“Why ever not?”
“Gentlemen mustn’t inquire about a lady’s appendages,” she murmured.
“Bridgit, who told you I was a gentleman? Sit. If you broke something, you shouldn’t stand on it. Where does it hurt?”
She complied and lowered herself to the ground again. “It’s my right leg. I tripped on a root.”
* * * *
He ought to have known better than to let her skip off into the wilderness. Bridgit was a town girl, not a milkmaid. If she’d broken her ankle, the whole trip was in vain. As the thought developed, he realized how selfish it seemed.
Big green eyes flooded with tears. He hoped they were caused by embarrassment and not because she was horribly injured. He kneeled next to her, taking her boot-clad foot in hand. His thumbs brushed her ankle beneath her skirt, but a thick wool stocking prevented his skin from touching hers. Untying the laces, he loosened the shoe and set the well-worn bit of leather aside
The stocking didn’t hide the shape of her foot or the slender calf it was attached to. Somehow he’d never paid much attention to a woman’s foot before. Hers was small, with a high arch. The bones felt fragile beneath his hands. Each toe seemed alright and he continued probing across the top of her foot to her anklebone.
His thumb passed over a tender spot. Bridgit stiffened. He nodded to himself, certain he’d found an overstretched muscle. A hole in the wool above her ankle revealed a whitish-pink mark. A scar left by chains, like the ones on her wrists. He caressed the scar. How could anyone consider her dangerous enough to shackle? Inching his fingers up her leg, he massaged the lean muscles and tendons. He rarely ever indulged in getting to know a woman’s legs so well.
He couldn’t help admiring the feminine curve of her calf. His gaze continued along the limb, running up her calf to her knee and the dark shadow cast by her skirt. As she bent closer, her breath stirred his hair. Was she frightened by his touch, or did the thought of the snake still bother her?
At the base of her knee, he stopped exploring. If he let himself go any farther, he’d not stop until the skirt was bunched around her waist. He frowned. The very thing he feared most was happening–if he desired his employee, what would prevent his men doing the same thing?
Forget that, Jonah.
“Nothing broken. Perhaps a wrenched ankle. You’d best leave your boot off in case of swelling. I’m afraid I’ve nothing to give you for pain.”
“No matter. It’s not terrible.” She rearranged her skirt, avoiding his gaze.
He rose and offered his hand. She accepted, her warm palm fitting against his. Bridgit balanced on one foot, eyes downcast.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve held us up this morning. I gave you my word I’d be a good servant, but I’ve already been more of a burden than a help.”
Her lower lip trembled.
Pity replaced the rush of lust. “I don’t think you meant for any of that to happen, did you?”
“It was a foolish mistake. You have every right to take me back–”
He interrupted her by picking her up. A gasp passed between her lips as she settled into his arms. Wide green eyes questioned his actions.
“No need aggravating it further.”
Newborn calves didn’t feel as light as the convict in his arms. She needed feeding up, a nice bath and some proper clothes. It made him realize how fortunate he was to have money and a home like Laurie Lark. A month was all he’d promised her; he was determined to find a proper woman to bring up his niece.
Could he live with himself knowing she would return to the gaol, whether she deserved her sentence or not? If stealing pocket change meant the difference between starvation and death, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, apparently mistaking his expression for anger.
“It was only a short delay.” He carried her to the gig and lifted her up on the seat. “Comfortable?”
“Aye. Thank you.”
“Stay put. There are a few things left to do.”
Leaving her side, he packed up the camp and collected the abandoned canteen. He was certain Mrs. Bell was up to something. Temptation. Some men might give in to their sexual thoughts. Three days traveling with Bridgit and a month alone with her might stir the lust of even the most devout man. It was male nature. And the matron knew it. Come the end of the month, Mrs. Bell probably expected to see him back, ready to announce banns and sign a marriage license.
He had no intentions of bedding Bridgit. Not one.
