His curse of pain covered her shocked intake of breath and moan of distress. He wore nothing under his trousers. Her hands shook. She bit her lip and steeled herself not to stare at his perfect male body. His skin was white where it had not seen the sun, his body hair brown and curling. Thank God he still wore his shirt. At least the length of it covered his vital male parts.
"Hurry up, damn you. A man could bleed to death, you're so bloody slow."
She focused her eyes on the jagged wound oozing blood on his thigh.
"Anyone would think you've never seen a man with his trousers down before."
"Oh, I've seen plenty," she lied. "I'm just shocked at the size of the wound."
Making sure her hands didn't brush against any part of him except his leg, she gritted her teeth and bathed the blood away. "They're not as deep as those on your hand."
"Hurry up," he snarled, despising himself for the tumultuous feeling the gentle, soft hands had on him. Harry has the touch of a woman, and if the boy didn't hurry up, his turmoil would be obvious to anyone who wasn't blind. He swore softly.
"Sorry if I hurt you."
"Just bandage me up will you." He raked the fingers of his left hand through his hair. What the hell was happening to him?
"All done."
The top of Harry's bright head almost touched his groin. He gritted his teeth and turned his thoughts to the French who were taking such terrible casualties in Verdun. He was stronger now, his nerves much better, too, except near this scruffy little urchin.
He didn't want to let the Martins go. Gilbert proved himself an expert rider, Harry a good worker, also. He purposely treated the boy harshly, but could not stop himself. The kid rubbed him up the wrong way, had from the first time they met.
"All finished, I'll help you get back into your pants."
"Thanks."
Harry held his pants out so he could slip his legs into them, and as he fumbled to do them up, she shifted his hand away.
"I'll do it."
He glanced down and saw Harry's face turn red. Surely he couldn't be embarrassed? What a strange young fellow.
"Think I'll go to my hut and have a whisky. My hand is hurting like hell."
"Have a lie down," she said softly. "They're nasty wounds."
Their gazes locked, and he watched in surprise as concern darkened Harry's hazel eyes to a deep sea green.
"Don't worry about me, boy, I'm tough as old boot leather. I'll be down about six when the men arrive back." He patted her head.
After he limped off, she covered her face with her hands and wept at the futility of feeling too much for Ross Calvert who thought of her as a scruffy, cheeky boy. For Gil's sake she could never tell him otherwise.
The men drifted in at six o'clock, but Ross did not put in an appearance.
"Do you think I should check on the boss?" she asked Jack.
"No, I dropped in on him before, dead to the world. Found half a bottle of whisky on the floor near his bed. Nice looking trout. Did you catch it?"
"Yes, but they just about jumped out and grabbed my line."
Jack laughed. "I know, doesn't seem very sporting, eh, boy."
"No, it doesn't."
His expression sobered. "Keep an eye on your brother."
"Why?"
"I didn't tell Ross, but he took another bad turn."
She glanced frantically at Gil. Pale and trembling, he toyed with his meal in silence. Jack's hand on her shoulder restrained her from dashing over to him.
"Completely went to pieces when he saw the blood. He needs help. You should take him back to the hospital."
"They'll put him in the insane asylum." Her eyes filled with tears. "He'll get better up here, I know he will. He just needs more time." She couldn't hide the despair in her voice or still her quivering lips. "Don't tell Ross, he'll send him away. Please, Jack, a little while longer then I'll take him to the doctor if he doesn't get better."
"Watch him, boy, all right?"
How can I tell the poor little bugger Gilbert's suicidal? Jack watched as Harry, with his shoulders slumped and lips trembling, moved towards his brother. The army brings these boys home wounded in body and mind and dumps them on their families, while calling for more fit young men to sacrifice themselves.
Only a matter of time before Ross went off again. He had more than done his share, had lost his brother, yet still the Empire wanted more from him. A decent man like him would not stand back and let another man do his fighting for him. There was the tragedy. Honorable men became sacrificial lambs.
Why doesn't the army take the old useless men like me? Not young men in their prime.
