Lynette Vinet

by Wild Eden Wicked

  When they reached home, she stepped off the buggy without Damon’s help. Placing her hands on her hips, she tilted her chin defiantly. “You’re right, Damon. Jock one-upped you, but not in the way you think.”

  “Just what does that mean?”

  “It means you are a fool, a stupid, blind fool. And I’m a fool, too. But I won’t be one any longer. I’m going to find another place to live. I can’t stay here with you, I—”

  “Thinking of moving into High Winds, then, are you? Moving onto more lucrative pastures after you heard Marjorie will be marrying.”

  She hated him at that moment, hated his smug, handsome face which couldn’t see beyond what he thought she was. Well, let him think the worst about her. What he thought didn’t matter any longer. “I haven’t been asked yet,” she drawled.

  “You will be, I’m certain. Good day to you, Mrs. Flynn.” Damon inclined his head and tugged at the reins. The buggy rolled away from the cabin and away from her.

  Marjorie Sutherland was a gracious hostess. Though Marjorie didn’t speak very much, Eden liked her. She sensed that Marjorie was intimidated by her brother, and that may have been the reason she chose to say little. Eden found her to be an intelligent and warm individual. But when Eden asked her about her forthcoming marriage, it was Jock who filled her in on the details. Marjorie sat like a wooden carving, her gaze trained on the window where Eden’s buggy waited outside, with Tiku seeing to the horse. “It’s going to be a grand wedding,” Jock declared. “Nothing is too good for my little sister.”

  “Or for you,” Marjorie retorted suddenly, and then lowered her head in what appeared to be contrition.

  Something was going on between these two. Eden sensed Marjorie didn’t want to marry Bert Carruthers, and if not, she didn’t blame her. He was definitely not the type of man for a shy, self-effacing woman like Marjorie.

  “Would you care to see my station?” Jock invited, ignoring his sister’s outburst.

  “That would be lovely,” Eden said, realizing Marjorie wanted to be alone. Jock extended an arm to Eden and they left the dining room.

  Marjorie waited until Nonnie, Tiku’s mother, appeared and cleared the table. Then she stood up and went outside into the bright sunshine. Rain the day before had dampened the ground and the air smelled fresh. Though it was still warm, it wasn’t unpleasant, and Marjorie smiled, not so much because of the weather but because she heard Tiku speaking to the horse. His deep, lyrical voice could still thrill her to her very core. As a child, she’d watched him in secret, wishing he’d see her as a human being and not as plain, crippled Marjorie Sutherland—the unapproachable child of the owner of High Winds.

  Because of her infirmity, other children shied away from her. Her parents invited neighboring children and the children of local station owners to her birthday parties and other special occasions. They’d come with their parents out of a sense of duty and respect for the Sutherlands. But after a few polite words to her, the children would begin playing among themselves, not once asking her to join in. And because Marjorie felt unwanted, she’d sit on the sidelines and watch, her heart breaking to be so ignored.

  The only friends she might have made would have been with the Maori children, the offspring of the servants at High Winds. She envied them their beautiful brown skin and healthy bodies, the way they’d scamper up trees like small monkeys, so free and happy. There were times she’d join in a bit and find herself laughing, pleased they allowed her to play. But then her mother would appear and haul her inside with a stern lecture not to associate with the “savages.”

  The odd thing was, Marjorie didn’t consider them to be savages. They were kinder to her than the white children and more accepting of her deformity. They never said awful things about her behind her back as the neighbor children did. But there seemed to be no hope of ever making a friend until Nonnie came to work at High Winds with her son in tow.

  Marjorie liked Tiku from the moment she first saw him. He was taller and smarter than the other children his age. His features were more European, his skin a dark shade of bronze. Marjorie learned he was the son of an English explorer but that his father had returned to England shortly after Tiku’s birth. Sometimes when he was in the kitchen with his mother, he helped her prepare the meal. Marjorie would hobble in and sit speaking to Nonnie, but it was Tiku she wanted to see.

