Daring Masquerade (4 page)

"Good morning," Ross growled.

"Good morning."

Deep lines of weariness etched his face, as if he had not slept well. Just like me. She slapped a plate down on the table.

"Looks appetizing," Jack announced with a grin. "Harry is the best cook we ever had."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you men can dawdle over breakfast. There's less than a fortnight left now to get those cattle to the rail head and the army buyer," Ross replied.

After breakfast, she faced a mountain of dirty dishes, but went to find Ross to ask whether he would let her go out with the men. He was about to mount his horse.

"I've employed you as a cook, not a stockman." He placed a foot in the stirrup. "We'll be back about six, make sure you put on a big spread, the men will be hungry. They'll be lucky to get a couple of hard biscuits and a mug of tea for lunch. There's plenty of wood needing to be chopped."

"What about Gil?"

"What about him?"

"He might need me."

Ross' eyes narrowed to slits. "My workers don't answer me back. If you don't like your duties, damn well leave."

"I worry if he isn’t with me."

"For God's sake," Ross snapped. "If he can't do a day's work, he's no good to me." He heeled his horse into motion and rode off.
  

"It's all right, son." Jack patted her shoulder. "I'll keep an eye on your brother."

* * *

Jack rode off. What the hell was wrong with Ross, snarling at the kid like that? The lad had done a mighty job for breakfast. So, he was scruffy and untidy, in large ill-fitting clothes. He had a strange, effeminate manner, but that was no reason to treat him so harshly.

Ross was his nephew, he had known him since babyhood, and he had never been vindictive or spiteful. War changed men, only natural after the horrors they endured, and Ross had lost a lot because of it. His brother had been killed, his fiancée deserted him when he returned with a disfigured face but the Martins suffered also.

"Hey, wait for me."

Ross reigned in his mount and waited for Jack to join him.

"Don't be too hard on young Harry."

"Why not? That bloody kid defies me at every turn. Feminine, pretty-boys like him turn my stomach."

"He is a strange one, but a good worker. The other boy will be all right too. Good rider, pity about his hand though, poor devil."

"His hand is probably the least of his worries. I'm prepared to give him a chance because I know what he's been through. It's hard to get decent men, but we can't carry him for too long, Jack."

* * *

"You sure you'll be all right, Gil?" Worry made her want to hug him instead of patting his horse's neck.

"Don't worry, Calvert's medicine worked wonders. I wish you'd stop clashing with him."

"What do you mean, clashing?"

"You're obviously rubbing each other up the wrong way."

"You don't think he suspects anything?" She scrunched her fingers through her short curls.

"No, otherwise he'd send us packing, but he keeps watching you all the time. You're puzzling him. Just keep out of his way and stop drawing attention to yourself."

After the men departed, she set to work cleaning the kitchen and eating area. She split the logs that someone had piled into a heap outside the kitchen. Perspiration ran down her face and dripped into the collar of her work shirt but she doggedly kept on. Finally, her arms ached so much she couldn't raise the axe above her head so she staggered into the kitchen and gulped down a mug of water. Slumped on the floor, she nibbled on a cold pancake.

Weariness overwhelmed her, but she didn't have the luxury of taking more than a few minutes break. She baked a couple of sultana cakes, prepared a slab of beef and a pile of roast vegetables, before wandering outside.

The sound of stock whips echoed over the mountains and the muffled shouts of men mingled with the bawling of cattle. The Australian bush at its very best—wild, lonely, untamed—and she loved it with a passion.

If I owned a station like this I would never leave it. She stared at the heavily timbered mountains, so high snow would surely cover them in winter. What a sight to behold that would be, but she probably wouldn't be around to see it.

Wattle scrub covered the steep escarpments, and in the distance, small flat ridges perched between steep valleys. Kurrajongs and mountain ash grew along the track she and Gil had taken to get up here, and stands of messmate and blue gums soared skywards. I'm on top of the world. Spreading her arms out wide, she laughed, queen of all she surveyed.

* * *

The men arrived back at dusk, hot, dirty and ravenous.