Eric and Ross were the sons he never had. He loved them as if they were his own. What would become of Devil's Ridge if Ross died without producing an heir?
Chapter Four
Ross came to breakfast next morning knowing he looked pale and haggard. After the whiskey had lost its numbing power, his throbbing wounds kept him awake half the night.
"Good morning." He took a plate of bacon and eggs from Harry.
"How are your hand and leg?" The boy blushed to the roots of his hair before turning his face to one side.
"I'll get you to change the bandages for me tonight."
"Couldn't Jack do it?"
"No, I want you to do it. You have such a gentle touch." Ross grinned. I'll give you something to think about. I'll scare the bloody wits out of you tonight.
"How's your brother?"
"What!" She stared accusingly at Jack who shook his head.
"He's all right, just had a bad night, one of his nightmares. Oh, Gil, there you are?" She smiled at him as he joined them. "Hungry?"
"I am thanks. Sorry about last night."
"It's all right." Harry heaped his plate with bacon, eggs and toast.
"Thanks for yesterday, Jack. Enough, Harry, I'll get fat." He pulled his plate away.
"What happened yesterday?" Ross asked Jack as they took their seats at the table.
"Nothing much."
"I took another turn," Gilbert confessed. "All that blood. I saw so much of it at Gallipoli. They reckon the Aegean Sea turned red with our blood at the landing."
"Don't remind me." Ross shuddered. "I was there. It was a real turkey shoot. Some of the poor devils never even made it out of the landing crafts. The Turks cut us to pieces."
"I've been thinking, Ross, we better get young Harry to ride with us today. You won't be up to much."
"Harry's an excellent rider," Gilbert chipped in. "Better than me, even when I had two hands."
"He's needed here in the kitchen."
"He's bloody well needed for the mustering too," Jack burst out. "For God's sake, we're too many men short as it is. It's bloody dangerous."
"All right." Ross thumped his good hand on the table. "You take responsibility for the cheeky little bugger. I wash my hands of him."
Ross ate his food with quick jerky movements, wondering why it bothered him so much having Harry on the muster. He will annoy the hell out of me. Harry always got him so fired up. Bloody kid was a menace.
After he finished eating, he stalked to the kitchen. "Can you prepare something quick for tea tonight?"
"Why?"
"Because Jack wants you on the muster."
"Really? I can go?" Harry nearly floored him with a lovely smile. "Thank you, you won't be sorry."
"I'd better not be. Gilbert can saddle your horse while you clean up." He swung away and limped off. A damaged leg and this damn kid coming along with them. The round-up was fast becoming a nightmare.
* * *
As always, Harry wore the baggy waistcoat over a loose fitting shirt, but as a precaution against it becoming cooler once they reached the high country, she stashed her jacket into her saddlebag before mounting her horse. She rode with Gil, Ross and Jack. The stockmen led, leaving them to take up the rear.
As the altitude increased, the temperature fell, the cool air brushing her face. Tall mountain ash a
nd snow gums soared majestically upwards, the rugged peaks of Devil's Ridge etched like scarred battlements against the skyline.
"Look at those canyons and gulches," she said to Gil.
"Awesome, sight isn't it? The country's real rough, watch yourself, Harry. There's a valley up here, it's partly sealed off by the mountain, that's what we're using as our holding yard. We scout around, find any stray cattle and drive them in. When Ross gets a few hundred head, we'll drive them to the rail yards to the army buyer. He'll get plenty for them, too."
As they scattered, Harry's heartbeats escalated, exhilaration surged through her. This was the life.
She didn't see Ross or Jack. Tree ferns brushed against her legs and the perfume of the gum trees wafted on the air. Gil rode straight into the bush with her, their job being to round up any cattle that escaped on their way to the holding yard.
Mid morning, the snap of stock whips shattered the stillness.
"They've got some," Gil said as they broke into a clearing.
"Look, Gil. Over there in that little gully by those wattle trees, there's half a dozen steers. We could get them ourselves."
