Read Online Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) by Sandra Dengler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Dengler
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had gone rattling up the lane in his pony cart just ahead of Cole. He reached the front door, then climbed down and knocked. Strange. Until recently he simply blew his horn and expected someone to come to him. New postal regulations? Sam answered the door, smiling. They swapped goodies, the mail for a slab of bread and jam. No, not new postal regulations. Greed. The woman did bake good bread.
The old galah climbed awkwardly into his cart, holding his bread high, and went his way. Sam leafed briefly through the mail, her willowy body draped against the doorjamb. Surely she must have a past. She was too good-looking to have escaped every suitor’s clutches over the years. What kind of man warmed up this cool, efficient housemaid with the razor-sharp mind and overworked sense of honor? She lurched erect and walked inside, closing the door behind her.
Cole eased up on the reins, and Gypsy needed no urging. She pressed forward, homeward. He paused again halfway up the lane. The house definitely needed something along this south wall. It looked flat, blank, unattractive. Plain. That’s it. Plain was for people who couldn’t afford fancy or didn’t care.
Bushes. He’d plant some sort of ornamental bushes there. Something imported.
Sloan dismounted near the corner of the house and swatted Gypsy on the rump. She cantered off up the hill toward the stable. He stepped from bright sun into cool gloom and had to wait in the foyer a minute until his eyes adjusted. The house even smelled homier. The aroma was bread fresh from the oven, and the postman had beaten him to it.
He stuck his head in the kitchen door. “Bring me a pot of tea and a slab of that bread.”
“G’day, sir. Jam or marmalade?” She was whacking apart a large orangish fish at the kitchen table. The fish was dinner, probably. And probably in mornay sauce.
“Better bring ’em both; it’s too important a decision to make casually.”
She grinned, bright as the coral sea. Did she have a crush on him? She seemed to perk up when he was around, but then, he didn’t know how perky she was when he wasn’t around. And she kept up this facade, this mien of servanthood. Hard to tell, not that it made much difference to him. The girls he hired often did. Kathleen had been the boldest in letting him know.
Sloan’s harem.
Sam had left Sloan’s mail in a neat stack on his desk. It waited for him, simply smacking of efficiency and businesslike procedure. He had seen her dossier with her employment history, but he couldn’t remember that she had ever performed office and clerical duties. Too bad. She’d be a natural.
He popped the top straps on his boots, swung his feet up on the desk and scooped the orderly stack into a haphazard pile in his lap. The Brisbane bank. Now, what did they want? A note from Chestley, the Sydney buyer. Probably bunging on an act about how bad things were and why Cole shouldn’t expect him to pay full price for raw crystal this season.
His mind froze in mid-thought. A plain envelope, the same as that other one. Postmarked Townsville. Addressed to the son of Conal. He should throw this rubbish away without even thinking about it. But even as his mind resisted, his hands ripped the envelope open.
THUS SAITH THE LORD!
JEREMIAH 32:18!
THOU RECOMPENSEST THE INIQUITY OF THE FATHERS INTO THE
BOSOM OF THEIR CHILDREN AFTER THEM.
VENGEANCE IS MINE, SAITH THE LORD
“Sir? Be ye ill?” Sam hovered over him like an anxious hen counting chicks.
He looked at her eyes, glowing gray-green eyes like her sisters’. Gorgeous eyes. “Yeah, you might say so.” He flipped the note onto the desk in front of her. “Here’s why I don’t want your sister anywhere near that preacher in the chapel.”
She picked it up and studied it a moment. “I cannae believe the Rev. Vinson would send this.”
“Posted in Townsville two days ago.”
“Have ye any notion what it means? Your father?”
“I had some labor problems a couple years ago, and my
The old galah climbed awkwardly into his cart, holding his bread high, and went his way. Sam leafed briefly through the mail, her willowy body draped against the doorjamb. Surely she must have a past. She was too good-looking to have escaped every suitor’s clutches over the years. What kind of man warmed up this cool, efficient housemaid with the razor-sharp mind and overworked sense of honor? She lurched erect and walked inside, closing the door behind her.
Cole eased up on the reins, and Gypsy needed no urging. She pressed forward, homeward. He paused again halfway up the lane. The house definitely needed something along this south wall. It looked flat, blank, unattractive. Plain. That’s it. Plain was for people who couldn’t afford fancy or didn’t care.
Bushes. He’d plant some sort of ornamental bushes there. Something imported.
Sloan dismounted near the corner of the house and swatted Gypsy on the rump. She cantered off up the hill toward the stable. He stepped from bright sun into cool gloom and had to wait in the foyer a minute until his eyes adjusted. The house even smelled homier. The aroma was bread fresh from the oven, and the postman had beaten him to it.
He stuck his head in the kitchen door. “Bring me a pot of tea and a slab of that bread.”
“G’day, sir. Jam or marmalade?” She was whacking apart a large orangish fish at the kitchen table. The fish was dinner, probably. And probably in mornay sauce.
“Better bring ’em both; it’s too important a decision to make casually.”
She grinned, bright as the coral sea. Did she have a crush on him? She seemed to perk up when he was around, but then, he didn’t know how perky she was when he wasn’t around. And she kept up this facade, this mien of servanthood. Hard to tell, not that it made much difference to him. The girls he hired often did. Kathleen had been the boldest in letting him know.
Sloan’s harem.
Sam had left Sloan’s mail in a neat stack on his desk. It waited for him, simply smacking of efficiency and businesslike procedure. He had seen her dossier with her employment history, but he couldn’t remember that she had ever performed office and clerical duties. Too bad. She’d be a natural.
He popped the top straps on his boots, swung his feet up on the desk and scooped the orderly stack into a haphazard pile in his lap. The Brisbane bank. Now, what did they want? A note from Chestley, the Sydney buyer. Probably bunging on an act about how bad things were and why Cole shouldn’t expect him to pay full price for raw crystal this season.
His mind froze in mid-thought. A plain envelope, the same as that other one. Postmarked Townsville. Addressed to the son of Conal. He should throw this rubbish away without even thinking about it. But even as his mind resisted, his hands ripped the envelope open.
THUS SAITH THE LORD!
JEREMIAH 32:18!
THOU RECOMPENSEST THE INIQUITY OF THE FATHERS INTO THE
BOSOM OF THEIR CHILDREN AFTER THEM.
VENGEANCE IS MINE, SAITH THE LORD
“Sir? Be ye ill?” Sam hovered over him like an anxious hen counting chicks.
He looked at her eyes, glowing gray-green eyes like her sisters’. Gorgeous eyes. “Yeah, you might say so.” He flipped the note onto the desk in front of her. “Here’s why I don’t want your sister anywhere near that preacher in the chapel.”
She picked it up and studied it a moment. “I cannae believe the Rev. Vinson would send this.”
“Posted in Townsville two days ago.”
“Have ye any notion what it means? Your father?”
“I had some labor problems a couple years ago, and my
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