Driftwood (11 page)

Taylor unhurriedly settled her Fender guitar on her lap, taking a few deep breaths to steady her rapid heartbeat. Then, gathering courage, she glanced towards the crowd and spoke softly into the microphone, telling them a little about herself and the origins of the song she was about to sing.

Introduction complete and met with loud cheers, Taylor's eyes came to rest on Jay's, her lips quivering slightly as she returned his smile. Zoe stood closely and almost possessively beside him, a daggered look passing so fleetingly that Taylor couldn't be sure if she imagined it. On a number of occasions throughout the night Taylor had spotted Zoe hanging around wherever Jay was, subtly edging her way into his space. Strange, considering both of them had negative things to say about each other. She couldn't help but wonder what was going on, a surge of jealously startling her as she imagined Zoe and Jay being intimate behind closed doors.

Needing to go within, Taylor closed her eyes, allowing the country melody in her head to take over her fingers as she began strumming her guitar. She'd chosen to sing her most recently written song, one of escaping the hustle of the city, of the beauty of a small country town, and of the desire to fall deeply in love. Bodies began to sway in front of her, drinks held high, as people were drawn into her magical, lyrical world.

Whoops, hollers, wolf whistles and applause filled Taylor with deep satisfaction as she beamed from ear to ear. The crowd had loved her. Her. Taylor Whitworth — the young woman who'd been told for years by her family that no one would enjoy her country music. And God, it felt good! She stood, smiling proudly, drinking in their approval and their gratitude, as she bowed. A rush of love and optimism washed over her. Love for this town. Love for the people in it. And a whole lot of optimism for the future Driftwood could provide her. This was her home now, the place she belonged. The place she'd been yearning for her entire life.

The crowd moved forwards, and encouraging words, congratulatory hugs and pats on the back rained upon her. A strong arm moved around her shoulder shortly followed by a kiss on the cheek that lingered a moment too long, and then she was dragged into a warm hug, Cooper's breath hot on her ear. ‘You looked beautiful up there!' He pulled her back to arm's length, his hands resting firmly, almost possessively, on her shoulders. ‘Come on, then, let me buy you that drink.'

Taylor nodded, not wanting to be rude by pulling away from him. As Cooper grabbed her hand and led her towards the bar, her eyes searched for Jay. Taylor's heart dropped like a lead balloon as she realised he was gone, with not even a word of praise for her ballad. Had he left before she'd finished, uninterested in the lyrics that came straight from her heart? She glanced towards the door and swallowed down her disappointment. Zoe was probably right. Maybe it was best she keep a check on her feelings when it came to Jay Donnellson. He'd only break her heart. Matter of fact, he already had.

Jay stumbled into the blackness of the night, the fresh air helping to snap him out of his lustful stupor. Inside, he'd been frozen to the spot, his heart fluttering as he'd watched Taylor perform, finding himself totally mesmerised by her beauty, which was only magnified by her angelic, yet strong, voice. The overpowering flood of emotions had knocked him for six. It was just another layer of her that was a pleasure to discover. The crowd had been captured by her too, they hung on her every word. He couldn't deny it. She was
spellbinding
.

Groaning, he tried with all his might to force her face from his mind's eye, but failed miserably. He closed his eyes as goose bumps prickled his skin, her lyrics of hope, determination and eternal love striking a chord deep within him. She was the most intense woman he'd ever met, yet she was so very spontaneous and laid-back, as shown by her skinny-dipping episode. And although he didn't want to admit it, in a way he wished she were singing about him. For a weak, fleeting moment he'd even considered buying her a beer once she'd finished. More fool him!

Kicking his back tyre, frustrated and angry with himself, Jay squatted down and hung his head in his hands. The muffled laughter and music floating out from the pub only fuelled his newly discovered jealousy. He had no right, nor reason, to feel like this. He had to snap out of it. What a fucking idiot thinking, in a moment of weakness, he had a glimmer of hope with Taylor. She was
way
too good for him. He had to toughen up, stop letting his desires take hold of him, for he knew all too well where they had gotten him in the past. Crushed. Heartbroken. Devastated.

