by Mandy Magro
William’s belly growled loudly and he patted it, muttering to himself, ‘Not long now and I’ll get some grub into ya. One more job and then we’ll be off to Goldbury.’
Joey, William’s right-hand man and lifelong mate, grinned cheekily beneath his hat, squinting while inspecting the barrel of his rifle. ‘I bet you’ll be getting more than food back at Goldbury, Will. The lovely Miss Willows will make sure of it.’
William chuckled. Humour was free and it was what kept them going through the tough times. And there were plenty of those. ‘That’s enough talk like that of my Anne, Joey. Besides, jealousy is a curse, my friend. A man can’t help the fact the most gorgeous woman in the world is madly in love with him.’
Joey placed his gun down beside him and smiled broadly. ‘Trust me, Will, I have plenty of women who are madly in love with me.’ He motioned to his strong, six-foot build. ‘What’s not to love about all this? The women go crazy for it. There’s a lot of me to love.’
Will snorted as he steadied his horse. ‘You’re a fool to believe that, Joey. The women you choose to bed are in love with the money you pay them, not the fine specimen of a man you are.’
That sent all four into deep rumbles of laughter, the seriousness of what might lie ahead momentarily forgotten. They had never tried to pull off a heist the size of this and William’s nerves were rampant in his belly. No man had ever tried robbing the richest man in Australia, Ronald Barrington, and lived, since a mob of armed men travelled with the carriage for protection. William wasn’t alone in despising the man. Barrington had gained his fortunes by ruthlessly stealing land from under hardworking farmers’ feet. He’d used the value of a verbal agreement to his advantage, proving to the avaricious British government that without a written contract, these farmers had no rightful ownership of the land they made a living from. This meant the government still legally owned it, and Barrington persuaded the government to sell the land and all the cattle upon it to him for his own greedy enterprises.
The humble farmers and their families didn’t have a leg to stand on, and no money to keep hold of the cherished properties they had shed blood, sweat and tears to create. For Barrington and the government it was a win-win situation: the British government made money from an asset they hadn’t even contemplated and Barrington got his land and livestock dirt cheap. Sadly, for the penniless farmers, it meant homelessness, many of them moving to the goldfields with the hope of making it rich, most finding that they were only lucky to make enough to put food on the table for their wives and children.
William believed it was time for Barrington to endure some justice for his actions. He was ready to take from Barrington what he had taken from the farmers, and was eager to be able to give what he could back to them — after his gang’s share for their troubles, of course. William knew he was risking his life but if it all went as planned, this would change his life, and Anne’s, forever, so it was well worth the gamble.
‘I just hope they have stores of pork and brandy on this coach. A man needs his meat and liquor out here when there are no women to take pleasure in!’ Ben said, licking his lips.
‘Hear hear!’ agreed David, a broad grin creasing his features. ‘I’d be happy as Larry with a bottle of liquor and a side of pork — still oinking if necessary. I’d have no trouble eating the bloody bastard raw, I’m that hungry.’
William nodded. ‘Bloody oath, I’m afraid the rations of damper and tea have dulled the senses. I’m certainly in need of some homemade tucker, as we all are. And a good night’s sleep in a warm and cosy bed wouldn’t go astray either.’
David chuckled heartily. ‘I doubt there’d be much sleeping going on in that warm and cosy bed, Will.’
William grinned. ‘It’s no surprise you fellows don’t have any women to go home to. All you think about is bedding them, not loving them. And let me tell you, true love is much more powerful than anything you’ve ever experienced.’ William raised his eyebrows, still grinning. ‘But, for you lot, it’s all brawn and no brains, as they say.’
‘Hey, fair go, Will, I have enough brains to know that there are two things in life that make you lose your money: women and playing cards,’ said Ben, feigning hurt. ‘This is why I’m forever penniless.’
This sent all four men into hearty chuckles once more until the unmistakable rumble of approaching hooves gripped their attention. The misty morning abruptly fell silent other than the sharp intake and exhalation of their steamy breaths as the men homed in on the sound. Without a word, they pulled calico sacks over their heads, holes cut out for their eyes. William clenched his jaw, tugging at the scarf tied around his neck to loosen it, his adrenalin building as he hooked a finger carefully around the trigger of his pistol. He watched the horse-drawn carriage bounce along the uneven track.