Gil looked tired, but thank goodness a grin creased his grubby face. Relief flowed through her albeit tinged with trepidation. He would recover here at Devil's Ridge, just so long as she could keep up her masquerade

Ross' shirt clung damply across his back, and the muscles rippled in his arms where he had rolled up the sleeves. A sheen of dust covered his moleskins and the black leggings he wore over scuffed boots. She almost winced when he gave her a hard, speculative stare, grunting a greeting through tight lips. He acted like he hated her. Why?

Chapter Three

Over the next few days, the men went out at daybreak, never returning until dusk. Harry provided as varied a menu as possible with the supplies available. Gil seemed much better. The men treated her in a friendly, offhand fashion. So why wasn't she happy? Why this edge of discontent nibbling at her nerves?

Ross ignored her, speaking only when absolutely necessary in harsh tones, barking out orders, bossing her around. Never satisfied, he always wanted more out of her. Talk about a slave driver. Several times when Jack jumped to her defense, it brought Ross' wrath down on his head. The man deliberately goaded her and one day he would push her too far and she would explode. She wasn't born with red hair for nothing.

"Mr. Calvert," she said when he came up to collect his breakfast one morning. "I'm running short of supplies for the kitchen."

"Oh?" He cocked one eyebrow.

"Nothing lasts forever," she snapped.

"Don't use such an insolent tone to me or I'll give you a backhander."

"The big boss man is so tough," she jeered, forgetting herself in the heat of the moment.

"I'm warning you."

"Harry!" Gil dashed up to them. "Shut up."

"Yes, for God's sake," Jack joined in. "You're like a pair of snarling dogs."

Ross turned on his heel and stalked off.

"Now, young Harry, you keep a civil tongue in your head if you want to keep working here. I know my nephew. Push him too far and he'll fire you."

"I only asked about supplies. We're getting low on some things."

"I'll speak to him, but curb that temper of yours, lad."

"You bloody idiot," Gil hissed as Jack left. "I'm beginning to like it here. I don't want to get fired."

"All right." She twisted and tortured one of her short curls between two fingers. "I'll apologize, but he's been riding me. He's pushing more and more work on me. Not one word of gratitude, and he wonders why I answer him back."

"Yeah, I can't understand it. Been very decent to me. Even let me have a spell in the shade a couple of times when I got tired."

"Did you have another turn?" She grabbed his arm. "You should have told me."

"It's nothing to worry about. I went dizzy for a couple of minutes. I get these noises in my head, go white and sweaty, but after a rest I'm all right."

Without a word, Ross stalked into the storeroom that was next to the kitchen, and she heard him opening and shutting the storage boxes and bins. He returned within a couple of minutes.

"Tidy yourself up," he instructed. "We'll go into town for supplies after breakfast. You might as well come along too, Gilbert."

"Thanks. Are you sure?"

"Yes." Ross turned his back on them. "I'll leave you in charge until I get back, Jack."

"Sure."

* * *

Harry didn't have much to wear. She changed into a clean pair of white moleskins and a gray work shirt about three sizes too big to hide her feminine shape. Over this she wore a loose waistcoat for further protection. If it hadn't been so hot she would have worn a coat. She dunked her head in a dish of cold water and plastered her curls flat to her scalp, hating the way it made her look. Like a youth, well, wasn't that what she wanted? She'd love to use a dab of lavender water behind her ears, but that would certainly give her away.

Gil only changed his shirt. She followed him outside to a waiting wagonette with a brown and white Clydesdale horse standing between the wooden shafts. Ross had already climbed into the driving seat.

"Hop up here with me, Gilbert. You can sit in the back, Harry."

She poked her tongue out at him, but he swung around and caught her in the act. He glared but said nothing, just slapped the reins against the horse's rump to get him started.

"I'll put in a big order while I'm at it," he said to Gil. "I've got a storeroom at the homestead. Carson at the co-op delivers. We'll just take the essential supplies up to the outstation today."

After about fifteen minutes they pulled up at a large stable complex. Several hundred yards away stood a white weatherboard homestead with casement windows. She looked it over with interest. It had a corrugated iron roof and ivy covered, bull-nose verandah with a central gabled porch.

