Mary Brock Jones Read online

  It didn’t help, not as much as he had hoped. One day, she would let the boy go free. He had to believe that. One day. But he knew now that only she could decide when that day would come. It was a right she had more than earned. A right that would destroy her if he tried to take it away. Her drawings had shown him that.

  Until then, he must keep her safe.

  Starting with telling the Johnstons exactly what he thought of letting her roam around a mining camp like the Arrow with only young Georgie for protection—and he would show the Arrow just how important this woman was to him. How real were the packers and his arm of protection over her. Starting with that young idiot who had tried to assault her.

  “The packers matter here, boy, and they take care for their friends. Remember that next time you accost a young lady without her permission.”

  The man grunted, scowling as he set out for another field, another place where he hoped not to be known. Maybe John should feel guilty, but he had no intention of reversing his ban on the boy. The miners must know the penalty if they touched those under his care. Only that would keep Nessa safe.

  Then the brother came back.

  “Philip!” Nessa’s glad cry left him in no doubt of her brother’s place in her heart. The boy trudged up the pathway by the Johnston’s hut. John had walked over to escort her to work in the morning. He had been waiting since first light for the pleasure of feeling her arm tucked trustingly into his. Now it wasn’t going to happen.

  “What are you doing here so early? Have you found something?”

  Philip shook his head. “But I will, Sis. There’ve been traces of colour. Just a bit longer.”

  “Of course you will. Now, come on in and have some breakfast. You look half-starved.” Nessa playfully poked him in the ribs. There was no missing the wince, no matter how hard Philip tried to keep a straight face. She stopped, turning him to the sun to see him more clearly. It was only an instant before he pulled away, telling her to leave him alone; but that was enough. His shirt was torn, his clothes smudged with dust, and he carried no bag. What had looked to be the normal wear and tear of the miner’s toil was something quite different.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing … Of any moment, anyway.” Philip would not look at her.

  “Your claim was jumped?” said John. Philip glanced at him, before answering his sister’s cry.

  “I wasn’t badly hurt. You don’t need to fuss.”

  “You were lucky then,” said John. Both of them needed to hear it, he decided, yet hated having to inflict the honest truth on Nessa. “There are plenty who were not so lucky.”

  Philip scowled. “You don’t need to tell me that, Reid. I’m not totally naïve; but I got away with a few bruises this time. Equipment can be replaced, and they didn’t get the bit of gold I did have hidden away. Enough there to get me started again.”

  At least the boy was learning, if that warning glare meant he wanted to spare his sister more worry. Typically, Nessa’s response was to bolster her young brother by mopping up his psychological hurts.

  “So you have found some gold. Well done.”

  It worked. Philip relaxed, and John pushed down hard on his frustration. If it was up to him, the boy would be allowed to suffer the full effects of his foolishness, but there seemed little hope his sister would bet be so brutal, much as it was needed.

  “So you have come to town get more equipment, then back to the digging?” she asked.

  “His claim’s gone and he won’t get it back from that kind with fair words alone.”

  “No,” agreed Philip. There was some hope for the boy then. “I had hoped Sergeant Garret would be in town.”

  “He left yesterday to check on the outlying claims and is not expected back for a good week,” said Nessa.

  “You could stay in town. Help out your sister while you wait his return. Better protection than the one small boy she seems to be making do with at present.” John did his best to ignore Georgie’s protest and accompanying thump.

  “No, no, there’s no need—” began Nessa.

  “As to that, I’ve been thinking…” said Philip at the same time.

  Nessa stopped, giving way without thinking to Philip, but, for the first time in her memory, he waited for her to finish what she had begun to say. She shook her head and waved for him to continue.

  “It’s just that there’s a power of fellows here already. The best sites were taken long before we got here. On the way into town, I got talking with this chap, and he reckons the Shotover River up the Skippers is the place to be. There were only traces of colour in the claim I had, but the talk is that nuggets are just lying round for the taking up the Shotover. I’ve been thinking it might be better if we tried our luck there.”

  John felt like smashing something—preferably young Ward’s face. “The Shotover River is as fast and dangerous as they come; Skippers canyon is steeper even than the Arrow gorge, and the company is just as bad.”

  “Yes, but the Camp at Lake Wakatipu is bigger than the Arrow, and more settled now there’s a decent boat service across the lake. Nessa would be safer there than here, and could get more work there too,” said Philip, scowling at John as he gestured angrily towards his sister. At least the boy was starting to think about looking after her, and John had to concede he was right. Queenstown, as the rapidly growing township that serviced the Shotover and surrounding area was coming to be called, would be a lot safer than here. He would speak to Jean-Claud about finding another family to care for her. Then saw the unguarded look on Nessa’s before Philip turned back to her. A bone deep weariness and dismay. By the time Philip had swung round to say, “What do you think, Sis?” she had banished it for a bland look of genial acceptance.

  “Whatever you think best.”

  With that, the boy was back to being ten feet tall and cocky as hell. John wanted to smash him all over again.

  “‘Right,” said the boy. “How soon can you get packed up? We should get under way as soon as possible if we want to make the town tonight.”

