Breakaway Creek. Heather GarsideЧитать онлайн книгу.
his denim-clad backside and long legs, Shelley turned abruptly to look out a dusty window.
Why did he have to be married, she wondered, why did he have to live in the sticks? Why was she even interested? Hadn't she decided she was over men?
The stepladder wasn't high enough to allow Luke to reach into the ceiling space, but he could grasp the edges of the ceiling. He hoisted himself the rest of the way into the crawlspace and disappeared.
'Try not to fall through the ceiling,' Shelley suggested helpfully.
'I will do my best. Just wait there, Shelley. If I find anything I'll hand it down to you.' A brief silence was broken only by the bumping noises of him moving about in the roof space. 'Heck, I should have brought a torch. There's one behind the seat of the Toyota. Can you get it for me, please? Just watch where you walk.'
Shelley returned in a flash with the torch and climbed up to hand it to him.
'There's an old port or something up here,' Luke said, dragging something back towards the trapdoor. 'And a bit of old furniture, but we'll start with the port. If I pass it down, can you grab it? Be careful, it's bloody heavy.'
Shelley had to stand on the third rung to reach it as he cautiously lowered the case down through the hole. He was right - it was heavy. She set it on the top step of the ladder as she descended, and then with her feet safely on the floor she reached up to lift it down, almost overbalancing as she took the full weight of it in her arms.
It was a very old suitcase with rusted catches and cracked leather straps, thickly coated with dust. Shelley sneezed several times as Luke climbed down to join her. He laid the case on its side and crouched to unbuckle the straps, struggling for a moment with the rusted catches.
Shelley held her breath, like a child at Christmas about to rip open her presents. Steady, she told herself. It's probably just old clothes or something else totally irrelevant.
At last the catches gave way and Luke lifted the lid and let out a low whistle.
'Bingo,' he said, lifting out a bundle of envelopes, tied together with string. 'This could be interesting.'
He shone the torch on them before flashing it over the rest of the contents.
'Here're some newspaper clippings, too.'
Shelley sank to her heels beside him and reached for the clippings, carefully flicking through them as Luke directed his torch on the brittle, yellowed paper. His breath was warm against her ear and the smell of the cattle yards clung faintly to his clothes. It seemed fitting that one of the clippings pictured a man on horseback, holding a silver cup in his hands.
"Jack Baxter on Firefly, winner of the Open Campdraft", the caption read. The paper was the Peak Downs Telegram, dated 1933.
'Was this one of your ancestors?'
'Yeah, that was my great-grandfather.' Luke's voice was matter-of-fact. 'He was a top horseman.'
There were others in a similar vein, celebrating family achievements. But right at the bottom of the pile was something that made Shelley draw a deep breath.
MAN GRAVELY WOUNDED IN SHOOTING ran the headline of another issue of the Peak Downs Telegram.
A man suffering from a severe gunshot wound to the chest was brought to the Peak Downs Hospital two days ago. He has been identified as Mr Alexander Baxter, of Breakaway Creek Station.
His frantic companion, a Miss Emma Watson, from Brisbane, claimed to be his fiancée. Police have interviewed her regarding the circumstances of the shooting but there is no suspect at the present time. Medical Officer Kent, reported that Mr Baxter was in a serious condition but refused to comment on the patient's chances of recovery.
The couple were married last night from Mr Baxter's hospital bed.
Shelley silently passed it to Luke, who expressed perfectly what she'd been thinking: 'Holy shit! The mystery deepens. I wonder who shot him, or if it was an accident?'
'And they got married from his hospital bed. That seems desperate. I wonder if he survived?'
'He must have, if they had a child. Unless...'
Their eyes met and Shelley finished the thought for him.
'Was she already pregnant when this happened? If so, no wonder they had a hasty wedding.'
'I wonder if there's anything more.' Luke thumbed through the clippings without success and then began to search the remaining contents of the suitcase. 'I can't see anything. We should take this home and look through it all with better light and a cool drink.'
Luke stood up and took Shelley's hand to pull her to her feet. His fingers were hard and strong, reminding her of the physical work he did for a living. She looked up at his face and their eyes met briefly before she lowered hers, alarmed by the thrill of awareness that coursed through her.
Way to go, Shelley! she thought. This man had more baggage than a supermodel on an overseas tour.
She was quiet all the way back to the homestead, trying to keep a bit of distance between them. But once they had the contents of the suitcase spread over the kitchen table and had begun sorting things into piles, she forgot her reservations. It was sad, but this was the most fun she'd had in a while.
They placed the bundles of letters together. The rest of it, apart from the newspaper clippings, appeared to be mostly old bills, some dating back to the 1900s. They were possibly of historical interest, but not helpful to her.
Luke looked at the postmarks on the letters.
'Some of these are hard to read. But this lot look like 18-something, is it 1885?' He untied the string and opened the first envelope.
'This one was written from Halborough Station via Longreach, August 4, 1885. It's addressed to Sarah. Is that the lady listed in the bible?' He scanned the letter quickly. 'Seems like Sarah's sister wrote this. It's full of family stuff, but no mention of Alex. At least this is the right era. If we read all these, we might learn something.'
He passed the bundle to Shelley.
'I'd better get back to work. I'll leave these with you.'
'You don't mind me reading them? It's your family.'
He shook his head.
'If you uncover any skeletons, they're probably to do with Alex. Besides, what's a bastard or two these days? And I mean that in the proper sense of the word.'
Shelley chuckled.
'I know. I must be old-fashioned, though. I still believe in marriage.'
'Yeah, so did I.' Luke pushed back his chair and got to his feet, grimacing. A scathing note crept into his voice. 'More fool me.'
Shelley watched his retreating figure in silence, surprised at the empathy his words evoked in her. But was she being too quick to judge his faithless wife? After all, she'd only heard one side of the story.
Chapter Three
Brisbane, 1897
'You're mad, wanting to go out there,' Fanny Watson declared. She tilted her silk fan in soft white fingers and wafted hot air on her face. 'Nothing but dust and flies and smelly cattle - I can't think of anything worse. I don't know how Lucy puts up with it.'
Emma gritted her teeth.
'She loves Breakaway Creek, Mother.'
To Emma, even the name of the property was romantic, conjuring images of wild cattle, campfires and dusty stockmen. Her cousin's invitation to visit had been the most exciting thing to come her way for quite some time. Surely her mother wouldn't be so cruel as to stop her going.
Lucy had married a grazier from Central Queensland six months before and wrote glowing reports of life on a remote cattle station. Her only regret was the distance separating her from family and friends in Brisbane. Emma missed her too; the girls had practically grown up together and she