  Sometimes he spoke to her, and a liquid warmth flowed through her at the sound of his voice. She liked him, in fact she thought she loved him. Nothing would make her happier than to believe he cared for her, too.

  But one day she watched from the porch as the Maori children and Tiku began playing blindman’s bluff. Tiku was chosen as the blind man and a kerchief had been wrapped around his eyes. The other children ran away to hide, leaving Tiku standing in the center of the lawn with arms outstretched, and Marjorie was left on the porch. She felt herself drawn to him, and in a moment of uncharacteristic daring, she limped forward, purposely putting herself in his path so he’d be forced to touch her.

  Tiku grabbed her. A large, pleased smile split his lips because he believed her to be one of his playmates. She could still recall how wonderful it felt to have his powerful arms around her thin waist, how she wished to melt against him, to kiss him. But when he’d pulled off the blindfold, his triumph turned to horror to discover his captive wasn’t one of the other little girls but tiny Marjorie Sutherland. She felt chilled to her very soul. “So sorry, Miss Marjorie,” he’d exclaimed in dismay. “Sorry, so sorry.”

  He’d run away before she could call him back, to explain to him she wanted to play, too. As fate would have it, her father had seen what happened and he marched out of the house. His face, a face which looked so much like Jock’s, had been red with fury. For the only time in her life, he slapped her and warned her never to play with the savages again. From that day on, she wasn’t allowed outside when the Maori children were nearby.

  But she’d never forgotten Tiku or his reaction to her. Even after he’d left High Winds and gone to school in England when his father sent for him, she thought about him. She knew he’d thought of her as a friend because each Christmas he sent her a letter, wishing her a happy holiday season. But she couldn’t forget how appalled he’d been when he’d discovered it was she whom he’d snagged as the blind man that she always wondered if he might have sent the letters to appease his mother.

  But that was years ago, and now she was grown and so was Tiku. When he returned from England, he’d taken employment at Thunder Mine and the only contact she had with him was when he visited his mother. But she’d never forgotten him, and she never would. She loved him with a quiet passion which deepened each time she saw him.

  Struck by her own boldness, Marjorie hesitated for a second. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to speak to her. He was so handsome dressed in a blue-and-white plaid shirt and black pants with his ebony hair blowing gently in the summer breeze that she felt plain and dowdy. Her gown was a dark-brown calico, and she guessed she resembled a scrawny wren. But she felt better when she saw Tiku’s feet. He was shoeless, and she found herself giggling in relief because the boy she’d loved for so many years hadn’t disappeared entirely.

  “Hello, Tiku.” She moved forward, hating her limp and the ugly cane which brought her to his side.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Marjorie.” He smiled at her, and it seemed almost as if he’d expected her.

  “My brother is showing Mrs. Flynn around the station. I assume they’ll be some time. Why don’t you join me on the porch and have a glass of lemonade?” She almost bit her lip. Why had she asked him that? She’d only meant to speak to him, not invite him to sit on the porch with her. But the idea of sitting with Tiku in the shade seemed too wonderful to dare hope he’d accept.

  For a few seconds she thought he was going to refuse her. He looked uncertain; his eyes perusing the landscape were wary and watchful. Then he flashed her the most beautiful white smile and said he’d be pleased to join her.

&nbs
p; When Nonnie delivered the lemonade minutes later, Marjorie noticed her frown of disapproval. Nonnie considered Tiku to be a servant, but he wasn’t Marjorie’s servant so there was no reason he shouldn’t have a cooling drink when he’d been waiting in the warm sun all morning long—and there was no telling when Jock would return with Eden.

  “My mother is upset,” he candidly admitted to Marjorie when his mother departed.

  “If you’d rather not stay, I understand.”

  She attempted not to appear downcast, but her relief was so great when Tiku told her he wished to remain that Marjorie giggled.

  Tiku grinned. “I like to hear you laugh. It is a very pretty sound.”

  Marjorie felt herself flushing. No man had ever paid her a direct compliment, not even Bert Carruthers, except to say he thought she was a fine woman, and that could have been said of many women. But for Tiku to like the sound of her laugh meant so much to her that she was speechless. Yet it seemed he didn’t need a response from her and went on speaking about how nice a day it had turned out to be, though large clouds were gathering above the mountains, a sure sign of more rain.

