Sweet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  Nathan looked at her oddly, trying to gauge her truthfulness. He wasn’t satisfied that he had it yet, but he had no clear idea of what she was afraid of. He released her hands, took a padded stool from beside her chair, and sat on it. “I’ll make arrangements for you to leave Sydney. You can be on your way to San Francisco in a few days.”

  Lydia knew she couldn’t do that. If Nathan had not realized how his own life would be threatened, she did. She couldn’t leave him unprotected. Someone had to watch his back and Lydia nominated herself. “I already said I wouldn’t leave unless our marriage was annulled. Since I doubt Father Colgan will help me do it without your agreement, that means I’m staying here.”

  “In Sydney?”

  She touched her chin, raising her eyebrows a tad. “I don’t relish the thought of your fist against my arrogant chin. I’ll go to Ballaburn.”

  “It will be all right,” he said. “You’ll see. Brig won’t try anything at the house. He’d lose even his right to the strip of land he won if he made a move against you there. There will always be people around.”

  “Why doesn’t Irish do something about Brig? Put an end to the wager without waiting out the year?”

  “I thought you knew,” Nathan said, puzzled. “Irish doesn’t believe what you told him about Brig.”

  Lydia’s head jerked up. She was stunned. “He doesn’t believe me? But he sat in the dining room in this very hotel and listened to every word I said. He never—”

  “He listened, Lydia. He also reserved judgment. When he came back to Ballaburn he told me the whole of it. It was clear that he thought you were mistaken in your conclusions.”

  “Did you tell him what you thought?”

  “He never asked. I didn’t volunteer any information because it wouldn’t have been welcome. Irish doesn’t want to believe that he misjudged Brig so totally and I’m afraid that nothing I say is going to change his mind. It’s more than Irish thinking he’s a good judge of character. At Ballaburn he thinks he’s omnipotent.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said dryly. “It’s one of the reasons we’re generally at loggerheads. He thinks he’s right about most everything and I know I am.” She sighed, her dark blue eyes clouding over. “It’s just as well, I suppose, that he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t need this to worry about. The best thing about going back to Ballaburn will be having more time with Irish. I never understood how much pain he’s been in until he visited. The trip must have been horrible for him. I realized then that I couldn’t expect him to come often, perhaps never again.”

  “Don’t let him think that you’re returning because of him,” Nathan warned her. “His pride couldn’t stand it.”

  “What will we tell him? If it’s not his health, if it’s not concern about Brig, then what story will appease him?”

  Nathan cleared his throat slightly and tried to respond casually. “I’ve been giving that a little thought. We might be able to convince him that we’ve really fallen in love. I think he’d accept it.”

  Lydia had difficulty catching her breath for a moment. She said carefully, “He’d probably congratulate himself.”

  “It seems likely.”

  “All right,” she said quietly. “I think I can pretend. You?”

  He nodded. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  She fell silent, then, “There’s still the problem of our bedroom. I don’t know if—”

  “I can sleep on the floor,” he said quickly. “No one will ever know but you. It won’t be much different than sleeping in the bush.”

  Lydia was uncertain. She studied Nathan’s impassive face. “Well…if you really wouldn’t mind.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I only said I could do it.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s settled then?”

  “It’s settled.” Quite without conscious thought Lydia held out her hand to seal the agreement. Nathan accepted it with equal ease. The bargain struck, they both looked away guiltily as the touch of their hands lingered beyond the moment.

  Chapter 14

  Somehow it worked. Against the realistic expectations of both participants in the truce, Nathan and Lydia were holding their own. Without ever discussing how they would practice their loving deception on the rest of Ballaburn, they arrived at a plan that helped them avoid difficult explanations and tempting situations.

