Driftwood (7 page)

‘Uh huh. Sure is. They get the fire going and the loins tingling. But because of my preference for the bad ones, any guy that even looks at me suggestively is basically chased away by my dad with the shotgun,' said Zoe, smiling.

Taylor laughed. ‘That'd certainly be a deterrent.'

Zoe straightened her sunglasses as she glanced around the surroundings. ‘Shit me, Taylor, you'd have had a long walk ahead of you if Jay hadn't come along. I didn't realise how far out of Driftwood you ran out of fuel.' Zoe raised her eyes briefly towards the azure sky. ‘Someone's looking after you up there, I reckon.'

‘You betcha there is. I was terrified wandering around in the dark and so bloody relieved when Jay turned up, once I figured out he wasn't a serial killer of course,' Taylor added with a chuckle.

Zoe nodded. ‘Yeah, you gotta be careful who you accept lifts from these days. There's a lot of weirdos out there. Jay's an all right bloke, though, when he wants to be. He's just messed up and sometimes a little . . . let's just say, volatile. Poor bloke. He's had a tough run the past couple of years so you can't really blame him for going off the rails the way he has. Although he needs to think about how he treats people sometimes. Me included.'

So there was an
equal
animosity between Zoe and Jay. With her curiosity piqued, Taylor pulled her eyes from the stunning scenery. She tried to act casual, not wanting her immense interest in Jay to be apparent. Guessing most girls went gaga around him, she didn't want to be labelled as one of them by Zoe. ‘What's happened to him?'

Zoe took her hand from the gearstick and waved it in the air as if swatting at flies. ‘Oh, shitloads: his dad died last year; the love of his life took off with another man; talk is he's nearly lost the station to the bank recently; and he's also dealing with a mother that enjoys a little too much of the strong stuff. It's fucked him up, big time.' Zoe shook her head, biting her bottom lip. ‘Oh, don't get me wrong. As a mate, he's okay, but as a boyfriend? No frigging way, José. He hit on me a few months back, wasn't impressed when I told him no. I mean, I like bad boys, but not ones that are as messed up as he is. Too much bloody baggage. Ever since then he's been a little distant with me. His pride's most probably hurt, I'm gathering. I just wish he'd bloody get over it.'

‘Really? I thought he seemed very friendly and together,' Taylor said, a little too eagerly.

Zoe glanced sideways, obviously assessing what Taylor was getting at. She went to say something, and then appeared to have second thoughts, and sighed. ‘Sorry, I shouldn't really go on about it. Not normally one for town gossip. It's just — not that I'm a lesbian or anything — but you're a good-looking chick and Jay's fabulous eye candy. Two peas in a pod, I'd say. But, seeing we're going to be working together, I feel it's my place to watch your back. I couldn't help but notice the way you were looking at him last night, all dreamy eyed, and, Taylor, my advice to you: don't go there, mate. He's trouble, and not the commitment type.'

Taylor fought to contain her bitter disappointment by laughing and rolling her eyes. ‘Pfft, come on. Me? And Jay? I don't think so. I could tell he was a heartbreaker from a mile away. Besides, you must have misread how I was looking at him. My eyes were tired, not dreamy!'

‘Is that so, Miss Taylor?' Zoe said, smiling.

Taylor scowled good-humouredly.

Zoe leant over and turned the stereo up. Waylon Jennings's honky-tonk voice filled the ute with ‘Rainy Day Woman'. Taylor gave in to the moment and belted the lyrics out with Zoe, the two of them laughing and enjoying each other's company. For Taylor the distraction was welcome, as she was slightly embarrassed that she'd been obvious around Jay last night. She hoped he hadn't noticed too. She was shattered to learn he was not the commitment type, and wished Zoe hadn't told her so she could keep daydreaming about him being her knight in shining armour. She knew Zoe only had her best interests at heart but secretly she couldn't help but wonder what mysteries lay buried beneath the hard exterior of Jay Donnellson. He'd captured her attention effortlessly, the intensity of his eyes and the warmth of his deep voice were almost hypnotising. Taylor knew, without a doubt, that she had to discover more, her intuition telling her that there was a huge reason she and Jay had crossed paths. But just what was that reason going to be?

