Ella. Virginia Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ “Leave the poor dears to stand in the sun and ignore the fact that they might get dirty? Surely not.” She waited.

      “Doubtless, they have pretty blankets to wear that would stave off that possibility,” he said, his voice smooth. “Apologies if I stole your next line.”

      She laughed. The man was quick witted. The kitchen door squeaked. Vianna dashed outside and made a beeline for Girl, who sat by Cal’s booted foot, staring up at him as if the sun shone from his face.

      “Your dog is just too, too sweet.” Vi dropped to her knees and stroked Girl’s white ruff and in return had her face licked by the dog. “She was so good when she sat under your table last night.”

      “She what?” Ella asked, nudging her sister with her toe.

      “I took my roast mutton out to her after dinner,” Vianna said, her tone overly innocent. “It was too tough for me.”

      “You’re a fussy little miss.” Cal tapped his hand on the side of his leg and his dog stood.

      Vianna stared in amazement. “How did you make her do that?”

      “Border collies are easy to train. They’re highly intelligent.”

      “Ours certainly are. They know enough not to obey us.” Vi’s mouth tilted at the corners. “That’s why we keep them penned. They like to round up the hens and race down the road yapping at leaves.”

      “Your dogs are the same breed as Girl. They’re workers. When they’re not kept busy they’re bored. You need to give them a job.”

      Ella’s jaw loosened. He could explain to either of her sisters, but he could only throw orders at her. “They won’t obey us.”

      “Does your stockman work the dogs?”

      “They won’t obey him either.”

      “Why would you keep dogs that don’t earn their way?”

      “They used to work for Papa. I have a great plan, though. Before I plow the fields, I’ll retrain them.” She glanced at him.

      He pushed his hands into his pockets. “They won’t need retraining.”

      “That’s wonderful news, isn’t it, Ella?” Vianna wrapped her arms around Girl’s neck. “Why won’t they need retraining, Cal?”

      Moving only his eyes, he glanced from Vianna to Ella. “Dogs have fairly good memories.”

      “If you could tell Ella what they know, she would have them rounding up the sheep in a trice. You must excuse me now.” Vianna gave him a winning smile. “But I have to finish an arithmetic test. I just wanted to tell you how much I like your dog.” The kitchen door banged behind her.

      “You make a formidable team.” Cal’s lips relaxed. He had the sort of rugged face an artist might use to depict a leader of men, with his straight nose and his defined jawline. His thick eyelashes softened the effect slightly, but he would never be seen as anything other than good looking. “I’m guessing that if your older sister joined in, you would have every man in a ten-mile radius fighting to do your bidding.”

      “No one asked for your help.” Ella reached behind her for the door handle, her heart doing a silly pitter-patter.

      He examined her expression for so long that her cheeks warmed. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll put your dogs through their paces.”

      “No.”

      “If you’re sure.” He inclined his head “But if you’re worried you might have to thank me, you can put your mind at ease. I like dogs.”

      “I’m not worried I might have to thank you.” She tried a tilt of her nose. “I’m worried I’ll have to pay you.”

      “That’s right. It was my duty to pull you out of the billabong after I had let you be shoved in.” His eyes focused on her lips and stayed. “You don’t have to pay me. Perhaps we could make this a favor for a favor.”

      For one particularly stupid moment, she thought he wanted a kiss. Her face re-warmed. She stood, holding her breath. As he opened his mouth to speak, the kitchen door swung open again. “Ella, dear. Could you help me move the flour bag?”

      She glanced at Rose blankly.

      Cal cleared his throat, compelling her to look at him. “My dog is used to uncooked bones,” he said, his tone bland. She thought he was the most unreadable male she had ever met—and easily the most compelling.

      With a helpless nod, she said, “I’ll find some for her—and she’ll find them in the dog’s yard.”

      His mouth relaxing, he headed toward the men’s quarters. His dog, naturally, followed.

      After staring for some seconds at his impressive back view, she entered the kitchen.

      “You’re letting that shearer distract you, Ella, dear. I hope you’re not distracting him, too,” Rose said, opening the larder door. “We want the wool shorn as quickly as possible.”

      Ella drew a deep breath but ended up not answering because she wished she could distract him.

      She’d never interested a man and likely wouldn’t ever have the opportunity.

      * * * *

      Edward Lynton stared at the leather traveling trunk ranged at the foot of his ornately carved tester bed. With a hollow laugh, he swung open the lid, tramped over to his tallboy, and dragged open the top drawer. “Sam!” He grabbed a handful of ironed shirts and threw them at the trunk, where they landed. The sleeves twined like arms on men during a night of raucous drinking. “Sam! Get in here right now!”

      “He’s coming,” called his housekeeper, Mrs. Collins.

      Edward piled clean nightshirts on his other linen. “And has decided to take his own good time,” he muttered. He straightened and scratched his head. “Cravats, cravats, how many will I need?”

      “A clean one for every day,” Sam, former stable master, former sheepherder, and erstwhile traveling companion, answered from where he stood in the open doorway. A short, stocky man, he had grizzled hair; a weathered face; and large red, sun-spotted hands. Pushing seventy, he was more or less the same age as Edward. “How long do you reckon on being away?”

      “As long as I want to,” Edward replied impatiently. “Get the carriage to the door. We’re leaving as soon as I have packed.”

      “Yes, m’lud,” Sam said, pulling at his forelock. “We won’t worry about food. You and me is camels. We can travel for days without nothing to eat nor drink.”

      Edward ignored the humbug. His older brother had been an earl in the Old Country, and Edward was a sixth son. He was, strictly speaking, an “Honorable.” He had no use for a written address in this damned heat-begotten, fly-ridden hellhole. Unlike his brothers and their sons and grandsons, who shivered in their draughty English manors scratching for their next penny, he had earned himself a fortune. In this colony, no man was richer. No man was more self-sufficient. “Tell that interfering woman to get a move СКАЧАТЬ