Daughter of Australia (32 page)

“To Ireland? No.” He scratched the base of his slick throat. “Never been out of Western Australia.”

She nodded, watched him. “What's your family like? The O'Reillys.”

“Passed on.” His brows knit, the smile lines erased. “It was a while ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“The Shelbys took me in.” James shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Don't know what I would have done without them.”

A slight breeze tickled the hair around their faces, cooled the sweated fabric of their clothing. Leonora wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Here.” James handed her a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “Can't promise how clean it is.” He smirked.

The cloth smelled of soap and hay and earth, manly and rich, and she breathed in its scent with closed eyes and hoped she wouldn't need to give it back. She dabbed her forehead and nose, winced. “My face hurts.”

“You've got a good shade of red. Be in some discomfort tonight, I'm afraid.”

“I'll be a freckled mess.”

“Aw, don't judge the freckle so harshly!” he scolded. “Some men find them quite enchanting.”

“Is that so?”

James nodded. He walked over to her and extended a hand. “I better get back and make dinner for the princess. She gets cranky sitting in bed all day.”

“Poor Tom.” Leonora took his hand, his long fingers gripping her firmly and pulling her to her feet. “I'll stop over later and check on him. Oh, and I'll bring that pie I promised.”

Their eyes locked. He slid his fingers from her hand. “Looking forward to it.”

 

The sound of workingmen quieted as it always did before twilight. In its place, the insects took over in a worldly purr; a kookaburra cackled between the ghost gums. Lights shone from the managers' house in the distance, warm and glowing. Tom's dog barked, charged, but once recognition took over the dog whimpered and wagged in apology, escorted Leonora over the footbridge while her heart knocked in her chest and she balanced the pie in her hands.

Tom limped out to the porch and smiled widely. “Hey, gorgeous!”

He calmed her instantly. “Hello, Tom. You look all better.”

He put his hands up and spun around. “Nearly right as rain, thanks to you. Even rode out with James this mornin'.”

She patted his arm. “Just don't push it.”

“Felt good.” He stretched. “Stung a little but just felt good movin' again.” Tom pointed to the pie. “Something sure smells sweet.”

She raised the pie self-consciously. “It's cherry.”

“My favorite. You're an angel, you know that? Let me go grab James.”

“Is he busy?”

Tom grinned. “Just hangin' out with his girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Leonora grew rigid; her stomach dropped. “I . . . I'll come back later.”

“Nothin' doin'. Stay put an' I'll bring him out.” Tom jumped up the steps and shouted into the house, “James, put a shirt on an' come out. Somebody wants t'see you. Oh, an' bring Josephina out!” Tom winked at Leonora. “You'll like her.”

Leonora swallowed and touched her stomach. She was going to be sick, wanted to crawl under a rock. She turned to leave.

“Hey, Leo,” James greeted from the door, slid his shirt over his chest. Her stomach dropped farther and landed in her knees.

James stepped out. “Leaving so soon?” His shirt stayed untucked from his moleskins, his suspenders hanging behind his hips, ruggedly relaxed, the outline of his chest visible through the thin cotton shirt.

She wasn't sure where to set her eyes. “I . . . I didn't mean to interrupt,” she floundered. Her face burned and she touched her palm against her cheek.

“Is something wrong?”

She closed her eyes and blindly sat down on the step, feeling such a fool for being there, feeling even more a fool for being upset. James went to the door again. “Wait a minute, all right? There's someone I want you to meet.”

Leonora bent forward and tightened her grip around her stomach. She practiced smiling so she wouldn't look a complete mess when she met the woman.

A second later, James stepped out, his coat bundled in his arms, and sat down next to her, so close his biceps rubbed against hers. “Meet Josephina.” He opened the coat and a tiny, furry kangaroo head peeked out.

The relief that flooded was audible with exhale and Leonora covered her mouth, laughed between her fingers. “Josephina's a kangaroo.”

He eyed her quizzically. “Of course. What'd you think?”

