by Darry Fraser
A startling voice clanged in her head. Now, or never again, Maggie. She heard herself breathe his name. ‘Sam.’
He stopped. Grime was at his collar and she could smell smoke and sweat. A courteous smile appeared on his soot-stained face.
She knew it wasn’t a real smile. He was being polite. How horrible. She didn’t want polite. Not now.
She rubbed her forehead. ‘Sam,’ she said again, and felt her heart rate notching faster. She wanted those arms that were smudged with ash and dust around her, those hands on her. This was no time to be a lady. He did care for her, she could tell, even though he tried to hide it behind the polite smile.
He tilted his head, looked over towards his horse and back again, hands now in his pockets. ‘Yes, Maggie?’ Impatient.
‘I need you, Sam.’ She gripped his shirt in both hands.
He cupped her face, and kissed her, hard and urgent, his bristly whiskers scratchy. She didn’t care. Pressed against the cabin’s wall, the bulge of his penis between her legs sent a wave of giddy through her.
Her Sam, her Sam. How could she ever have run from this?
His chin slid to her neck, rasped her nape. His hands spanned her waist, slid up to her breasts, edging her closer to her cabin door. His teeth tugged open the thin ribbon on her chemise and the heat of sunshine fell on her skin. His mouth took hers as he reached around and loosened her pinafore, his warm hand sliding back under her chemise to claim a bare nipple. He tweaked it with demanding fingers, and rushes of need spiralled to her belly.
This this this.
He wrenched open the cabin door, swung her inside, and pulled it shut. Knocked his hat and it hit the floor. Grabbing her under her backside, he lifted. Her dress hoicked to her thighs and wrapping her naked legs around him, she squirmed, lush and loose, and pleasure streaked from where his rigid arousal hardened on her. He dropped her down on the narrow bed, and with her dress and pinny bunched, her legs open, she rucked her knickers aside. His breath was ragged. Urgent, wild, he flicked open his flies, and filled her with a thrust so deep and hot, she cried out.
Delicious shock. She rocked with him, fingers dug into his shoulders to hang on, and wave after wave of sleek teasing pleasure rolled through her. It bloomed—an exquisite burst, and she bucked. He tensed and groaned. Thrust one last time, and then buried his face in her shoulder.
Moments passed. He was still collapsed on her when she thought she heard him hum a tune close to her ear.
He moved, brought her hand between them, pressed it over her mound and cupped it. ‘I couldn’t stop,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ‘Not even to take off my boots.’
She smiled, was breathless. ‘Neither could I.’
He pressed her hand again. ‘Now, you.’
‘I am already happy.’
‘I missed it?’
‘Hmm.’ Her eyes were closed, enjoying the feel of him still inside. ‘It’s truly wonderful, that thing we discovered.’
There was silence for a time, restful, calm.
‘Maggie-mine.’ His voice thrummed, changed. He moved. ‘I have to go. The boys will be back.’ He kissed her once, and slipped out of her. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bother you again.’
Her heart flipped. ‘Bother me? What?’ She rose on her elbows. ‘We did this. Not just you,’ she said, and heard the retort in her voice.
He drew down her dress to cover her bare legs, stood up and rebuttoned his flies. His mouth was set in a line.
‘Look, don’t think that I won’t be there if you need me, just because we slipped up again,’ he said, an edge to his voice. ‘I’ll marry you if we’ve made … if you become … I’ll marry you. We’d get along. We’re old friends. But I know how you feel about marryin’, and all that.’ He tossed a hand in the air. ‘It’s my fault, this thing. I only came to deliver you safely home.’ He glared at her, eyes creased under a frown. ‘I’ve got along just fine, you know? And all of that before, back home? Well, I’ve put it behind me, you don’t have to worry. This isn’t right anymore.’
‘What?’ she cried again. It was some speech. She could hear his words clearly, but could not comprehend why this man was saying what he was saying.
Sam flung out of her cabin, felt groggy. Shit, broad daylight, with Maggie, like that, and not a haystack in sight. Shit. His brains weren’t even hiding in his trousers, he kept them there on a permanent basis.
Jesus. But Chrissakes, it was the best. Thank Christ I didn’t fall asleep on her.