4
The sharp, craggy peaks of the Blue Mountains pierced the gray-blue sky like the teeth of a sleeping giant. The air was cooler, the wind less harsh as the gig rolled along the road. Jonah pushed the horse as much as he dared, wanting to get the trip behind him.
He might not intend to bed Bridget, but he wasn’t immune to her. He’d wanted to peel the stockings off and run his fingers up the skin beneath. How would it feel to have those legs locked around him, her lips swollen and red from kissing, her face flushed after lovemaking? Sheets torn off the bed, clothing scattered about the room.
Annoyance overcame his desire. He needed a good swift kick for not seeking a willing woman in Sydney when he had the chance. He should’ve refused to accept Bridgit; he knew she’d cause temptation among his men. He’d not expected her to tempt him.
Since Olivia’s birth, he’d barely thought about women. Thank God for calving season. He didn’t understand why one dirty, big-eyed convict should turn his thoughts from cattle to sex. A few quick moments of brushing her skin shouldn’t make him want to explore all of it.
He glanced at Bridgit. She absently tugged a string on her sleeve. Her gaze was on the landscape, but she seemed deep in thought. He doubted their intimate moment lingered on her mind the way it crowded in his.
Instead of imagining her legs, he ought to thank heavens they were on the road again. She'd suffered a minor injury, but it could easily have been a broken bone and a huge setback. He opened his mouth to ask what troubled her, but a sigh tripped past his lips. He didn't need to get more involved.
* * * *
The morning and afternoon passed with no more than a few words between them, much like the day before. As the sun burned across the sky, he noticed Bridgit’s skin turning pinker. He hadn’t thought to ask if she owned a hat. Or if the Factory provided a coat or cape for the cool nights. By the time they reached the station, she would be worse for the wear. Their eyes met for a second before she lowered hers.
“I’ve never seen mountains quite like these. There are the Dublin Mountains back home, but they’re south of the city. I never got the opportunity to visit them,” she said.
“If it’s your dream to see mountains, here they are. For years everyone thought they were impassable. When a way across was discovered, they built a road. It’s been improved upon over time. I hate to think how long the trip would take if we had to go around. Three days is plenty long enough.”
She didn’t strike him as the type who enjoyed mountains, much less desired to explore them.
“Three days is a wee scrap of time compared to five treacherous months on a rickety ship.”
He couldn’t imagine living in the filth of a tiny hold filled with criminals for any length of time. It was, no doubt, a life-altering experience. The finality in her voice suggested she wouldn’t undertake such a trip again.
“Even though by the time we reach the station your arse will be numb from the bouncing?”
Color rose in her cheeks. She met his eyes boldly. “Ladies don’t speak of their t’other ends with men.”
A lady. Well, she was better mannered than most of the convicts he’d met, but he wasn’t sure lady was the right term either. “I hadn’t been informed ladies made it a habit to pick pockets.”
“Most of them don’t, but the ones that do try not to get caught. I made quite a mess out of it. You can rest assured I will never attempt it again.”
She sounded so
earnest, Jonah wanted to believe her. Bridgit was full of surprises. She hadn’t complained about the sorry fare or sleeping on the hard ground. She’d said nothing more about her leg or the dust blanketing both of them. He remembered the Irish tended to be resilient; they had to be to survive under British law. Australia was practically overrun with Scots and Irish alike. She probably had kinsmen on every corner.
There was something different about her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. The pink in her cheeks was more than sun. She sat straighter today, like a weight had been removed. Even after the incident with the snake, she’d perked up. The clean air agreed with her. He didn’t want to imagine the relief that must be coursing through her at leaving the Factory behind. Granted the opportunity to clean up, she might look like the lady she professed to be.
If he was honest with himself, he felt guilty for treating her harshly. He could do something to make up for it, and he never objected to a good meal. The stopover would delay them, but it would be worth it.
* * * *
The cooler temperatures almost lulled Bridgit to sleep. She spent the afternoon watching colorful birds, studying strange plants, and trying not to think about Mr. Andrus’s hands on her. Gentle, but firm. A touch meant to soothe away aches and pains. She’d forgotten about wild animals and danger with his hands on her.
