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life, but she would find a man who gloried in the pastoralist’s life and leave pearling and Broome behind forever.
    Now, months later, she was beginning to despair that she would find that man. As she watched her parents step out of their buggy and start toward the door of the family bungalow, she told herself not to pout. Her father was always displeased with her. No good would come of making him more so.
    â€œDid you enjoy your tea?” she asked her mother with a strained smile.
    Jane Somerset sniffed. “There was no one of consequence at the hotel.”
    â€œThat’s a pity.” Viola offered an arm to help her mother up the stairs. As always, stout Jane wore an old-fashioned corset that was laced so tightly it restricted her movements.
    Even with Viola’s help, Jane breathed heavily as she climbed to the lattice-shaded veranda. “The roast was tough. I don’t know what their cook could have been thinking of.”
    Sebastian ignored his wife and removed his hat. “Viola, I don’t approve of the way that dress bares your chest.”
    â€œDon’t you?” she asked sweetly, abandoning her resolution not to upset him. “Would you prefer it bared more?”
    â€œI would prefer that you speak to me the way a daughter should speak to a father!”
    â€œAnd I would prefer that you not criticize me for everylittle thing.” Viola tossed back her curls. “There is no one here to see what I’m wearing. There is never anyone here who matters.”
    â€œThen what do you call young Freddy Colson? He’s here often enough to suit even you, I wager.”
    Freddy Colson did not suit Viola in any way. He was her father’s choice as a potential husband, a slight young man who devoted himself to overseeing and investing her father’s profits. Freddy knew the price of every nail that studded the Somerset luggers, every barrel of rice carried on board and every basket of shell removed. She was certain he dreamed of pounds and shillings.
    She was also certain that Freddy did not dream of her or any other woman.
    â€œFreddy would be happiest if he could marry you,” Viola said. “If this were a race, I would finish a distant second.”
    Her father began tugging angrily at a mustache that was more luxuriant than his hair. “You’re determined to infuriate me, aren’t you, girl?”
    â€œI am determined to point out I won’t marry Freddy Colson, no matter how much he knows about Somerset and Company.” She settled her wheezing mother on a chair. “If I marry any man from this town, it will be one who wants to leave it!”
    â€œAnd if that happens, I will disown you!”
    â€œAnd if that happens, I will consider myself blessed!” She turned away, angry at her mother for remaining silent, angrier at herself for becoming provoked, angriest at her father, who was determined to ruin her life. She left her parents on the veranda and retired to her bedroom.
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    Archer’s bed was hard and narrow, but better than anything he’d slept on for weeks. The bedding was clean, andthe window was covered with a light gauze that kept out the bulk of the mosquitoes but not the night breeze. He had slept soundly at first, his stomach filled with mutton stew and his head foggy from too much whiskey. But just before dawn something had awakened him. Now, just seconds after he had been pulled from slumber, he lay tense and alert.
    At first he heard nothing out of the ordinary. Dogs barked in the distance, but the town was filled with mongrels who fought over every scrap tossed their way. He heard the dull thud of a gong from some pagan temple in nearby Chinatown, and from the hotel itself he heard the clanging of glasses and cutlery as someone in the dining room readied it for business. But none of these sounds could have disturbed his sleep.
    â€œNo, don’t, Linc. I don’t want to fight…not you. Don’t