Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) by Sandra Dengler Page A
Authors: Sandra Dengler
Ads: Link
the rain fly and glanced at the chopping block. A curtain of noisy black flies had descended upon the beef haunch. She took a deep breath and met Mr. Sloan eye to eye.
“I wish to thank ye—express me gratitude—for coming to me rescue moments ago. I should never have walked to that part of the shore; ’twas pure foolishness. I would have gone the way of—” her voice stuck a moment—“of Kathleen, had ye not dispatched the beast so promptly and skillfully.”
He laughed. He threw his handsome head back and laughed so heartily even Samantha could feel a wee bit of his pleasure, though she hadn’t the foggiest notion why. “You were safe that far up the shore, Sam. I didn’t save you from as much as you think.” He sobered. “Kathleen must have waded out into the pool, probably with her shoes in her hand, much the way I saw you on the beach yesterday. She probably almost escaped its first attack—the blood and hat on the bank.”
“So that’s why ye forbade us going near the estuary. Linnet and meself. And Fat Dog said … I see now.” She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t close away the constant, hideous buzz of the flies. “I am grateful anyway, Mr. Sloan, for yer concern.”
“And you’re very, very sorry you came.”
She opened her eyes. “Aye, I am that. But as I’ve already told ye, a Connolly can be trusted. I made the deal and I’ll stick it out to the end.”
“You’re a good woman, Sam.” He laid his warm hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze and shake. “A good woman.”
From the far side by the jackstraws, a man’s voice called out. “We found her.”
Mr. Sloan strode back out into the rain.
And the good woman sat down beside the buzzing butcherblock and buried her face in her apron and wept.
Chapter Five
Rotten Cane
For years now, postal service had been the responsibility of the new federal government, although each state still issued its own postage stamps. Unfortunately, no higher level of competence prevailed despite the change of leadership. Luke Vinson didn’t trust the postal service any further than he could finance it. He sent Martin Frobel a letter. He also sent a telegram. And at the last moment, almost certain something would go awry, he went himself.
An hour west of Townsville, Luke perched on top of a load of fetid green sugar cane as the sun beat on his head, and watched the flies work the sticky sap. He had abandoned chemistry and physics but they had not abandoned him. In spite of myself, he thought, I can never help pondering a sticky, excuse the pun, problem in physics.
This was an open slat-side railroad car and the train’s velocity had to be close to thirty miles an hour. And yet, unless a fly flew above the top rail where the wind caught it and whipped it away, that insect, unattached to any surface, could zig and zag, hover or cruise, as if the train were standing still. There was a defined physical principle involved here, and Luke was certain that at one time he could have quoted it, but he could not for the life of him remember it. And while he racked his memory, the flies nonchalantly ignored the fact they were hurtling west at breakneck speed.
The fellow named Josip popped up like a jack-in-the-box from the back end of the train. He had worked his way forward, hopping from car to car, staggering drunkenly across the shifting loads until he could join Luke here.
Josip settled cross-legged on the pile and grinned. “Goot ting dis cane going in stakesides. Stink to high hebben. Inside closed boxcar, build up, and poom .”
“ Poom! ” Luke chuckled. “The dreaded cry of the chemistry lab. I’m contemplating flies and physics, but you’ve offered me a more pressing question: why don’t you fall off the train? This cane is treacherous footing indeed.”
“Fall off! Not yet. Tricky going is when you haf the open car of cows. Walk on cows’ backs, den it gets snakey. I don’ unnerstand why preacher-man rides on stinking
“I wish to thank ye—express me gratitude—for coming to me rescue moments ago. I should never have walked to that part of the shore; ’twas pure foolishness. I would have gone the way of—” her voice stuck a moment—“of Kathleen, had ye not dispatched the beast so promptly and skillfully.”
He laughed. He threw his handsome head back and laughed so heartily even Samantha could feel a wee bit of his pleasure, though she hadn’t the foggiest notion why. “You were safe that far up the shore, Sam. I didn’t save you from as much as you think.” He sobered. “Kathleen must have waded out into the pool, probably with her shoes in her hand, much the way I saw you on the beach yesterday. She probably almost escaped its first attack—the blood and hat on the bank.”
“So that’s why ye forbade us going near the estuary. Linnet and meself. And Fat Dog said … I see now.” She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t close away the constant, hideous buzz of the flies. “I am grateful anyway, Mr. Sloan, for yer concern.”
“And you’re very, very sorry you came.”
She opened her eyes. “Aye, I am that. But as I’ve already told ye, a Connolly can be trusted. I made the deal and I’ll stick it out to the end.”
“You’re a good woman, Sam.” He laid his warm hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze and shake. “A good woman.”
From the far side by the jackstraws, a man’s voice called out. “We found her.”
Mr. Sloan strode back out into the rain.
And the good woman sat down beside the buzzing butcherblock and buried her face in her apron and wept.
Chapter Five
Rotten Cane
For years now, postal service had been the responsibility of the new federal government, although each state still issued its own postage stamps. Unfortunately, no higher level of competence prevailed despite the change of leadership. Luke Vinson didn’t trust the postal service any further than he could finance it. He sent Martin Frobel a letter. He also sent a telegram. And at the last moment, almost certain something would go awry, he went himself.
An hour west of Townsville, Luke perched on top of a load of fetid green sugar cane as the sun beat on his head, and watched the flies work the sticky sap. He had abandoned chemistry and physics but they had not abandoned him. In spite of myself, he thought, I can never help pondering a sticky, excuse the pun, problem in physics.
This was an open slat-side railroad car and the train’s velocity had to be close to thirty miles an hour. And yet, unless a fly flew above the top rail where the wind caught it and whipped it away, that insect, unattached to any surface, could zig and zag, hover or cruise, as if the train were standing still. There was a defined physical principle involved here, and Luke was certain that at one time he could have quoted it, but he could not for the life of him remember it. And while he racked his memory, the flies nonchalantly ignored the fact they were hurtling west at breakneck speed.
The fellow named Josip popped up like a jack-in-the-box from the back end of the train. He had worked his way forward, hopping from car to car, staggering drunkenly across the shifting loads until he could join Luke here.
Josip settled cross-legged on the pile and grinned. “Goot ting dis cane going in stakesides. Stink to high hebben. Inside closed boxcar, build up, and poom .”
“ Poom! ” Luke chuckled. “The dreaded cry of the chemistry lab. I’m contemplating flies and physics, but you’ve offered me a more pressing question: why don’t you fall off the train? This cane is treacherous footing indeed.”
“Fall off! Not yet. Tricky going is when you haf the open car of cows. Walk on cows’ backs, den it gets snakey. I don’ unnerstand why preacher-man rides on stinking
Similar Books