"Our orders are to wait."
"Why should we? I'm sick of hanging around here. Ross did it on purpose, didn't want me to come."
"I don't mind, easy way to earn our wages."
"Not for me." She wheeled her mount and galloped off just as Ross and Jack broke into the clearing driving twenty or so head of cattle before them.
Harry galloped her horse down the hillside, sending the loose stones flying. This was the life. She rode fearlessly, zigzagging between the trees, jumping over fallen logs until she reached the wooded basin.
The cattle grazed peacefully; four heifers and three steers, plump and in prime condition. She plied the stock whip energetically. The mountains rang as she bunched the cattle up and started driving them up the hillside. Gil rode at a more sedate pace to join her and between the two of them they drove the cattle up into the clearing where Ross waited with Jack.
"Fine riding, Harry," the old man said.
Ross sat motionless, his features set like stone. "You bloody little fool. I gave strict instructions."
"Gil gave me your instructions."
"Why didn't you follow them?"
"Because they're stupid."
"Why, you insolent little sod." Ross kneed his mount closer to hers. "I ought to break your bloody neck." He reached over and grabbed her by the jacket. "I've got a good mind to drag you off your horse." He shook her savagely. "And give you a thrashing."
"Go on, try it. Everyone else might be scared of the big boss man, but not me."
"Harry," Gil pleaded. "Stop it."
"Why should I? He's been on my back ever since we arrived. Who the hell does he think he is?"
"I'm the big boss man, as you so elegantly put it, and you're fired."
That stilled the angry retort springing to her lips.
"You can't fire me. I've given you good value. I've worked my guts out for you."
"You've caused me nothing but trouble. You're insolent, scruffy and untidy. In fact, pretty boy, the sight of you sickens me."
The blood drained from her face. She literally felt it ebb away. A roaring sound pounded her eardrums and from a hundred miles away Jack said, "For God's sake, what's wrong with you? You wanted cattle. Harry got them for you."
"Go to hell," Ross snarled. "All of you." He spurred his mount into a gallop.
"You've done it this time, Harry," Gil said. "I suppose we're fired are we, Jack?"
"I'll speak to Ross when he calms down. I don't know what's got into him."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I don't want to leave here," Harry said. "I shouldn't have spoken as I did, but he made me so angry."
"That temper of yours will get you into a lot of trouble one day, lad."
Harry shook like a leaf now, and Jack patted her hand.
"I'll speak to him, but stay out of his way. I don't know why you two strike sparks off each other."
"Thanks. We like it here." Gil grinned. "Harry has always been hot tempered. We're a team. If one of us goes the other does too."
"Come along you two. Let's get these cattle back to the holding yard so the men can brand them."
"You're branding them?" she asked.
"Ross wants them done in case they get mixed up with another mob at the rail head."
For the rest of the day she did exactly as Jack asked. Ross ignored her very existence and she convinced herself she didn't care. At their smoko break she sat next to Stan, a scrawny, middle-aged man who rarely conversed with anyone. Gil sat with Jack and Ross. From under the brim of her hat she watched Ross. Sullen lines etched his face, but at least he spoke to Gil. She cursed her hot temper and impetuosity.
Mid afternoon, Jack came up to her. "Ross wants you to return to the outstation to prepare the evening meal." As she made ready to leave, Ross rode up to her.
"Here." He shoved a sack at her. "Parrots for the pie," he grunted before quickly riding away, as if he couldn't bear to speak to her.
So, her ears had not been playing tricks; she had heard gunshots earlier on. With a wave to Gil and Jack, she started down the mountain. I've still got a job until tomorrow at least. However, one problem remained. How on earth could she repair the damage and get back into Ross' good books?
In the kitchen, she plucked and cleaned the parrots, chopped them up with a few vegetables, put them in a deep baking dish and covered them with pastry, then started on dessert. Jam tarts and apple dumplings might redeem her in his eyes. Only because she needed the job. Why else would she want to heal the rift between them?
With her elbow propped on the table, she was sipping a mug of tea when Ross limped in.