The young driver at the reins whipped the horses assertively, hollering, ‘Yah, yah! Move along!’
William tried to envision the wealthy passengers holed up inside, undoubtedly dressed in luxurious cloth, their bellies full of fine food. It made his blood boil.
Nearing where the Campbell gang was hidden, the carriage swerved violently, swaying to one side, balancing on two wheels as the driver fought to avoid the tree across the track. Satisfied their plan had worked, William, Joey, David and Ben exploded from the confines of the thick scrub on their mounts. They surrounded the carriage, guns pointed at the driver, all eyes searching frantically for the convoy of men known to travel with Ronald Barrington.
‘Whoa! Whoa! This is a bail up! Put your hands were I can see them, lad!’ William roared as he observed the driver reaching down beside the seat. But the driver straightened and pointed a gun towards William, his hands shaking so much he could barely keep the butt against his shoulder.
‘I will not drop my gun, for you will most certainly shoot me dead, sir!’
William fired skywards, the blast resounding off the mountains and leaving the scent of gunpowder hanging heavily in the air. The teenager jumped. ‘I will shoot you dead if you defy my orders! What’s your name, boy?’
The driver slowly brought his rifle down but kept hold of the trigger, his eyes wide with fear. ‘It’s — it’s Harold. Not that my name is of any benefit to you. What do you men want?’
Joey laughed loudly. ‘Well, I think that’s quite obvious, don’t you? We haven’t pulled you up for a spot of morning tea, although that would be lovely.’ He waved his gun towards the carriage, his smile fading instantly. ‘All your gold, money and jewels, right now!’
David motioned down the track with his rifle. ‘And where is the entourage that usually travels with you?’
Harold stiffened, his eyes darting about the bush nervously. ‘They, um, they will be here any minute. So — so look out. They’ll pull their guns and shoot you all — right between the eyes.’
A moment of tense silence passed and then Ben chuckled. ‘He’s bluffing. They have no protection! This is going to be the easiest robbery ever!’
The carriage door flew open and Ronald Barrington stumbled out with his arm clasped tightly around his young wife’s throat. She fought to ease the pressure, gagging, but Barrington squeezed tighter, pushing the barrel of his pistol up against her temple while eyeing Will’s gang with vehemence. ‘You come anywhere near my carriage and I’ll kill her, and tell the troopers you did it. And you don’t want an innocent woman’s life on your conscience, her blood on your hands, do you, fellows?’
‘Ronald! What are you doing? Let me go this instant. How dare you use me as a scapegoat!’ his wife shouted, tears streaming down her face as she tried to pry his arm free from her throat. ‘You’re a stupid man, firing our protection because you thought they stole your precious bottle of rum. It was you who drank it, and you were so drunk already you don’t even remember doing so.’
‘Shut up, you stupid woman, shut up!’ Barrington snarled as he gained control of her once again and shook her violently. ‘I won’t hesitate to shoot you on the spot if you don’t shut that d
amn mouth of yours.’
William carefully eased his horse forwards while pointing his pistol at Barrington’s head. How did an immoral man like this gain a wife so young and beautiful? He couldn’t help but wonder if Barrington had bought her too. ‘Let the woman go or you’ll be a very sorry man.’ He watched cautiously as Barrington hesitated. ‘It’s up to you, Ronald. You can give up your riches and live, or you can choose the hard way — I shoot you first and then take all your treasured possessions in that carriage.’
‘Pfft, over my dead body!’ Barrington spat, his finger now pressing on the trigger as he warily eyed William. ‘You’ll never get anything from me!’
‘Please . . .’ Abby begged William, sobbing. ‘Don’t come any closer or he’ll shoot me.’
Behind them, a booming shot rang out, the sound echoing around the group as a body crumpled to the floor. A pool of dark red blood oozed across the dusty ground, seeping from the gaping hole the bullet had left. It was a ghastly sight. A life had been taken and the bushlands were eerily silent as the living stared in shock. William swore under his breath. This was going to change everything.