“Thought you had . . . a lady friend.”

“Ahhh.” He nodded and watched her with humor and raised eyebrows. “No such luck.” He turned to the animal and scratched her fondly behind the ears. “Found the little thing out in the bush. Orphaned.”

“I like the name.” The relief was still so warm and fresh she couldn't stop smiling. James's face was so gentle, the lines strong without a hint of arrogance.

“Thought Joey didn't quite suit her.” James held Leonora's gaze, smiled. She reached over and petted the peach fuzz of the kangaroo's nose, her arm grazing James's chest, the heat warming the length of her arm.

It was so comfortable sitting there. So easy. Too easy. She wanted to lean her head against his shoulder, snuggle into it like a blanket. “How long will you keep her?” she asked.

“Until she's eating on her own and grown a bit. Then send her on her way. She wouldn't have made it through the night.” His eyes fell over Leonora's face without hurry and she dropped her head. A strand of hair fell to the edge of her nose. James reached over and tucked it behind her ear, leaving a trail of fire across her skin.

A voice called from inside, “Where's my nurse?”

“I guess I should check on the patient,” she said with a short laugh.

“Come on in and I'll slice up that pie.” She followed him into the small house, the front room smelling like warm bread and fresh-cut wood.

Tom sat up in bed and held his side, his chest bare except for the bandages. “Knew I'd get yeh into my bedroom sooner or later.”

James stood directly behind her, reached an arm over her head and held the door frame. “Be good or she'll send Dr. Meade back.” His breath tickled the top of her hair. The warmth of his body made her stance uneasy.

“I'll be good.” Tom crossed his heart. “Promise.”

James tapped her shoulder, his fingertip leaving a spot of heat upon her skin. “Watch him,” he warned, then turned for the kitchen.

“He's just jealous.” Tom leaned back.

“Heard that!” James shouted.

Tom mouthed again silently,
He's just jealous.

Leonora sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly unpeeled the bandages. “You're quite terrible, you know that?”

“Och! Not me! You know I'm growin' on you, love. Admit it.”

“Yes. You're growing on me,” she said straight-faced while unwinding the bandages. “Like mildew.” They heard James chuckle from the kitchen. She pulled the bandages from his bruised ribs. A spot of blood appeared under the thinning gauze. “Sure you're not pushing it?”

“I'm orright. Ribs don't hurt as much. Can breathe without screaming.”

She reached for a new bandage from her purse. “You're a fast healer.”

Tom leveled his eyes, the joking face gone. “Don't know what I would've done without you. I mean that.”

“Leave the bulls alone from now on, all right?” She patted his leg, then stood to go. “Stick with the sheilas.”

James waited for Leonora on the porch. “You've taken good care of him,” she announced as she stepped into the warm night air.

He watched her for a moment, seemed lost in a thought, then cocked his head to the door. “Pie's almost cool. Can I bring you a piece?”

“Should probably get back.” She sighed. “Alex comes back soon.” She rolled her eyes. “He'll call a search party out for me.”

“Too bad.” James forced a half smile. “Come on; I'll walk you home.”

“It's all right. I can manage.”

“Wasn't a question.” He went to take her elbow, then stopped. “Almost forgot. Hold on; I have something for you.” James turned, took the three steps in one long jump. He returned a moment later holding a jelly jar filled with white flowers. “They're oleanders,” he said. “The back paddock's filled with them.”

Leonora took the flowers and smelled the blooms, a mix of apricot and lilac. Her throat tightened with the simple, sweet gesture. “They're beautiful.” She and James walked toward the big house, quiet. She was aware of the flow and movement of his body with each step.

“How long will Alex be home?” James asked, his jaw stiff.

“Hard to tell. Changes day to day.” They grew silent again and did not speak until the bottom of the steps. “Thanks for the flowers,” she said, sheepish.

He nodded and began to walk backwards. “Have a good night.” And then remembering, “Thanks for the pie, Leo.”

