The Horse Thief (3 page)

The bread, dry as the sawdust spread on the stable floors, churned in her mouth. She chewed fast. Peggy wouldn't let her out of the kitchen until she swallowed it and there was so much to do. The stable doors dangled and the water barrels were a disgrace. They leaked liked Peggy's kitchen sieves and smelt almost as bad as the boiled cabbage she crushed in them. India tossed back the last drop of scalding tea, swallowed, picked up her hat and made for the door.

‘Oh, before you go—just a word of warning.' Peggy's tone stopped her in her tracks. ‘Jim, Mr Mawgan, said he saw a woman on a horse over by the lagoon last evening when he arrived.'

A bruised silence descended on the warm kitchen. India replaced her hat on the dresser and sighed. ‘Have you spoken to Anya?'

‘I haven't seen her this morning. I'll have a word when she comes down to get the trays. Your mother must have got back safe last night otherwise Anya would have raised the alarm.'

India's puff of exasperation echoed. ‘I really don't want to deal with it right now. I want to get everything started in a businesslike fashion—no echoes of the past.'

‘If you didn't want “echoes of the past”, why try and get the horse breeding back on track?'

‘Because we're the best in the business and …' At the light rap on the half-closed door she clamped her lips together and crossed the floor. ‘Mr Mawgan.'

Four

Jim made an effort to close his mouth then blinked twice at the vision before him.

‘Mr Mawgan?' she repeated.

Clearing his throat he held out his hand, quite why he didn't know. It wasn't customary or proper. ‘Yes.' His chest tightened and the hairs on his forearms rose.

‘I'm India Kilhampton.' Her hand was warm, not cool like the pale hands of yesterday.

For a long moment he stared into her charcoal eyes: thunderclouds chasing across a stormy sky. She raised an eyebrow and tugged her hand back.

‘I wrote. The job. I'm here about the job.'

A smile hovered on the edge of her lips and she pulled back her sun-kissed hair against the nape of her neck. His skin prickled in response to the gesture, so like the woman yesterday. They could be one and the same but for the light of laughter in India's eyes and her taut, flawless skin tanned from hours in the fresh air.

‘I am so happy to see you. Let me show you around and perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself.'

They stepped out into the morning sun. Countless colours, threads of gold and red danced in her hair and snatched his breath away. The same streaked tresses, the same eyes, and the same skin. All painted in a brighter hue, not washed out by the frenzied agony he'd seen last night.

‘I'll take you for a tour of the property, and we'll discuss the job.'

Jim raked back his hair and scratched at the scar on the back of his neck. He tried to concentrate on her words as he planted his hat back on his head. The likeness between the two women was remarkable and yet the difference—watercolours to oils.

Miss Kilhampton didn't appear to notice his pensive silence, simply strode out and expected him to follow. Her self-assurance was no doubt a reflection of the confidence that privilege and security brought. He was thankful as it gave him time to gather his thoughts. He'd mentioned the woman on the horse to Peggy and she'd dismissed it. The resemblance was uncanny. He followed, forcing the image of the troubled woman to the back of his mind. Instead he searched the stylish skirt and buttoned boots, looking for some inkling of the precocious child he remembered.

‘And so, in this area around the house we have two stable blocks, here and here.' She raised her arm and indicated to the two buildings framing the courtyard. ‘The hayloft is above these stables, the stallion yard next to the vegetable garden. Over here is the new barn. I say new—we completed it about fourteen years ago.'

Last night he was too caught up in his own memories and hadn't noticed the aura of neglect about the place. In daylight it became tangible, a physical presence, forlorn and forgotten. Although nothing was falling down an air of decay and despondency pervaded every building. To see the once-thriving property standing idle made him want to turn back the clock. Helligen was his childhood home and his father's life work. Once it was full of laughter and hope. Bloody Kilhampton and his high-handed notions.

‘Over there is the blacksmith's shop, the dairy, old barn and slaughter house. We lease them out to local farmers.' Miss Kilhampton's hands waved, her gestures as fluid as a dancer against the hazy morning sky. He didn't need the buildings pointed out; he remembered every one of them only too well.

They completed a loop of the driveway and ended up in front of the big house, majestic in the sunlight. Two brick chimneys soared above a grey-blue slate roof. A wide verandah skirted the front and sides of the building and tall double-hung windows flanked the impressive front door.

The more he saw of the place the more he remembered. His roots were here, his heritage. From humble beginnings, with hard work and determination his father had put his convict status behind him. He earned his reputation as the best stud master in the area. Once, Helligen was home to some of the most sought-after thoroughbred sires in the country, until Kilhampton destroyed all those years of work. And now she wanted to start over.

‘Can you tell me something of your experience?' she asked.

He'd been expecting the question. He paused for a moment, picking his words from his practised response. ‘My father was a stud master so I grew up around horses. He worked for some of the more reputable studs in New South Wales.'

And some of the least.

‘Was?'

‘He died a few months ago.' A broken man, his reputation ruined and his dreams shattered by a colonial upstart. Someone who thought money could buy his entry into a life he didn't deserve.

‘I'm so sorry.'

So she should be. So easy to say. The sins of the father. ‘I've been working in the Upper Hunter on a stud called Munmurra, you might have heard of it.'

‘Indeed I have. They have a fine reputation for breeding remounts for the Indian Army.'

And other bloodlines, but that was another story and nothing he would ever share with a Kilhampton. For all her city manners and gentrified airs the woman seemed to know the business.

‘Please don't think me impertinent but why are you looking for work if you have a job at Munmurra. It's a thriving stud.'

‘This was a thriving property once. My father maintained it carried some of the best stock in the country.' Jim turned from her, the colour burning his cheeks. He'd said too much. Let his mouth run away with him, allowed his prejudices to show.

