, and numerous horses. As Ian helped her alight, she scanned the rows of animals. Looking for what? Luke Campton's horse? Was she mad?

  She stepped inside the barn and glanced around. The flowers and greenery draped around the walls, gave the place a soft, magical aura in the flickering lamplight. She waved to the families she knew, but there were lots of strangers. Excitement surged through her. It was going to be a successful event.

  Flora bustled over and introduced Jo to a number of other women. Except for a few of the young stockmen, the plump woman knew everyone.

  “Nothing or no-one I don't know,” she chuckled.

  A tall sunburned young man walked up to Jo. “Will you let me have the first dance, Miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took her hand and led her on to the dance floor. “Do you work around here?” she asked.

  “No, on the other side of the mountain, I'm Jim Talbot.”

  “Good evening, Jim Talbot, I'm Jo Saunders.” She ignored some of the disapproving stares being cast her way by Mrs. Kilvain from the general store and her cronies from the Temperance Society. They must be here under sufferance, feeling it their Christian duty to attend. She felt like laughing every time she remembered Flora’s caustic comments.

  It was a clever idea of William’s not to make a specific charge she decided on catching a glimpse of his wide grin. He obviously collected more money by asking for donations.

  “You're beautiful, Miss Jo. May I call you that?” Jim asked in a cultured English voice. His deep blue eyes stared straight into hers.

  “You’re English?”

  “Yes. You’re American?”

  “Yes, I’m from California. What's an Englishman doing riding after sheep?”

  “Cattle.” He chuckled. “It's a long story. If you think your brother would permit, I could call on you one day and entertain you with all the dark secrets of my past. And you can tell me yours.”

  She laughed at his brash confidence. “Of course. At a guess I’d say you killed a man in a duel for dishonoring the woman you loved.”

  “Wrong.” They laughed together, building up an instant rapport. “May I have the next dance?”

  “No, sorry.” At his crestfallen look, she sighed. “I would like to, but I have to circulate and make sure everyone enjoys themselves. We don’t really have a master-of-ceremonies to organize the dancing.”

  “No harm in a chap trying.”

  “I promise to save you at least two dances.”

  “Four.”

  “We'll see what happens as the evening progresses.”

  When the dance ended, he escorted her back to a group of young ladies.

  Only married couples seemed to be dancing. The men kept to one side of the barn, the ladies to the other. Men easily out numbered women, but they appeared too shy to make the first move.

  By the end of the third dance she became desperate, as the couples taking the floor seemed to be dwindling even more. How idiotic. The ladies wanted to dance, most of the men did too, yet they were too shy to ask.

  “Come with me.” She tugged at
Fiona's hand. “We'll have to do something drastic or everyone will leave.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask a strange man to dance.” Fiona’s hands fluttered at her breast.

  Jo ignored her protest and dragged Fiona across to where a group of men congregated. “Ladies choice,” she raised her voice. “This is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Morrison, who needs a dancing partner. Ah, a volunteer.” She pushed Fiona in front of a tall man with red hair. “Well, she can't dance by herself.”

  The man mumbled something before leading Fiona on to the floor.

  “I’m sure you’re a good dancer.” She stood in front of a youth, who, grinning sheepishly, took her in his arms as the music started. Deliberately she led, making him follow her steps across to the other side of the barn.

  “You didn't want to dance with me,” she murmured. “But Amy Kirkman would be perfect for you.”

  Grabbing the giggling girl's hand, Jo sidestepped out of the way, leaving the two of them together. She repeated the exercise several times, much to the mirth of the young people. The older, more staid ladies frowned in disapproval.

  Luke Campton entered the barn and his gaze homed in on Jo. His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat quickened. He could never remember feeling this way before. With her flaming hair rippling about her shoulders and her shining, vivid green eyes, she made a stunning picture. God, what a beautiful woman. Like liquid fire, heat surged through the whole of his body before pooling at his groin. He compressed his lips, fighting to get himself under control. He shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t come within a bull’s roar of Jo Saunders.

  Damn Tim for defying his orders to stay away from the dance. He couldn’t trust the boy with pretty, gullible farm girls.

  Maneuvering people with great energy, Jo made sure no girl remained a wallflower. Once their first bout of shyness abated, the young men joined in the dancing with gusto.

  She was being swung around by a suntanned timber cutter when she overbalanced. He made a gallant attempt to catch her, but missed. Another pair of arms clamped liked steel talons around her, saving her from sprawling in an undignified heap on the floor. Glancing up into the face of her rescuer, Jo wished she hadn’t.

  Luke Campton.

  Blood rushed to her head, heat sizzled along her nerve endings.

  “Good evening, Miss Saunders.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Campton.” Even to her own ears, her reply sounded husky, and she fervently hoped he didn’t notice.

  “It must be my turn to dance with you.”

  Before she could refuse, he led her back out amongst the other dancers. For a big man he moved well, executing the various steps with surprising expertise. Yet he didn’t seem the type of man who would indulge in dancing.

  His dark jacket and matching trousers appeared immaculate. A white silk cravat held in place by a ruby stud enhanced his piratical good looks.

  “You’re beautiful.” His warm breath stirred the loose ringlets at the side her throat. “We make a striking couple.”

  The subdued light thrown out from the lanterns softened the harsh planes of his face. The bitter twist to his mouth almost disappeared when he smiled; even the scar seemed less prominent. He was as dangerous as a rattlesnake. She knew this, yet like a moth drawn to a flame that would devour it, she couldn’t resist him, couldn’t stop her body from softening against him, becoming pliant in his arms.

  He must have felt her softening, and his next words confirmed it.

  “That's better, pretty Jo. With the right clothes and jewels, you could be the most beautiful woman in the colony. Let me buy them for you,” he offered in a silky soft voice.