1861 — Goldbury, New South Wales

The brash squawking of crows circling overhead while they waited for a chance to peck at the eyes of the lifeless body broke the silence. The magnitude of the situation weighed heavily on all who had witnessed it.
Oh, how life could change in the blink of an eye
, William thought, as he glanced in the direction of the carriage and at the pale-faced lad still holding the shotgun to his shoulder. Harold's eyes were filled with fear — at what he had just done and for what would become of him because of it.

Steadying his restless horse, William glanced back at the limp body lying in a pool of blood on the dirt path. He held no remorse for the corpse; Ronald Barrington didn't deserve to live. He was just sorry it was an innocent lad who had been the one to take Barrington's life. Now Harold faced death himself, for doing what he felt necessary. By the look of him, with his scrawny build and naive appearance, William guessed there was no way the lad would be a day older than fifteen: too young to die and too inexperienced to outrun the traps. No matter the reason behind Harold shooting Barrington, the traps would want revenge for the man who had paid them large quantities to turn a blind eye to his lawlessness. William knew, come hell or high water, blood would be spilt . . . again.

Pinching the ridge above his nose, a shooting pain tugging behind his eyes, William tried to gather his thoughts. He couldn't let Harold get caught for this, his conscience wouldn't allow it. Harold had saved a woman's life and had also inadvertently taken revenge on Ronald Barrington for all the lives he had ruined with his greed. William had been only seconds away from pulling the trigger himself, as he was sure all his gang were, but Harold had beaten them to it. The only difference was that William and his band of brothers would have shot Barrington in the leg or arm, giving them time to lurch at him from their horses in order to save the girl. Killing was something each and every one of them did their best to avoid, and always had.

Abby collapsed to her knees, blubbering, her fine silk and lace dress splattered with blood. Joey dismounted his horse in a fluent leap and cradled Abby as she shook uncontrollably in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, clearly grateful for his compassion as he gently stroked her silky smooth hair. Still, no one spoke. What was there to say?

William huffed, glancing towards Ben, who sat slumped and stony-faced on his mount, then to David, who gave him an ‘Oh Lord, we're in big trouble' look, and then to Joey, his confidant.

‘So, what are we going to do about this, Joey?'

‘I say we bury the body so it buys us some time and then we all go our separate ways, just until this . . .' Joey waved his arm about, ‘ . . . this bloody situation fizzles down a bit.' Joey paused for emphasis. ‘The second option would be toe traps are going to want blood. Our blood!'

‘Mighty trouble we are in, up to our knees in it,' Ben stated gruffly, shifting restlessly in his saddle, his finger resting on the trigger of his pistol.

‘Correct,' said David, before lighting a smoke.

William nodded; he was equally eager to remedy the situation and acutely aware that time was of the essence. Ronald would be expected to arrive at his destination in less than two days' time, and when he didn't, all hell was going to break loose.

Abby sniffled, rose to her feet and glanced ever so briefly towards Joey as a timid smile curled her lips. Joey stood, a blush rising to his cheeks, his lips quirking with smugness. William stifled a chortle, unsurprised at Joey's ability to capture this woman's heart so quickly, even when her husband lay dead near her. But, considering how Barrington had threatened her life, William couldn't blame her for taking an instant liking to a man as kind-hearted as Joey. Clearly, there had been no love between her and her husband; William wouldn't have been surprised if the great age difference between the two meant Barrington had bought Abby from a poor family.

‘What about me?' Harold said, his voice quivering as he finally lowered the shotgun, turning everyone's attention from the dead body. ‘What — what should I do?'

William took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his teeth. ‘Well, lad, there are two options. One would be that you make tracks and dispose of the carriage as far away from here as possible and then hide out in the scrub for a while, lie low until this blows over — and hopefully it will.' William glanced about at the chaos, his brows creased as he chose his next words carefully. ‘The second option would be to keep on going as far north as you can make it. The traps don't tend to search as far and wide as that. And from what I've heard, the untamed lands of the north are basically police free. You'll be safe up there. But no skylarking along the way, you hear me, boy?'

Joey cleared his throat loudly. ‘Before you do either, we have a small matter to discuss.' He pointed to the carriage. ‘The money and anything of significance.'

Harold, visibly shaken, motioned towards the open door. ‘Take it. Take all of it. All I want is my freedom, my life, and the sooner you get what you want out of there the sooner I can be on my way.'

