Chapter 3

Albie walkedinto the dining area of the hotel to the smell of a fresh wood fire and baking bread. “Morning,” Elsie said, greeting him warmly. “Trust you slept well?”

“I did, thank you. Just letting you know I’ll be off now,” he furthered, putting the large stash of his wares on a table. “Just wanted to say thanks.”

Clara came out from the kitchen holding a small brown paper parcel. She was timid, always had been, but Elsie gave her a reassuring nod, and Clara handed the parcel to Albie. “For your travels,” she said, her voice quiet.

Elsie gave her a proud smile, and Albie had often wondered about the two of them. Where one was, the other was never far behind. Clara was the quiet and meek little mouse and Elsie was the fierce, protective cat. He’d never dared to question their relationship, though he did wonder if perhaps they only had eyes for each other.

The same way he only had eyes for men.

He looked in the wrapped parcel to find two thick cuts of fresh bread, still warm from the oven. “Two? I don’t need two,” he said, starting to pat down his pockets for some coin.

Elsie put her hand on his arm. “One for you, one for your travelling partner,” she said, giving a pointed glance to the far window. Sure enough, there was Percy with his horse, fixing his saddle.

He’s on time, anyway. Always a good sign.

“Say,” Albie began. “What do you know of him?”

“That he’s eighteen, not from around here. Said he was new to town, been here a week or two now, and looking for work,” Elsie replied. Then her voice lowered. “What else I can tell ya is that he’s polite, well-spoken, and the boy’s got manners. Never tried to lay a hand on me or any of the girls here. Doesn’t grope or ogle them up and down in that filthy way the men around here do.”

Albie put his hand to his chest. “I’ve never?—”

“No, you haven’t,” she replied. “Your daddy raised you well.”

The mention of Albie’s father opened the wound of grief afresh, ragged and aching. He gave a nod, and he could see that Elsie regretted the reference. She gave him a nudge. “Maybe you and young Percy have more in common than you?—”

At that moment, Percy came out of the stable leading Minnie and Ox...

“What in the devil?” Albie said, rushing out the back. He was about to ask Percy what on earth he thought he was doing with his horses when Percy spotted him and gave him a wide, charming grin.

“Morning, Mr Bramwell,” he said. “You said you needed to leave early, so I thought I’d see to your horses. Saddled and ready, even gave them some fresh hay and water. Ox is a cheeky thing, isn’t he? Tried to eat my hat.” Percy fixed his hat again, still grinning, his eyes bright. He came over to where Albie, Elsie, and Clara were at the door. “Did you have your supplies? Let me get them packed away for you.”

Albie wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t been prepared for cheerfulness this early in the morning. The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, but Percy’s eagerness had taken Albie by surprise.

Not to mention that roguish smile...

Elsie held the door open. “On the table there,” she said.

Percy disappeared inside and came back out a second later carrying everything Albie had purchased the day before. He’d kept it in his room overnight, save anyone with light fingers the trouble of attempting to steal it from the stable.

And then Percy began to load up Ox’s saddlebags with the flour, sugar, and salt and the two sacks of grains and seeds. Of course, Ox tried to nudge Percy’s hat off his head, a habit of Ox’s and a trait Albie had seen his father’s stable hands try and whip out of him. But Percy only laughed and admonished him with a rub on the neck and a threat of no hay for his supper.

Albie wasn’t sure what to make of Percy.

Agreeing to hire him would either be a godsend... or from the way the morning sun caught the blond of his hair as he fixed his hat and how the sound of his laughter made Albie’s stomach swoop, maybe it would be a disaster.

Albie felt Elsie’s eyes on him and when he made himself stop looking at Percy, he found Elsie smiling at him. “A turn of good luck, it seems,” she said, holding his gaze a beat too long.

Had he been staring too long? Had he given himself away? What was she saying before? Maybe they had something in common? He wasn’t sure.

He cleared his throat. “Good luck?”

“Yeah. He seems a hard worker,” she said. “And you’ll have someone your own age up there. Have you ever had anyone your own age at the farm?”

“Uh, no,” Albie admitted. “Never. Just farmhands, loggers, workers. Cranky old men, most of ’em.”

Elsie smiled, looking where Percy was fixing the saddle bag straps. She was pleased, it seemed. “I know you’ve got a lot on your shoulders, Albie. But it’s okay to let yourself be young too.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask. Instead, he tipped his hat. “Best get going,” he said. “Thanks again for the hospitality. Friendly faces in this town are few and far between.”

“Be safe now, ya hear?”

“If you’re ever up my way, call in,” Albie offered. He wasn’t sure why, it just seemed the appropriate thing to say. It’s what the owners of rural properties said, right? Now that he was the owner, he should think of these things. “I’m short a cook and a maid now, so if you’re ever looking for a change of pace.” He gestured to the parcel of bread he was still holding and gave Clara a smile. “You can bake bread in my kitchen anytime.”

Then he realised how that might have sounded and he quickly followed it up with a bit of a joke. “No, no, nothing untoward, truly. Because the bread I made could have been sold to the mason, and Des’s attempt was worse. The rate we’re eating up there, we’ll be as lean as McAllister’s cattle.”

