Daring Masquerade (6 page)

"All right, I'll try and bag us a few parrots tomorrow. The fishing is pretty good around here; you can catch a few trout and fry them. Something quiet and peaceful like fishing might cool down that nasty temper of yours."

She bit back on an angry retort. Once again his taunts had goaded her into losing her temper.

When the men left, she put the stores away. The stove still smoldered from the morning, so she raked it and stoked it up. Fish, eggs and vegetables, followed by custard and stewed fruit. Not a bad menu. Ross had bought bread from the bakery in town so they could use that also.

Grabbing a fishing rod she wandered the couple of hundred yards to the river. Sitting on the sandy bank with her back pressed against a huge red gum, she cast her line into the clear water and closed her eyes. Peace and serenity reigned here except for the muted chatter of birds darting through the treetops and the gentle murmur of water lapping against the sandy banks.

Within minutes she got a bite, and as she reeled her catch in she laughed out loud. As fast as she baited her hook and cast in the line she caught another fish, too easy really. She much preferred a challenge.

The Australian Alps, almost purple in the distance, slumbered peacefully in the sun. In the winter, covered with snow, she imagined they would be dazzling white. The breeze laden with the scent of mountain wild flowers, the lazy droning of wild bees soothed her troubled mind, as she stretched out on the soft warm sand.

"Harry, Harry," Ross yelled. "Where the hell are you?"

She jack-knifed into a sitting position. "Over here. Catching tea like you instructed."

He limped towards her and his ashen face shocked her. Not a vestige of color remained in it. He cradled his right hand, wrapped in a bloodied rag, against his chest. Blood oozed through another rag tied around his thigh.

"What happened?"

"I've been stringing barbed wire and a strand snapped back on me, ripped into my hand and leg."

"You ought to see a doctor."

"Rubbish, I came back here so you can clean and dress it for me. There's a first aid kit in the kitchen."

She glanced around for someone else.

"I didn't need a nurse maid to escort me if that's what you're looking for."

She picked up the bucket with the fish in it, and he hobbled beside her as they headed for the kitchen.

He sat in a chair while she bathed his hand in warm, salty water. The long jagged cut ran deep. He winced as she put some iodine on it before applying a bandage.

Being so close up she was able to scrutinize his face without being obvious. Faint lines fanned out from the sides of his eyes. His thick lashes curled up at the ends. His hair, damp with perspiration, flopped into loose ringlets across his forehead.

"You have gentle hands," he said as she tied off the bandage.

She shrugged. "I'll get some clean water and see to your leg."

His blood had turned the water in the basin red, so she emptied it outside and refilled it before hurrying back. He had already kicked off his boots and now stood, fumbling with his trousers as he tried to use his left hand.

"You'll have to help me get my pants off."

"What!"

"My pants, help me take them off."

"I can't."

"Can't? Are you mad? You can't clean the wound through the cloth. Afraid of seeing a real man?" he jeered. "Pretty little boys like you make me sick."

Boy. Of course. Her mouth suddenly went dry. Unless she admitted to being a female, he expected her to help him undress. Oh, God, what could she do?

As she squatted down on the floor, sweat broke out on her skin and trickled between her breasts. You can do it, she urged herself. You have to do it for Gil. She grabbed the ends of his pants and yanked them down.

His curse of pain covered her shocked intake of breath and moan of distress. He wore nothing under his trousers. Her hands shook. She bit her lip and steeled herself not to stare at his perfect male body. His skin was white where it had not seen the sun, his body hair brown and curling. Thank God he still wore his shirt. At least the length of it covered his vital male parts.

"Hurry up, damn you. A man could bleed to death, you're so bloody slow."

She focused her eyes on the jagged wound oozing blood on his thigh.

"Anyone would think you've never seen a man with his trousers down before."

"Oh, I've seen plenty," she lied. "I'm just shocked at the size of the wound."

Making sure her hands didn't brush against any part of him except his leg, she gritted her teeth and bathed the blood away. "They're not as deep as those on your hand."

"Hurry up," he snarled, despising himself for the tumultuous feeling the gentle, soft hands had on him. Harry has the touch of a woman, and if the boy didn't hurry up, his turmoil would be obvious to anyone who wasn't blind. He swore softly.