  In spite of the fact that Brigham never arrived at Ballaburn, Nathan made it a point to work within sight of the house. He did not trust Brig not to announce himself suddenly and turn the entire station on its head. He wanted to be close to Lydia when that happened. Lydia had no objections to Nathan stationing himself near the house. She found herself wandering to the windows, searching him out to reassure herself half a dozen times during the day. It was a satisfactory arrangement now, while the sheep were still at pasture, but as spring approached they would have to be mustered for shearing and Nathan would start to travel farther afield. Lydia already knew she would be going out with Nathan on those occasions. If he thought she was afraid to stay at the house without him, he might agree to take her along.

  Lydia tried not to dwell on Brigham or the reasons he had chosen not to come to Ballaburn. Her task was made easier by the demands Irish placed on her attention. He rarely asked for anything from her outright, but Lydia realized she was gradually assuming more and more responsibility for the things he wanted done. They worked daily on cataloguing the books in the library. He showed her how the accounts for the station were kept, how the revenue from the gold mines supported Ballaburn in lean years. She learned where the important papers were, had access to all of the station’s earnings and receipts, and was finally given the task of doing the payroll. Warming to Irish’s confidence in her abilities, Lydia was the only one surprised that she showed such aptitude. Over her bent head, as she worked on the accounts, Irish and Nathan exchanged glances that were at once pleased and amused.

  “He’s grooming you to take control of Ballaburn,” Nathan told her one evening after Irish had gone to bed. He put down the book he was reading and crossed the study to where Lydia was working at the desk. Pushing one of the ledgers aside, Nathan rested his hip on the edge and casually leaned over her work.

  Lydia’s brow creased as she concentrated on the lines of figures in front of her. Nathan’s shadow had fallen across the pages. “You’re blocking my light,” she said, waving him aside absently. “How can I know what I’m doing if I can’t—” The book was closed over her hand. “Nathan.”

  “Nathan,” he mocked, using her tone precisely.

  Lydia laughed and slipped her hand out from between the pages. She glanced at the cherry wood grandfather clock standing in one corner of the room. “My, it’s late. I hadn’t realized.”

  “I know.”

  It had been her practice each of the eight evenings since returning to Ballaburn to make her way to bed first. She would set out Nathan’s blankets and pillow, make certain there was fresh water in the basin for him, and turn back all the lamps but the one on his highboy dresser. He always gave her adequate time to prepare for bed herself before he came into the room. Lydia could have easily fallen asleep in that time, though she never did. Instead, she buried herself deep in the cool sheets and thick woolen blankets and pretended restfulness where none existed.

  Lydia believed Nathan was probably aware she wasn’t sleeping, but he never mentioned it. Just as she never mentioned that although he said his sleeping accommodations were fine, she knew he tossed and turned on the hard floor. There were things better left unsaid, and privately they believed it was what made being together bearable. Or almost bearable. Neither of them thought for a moment that not talking about the tension between them made it nonexistent, but talking about it would have led to doing something, and that was the very thing they wanted to avoid.

  “If you’re tired, I’ll go up now,” she said. She started to push away from the desk, but Nathan’s foot caught the seat of her c
hair and stayed her.

  “If I’m tired, I can go up first. The sky won’t fall if we vary our routine a little.” His smile was faint. “As it happens, I’m not tired. I was going to go in the kitchen and make myself a cuppa. Would you like some?”

  “Please. And if you can find any of Molly’s honey biscuits in there...”

  “I’ll bring a feast,” he promised solemnly.

  Nathan was as good as his word. Returning from the kitchen fifteen minutes later, he laid out a smorgasbord of treats in front of the fireplace and bid Lydia join him. She put her work away again and sat beside him on the edge of the woolen rug. Her dark blue skirt was spread around her as Lydia drew her legs to one side. She smoothed the folds and began to pick and choose among the cold meats, bread, and sweets that Nathan had brought.

  “What did you mean by Irish grooming me to take control of Ballaburn?” she asked. “You weren’t serious, were you?”

  “Very serious.” He poured himself a cup of tea. “Do you really doubt that’s what’s going on?”

  “I’ve never thought about it. Ballaburn will be yours someday.”

