A/N - Well, phew! RL decided to wallop me with a great big knuckle sandwich which has kept me somewhat preoccupied, so apologies for how long this has taken to post. Hope I can make it up to you with this effort!
Our handsome heroine and her feisty male sidekick get a little side tracked – literally. There will be danger, there will be close bodily contact, there will be tropes aplenty! BUT … will they ever reach the Morrison Estate and live in tantalising togetherness as 'man and wife' (duh – of course!)? Will Jack ever get his shirt off in the hot Australian sun (double duh – of course!)? Will there ever be gardening (who cares)?
Suspend belief, dear readers, and on with the show …
Chapter Four – A Short Sharp Detour
"Seriously, Jack. This is the fastest form of transportation you could find?" There was amusement mixed with petulance in Phryne's voice, and she pouted prettily and pretended to be annoyed. Despite her comment, Phryne had parted with some serious folding money by way of a sweetener to their begrudging chauffeur, but being that the already heavily laden cart was the only vehicle on the road heading in their direction their options had been limited. Phryne ran a dubious eye over the hind quarters of the enormous draught horse pulling the dray they were perched upon, and sighed with resignation. She settled more comfortably on the crate that doubled as their seat, and gave herself up to enjoying the reassuring strength of Jack's warm body so close beside hers.
Jack just grimaced and pulled the weathered sheet of canvas that served as their shelter a little more securely around himself and his partner, tugging the rough cloth even further over their heads against the night. They were dry, but only just. It was fully dark now, the rapidly moving clouds only offering the barest glimpse of the moon or stars. The rain had settled to an insistent drizzle, but the wind still whipped the droplets around in frenzied eddies. Their canvas covering made them look comically like part of the load, albeit with four nicely shod feet peeping from under the edge of the stiff fabric. The rumble of thunder and the occasional flash of sheet lightning in the distance marked the movement of the storm out to sea, punctuating their journey when conversation lagged.
Jack attempted to ignore the scent of his partner's perfume, heady and distracting at close quarters. He distracted himself by turning his attention to the driver. "Much further to the Morrison's place?" he asked the bulky older man with the reins. The only outward acknowledgement to Jack's enquiry was when the man shrugged under his oilskin and pulled the brim of his hat further down his forehead,. The old man kept his attention on the road and even the quick flick he gave the reins didn't alter the steady pace of the draught horse's gait.
"Not much of a conversationalist, is he?" Phryne remarked dryly, glancing past Jack and pulling a face in the driver's general direction, safe in the knowledge that the tarpaulin shielded her from the other man's gaze. She opened her mouth to make another droll comment when a loud crack sliced through her thoughts. As if in slow motion the driver slumped against Jack.
It took a moment of shocked disbelief before either Jack or Phryne realised it was the sound of a gunshot they'd heard, a shot that had made its mark and left the driver a dead weight against Jack's side. The horse responded to the slackening of the reins by slowing to a halt. A shudder passed through its body and it let out an uncertain whinny that left a trail of steam in the night air.
Jack reacted to the attack automatically, using the driver's body to shield them both as he slid under the canvas to the road and lifted Phryne unceremoniously to the ground. She looped her arm in his and twisted her body sharply. The momentum of her body pulled him with her and spun them both around until they were pressed flat against the side of the cart, shielded by the high load. The whole manoeuvre took a matter of moments, just in time as a second shot splintered the wooden crate they'd been sitting on.
Jack didn't waste his breath and shoved Phryne away from the cart, grinding out one word, "Run." He overtook her easily and leapt into a deep ditch beside the road that offered some cover, grabbing both her hands and guiding her to safety beside him. They were both oblivious to the mud they were now lying in, breathing heavily at the physical exertion and the threat.
Jack flung an arm over her shoulders, and in an undertone heavy with concern, asked, "Are you all right?"