"Sorry if I hurt you."

"Just bandage me up will you." He raked the fingers of his left hand through his hair. What the hell was happening to him?

"All done."

The top of Harry's bright head almost touched his groin. He gritted his teeth and turned his thoughts to the French who were taking such terrible casualties in Verdun. He was stronger now, his nerves much better, too, except near this scruffy little urchin.

He didn't want to let the Martins go. Gilbert proved himself an expert rider, Harry a good worker, also. He purposely treated the boy harshly, but could not stop himself. The kid rubbed him up the wrong way, had from the first time they met.

"All finished, I'll help you get back into your pants."

"Thanks."

Harry held his pants out so he could slip his legs into them, and as he fumbled to do them up, she shifted his hand away.

"I'll do it."

He glanced down and saw Harry's face turn red. Surely he couldn't be embarrassed? What a strange young fellow.

"Think I'll go to my hut and have a whisky. My hand is hurting like hell."

"Have a lie down," she said softly. "They're nasty wounds."

Their gazes locked, and he watched in surprise as concern darkened Harry's hazel eyes to a deep sea green.

"Don't worry about me, boy, I'm tough as old boot leather. I'll be down about six when the men arrive back." He patted her head.

After he limped off, she covered her face with her hands and wept at the futility of feeling too much for Ross Calvert who thought of her as a scruffy, cheeky boy. For Gil's sake she could never tell him otherwise.

The men drifted in at six o'clock, but Ross did not put in an appearance.

"Do you think I should check on the boss?" she asked Jack.

"No, I dropped in on him before, dead to the world. Found half a bottle of whisky on the floor near his bed. Nice looking trout. Did you catch it?"

"Yes, but they just about jumped out and grabbed my line."

Jack laughed. "I know, doesn't seem very sporting, eh, boy."

"No, it doesn't."

His expression sobered. "Keep an eye on your brother."

"Why?"

"I didn't tell Ross, but he took another bad turn."

She glanced frantically at Gil. Pale and trembling, he toyed with his meal in silence. Jack's hand on her shoulder restrained her from dashing over to him.

"Completely went to pieces when he saw the blood. He needs help. You should take him back to the hospital."

"They'll put him in the insane asylum." Her eyes filled with tears. "He'll get better up here, I know he will. He just needs more time." She couldn't hide the despair in her voice or still her quivering lips. "Don't tell Ross, he'll send him away. Please, Jack, a little while longer then I'll take him to the doctor if he doesn't get better."

"Watch him, boy, all right?"

How can I tell the poor little bugger Gilbert's suicidal? Jack watched as Harry, with his shoulders slumped and lips trembling, moved towards his brother. The army brings these boys home wounded in body and mind and dumps them on their families, while calling for more fit young men to sacrifice themselves.

Only a matter of time before Ross went off again. He had more than done his share, had lost his brother, yet still the Empire wanted more from him. A decent man like him would not stand back and let another man do his fighting for him. There was the tragedy. Honorable men became sacrificial lambs.

Why doesn't the army take the old useless men like me? Not young men in their prime.

Eric and Ross were the sons he never had. He loved them as if they were his own. What would become of Devil's Ridge if Ross died without producing an heir?

Chapter Four

Ross came to breakfast next morning knowing he looked pale and haggard. After the whiskey had lost its numbing power, his throbbing wounds kept him awake half the night.

"Good morning." He took a plate of bacon and eggs from Harry.

"How are your hand and leg?" The boy blushed to the roots of his hair before turning his face to one side.

"I'll get you to change the bandages for me tonight."

"Couldn't Jack do it?"

"No, I want you to do it. You have such a gentle touch." Ross grinned. I'll give you something to think about. I'll scare the bloody wits out of you tonight.

"How's your brother?"

"What!" She stared accusingly at Jack who shook his head.

"He's all right, just had a bad night, one of his nightmares. Oh, Gil, there you are?" She smiled at him as he joined them. "Hungry?"

"I am thanks. Sorry about last night."

"It's all right." Harry heaped his plate with bacon, eggs and toast.