She paid no mind to the road or the direction. Her head bobbed against her chest, until a shout almost caused her to topple off the seat.
Mr. Andrus grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. His touch sent a sizzle of heat through her.
For a long moment, she pressed against him, trying to regain her bearings. Bridgit turned her face up, forgetting the noise that had startled her.
He returned her stare, though neither said a word.
“You old blighter! What the blazes are you doing out this way?”
Bridgit’s gaze left Mr. Andrus and she scooted away. A wiry, red-haired man emerged from the brush. He appeared friendly enough, smiling through a heavy beard. His accent was Irish. A fresh wave of homesickness rolled over her.
“Natty,” Mr. Andrus greeted. His teeth flashed in a wide smile. The sight transformed his face. Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, and his dark brown irises softened.
The man he called Natty waited for them to stop. Judging by the felled trees behind him, he’d been splitting rails for a fence. Grayish-blue eyes roved over Bridgit so intimately, heat crept up her neck. If only she had the power to disappear. The man wore plain work clothes, not the fancy sort Mr. Andrus sported. He looked at home in the forest, almost like a bushranger, except for the cheerful smile and sparkling eyes.
Natty looked back at Mr. Andrus, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Got yourself a Sheila there, ain’t you? You get married without inviting the missus? She’ll have your hide, mate.”
Mr. Andrus shook his head. “I didn’t marry her. She’s one of the Factory women.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “The best I could do on short notice.”
Bridgit, used to being talked about, couldn’t help feeling ashamed as Mr. Andrus introduced her.
“Natty Payne, miss.” He offered his grubby hand and a wide smile. At least three of his front teeth were missing. He might be brash, but he was amiable. Her arm brushed the front of Mr. Andrus’s shirt when she leaned over to shake Natty’s hand. A tingle shot through her fingers. It had nothing to do with the other man’s firm grip.
“Bridgit Madden.” She offered what she hoped was a warm smile.
“I pity you, lass, stuck with this one. He’s about as friendly as a dingo with its foot caught in a trap.”
Mr. Andrus’s smiled faded a touch, but he shook his head in a good-natured way. “Natty, I haven’t come here for you to ruin my character. I thought we could get a decent meal and a night’s rest before we move on.”
“Aye, the pair of you look a mess. Roll that buggy to the house. I’ll catch up. Bess’ll be dancing a jig when she learns there’s another woman to talk at. Me ears are worn to nubs living with her all these years. Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”
Mr. Andrus flicked the reins over the horse’s back again and it set off at a trot down the rocky road. Bridgit was flummoxed by this turn of events. He hadn’t mentioned they would be staying with anyone. She thought he meant to go straight back to his station. Bad enough Mr. Andrus saw her dirty and unkempt, but greeting his friends the same way was unthinkable.
A small wooden structure rose out of the bush. Chickens ran through the yard, chased by a girl no more than four or five years old. She, in turn, was chased by a girl in her teens. The older girl seemed frustrated over the child’s escape. A rangy boy with Natty’s red hair swept the area in front of the house. The children stopped their activity as the gig approached.
A woman’s voice drifted out of the house. “Bitty, you caught Margie yet? You bring her in so I can clean her up before we eat.”
The children stared, eyes wandering between Mr. Andrus and Bridgit. She smiled nervously, hating the attention, although she hoped to make a good impression on the family.
When the woman received no response, she came outside, wiping her hands on her apron. “God’s hair,” she said, staring. “If it ain’t the grazier as I live and breathe. And he’s brought a woman along, too.”
Bridgit reckoned this was Natty’s Bess. She was short and plump. Streaks of gray wound through the messy knot of hair at the back of her head. Her wide smile encouraged Bridgit to relax.
“Evening, Bess. Natty’s on his way.” Jonah stepped out of the gig, passing the reins to the boy.
“Jonah Andrus, who is this young woman? Have you finally settled down?” Bess came closer, inspecting Bridgit in much the same manner as her husband had.
