Bridgit laughed. The sound rolled over him like fresh honey.
“There are an extraordinary amount of birds here.”
“They won’t tell anyone about us. Immortalize us in melody perhaps, but never share our secrets.” He brushed her hand aside, then returned to his task. The dress gave way to her shift, a thin garment hardly thicker than paper. She needed no corset to define her waist; the slender dip between her breast and hips was well defined.
He gave the ribbon a quick yank, watching the bow pull loose. The white skin between her breasts drew his eyes like an oasis to a thirsty man.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“You. Imagining the lush valleys and plains your clothes keep hidden.”
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“True, but nothing I mind exploring time and again.” Jonah lowered his lips to the top of one breast and kissed there. She smelled of soap and something else. The grassy fragrance he associated with open land. It suited her better than the cloying scents from perfume bottles.
“What of the parts of you I like to explore?” Her hands tugged at his shirt.
Fingernails, short and neat, tickled his sides, drawing a smile. The shirt, undone at the top, slipped over his head. He raised one arm at a time to let her remove it.
“Breathtaking,” she murmured, running her eyes along his chest. Her intimate gaze was like a soft caress.
“Aye. Beyond words.”
She blushed at the compliment. Blood thundered through his veins, pooling in his loins. Her fingers slithered down his side and brushed the front of his britches, already uncomfortably tight. The feeling grew as she ran her fingers along his length.
“If you weren’t wearing trousers, I might find a way to relieve this,” she suggested, eyes sparkling with wicked light.
Under the sun-dappled shade, she looked like a heathen temptress with molten gold for hair and skin as white as snow capped peaks, at least until his eyes found the rosy points of her breasts.
He wanted to bury himself deep inside her. Settling back on his knees, he unfastened his trousers before pulling her dress lower. It bunched around her waist and she lifted her hips, stripping it away. While he removed his boots, her chemise and drawers fell at the edge of the blanket.
The gilded temptress lay back against the quilt, posing with a shy smile and a look that drained rational thought from his mind.
* * * *
Jonah woke to a soft itch on his palm. Bridgit traced the lines there, her touch light, but enough to stir him. During his nap, the sun had shifted to the other side of the tree.
“It’s going on evening. We’d best get home,” she said.
He drew her closer. “I’m comfortable here.”
“Jonah.”
The hair fell away from her neck, leaving a patch of skin he was certain hadn’t received any attention before their lovemaking. She giggled when his lips touched the spot.
“Come on. Olivia’s waking up.”
Bridgit rolled away and reached for her clothes. The shift slipped over her head, swallowing the curves. The brown serge followed and she straightened the skirt. The hem was ragged on the back, leaving a trail of strings.
“I hate that dress. It’s bloody ugly. Every time I see it, I long to rip it off you and toss it on a fire. I’m not even wearing it and I feel hot and itchy.”
She smiled, but he saw the sadness it masked.
“Your choice of garments, or lack thereof, aren’t appropriate for day-to-day wear, sir.”
He frowned. “There are unused dresses at the house. I insist you wear them. Otherwise moths will ruin them.”
She avoided his gaze. “I already owe you a great deal.”
“As your employer, it’s my duty to see you properly clothed and fed.”
“I am.” Her chin rose and her eyes widened.
“By impoverish standards, yes, but not the manner befitting an employee under my care.” He stood and dressed. Her stubbornness was no good against his own.
“What I know of nursemaids’ uniforms entails dark, somber colors of practical cloth. I’m afraid I own no dark colors, though serge is quite pragmatic. Your sister’s clothing isn’t the kind servants wear under any circumstances.”
“What you wear has no imagination, no life, and reveals far too much of your wrists and ankles.” He took her hand and lifted it. The scars caught the light, shining dully.
A pink flush spread over Bridgit’s skin. She jerked her hand out of his, curling her fingers.
“I’m beholden to you for giving me a job I like, a roof over my head and regular meals. I don’t want to owe you anything else.”
