Lynette Vinet

by Wild Eden Wicked

  “Bert, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  He stopped and looked at her, his eyes holding venomous hatred. He moved his hand away, and Marjorie saw it was bright crimson. “You’ve been shot!” She took his arm, but despite his wound, Bert shrugged her off.

  “Don’t touch me, woman! I want nothing to do with you Sutherlands.” His face was pasty white.

  “Bert, you must let me tend to you. Who did this to you? Was it bushwhackers?”

  “I’m going to get a gun. I’m going to kill your brother.”

  “Jock? What has Jock to do with this? Bert, you must be out of your head.”

  “Yeah, out of my head to have agreed to marry a skinny hag like yourself, Marjorie Sutherland.” He winced with pain, but Bert was a strong man and he managed to walk to the stairs. “That brother of yours wanted to get his hands on my land. I figured that’s what he was after, but since you were my wife, then it would be an even swap. But your brother is a greedy bastard, Marjorie. And I’m going to kill him.”

  “Bert! Bert! What does Jock have to do with your being shot? Jock wouldn’t shoot you!”

  “No, he wouldn’t. He’s too gentlemanly to do it himself.” He began climbing the stairs, not looking at Marjorie. “Two of his stationmen waylaid me on the road. I recognized them when they shot at me. They wanted to kill me, but I have a fast horse, Marjorie. Now I’m going to settle things with that brother of yours.”

  “Bert, don’t. You’re bleeding,” she cried at the bottom of the stairs, but Bert didn’t turn around. He disappeared into their bedroom, and she knew he was going to get the gun he kept in the dresser drawer. He was going to kill Jock, and no matter what Jock may have intended to do, she loved her brother. Somehow she must stop Bert. Perhaps if she could convince him to lie down, she could see to his wound.

  She made her way clumsily up the stairs. It seemed it took forever to reach the landing. When she finally got there, Bert was coming out of the room. He’d tied a red kerchief around his wound, and he held a gleaming silver pistol in his uninjured hand. Fear consumed Marjorie. Bert really meant to harm Jock and she must stop him!

  “Please lie down,” she pleaded, trying to coax him into the bedroom with a small hand placed on his shirt-sleeve. “I’ll clean the wound, get out the bullet. You’re losing blood Bert.”

  His malicious gaze swung onto her face. “Yeah, you want to help me, huh, bitch? You hate the very ground I walk on. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d known about what your brother planned to do tonight. You uppity Sutherlands are no better than skunks to want to do me in. But you’re not going to get away with it, and neither is that stinking brother of yours. I’m going to kill him, and after I do, I’m coming back here. If you thought your life was a hell, think what it’s going to be like from now on! No court will convict me if you hope to get rid of me that way. I’m within my rights.”

  Bert threw off her hand like it was a bothersome insect and started down the stairs. Marjorie made one last attempt to stop him by swinging her cane out in front of her. She meant to block him, but she realized her mistake almost immediately. Bert cried out when the cane contacted with his wound. She saw he was furious and genuinely feared for her life when he wrenched the cane away from her. But it was his own strength that caused him to lose his balance.

  He held out his hand to her, grabbing for her wrist, but in her fear, Marjorie did the only thing she could. She yanked away from him. Bert let loose a foul curse and she knew he was going to come after her to make her suffer for what he thought Jock had done. Instead, he fell hard against the banister, and before Marjorie could give a squeal, the banister collapsed. Bert toppled off of the steps like a rock in a landslide to fall with a resounding smack against the hardwood floor below.

  She waited on the landing, paralyzed, unable to move. She could only look with terror at the stairs, spreading black and fearsome before her, without a hand railing. Her fingers vainly clutched at her neck, and sounds of raw fear bubbled within her throat. How was she to get downstairs? Would she be trapped up here forever?

  On the floor beneath her, she heard Bert crying raggedly in his pain. He called to her, but she couldn’t seem to move her eyes even to look at him. She stood on the landing like a statue and knew she should go to her husband’s aid, but she’d have to go down the stairs … And she feared she’d fall to her death.

