Biding His Thyme: 4

by Shelley Munro

  Would Brother Rick let the man join? And what sort of man was he? A soft snort emerged. He’d behave like the other men and treat her with contempt. He’d call her Bitter because he was playing a part.

  The day passed, and despite the pangs of hunger, she kept going, making a batch of marigold cream, a chocolate body scrub and another batch of soap, this one decorated with delicate pink rose buds.

  She timed her arrival at dinner in order to walk in with the other women. Luckily, the men seemed busy, clustered around or near the new guy. For the first time in weeks, she managed to eat a full meal, and her stomach thanked her for it. She sent warm, fuzzy thoughts to the new guy—whoever he was—for causing the distraction.

  * * * * *

  One whiff of money, and they’d welcomed him with open arms. Much easier than dodging bombs. The robes weren’t so shit-hot though. It was gonna take a while to get used to the breeze flapping around his legs.

  “Brother Jake, do you think you’ll be happy here?” Brother Rick asked. He was a slim man with short brown hair. Jake didn’t think he’d hit six foot, but he had a presence about him. Sly intelligence lurked in his brown eyes.

  Luke Morgan had described him as charismatic with a side of sleaze. Got it in one. The man’s smile edged up until he flashed a mouthful of white teeth, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. This was a professional smile, one to inspire confidence, yet Jake wasn’t stupid enough to fall for the tactic. An Oscar-worthy performance. That’s what Brother Rick would receive in exchange for his fake smile and phony interest.

  “From what you’ve told me I believe I’ll settle in here very well. Of course there’s a place in the South Island that might also suit. I believe you said I could stay here for a week or two while I make up my mind?”

  “Of course,” Brother Rick said, his pleasant expression never faltering, although the brisk note in his voice told Jake he’d pissed off the younger man. “What made you return to New Zealand?”

  “I caught a bug in India, had a bad run of dysentery.” Jake made an affected motion with his hand. “My illness brought on a bout of homesickness, and I decided it was time to return to New Zealand. I’ve been back a month now, staying with a friend in Auckland. It’s taken me a while to recover.” Aware it was best to keep it simple, Jake stopping talking.

  “Why here?”

  Ah, the man was still wary. “My preference is a quiet life in the country. I enjoy working with herbs. I understand you have a shop in the town where you sell soaps and other stuff.” Jake prattled as he’d never prattled before. Nikolai and Louie, his army mates would have laughed themselves silly if they’d heard him. “Perhaps I could employ my talents in that direction, if you require my help there, of course.”

  “What duties did you carry out at the ashram in India?”

  “I helped look after the guests who came to the yoga retreat. I arranged meals and cleaned the guest rooms.”

  “I see.”

  Jake doubted the smug bastard saw a thing, which was perfect.

  “You’re welcome to stay here while you’re making up your mind. They will make space for you in the single men’s quarters. We will, of course, have to charge you for the length of your stay.”

  “Of course.” Jake kept his expression impassive, but he knew a man out for a buck when he saw one. “I don’t expect to stay for free while I’m making up my mind. I’m willing to work at whatever chores you decide to set me. I have to say, I’m very impressed with the setup you have here.”

  Brother Rick inclined his head with the hauteur of an aristocrat. “As it happens, Bitter Thyme, the woman who makes the soaps needs to increase her production. She would welcome an extra pair of hands.” His mouth curled up in a secret smile, which made an alarm fire to life in Jake. He was pretty sure the Thyme woman was the one who wanted out of the cult.

  If Brother Rick was on to her, Jake needed to tread warily. No prob. After navigating a minefield this would be no sweat. He’d be out of here, lying on a beach with a beer and a babe by next weekend.

  “I daresay I can take on other chores if I don’t enjoy the work?” He lifted his brows in query.

  “We encourage our people to help out where they wish. You’re welcome to help with the livestock or in the gardens as you choose.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said. “Is there someone available to give me a tour or is it all right to wander around the compound on my own?”

  “You’re free to explore, but I’m sure everyone will be eager to show you around or answer questions if you ask.”

  “Thanks again,” Jake said. “You’ve made me feel very welcome.”

  A bell rang in the distance, the tinny sound echoing through the valley.

  “That’s the dinner bell,” Brother Rick said. “We tend to eat early. Come. Sit at my table tonight. Meet some of the men who help me run the compound.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” Jake said, which was how he found himself limping alongside Brother Rick as they made their way to the dining room.

  He noted the groups of robed people wandering toward the large building to one side of the compound. Men and women wore white robes, although Brother Rick and some of the men had maroon stripes set in the loose sleeves.

  The air whistled past his pursed lips as he took in the two men still on the gates. Security. Why did they need people manning the entrance? What were they afraid of? Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. Now that he was here, he realized it would take a few weeks before the members of the cult started to think of him as one of them. At present he was a novelty. The weight of their gazes struck him as he limped at Brother Rick’s side.

  Jake entered a large hall, set out for communal dining. The men strode straight to the food, the women serving them first despite women waiting in the line. Jake didn’t react or voice the incredulous comment at the tip of his tongue.

  It seemed women were second-class citizens around this place.

