“That’s just what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed wrathfully. Anger was the first of the jumble of emotions swirling through her, and she welcomed it. She refused to acknowledge how the feel of his skin under her hands had affected her. . . . Of course, she was still shaken from her recent harrowing experience. Her responses were quite naturally out of kilter. And that, she told herself firmly as she unconsciously clasped her still-tingling hands together, was all there was to it! Certainly she was not physically attracted to a—a convict, be he ever so handsome!
Gallagher lifted one eyebrow at her as she stared down at him in perturbation, then put a booted foot in the stirrup and swung himself up behind her. Alarmed, Sarah lost her balance, nearly sliding sideways off the saddle as she felt the strength of his big body so close behind her. He caught her, his arms encircling her waist and hauling her back into position to sit precariously sideways in the man’s saddle, her shoulder butting into his chest, her bottom nestled snugly between the hard muscles of his spread thighs, her legs draped over one steely thigh as both feet dangled to one side. She was practically sitting on his lap! The hem of her skirt had caught on the pommel, revealing her plain white cotton petticoat with the single flounce at the bottom from the knee down. Hurriedly she bent to free it. The movement made her even more excruciatingly aware of her position. His body heat enveloped her, as did his musky male scent. His strong thighs hugging her derriere unnerved her to the point where she lost her head.
“Let me go! Get down!” she cried, squirming futilely in his hold. Her frantic movements only made the situation worse as she felt the enveloping muscles of his arms and legs tighten to keep her in position. Suddenly her throat went dry. Her struggles stilled abruptly.
“You prefer to walk back to the stable?” He sounded totally unmoved by the way she was nestled into him, Sarah thought bitterly. Which, when she thought about it, was a very good thing indeed.
“No!”
“Nor do I.” With that calm statement, he touched his heels lightly to Max’s sides. Obediently the horse moved off. Sarah’s attempts to hold herself ramrod straight and away from him went for naught as she felt herself slipping again, and had to clutch at Gallagher’s shirt to save herself. Beneath the soft linen she could feel the solid wall of his chest. Hurriedly she released her grip, and immediately began to slide. He obligingly tightened the arm he had wrapped around her waist, seeming unaware of her agitation.
“You have to get down. At once! Do you hear me?” Her voice was shrill. Her fingers clutched at the pommel for balance so that she would not have to lean so closely against him. The only trouble was, she had this insane desire to lean against him. A convict! The knowledge horrified her.
“If you think that I’m going to walk for miles in this infernal heat, just because you think you’re too good to suffer my touch—” The hostility was back in his voice. Looking up at him, taken aback to find his face so close above hers, she saw that his eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in a bitter line. Clearly, he had misinterpreted the reason for her agitation—thank the Lord!—and her frantic protests had injured his pride. Sarah cast her eyes to heaven. On top of everything else, to find herself concerned about a convict’s pride!
“Gallagher,” she said carefully—or as carefully as she could with his arms all around her and his chin grazing her hair and the heat and scent of him enveloping her like a heady perfume. “Whether or not I think I am ‘too good’ has nothing to do with it. I don’t know how you are used to behaving—at least, I do, you’re making it fairly obvious—but you’re in Australia now. And, like it or not, you’re a convict. However much it may go against the grain with you, you’re going to have to learn to keep to your place. And not to—to—be so familiar.”
“Am I being familiar, Miss Sarah?” The harsh mockery was back in his voice. Glancing up at him again, Sarah saw to her alarm that white lines bracketed his mouth, and his eyes blazed sapphire with anger. They locked with hers; she could feel her own eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. The menace she had sensed in him before was back, too, but she so close to him that it was far more intimidating.
“Not half as familiar as I could be,” he continued savagely, pulling Max to a halt. Sarah was shocked to feel his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head even farther back so that it rested on his shoulder. She was so surprised that she didn’t even struggle, merely stared up at him with golden eyes grown huge with apprehension—and, though she refused to acknowledge it, a furtive excitement. He returned her look for a moment, his eyes and mouth hard, cruel. His hand, twisted in her hair, hurt her abominably; with a tiny, inconsequent part of her mind Sarah thought that it would be a mass of rat’s tails later. His eyes bored into hers for what seemed an eternity, brightly blue, furious, beautiful. That black head tilted toward her, descending. . . . Sarah could feel her heart begin to pound. Her throat went dry; her eyes, strangely heavy, fluttered shut. He was going to kiss her, she knew. She was suddenly, avidly curious about how he would kiss. . . .