Crossing his arms over his chest, as if to trap his emotions within, he glanced skywards, breathing heavily. He thought of Cooper wrapping his arms around Taylor. The self-possessed arsehole sure looked cosy with her. Zoe obviously hadn't been lying when she'd mentioned there was something going on between Taylor and Cooper, he just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it at the time. Accepting defeat, he stood and slid into the driver's seat. Slamming his door shut, he revved the LandCruiser to life. Mates. That's all they were ever going to be, him and Taylor, nothing more. He'd make damn sure of it from here on in.

1861 — Goldbury, New South Wales

A wanted poster fluttered down the deserted street, the weather having taken a turn for the worse. Heaving black clouds rolled in, the smell of rain looming. Anne pulled her shawl tighter, eager to get to her destination — without getting caught in the act. Lord only knew what Hocking would do to her if he discovered her snooping. She understood he was capable of anything, even the murder of innocent children.

Anne had chosen this moment to follow through on her plan as Hocking was too busy drinking and fondling women at the hotel to miss her. But she had to act quickly; Hocking was keeping a close eye on her comings and goings, clearly worried she was going to reveal he had raped her. So far, humiliation had kept her lips sealed. Maybe she would choose to open up to William, and maybe not. It would be a spur-of-the-moment decision when they were together again. Though the fear of what William would do to Hocking if she told him made her wary.

Using the blackness of the night for camouflage, Anne snuck past the farrier's hut and around the back of the police station, in search of Hocking's horse. She knew the horse would still be saddled up, as Hocking had only ridden back into town from the miner's camp an hour ago, gloating that he had burnt down six tents, and he still had to make it home to his cottage at the end of the night. A snicker in the shadows alerted her of the stallion's presence, and she dashed to where he stood. Then, speaking soothingly to the horse, she slipped open the saddlebags and rummaged through the contents.

Her trembling hands came to rest on a small box hidden underneath a mackintosh. She pulled it out, frowning when she realised that a lock secured the latch. From the ornateness she could tell it was a woman's jewellery box, and a very expensive one at that. Then it dawned on her: this was the proof. It had to be Christina's, God rest her soul. No wonder the Sydney police hadn't been able to find her jewellery; Hocking had had it all along, probably waiting for the time he could sell it and make a fortune. Selling it too soon would have brought attention to himself. She scoffed at Hocking's stupidity. He thought he was so damn clever but what a fool he'd been, telling her he had it. He'd been that inebriated he probably didn't even recall telling her. Thank God for small mercies.

Anne clutched the box to her pounding heart, hope filling her. It was evidence that only the killer would have, and evidence that would clear William of the murder. Shoving it beneath her shawl, she scurried back across the street. Shoulders hunched against the howling wind, she prayed she would make it up the stairs and to her bedroom without being stopped by anyone, the box impossible to hide entirely.

Inside the smoky hotel, Katherine sat playing the piano, the men's attention focused on her as they sang loudly, and out of tune. Anne silently tiptoed behind them all, breathing a sigh of relief as she began to climb the steps.

‘Ah, there she is,' slurred Hocking, his voice making Anne's insides twist in fear.

Anne froze, halfway up the stairs, one foot suspended as she silently begged Hocking not to follow her. She dared not turn around, the box she'd stolen evident beneath her shawl. She waited for his next move, breath held, pulse pounding in her ears.
Thump
,
thump
.
Thump
,
thump
. It was so loud she was afraid Hocking would hear it and suspect she was up to something. Time stood still, her mind screaming for her to run, to get out of there. But she stood her ground.

Sensing her unease, Hocking laughed sarcastically as he slammed his hand down on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Anne jumped, then cursed herself for doing so. She didn't want Hocking to know how much she feared him. Didn't want to give him the pleasure.

‘Don't worry your pretty little head, Anne Willows. I don't want you right now. I feel like a different woman's flesh tonight. But, maybe tomorrow night, when you're more in the mood or, let's say, you've
recovered
from last night, my dear.'

Anne bit the inside of her lip, tasting blood, the way he spoke turning her hot with indignation. She wanted to scream at him, give him a lashing, gouge his gawking eyeballs out with her fingers, cut his manhood off with a blunt knife. Hurt him, like he'd hurt her. She took a cautious step forward, fretting he'd follow. She knew he was as cunning as a fox. He didn't.