“It would be different if it meant taking food out of my mouth or Olivia’s. If the clothes weren’t already available. That isn’t the case. I know you long for the things you lost and you’re afraid of losing everything again, but no one will begrudge you a few dresses. It’s not charity. It’s about being a good Samaritan. Let me be good. I’m awful at it, but I have to try.”
An internal battle waged on her face. At last she nodded. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” she whispered, turning her face away.
“Rubbish.”
“It’s true. If I can see the scars, I’m reminded of what brought me here. If they’re hidden, I might forget, and even today it slipped my mind.”
Jonah clenched his jaw. Like the mark of Cain, she wore her sad dresses and kept her scars bared for the world to see. Those pinkish marks reminded her every day that she deserved punishment for trying to feed her family. Give her a switch and she’d lash herself for crimes against the crown.
Beneath that was the woman she’d been an hour ago. Vibrant and teasing, full of laughter. He hated the woman she’d stolen from, the peace officer who had arrested her, the judge who sentenced her, the wardens who’d chained her and everyone else along the way that had broken her soul.
Was a month with a decent job and some dresses enough to mend the cracks? Phil was right. Someone else would break her until nothing but shadows haunted her eyes. Trying to care for someone who didn’t want to be taken care of wasn’t easy. The more she pushed away, the closer he wanted to get.
See if the ugly dresses didn’t disappear. She’d wear something else then. Farjana would help once he explained the situation.
“I have work to do,” he said. A petition to the governor to start with. Few pardons were being issued these days, but the right amount of money could be influential.
“I remember. You said it could wait and I’ve kept you away all afternoon. My apologies.”
“Look at me.”
She did, but the second her gaze met his, it dropped again.
“Don’t apologize. You’ve no idea how long it’s been since I spent a leisurely afternoon enjoying Laurie Lark. The company is seldom as fine.”
A pleased smile blossomed on her face. “I’d hoped you might enjoy yourself. Maybe we can find time to do it again before...”
“We will,” he promised. “Things will be busy next week, but right after, we’ll come out here again.”
The vixen who haunted his dreams smiled at him through the innocent eyes of a young woman.
14
Bridgit stared at the wall where her gray and brown dresses had hung from two pegs. Last night she’d hung them together. This morning, the pegs were empty. Her stockings were missing too. At the foot of the bed, her worn boots sat looking tired.
Downstairs she heard the sound of a skillet hitting the top of the stove, signaling Martha’s arrival. Bridgit couldn’t imagine going downstairs in nothing but her shift. Or outside to milk the goat. It wasn’t possible for the clothes to vanish. If they’d fallen, they’d be crumpled on the floor. It looked as though they’d fallen...straight into nowhere.
“What the devil?” she asked, borrowing Jonah’s phrase.
A knock sounded on the other side of the bed
room door. “Miss Bridgit, you up yet?”
“Come in,” she answered.
Farjana pushed the door open and propped her hands on her hips. “Laundry day. What do you have for me?”
Bridgit looked at the empty pegs again. “Nothing. My clothes have taken leave. Or if not them, then certainly my senses have.”
The aborigine eyed her. “You can’t wear your night dress.”
Horrified by the idea, she shook her head. “No.”
“You’ll have to wear something of Miss Charlotte’s then. Let’s see what’s in here.” Farjana crossed the room and flung the armoire doors open. A colorful assortment greeted the eyes. She pulled a dark blue muslin dress off a hanger and held it up.
“This’ll do. Plain enough for chores. Miss Charlotte liked to ride out with Jonah sometimes. She had to have something that wouldn’t get mussed too badly.”
“It’ll be too long. I’ll trip over the hem. Where are my clothes...” Words failed her.
Farjana looked far too innocent not to know something about the missing garments.
“That’s thievery,” Bridgit blurted. “Where is Jonah? This was his idea, wasn’t it? Well, I want them back, Farjana. Right away. I won’t have the few things I own taken away without a fight.”