“Let me go. You’re hurting me,” she ordered tremulously, dragging her eyes back open with an effort and forcing her too-pliant spine to stiffen. To her surprise, he did, his head jerking back as though she had slapped him, his hand releasing its grip on her hair. At the same time, the arm around her waist was lifted. Without his brawny strength to hold her on the saddle, she felt herself slipping.
When, a moment later, they both heard the pounding of horses’ hooves, she was safely on the ground, breathing erratically as she smoothed her skirt and then attempted to do the same to her hair. Her eyes were bright with wariness and other emotions she preferred not to analyze as she stared at the man who slid agilely over Max’s haunches to stand a few feet away. When Edward, with Percival close behind, came galloping into the copse, faces tense with alarm, horses lathered from such hard riding in the intense heat, Sarah had regained most of her aplomb. She turned to face them with surface calm. Overhead, a kookaburra let loose with a burst of raucous laughter, mocking her efforts.
“Sarah, my God, Sarah, are you all right? What did he do to you?” Percival was off his horse in a flash, rifle in hand and pointed at Gallagher, who looked back at him with a silent taunt. Sarah, taken by surprise, gaped at Percival for a moment.
“Answer the man, daughter,” Edward advised, dismounting in a more leisurely fashion. Sarah looked from her father to Percival and back again, anger kindling in her eyes.
“If you mean Gallagher, nothing,” she said. That was literally true, but what had almost happened—what she had almost wanted to happen—made her flush. She turned to Percival, and spoke sharply in an effort to disguise her embarrassment. “For goodness’ sake, put that rifle down. You’re being ridiculous.”
“You don’t look as if he did ‘nothing’ to you,” her father pointed out in a neutral tone, his eyes surveying her.
Sarah, suddenly conscious of how she must look with her riding skirt stained with earth and grass, her shirtwaist torn so that her chemise peeped forth, and her hair tumbling in streaked-gold tangles to her waist, felt herself flushing anew. Self-consciously she clutched the edges of her shirtwaist together again—she was ashamed to remember that she had forgotten all about the revealing tear during her exchanges with Gallagher—and shook her hair back from her face as she met her father’s eyes with a calm she did not feel.
VI
“You’re right, he did not do ‘nothing,’ ” Sarah said slowly. She met Gallagher’s eyes for a moment and saw a faint wariness there. The moment was too brief to allow her to savor her satisfaction in having disconcerted him. Small revenge for the unthinkable feelings he had aroused in her. Percival turned to look at her, his expression belligerent. The sharp click as he cocked the rifle reverberated in the still air. “He very likely saved my life,” she finished quickly, spurred by that ominous click. Percival wouldn’t need much of an excuse to shoot Gallagher down like a dog, she suspected.
“How so?” her father aske
d, looking from her to Gallagher and back again. While not as angry as Percival, Edward looked grim, too. “Were you thrown? I wouldn’t have thought . . . But I’ll grant you that Malahky was wild-eyed when he came running back to the stable.”
“I’ve never seen you part company with a saddle in all the years I’ve known you, Sa—Miss Sarah,” Percival interjected harshly. “You’re the best damn—ah, danged—female rider I’ve ever seen. Don’t let your modesty betray you into protecting a convict.” He nodded once in Gallagher’s direction. “It’s obvious that he attacked you. That rip in your dress didn’t come from any fall. And look at his face—he didn’t have that scratch on his cheek this morning.”
Sarah longed to give Percival a set-down he wouldn’t soon forget for daring to question her, but she didn’t want to exacerbate his anger at Gallagher. Just why she should feel that way, she wasn’t certain; perhaps it was because the brief glimpses she had had of Gallagher when he wasn’t angry or mocking her had shown her how humanly vulnerable he could be. Or perhaps—dreadful thought!—it was because his slightest touch had the unprecedented power to awaken her physical responses. The notion was so appalling that she immediately banished it from her mind. No, she assured herself, her motive was pure philanthropy. Of course it was!