  Most of the men were of middle age—forties to fifties—but there was also about ten men who were younger, and they were the ones with the maroon stripes on their sleeves. Brother Rick appeared around thirty.

  The food was good and plentiful, and Jake enjoyed every mouthful of the roast beef and vegetables. A wry thought that he might be eating the neighbor’s stud bull brought amusement. A bit late to worry now. He set his knife and fork across the empty plate, surprised by his good appetite. He picked up a glass of water and drank deeply. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t craving a beer or a whisky. Louie was right. It seemed his problem was lack of purpose.

  Brother Rick finished his meal and stood, his booming voice bringing an instant hush. “As you know we aim for self-sufficiency. We’re also in favor of natural methods in all things. We’re against birth control.” He gestured with his hands.

  “Bad, bad birth control,” the men and women shouted at him.

  They clapped enthusiastically, and Brother Rick paused for quiet. “Exactly,” he said. “Children are a blessing.”

  With his chair tilted a fraction to the right, Jake was able to scan the faces of the men and women in the hall. He catalogued the various expressions. Most of the men grinned. Some of the women too, but he noted apprehension on a few faces.

  Luke had told him the cult members often picketed the condom factory, Fancy Free, but apart from this public protest, they kept pretty much to themselves.

  “In five nights we’ll hold a gathering. I expect everyone over the age of twenty to attend, but participation isn’t compulsory for those under twenty-five. You are adults and may make the decision as you see fit.”

  A burst of excited chatter filled the hall. Reactions varied from open excitement to…to…fear. Jake frowned. What the fuck was the man talking about?

  Brother Rick held up his hand in a sign for quiet. The noise died away. “Nursing mothers may attend if they wish, or they can volunteer to watch the children. The kitchen will make a batch of bliss cakes and the brewer intends to open h
is cellar. We will trial a batch of his beer.”

  More enthusiastic shouts met this announcement.

  Bliss cakes? What the fuck? Again Jake studied the various reactions to the announcement. Which one was Sorrel? Was she this Bitter Thyme person or someone else?

  Brother Rick held up his hand again. “I’ll be away for three days. I intend to travel to Auckland and spread the message. Brother John and Brother Tyrone will be aiding me, and I hope to bring back new recruits.”

  Another roar of approval swelled throughout the hall.

  “That is all,” Brother Rick said. “We intend to leave tonight. I’ll see you at the celebration.”

  The men at Jake’s table stood, leaving their plates where they sat. Jake followed suit, although he noticed the people at other tables carried their used plates and cutlery to a central point.

  Brother Rick stopped by a neighboring table, filled with women. “Sister Bitter, clear our table. I’ve heard the store needs additional stock. Do you have products ready to go to the shop tomorrow?”

  Jake noticed the woman didn’t look at Brother Rick. Her gaze remained on her hands while she answered in a calm voice.

  “I didn’t think I’d need to make a delivery until Friday. I don’t have enough to take down yet.”

  “I’ve noticed your laziness,” Brother Rick said, his voice even. “Work through the night. Make sure you have enough stock to deliver to the shop. Increase production. The new man is interested in herbs. He can help you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Brother Rick.”

  This chubby, colorless woman was Sorrel. For some reason Brother Rick detested her, but the man had made Jake’s job easier. With a positive identification, he wouldn’t need to blunder around, wasting valuable time to find the right woman.

  Brother Rick marched from the room without looking left or right. At the door, two of the men followed him while the others ambled in the direction of the recreation room. Jake memorized the two men, leaving with Rick. Brothers Felix and Tyrone were around the same age as Rick and wore robes with the maroon bands on the sleeves. Both had shaved their heads, and if they’d worn jeans and T-shirts they would’ve fit a thuggish category. Not even the robes disguised their beefy builds.

  Jake stepped outside, welcoming the coolness of the summer breeze. He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed the woman—Bitter—was clearing the table. None of the other women were helping her, and Jake wondered why. Pity swelled inside him, his every instinct to help.

  But the fact everyone was ignoring her, told him something else was amiss. He’d talk to her later, once she returned to her workshop. Meanwhile, he’d reconnoiter, wander the grounds and poke his nose into the buildings—get the lay of the land and ferret out the strengths and weaknesses of the compound in regards to security.

  Luke was waiting for his report.

  Hell, maybe he’d even get lucky and find a pen full of cattle. He lifted his nose and sniffed. When he caught a whiff of animal, he ambled in that direction. The sooner he found viable proof, the sooner he was out of here. The beach, beer and babes beckoned.

  * * * * *

  Sorrel hustled from the table to the kitchen and back as she cleared the tables. The other men, taking their cue from Brother Rick, left their plates and walked away too.

  The women didn’t help her, although their sympathy buffeted her in silent waves. Brother Rick made no secret of the fact he hated her, but she had no idea why he detested her so much. She hadn’t acted rude or done anything else to attract animosity from him.

  She’d been close to Brother Samuel, the first leader of the cult and Brother Rick’s father. Maybe Brother Rick was jealous of their close relationship. But no, it couldn’t be that. Brother Samuel had treated everyone equally.