  Still, John saw that stoic courage of hers held. She nodded, asking for a couple of hours only to shut down her business, pack her things and say goodbye to all who had been so good to her here. Two hours only to wrench out all those hardy shoots she had started to grow in this small community. It was left to George to say what John felt.

  “Here, you aren’t taking our Miss Ward away? You can’t! It’s not fair!”

  “I’ll come back and visit.”

  “No, you won’t,” said George with all the wisdom of a child reared on the rushes. “People never do.” Then, before anyone could stop him, he aimed a precise and well placed kick into Philip’s shin then raced off down the road.

  “That little savage!”

  Philip started after him, but Nessa put out a soft hand, just beating John’s hard thrust.

  “No, he’s just an upset little boy. Leave him be.”

  Her quiet order stopped both men. John hid his clenched fist in his pocket.

  “I’ll be leaving you to get on with it, then,” was all he could say.

  Nessa looked up, startled, and for an instant, hope blazed in him as he caught the look of stunned loss and pleading in her eyes. “You have a lot to sort out,” he said gently. Then couldn’t help adding, “If I may, I will see you again before you leave.”

  “Oh, yes, please, if you would.” Then he saw her realise what she had said. Her mouth tightened into its company smile. “It is good of you to take so much trouble. Thank you for your help here.”

  “It was nothing,” he grated, then marched away before he did anything else stupid. Like get down on his knees and beg her to come home with him.

  Nessa watched his tall figure stride up the road and knew that once again she was losing a pillar she longed to lean on. If only. But her life was set, and it was not for her to complain. Philip stood beside her, watching John Reid with a jaundiced eye. Nessa took one look at his face and hurried off
herself to Mrs Johnston’s. Listening to more complaints from Philip was beyond her just now.

  It was bad enough having to tell the Johnstons of the sudden change of plans. Mina was more upset than Nessa expected, with loud lamentations at her news. Nessa said nothing to stop her, her face frozen and guilt in her heart. Fortunately, Mina saw the trouble in Nessa’s face and quickly stopped complaining, putting back her shoulders and turning to her equally upset children. “Shush up there, young ones. People come and they go. It’s the way of these parts. That don’t mean they stop being friends.” She whirled round and glared at Nessa. “And don’t you forget that, young lady. If ever you need someone, Mina and Jack Johnston are here for you.”

  Nessa could have wept at the solid understanding in the older woman’s face.

  Mina squeezed her shoulder gently then discarded such nonsense and hustled them all to sit down to breakfast.

  “What we all need is a good meal to stop all this bellyaching,” she said.

  Afterwards, she bossed the children into clearing up while she helped Nessa gather her things together and simultaneously cleaned up Philip’s wounds.

  One look at the large bruises starting to mar his torso and Mina said best leave this to her. “That boy won’t want a sister mothering over him,” she said quietly to Nessa as she gathered her bandages together. “He’s been beat up pretty bad. Should by rights stay here a day to mend, but ain’t much hope of that. Not once a boy gets an idea in his head. Now, you just go along with Georgie to close up that shop of yours and leave your brother to me.”

  “How bad?”

  “Don’t worry yourself none. He’s hurt, but he can travel. You’ll need to manage him, like, when he gets tetchy with being worn out and all, but he won’t come to harm. His pride’s the worst hurt he took.”

  Nessa studied Philip’s face, saw the white fury and exhaustion beneath the carefully held muscles, then the look of relief when she agreed to go. It was against all her instincts, but she nodded. Mina followed her out the door.

  “It’s for the best, dearie. Young men can be like a proud young colt. That boy needs to drop his head and rest a bit, but he won’t in front of you. Yes, I know you’ve been doctoring his hurts since he was a bittie wee snapper, and from what I see of you and him, right well too; but he’s growing up now and needs to be starting to do for himself. Leave him to me this time. Take your time sorting yourself out, and I’ll make sure he takes a wee sleep. That poor body of his surely needs one.”

  She didn’t like it, but Nessa was forced to give way. Mina had the right of it this time. Since their father’s death, Philip had seen himself as the man of the family, thrusting away her beloved little boy and growing up before her eyes. She had learned to manage him discreetly. It didn’t stop her wanting to mother him, and the short glimpse had told her far more than words. She left the cottage, grateful for Georgie’s chattering litany of complaints as they walked together into town. It saved her having to say or think anything.

  Sadly, it took little time to tidy away her small business. The assay office next door was glad of the extra space and readily paid for her canvas walls and furniture. She had bought them with the earnings of her first morning’s work. Did Philip not know where the real wealth of this place lay? She stood in the doorway, her pitiful pile of books and writing tools stacked beside her. Across from her, the street was lined with businesses—hotels, general supply stores, a draper and the inevitable banks—all rudely built, all vigorously busy and prospering. These were the men who would make their fortunes here, not the hordes of miners.

  In her brief time here, she had already seen too many come with dreams in their eyes and watched others leave, broken and worn out. The small purse of gold nuggets saved from her work was probably more than most of the miners would leave here with. Including Philip, said her honest heart.

