The man obviously hadn’t understood a bit of it. He nodded as if he did. “I’ll be needing a housekeeper, assuming I get a house built again. Meg gonna be around?”
“No. We’re moving to Torrens Creek. God put me there in the first place. I’ll work there.” Luke nodded toward Samantha. “On our way.” He took a deep breath. “God bless you, Cole Sloan.” He turned quickly and climbed back into the wagon. Mr. Frobel hopped up behind and off they went. Meg waved furiously. Samantha envied the glow in Meg’s heart that so copiously spilled out into her face.
Mr. Sloan voiced her own thoughts: “Looks happy enough, doesn’t she?”
“Aye. She’s found her man. I daresay it appeared when I saw Amena that she found hers as well.”
“And you?”
Samantha drew a deep breath.
Mr. Sloan turned her around to him, his hands on her shoulders. He laughed suddenly. “Your face is dirty, you lack an eyebrow and your nose is peeling. And you know what? You’re still a beautiful woman, Sam. Also strong, honorable, loyal—all the things I knew I wanted in a woman. Besides that, I love you. I think I’ve loved you for quite some time, but last night was the first time I admitted it to myself. I don’t have much to offer, and most of that’s in ashes, but will you marry me?”
She must have hesitated a moment too long, for he closed his warm hands around the sides of her face and kissed her. That kiss in Cairns had been wonderful; this one was unbelievable. His fingertips traveled down her throat. His powerful arms, the arms that had dragged her bodily out of the fiery house, wrapped around her and fused her to himself. When at last he moved away, she felt so giddy and weak she could not let go.
She buried her head in his shoulder and clung to him. “Eh, Cole Sloan, sure’n ye be the world’s most magnificent man. I find meself infatuated with ye. Mayhap ’tis love, as yerself admits.”
“I’ve been infatuated before. This is different.”
She stood erect and stepped back. “I told ye moments ago that I’ve learnt to listen to me heart. But me head doesn’t do too badly either. Me heart would join itself to yer own in a wink, but me head cries ‘Pause!’ I cannae trust ye. Meself has seen yer devious ways and I’ve told meself lots of reasons to excuse them away. But in the end of it, me head tells me I’ve seen the man, the true man; beware.”
“Sam … I told you you’re different. I’d never hurt you or betray you.”
She licked her lips and she could feel her eyes get hot. “’Tis the hardest word that ever will leave me lips, but I say it now. Nae.”
“That’s why you came to Australia, to find a man and marry. Admit it.”
“Aye. And here I’ve found the best, ’twould appear to most. But nae. I cannae marry ye when I cannae put me full trust in ye. I’m sorry.” She whispered it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t take that as a final answer.”
“’Tis the only answer I can give for now, or in the future that I can see.”
His deep, dark eyes studied hers, and she could not tell if that was sadness or anger in the depths of them. Perhaps she saw both. He stepped back and nodded grimly. “I’m going into Mossman with the wagon. I’ll drop you off at the chapel.”
“I thank ye.”
For the longest time he gazed at the smoldering ruins. “Tomorrow.” Suddenly the lilt was back. “Tomorrow!”
“Aye! Tomorrow.”
She watched him turn away from her. As he walked up the path to the stable, the old verve was back in his stride. She watched him disappear in the trees.
The lingering stench from the burn hovered over the area. The air hung still and listless, strewing the smoke and smell. A family of Aborigines arrived and with cheerful, unintelligible chatter commenced to butcher the bloated horse.
It started to rain again. Heavy drops plopped in the powdery ash, disturbing it without wetting it. They rang pung on the charred timbers. Hotspots began to whisper, Psst. Psst. Psst.
Somewhere in brooding, chilly Ireland, in Dagda’s hill palaces, warriors and demigods feasted amid bright light and splendor, safe from mortal eyes. But here in Queensland’s mountains, fantastic activity was limited to gnomes who swabbed the throats of little green frogs. The bright light and splendor was the land itself—brilliant, dazzling, sun-filled, a delight to mortal eyes.
The first of the frogs chirruped. Another answered. Others picked up the call, their voices in fine fettle. And now the forest beside her rang with tiny voices. Samantha decided she liked the frogs much better than Dagda’s palaces.
What was that line from Robert Browning, the poetic optimist? God’s in His heaven; all’s right with the world.
Sure and the skies were open now. The rain came pelting in fast, cold splashes—cleansing rain, sweet rain, rain that heals the soul. Samantha tilted her face up and let the stinging drops wash away the dirt and the ashes and all the fears and tears from yesterday.
Tomorrow!
Aye. Tomorrow.
SANDY DENGLER is a freelance writer whose wide range of books have had a strong record in the Christian bookselling market Twenty-six published books over the last nine years include juvenile historical novels, biographies, and adult historical romances. She has a master’s degree in natural sciences and her husband is a national park ranger. They make their home in Ashford, Washington, and their family includes two grown daughters.
Books by Sandy Dengler
AUSTRALIAN DESTINY
Code of Honor
Power of Pinjarra
Taste of Victory
East of Outback
Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) Page 25