"Something smells good." He gave an appreciative sniff and eased himself down in a chair.
"Your parrot pie. I'm sorry about this morning." Automatically she poured him out a mug of tea and cut him a piece of the still warm jam tart. "I lost my temper."
"Me too, but I need to maintain discipline. I can't have men going off half-cocked, doing whatever they feel like."
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm a bit impetuous."
"A bit? Now's there's an understatement, if ever I heard one." He drained his mug and stood up.
"That bandage on your hand is filthy, it needs changing."
"It's dirty like the rest of me. I'll go back to my hut and have a wash. I've got some bookwork to catch up on before dinner."
"There's plenty of hot water here. Have a wash and I'll dress your hand. You can put on a clean shirt when you get back to your hut."
She emptied a kettle of hot water into a tin dish, one eye on him as he shrugged out of his shirt. Whorls of dark brown hair covered his muscular chest, the perfection of his sleek tanned skin marred only by the jagged scar. It started on his cheek and ended an inch or so above his nipple.
While he dried himself, she fetched warm, salty water. Unwrapping his hand, she gently bathed it, smoothed on a fresh coating of salve and wrapped it neatly in a clean bandage.
"You'd better do my leg while you're at it. Help me out of my pants."
She nearly screamed at him to put his shirt back on so it would cover his manhood. Her hands trembled as she eased the bandage off his thigh.
"Sorry," she muttered when he winced with pain.
One glance at his virile maleness caused the breath to catch in her throat and she almost suffocated.
"Do you like what you see?" he taunted.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
She applied the salve before putting on a fresh bandage, winding it carefully around his hard, muscled thigh. If her hands slipped they would touch him. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her face burned. Her heart thumped like a tom-tom.
"Not so bloody smart now are you?" he sneered.
"You're a pig."
Surprising her, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Turning his back, he pulled up his pants and limped away, le
aving her fuming. Deliberately, he had set out to humiliate her, and he had succeeded more than he would ever know.
How embarrassed would he feel if he knew he had purposely exposed himself to a woman? The temptation to call him back and tell him was almost beyond endurance. But she couldn't. They needed this job, or at least Gil did. One day I'll pay you back. See if I don't.
* * *
At sunrise they left for the railhead with four hundred head of prime cattle. Once again, she missed out on riding with the men. She had to drive a small covered wagon, loaded with food, bedding, spare saddles, bridles, hobbles, cooking pots and all manner of other goods. Grudgingly, she admitted Ross came prepared for any eventuality. He had even thought to bring along a couple of tents in case it rained and the men could not sleep out under the stars in their bedrolls.
Stock whips woke the early morning stillness, the echoes bouncing off the mountains. The scent of the eucalyptus mingled with the smell of horses and cattle. She sniffed the air, inhaling it deeply into her lungs. Even the most expensive French perfume couldn't smell this good.
It took all her skill to navigate the rutted, steep and treacherous track. Ferns and wattle scrub growing right to the edges scraped against the wagon before springing back with a swishing snap. As the cattle could walk only three abreast, it slowed them down and she was glad to be in the lead.
By early afternoon they made it out of the high country. Miles of shimmering plains stretched out like a brown empty vista in front of her. Ross rode up. How grand he looked on a horse, arrogant but princely. His skin was tanned, the ugly puckering scar had faded to a deep pink now. Why should I care what he looks like? But she did. To her horror she cared a lot.
"A couple of miles up the road there's a creek. Get there as quickly as you can and get a fire going. There's plenty of driftwood around. I don't want to waste much time. Rustle up some food for us."
"Yes, boss." She saluted.
His mouth tightened. "None of your lip, either."
It gave her a perverse kind of pleasure getting under his skin, but she must not overplay her hand. What would he do if he did discover her gender? Fire her immediately. It went without saying. Turn her into the law for being an imposter and taking money under false pretences? Her mouth dried at the thought, and her hands on the reins became suddenly clammy. What would become of Gil if Ross banished them from Devil's Ridge?
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