The other woman looked ashamed, but covered it with a big smile. “Too late. Mr. Jonah took those dresses away and swore he’d drop them in a gully. ‘They’ll make fine beds for some little critters,’ he said.”
Bridgit glowered. “I don’t want it.”
“A different color then?”
“I–I’ll go naked before I wear any of those things,” she swore.
Dark eyes assessed the gown and then Bridgit’s body. “You’re right. It won’t fit anyway. Miss Charlotte was smaller through the hips.” She rehung the dress.
Bridgit didn’t stop her. “It’s not working. I’m not jealous over a deceased woman’s dresses or her shape.”
“You’re stubborn enough. Gonna let those jackaroos get a peek at your ankles when you go out?”
Bridgit folded her arms over her chest and tipped her chin up. “I’m not milking. It isn’t my fault I’m naked.”
“If you’re waiting ’til Mr. Jonah gets here, it’s gonna be a long wait. Miss Olivia will be starved to nothing,” Farjana scolded.
“You could–”
“Can’t. Got chores of my own. Martha’s already complaining about the canning. If you don’t put on this dress, she’ll be up here giving you what-for about being lazy.” Farjana tugged the dress sleeve again suggestively.
“Blasted man. There was nothing wrong with those clothes.” Bridgit removed the dress from the bureau. “The hem needs to come up. Otherwise I’ll track in mud and who knows what. I can’t hold it up all day.”
The muslin was soft under her fingertips, unlike the itchy wool of the serge. Already weakening to the idea, she traced the stiff lace collar. Milking was dirty business. The lace would be limp in a few hours. Why couldn’t Jonah let her be?
Farjana sorted through the dresses. “I said it before, you need something to wear to the party. Might as well go through the rest of these things and see what you can use. Mr. Jonah said whatever you don’t want, we can give to Bess’s girl.”
How would he like it if she gave it all away? Her gaze fell on green velvet with gold piping and her embittered thoughts flew out the window. A bit warm for velvet, but it was soft and beautiful. Jonah’s eyes would light up when he saw the way it complimented her eyes. She could almost imagine his sultry smile. And how much he’d enjoy taking it off of her.
“You’re wearing this to the big dinner,” Farjana declared.
“I don’t have the luxury of attending dinner. I’ll serve with you.” She’d never attended a fancy party before. The Sunday best she’d worn before Da died couldn’t stand up beside the dresses Charlotte owned. “If I wore this, people might think I’m someone I’m not.”
Farjana frowned. “You think you’re gonna outsmart Mr. Jonah, but he always has his way. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll fix this one up. Now get dressed and let me pin the hem so you don’t drag it through the dust.”
* * * *
Red clay mud stained the legs of Jonah’s trousers, caked the soles of his boots and smeared the front of his shirt. It peeled off in flakes and clumps with every step he took. The sun was sinking, and like the five jackaroos who’d helped wrestle two heifers out of a shallow pond, his stomach reminded him supper was overdue.
“Those other dags better have left something for us,” someone grumbled.
Rupert waited, ever patient, for the men bringing in the tired horses. He didn’t bat an eye at the six saddles stained with algae, mud and cow slobber.
He stared solemnly at the men. “I’ll take care of these, Boss. I wouldn’t go draggin’ those filthy clothes through Miss Bridgit’s clean house.”
The jackaroos hid snickers behind their dirt encrusted hands. Exhausted, he ignored the laughter and turned for the house. Rupe was right. She worked hard keeping the place clean. It wasn’t fair to cart questionable substances over the floors. Halfway across the yard, he slipped his braces down his shoulders, pulled his shirt free of his trousers and started the process of shedding his work clothes.
On the stoop, he removed his boots. They’d keep until after supper. His trousers landed beside the steps. Wearing only his hat, stockings and unusually decorated shirt, he opened the door. The scent of chicken pie greeted his nose, causing his mouth to water.
