Driftwood (9 page)

‘Well, thank Christ for that. I thought maybe you'd lost your marbles!'

Taylor glanced around warily, her humour having packed up and left. ‘Okay, um, plan of action. You stay looking straight ahead and I'll quickly make my way back to my clothes, get dressed, and then I'll give you a holler when you can turn around.'

Jay gave a brisk wave, still looking out to where the water seemed to drop off the edge of the earth. ‘Okay, but hurry up, hey! I might look tough but I'm not too keen on being in here myself.'

‘Oh crap. How selfish of me! I can't leave you in here.' Taylor reached out. ‘Here take my hand, but keep your eyes closed. I'll lead you up onto the beach, and then I'll get dressed. No peeking!'

‘You have my word.'

Jay took hold of her hand and a jolt of something travelling up her arm made her struggle for breath. She shook the feeling off, blaming the excitement of the last ten minutes for it.

Finally decent, and sitting beside Jay on the sand, Taylor gave his back a couple of friendly pats. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue, once again, even though there was no imminent threat of a croc attack.' She smiled at him cheekily, revelling in the way his eyes twinkled mischievously and his firm lips curled into a smirk. She guessed what he was probably thinking of — her, minus her bikini — but how could she blame him, her breasts were basically staring him straight in the face only minutes ago. ‘Trust me. I won't be going swimming in the ocean any more. I'll stick to fresh water. The thought of being eaten alive by a croc is terrifying.'

Jay shrugged. ‘You're welcome. It's no biggy, and yep, good idea to stay out of the waters here in Coral Bay. But you can swim in the nets further up the beach and there are plenty of freshwater creeks and dams around to cool off in. Got a ripper of a spot back at home, where Stoney Creek runs through the station, with a little waterfall and all. You can come check it out one of these days, if you like?'

Taylor's belly flip-flopped with the casual invitation. ‘Really? I'd love that! I think I'll take you up on that offer.'

Pushing her toes into the sand, she watched as the golden orb of the sun began to sink beyond the skyline. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed nature at its best. Taylor exhaled slowly, the sunset a beautiful distraction from the hunk of a man sitting so close to her, his arm grazing hers as he tipped sand from one hand to the other. Jay Donnellson might be a closed book, as everyone kept telling her, but it was a story she was becoming more desperate to read. She thought back to when they emerged from the sea. Jay had stood shirtless, his eyes still clamped tightly shut, while she got dressed and she had wickedly taken a few more moments than necessary, allowing time to take all of him in: the curves of his abs, the way his sparse dark chest hair seemed to vanish seductively below his board shorts, the manliness of his hardworking hands, the strength of his shoulders, his burly arms, the tattoos on his back, chest and forearm; Jay Donnellson was damn fine. Her primal instincts had made her want to run her hands all over him. That was when she had breathlessly told him to open his eyes, before she did anything she may regret later.

Taylor pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘You come here much?'

‘As often as possible — which isn't often enough for my liking — to chuck in a line. It's my special spot where I can get away from the station, have some thinking time.' He pointed off to the right. ‘I usually fish off the rocks over there, up high where the crocs can't sneak up on me. It's a great place to catch some mackerel.'

Taylor looked to where Jay pointed, about twenty metres away, where waves crashed against jagged rocks. ‘Nice. I like to come here to think, too. I reckon the sea air clears the mind and helps you to forget your problems for a little while.'

Jay nodded, his face suddenly solemn. Taylor wondered what painful memory haunted him, his vigour instantly draining from him as his shoulders slumped and he breathed deeply. ‘Yep, it sure does, keeps me sane, coming here.'

Having completely lost track of time, Taylor checked her watch. ‘Shit! I've got to be at work in fifteen minutes. Better run.' She jumped up and gathered her towel. Jay's eyes were filled with so much buried sadness she wished she could stay here with him, wished there was some way she could ease the burdens he carried, the ones almost everyone — except Jay himself — had told her about. With her heart hurting for him, she put on the biggest smile she could muster. ‘Was great seeing you again, Jay. I'll pop out sometime and check out that swimming spot of yours. Not that I know where to go, but I'm sure I can find my way.'