  “And yours through me. Irish doesn’t realize you intend to leave at the end of a year. He wants you to have a part in the success of the station. What he’s teaching you to do now could well give you complete control.”

  “That’s absurd, Nathan.”

  “Not so absurd when you realize that I don’t know the first thing about the accounting procedures. Irish has always kept that part of running the station to himself. I know everything about Ballaburn as far as its livestock and lands go. I can muster and shear and shoot and track, but what you’ve been doing most of this week I can’t do at all.” Turning his attention toward the fire, Nathan sipped his tea. “Someday I’ll have to hire someone who knows the things you know and hope like bloody hell they don’t cheat me.”

  “I could teach you.” Or I could stay, she thought.

  Or you could stay, he thought. “I’d like that,” he said. “It wouldn’t have to be everything. Just enough so no one makes a fool of me.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” she said.

  Her quick defense of him made Nathan smile. He watched her eyes stray to his dimples and the heat he saw in their depths was warmer than the fire. He looked away quickly, his smile fading. “I think Brig’s doing just that,” he said. “I don’t kid myself that he’s not somewhere around here.”

  “You mean here at Ballaburn? How can that be? No one’s said anything.”

  Nathan shook his head, angry at himself for bringing up the subject. Confronted with the sultry heat in Lydia’s eyes, knowing she didn’t mean for him to see it, he had said the first thing that came to his mind. “I don’t know that anyone else suspects. Some of the stockmen are reporting damage that could be animals…or could be bushrangers. A mob of sheep were maneuvered onto a ridge just west of here and chased over the edge into the gully. Wild dogs would explain it. So would Brig. I thought I might go out to Lion’s Ridge tomorrow and see if Brig’s staked out his property. He’s entitled to the land from the ridge to Willaroo Valley. He may have decided to camp there.”

  “Don’t go,” Lydia said quickly. Her appetite fled at the thought of Nathan going out to find Brigham. “That is…um…couldn’t you send someone else? Jack would go for you.”

  “Of course Jack would go, but I…What is it, Lydia? Do you think Brig’s waiting for me to leave so he can come here?”

  It had never occurred to her. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Certainly it was possible, he thought. Anything was possible with Brig. The thing that worried Nathan was that he didn’t understand what Brigham was doing. If he was guilty of the attacks on Ballaburn, what was the purpose? If he wasn’t responsible, then where was he? Why hadn’t he returned home?

  “I won’t go,” he said. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll send Jack and Pooley out to look over the property.”

  “Thank you. It does make me feel better.”

  “You know, Lydia, I really don’t think Brig’s going to do anything here at the house. He’s not going to want to reveal his true colors to Irish.”

  “Perhaps he already has,” Lydia said. “Irish rarely mentions Brigham. If he finds his absence from Ballaburn odd, he has yet to say so. Sometimes I wonder…I don’t know…it’s hard to make sense of it all.”

  “You don’t make sense. What is it that you wonder?”

  “Well, I’ve asked myself if we haven’t overestimated Irish’s esteem and affection for Brigham. Perhaps he really does believe that Brig’s capable of everything I told him.”

  “Then why hasn’t he discarded the second will and ended the wager? Or are you saying Irish really wants Brig to have Ballaburn?”

  “No!”

  “Then what?”

  Lydia studied her hands in her lap. Unconsciously she massaged the place where her wedding ring had been. Irish told her she hadn’t earned it back yet. “If he ended the wager there would be no reason for me to be here. You would be entitled to Ballaburn outright and I would be perfectly free to choose where I wanted to live. I know Irish hated it when I went to Sydney. I think he may have used events to his advantage. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “He has no reason to think you’re ever going to leave me,” Nathan said. “You’ve played your part of the loving wife to perfection these past eight days.”

  “Perhaps neither of us is the actor we think we are,” she said quietly. “Irish may be seeing right through our charade.”