He rubbed his face hard. Felt the grit and checked the palm of his hand. Soot. Christ, it’d be all over her. Her face, her neck. Her breasts, her soft, full breasts with dark nipples and … He felt his cock rise and he shoved it down. It could stay half-hearted, the bastard.
Shit. Shit.
He spun around. Get washed up, get rid of the soot, and scrub away the scent of her, don’t leave a reminder. But the reminder wasn’t just her scent.
Jesus, man, you couldn’t resist, could ye, no matter what, could ye? Some man, Taylor, some big man you are.
Not that he wouldn’t marry her, but that he went there—again. Just dropped his pants and away he went. He ran a hand over his head to swipe off his hat.
Shit! Where was his hat?
Her cabin door swung open. His hat came spinning out and whooshed over the side into the river. The cabin door slammed.
His cue to jump in the river. If he stayed close to the boat he’d be fine. He shucked shirt, pants, socks, boots. Keeping a hold of the boat with one hand, he eased his way into the river, grabbed the filthy clothes off the deck and swished them in the water. He grabbed his hat before it drifted off and swished it too, then flung everything back on board. Soot and grime floated away on water already muddied by boats that had been here earlier.
Sam roughly washed his face. Slapped water under his armpits, scrubbed at his groin. Traitor, he snarled at his limp penis. His penis had nothing more to add.
Shit.
Maggie sat up on her bed. Bunk. It was little more than a bunk, meant for short journeys. Certainly not for the journey she’d just been on, though she hadn’t minded. Now that her confusion had lifted, and if she wasn’t so angry, she might have laughed aloud. It had been heady and breathtaking and wonderful, that journey with Sam. And he’d ruined it. Again.
Unhappy, she went to pour from the pitcher of water, and spied his hat on the floor. Snatching it up, she thrust open the door and tossed it out. Very satisfying. She slammed the door.
He’d just left in such haste. What did that mean?
She set about washing away the aftermath of their lovemaking. Should she call the thing they’d just done lovemaking? She didn’t know. Whatever it was, it was the way they did things, even after two years apart. It was them—hale and hearty and without fear.
She bathed herself as thoroughly as possible. Of course she cared if her lack of caution resulted in the unthinkable, but it didn’t feel as if anything would happen. How foolish, Maggie. Just because neither of their other times had resulted in a child didn’t mean she should tempt fate. Or tempt Sam. For that’s what she’d done. And deliberately. Despite herself, a bloom of heat burned her cheeks. Her stomach had the flutters.
Perhaps he just did what any man would do when faced with a woman who was all wanton and demanding. Perhaps that’s why he sounded so half-hearted about marrying. He’d said before not to pester him again. He said that he’d put it all behind him. Then he’d left the cabin so abruptly, it had been almost embarrassing. Had he not felt every single thing she’d felt? Perhaps not. Did he think it wasn’t proper? This isn’t right anymore, he’d said.
Well, of course it wasn’t proper—for other people. But for her and Sam, it was them. That’s how she always thought of it. If only he didn’t want the drudgery of family life. Perhaps … Can you think of something other than perhaps, Maggie? Now she felt truly embarrassed. She’d thrown herself at him and it was possible he’d just taken what she’d offered, nothing more.
For the first time, things looked more than bleak. The future was a wide unfriendly landscape before her, not one filled with hope. Her heart rattled. No job. No prospects of a job to fulfil her grand plan. The only money she had was one pound six and six in her little purse. No Sam … Maggie O’Rourke, you selfish woman.
Her family at Echuca, probably desperate to see her, was waiting to have her back with open arms. She had failed dreams and her life was in tatters but they’d help her back on her feet, fill up her well of strength again. They wouldn’t care that she had rags on her back. They wouldn’t care that she’d messed things up, or that she had nothing but an adventure to tell, or that her only friends were two people who’d disappeared into the bush, and a floppy-eared dog with a long curly … Bucky. Where is Bucky?
Forty-four
Sam, fully clothed, was drying off nicely in the midafternoon sun. He was sprawled on the deck with the opposite bank of the river in his sights.