CHAPTER
4
2012 — Far North Queensland
With the whoosh of something directly overhead, Taylor’s senses went into overdrive. She glanced skywards at the luminous stars, searching anxiously for the offending creature. Whatever it was had been bloody big. She instinctively ruffled her hair, her heart racing, and a sick feeling bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. She picked up her pace, her stride determined, a panting Floyd jogging beside her.
‘What the hell was that?’ she hissed. She prayed it wasn’t a bat, for if it was and the wretched thing came back, it would be the last straw. Bats freaked her out, big time.
Moaning under the weight of her backpack Taylor pushed on, the reality of being out in the middle of the night in the middle of God knows where hitting home hard. Her skin prickled with trepidation. It was so dark she could barely see two feet ahead, the new moon providing very little light. Thank God she had Floyd with her or she’d be scared stiff. Something scurried in the bushes beside the road and she squealed, picking up her pace to more of a jog. Gee whiz! What’s wrong with me? She was never normally this nervous. She needed to calm down, take stock of her situation. The countryside that was so magnificent and welcoming in the daylight now seemed extremely creepy and intimidating — the darkness felt like a living entity as it wrapped itself around her. If she only knew how much further she had to go, that would give her some comfort. Driftwood had to be close. Didn’t it?
She pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket. The light from it would have been handy right now. Frustrated, she shook the phone as she wished it back to life. Fat chance of that — the bloody thing didn’t work anyway, no reception at all, so she couldn’t call for help even if it was charged. Then again, would RACQ operate out here?
It had been an infuriating few hours. After stumbling around in the dark while holding her mobile up to the sky for half an hour, cursing the phone networks for not providing coverage in remote areas — false advertising, she thought — the battery had gone flat and she was left with nothing. Taylor grumbled at her run of bad luck. She wondered why she hadn’t seen any cars yet. Not that she would hop in a car with a stranger. Though she was in a dire situation, so it would be okay to break the rules just this once.
The distinct rumble of a four-wheel drive grabbed her attention, then a row of massive spotlights on high beam fleetingly blinded her and she stumbled. She landed in a heap and Floyd whined and placed his paw on her arm, his head tilted to the side. She couldn’t help but smile at his doggy concern as she reached out and ruffled his big floppy ears. ‘I’m all good, buddy. Thanks for caring. At least somebody does.’
Floyd barked his reply.
Taylor pushed herself back up to standing, her heart thudding heavily against her chest as she brushed her hands off on her jeans. Should she hide from whoever was behind the wheel before they spotted her, or should she just flag them down? Images straight out of horror films flashed through her mind as she weighed her options. She took a deep breath, willing the logical part of her brain to kick back into action. No! I’m not running and hiding, she decided courageously. I’ll just keep on walking and see what happens. She just hoped that, if it were an axe murderer, Floyd would rip their arms and legs off.
The four-wheel drive slowed down and came to a stop beside them. The interior light came on and a man stuck his head out of the window, smiling amiably. ‘G’day there, do need a lift somewhere?’
‘Um, g’day . . .’ Taylor crossed her arms and eyed him warily as Floyd growled a low warning. She took a small step forwards on wobbly legs and swallowed down hard, finding herself nervous. She took a deep breath and smiled, trying to act tough, even though all she wanted to do was scurry into the passenger seat of the four-wheel drive and lock the door behind her. ‘Yeah, I, um, broke down, well, ran out of fuel ’cause I didn’t stop to think there wouldn’t be fuel stations out here in the sticks, and then, well, my phone wouldn’t work so I started walking, and, um, here I am talking to you . . .’ Taylor felt like slapping herself. Why was she acting so dizzy-headed?
She watched as the bloke sat in silence, nodding his head in understanding while a slight smile tugged at his lips. He looked decent enough, ruggedly gorgeous in fact, with short dark hair, tanned skin, prominent dimples from his wide sexy grin and luxurious coffee-coloured eyes. On the dash sat a tattered Akubra. Her gaze travelled downwards, to where his chequered shirt hung open at the front, revealing the hint of a muscular chest feathered with dark hair. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a tattoo visible on his forearm. Taylor smiled awkwardly as he pulled his impenetrable gaze from her to glimpse down at Floyd, who growled at him again, baring his teeth.
