Read Online The Convict and the Cattleman by Allison Merritt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allison Merritt
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rough bushmen to paw at.”
Phil didn’t blink at the tone. “You puttin’ some kind of claim on her, mate?”
“No, but I’m sending her back straightaway. What’s the sense of getting involved with her?”
It was true enough. Let Phil challenge it. Friend or not, Jonah wasn’t afraid to fire him. The nerve of the man, asking a question like that. Everyone was presumptuous when it came to bringing a new woman to Laurie Lark. Exactly the reason he’d wanted an older female.
“Oh. Well, I reckoned she could do with a friend while she’s here. Must be hard comin’ to a place like this all by your lonesome.”
“She doesn’t need friends. She’s a prisoner, she’s not here for a tea party.” He jerked the girth tight, causing the gelding to shift uneasily.
“That’s cold, Jonah. Everybody needs someone to talk to. I can’t see her wantin’ to be mates with Martha, either. That old bird is meaner than a mob of brumbies.”
“It’s none of your affair, Phil.” He glared at the jackaroo. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Phil’s brows shot up. He turned to leave, muttering, “Touchy, ain’t we?” and sauntered off without another word.
Jonah stared after him. Let any one of the men ride to the Factory, or any gaol for that matter, and get a bride if they were so fired up about having a woman. Bridgit was his. Help. She was his help. He shook his head.
His sister should’ve been there, taking care of her own daughter. If Jonah ever got his hands on Langnecker, he’d have hell to pay for ruining Charlotte.
He took the gelding’s reins. There were chores to see about. Work that would help him bury these feelings. He’d already spent too much time on them. Staying around the house would make things worse.
* * * *
Embarrassed didn’t begin to describe how Bridgit felt. Shame kept her awake most of the night and didn’t let go during the day. Faced with the choice, she’d let Mr. Andrus kiss and touch her again.
Relief surged through her when she discovered he’d gone out early. She had a hard time meeting Martha’s eyes over breakfast. If they looked at each other too long, would Martha suspect what happened?
At least the housecleaning was going well. A warm, waxy scent filled the parlor. She’d spent the entire morning wiping down shelves, bookcases and furniture. There was something satisfying about removing the gray dust and revealing the true colors of the objects beneath. Such pretty things, and the house was beginning to look lived in again.
Over the hearth, a large oil portrait of a couple dominated the wall. Mr. Andrus bore a striking resemblance to the man, clearly a likeness of his parents. They looked proud, and a little haughty. The painter had captured the woman’s smiling eyes. Bridgit recognized the same warmth in Mr. Andrus’s gaze when he smiled. She’d like to meet them, but he’d never said whether they were alive or not, just that the station was named for his mother.
A heavy marble bust of an ugly man with a hawkish nose and a wreath of laurels on his head commanded her attention. He looked ghostly under the dust. She wiped the top of his curly head, the leaves and the oversized nose. Next to the statue, a set of medals was displayed in a dark frame. War medals for valor and bravery. The dates indicated they were Mr. Andrus’s grandfather’s. Something to be proud of, something that made the Andrus family different from most people.
Rapid pounding at the front door startled her. Grabbing the mantelpiece, she steadied herself.
A visitor?
Bridgit hastened off the chair as the knock came again. Martha appeared in the doorway.
“Should I get that?” Bridgit asked.
A scowl adorned Martha’s lined face. “It’s part of your job. I’m the cook. I don’t answer doors.” She whirled and returned to the kitchen.
Bridgit brushed her hands off and left the room. The knock sounded again, so fast it seemed urgent. Smiling timidly, she opened the
Phil didn’t blink at the tone. “You puttin’ some kind of claim on her, mate?”
“No, but I’m sending her back straightaway. What’s the sense of getting involved with her?”
It was true enough. Let Phil challenge it. Friend or not, Jonah wasn’t afraid to fire him. The nerve of the man, asking a question like that. Everyone was presumptuous when it came to bringing a new woman to Laurie Lark. Exactly the reason he’d wanted an older female.
“Oh. Well, I reckoned she could do with a friend while she’s here. Must be hard comin’ to a place like this all by your lonesome.”
“She doesn’t need friends. She’s a prisoner, she’s not here for a tea party.” He jerked the girth tight, causing the gelding to shift uneasily.
“That’s cold, Jonah. Everybody needs someone to talk to. I can’t see her wantin’ to be mates with Martha, either. That old bird is meaner than a mob of brumbies.”
“It’s none of your affair, Phil.” He glared at the jackaroo. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Phil’s brows shot up. He turned to leave, muttering, “Touchy, ain’t we?” and sauntered off without another word.
Jonah stared after him. Let any one of the men ride to the Factory, or any gaol for that matter, and get a bride if they were so fired up about having a woman. Bridgit was his. Help. She was his help. He shook his head.
His sister should’ve been there, taking care of her own daughter. If Jonah ever got his hands on Langnecker, he’d have hell to pay for ruining Charlotte.
He took the gelding’s reins. There were chores to see about. Work that would help him bury these feelings. He’d already spent too much time on them. Staying around the house would make things worse.
* * * *
Embarrassed didn’t begin to describe how Bridgit felt. Shame kept her awake most of the night and didn’t let go during the day. Faced with the choice, she’d let Mr. Andrus kiss and touch her again.
Relief surged through her when she discovered he’d gone out early. She had a hard time meeting Martha’s eyes over breakfast. If they looked at each other too long, would Martha suspect what happened?
At least the housecleaning was going well. A warm, waxy scent filled the parlor. She’d spent the entire morning wiping down shelves, bookcases and furniture. There was something satisfying about removing the gray dust and revealing the true colors of the objects beneath. Such pretty things, and the house was beginning to look lived in again.
Over the hearth, a large oil portrait of a couple dominated the wall. Mr. Andrus bore a striking resemblance to the man, clearly a likeness of his parents. They looked proud, and a little haughty. The painter had captured the woman’s smiling eyes. Bridgit recognized the same warmth in Mr. Andrus’s gaze when he smiled. She’d like to meet them, but he’d never said whether they were alive or not, just that the station was named for his mother.
A heavy marble bust of an ugly man with a hawkish nose and a wreath of laurels on his head commanded her attention. He looked ghostly under the dust. She wiped the top of his curly head, the leaves and the oversized nose. Next to the statue, a set of medals was displayed in a dark frame. War medals for valor and bravery. The dates indicated they were Mr. Andrus’s grandfather’s. Something to be proud of, something that made the Andrus family different from most people.
Rapid pounding at the front door startled her. Grabbing the mantelpiece, she steadied herself.
A visitor?
Bridgit hastened off the chair as the knock came again. Martha appeared in the doorway.
“Should I get that?” Bridgit asked.
A scowl adorned Martha’s lined face. “It’s part of your job. I’m the cook. I don’t answer doors.” She whirled and returned to the kitchen.
Bridgit brushed her hands off and left the room. The knock sounded again, so fast it seemed urgent. Smiling timidly, she opened the
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