Maggie had come out of her cabin and stayed on the other side of the boat, pacing a little, and scanning the riverbank. She hadn’t spoken to him and he hadn’t been inclined to say anything more to her either.
When Dane and Joe arrived back—seemed they’d only been gone an hour or so—Sam sat up, expectantly. ‘Any news of the bastard?’
‘Some. Let me catch my breath.’ Dane leaned over, hands on his knees. ‘Looks like you’ve already had a good dunking. That’s what I need to do.’
Joe snatched off his hat and boots. ‘I’m going in while you’re talkin’ about it.’ He slipped over the side of the boat, and splashed around, slapping off the soot and grime.
‘Got nasty up there with that store that burned,’ Dane said, and settled on the floor of the deck alongside Sam. ‘Found a body.’
‘Jesus. Who?’
‘The men said it was Robert Boyd. A whole heap of canvas or something had fallen over him, protected the body from much of the fire so there was something of him left to recognise. Not much, but enough, apparently.’ He shook his head, wiped a hand under his nose. ‘No one saw him fighting the fire, so they reckoned he was already inside. Maybe he started the fire, got trapped. Bad business.’
‘Bad business, for sure,’ Sam said. So Robert Boyd was out of the picture.
Dane continued. ‘They figured to let his wife know, and his brother. So we got old Barney Cutler to take us to her place first, and there on the floor was the brother, Angus, dead. Robert’s wife, Myra was kneeling over him, her hand still on the hatpin she’d shoved into his chest.’
‘A hatpin?’
‘Hard to believe, eh? Not a dainty one though, damn near the size of a small stiletto. So out it all pours from the wife. Seems Robert had been a philanderer these past few years, and a rough one at that. Myra, rather than keep at him and copping a couple of blows for her trouble, took it upon herself to have a chat to his so-called lady friends, to get them to leave town. Mind you, from what I gather, most were only too happy to get away. They gave Myra their valuables—jewellery—as payment for her silence about their reputation, their indiscretion with her husband, and then she makes them leave town.’
Sam barked a laugh. ‘Some piece of work.’
‘Seems so.’ Dane scratched his ear. ‘But, this last time, the woman, Adeline someone, was stepping out with Angus. Myra’s learned that Robert’s accosted her at some point … This is where is gets really nasty.’ He thought a moment. ‘Middle of the day and no one about, Myra finds Adeline out the back of the boarding house. Adeline’s refused to hand anything over to Myra, and threatens to go to the police about them. Told Myra that she would see Robert go to gaol. There’s a struggle, and Myra grabs Adeline’s hatpin and stabs her with it. So Barney sent a couple of the boys over there today. They found her body at the bottom of the long-drop in the outhouse, covered in quicklime, and all else. The stench was well covered up.’
Sam blew out a long breath. ‘No mean feat for a woman, throwing a dead body down a hole.’
‘One of the town lads has ridden to Overland Corner to bring back the constable,’ Dane said. ‘We had that photographer fella take pictures of the bodies. Gruesome.’
Sam looked up. ‘Photographer?’
‘I asked him about the pictures he had. He said he’ll destroy them all, the plates as well. I believe him; it was Boyd he was hoping to get rid of. Now with both brothers gone, no need for those pictures. He’ll do what he said he’d do.’
‘Shit. So Myra was a blackmailer, as well as a murderer,’ Sam said.
‘And not a smart one, either. When she goes to the gallows, there’s no one to take her kids. They’ll be sent to an institution.’
‘Christ, what could ever be so bad to drive a woman to that?’
Maggie stepped into view. Dane looked up and studied her face a moment, turned and said pointedly to Sam, ‘Can never tell what drives a woman sometimes.’ He looked back at Maggie.
Sam looked at her too. Shit. Her chin was red, so was her neck, plain as day. She’d washed off the black soot, but his whiskers must have left their mark. He got to his feet. ‘Maggie.’ His voice softened. She looked worried, and about to say something.