A massive oak tree dominated the front yard. Roses and camellias grew in neatly tended garden beds along the sides of the verandah. An old Chinaman wearing a coolie hat, and with a pigtail hanging down his back, wielded a shovel with an energy that belied his age.

"Mr. Wu, the gardener," Ross informed them. "Most of the vegetables come from him, we're pretty self-sufficient. We'll change wagons here. I use this one only for getting supplies to the outstation. The track is too narrow for a team." He patted the Clydesdale's neck. "A single horse isn't strong enough, except for you, my beauty."

His gentle tone escalated her heart beat, and a million butterflies fluttered inside her stomach.

A short bow-legged man trotted out to greet them.

"Hughie, meet Gilbert and Harry Martin. This is Hughie. Was the best horse breaker in the North East, weren't you, mate?"

"Yeah, boss," he drawled in a surprisingly deep voice for such a small man.

"Hello, Hughie," they both chorused.

Gil helped Hughie hitch up two horses to a small dray with a seat running across it on which the three of them could sit without being crushed. While she waited, Harry surveyed a plantation of towering pines at the back of the homestead. The front yard was neatly encircled with a white post and rail fence.

They drove along the steep, winding road at a steady pace and within an hour passed down the main street of town. Under the shade of huge oaks and elms, numerous people moved around.

"Market day. I forgot." Ross grimaced. "Should have left it until tomorrow."

They entered the general store. Harry stared enviously at the young women in their pretty pastel dresses. What would Ross think if he saw her in a dress? Would he think her pretty? She ruthlessly squashed these dangerous thoughts. A couple of women openly gaped at him before edging away.

Tenseness stiffened his body as he strode up to the counter, briefly acknowledging the greetings of a few people who obviously knew him.

"Lots of new people in town," he muttered to Harry and Gil. "Once we've ordered our supplies here, I'll leave you to your own devices, I have business to attend to. Harry, exactly what do you need?"

"Flour, sugar of course. There's plenty of tea and salt. Condensed milk would be handy. Treacle would be good. More raisins and currants."

She watched him order everything she had mentioned plus other things she hadn't thought of. The enormous quantities surprised her.

"I only come to town every couple of months. Even that's too often." His lips took on a bitter, cynical twist. "Well that's about it, Carson. You pair want anything?"

"No thanks." We haven't got any money, she nearly said, but gulped the words back. Pride stopped her from letting him know they were practically paupers.

"I can give you an advance on your wages." Ross lowered his voice as he spoke to Gil. "If you want to buy anything."

"No, I don't want anything. What about you, Harry?"

"No." She tore her attention away from the pretty pale blue dress that hung in soft folds from the store dummy. Even if she wasn't pretending to be a boy, she would never be able to own such an exquisite thing. Ross followed her gaze.

"Look at that hat, Gil, with all those flowers on it," she gabbled. "What some women will wear just to be in fashion."

"Yeah, bloody mad," Gil said.

Ross' eyes narrowed, but he made no comment except to say. "I'll meet you at the pub. I'll buy you a counter lunch."

"You don't have to do that, we'd have to go to the ladies lounge," Gil said, and Harry's heart nearly catapulted out of her chest.

"I'm too young for the public bar," she piped up trying to keep the panic out of her voice. If he ever found out her true identify retribution would be swift and deadly.

"Meet you there in half an hour." Ross loped away.

"Oh, Gil." She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "We nearly put our foot in it."

"It's hard remembering all the time. Did you see how much he ordered and what it cost?" Gil whistled through his teeth. "He's wealthy."

"I thought all along he was," she said. "An officer in the army, so Jack tells me. A huge cattle station that's been in the family for a couple of generations. Owns property in the city too, apparently. Probably went to Melbourne Grammar or somewhere posh. His younger brother was killed at Gallipoli, unmarried, so he inherits everything."

"Yeah, bet he'd give up a good chunk of it to get rid of that ugly scar."

Harry stared into the shop windows as they sauntered along the street. Poor Gil had pushed his stump into his pocket so no one could see his missing hand. Her heart bled for him. She went to slip her arm through his. Remembering at the last moment that she was supposed to be a boy, she hastily drew back.