The Convict and the Cattleman (13 page)

“Do you think they might find some trouble if you’re not watching them? Is your duty playing nursemaid to jackaroos?” Her eyes sparkled with laughter.

He wanted to say something stern, but couldn’t find the words. “I thought you were preparing a bottle.”

She laughed as she went down the hallway. Gripping the banister hard, he struggled to remember the last time real laughter filled the house. The sick churn of his stomach suggested it was before Charlotte’s death.

Olivia’s fists flailed and her tiny face turned angry red.

“There, there. Bridgit will be along any second. She knows how to take care of you. Uncle Jonah will drop you. You’re too small.”

Surprised by his own admission, he stared helplessly at Olivia. When was the last time he’d paid her any attention? She’d grown and he hadn’t noticed. Babies did; he knew well enough from watching his calves during the summer. The baby he remembered was tiny, wrinkled and didn’t look like anyone. Charlotte, exhausted, but elated, had smiled proudly.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Jonah?”

Recalling her voice made his heart pound. The silly girl didn’t have a sense of shame. She’d been nervous when she admitted her tryst and the subsequent pregnancy, but she had defended her child. Not unlike one of his cows. They protected their young fiercely.

He hadn’t found the words to answer her question. All he saw was Rob Langnecker’s face. The desire to kill him had blotted out everything else. Langnecker had ruined his sister, left her alone with a bastard child and went off chasing other skirts. She’d died in the room where Bridgit slept, believing he’d come back for them.

If I ever catch him.

Jonah ran his hand down his face.

“Is something wrong?”

Bridgit’s warm hand closed around his. Pity shined in her eyes.

“The chores are waiting.” Clammy sweat dampened his shirt.

She tugged his hand. “You need to stay. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Go sit down.”

He didn’t understand why he obeyed, but he sat in the rocking chair by the window. His father had crafted it for his mother years before Jonah was born.

Bridgit lifted Olivia, nestling her into his arms. The cries eased to a whimper.

“Hold your arms like this. You’ve got to support her head.”

“I know.” Charlotte had insisted he hold Olivia hours after her birth. He remembered it clear as day. Accepting the chubby baby, he was surprised at her weight. She’d been so small. “She’s healthy.”

It was more a question than a statement. Olivia gazed at him, eyes wide. Her fingers toyed with one of his buttons.

“Aye. Growing like a weed. She’s learning to roll over.” At his confused look, she explained, “That’s good. She’ll be crawling before long. She talks to me and follows things with her eyes. Everything she’s supposed to do.”

“Good. Charlotte would be glad.” His voice sounded choked and he cleared his throat, hoping Bridgit hadn’t noticed.

She lifted the bottle. “Here. Feed her. Tip it up, so the air gets in the bottle.”

He let her show him what to do, surprised again when Olivia grasped the bottle with her tiny hands. Her features were clearer now. Charlotte’s nose and chin. Those couldn’t be his ears, could they? Dark blue eyes stared up at him, then drifted shut as she suckled greedily. Her eyes were the only resemblance he could find to her father.

Bridgit kneeled beside the rocking chair and swept dark locks from the baby’s face. Her hand settled on his knee. “There. She’s happy now.” A wistful smile played across her face.

A jolt ran through him. With Olivia snuggled against his chest and Bridgit beside him, the moment belonged to a family man. His heart thudded again. A moment he thought would belong to his wife, with his own child. Bridgit’s hand tightened on his knee for a second.

“You’re doing well,” she encouraged.

He met her eyes. “You told me before you could love her.”

Bridgit smiled, but it was sad. “I already do. From the second I saw her. I know you miss your sister. I miss my family. I’ve often thought what happened has cost me the chance to have my own family. If–” She waved her hand, cutting off her thought. “It’s too late for ifs.”

“Why?”

“You won’t give me the chance to meet a handsome jackaroo and raise a brood of my own children.” She tried another smile, though it wobbled.

A rush of protectiveness flooded his veins. Bridgit wasn’t meant to live like Bess. “For your own good.”

She gazed out the window, but her sorrow riddled the air. “I should marry a sailor. He’d be gone most of the year. I could manage by myself.”

“That’s not what you want.”

Her eyes sparkled. “And how would you know what I want?”

It’s not what you deserve
. He nearly blurted it out. He’d known her almost two weeks. What did he know about what she deserved?

“The men are waiting.”

“Aye. You’re a busy grazier.” She took Olivia’s bottle and slipped one arm under the baby.

He wasn’t ready to give her up yet. “I haven’t been as good to her as I should. It’s been difficult, losing her mother suddenly. I don’t know about babies. A good nurse is the best I know to do.”

Bridgit’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do about Mr. Langnecker, Jonah? He should know.”

A new flood of anger wiped his tender feelings away. Rather than hurt his niece, he let Bridgit take her. “He only comes ’round because he thinks Charlotte will spread her legs again. Olivia is none of his concern.”

Her expression darkened. “How would you feel if you had a child you didn’t know about and found out the hard way?”

“He didn’t concern himself with the fact that it might be possible before he left.” Jonah stood so quickly the rails of the rocker clacked against the floor. Olivia belonged at Laurie Lark. She no more belonged in a hovel than Bridgit did.

* * * *

“About twenty-five calves there, I’d say. Growin’ nicely too. Good bunch this year.” Phil pointed at the small cluster of cattle grazing across the acreage.

