Ella. Virginia Taylor

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ don’t think Papa minded. The sheep move onto fresh grass when they need to.”

      “That’s one theory.”

      “If there’s another...?”

      He shot a cynical glance at her. “Your sister knows nothing, either?”

      “Oh, less than me. She also cares less than me, but she has so much else to do that she doesn’t have time to worry about the little things.”

      “On a sheep station, the most important job is the sheep.”

      Tired and feeling more than useless, she said, “I suspect Girl woke you when the sheep began to escape. And since she never barks, I have to assume she wasn’t penned. I can only be grateful, and I won’t say another word on the subject of unconfined dogs.”

      Reaching out, he tugged Ella’s braid. “What? No more little lectures, Miss Dorella?”

      She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been teased or offered a gesture of warmth. “Ella.” She cleared her throat. “Miss Ella.”

      “Cinderella.” He stared at her from beneath hooded lids.

      “So the local children used to call me when I was a youngster. That’s why I use the shortening. I should also thank you for pulling me out of the billabong.” She pushed the loosened curls from her face. “But, I didn’t throw myself into the billabong, as you know.”

      “Are you insisting I apologize for Girl’s mistake? I do.”

      She drew a deep breath. “You’ve made up for that by being amazingly generous with your help. I’ve been ungracious. Thank you for hauling me out of the water.”

      “My pleasure.” He lowered his lids and stared at her. His mouth thinned. “As for rounding up your sheep, it’s apparent you can’t run a sheep station. You should move to the city as soon as you can.”

      “Or marry a landed gentleman who will take on this property and my sisters.” Contrarily, she objected to being told to do what she meant to do.

      “I don’t doubt you’ll find one if you try.”

      “Really?” she said with goaded inflection.

      “You’re comparatively attractive.” Without meeting her gaze, he checked the knot on his rope fence.

      Her jaw clamped. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Rose is amazingly beautiful, but during her two years in the city, she didn’t find any husband, let alone a rich one.”

      “Perhaps she had another plan.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Perhaps she wanted to marry for love. People do, you know.”

      “Papa wouldn’t have prevented her marrying anyone she chose, though, like any parent, he would have preferred her to choose wisely. No, I just don’t think there are as many available men in the city as we suppose.” She glanced at him sideways. “Then again, we need quality rather than quantity.”

      “I agree. Too many men would be hard to bear.”

      She propped her fists on her hips. “So, you think this is amusing?”

      “I’m agreeing with you.” He held her gaze.

      “Why start now?”

      “Cowardice.”

      She laughed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in bemoaning my fate to you.”

      He glanced away. “We discover our strengths during trying situations.”

      “You would have left me to drown if you believed I would discover my strength.”

      “There is a difference between what can and can’t be changed.”

      She sighed and turned toward the house. “A woman’s place is in the home. I know. Jed is managing the sheep, and he is a godsend. If we had to pay him...”

      “You don’t pay him?”

      “Not with money. He has no use for it. We pay him with flour and sugar, meat when he wants it, and the skins of the slaughtered sheep.” She glanced back at his chiseled, moonlit face. “Good night and thank you. If you want sugar and flour, or a sheep...?”

      He shook his head. “Make me a hearty breakfast in the morning and that will be payment enough for my services. Now, off to bed with you.”

      She skittered off, now shown beyond doubt that the fences had been in a bad way for some years. Instead of noticing, she had congratulated herself for managing without servants, and she had patted herself on the back because she maintained a vegetable garden and a grove of fruit trees. Assuming the sheep only needed to eat and drink until she and her sisters left had been as easy as closing her eyes.

      Sometime in the next few months, she had to put the property on the market. A run-down holding would not sell for the price needed to meet their obligations. As she climbed into bed for the second time that night, she mentally rearranged her daily tasks.

      She was certain Cal wouldn’t doubt that a fit, twenty-one-year-old woman could mend fences.

      * * * *

      Cal slept until dawn. As the sun yawned behind the hills, he rose out of bed, washed, and shaved. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to teach Miss Ella how to run her station. He had his own way to make, but at least he could give her a helping hand. With this in mind, he freed the station’s dogs. Girl stood close to heel while the others sniffed his shoes and bounced happily.

      They sat and stayed on instruction, giving him enough confidence to lead them to the pump by the stables. He filled a bucket, from which they lapped with enthusiasm. After letting the dogs settle for some minutes, he took them to the holding yard, which contained the escapees from the night before, and he tried a few commands.

      Distant choral bleating warned of the arrival of the next mob of sheep. “Heel,” he said, and the dogs followed. Girl didn’t let him out of her sight. The mounted Aboriginal stockman herded the sheep toward the woolshed paddock. Cal sauntered around to the gate and opened the latch for the native, commanding the dogs to guide the sheep through the space. They managed, but if they hadn’t, Girl would have. She, however, stayed with Cal.

      As the last sheep leaped frantically through the opening, the stockman gave Cal a wide grin, showing a set of strong white teeth in his shining black face. He wore old canvas trousers belted with a frayed piece of rope and a sweat-stained calico shirt. “Boss’s dogs,” he said, looking pleased. Leaning down, he closed the gate.

      “Have you worked with them?”

      The stockman shook his head. “Boss’s dogs,” he repeated, smacking his dusty hat against his thigh. “Belonga ’im.”

      From that, Cal assumed that Mr. Beaufort had not let the stockman use the dogs. The aborigine seemed competent. He’d certainly started rounding up at first light. If he’d not been allowed to work with the dogs, this rather pointed to Mr. СКАЧАТЬ