“If you will give me the chance to speak, Mr. Percival, I was about to tell you what ‘really happened.’ ” She raked Percival with an icy stare, then turned to address her father, who was regarding her closely. He stood a few feet away, idly holding his reins in one hand while his horse stood with its head lowered, panting for breath. “Really, Pa, surely you know me better than to think that my modesty, to use Mr. Percival’s word, would prevent me from shouting it to the rooftops if indeed Gallagher had offered me any kind of violence! Yes, I was attacked—by a runaway convict, I think. He pulled me off Malahky and was trying to drag me away into the brush when Gallagher intervened. Gallagher’s cheek was hurt in the ensuing fight. You should thank him instead of standing idly by while Mr. Percival threatens him with that rifle as if he were rabid! I told you, he very likely saved my life. Certainly he saved me from being mauled.”
Her father looked at her meditatively for a long moment, his ginger-colored eyebrows knitting as he considered her words, then shifted his gaze to Percival. “Put that rifle down, John.” Percival, reluctantly, did as he was bidden. Edward’s eyes then moved on to Gallagher. “I do indeed thank you for coming to my daughter’s rescue—what is your name?—Gallagher?”
“Yes, sir.” If Sarah was surprised to hear the respectful note in Gallagher’s voice, she hoped she managed to hide it. At least the man was not stupid, as he would have been had he permitted his pride to make an enemy of her father. “It was my pleasure, sir.”
“You . . .” Edward began, but Percival interrupted.
“And just what were you doing out here in the first place?” Percival’s voice as he addressed Gallagher was sharp with dislike. “I put you to work in the stable—and I don’t recall giving you permission to go pleasure riding, especially on Mr. Markham’s best horse.”
Gallagher’s eyes narrowed on the overseer. Sarah, seeing the anger flash in their blue depths, hurried into speech before Gallagher could condemn himself with his own words. Though why it mattered to her if he did, she couldn’t have said; or if, just possibly, she could have hazarded a guess, she refused to allow herself to do so.
“I asked him to accompany me. I believe my orders must take precedence over yours, Mr. Percival?” To her father: “I remembered about the convict uprising over at Brickton last month, and I suddenly felt nervous about riding on my own. And very rightly, as it turned out.”
As Sarah was very seldom nervous of anything, and her father knew it, she was not sure that this fabrication would be accepted without skepticism. But, to her relief, it was.
“Yes.” Edward nodded. The heated flush in his cheeks was starting to fade, but perspiration still streaked his forehead and darkened his red hair. He had forgotten his hat, Sarah noted, or perhaps had lost it in the rush to come to her aid. In either case, she suddenly thought he did not look well.
“Let’s get back to the homestead, Pa. I’m hot and tired and, as you can see, dirty.” If she suggested that concern for his health prompted her, he would stubbornly stay out in the heat until nightfall. Edward hated to be fussed over; he thought illness was womanish.
“Good idea. I want to get a party together to catch the man who attacked you. Can’t allow a rogue like that to roam free. In the meantime, Sarah, I don’t want you riding out alone. You take Gallagher here with you anytime you’re further than shouting distance from the homestead. Even walking. I’ll tell your sister and mother to do the same. Understand?”
Sarah’s eyes widened slightly as she shot a quick, involuntary glance at Gallagher. He was still standing beside Max, one hand on the horse’s glistening black rump. Percival’s attention had shifted; he was frowning at Edward. Sarah thought she was the only one to catch the faint, taunting smile that twisted the corner of Gallagher’s mouth and then was gone as quickly as it had come. She was sure she was the only one to guess that half-smile’s significance. He was enjoying himself, the swine, enjoying watching her trapped in the corner into which she had painted herself with her lies on his behalf.