After he closed the door at the far end of the house, Bridgit stepped through the kitchen doorway, a welcoming smile on her face. She wore a dark blue dress with her hair flowing over one shoulder in soft golden waves and tied back by a ribbon. His scraggly housekeeper and nursemaid was gone, replaced by a lady.
“You’re a mess.” Her gaze lingered on his pale legs before seeking his face. Her eyes sparkled. “Were you attacked by mud men?”
“Worse. Empty-headed cattle in a half-dry pond. I need clean clothes and a quick wash before dinner.”
She put her hands on her hips. “No less than you deserve.”
“May I ask why you think so?” He walked toward her, grimacing when pills of dirt fell off his shirt.
One winged eyebrow went up and he knew she was unhappy with him for stealing her clothes. If she’d bothered looking in the mirror then she must know how much better she looked. Though it was big through the shoulders, the dress fit her well. The convict he’d picked up at the Factory had vanished.
Tilting her head up, she frowned and smoothed her hands over the skirt. “Farjana hemmed these dresses. I expect you to quiet Martha’s raving tomorrow when she learns there are still vegetables on the vines.”
He thought he understood her problem. Like all women, she wanted a compliment, a sign that a man approved of the choice. He wanted food, a bath and the comfort of his feather mattress. After their conversation, he owed her something as simple as a few words of compliment.
“Farjana is a woman of many talents. She may have hemmed it, but even if it was a mile too long, the color is nice. It’s pretty on you.”
The sparkle came back and she ducked her head to hide a smile. “Thank you. If you’d like, I’ll heat some water for a bath. You have muck crusted in your hair.” She reached out and pulled at the grime. It crumbled on the hardwood floor.
Soaking in the copper tub would sooth the aches deviling his muscles. It sounded like the best idea he’d heard. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Your dinner is on the table right now. Wash up a bit and when you’ve finished eating, I’m sure there will be enough hot water ready to clean off some of that mess. You’ll be tucked into bed before you know it.”
For a moment, he couldn’t say anything. The evenings were hers to do as she wished. Instead of sewing or reading tonight, she offered to take care of him. Did men with wives come home to this treatment with regularity? Give her a strand of pearls, a few dresses an
d she became as generous as a saint. But when had she acted differently? She could be stubborn and strong-willed. At moments like these, she displayed the qualities a man was supposed to desire in a wife.
“Sounds nothing short of heavenly. Shall I bring the water?” he asked.
“The pie is getting cold,” she scolded. “Let me have this shirt and your stockings.”
Her hands swept the collar of his shirt back, pushed it down his arms and caressed his muscles. With the sway of her skirt, she left. His eyes followed the movement. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by lust. Did she know the effect she had on him? A quick look over her shoulder, the sweep of her tongue over her lips told him she did.
God, he wanted nothing more than to lay with her, tasting her skin and pushing into the velvety richness between her legs. With a groan, he climbed the stairs. The picture of her fully clothed was easily blotted out by memories of her milky flesh atop his quilt. He’d pull a dozen cows out of the mud if it meant coming home to the Irish beauty who made him feel like a king.
15
The first guests arrived shortly after noon. Jonah greeted old friends while the women maintained tables full of light food, pies, cakes and biscuits for weary travelers. The numbers were small so far, but at least three horses for the races were milling around the property, staked to patches of ample grass or being admired.
Thomas Server, his wife and two daughters arrived at the station in the afternoon. Jonah greeted his solicitor with a smile and handshake.
“Glad you could make it. You all look well after the heat and the trip. The men are setting up tents and you’ll soon have a place to rest your heads. The ladies can freshen up in the house. Bridgit will take you.”
She stood in the shade of the porch, shielding her eyes from the sun. In one of her new dresses, she blended in with the women already in attendance. A welcoming smile lit her face. She greeted Thomas’s family and ushered them inside. When they’d gone ahead of her, she turned to smile at him. His heartbeat quickened. Guests be damned, he wanted her. Did it show?
The Convict and the Cattleman Page 11