Phil had joined the crew at Laurie Lark as a young man, when Jonah was fifteen, with nothing more than the clothes on his back. One of the longest staying jackaroos, he shared every triumph and failure on the station.

His gaze flicked back to Jonah. “I saw your woman this mornin’.”

“She’s not my woman.”

Phil smirked. “If I were housing her, she’d bloody well be mine. If every girl in Australia looked like Bridgit, the whole lot of us would be married.”

Jonah scowled. “I told you to stay away from her.”

“Relax, mate. That old nanny was givin’ her some trouble. I didn’t do it to get your dander up. Though if she wanted more to do with me, I wouldn’t say no. Imagine all that blond hair spread out on a pillow and her body–”

He knew exactly what she looked like that way. That Phil pictured her naked rubbed him wrong. He held up his hand signaling he’d had enough. “She’s minding my niece, not pleasuring lonely cowhands.”

“Come on, Jonah. If she asked you for a quick–”

“I’m not mussing the sheets with her. If I wanted a woman, I’d get married.”

“You should. How’re you goin’ to raise a little girl without a woman’s help?”

Phil had a way of cutting to the heart of things. Jonah sighed. “That’s why I need a nursemaid, you dag.”

“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got? Hell, she’s pretty, she must be fond of Olivia to put up with the goat.” He paused and studied Jonah. “You’re kind of an ugly bloke, but you might have enough money to make up for it.”

He frowned at the barb. God willing, no one would see through his lies. “I’m not sleeping with her because she’s at hand, Phil.”

Phil grinned. “There’s always Millicent.”

Perish the thought. “I’m not taking a lover nor a wife.”

“Well, if you’re not, you might remember there are ten other men on this station who aren’t married. Maybe one of us would like a chance with her.”

“You won’t give me the chance to meet a handsome jackaroo and raise a brood of my own children.”

He slapped a leather glove against his leg, willing her voice away. “You think she’ll fall for you?”

Phil shrugged. “Why not? I have money saved. I could buy her a house in Sydney. We could set up a shop and raise babies instead of calves.”

The offspring of Phil and Bridgit would amount to blond children with faint Irish lilts. Not while he was still the boss. “She apprenticed for a milliner. You could shape bonnets. Model them on the streets, perhaps.”

Phil frowned. “I was thinkin’ about a fish and chips stand.”

“I don’t know whether she can cook. Imagine the fish soggy and the chips burnt.”

Phil’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped before forming a grin. “You’ve got your eye on her, don't you, mate?”

A guess, nothing more. “No.”

“Why else are you tryin’ to turn me off of her?”

“She’s my responsibility. I’m not sending her back to Parramatta with broken promises and carrying some ignorant jackaroo’s bastard.”

All the humor went out of Phil’s face. “Bridgit isn’t Charlotte. I’m not Langnecker. And you’re not goin’ to let her down. Charlotte made her own choices. She always did.”

Jonah ground his teeth. “It makes Bridgit’s case worse. There’s no one to look after her or protect her from men like Langnecker.”

Phil didn’t answer, but it was written across his face that he knew Jonah wasn’t being honest. With the shake of his head, Phil nudged his horse. Over his shoulder, he said, “What’s goin’ to happen when you send her back to the Factory? The next fella might not care so much.”

12

Silver utensils lined up across the formal dining room table like proud soldiers preparing for battle. Dust coated the mahogany box that protected them between meals, but the settings themselves appeared untarnished and ready for use.

Such pretty things. Bridgit held up a serving spoon and peered at the back. Her reflection stared, upside down. Or was it right side up? The continent was so far to the south, everything was backward. Particularly her feelings toward Jonah. Getting attached to the faces around Laurie Lark wasn’t a good idea, but how could she resist?

“I know what you’re about.”

The spoon fell, landing with a clatter on the floor. It bounced under the table. She ignored it, turning to the speaker. The woman’s face might have belonged to a younger Martha.

“I’m cleaning the good flatware,” Bridgit responded, puzzled.

The woman, a little older than her, stood with doughy hands perched on her plump hips. Fat sausage curls the color of old leather–somewhere between dirty brown and red–framed her face and failed at improving her features. Murky brown eyes set under a heavy brow shot arrows of dislike through Bridgit. The girl’s mouth would look too wide even without the frown.

“You’ve got your sights set on Jonah. You may think you’ll be the mistress here someday, but you’re mistaken.”

Taken aback by the accusation, Bridgit said, “I have no such intentions.”

“Hmph. I saw the way you handled the silver. The way you admired each piece before setting it aside. I doubt you’ve ever seen such finery.” She lifted a spoon, twirling it between her fingers. “It’s going to be mine someday.”

“Is Jonah aware?” The words were petty and she regretted them immediately. Rule number three tossed out the window again. Why couldn’t she remember her manners?

“Of course he knows! We’ve been betrothed since we were children.”

Bridgit’s temper sparked. She bit back a remark about why his future wife was serving jackaroos breakfast and washing dishes. “Congratulations on your good fortune.”

A smirk replaced the frown. “He’s very rich. I expect we’ll move to England shortly after our marriage.”

“England?” Unless she was mistaken, she’d assumed Jonah intended to die at Laurie Lark someday.

“No one wants to live in this dry, brushy, black-infested country. It’s far too uncivilized. When we have children, he’ll realize he wants to raise them elsewhere.”