  She nervously twirled the cold glass between her hands. Usually she was composed, and now silently berated herself for acting like a silly young girl with her first suitor. She was definitely not young and Tiku wasn’t a suitor.

  They sat in silence watching the vast vista of green grass and purple-blue hills in the distance. Finally she felt Tiku’s gaze upon her. When she looked at him, something in the darkness of his eyes knifed through to her heart. “My mother told me you’re marrying Bert Carruthers on Boxing Day.”

  “Yes, yes, I am.”

  “Do you love him?”

  If anyone else had dared to pry into her private life she’d have risen to her feet and left without a reply. But this was Tiku asking her a question she hated to answer. If only he knew the truth, he wouldn’t look at her in such a way as to cause her agony. But why was he bothering to ask? Her answer could make no difference to him.

  “I hope to … grow fond of him.”

  “Your brother is pushing for the marriage.”

  “Jock is doing what he believes is best for me.” And for himself. “Mr. Carruthers is the only man who has asked for me and I must marry soon. I’m not getting younger. I want children.”

  “Then this is what you want to do.”

  It wasn’t, but it was her only choice. “Yes.”

  Tiku rose from his chair at the same time as Marjorie and placed his glass on the small wrought-iron table which separated them. Their hands touched, hers so white and fragile, his so dark and strong. Tiku drew away first, almost as if he’d been burned by the contact.