Resisting the urge to run down the hall and to her boudoir, Anne took long strides, feigning confidence, if not for Hocking then for herself. Upon reaching her door she hurried in, locking it behind her before sliding down to the floor, hot tears spilling as she rolled into a ball and shook.

William knocked firmly on the window then opened it, letting a gush of wind into the room. Anne sat up, her sleepy eyes coming to rest on his face. William stared back at her through the window, smiling tenderly. She reached out for him, begging for him to embrace her. He rushed to her, his strong arms around her in seconds as he picked her up from the floor, enveloping her.

William placed her on the bed and pushed stray hairs from her face tenderly. ‘Anne. My love. What's happened?'

Anne remained silent as sobs wracked her body, making it impossible for her to speak. She buried her face in his chest.

William held her, rocking her, stroking her hair, waiting for her to catch her breath so she could speak. A few minutes passed, his concern growing by the second. He tucked his hand beneath her chin, gently tilting her face so he could look into her eyes. Eyes, he noticed, that were filled with love for him but shadowed with utter terror. He brushed away her tears with his thumb, kissing her lips tenderly. God, she looked pale. And thin, so very very thin.

‘Anne. You must tell me what's troubling you. I have neither hide nor hair! Please. Are you unwell?'

‘I can't. I don't know how to say it and I'm afraid of what you'll do if I tell you,' she whispered, sniffling.

William stood, making his way to the pitcher and bowl on the timber dresser, trying to remain calm for her. ‘Come on, Anne. You know you can tell me anything, anything at all.' He poured water into the bowl, and then soaked a cloth in it, squeezing it out and passing it to her so she could wash her face. Turning to join her on the bed, his boot caught the corner of the jewellery box, sending it skidding across the floor. He bent and picked it up, ready to hand it back to Anne, when the name ‘Christina' engraved on the bottom of the timber box seized his attention and halted his already jagged breath.

He knelt beside the bed, slowly placing the jewellery box on the floor as if it were made of glass. He took Anne's hands in his, using every bit of resolve to keep his voice composed, even though alarm bells rang loudly in his head. ‘Anne, where did you get this jewellery box?'

Gathering herself with shuddering breaths, Anne held William's anxious gaze. ‘I got it out of Hocking's saddlebag; it is proof that will clear your name. He admitted murdering the Ballinger family to me while . . .' Her voice cracked and she choked back a sob. ‘While he . . . While he raped me.'

‘He what!' boomed William, his grasp tightening on her hands. He pulled her to him once again, holding her close as if he was afraid she'd flutter away in the wind. The fury slithered through him like a poisonous snake, seizing him, a rage-induced haze filling his mind. ‘Oh, my dear, dear, Anne. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you. But I promise you. Hocking's going to pay for this.' Kissing her on the forehead, he stood, not wanting to let her go — but he had to. Within three strides he was at the bedroom door.

Anne watched as the rage, already so fierce, so out of control, intensified, William's fists clenching into small boulders at his sides as he stepped through the door then turned to her, eyes blazing.

‘You stay here, Anne. Do not move. Keep the door locked. I'll be back for you. And then, we are leaving here and moving up north, where I can devote my time to comforting you. But for now, Hocking is going to be taught a lesson.'

Anne leapt from the bed, stumbling forwards on shaky legs. ‘No, William, please . . .'

But he was gone, his boots thudding down the hallway with each hurried step.

Anne did was she was told, and locked the door behind him, then slumped back down on her bed, defeated, as another wave of nausea washed over her. ‘. . . I was going to tell you the good news. I'm going to have your baby, our baby,' she whispered, rubbing her belly affectionately as she allowed images of her and William living up north to carry her far far away.

Hocking's body slammed against the wall, the air driven from his lungs as he slumped down to the floor. Acting quickly, William lunged forwards and wrapped his hands around Hocking's throat, dragging him back to his feet, his chest heaving and knuckles bleeding. Hocking flung punches and William avoided all but one as he lost his grip and stumbled backwards, blood dribbling from his nose. Grunts and groans followed as the two men pounced on each other then tussled on the floor.