‘No, you must take what you need to get to where you're going,' said Abby, eyeing the men warily and taking small steps towards the carriage. She reached up and took Harold's trembling hands, squeezing them between her own. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Harold, for having the courage to save my life.'

Harold blushed. ‘I couldn't let him manhandle you another moment longer, Mrs Barrington. Mr Barrington has left you bruised too many times before and today I thought he was actually going to kill you. You deserve better than him.'

Abby smiled warmly, her eyes filled with understanding. ‘You are a hero, Harold. My hero.'

Harold's lips quivered. ‘That means more to me than you'll ever know.' Blinking wet eyes, he added, ‘If only I was older, Mrs Barrington, I would've had a chance to show you how much love my heart holds for you.'

Abby patted his hand. ‘Oh, bless you, Harold. The lass you wed will be a very lucky one indeed.'

‘Right.' William smacked his hands on his thighs. ‘Now is not the time for sweet talking, we have ourselves a body to be rid of.'

‘And some money to divide up,' Joey hollered from within the carriage. He stuck his head out, grinning broadly. ‘There's lots of it if we go by the heaviness of this strongbox. Enough to set us
all
up nicely, including Harold here!' He dropped the trunk to the ground with a thud, leaving a cloud of dust hovering momentarily. Then, pulling his gun from its holster, he fired one shot and the lock shattered into tiny pieces, allowing him easy access to the treasures within.

Abby joined Joey, tenderly touching his arm. ‘It will be my pleasure to show you where there is a lot more. Lord only knows why one man needed so much to live his life.' She turned to face Joey, cupping his cheeks. ‘But, only as long as you take me with you, wherever it is you're going, to keep me safe, that is.'

Joey puffed his chest out, fearlessness emanating from him. ‘It would be my absolute pleasure, Miss Abby.'

William choked back another chuckle. ‘Come on then, lads, let's get a move on. I, too, have me a fine woman to go fetch. Then I am taking option two, and heading up north.' He pointed to the open trunk, its contents shimmering in the sunlight. ‘I reckon I've finally enough to buy a piece of dirt, put some cattle on it, and call it my own. As do you men. There's plenty enough to go around. Just keep in mind, while we divide it up, that we have to give a portion of this back to the farmers Barrington stole from.'

Holding on tightly to the edges of her dressing table, her body trembling and her mouth watering, Anne heaved her dinner of chicken soup and bread into the pail she had been clutching all day. When was this incapacitating sickness going to stop? She felt as though she had nothing left to expel, and yet it kept coming, the waves of nausea seizing her body and making it impossible for her to fulfil the roles expected of her at the hotel and butchery.

Slowly, she eased herself down to sit on the corner of her bed, the flickering light from the candle allowing her a glimpse of her reflection. The dark shadows under her eyes and colourless sunken cheeks made her acknowledge she looked terrible. She must see the doctor first thing in the morning to find out if what she had was life threatening, and if not, what she could take to make it better. She couldn't go on like this; two weeks of being ill had left her weak and gaunt. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to curb the ache in her heart, and hot tears slid down her cheeks as she thought of William. Oh, how she wished he were here to hold her, to care for her, to help her feel better. She hadn't seen him in two months and she was beginning to wonder if he was still alive, the thought of him lying dead somewhere almost too much to bear.

A loud rap at the door pulled her attention from the mirror. Grimacing, she stood and clutched her belly, then took a few unstable steps forward, feeling as though she was aboard a ship sailing on rough seas. She fought the urge to faint. Clutching the handle and taking a few shuddering breaths, she slowly unlocked the door.

Sergeant Hocking crashed into her boudoir, slamming the door behind him. He knocked her back and slid his tongue sickeningly over his lips. He fell to the floor on top of her, straddling her, his hands reaching for her breasts as he tore open her bodice, the stench of stale alcohol repulsing her. Somehow she found the energy to arch her back and flip him off. She scrabbled backwards, terrified, finding herself cornered between Hocking and the bedroom wall. Something in his malevolent eyes told her he had come for one thing, and he was determined to get it. She tried to call for help, but only a whimper escaped as he lurched towards her and covered her mouth with one hand, the other holding a knife to her throat, the point of it digging painfully into her flesh. She could feel blood trickling down her neck. Defeated by illness and fearing for her life, she surrendered to him, her arms limp at her sides, her spirit screaming in silent agony as she began to weep.