  He cleared his throat. “I trust you will be happy, Miss Marjorie.” Then he went back to the buggy to wait for Eden.

  ~~~

  High Winds, Eden discovered, consisted of much more than a house and outbuildings on a few acres. Until Jock showed her his land, she didn’t have a clear idea of what a station was. Sitting next to him on the buckboard, he pointed to the distant purple hills, emerald valleys, and an endless sea of golden tussock grass. Fat, fluffy sheep nibbled their lunch on the side of a hillock under the watchful eyes of the station hands on horseback. Three collie dogs ran hither and yon, barking orders to those errant sheep who attempted to leave the fold.

  “This is just a portion of the sheep,” Jock explained. “There are thousands more on the eastern slopes and plains of the station. During the shearing season when we muster them all together, it seems that all the clouds in the heavens have dropped to earth. All a person can see for miles is a blanket of white.” The pride was evident in his voice, and Eden couldn’t help but smile at him. She shouldn’t like Jock Sutherland, not when Damon hated him so much. But no matter what he’d done to Damon in the past, he’d done nothing to harm her. Besides, she remembered Damon’s comment about Jock controlling the water rights to the branch of the river which flowed past Thunder Mine. If he wanted to cut them off, he was within his legal rights to do so. Damon could be rude to Jock, but she wouldn’t be. Not if Thunder Mine’s survival depended upon gaining Sutherland’s good will.

  “I’m quite impressed,” Eden told him, and meant it. “Not everyone could run such a large operation so efficiently. I also understand you’re a member of Parliament. Do you go to Wellington often?”

  “Every few months. Perhaps you’d consider accompanying me on my next trip. Wellington is an exciting city. You must get bored staying in the hinterlands after coming from a place as bustling as San Francisco.”

  “I haven’t been here long enough to be bored,” Eden admitted, purposely avoiding mention of her accompanying him to Wellington. “Most of what I’ve seen so far has been fascinating, however.”

  Jock appraised Eden out of the corner of his eye when her attention was diverted to one of the dogs as it rounded up a stray ewe. Bert Carruthers hadn’t lied about her beauty or done her enough justice with his feeble compliments. Eden Flynn was a rare jewel, made all the more beautiful by the afternoon sun which shone upon her hair, forming a golden nimbus around her face. The white lace at the neckline of her blouse made her look soft and feminine, something Jock appreciated in a woman. But it was her figure, demurely covered by a pink jacket and divided skirt, which made his fingers itch.

  He longed to cup her perfect, round breasts within his palms, to knead her buttocks while he held her body against his own. He wanted to kiss every part of her, to hear her beg for his possession. And, oh, what a sweet possession that would be. There wasn’t a more beautiful and cultured woman in New Zealand than Eden Flynn. He didn’t believe Carruthers’s idiotic ravings about her working in a brothel. And even if she had been a whore, her past didn’t matter to him. The future was what mattered. He had enough money to silence those who dared say anything against her. With a woman as lovely as Eden for his wife, and the governorship of New Zealand a distinct possibility, he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.

  Not everything. He frowned and stroked the scar. He still needed to settle the score with Damon Alexander.

  An hour later, the robin’s-egg blue of the sky changed to an opaque shade of gray. Thunder rumbled in the distance, disturbing the stillness of the summer afternoon. A brisk warm breeze whipped over them. Jock immediately headed back to the house, assuring Eden they’d make it before the threatened deluge. They did make it to High Winds, but only seconds after they were inside, the heavens, which had turned an ugly shade of purple, broke forth in a riotous assault of wind and rain.

  “Goodness but you’re both lucky to have made it back without getting a soaking.” Marjorie lighted the oil lamps in the parlor and called to Nonnie to bring in the tea.

  “I really should return to Thunder Mine. I hope this clears before dark,” Eden worried.

  “If not, you can spend the night. There’s no point in hurrying back.” Jock puffed on his pipe, seemingly convinced the matter was settled.

  Marjorie readily agreed. “Don’t worry, Eden. We have a perfectly nice guest room. Tiku will stay in the servants’ wing. And I’m certain Mr. Alexander will understand if you don’t return. He’ll know you’re in good hands.” Her plain face brightened. “How nice it will be to have a guest!”

  As it turned out, the summer gale didn’t relent. The storm’s ferocity increased as the hours passed. Eden grew edgy, though she couldn’t think of a good reason for her apprehension. Damon wouldn’t miss her, most certainly he didn’t care about her. But still she worried he might think she had no intention of returning.

  She silently berated herself for caring what Damon thought. Her affections, she knew, were misplaced, but that thought didn’t stop her from wishing he cared about her, even a little.

  Dining on a supper of roasted lamb and freshly cooked vegetables, Eden was glad of Marjorie’s company and found herself forgetting about Damon as Jock regaled her with hair-raising stories concerning his service during the Maori wars. She was enjoying h
er unplanned stay at High Winds and almost regretted when the clock in the parlor chimed the hour of nine.

  Marjorie rose and beckoned to Eden. “Time to retire,” she told her. Eden nodded, suddenly realizing that her day at High Winds had exhausted her. With Jock’s arm placed solicitously around her waist, he walked with her to the stairs. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently kissed her forehead. “Thank you for a memorable day, Eden. I hope we’ll be able to spend more time together in the future.” His eyes were bright. Gleaming slivers of lust danced within their depths. Eden was taken aback. She liked Jock but hadn’t anticipated his desire for her. She felt unnerved by it, which was silly. Damon had looked at her in such a way many times and she’d never been uneasy. In fact, if this had been Damon standing before her, she’d have expected him to sweep her into his powerful embrace and kiss her until she was breathless. Jock’s gentlemanly peck left a great deal to be desired, and she knew she was being unfair by comparing the two men.

  “Eden, your room is ready,” Marjorie called from the upstairs landing.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Jock assured her, and watched her go to her room.

  After Marjorie helped settle Eden into the guest bedroom, she provided her with a plain white nightgown. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. My room is next door if you need anything.” She limped to the window, gazing out at the darkness, the rain lashing against the glass. “The view of the mountains from here is quite enchanting, especially at dawn or twilight. I shall miss High Winds.”

  “You’ll be perfectly happy in your new home.” Eden made an attempt to reassure her. When Marjorie turned to face her, her cheeks were streaked with tears. “You don’t want to marry Bert Carruthers, do you, Marjorie?”

  Marjorie dabbed at her eyes. “No, I don’t love him, but he’s the only man who wants to marry me.”