Dane stood up. ‘Cousin,’ he said, frowning at her before beginning to pull off his boots. ‘Just so you know, both Boyd men are dead.’ As she started to speak, he said, ‘Let me wash off first, then I’ll tell you all about it while we get underway. We’ve got an hour, maybe two, of good daylight before we need to tie up for the night. Have to make up time.’ He glanced at Sam and said under his breath, ‘Hope you both made the right decision, though I am hardly one to judge.’ He lowered to the deck again, slipped into the river and dropped below the surface a moment, then came up and floated a while.
Maggie spun to Sam. ‘Did I hear that right—both Boyd men dead?’
He nodded. ‘That’s what Dane said. A relief, I would think.’
‘Relief, yes.’ Her voice shook.
‘So now, I’m taking you back home.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets.
‘I’m glad it was you who came for me, Sam.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I came because there was no one else.’
Joe coughed loudly as he hauled himself up out of the water, clambered to his feet and then took himself across the deck. He removed his shirt, out of Maggie’s sight, and wrung it out.
Dane swam closer and ducked under once more.
Maggie tried again. ‘I know that you—’
‘You don’t know anything,’ Sam snapped. ‘So don’t start, not here, not now,’ he said, glaring at her. ‘That’s final.’
‘Final, be damned,’ she hurled back at him.
Joe was hovering, so Sam held up his hands at Maggie, knew he had to back off. He’d surrender, for the moment. Anger streaked colour over her face before she turned away and leaned over the side. As Dane surfaced she called to him. ‘We can’t go until Bucky comes back.’
He swept back his hair and spat water. ‘We’re not waiting for a dog.’
Maggie looked towards the township. ‘I think he’ll have gone back to Olivewood,’ she said, as if she hadn’t heard Dane. Sam heard the crack in her voice.
Dane dunked his head, came up shaking it. He rubbed his clothes vigorously under water, then dragged himself back on deck. ‘If he comes in the next ten minutes, we’ll take him. If not, we go without him.’ He stood up, glancing at Maggie, and changed his tone when he saw her face. ‘Maybe Sam can come back for him soon, or maybe I’ll pick him up on another run.’
Maggie turned away.
‘Bucky’s a dog. He’s a good dog, and dogs find their own way,’ Dane said. ‘We’re leaving as soon as Joe’s got the boat fired up. I have the last of my contracts to fulfil and I have to be on time. Grab the gangway, Joe.’
Maggie rushed over. ‘No, Joe. Wait.’
>
‘I’m sorry, Miss Maggie.’ Joe was on the landing, taking the mooring rope from the tie-up post. He threw it onto the boat, dragged the gangway on board and began to wind the rope. ‘We’ll be a few wee minutes before the boat can get herself upriver,’ he said kindly. ‘Ye never know, the beastie might show up yet. They’re attracted by shenanigans, a lot of shoutin’ and such. But he might not’a liked the fire, and he’s steered clear awhile. He’ll be right.’
Standing behind her, Sam scanned the bank. No sign of the dog. He watched Maggie. It wouldn’t be beyond the woman he knew to leap off the boat and wade to the shore, go scrambling up the bank and head towards Olivewood.
But she didn’t. She paced a little and didn’t lift her eyes to acknowledge him. So be it. It would make things easier. He hoped. He didn’t believe it for one second.
Joe passed by, and Sam heard him go below deck. Not long after, he heard the thud of logs being thrown into the boiler, heard the pistons react, slowly at first, beating time.
Watching the bank, Maggie’s hands balled into fists and she rubbed them together while she waited. She looked anxious. He’d never seen Maggie like this, and it irked him. It had been a big day today and the missing dog was the last straw, he reckoned. She was fond of the dog, that was obvious. Sam was fond of Bucky too, and if the truth be known, it was Bucky who led him to Maggie. But if the curly coated bugger was off on some adventure, he’d have to stay behind.
Maggie paced to the back of the boat and returned. ‘I should have thought to grab him,’ she said without looking at him.
‘It was a while back, more than a couple of hours. Too much excitement. You weren’t to know.’
The boat chugged but didn’t move forwards or backwards.
‘He’s got his own mind, that dog,’ she said, still staring up the incline.
The boat shifted again, and Sam felt it begin to pull away from the landing. He heard Maggie’s intake of breath and a soft cry that followed. Her eyes were still on the sandy bank.