  She scraped and stacked the plates, sorted the cutlery and glassware all the while thinking and worrying about how to produce enough stock for the shop. Maybe bath salts. They were less time-consuming to make, and she had adequate supplies of perfumed oils to make different types. They had a glut of fruit in the orchard. She could make a batch of natural face masks. They’d need refrigeration, but the Sloan women appeared willing to try new products.

  By the time she’d finished, almost an hour later, she had a plan of how to make enough stock to fill her handcart. And if she had a helper tomorrow, even if he only chopped or stirred ingredients, it would free her to make extra products. She might even have time to make more of her cream.

  She hurried across the compound, her worn sandals slapping the dry track made by many feet over the years.

  A large form separated from the shadows without warning.

  “Oh.” She clapped her hand to her thundering heart, backing up before realizing she was in no danger.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Concern furrowed his forehead, and the sentiment echoed in his brown eyes. His black hair was loose and shaggy now, tossed into spikes and unruly waves by the breeze, his beard crying out for a trim. Up close, he towered over her and the robe hung on his thin frame. Despite his size, once she’d identified him her heart settled to a more normal beat.

  “I was miles away.” She settled into a brisk walk and spoke over her shoulder. “I must go. I have a lot to do tonight.”

  “I’ve come to help.”

  She halted abruptly and turned to face him. “But Brother Rick said you should start tomorrow.”

  “Brother Rick isn’t here to reiterate otherwise.” He thrust out his hand. “My name is Jake Ramsay.”

  Sorrel stared at his hand before she took it. His palm, large and warm, wrapped around hers, squeezing a fraction but not to the point of pain. A bolt of sensation streaked up her arm, and her breath caught. She had to swallow before she could speak again. “Sorrel Thyme.”

  He cocked his head a fraction, still retaining her hand. “Why do they call you Bitter?”

  “A joke,” she said, a flash of heat sweeping her face. “My name means bitter. One of the women had a book of baby names. The men checked my name, and now Brother Rick and the others call me Bitter.” She shot him a swift glance before concentrating on her feet again.

  He released her hand. “I don’t have anything better to do. I’ve explored most of the compound buildings already.”

  Unsure of what to say, she started walking again, plunging toward her workshop. She opened the door and stepped inside, flicking on the lights—thank goodness for the generator—to illuminate her domain.

  Jake stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She was aware of him at her back, large and masculine and out of place in her workshop full of herbs and flowers. She was certain this was the man who was acting as spy, although she wasn’t stupid enough to ask for details.

  “Can I look around?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll start making a batch of bath salts.” She watched him prowl the interior, his gaze intent and alert. Despite his frail appearance he reminded her of a caged big cat, bearing the same watchful air and prepared to pounce at a moment’s notice.

  She pulled out a large mixing bowl and measured out cups of baking soda and citric acid. She stirred the mix with her wooden spoon. Once that was done she added rose oil and stirred it until combined. A few drops of coloring and the final touch—some dried rose petals.

  And still the man prowled, poking and prodding at windows and checking the walls.

  She gathered small jars and started to spoon her mixture into them, fixing the lids firmly with the ease of practice, despite the faint tremor of her hands. She wasn’t used to big men in her space. Stars, she wasn’t used to any men in her domain.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him search the containers holding her stock. He’d better have clean hands. She’d bean him if he contaminated her supplies.

  “What are you looking for?” she demanded, her nerves at breaking point.

  He didn’t answer, merely shook his head and placed his finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.

&n
bsp; “Pass me the labels please.” Sorrel pointed, and he complied.

  While she wiped the jars and affixed labels, he continued his explorations. Definitely the spy, she decided, but what was he looking for? No one came in here apart from her. She slept here a lot of the time because it was easier than stumbling across the compound in the small hours of the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was run into one of the men and have him interpret her presence as an invitation for sex.

  “I think we’re okay,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “My handcart is in the lean-to out the back. I need these jars packed into the boxes and loaded into the handcart ready for me to deliver them tomorrow morning.”

  He followed her instructions, not fumbling or breaking anything, and soon she relaxed, giving him another job in order to save her time.

  “Tell me about the compound,” he said in his husky voice. “Why should I move here?”

  She looked at him them, startled by the question. Was he not the spy? Thank goodness she hadn’t questioned him further. “Did Brother Rick not give you a tour?”

  “He told me about the facilities, but he was busy and didn’t have time to give me a personal tour. He gave me leave to explore on my own.”

  Sorrel hesitated. What should she tell him? She hated the place and couldn’t wait to leave. It was all she dreamed of—departing the compound and making her own way in the world. She didn’t care for material possessions. All she wanted was enough money to live a life of independence.

  “It’s a good place,” she said.

  “You’re lying through your teeth.”

  It took her a few seconds to register his words, and when she did, she stared at him in shock. “I…I…”

  “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice. “Luke Morgan sent me. I’m here to watch and learn. I’ll help you all I can.”

  Her knees buckled, and she had to grip the corner of her worktable in order to remain upright. Relief struck first—the knowledge she wasn’t alone. Suddenly she couldn’t see, and she realized tears had welled in her eyes, blinding her temporarily. Sniffing, she brushed them away with the back of her hand.