Phryne nodded, adrenaline robbing her of her voice. Somewhere along their desperate flight, Jack had lost his hat and his hair fell wetly into his eyes. Phryne resisted the urge to brush it back and instead went to rise, her pearl handled .38 hot in her hand and glinting in the weak moonlight. She rose slightly on her knees, ready to take on their attackers, but Jack pulled her back with a hand on her wrist. She shot him an indignant look, muttering, "Fortune favours the bold, Jack."
"Phryne, no." was his whispered entreaty. A third shot rang out, weakening Phryne's resolve. The sound of the splintering of wood was unmistakeable, as the bullet struck the loaded cart once more. She let Jack pull her close and they both hunkered down low.
This time the horse took fright and set off at a panicked gallop. Thuds and the sound of breaking glass accompanied the poor beast's flight, muffling any other sounds that might have given Jack and Phryne a hint of who or how many were involved in the attack.
They kept still and quiet for several minutes, ears peeled for any sound or movement. It was almost impossible to get their bearings and tell the direction from which the shot had been fired. After what seemed like an eternity, Phyrne could stay still no longer, and wriggled free of Jack's embrace. She was desperate to move her cramped limbs and, more importantly, see what was going on.
"Stay down." Jack spoke harshly, his mouth against her ear, and pulled her back beside him, holding her down with his arm across her waist. As he did they heard the distinctive sound of a vehicle's ignition and headlights came on further along the road, illuminating the intervening stretch of highway. The car crawled towards them, the beam of a torch cleaving through the darkness on either side of the road as the driver searched the scrub. Phryne and Jack watched cautiously from the relative protection of their hiding place. Although the rain had stopped, what little moonlight there was only faintly limned the profile of the car.
Without warning a shrill whistle cleaved through the stillness, coming from about twenty feet away from their hiding place. Phryne and Jack exchanged stunned looks; neither of them had heard anyone approaching on foot. They ducked down and instinctively pulled closer to each other to give a lower profile, barely breathing in the tension of the moment.
They heard the car pull up close by, too close for comfort, the unmistakeable sound of metal on metal of the door squealing in protest as it was opened, a few indistinct words spoken between the driver and the man on foot. Phryne ignored Jack's scowl and chanced a furtive look. The flare of a match lit the cabin. Its light was enough to reveal a glimpse of the driver's face for a few brief seconds as he lit the cigarette that dangled from his mouth. Male, in his fifties, with deep scars that scored both cheeks. Not a face she would forget in a hurry. His soft-footed companion remained a mystery, merely a tall, slender silhouette in the blink of light, still searching the darkness around him. Jack grabbed a handful of the fabric of her coat and unceremoniously pulled her back down.
The first man spoke again, the wind carrying his words to the couple hidden from view. "Get in. We can't muck around here for too long. The boss'll want us down with him, and we've got to catch that bugger of a nag before it ends up in bloody Timbuktu."
The other man still hesitated, but the driver was insistent, "Let's get out of here. We've got to get them crates, too." Impatience added volume to his voice. "There's no-one else – you're seeing phantoms." The tall man must have complied as there was the sound of a car door slamming, then the elderly vehicle backfired a couple of times before pulling away into a slow u-turn and heading back the way it had come.
Jack muttered a terse, "Stay put." in Phryne's direction and pulled himself up on his elbows just far enough to be see over the top of the ditch. He followed the vehicle's progress until the glow of its tail lights faded to nothing. Phryne went to speak several times but each time she found herself summarily shushed until she gave up and waited crossly for Jack to give the all clear, tapping her heel into the dirt with pique.
A full five minutes later he turned back to her and courteously offered his hand to help her to her feet. Of course she ignored him, muttering a few choice phrases along the lines of 'high handed' and 'cautious to a fault' and 'completely able to look after myself' before scrambling to her feet under her own power and striding off down the road without a backward glance.
Jack watched her for a moment, nonplussed, before a wry smile crossed his face and he followed at more leisurely pace.
They were both wet and cold and stuck in the middle of nowhere, not to mention spectacularly covered in mud, but at least they were safe and sound. For now.