  Queenstown was bigger than this place, she had heard. She squared her shoulders. She had started a business once; she could do it again. How many times in her life before had she done what was needed to get by? This was no different. If only it were not so much farther away…

  “All set, then?” A warm, deep voice behind her answered her forbidden thought, and she turned slowly to face the big, solid man behind her, suddenly shy, for what reason she could not fathom.

  “Mr Reid.”

  “My name is John,” he said gruffly. “Grant me that at least.”

  She nodded, a warm blush on her cheeks. “John.”

  “I called in to the Johnston’s. Mina said your brother is still sleeping.” He held up a basket. “She sent lunch down for you.”

  “Thank you. That is kind of her.” She looked in the basket, saw it was piled high, then took her courage in both hands. “There’s more than enough here for two. Would you care to join me?”

  A soft light entered those grey eyes. “More than I can say.”

  She let him take the lead after that. He held onto the basket and drew her hand into the stewardship of his arm. She did not protest, even when he led her away from the town and up the small hill behind the Johnston’s hut.

  “It’s a bit of a climb, but the view’s worth it.”

  She had to agree when he finally pulled her up the last few feet of scrub and tussock. It was not high, the sounds of the camp still reached here, but looking down on the busy scene below was like looking at a separate world. They were in their own aerie, safe from intrusion or observation. She let out her breath, unaware till then that she had been holding it in. Here, with John Reid beside her, she needed no defences.

  Mina’s picnic beckoned. She smiled and undid the bundle, spreading the rough linen cloth on the ground as a tablecloth and taking pleasure in setting out the contents: fresh bread slices with new-made butter, thick slabs of cold mutton, pickles and, as a special treat at the end, a handful of plump dried raisins for each of them. To drink, there was Mina’s own root beer, still cool inside its stone bottle.

  John waited till she had arranged all to her liking, then stretched out on the ground beside her, taking the sandwich she prepared for him. At the end, she lay back beside him, fully replete and utterly content as his strong fingers played with the escaping strands of hair at the base of her neck. It felt so good to lie there, to pretend this moment need never end. Sanity could wait.

  But not forever. Reality niggled at her peace and demanded she push up and away from his beguiling touch. She sat up reluctantly, tidying her hair of the odd twig and stray grass as she resolutely pinned back the errant strands. She refused to look at John, but his hand lay stilled on the ground where she had lain.

  “I must go. Philip will want to put some miles at least behind us today.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to.” She swallowed nervously. “I must thank you for your timely help the other day, and for all you have done for us. I know we would not have been half as comfortable here without your intervention and support.”

  Now he, too, pushed up, forcing her to look at his face.

  “Don’t you dare thank me. Not like that. Not as if you are saying goodbye and I am some stranger you pass by.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No.” He thrust a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as he captured her hand again. “There is something here, Nessa. Can’t you feel it? Have you no idea how I think of you?”

  She refused to nod, to betray how much she wanted to agree with him, but her body swayed towards his as he stared hungrily at her, his usually calm face dark with intensity. With an oath, he pulled her towards him and his mouth came down on hers. Not gently, but she felt no fear. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue seeking hers in a dance new to her and as old as time. Want surged up in her, and her body melded with his. That sense of rightness, of finding her home, rode her as strong as on that first day they met, along with a tide of yearning for something unknown. Nothing in her told her to stop. Pleasure was so rare in her life, so precious.

  His hands roa
med, pushing into her hair as he deepened his kiss, drinking in her very soul, then down her back, tracing curves and lines in teasing worship that told her she was beautiful and desirable and that this was good. It was all so new, but she had no thought of asking him to stop, not even when his hands moved to pluck and knead at her breasts, bringing them to a hard aching need that demanded more and more.

  She was lost to the world around them, even as he rolled her on to her back and the sharp stones bit into her shoulders. All that brought was a slight wince and a shuffle to one side.

  A small movement, but he felt it. He pulled back from her, but still his hands cupped her face in gentle possession as he looked down at her. “What am I thinking? This is neither the time nor place for this. You have driven me to distraction, my sweet lovely. There better be a parson close by.”

  “Parson? Wha—You go too fast.”

  He rolled over to lie on the ground, cradling her in his arms and turning her to face him. His smile was the rare, sweet smile of a man at peace. “My lovely Nessa, I want you desperately and have thought of nothing but you since you left my home.”

  She blushed. “Thank you. But this .. it’s all too fast for me.”

  “Too fast!” There was a barely suppressed gasp of laughter. “After what just happened? In a few more minutes, Miss Ward, you would have been thoroughly compromised, and you were making no attempt to stop me.”

  “I couldn’t,” she admitted. “Not with what you made me feel.”

  His mouth swooped down then for another kiss, from which she emerged long moments later, dazed and struggling to remember the strands of her argument.

  “Philip will have to wait. He can mind you for a change while I go find that parson. It shouldn’t take more than a few days. I heard of one near the Dunstan diggings.”

  Philip. The cold water of reason hit her. She began to struggle, pulling back to escape the beguiling warmth of his arms. Slowly, his face changed as he saw she was serious. He sat back, but she felt him watching her as she busied herself brushing dust from her skirt and marshalling her defences. By the time she got the courage to look up, his face was as grim as it had been joyful so short a time before.