  She waited there for what seemed like hours, cold and shivering, listening to strange, gurgling sounds. Then there was silence. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Marjorie realized Bert had died. The stairs, the very things she had feared, had ended her torment.

  Her fear abated, and she found her body felt warm again and she could move her muscles. She didn’t even glance down at her husband’s body and she didn’t go down the stairs.

  Hobbling to her bedroom, she fell into an exhausted sleep. It wasn’t until hours later when she heard a piercing scream from downstairs did she waken and realize Bert’s Maori girlfriend had come to give him his backrub and discovered his broken body.

  Even when Jock and the constable appeared to take Bert away, Marjorie remained in bed. She was free of Bert at last and could do whatever she wished.

  She had earned a bit of rest.

  Chapter 17

  Bert’s funeral was held two days later. The cause of his death was listed as accidental. As soon as Eden heard of the tragedy she hastened to Marjorie’s side. The fragile woman she expected to find was gone. In her place was a Marjorie who surprised everyone by taking charge of the burial arrangements, a Marjorie who summoned the bank president to her home to discuss Bert’s estate when he was barely one day dead. Jock, who’d stayed with his sister through the removal of Bert’s body and the questions placed to her by the magistrate, scolded her in front of Eden for seeing to the monetary affairs when Bert was hardly cold.

  “Bert is just as dead today as he will be tomorrow, next week, or next month,” Marjorie curtly maintained.

  “I can take care of the estate for you,” Jock told her. “A woman shouldn’t worry about legal terms or money. Not when she has a brother who’ll take charge for her.”

  “That’s just why I intend to look after my own affairs. Bert’s estate and whatever of my money is left which the blackguard didn’t spend is my business, not yours, Jock. I suggest you place your own house in order before worrying about mine.”

  And that was that.

  Eden couldn’t help admiring this new Marjorie. The timid mouse who’d docilely married the man whom her brother had chosen for her was only a memory. It was no surprise to Eden that Marjorie didn’t mourn Bert. She had been candid about her feelings, but Eden wondered if somehow Marjorie had a hand in his death, and then hated herself for thinking such a horrible and traitorous thought. Marjorie couldn’t harm anyone, even an animal like Bert Carruthers. Her story about Bert’s having been wounded by bushwhackers, arriving home to get his gun, then growing dizzy and falling from the stairs, was accepted by the magistrate. Eden believed her and if the story was a lie, she didn’t want to know about it.

  Shortly after the funeral services, Eden and Damon told Marjorie farewell and headed for Castlegate. Jock remained behind, intently watching from the porch as their buggy departed the yard. A sly smile hovered around his mouth to see Damon pull her close against him and plant a loving kiss on her forehead. “Soon I’ll have you where I want you,” he mumbled, and curved his lips into a sneer. “Eden will be mine and you’ll be no more than a bad dream, so enjoy yourself while you can, you bastard.”

  He turned to find Marjorie staring at him from the doorway. “I thought you’d be resting,” he stated. “The last few days must have undone you.”

  Shaking her head, she went to the porch and sat in a rocking chair. Jock leaned against the weathered railing. He noticed Marjorie didn’t seem the least bit upset or tired. In fact, her entire face glowed with contentment and she didn’t appear to be at all fatigued. He couldn’t help but be glad she took Bert’s d
eath so well. The man had been abusive to her, but Jock didn’t regret arranging the marriage. A moment’s qualm of conscience stung him because Marjorie had witnessed Bert’s death, and that was something Jock hadn’t planned. The lummox was to have been killed on the road, but thanks to two of the blundering fools who worked for him, Bert had escaped.

  But in the end, all had turned out well. Bert was dead, and Marjorie owned everything—just as Jock had planned from the beginning. Sweeping a critical eye over the front of the house and recalling the interior, he realized the renovations would be costly. The house was old and a travesty of architectural design. But the price would be worth it. He’d move in one of his foremen when he took Marjorie back to High Winds. The Carruthers’ property wasn’t extensive, but his own flocks would have new grazing land. Shortly he’d extend High Winds all the way to Thunder Mine—and beyond. Before the year was out, Thunder Mine would belong to him and Eden would be his wife.

