From Waif To His Wife

So they set up makeshift shelter for her and built a fire in front of it to keep her warm. Then they laid out two swags and gave her two blankets.

‘But what about you?’ she asked.

‘None of us is going to sleep anytime soon,’ Al responded. ‘Anyway, we’re tough. You get a bit of rest,’ he added and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.

Rafe came over to her then with her bag and a mohair blanket from the helicopter.

‘I’d just add some clothes,’ he recommended. ‘It’s going to get really cold. And if you need to go to the loo, I’m happy to ride shotgun.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ she said with real gratitude.

She discovered the bed they’d made for her on the ground was bearable, and she dozed for a couple of hours.

Then she heard a helicopter overhead and the terrain outside her shelter was bathed in the harsh blue light of its searchlights as it reconnoitred. She heard shouts to move the kerosene lamps to indicate a slightly different landing pad, then the ground shook as the helicopter settled and a minor dust storm flew past her shelter.

She couldn’t hear much of what was said because the cattle had become thoroughly stirred up again but some time later the helicopter lifted off, there was a renewed bovine commotion, more dust-and Rafe came to join her.

He added a log to the fire and dropped down beside her makeshift bed.

‘Move over, Mrs Sanderson, I’m coming in and I’m bloody freezing!’

Maisie moved over instinctively and he crawled in beside her.

‘Mmm…’ he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘As warm as toast.’

‘How is he?’

‘They think it could be a trapped nerve in the spine. If so, that’s good news. Are you comfortable?’

‘Yes. How about you?’

‘Yes. Go to sleep.’ He lifted a hand and stroked her hair for a while.

She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and she snuggled up to him and fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.

It took Rafe Sanderson a bit longer to fall asleep as he battled several emotions.

If he put aside Tim Dixon’s baby, the girl in his arms felt almost as if she belonged there. He certainly felt a sense of responsibility towards her. He couldn’t help admiring her pluck and her honesty…

He grimaced to himself in the firelight as he recalled his first, harsh reaction to her incredible story-that she was on the make somehow, that she expected him to be moved enough to hand over some cash to her for just those reasons. Well, he’d done far more-he’d given her the protection of his name.

Of course, although it appeared not to have struck Maisie, his own good name could do with a bit of protection against impregnating a naive girl and flaunting her as his wife then, apparently, discarding her. And the further sleaze that could be added to the mix to do with her being passed between him and his cousin.

But what of the future? She’d admitted to feeling safe with him but had it gone any further? Or, he thought drily, were some of her reactions, reactions that sometimes prompted him to think so, still part of a policy of hedging her bets?

If so that meant she’d rather cleverly orchestrated her opposition to his proposal-she’d thought fast and on her feet.

Unless-had she always somehow divined that to make him chase her would have the curious appeal he’d actually confessed to her?

But did he really believe any of that of Maisie Wallis, feeling so soft now and lovely in his arms with her breath sweet on his neck and her lashes lying like dark fronds on her perfect skin? Hell, he thought suddenly, why am I putting myself through this?

Because you had no option, he reminded himself, other than freezing out there on the hard ground, or sitting upright in the chopper. Not to mention causing, no doubt, comment.

But what would be so bad about turning this into a real marriage, he wondered. The kind of suitable marriage he was beginning to think was going to be the solution for him.

Because it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that, for reasons known only to him-and Sonia-a fall madly and wildly in love marriage might not be on the cards for him.

I’ll tell you why it mightn’t work, he responded to himself: Tim Dixon’s baby. You might be able to cope with it and all the scenarios it raises in your mind in a marriage of convenience with no real love lost, but otherwise, who’s to say it wouldn’t become a real thorn in your side?

What does “otherwise” mean? he asked himself incredulously. That you could, against all probability, find yourself falling in love with Maisie Wallis?

The thought, and its implications, shook him. Another came hard on its heels: if she was hedging her bets but a secret part of her could never forget Tim, they could have the makings of a private little hell between them.

So was she right? he wondered with self-directed irony. Not only right but also honest when she’d said she was going to have to turn certain things off like a tap-to wit, feeling safe in his arms, although, he thought with further irony, she hadn’t been able to get that quite right yet.

Mind you, circumstances hadn’t helped on either occasion, he acknowledged.

But-he clenched his jaw and eased himself a little away from her-she wasn’t the only one going to have to nip certain things in the bud; so was he…

At least until he’d sorted whether this marriage could prove to be workable rather than a minefield.

When Maisie woke, dawn was lightening the sky and Rafe was fast asleep beside her. She sat up cautiously but he didn’t move.

The fire had died but there were sounds coming from beyond the shelter. She heard horses whickering, the creak of leather and the clink of metal shoes on rock. She heard subdued voices and a dog bark.

Al had explained to her last night that they would have to move the mob of cattle on to the next drinking hole as early as possible and she guessed that operation was getting underway, which meant that they’d also be striking camp.

She turned reluctantly to wake Rafe, to find that he’d opened his eyes, and she found herself drawn into a long exchange of glances with him that somehow took in the night they’d spent together in such close proximity.

Colour mounted in her cheeks as she remembered cuddling up to him this time and how wonderful it had felt.

But what she saw in his eyes, as she couldn’t hide what was in hers, affected her deeply. It was as if a shutter had come down so they were unreadable and steely grey.

‘Tea’s up!’ a voice called. ‘Tea’s up!’ And Al appeared carrying a blackened billycan with a rag wound round its handle, and two tin mugs. ‘Sorry to wake you guys but-’

‘That’s OK!’ Rafe sat up then got up and stretched. ‘Thanks, mate. We’ll get going pronto.’

And Maisie, after Al had departed, desperate for something to say to ease her discomfort, grumbled, ‘I don’t know why, but when there’s absolutely nothing between us we keep getting caught in bed by an audience!’

Whether it struck the right note or not, she didn’t know.

Rafe smiled briefly, a rather ironic little smile, then a moment of genuine mirth overtook them, followed by a touch of concern.

‘You-you look like a North American Indian,’ she said incredulously.

‘And if you could see yourself!’ He held down a hand to help her up, his eyes alight with laughter, then he ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I can even taste the blasted dust.’ He paused as she put her hand to her back and grimaced. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing! Well, just a twinge. Probably even two swags on the ground take a bit of getting used to.’

‘Hmm…OK, have your tea-at least it’s hot and wet-and we’ll get going.’

It wasn’t until they’d farewelled the muster camp and the helicopter rose like a bird above it, that he told her of his change of plan. They were going home.

She protested that she was fine. He said he’d like to get it checked out all the same, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

But she was unable to stop herself wondering if this was somehow bound up with that steely, shuttered look that had come to him and had made her feel so-what?