Marriage At Murraree

Okay, let’s see! Casey took the gravelled side road that led to the house. She wasn’t counting on a gate. I mean just how many people came calling? Nevertheless she got out to open it and closed it securely after her once the ute was inside. Maybe a bunch of cows was out back planning a stampede?

Not cows. A cattle dog, with the distinctive blue speckled coat and dark tan markings. She knew what it was. A Queensland Blue Heeler bred especially for droving and rounding up cattle. It came skittling around a corner of the house barking its head off, probably determined to make amends for having been taking a nap.

“Hey, fella!” she called to it, standing her ground. “What’s your problem? I’m not a bad person. I’m here for water.”

The bluey must have liked the sound of her voice. It stopped barking and came right up to her as though eager to clear up any misunderstandings.

“Hi, there, what’s your name?” She bent to pat it. She liked animals better than people and they liked her. There was a collar around its neck with a name tag.

“Rusty!” She chuckled. “Is that your name? Howya goin’, Rusty? You’re a clever boy. How about showing me up to the house?”

She could have sworn the dog smiled.

She rapped on the solid timber front door. No one came.

“Damn, Rusty!” The owner had to be away. They had probably taken a run into the town, which on her map was Koomera Crossing. She kept talking away to the dog to prove her good intentions. The front door was offset by brilliant stained glass panels, fan lights and sidelights, in the style she had learned was Art Nouveau. She had been starved of beauty. Now she was making up for lost time. She was taking a closer look, one hand resting gently against the front door when the door suddenly gave. It swung open and she was left looking into a generous entrance hall illuminated by the brilliant sunlight. It had an unusual floor of alternating light and dark boards. There was little furniture beyond a single painting hanging above a small dark timber console.

“Hello, there,” she called. “Anyone at home?” But if anyone was at home, surely they would have heard Rusty’s barking.

Afterwards she never knew why she walked in but everything about the place was irresistible. Rusty followed her, making not the slightest attempt to nip at her heels.

Casey laughed. “Some watchdog you are.” She gave him another pat while he looked back at her with an eager, expectant face as if soon they’d be outside playing catch. Obviously Rusty had retired. “Since I’m here, I suppose it’s okay if I fill my container.” She went back to the ute to get it with the cattle dog padding along happily at her side. “Rusty, you old dog, you like women. I wonder if you’d be so nice if I were a man?” Probably not. Men were such threatening creatures. Women weren’t.

By the time she filled the big container to the top it was heavy. She lowered it to the floor and then, because she was so much enjoying being inside such a house, she decided to take a quick look around. She wouldn’t go upstairs. She felt sure she shouldn’t, but there was no harm in taking a look around the ground floor and out the back. Rusty didn’t mind. It was a large house but the furnishings were austere.

The back door was open as well. Obviously the occupier was very trusting. Not that there was anything worth taking. Rusty thinking she might be about to have a look outside, bounded down the short flight of steps, looking back up at her.

It was then she was caught from behind, her arms pinned and hauled behind her back. She had heard no footsteps. Nothing. There was the power of untold strength in the grip.

“What the hell are you up to, cowboy?” A man’s voice ground out. He kicked the back door shut so Rusty couldn’t come to her aid.

That was it! No one manhandled her. The fingers that encircled her wrists were like bands of steel. She could just imagine the rest of him but she wasn’t about to cringe or beg for mercy. Was there no place on earth there wasn’t violence?

She felt a surge of adrenalin, heaving with all her might to loosen the powerful grip. She was far from being a weak woman. She was strong. She’d worked out four times a week at the gym. She lifted weights. Add to that she had taken karate lessons at which she’d proved a natural. She succeeded in freeing herself to the extent one of her hands came loose. That was all she needed. She whirled, ready to defend herself with ugly memories flashing before her eyes. Under attack, she took two quick steps forward, raised her right leg to chest height then drove the ball of her foot at him in a snap kick.

It should have connected but at the last minute he rapidly sidestepped. Immediately she spun, abandoning the idea of another snap kick he might have been expecting for a good old-fashioned sock at his jaw. Bewdy! She heard with satisfaction his grunt as his neck snapped back.