  Jock was eager to be free of Damon Alexander, to have him out of his life entirely. He yearned for the day when he didn’t have to worry about the insolent son of a bitch, to the time when he didn’t have to spare Alexander an extra thought. And that day was coming soon.

  But first things first. He must deal with Marjorie.

  His sister rocked quietly back and forth, back and forth. Her brown-eyed gaze settled on the rolling land before her. “You know, Jock,” she said, a trace of awe in her voice. “It’s pretty here. Peaceful, too. Strange how I didn’t realize before now. But with Bert…”

  “Don’t think about him any longer,” Jock advised. You’re a very wealthy woman. When you leave with me for High Winds, you’ll be able to do whatever you want with your money.”

  “Yes, I will.” Marjorie gave him an odd look. “But I’m not going to High Winds. I’m staying here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t remain here by yourself, even if I’d allow it. I’ve decided to have the house renovated for my foreman and his family. I’ll need someone to look after this part of the station on a permanent basis.”

  Marjorie clutched the chair arms. Her mouth tightened into a thin, determined line. “This is my house, Jock, my land. You aren’t putting anyone in it or on it. I don’t recall you ever offering to buy this property from me.”

  “Oh, come on, Marjorie, stop being difficult.” Jock shifted his position, his brows drawing together into a point. “You know I wanted this property all along and Bert wouldn’t sell to me. So I’m offering to buy it. I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

  “Even if I ask for more than it’s worth?”

  “Yes, I suppose…”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “I’m not selling Kia Ora to you.”

  “What in the name of God are you jabbering about?”

  “I’ve decided to name my station Kia Ora, it means good luck, good health in Maori.” Marjorie smiled softly. “I believe it’s a perfect name. The gods will bless it and express their favor by happy times from now on.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Marjorie?”

  “You’d like to think so, but no, Jock, I haven’t.” She laughed out loud, something she hadn’t done in a very long time. “If you could see your face! Your expression is priceless. You’re certain I must be insane, yet you’re hoping in my dementia I’ll sell to you or let you take over. Well, if anyone has the right to be crazy, I’m the one. I’ve lived in hell for nearly two months, and it’s only by the grace of God I’ve still got my wits. And yes, I blame you for every moment of my torturous existence as Bert’s wife. Perhaps if I’d asserted myself long ago, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be coerced into a marriage I didn’t want.”

  “All right!” Jock’s hiss filled the quiet evening. “I’m sorry for making you marry Bert. But you know why I did it, and I’m being honest with you. I want this property, I have to own it.”

  “I know. Damon Alexander is a thorn in your side, and you want to needle him, to make his life a hell. Think again, Jock. I’m not selling Kia Ora to you and you’re not taking it from me. For the first time I have control over my life, and all thanks to you. Having lived at High Winds all of my years, I know a great deal about sheep. I plan to run a first-rate station here—not as large as High Winds, of course, but first rate, nonethe-less. So, be happy for me. That’s all I ask.”

  Marjorie rose from her chair, clinging tightly to her cane. She could see she’d made her point with Jock, but still he wouldn’t admit defeat graciously. “Do you remember how I got you to marry Bert?” he asked softly.

  Marjorie gave a sharp nod. “You blackmailed me, if I recall. Tiku would be hurt if I didn’t do what you wanted, you said.”

  “The threat still stands.”

  A look of sadness crossed her face. “Jock, you disappoint me. I had hoped you would understand, but you don’t, and I must set you straight. I am not leaving Kia Ora, and you will not harm Tiku. I haven’t outlived the devil to bargain with you. I’ve learned from you what it means to have power, how to wield it at the right moment. I advise that you accept my decision, otherwise I shall tell the magistrate how Bert was shot by your men, how you arranged to have him murdered. He, as well as the rest of New Zealand, should find the details fascinating,”

  She’d never seen Jock so pale or so shaken. “That’s a lie.”

