Free Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) by Sandra Dengler Page A

back into a corner and the visitor slouched in the brocade wingback chair immediately in front of Mr. Sloan’s desk. Mr. Sloan now sat erect in almost prim repose, his elbows on the chair’s arms, his fingertips forming a peaked cage.
    Mr. Butts tugged at his tie, loosening it until its knot lay beside his second shirt button. “Frankly, Cole, I’m at wits’ end. This last storm ripped the roof off my storage shed and soaked over a thousand pounds of tea. Good tea, ready for market. Spoiled now. With that ergot or blight or whatever it was, I didn’t show a profit last year and I’ll not again this year. And the new lot I planted won’t be ready for at least another eighteen months. The bank learned somehow about the ruined tea and refuses to advance me any more until I service my outstanding loans.” He raised his hands helplessly. “It’s all gone against me.”
    Samantha set out the cups and saucers.
    “Pity.” Mr. Sloan’s eyes followed her, probably without seeing her. “Can’t you dry out that lot and dump it in America?”
    “Not since they passed their good-tea law back in ninety-seven. Very picky about the tea they import now. You can’t sell just anything to them anymore.”
    Mr. Sloan sighed. “I was really behind you, John. If this area is going to thrive and prosper, we need a rich variety of produce. Not just bananas, or my cane or your tea or whatever, but a wide range of enterprises. We all need each other if any is to do well from year to year. Broad labor pool, all that.”
    “I agree. Diversification. That’s why I feel I’ve let you down—that I’ve let us all down, for that matter.”
    “Hardly, John. You did your best. A few bad breaks.” Mr. Sloan shrugged and watched his teacup fill. “Miss Connolly, bring us some of that fruit bread you served for dessert at dinner.”
    She left as Mr. Butts continued his tale of woe. When she returned with the coffee cake and two dessert services, the man seemed considerably more relaxed.
    Sloan watched her hands as she sliced off generous slabs.
    “I should have waited until morning, but I—well, I guess I’m just too distraught. I finished my books tonight and simply had to go out and commiserate with someone. Ah, but you—” Mr. Butts waved a hand. “It doesn’t look like the storm did you much hurt. Sugarlea appears to be rolling right along.”
    “We’ve been fortunate in many ways—save for the tragic loss of my cook a few days ago.”
    “My foreman told me. Dreadful.” Mr. Butts took his first bite of the coffee cake.
    “And yet even that black cloud has a silver lining. Miss Connolly here took over the cooking and is doing splendidly, as you just now learned. Delicious fruit bread, is it not?”
    “Mmbph. Crrtphly ifsh.” The man nodded vigorously and smiled at Samantha.
    She refilled teacups and tried to hide her own delight behind a stoic servant attitude. He was praising her before strangers and almost sounded like he meant it!
    Mr. Sloan sat forward and the look on his face startled Samantha. It reminded her of his appearance when he stood on the shore of that listless pond, determined to destroy a crocodile. He wasn’t grim now, or angry—and yet, the look was there.
    “Have another piece of the fruit bread, John. It’s been a long day. Miss Connolly, we’ll probably use another pot of tea. How about the Fortnum and Mason black pekoe this time round?”
    The corners of her mouth tipped up a bit in spite of herself. “Certainly, sir.”
    Mr. Butts could speak again. “There, you see? You must import the tea you use because I can’t provide it for you—you and the rest of Australia. And yet the clim …”
    She left the flowered china pot of Queen Victoria on the tea table and returned a few minutes later with the speckled blue pot.
    “ … keep you going awhile. So what do you think?” Mr. Sloan sat back and extended his cup for Samantha to fill.
    “Cole, this is exceedingly generous of you.” Mr.