‘I agree with you. It's a huge waste and a terrible pity.'

Like a kick in the guts her words snatched his breath away. She agreed with him!

‘That's why I want to restore Helligen. It's sitting here like some shipwreck thrown aground on the rocks and left to rot.'

‘And what does your father think of your ideas?'

‘Papa is involved with his other business interests.'

‘And the rest of your family?'

‘My mother lives here. It's her home. She wouldn't be happy anywhere else. My sister Violet also lives here, although she believes Sydney is where she belongs. Helligen deserves more.' Her face paled and she quaked with undisguised passion.

The spectacle of the heartbroken woman yesterday came to his mind. ‘Your mother lives here?'

A shuttered look crossed her face and she folded her arms. ‘My mother is an invalid. She rarely leaves her rooms.' She glared out over the empty paddocks, her brow as furrowed as a newly ploughed paddock.

Scuffing his feet in the dirt, Jim followed her gaze. The paddocks were once full of mares and prancing foals. To squander such opportunity. Some people didn't appreciate what they had and cared even less for the lives of others. He'd spoken more freely than he intended, and she had too, if the faraway look in her eye was anything to go by.

She recovered faster than he did. ‘And so, that's why I need your help. I want to rebuild Helligen's reputation as a horse stud. Will you help me?'

Despite his best intentions, Jim answered, ‘Yes.'

Five

With that one word India's dreams became real. For the first time her ideas and plans weren't scoffed at. Placing the advertisement was the right decision. Never mind Peggy's throwaway remark about raking up the past, this was the path to the future. Quite what Papa would say when he discovered she'd taken his name in vain, she wasn't sure. That problem could wait until another day. Tempted to crow with delight she reached her arms up to the sky, allowing the tension to leach away through her fingertips. She clambered onto the top rail of the fence, tucked her skirt under her knees and surveyed the property.

As he swung up next to her she cast an appreciative glance at his strong shoulders. Having someone on hand to manage the heavier jobs would be a godsend. Fred was a good kid and did his best in the stables but there was so much work. This man would be far more capable than a mere boy. Most of the work she left for the itinerant labourers they employed when there was a need. When Helligen was in its prime it was home to several families and everyone contributed to the smooth running of the place. Nowadays they lived in the village and were forced to find the bulk of their income elsewhere.

‘So where are you going to start?' He chewed on a blade of grass and spun his hat on his finger. ‘What stock have you got here? And what are you planning on doing?' His dark hair fell across his forehead, black and glossy as the cockatoos that heralded rain.

‘We still have about a dozen mares but none of them are in foal. Some animals were sold off to keep money coming in.'

‘What about sires? Are they unrelated?'

‘We have two working sires. A bay that carries the bloodlines of Theorem and Emigrant, and a black bred from Boiardo. He also sired The Banker who you'll know won the Melbourne a couple of years ago. And there are two younger animals related to these stallions on the mare's side.'

‘You'll need some fresh blood from somewhere. Have you thought about that?'

She'd thought about it but with what little money there was, the last thing she wanted was to spend it paying for service fees.

‘Have you got the stud records?' A strange intensity lit his eyes, sparks of gold flaring in their hazel depths, as though he expected her to fall short in some way.

‘Yes. Of course I have.' All the paperwork was in the library and everything had been recorded. Mind you, she hadn't seen hide or hair of the studbooks since she returned from Sydney. That would be a job for this evening, after dinner.

‘There's also the possibility of trading a service here and there if you want to broaden your scope.'

‘I'm uncertain, as yet.'

‘We'll see.' With a clean break, Mr Mawgan vaulted down from the fence and turned to face her. ‘Come on. Show me the worst.' He held out his hands to help her down from the fence.

For a moment she hesitated, his gesture overfamiliar. She studied his long fingers and broad palms then threw caution aside and placed her hands in his. His clasp tightened, and with it a jolt of something new and entirely different seized her. She slipped to the ground. ‘Thank you.' A masculine mix of leather, sweat and saddle-soap enveloped her. Striving to fight off her confusion, she withdrew her hands, smoothed her skirt and batted away the flush staining her cheeks.

Lifting her hem above the tops of her short boots she trudged through the grass that was still damp from the welcome shower overnight.

The quiver of a smile flickering on his face unsettled her.

‘What's so amusing?' It was almost as though the man was toying with her. Testing her.

‘Nothing really. How long have you been away?'

‘My sister and I spent several years in Sydney and Melbourne completing our education. According to Papa it was essential. He wanted to broaden our horizons. He'd lost interest in the place and thought we needed a change. Violet blossomed. She loves being in town and loathes the indignity of coming home to the Hunter. I was glad to return. I don't think I'm destined to live anywhere but here.'

His gaze roamed her face then sank lower.

‘You look like a city person.'

India stopped. ‘I beg your pardon?' His comment implied she wasn't capable.

‘Don't take it as an insult. It's a compliment. The way you're dressed. You look very … very … metropolitan. Those boots …'

She stared down and wriggled her toes. The dew from the grass had seeped into the pointed toes and dampened her feet. The soft leather would stain beyond repair. ‘That is hardly your concern.' Why hadn't she thought to put on her riding boots when she'd dressed that morning? A serviceable skirt and pintucked blouse were hardly metropolitan compared to Violet's frills and ruffles.

‘I intend to employ you, Mr Mawgan, to assist me on the property, not as my
couturier
. I'd appreciate it if you would keep your opinions to yourself.' The fact he'd managed to get under her skin was worse than his apt comment and she changed the subject. ‘I'll take you to the back paddock and we'll look at the mares.' She stomped off across the long grass ignoring the dripping hem of her skirt flapping against her legs.