Leo.
Everything warmed. “Do you know you're the only one who ever called me that?”

He gave her an indulgent wink. “Good.”

 

Alex returned unpleasantly from the start, slamming the door, the house filling with his edge. “Fire in the pit!” he spit. He hung up his coat, his face unshaven and gray, his collar soiled. “Backed us up a full day.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Two or three. I don't know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Need to go back in a day or two.” He plopped down in the wide chair and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it stuck up at the front. “Just need one night of rest. One night of peace.”

She went to the bar and poured him a drink, handed it to him.

He took a long sip, looked up at her briefly. “Have you been running? You're all red.”

Leonora touched her face. “Sunburn.”

“Didn't you wear a hat, for God's sake?”

“I was gardening and it must have slipped off.” She laughed. “I didn't even realize it until it was too late. Hurts, too.” She touched her cheek again.

He stared at her, his expression blank. “Gardening?”

She nodded proudly. “Do you want to see it? It's out back behind the house.”

He rose from the chair. “You dug in the dirt?” His voice rumbled deep and low and slapped the smile from her lips. “You stood out there in plain sight, digging in the ground, in the full sun like a common field hand?”

She was stunned with the tone, felt a slight chill as he set his eyes upon her.

“Let me see your hands.”

“W-w-why?” she stammered. “I—”

He shouted through clenched teeth, “Let me see your hands!”

She held out her hands, visibly shaking. He turned them. “Look at your hands. Look at them! They're hard and red like a man's, the nails broken and dirty!”

She shrank, thought about running for the door, calling for Meredith or Clare.

“This is how you greet me?” Alex screamed. “Dirty hands and sunburned skin?”

“I'm sorry. I . . . I just wanted . . .”

“You just wanted to what? Just wanted to embarrass me in front of the whole station? Imagine what the managers must think! Seeing my wife knuckle deep in dirt, planting vegetables as if I can't provide enough food to feed her!”

“No one saw me, Alex!” she lied. “It's hidden.”

He ripped his tie loose from his neck and threw it on the floor. “I was planning to take you to the races this weekend, to meet some of the other wives. You can forget about that now.”

“Why?”

“Look at you!” He pushed her to the mirror.

Anger was working its way through the fear. “You're away more days than I can count, Alex. What do you expect me to do all day, twiddle my fingers and wait for you? You've hired a cook and a maid. There's nothing for me to do. How do you suggest I fill up my day?”

“Why don't you do what other women do.” He smacked the empty tumbler on the table. “And think about ways to be a better wife.”

 

The blare of the Ford's engine disturbed the horses. Tom pulled them still and continued brushing, irritated by the noise.

“Sure you're up for the work, Tom?” James asked.

“If I stay in bed another day, I'm gonna shoot myself.”

James searched the stalls. “Where's Russell?”

“Don't know.” Tom winced as he bent down and checked the horse's hoof. “Saw him headed out with a hoe and wheelbarrow. Said he had to tear up some garden in the back.”

“What?” James set down the pitchfork. Tom shrugged his shoulders.

Saddling up the brown mare, James set off past the house and the stables. The sound of metal pounding against dirt rose from a familiar spot shaded in the distance. Russell came into view under the trees. The fence to the small garden was torn down and piled in a wheelbarrow, the stalks and vegetables twisted and limp and crushed below the wires.

“Russell,” James blasted. “What the hell are you doing?”

The man raised his head dumbly, his lip swollen with tobacco. “Clearin' out the garden.”

“Why? Who told you to do this?”

“Mr. 'Arrington.” Russell leaned against the hoe, wiped his nose with his thumb. “Says t'make it look like it weren't ever here.”

James squared his jaw. “Does his wife know?”

“How should I know?” he spit. “Just doin' whot he told me.”

James surveyed the damage, the neat rows hacked, the plants in the wheelbarrow already wilting from the sun. “Tom needs you in the barn,” he ordered. “This can wait.”