High Stakes Bride

by Fiona Brand

  Nola’s head swivelled. Her gaze settled on Becca like a pair of twin lasers, old issues bubbling to the surface. “All I’m saying is it’s a shame that boy has to come back from almost being killed and find out his girlfriend lost interest while he was lying in a hospital bed.”

  Dani ripped open a sachet of sugar and emptied it into her cup. “Like I said before, we broke up before he left. And he’d been gone about eight months before he hit the hospital bed.”

  “Hmmph.” Nola turned on her heel.

  Becca let out a breath. “She didn’t know that.”

  Dani shrugged. “Neither did I, until I talked to Gladys Hainey at the supermarket.”

  Becca lifted her cup and took a reflective sip. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Dani lifted a brow. “But—?”

  Becca grinned. “Uh-huh. Impossible.”

  Dani cradled her cup between her fingers, and transferred her gaze to the view. The small cove the town was built around was sheltered, with rock promontories at both ends, a pretty stretch of shelly beach and enough deep water that fishing boats could tie up at the jetty. “Better drink up before Nola comes back to clean the table. You might have forgotten who owns this café, but I haven’t. Closing time could be any second.”

  “Talking about closing. I heard the Barclays’ barn caught on fire last week. According to John, they lost a shed full of plant.”

  Dani tensed, the memory of the fire and the swiftness with which it had spread, eating through steel and timber, wasn’t one she’d forget in a hurry. “I was there—for an appointment. The building was already ablaze when I drove in the gates. By the time the Fire Service got there it was too late, the building had burned to the ground. Luckily they’re covered by insurance.”

  Twenty minutes later, John arrived to pick up Becca.

  Becca eased to her feet, grimacing as she rubbed the small of her back. “Brunch. Next Sunday?”

  “It’s a date.” Becca’s leisurely brunches were legendary, and usually peopled with an eclectic, sometimes oddball mix of characters. Whenever an invitation was issued, Dani always turned up. If the food itself was plain, it was a certainty the company wouldn’t be—and, as it happened, Becca was a fabulous cook. All the years she’d spent travelling hadn’t been wasted. She spoke several languages and cooked with inventive gusto. It was one of the things Nola just didn’t get about Becca—she didn’t see the interesting woman behind the pretty face.

  Dani finished her coffee, hitched the strap of her purse over her shoulder and walked back toward the supermarket where she’d parked the truck. As she passed the alley that led to the back of the café, she paused. She could smell smoke.

  A fragment of blackened paper with a glowing orange edge swirled in the breeze. The wisps of smoke thickened. Frowning, she stared down the narrow, potholed lane, reluctant to trespass. Nola wouldn’t thank her for poking around her property, but she couldn’t just walk away without investigating. Not after what had happened to the Barclays’ barn. From what she knew of the layout of the shops that fringed the beach and the conglomeration of houses and flats built behind them, the buildings were too close to allow for any activity like burning rubbish.

  She started down the alley. Her pulse rate quickened as she rounded a corner and was pushed back by a hot gust of smoke. Flames roared out of a Dumpster set against the back wall of the café. The fire had already taken a hold of the old weatherboard building, licking hungrily upward and threatening to catch on the small adjacent carport where Nola’s car was parked. The wind—a sea breeze—was blowing hard enough to muffle the crackle of the flames, and inside the café music was playing, which was probably why Nola hadn’t noticed that her livelihood was about to go up in flames.

  Retracing her steps, Dani pounded on the door that opened out onto a small delivery bay. When there was no answer, she pushed her way inside.

  A young girl stacking a dishwasher was visible down a small, dim hallway. Her head jerked up, her expression indignant. “You can’t come in here—”

  “The back of the café is on fire.”

  The girl gaped at her. Heart pounding, Dani spotted an ancient fire alarm and hose jutting from the wall. Taking off a shoe, she broke the glass and threw the switch. An ear-splitting ringing filled the building as she began unwinding hose.

  Nola stepped into view. Her face went white, then bright red. Flames were now visible at the back window.

  Dani dragged the hose out the door and down the steps. The girl followed, dragging loose hose with her. Dani thrust the nozzle into the girl’s hands. “Start hosing. I’ll call emergency services.”

  Grabbing a cell phone from her purse, Dani began dialling, and in that moment Nola snapped into action.

  “I’ll call Walter direct. It’ll be faster.”

  Snatching up the café phone, she made the call. Aside from owning the butcher shop, Walter Douglas was head of the Fire Service, and the fire station was situated right next door to his shop.

  She jammed the receiver back on its rest then went to clear the restaurant. Seconds later, she had closed the doors and moved her car out onto the road, barely missing the fire truck as it turned into the narrow drive. Minutes later the fire was out.

  Nola stared at the flooded, blackened mess of the Dumpster and the charred section of wall, her expression stark.

  Walter poked at the oily residue floating in the water. “What was in there?”

  “The usual. Food scraps, some plastic and paper rubbish. A few boxes.”

  “Smells like kerosene or one of those fancy fire-lighting gels.”

  Nola looked blank. “It can’t be. I don’t have either.”

  He leaned forward and examined the residue more closely. “If you didn’t throw an accelerant in there, then someone else did.”

  Some of the blankness left Nola’s expression. “I thought it must have been caused by a cigarette butt—”

  Walter’s expression was grim. “Do you know anyone in this town who’d be stupid enough to throw a cigarette butt into a Dumpster of rubbish?” With a curt command, he directed two men to check under the building in case anything was still smouldering.

