Read Online Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) by Sandra Dengler - Free Book Online
Authors: Sandra Dengler
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got two letters and a telegram here. One from the Townsville Bank and one from some fellow named Vinson. And a package from your sister in Brisbane. Gotta sign that you got the package.”
“It’s the letter from that drongo Vinson that I wanna see.”
Luke cast an occasional glance toward the stockman and almost lost his thumb when the second gate gave way while he wasn’t paying attention. He watched Martin read his letter. He saw Martin wipe his eyes, but squatters are tough old cockies who would never in a million years admit to being misty-eyed. And then Martin, strong as new hemp, was in there helping with the unloading, and it all went much quicker.
The train departed and Luke had no idea where Josip was going to eat his dinner; he knew only it would be late, for the sun cowered close to the flat line, ready for the plunge. It was nearly seven by now.
Martin beamed like the noonday sun upon his long, long pile of cattle feed. “Still don’t quite understand where it come from.”
“I overheard a sugar grower tell his mill foreman to dump it. It’s apparently not good quality. I got the mill foreman aside and offered to take it off his hands, all of it. Knew you could use it. And the foreman was grateful. Didn’t have to bother with it.”
Martin grunted. He pulled a rifle from his scabbard. “You take the horse home, Luke. Send Jack to me with the hay wagons. All of ’em. Tell Grace I said she’s to feed you a seven-course dinner by candlelight. Tell her I’m gonna count the courses when I get back and it better be the full load and it better be extra grouse or there’ll be he—” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Keep forgetting you’re a revrin now.”
“You ride and I’ll walk, Marty. We’ll dine together.”
Martin grinned suddenly. “I ain’t leaving this pile of gold. It’s dusk. The kangaroos’ll be abroad now, and they’ll find this stuff in no time flat. But ain’t no ’roo in Queensland gonna get a taste of it. Go on now.”
Luke climbed on the mare. He didn’t even have to turn her head. She started off home with a relieved sigh. When he looked back over his shoulder, Martin was standing on top of the highest stack of cane looking for all the world like the bronze statue on a military monument, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. And he was smiling the smile of a hopeful man.
———
Not a bad place, Sloan, considering. Not a bad place at all. Assuming you can just hang on to it. And you do have to agree, the European women on the house staff make it a lot homier. You got clean socks when you want them, the place stays cleaner and the food’s better. Sloan’s harem. There are worse things to have, Cole, boy.
He simply sat on Gypsy awhile and let her squirrel around in place as he admired his major possession. From down here at the bend, with the house just barely in view up ahead, it looked majestic, almost a manor. Soon as he got a little further out of the hole, he’d fix the place up. Add to it. Patch the roof better where the pandanus blew down, maybe even replace the treadle organ. He didn’t play—didn’t know anyone who did—but it looked good sitting in the parlor there.
He could just barely see Linnet out in the side yard hanging bed sheets on the line. Cute little number, but a bit young for his taste. She seemed fragile—a delicate orchid you almost didn’t dare touch. On the other hand, youth is its own excuse for being desirable.
Margaret came up the side path with a basket of mangoes on her arm and continued around back, no doubt to the kitchen door. She couldn’t have been down visiting the minister again; Vinson was out of town. How should he handle this? Just let her go awhile and see if the infatuation faded? If he forbade her to get near that wowzer, she might set her hackles and slip around all the more. The Irish were noted for their temper and stubbornness and with her reddish hair she looked as Irish as a shamrock.
The postman
“It’s the letter from that drongo Vinson that I wanna see.”
Luke cast an occasional glance toward the stockman and almost lost his thumb when the second gate gave way while he wasn’t paying attention. He watched Martin read his letter. He saw Martin wipe his eyes, but squatters are tough old cockies who would never in a million years admit to being misty-eyed. And then Martin, strong as new hemp, was in there helping with the unloading, and it all went much quicker.
The train departed and Luke had no idea where Josip was going to eat his dinner; he knew only it would be late, for the sun cowered close to the flat line, ready for the plunge. It was nearly seven by now.
Martin beamed like the noonday sun upon his long, long pile of cattle feed. “Still don’t quite understand where it come from.”
“I overheard a sugar grower tell his mill foreman to dump it. It’s apparently not good quality. I got the mill foreman aside and offered to take it off his hands, all of it. Knew you could use it. And the foreman was grateful. Didn’t have to bother with it.”
Martin grunted. He pulled a rifle from his scabbard. “You take the horse home, Luke. Send Jack to me with the hay wagons. All of ’em. Tell Grace I said she’s to feed you a seven-course dinner by candlelight. Tell her I’m gonna count the courses when I get back and it better be the full load and it better be extra grouse or there’ll be he—” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Keep forgetting you’re a revrin now.”
“You ride and I’ll walk, Marty. We’ll dine together.”
Martin grinned suddenly. “I ain’t leaving this pile of gold. It’s dusk. The kangaroos’ll be abroad now, and they’ll find this stuff in no time flat. But ain’t no ’roo in Queensland gonna get a taste of it. Go on now.”
Luke climbed on the mare. He didn’t even have to turn her head. She started off home with a relieved sigh. When he looked back over his shoulder, Martin was standing on top of the highest stack of cane looking for all the world like the bronze statue on a military monument, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. And he was smiling the smile of a hopeful man.
———
Not a bad place, Sloan, considering. Not a bad place at all. Assuming you can just hang on to it. And you do have to agree, the European women on the house staff make it a lot homier. You got clean socks when you want them, the place stays cleaner and the food’s better. Sloan’s harem. There are worse things to have, Cole, boy.
He simply sat on Gypsy awhile and let her squirrel around in place as he admired his major possession. From down here at the bend, with the house just barely in view up ahead, it looked majestic, almost a manor. Soon as he got a little further out of the hole, he’d fix the place up. Add to it. Patch the roof better where the pandanus blew down, maybe even replace the treadle organ. He didn’t play—didn’t know anyone who did—but it looked good sitting in the parlor there.
He could just barely see Linnet out in the side yard hanging bed sheets on the line. Cute little number, but a bit young for his taste. She seemed fragile—a delicate orchid you almost didn’t dare touch. On the other hand, youth is its own excuse for being desirable.
Margaret came up the side path with a basket of mangoes on her arm and continued around back, no doubt to the kitchen door. She couldn’t have been down visiting the minister again; Vinson was out of town. How should he handle this? Just let her go awhile and see if the infatuation faded? If he forbade her to get near that wowzer, she might set her hackles and slip around all the more. The Irish were noted for their temper and stubbornness and with her reddish hair she looked as Irish as a shamrock.
The postman
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