  Marjorie shrugged. “I hope it is, but let’s allow the magistrate to do some investigating. I feel certain that the only bushwhackers he’ll turn up will be two of High Wind’s stationhands. And when faced with a prison sentence, I’d assume their loyalty to you will be short-lived.”

  She limped toward him, but he backed away as if she carried the plague. “I’m sorry to do this to you. No matter what you think, I love you, Jock, and if you’d plotted Bert’s death to save me from him I’d do anything you wanted. But you didn’t care about me, didn’t try to help free me from that monster. All you wanted was the land to destroy Mr. Alexander, not to save your own sister. For that, I can never forgive you.”

  “I don’t want your forgiveness, I don’t need it!” Like a man possessed, Jock rushed from the porch and mounted his horse. His eyes burned with hate for Damon Alexander and unrelenting disgust for Marjorie. It was at that moment that she knew she’d lost her brother forever.

  “Keep your precious Kia Ora, Marjorie. It seems you’ve found something which means more to you than I do. But know I won’t be back to bail you out when your station idea turns sour. You can’t possibly compete with High Winds.”

  “I’m not in competition with you. But I want you to know something, too.” She took a deep breath, never allowing her gaze to waver from him. “Give me any trouble, and that includes harming Tiku or Mr. Alexander, and I shall report what I know about Bert’s death to the authorities.”

  Jock grimaced and held tightly to the reins. “Perhaps if you believe me to be a craven killer, my dear, you should fear for your own safety.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she stated with conviction. “You’d never harm me, Jock, because we’re of the same blood. And I know somewhere deep inside, you care about me and that will prevent you from hurting me.” She held out a forgiving hand to him. “You’re my brother and I love you.”

  “Damn you, Marjorie! Damn you to hell!”

  With those words ringing through the quiet twilight, Jock viciously spurred his horse and fled Kia Ora. Marjorie watched until he and the horse became a speck in the distance. Then she returned to the rocking chair and sat until the velvety night enfolded her with its warmth. She had a great deal to do, but things could wait until the morning, she decided.

  Tomorrow she’d deal with her pain over Jock. Tomorrow she’d go to Thunder Mine and ask Eden and Mr. Alexander if they’d help her employ stationhands and buy flocks. She could use their help, since she couldn’t purchase any of High Wind’s flocks. And she’d ask Tiku if he’d consider taking a position as animal doctor for Kia Ora. His talents were being wasted as a cook. But for t
onight, Marjorie would think only about Marjorie. She must learn who and what she was. No longer a Sutherland or a Carruthers, she was simply herself, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing to be.

  ~~~

  The warm afternoon caused perspiration to dampen Eden’s brow as she walked to the dressmaker’s shop. She’d left Damon with Marjorie at the newspaper office, where the editor had tacked a notice for stationhands on the bulletin board hanging outside the doorway. Damon had expressed confidence that Marjorie would have no trouble recruiting men; someone was always in need of a job. Upon leaving the newspaper office, he was taking Marjorie to other stations to inquire about buying sheep. He’d told Eden to buy whatever she needed in town and head home, as he didn’t know how long Marjorie’s business would take.

  Before Eden left him, she’d placed her hand on his arm and gazed up at him with hope in her eyes. “May I choose the material for my wedding gown?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to say no, but he smiled at her and her very insides felt lighter. “Aye, that sounds like a good idea.”

  And it was a good idea, in fact Eden thought it was the best one she’d ever had. On swift feet she made her way to the dressmaker’s where she busily glanced through pattern books and fingered materials, all the while aware of a woman who kept eyeing her. When Eden looked up, the dark-haired customer met her stare head on. “There are some lovely materials from which to choose,” Eden noted with a friendly smile. “It’s quite difficult to make a selection.”

  The woman didn’t return the smile. “I overheard the dressmaker’s assistant call you Mrs. Flynn earlier. Are you the same Mrs. Flynn who owns Thunder Mine, the widow of Shamus Flynn?”

  “Yes, I am. Do I know you?”