"Thanks for yesterday, Jack. Enough, Harry, I'll get fat." He pulled his plate away.

"What happened yesterday?" Ross asked Jack as they took their seats at the table.

"Nothing much."

"I took another turn," Gilbert confessed. "All that blood. I saw so much of it at Gallipoli. They reckon the Aegean Sea turned red with our blood at the landing."

"Don't remind me." Ross shuddered. "I was there. It was a real turkey shoot. Some of the poor devils never even made it out of the landing crafts. The Turks cut us to pieces."

"I've been thinking, Ross, we better get young Harry to ride with us today. You won't be up to much."

"Harry's an excellent rider," Gilbert chipped in. "Better than me, even when I had two hands."

"He's needed here in the kitchen."

"He's bloody well needed for the mustering too," Jack burst out. "For God's sake, we're too many men short as it is. It's bloody dangerous."

"All right." Ross thumped his good hand on the table. "You take responsibility for the cheeky little bugger. I wash my hands of him."

Ross ate his food with quick jerky movements, wondering why it bothered him so much having Harry on the muster. He will annoy the hell out of me. Harry always got him so fired up. Bloody kid was a menace.

After he finished eating, he stalked to the kitchen. "Can you prepare something quick for tea tonight?"

"Why?"

"Because Jack wants you on the muster."

"Really? I can go?" Harry nearly floored him with a lovely smile. "Thank you, you won't be sorry."

"I'd better not be. Gilbert can saddle your horse while you clean up." He swung away and limped off. A damaged leg and this damn kid coming along with them. The round-up was fast becoming a nightmare.

* * *

As always, Harry wore the baggy waistcoat over a loose fitting shirt, but as a precaution against it becoming cooler once they reached the high country, she stashed her jacket into her saddlebag before mounting her horse. She rode with Gil, Ross and Jack. The stockmen led, leaving them to take up the rear.

As the altitude increased, the temperature fell, the cool air brushing her face. Tall mountain ash and snow gums soared majestically upwards, the rugged peaks of Devil's Ridge etched like scarred battlements against the skyline.

"Look at those canyons and gulches," she said to Gil.

"Awesome, sight isn't it? The country's real rough, watch yourself, Harry. There's a valley up here, it's partly sealed off by the mountain, that's what we're using as our holding yard. We scout around, find any stray cattle and drive them in. When Ross gets a few hundred head, we'll drive them to the rail yards to the army buyer. He'll get plenty for them, too."

As they scattered, Harry's heartbeats escalated, exhilaration surged through her. This was the life.

She didn't see Ross or Jack. Tree ferns brushed against her legs and the perfume of the gum trees wafted on the air. Gil rode straight into the bush with her, their job being to round up any cattle that escaped on their way to the holding yard.

Mid morning, the snap of stock whips shattered the stillness.

"They've got some," Gil said as they broke into a clearing.

"Look, Gil. Over there in that little gully by those wattle trees, there's half a dozen steers. We could get them ourselves."

"Our orders are to wait."

"Why should we? I'm sick of hanging around here. Ross did it on purpose, didn't want me to come."

"I don't mind, easy way to earn our wages."

"Not for me." She wheeled her mount and galloped off just as Ross and Jack broke into the clearing driving twenty or so head of cattle before them.

Harry galloped her horse down the hillside, sending the loose stones flying. This was the life. She rode fearlessly, zigzagging between the trees, jumping over fallen logs until she reached the wooded basin.

The cattle grazed peacefully; four heifers and three steers, plump and in prime condition. She plied the stock whip energetically. The mountains rang as she bunched the cattle up and started driving them up the hillside. Gil rode at a more sedate pace to join her and between the two of them they drove the cattle up into the clearing where Ross waited with Jack.

"Fine riding, Harry," the old man said.

Ross sat motionless, his features set like stone. "You bloody little fool. I gave strict instructions."

"Gil gave me your instructions."

"Why didn't you follow them?"

"Because they're stupid."

"Why, you insolent little sod." Ross kneed his mount closer to hers. "I ought to break your bloody neck." He reached over and grabbed her by the jacket. "I've got a good mind to drag you off your horse." He shook her savagely. "And give you a thrashing."