Elsie laughed. “Go on,” she shooed him away. “And don’t you listen to those naysayers.”

He gave both ladies a nod, and he caught the way Elsie slipped her arm around Clara as she walked her back inside. Albie’s earlier suspicion might have been correct, but then again, he was so unfamiliar with the way women were, he couldn’t be sure.

Maybe affection between them was common. The only women he’d known were the wives of the farmhands, Marcy and Evalyn, and they’d not been affectionate with each other. Not that Albie had noticed, anyway.

Not that he’d ever looked.

“Mr Bramwell,” Percy said. He stood at the steps of the veranda, looking up at him, cautious now. “Everything right?”

Right. Yes.

He gave a nod.

He stashed the bread in his saddlebag and checked the reins and how Percy had secured Ox’s tether to Minnie’s saddle. He’d done a good job.

“You doubting me, sir?”

Albie looked at him then. “Don’t call me that,” he said. “A name reserved for my father whenever I was in trouble.”

Percy made a face and bowed his head. “Sorry, Mr Bramwell.”

Albie slipped his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up into his saddle. Minnie shook her mane as Albie shifted in his seat, both of them getting comfortable.

Percy slung himself onto his horse effortlessly.

“I can’t fault your horsemanship,” Albie said. “Though perhaps we can lose the use of Mister Bramwell. You were fine calling me Albie yesterday.”

“You weren’t my boss yesterday.”

Well, Albie couldn’t fault that either.

With a sigh, he pulled on the reins and nudged Minnie to begin the long trek home. It was funny how he could miss his home after just one night.

They rode in silence through the town. The streets were quiet, only the faint banging from the blacksmith and the early morning chatter between store owners who stopped to watch Albie leave.

He knew the whole town would know before lunch he’d gone back home with a new worker in tow. He didn’t care what they thought, though he knew very little about his new employee.

Albie knew Percy was willing and able and that he’d stood up to the likes of Peter Winnicott in the saloon. When Winnicott had affronted Albie, Percy was quick to put himself right in the middle. He’d stopped the fight with quick-witted reason, and that told Albie that Percy was no fool.

In the one day he’d known him, he’d learned Percy was smart, loyal, good with horses, and willing to work.

That was all he needed to know. For now, anyway.

Albie didn’t care about Percy’s smile, or the way his laughter hung in the air, or the way his blue eyes caught the sunshine. Or why a young and capable, educated man was on his own.

Orphaned, most likely, Albie reasoned.

Not unlike himself.

“So that fella in the saloon last night,” Percy said. They were out of town now, headed up Flagstaff Road, headed up into the high country. “Winnicott? Is that what Elsie called him?”

“Hm. Peter Winnicott.”

“What’s his problem?”

“The problem of half the men in these parts. I’m too young, they reckon. According to them, a man needs to prove himself; gotta earn the right to run cattle and horses in the mountains like they did.”

“That’s a load of wallop,” Percy said. “Sounds to me like they’re scared you’ll make it look easy.”

That made Albie laugh. “Easy? Nothing about these mountains is easy.”

“But you love it.”

Albie smiled, taking in the cool morning air, fresh eucalypt, and damp earth. The sounds of the crickets and birds.

“I’ve never known anything else,” Albie said. “Never wanted anything else.”

Percy was quiet for a bit, seemingly happy with that answer.

“I never asked to run my place alone,” Albie volunteered. “Those men act like it was my choice, like I wanted to be on my own.” He couldn’t keep the bite from his tone. The emotion, the hurt. But it also made him so mad he could spit. “I’d give it all away in a heartbeat to have my father alive again. For even just one day.”

Percy winced. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

The look on Elsie’s face had been similar.

“It’s fine. Sorry,” Albie mumbled. “It’s not your fault. I...” He sighed. He should what? Be stoic and not talk about his grief?

Probably.

That’s what mountain men did, right?

With the quick memory of Elsie’s face, he remembered something else. He reached into his saddle pack. “Here,” he said, handing a piece of bread out to Percy. “Clara cooked this fresh this morning.”

He took it gratefully and bit into it with a grin. Then he groaned and his eyes rolled closed, and Albie was stuck... stuck staring, the look of pleasure on Percy’s face, the sound he’d made.

“Sorry,” Percy said with a laugh, covering his mouth. “This is good bread.”

Albie made himself look ahead and he shifted in his saddle, his pants suddenly a little tight. Damn it. He bit into his bread, and yes, it was good.

Percy was, thankfully, oblivious. “Say... if you’re short-staffed at the moment, dare I ask if you got any staff that can cook?”

Albie couldn’t help but smile, and he squinted at Percy in the sunlight breaking through the trees. “Well, me.”

His whole face brightened as if he found that hilarious. “You’re the cook?”

“Well, I try.”

“Are you any good?”

“Heavens, no,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m terrible.”

Percy’s laughter rang down through the valley. “Well, you might have to add that to my list of duties.”

“You can cook?”

“Better than you by the sounds of it,” he replied. Then he froze. “I mean, if you’d like me to, Mr Bramwell. I didn’t mean... I never meant to offend?—”

Albie dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “It’s quite all right. But for the love of all the heavens above, please call me Albie.”