  Nathan was silent, thoughtful. He added some tea to his cup and warmed his palms around it. “It’s something to think about, isn’t it,” he said at last.

  “Yes.” Lydia began to organize things on the tray Nathan had brought in.

  “Leave it,” he said. “I’ll take it all back to the kitchen. You go on up to bed.’

  Lydia’s busy, fluttering hands stilled. She avoided looking at Nathan in the event he was looking at her. “All right.” Getting to her feet, Lydia smoothed her gown across her abdomen. “Will you be very long?” she asked.

  “Long enough.”

  Not certain she wanted to know what that meant, Lydia carried herself off to bed.

  “Bail up, mates!”

  The Cobb & Co. coach was already slowing down when the order to halt was given. Three men on horseback blocked the narrow road and a quick look over his shoulder assured the driver a fourth man was coming at the coach from behind. The driver dropped his reins and held up his hands as the order was repeated. The man riding shotgun put down his weapon without firing.

  The bushrangers were a scrubby lot, heavily bearded, and four of them riding together gave rise to speculation among the Cobb & Co. passengers. The most famous highwaymen in Australia were the Kelly gang and four made up their number. They did whatever struck their fancy: looting, ravaging, drinking to excess, and dancing till dawn with an entire town they held captive. They were also murderers. As much as they were admired by the general population for their daring and defiance, no one particularly wanted to be on the wrong end of their pistols.

  The Cobb & Co. riders were almost obsequious in their efforts to give the bushrangers what they wanted. The strongbox containing mail and money was handed over quickly. The passengers filed out of the coach and stood quietly in line while they were stripped of their valuables. In a few minutes they were herded back inside, a shot was fired, and the coach was on its way again, each rider formulating the tale that would be related again and again about the encounter with the infamous Kelly gang.

  After the coach was out of sight Brig shot open the lock on the strongbox. “You blokes can have whatever you like when I’m done,” he said, rummaging through the contents.

  “It was as easy as you said it would be, mate,” one of them said. “We were as game as Ned Kelly.”

  Behind Brig’s heavy beard and mustache he sneered. “Don’t let it go to your head. They thought we were the Kelly gan
g. Why do you think I asked only three of you to help? And you there, Zach, with your black beard and brows, look as like a Kelly as Ned himself.” There was dead silence from his helpers as they considered the import of Brig’s observation. “Right,” Brig said, rising. He held up an envelope. “I’ve got what I want. The rest is yours. I think you know not to brag about this incident. Kelly may hear of it and wonder why he’s not a richer man for his exploits. G’day, gentlemen.” Mounting his horse, Brig cut a path into the bush and disappeared over the crest of a hill.

  While the horses were being exchanged, the passengers talked excitedly in the large kitchen at Ballaburn, recounting their face-to-face experience with the Kelly gang. Lydia helped Tess and Molly serve refreshments and listened as avidly as they to the tales being shared. Irish wheeled in his chair from the hallway and Nathan came in the back door, the coach driver at his side. As the driver moved further into the room, Lydia went to stand beside her husband.

  “He’s told you what happened?” she asked in hushed tones.

  Nathan nodded. He put his arm around Lydia’s waist and drew her closer to his side. Above her head his expression was troubled. After a few minutes of listening to the passengers, Nathan bent his head and whispered against Lydia’s ear, “Come outside with me a moment.”

  Lydia followed Nathan out of the house. The day was cloudy and breezy and she batted at her gown to keep it from billowing all around her. Nathan offered her his jacket, which she didn’t accept. “A moment, you said,” she reminded him. “What is so important that we need talk about it out here?”

  “This isn’t Kelly country, Lydia. Ned’s gang raids towns farther south of here. If those passengers want to think they’ve been held up by Ned Kelly, then let them, but I don’t believe it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that as long as I’ve known Brig he’s always had a fancy to play the highwayman. ‘We’ll have two pops and a galloper,’ he used to tell me.” At Lydia’s blank look he explained, “Two pistols and a horse.”