For the first time, Bridgit heard Mr. Andrus’s full name and she forgot about the curious woman. Jonah. She wanted to say it out loud, feel the name on her lips, but she knew they would question her strange behavior. Instead, she offered Bess a small smile.
With a burst of boldness, she blurted, “I’m Mr. Andrus’s convict woman. He’s hired me to watch after the baby.”
Bess looked between Bridgit and Mr. Andrus.
Had she given something away? He didn’t offer much of a reaction, just a slight inclination of his head. She should have waited for him to say something instead of coming out with it.
“Don’t just sit there, lass. Come down and we’ll go inside. We can have a cuppa before I start on feeding this mob. That is if Mr. Andrus doesn’t object.” The older woman’s eyes twinkled merrily.
He smiled at her. “I know you’re starved for female company, Bess. Be my guest.”
“Hmph. Anyone besides that dreadful Martha,” Bess muttered.
Bridgit climbed down, mindful of her ankle, and followed Bess, dodging a chicken as she went. Bess disappeared through the doorway.
“Bridgit.”
She faced Mr. Andrus. His arms folded over his broad chest, but he smiled. Her heart fluttered at the sight. With the frown gone, he looked magnificent.
“Leg feel better?”
“I think so. Only a bit sore.”
He nodded. “Good. Enjoy yourself then. Bess is a kind woman. When the notion strikes her.”
She pondered his statement. Turning away, she nearly tripped on the same chicken, pecking around her feet. Mr. Andrus’s smile stuck in her mind. How could she earn another?
5
Bridgit entered the house, feeling shy. The interior wasn’t much better than the ramshackle building where her mother had died. A rough wooden table with four chairs pushed around it took up the center of the room. Two shelves were bolted to the wall and stacked with tins and containers. Checkered curtains and rag rugs on the floor showed Bess’s attempt to make the cabin homey.
Bess poured water from a kettle into two tin mugs. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that Jonah brought you. Have a seat. Been ages since I talked with another woman. Excluding me oldest daughter, Bitty, of course. She’s
a good gel, almost old enough to marry. Reckon some jackaroo will catch her fancy soon.”
She barely paused for breath, bringing a loaf of dark bread to the table with a jar of preserves. Bridgit couldn’t find a break to tell Bess she didn’t need to fuss.
“Your accent says Irish, perhaps Dublin? Been ages since I was there. I wasn’t much older than you look when I was sentenced for turning tricks. Worked as a housemaid for seven years after they shipped me here. I met Natty three years into it. He’d gotten involved in a fight with the wrong man and the bloke ended up dead. We still get a laugh because Natty’ll never get a pardon and I’ve been assigned as his employer for the remainder of his life.” Bess chuckled, as if it was a great joke. “The government allots forty acres to convicts. This is ours. The children were born here. Davy’s the oldest, then Bitty and Margie. There were others, but it’s wild country and those wee mites weren’t fit for it. Some can’t make it out here.”
Bridgit sensed the sorrow in Bess’s words. Her accident seemed to prove she’d not do well here either. Mr. Andrus insisted he wasn’t angry, but she felt clumsy all the same.
“Bridgit, you alright, love?”
“Aye,” she answered, forcing a smile. “You came here on a convict ship as well?”
Bess made a sour face. “Not a pleasant journey. I decided right away that me home was Australia the moment I stepped on shore. You couldn’t get me back on a bloody ship for any amount of money.”
Bridgit nodded. “Me neither.”
“Is Jonah treating you well?”
“We’ve been through quite an adventure already.” She explained about their nighttime visitor and the snake, watching as Bess’s expressions changed throughout the stories.
“He’s a good lad, our Jonah. I’ve no doubt he kept you close to protect you from that lout.”
“He’s quiet. We haven’t discussed much more than rules. I’m a bit out of sorts here.” Bridgit traced a gouge on the table as she poured out her worries.
The Convict and the Cattleman Page 3