  The moisture in her mouth dried up, making it difficult to swallow. Was he proposing marriage? They hardly new each other and yet she was drawn to him, and instinctively knew he was drawn to her. From the moment they had first met there had been a strong attraction between them. She admired powerful men, but they had to have a tender side and she had not as yet seen this with Luke. Her senses reeled as she desperately fought to get her feelings under control. “Wh…what do you mean?”

  “I want you, Jo. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Want! No thank you.” The magic spell shattered into a million pieces. His offer had reduced her to the status of a common whore

  Surprise registered on his face. “You’re the first woman in years to refuse me.”

  “Am I?”

  Her spine stiffened, her head tilted at a proud angle. Wrenching free, she minced across the barn, leaving him standing in the middle of the floor. Several people snickered. She did not need to glance around to know he would be fuming at this public snub.

  All pleasure from the evening disappeared now. Why did he have to come along to spoil things? Surely nothing worse could happen.

  Tim Campton stepped in front of her.

  “Dance, Miss Saunders?”

  “No thank you.”

  “I asked you to dance.” Intense color flooded his cheeks.

  “I'm not deaf. I said no, thank you.”

  “I'm Tim Campton.” Anger threaded his tone. Obviously this young man didn’t like having his advances rejected.

  “All the more reason why I don't wish to dance with you.”

  A dangerous mistake-- as soon as the words were uttered she realized this. His strange, colorless eyes narrowed to slits and his face contorted. His evil laugh sent shivers down her spine.

  “So be it.” He swung away and stalked off.

  Nervous tension twanged through her body, her legs trembled and her hands felt sweaty. As she accepted an invitation to dance from another young man, she fought a desperate battle not to let him see her turmoil. As they returned to the floor, Luke had disappeared, but Tim started dancing with Amy Kirkman. For the next little while, she forgot the ugly incident. Thank goodness it would be supper time soon, dancing could certainly be fatiguing. I’ll be glad to have a rest and something to eat.

  Everyone gathered around the front of the barn to listen to William explaining what they would do with the money they had raised. Jo glanced up just in time to see Amy, followed by Tim Campton, heading outside. A sudden feeling of dread surged through her. Quickly, but hoping not to attract attention, she sidled across the barn until she made it to the door.

  In the few moments it took for her to become accustomed to the darkness, the pair had disappeared. Hurrying first in one direction, then the other, she found herself near the carriages. Instinctively she went over to their buggy and picked up Ian's rifle.

  A short, sharp cry rent the air and she charged in its direction.

  “Amy!” Fear raised her voice. “Amy!”

  Another scream came from near the stables, and Jo ran. The night was not pitch black because of the star-filled sky and filtered light thrown out by the lanterns strung out along the wall of the barn. Horror temporarily froze her feet to the ground as she saw Amy desperately struggling with that monster Tim Campton.

  With strength dredged from God alone knew where, she screamed out. “Let her go.”

  Tim dragged Amy towards the stables. Jo rushed at him, hitting his back with the butt of Ian’s rifle.

  “Bitch,” he snarled, letting Amy go as he swung towards Jo in a maddened frenzy. One hand contacted with the side of her neck, the other hand grabbed the front of her gown and the sound of the material ripping mingled with Amy’s screams. She tried to wrench herself free, but fell to the ground.

  Rising groggily, she saw Tim holding the rifle. He advanced towards her. He was going to shoot her. No sound came out of her paralyzed throat. Like a maddened beast he lunged forward, tripped over something, and in the split second it took before he hit the ground, a shot echoed on the still night air.

  Luke arrived on the scene first, followed by Ian and the Kirkmans. Tim thrashed around in his death throes, blood spurting out everywhere. Ian helped her stand up. Someone threw a shawl or blanket about her shoulders. Luke knelt on the ground, cradling his dying
brother's head, running his fingers across Tim’s forehead, brushing away a tendril of hair.

  Tears were beyond Jo. Horror struck her dumb. Ian and Fiona tried to comfort her while the Kirkmans consoled Amy. The terrified girl’s hysterical screams became louder, reverberating through the darkness.

  As Ian helped her away, Luke raised his head. His eyes stared straight into hers. He did not speak. The sheer savagery of his expression registered with her even though she was on the verge of collapse.

  The next few minutes turned into a terrifying nightmare. The screaming, the blood, she had never known such horror. Because of her a young man had died. “It was my fault,” she cried in a voice husky with anguish.

  “He tripped over and the gun accidentally went off,” a man said.

  “He attacked young Amy Kirkman. It wasn't your fault. No one can blame you,” a different man consoled, as he handed her a flask of brandy. The liquid scalded going down her throat, but it brought the warmth back to her trembling limbs. The top of her gown hung loosely, ripped from shoulder to waist and she clutched at the shawl to keep herself covered. In a detached kind of way she watched a police constable, who had been at the dance, talking to the men who had stuck up for her. What a shocking end to what had been an enjoyable occasion.

  Even in her distress, she could sympathize with Amy, not yet sixteen and terrified by Tim Campton's attack.

  “Don't blame yourself.” Flora patted her shoulder. “That horrid man didn’t deserve to live. He nearly killed our girl, would have if you hadn't come along. If it’s any comfort think on it this way. The Lord took his life, but gave Amy back hers. She had red marks around her throat from his fingers. He would have strangled her. No one will blame you for such a tragic accident.”

  “Of course,” Fiona soothed, handing her a cup of tea. “Ian's speaking with the police. Lucky they were here to see what happened.”

  “Luke Campton blames me because I got the rifle. I'll never forget the hatred in his eyes.” Tears poured down her cheeks.

  When Ian came back from speaking with the police, they prepared to leave, declining the Kirkmans' pleas for Jo to stay with them for a time. She scarcely remembered the ride home, or Fiona helping her into bed.