Next things, in under a couple of seconds she was flat on her back, gasping for breath, with her assailant standing over her. She reacted swiftly, rolling away across the carpet runner. One strike each.

“You’re not going to hurt me, you bastard!” She was out of a crouch, back on her feet, fully in control of her body, her mind locked into self-defence. There was no place for panic. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Trust no man. Your life could depend upon it.

He was taller than she was. Maybe by three or four inches. Rugged and rangy. He was young, too, under thirty. Good tanned skin lay taut over carved bones, thick golden-brown hair, sun-streaked blond. For a space of a breath she thought, gold eyes. Who had gold eyes? She couldn’t feel a rapist’s aura. Instead he was saying tersely, “Get a grip, girl. I’m not going to hurt you.” His expression was startled.

It took a few moments for what he was saying to sink through her consciousness.

“Who are you?” she demanded, maintaining her aggressive stance. At the same time she manoeuvred herself to the back door so she could let Rusty in.

“God!” he exhaled softly. “I had no idea you were a woman.” His voice abruptly hardened. “So what do you mean, who am I? I’m asking the questions around here. Who are you? What are you doing here and what do you want? Look, it’s okay.” He held up his hands. “How long have you been a karate cum prize fighter?”

“As long as guys like you are around!” Her face was still alight with anger, her sapphire eyes blazing. “Maybe I shouldn’t be in here, but I knocked. The door gave. I thought it would be all right if I filled my water container. It’s in the kitchen. What did you think I was going to do? Pinch your lousy possessions?”

“Could be,” he returned, a faint smile on his generous mouth.

“I’m going to let Rusty in,” she said, like Rusty was a trained killer. She flattened herself against the back door then opened it. This guy was tough. Very tough. She saw that now. There wouldn’t be a woman alive who could match his physical strength. Seconds later Rusty was inside the house, exhausted from having run back and forth finding the door locked against him.

“Sit, boy,” her assailant gave the clipped order.

Rusty sat.

Of course! It had to be his dog, though she doubted very much he could get the cattle dog to turn on her.

“Your name please?” he asked, suddenly as formal as a policeman.

“Casey McGuire.”

“No doubt of the mad McGuire clan?” He examined her from head to toe. Far from being some young guy she was all femaleness.

“No clan,” she informed him shortly. “I’m an orphan.”

“I imagine your family prefer it that way. So what are you doing around here, Casey McGuire?”

“Drivin’ through, if it’s any of your business. This your house?”

“In a manner of speaking, but I don’t live here. This house is at the disposal of our resident school master. It’s a few kilometres out of town but he doesn’t mind.”

“Doesn’t he ever lock his doors?” she asked.

“He will from now on,” he informed her. “But as you say, there’s nothing much to take. I apologise for manhandling you. I mistook you for some vagrant out to make trouble.”

“Right!” she said firmly. “Now you know different. I don’t apologise for slugging you. You asked for it.”

He laughed, stroking a hand along his strong jaw where a dark red mark was still visible. “The fact your hat fell off gave you the element of surprise, so don’t take too much credit. How many guys I wonder have a torrent of fiery hair tumbling down their back? How long did it take to grow it?”

“So what’s your name,” she replied, totally ignoring his smart aleck question. Yet all the while he was studying her intently, a small frown between his bronze brows.

“Connellan. Troy Connellan. My dad owns Vulcan Plains about 100 K’s west of here. I had to come into town so I decided to take a run out here to check on a few things. I won’t mention to Phil Carson—that’s the new headmaster—you were snooping around his place.”

She coloured. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain. I was just enjoying the house. And Rusty’s company.” She clicked her fingers and the blue speckled dog came to her, showing its pleasure at a few pats on the head.

“Don’t be a fool, Rusty,” Troy Connellan chided. “He might look the picture of a sweet natured dog but I’ve seen Rusty hold quite a few people at bay.”

“I’m good with animals,” she said offhandedly. “So you believe me?”

“I have to put a stop to those right hooks,” he answered sarcastically. “Yeah, I believe you. We got off to a bad start. Where are you heading?”

She shrugged. “I’m going to stop off at the town. Koomera Crossing?”