Jay stood, gathering his fishing gear. ‘It's easy to get to Waratah Station. Just head out of town and when you get to the crossroads take a right and follow it all the way to the end. I'm a little over forty-five minutes from here. But make sure you give me a call before you pop out, you know, to make sure I'm about. I'll give you my mobile number later on, when I call in for the party at the hotel.'

‘Oh, you're coming in tonight?' Taylor asked, and then slapped herself on the forehead. ‘Duh, I keep forgetting everyone knows everyone here and I s'pose 'cause it's a twenty-first most of the town will be joining in the celebrations. I'll be bloody run off my feet behind the bar, that's for sure.'

Jay nodded. ‘Yep, I'll be there a bit later on. Not my type of scene any more, past all that getting drunk and acting like an idiot caper, but I better show my face, seeing it's my neighbour's daughter.'

Taylor called Floyd to her side with a whistle. ‘Great then, see you there, Jay. Oh, and, can we keep my, ahem, lack of attire to ourselves? I don't want the town getting the wrong impression of me.'

‘Yep, it's our little secret.' Jay turned to her and their eyes locked ever so briefly, something intense passing between them before Taylor turned and jogged away.

Jay watched as she disappeared over the ridge, taken aback with his sudden impulse to invite her to the station. He hoped she hadn't taken it the wrong way, like it was a date. He felt sorry for her, not having any family or close mates in Driftwood, and it was just his way of being friendly. Or was it? He had no idea what was happening or how he was feeling. All he
was
certain of was that he had to keep his distance from Taylor, and keep their relationship purely platonic, which was why he had been avoiding the hotel for the last three weeks. From the small amount of time he had spent with Taylor, Jay already knew she was beautiful, inside and out, and she deserved much better than him with all his problems. He would be a fool to believe he had anything she needed. He huffed, kicking the sand at his feet. If only he had met Taylor Whitworth a few years ago, things could have been so different.

1861 — Goldbury, New South Wales

The smoke from the crackling campfire spiralled skywards, the glowing embers emitting sparks as Joey stoked the logs he'd just placed there with the end of a gum branch. The old billy can dangled over the fire from a twig balanced between two sticks pushed into the ground. Beside the camp, the meandering Eureka River glistened in the early morning sunshine, mist hovering a few centimetres above the gently flowing water. Beside the river the men's horses became restless, ears twitching as they listened to the heavy thump thump of a kangaroo as it bounded through the scrub. Above the camp, the leaves of the ironbark trees rustled in the soft whisper of a breeze as the countless birds in the branches stirred William from his sleep with their chirping.

‘Mornin', Joey,' he said as he sat upright in his swag, rubbing his eyes awake.

Joey tipped his hat. ‘Mornin'. Did you hear those bloody pigs last night? The bastards kept me awake half the night with all their snorting and grunting. If it wasn't so goddamn cold I would have gotten up and shot the buggers.'

‘I thought that all that snorting and grunting was you.' William chortled as he poked a finger through a hole in one of his boots before tugging it over his equally holey socks. He smiled to himself as he pondered the notion of being able to purchase a brand new pair of boots thanks to the fortunes they'd found in Barrington's strongbox.

Joey chuckled. ‘You're a larrikin, Will! What am I going to do without you around to banter with?'

‘You can always come up north with me,' whispered William as he motioned towards where Abby was still asleep in Joey's swag. ‘Bring your lady friend along, too, she'll be nice company for Anne.'

Joey removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, a smile ridding him of his usual don't-mess-with-me look. ‘You know what, Will? I believe that's the best idea I've heard in years. We could try and buy properties side by side, you know, and be neighbours.' He cocked his head, stroking his beard in thought. ‘How are we all going to get up north, though? The women can't be expected to go on horseback the entire way. This rough countryside is not a place for women to be travelling through.'

William smirked smugly. ‘Ahh, I got it all sorted. Remember Jimmy Grant, from school?'

Joey nodded.

‘Well, he runs the paddle steamer from here all the way up the coast, with supplies to drop off along the way. And I'm guessing, for a generous donation, he'd be more than happy to take a few passengers.'