‘Well, in that case you’d better chuck your dog up on the back and hop on in,’ he said finally, pointing to the built-in dog cages on the tray. ‘We don’t want you wandering around out here at night. I’ll drop you down at the Southern Cross Hotel in Driftwood. They have rooms you can stay in. But we better hurry, they shut the doors at eleven p.m. sharp and old Col’s not one for latecomers. He’s a stickler for rules.’
Taylor hesitated momentarily. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’ She pointed to Floyd. ‘But the dog rides in the front.’
The man grinned, sending her heart skittering like tumbleweed in the wind. Taylor instinctively clutched her chest, trying to calm it. ‘Righto, that’s reasonable. Seeing you don’t know me from a bar of soap I reckon that’s pretty wise of you. The pooch can ride in the front. No worries as long as he keeps his fangs to himself. He looks like he’s about to tear me to bloody shreds.’
Taylor heaved her backpack up and into the tray then scooted around to the passenger side with Floyd hot on her heels. The man met her there and opened the door for her. Ahh, now that was something different, she thought, impressed. No one had ever opened a door for her. This bloke had scored two brownie points, one for coming to her rescue and one for being a gentleman.
‘Cheers!’ she said, beaming, as she motioned for Floyd to jump up first. ‘Come on boy, in ya get.’
Floyd barked a short reply and leapt up with ease and she slid in beside him. Her saviour shut the door behind her and she watched as he wandered back around the front, his silhouette highlighted by the headlights. He was tall, over six feet, just slightly taller than her. And she could tell from his build that he was a hard worker, his shoulders broad, his shirt taut across his back and biceps, and his butt in his RM William jeans, oh dear God. And most probably taken, too. Remember, hunks mean heartache, end of story. No ifs, buts or maybes.
The man slid into the cosy cab of the four-wheel drive, turned the stereo back up, threw it into gear, and then spun around to head back the way he had come. A shower of gravel flew out behind the car as it slid for a few seconds and then gripped the dirt road once again. Floyd clung to the seat for dear life wi
th his claws, sliding into Taylor as her belly flip-flopped. Taylor smirked. This sexy bloke had Adam Brand playing and he knew how to handle a four-wheel drive, country style! Her horrible day had just gotten so much better.
He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching at his dark stubble. As his concentration was focused on the road, Taylor allowed herself a longer look at him. She could just make out a hint of purple under his left eye and wondered if he’d been in a fight recently.
As if sensing her scrutiny, the man reached out and turned the volume down. ‘So, I’m Jay Donnellson, owner of Waratah Station, nice to meet you. And you are?’
Taylor gently pushed a protective Floyd off her lap. ‘I’m Taylor, Taylor Whitworth, from the big smoke of Brisvegas. No official job description and not too sure where I’m heading but at least I know where I’m from and that’s a good start, I reckon.’
Jay chuckled, a husky laugh that sent warmth flooding over her. ‘I’m hearing you, most of the time I have no idea where I’m headed in life either. That’s supposed to be half the fun of getting to wherever you’re meant to be going, though. Or so they say.’
‘Yeah, well. I tend to agree with that. Life gets too boring if it’s all mapped out. I like to consider myself a bit of a free spirit.’
Jay glanced over at her, smiling. ‘Hmm, a free spirit, hey? I like the sounds of that. I’m afraid my life doesn’t allow me the pleasure.’ Jay swerved slightly to avoid an echidna that was wandering across the road, and then continued on. Taylor liked the fact he hadn’t run it over, like her stepfather would have. ‘You’ll get on like a house on fire with Col’s wife, Faith, who looks after the kitchen. She’s the complete opposite to him: calm, unconventional; hippie-like, really. They’re like chalk and cheese, those two, but after twenty-odd years of marriage they’re still madly in love. Lucky buggers. It’s just a shame their daughter, Zoe, isn’t more like her mum. She can be a right little spoilt brat. Doesn’t like it when she doesn’t get what she wants.’