“Yes, Pa,” she murmured, inwardly vowing not to set so much as a toe outside the boundary he had prescribed for her until the scoundrel who had attacked her had been caught. Not even for the pleasure of escaping the house for an occasional ride or walk would she put herself in the position of having to endure Gallagher’s company. As she had discovered, he could not be trusted to keep to the line; and she found his refusal to stay in his place unsettling, to say the least.
“If I may say so, Mr. Markham, I don’t think Gallagher is the right man to set to escorting the ladies, although I agree they do need an escort. With your permission, I’ll undertake the chore myself.”
Edward snorted. “Don’t be daft, John. You know I need you working the sheep. You can’t be spending your days trotting about after the women like a pup on a leash.”
Percival pursed his lips. He wore a hat, Sarah saw, but it had not kept his face from being burned a dark red by the sun. The angry color did nothing to improve the appearance of his features, which, in such near proximity to Gallagher’s chiseled good looks, barely escaped being ugly. For the first time, Sarah noticed how thick Percival’s lips were. Probably because she could not get out of her mind Gallagher’s long, hard-looking mouth as it had descended toward hers.
“Still, there are any number of men I could set to the job who would be preferable to this—one.” Percival eyed Gallagher with open dislike. Gallagher’s face was bland as he met that look. Again, Sarah had to admire his cleverness at dissembling so thoroughly before her father. Edward would never guess that he had just given license to a fox to mind his hens. “Mr. Markham, I think you must be forgetting the circumstances under which we acquired him. The man’s a rogue himself. He’s not to be trusted.”
“I think he’s proved that he is by his actions today. Gallagher, do you feel that you could undertake to keep my wife and daughters from coming to harm about the place?” Although Edward shot the question at him like a bullet, Gallagher didn’t even blink.
“Yes, sir,” he said. Sarah sneaked a glance in his direction, taking care that neither her father nor Percival saw. If Gallagher himself did, he pretended not to.
“That’s settled, then. Sarah, you hear?” Sarah had no choice. How could she protest now, without laying bare the whole of her exchanges with Gallagher in explanation? And this she was loath to do. Swallowing a sigh of resignation, she nodded.
“Mr. Markham . . .” Percival was still inclined to argue.
“Say no more on the subject, John. My mind’s made up. Even you yourself said that Gallagher was not yet up to doing the kind of work we need him for. He may as well be watching the women as mucking out the stable. Besides, there’s no one els
e we can spare. If we’re going to save the rest of the flock, we need every able-bodied man out there digging for water.”
This was true, so there was nothing Percival could say. Still frowning, he turned to his horse and mounted without another word. Then, gathering up the chestnut’s reins, he addressed Sarah.
“You’d best ride pillion behind me. My horse is a trifle fresher than your father’s, I believe.”
Sarah lifted her chin as she stared at him with cold eyes.
“Thank you, but I prefer to ride with my father.”
Edward glanced from one to the other of them, clearly not liking to see his daughter at loggerheads with the man he thought to acquire for a son-in-law.
“John’s in the right of it, girl. We came after you so fast that I damn near killed this plug I’m riding. Can’t think how he came to be in our stable in the first place. Not the kind of horseflesh I like. But Max was nowhere to be found, and this sorry bag of bones was the first one to hand.”
“You could ride Max, and I could ride behind you. Gallagher can ride your horse.”
“I’m not up to handling Max today, daughter.” This was so patently a bid to force her to ride with Percival that Sarah almost stamped her foot. Her father never admitted to illness under any circumstances; despite his uncharacteristic lack of vigor, she seriously doubted that he was ill or even feeling poorly. No, his words were nothing more than a shoddy attempt at coercion, and she would not be coerced.
“I’ll ride behind Gallagher, then. After all, Max is the freshest of the horses. I wouldn’t want to injure Mr. Percival’s animal.” This last was said with a saccharine smile. If Max were only wearing a sidesaddle, she would ride him herself and let Gallagher walk home!
“My daughter doesn’t ride pillion with a convict!” The words were said so sharply that Sarah’s eyes widened. Her father suddenly looked angry; unable to help herself, Sarah glanced over at Gallagher. He looked angry, too, although he was controlling it well. Probably only someone who had seen that particular bitter twist to his lips before would guess that he was furious at the slur.
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