Joey grinned, his eyes wide. ‘Now that, my friend, is a fine plan indeed.'

‘I'm a man of many great plans, Joey. So stick with me and we'll go a long way in this lifetime.' William lay back again, his hands cupped behind his head, allowing a few moments to fantasise about what his and Anne's life was going to be like now they had enough money to escape from Goldbury. It was certainly going to be tough, having to start a cattle station from scratch, but worth every effort, he was sure. He couldn't wait to see Anne's face later tonight, when he rode into town for the very last time to whisk her away. He longed to see her right now, but riding into Goldbury in broad daylight was a definite death sentence. He knew he had to bide his time and not act in haste.

Watching the sun as it rose, he thought of Harold and prayed he'd made it to safe ground, the boy unaccustomed to the ways of a wanted man. Ben and David had decided to head south, to Victoria, lured by the promise of endless fortunes to be made there by bushrangers. William was going to miss them, but if he wanted to start a new life with Anne, his bushranging days were over. Joey was a different kettle of fish, more like kin, a brother, and one William didn't have the strength to say goodbye to. He was happy as Larry that Joey and Abby were going to be accompanying him and Anne on their new adventure. Finally, life was looking up, for all of them.

Stepping wearily from the warmth of the claw-foot tub, Anne pulled her towel around her, wishing she could leave the filthiness she felt on the inside in the bathwater. Even though she had scrubbed herself red raw and perfumed her skin with lavender, she still felt tainted.

After drying off, she stood in front of her bedroom mirror and dropped the towel to the floor, wracking sobs taking over her once again as she looked at her reflection. Slowly she opened a can of lanolin and tenderly applied it to her raw skin, praying the healing properties of the ointment worked. She cupped her hands over her mouth, partly in shock and partly because she didn't want anyone to hear her crying, the humiliation of what had happened to her too much for her to bear. Purple bruises had surfaced on her breasts, ribs and thighs, and red welts travelled from her neck down to her navel from where Hocking had taunted her with the tip of his knife for what felt like hours. Once again she traced her fingers over her skin, the memory of Hocking's sniggers as he'd assaulted her sending her buckling over, the water she'd drunk now a murky puddle on the floor. She straightened, wiping the bile from her lips, determined to look herself in the eyes so she could tell herself she would get through this. She had to, or it would ruin her. She chanted, ‘You are strong, you are not a weakling,' over and over until she found a small sliver of strength to grab hold of, enough to at least allow her to blink away her tears and begin to get dressed.

Making sure her collar was high around her neck, concealing the bruising, Anne straightened her skirt then picked her brush up from her dressing table. She sat, taking time to brush her long shock of red hair one hundred times, counting each stroke. It was the only way she could think to calm herself enough to walk out of her boudoir, through her hotel, and onto the street. She pulled her hair up into a bun, high on her head, and then pinched her cheeks for colour, a fake smile curling her quivering lips as she practised acting her usual cheery self.

Pulling a piece of cloth from her top drawer, she blew her nose and decided it was time to get on with her day — there'd be time to deal with the shame, anger and anguish she was feeling later. She had to get to the doctor this morning, for he was leaving town this afternoon and wouldn't be back for a week. She couldn't wait that long to find out what was wrong with her. She had to get back on her feet, stand strong, hold her head high and run her businesses. She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes and then said a silent prayer. Standing, she placed her trembling hands on the door handle, willing herself to have the courage to step through it. Moments later her heels were clunking down the steps and she was heading out the front door of her hotel. She lifted her chin, straightened her back and then stepped out onto the dusty sidewalk.

Across the road, Hocking exploded from the police station and onto the veranda, a young prisoner walking in front of him, unsteady on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back by iron shackles. Anne watched on warily from behind a wagon filled with sacks of flour and sugar, as Hocking forcefully kicked the prisoner in the back. The young boy stumbled forwards and tumbled down the steps, his face hitting the dirt hard. Anne shook her head; the young lad must have been no older than sixteen. What had he done to deserve this treatment? She watched anxiously as Hocking and his fellow police officers closed in around the boy, pistols raised and fingers at the ready on the triggers.