  Nola transferred her attention to the blackened corner of the carport. “I can’t believe it was deliberate. Who would want to burn down my café?”

  Walter eased off his helmet. “It’s thirty-plus degrees. People do dumb things in the heat.” He turned to Dani. “It’s a good job you spotted the smoke. Another couple of minutes and the whole place would have gone up. These old shops don’t have any fire-retardant materials in them. They might look pretty, but they’re nothing but fuel.”

  Light pooled on Dani’s desk, illuminating the piles of bank statements and bills piled on either side of the farm cashbook. No matter which way she added the figures, the end result was always the same: not enough.

  With rising interest rates, the mortgage scraped the ceiling of her capability to repay, even if the farm was doing well, which it wasn’t. The small nest egg of money Aunt Ellen had left was gone, soaked up in taxes and mortgage payments. Until the herd was sold the only cash flow came from the jobs she and David worked.

  David, who was almost eighteen, was on the last year of his diploma. Aside from attending classes, he pumped gas and waited tables, sending back what money he could. Once he graduated, the financial pressure would ease and he would come back to take over the farm and Dani could concentrate on her physiotherapy practice.

  Yawning, she closed the books, switched off the lamp and walked out to the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea. She would prefer tea or even hot chocolate, but on doctor’s orders she had to avoid overstimulating herself. Ever since childhood, she’d had trouble with the night. Usually she slept, but too much sugar or caffeine this late and, physically exhausted or not, she would spend the night staring at the ceiling.

  She’d never told the doctor—or anyone else—just why it was she got so tense, and she never would. No one in Jac
kson’s Ridge knew a thing about the years she and Susan had spent on the run from a psycho ex-boyfriend, including Carter, and as far as she was concerned that was how it was going to stay. Her past was one secret she was determined would remain buried along with the unsettling knowledge of just who the stalker was likely to be.

  Seconds later Dani poured boiling water into a mug, let a herbal teabag steep for a few seconds then carried the drink over to the kitchen table. As she breathed in the fragrant steam, a distant light drew her eye, and her stomach tensed.

  She could see glimpses of Carter’s house from the kitchen window, and his light was on, specifically, his bedroom light. Great. All she needed.

  Carter was her closest neighbour—there was no getting away from that. The entrance to his driveway was some distance away, but the house itself was almost claustrophobically close, built, like the Galbraith house, to catch the stunning view across Jackson’s Bay.

  The Galbraiths and the Rawlingses had been neighbours forever. In the past, they’d been so close they had been like one large extended family. They’d shared Christmas, taking turns to host each other, and they’d pitched in with farm work. Dani had spent as much time in Carter’s house, watching his mother bake cakes and preserve fruit, as she’d spent in this one, and Carter had been equally at home in the Galbraith house.

  With careful sips she drank the tea and waited for Carter’s light to go out. Minutes ticked by. A shadow flickered over the light as if Carter had just walked between the lamp and the window and with slow deliberation, Dani set the cup down. It was after ten, she should be dead on her feet; Carter should be tucked up in his bed fast asleep.

  With jerky movements, she tipped the rest of the tea down the sink, rinsed the cup and slotted it into the dishwasher.

  A quick shower later and she was changed for bed, wearing a cotton tank top and drawstring shorts, her teeth brushed. Picking up the book on her bedside table, she began to read, turned a page, then stared blankly at the words, aware that she didn’t have a clue what she had just read. She also had a headache.

  Setting the book down, she shoved the cotton sheet—which was all she could bear in the heat—off her legs and strode back out to the kitchen. She noticed Carter’s light was off.

  Forcing her jaw to unclench, she rummaged in the pantry for a couple of painkillers, drank them down with a glass of water, then dumped bags of flour and sugar on the counter, followed by a container of chocolate chips. The way she felt now, exhausted or not, she wouldn’t sleep. She either needed to eat or to bake, and since she wasn’t hungry, it had to be baking. There was something about the whole ritual that was calming. Maybe it was just a nostalgia thing, with the added bonus of being able to enjoy the results, although there was no way she could risk eating a brownie tonight. If tea could overstimulate her, chocolate would send her into orbit.

  An hour later, perspiring from the heat radiating out of the oven, she slid a tray of brownies onto the counter and stepped out onto the veranda to cool down. It was almost midnight. The painkillers had done their work; her headache was gone and she even felt drowsy.

  Winding her hair into a firmer knot on top of her head, she sat on the ancient wooden bench just outside the door and let the night air cool her skin. There was no moon yet; apart from the faint glimmer of stars and behind her the light in the kitchen, the darkness was close to absolute. In the distance she could hear the soothing cadences of the sea, and all around the incessant sawing of cicadas and crickets. On cue a large, shiny black cricket hopped past her foot, attracted by the light streaming out of the kitchen door. Tipping her head back, Dani stared at the night sky and, without warning, slipped back into memories that should have been dimmed by time but were instead as sharp as ice-cold shards of broken glass.

  Tensing, she sat up, every last vestige of drowsiness gone. She hadn’t thought about the night he had come in the window and attacked Susan for years. The apprehension she’d felt while checking out the barn this afternoon had obviously triggered the memory, and she had to remember it was just a memory.

  A cold shiver slid down her spine. He would have tried to follow them, that much she had never doubted. He had been relentless—but he had never found them. Between them, Dani and Susan had outsmarted him—shifting from town to town, city to city like ghosts, sometimes taking on assumed names, sometimes even changing the colour of their hair, because the red had been so distinctive.

  A rustling, a distinct sound like a footfall jerked her head around.

  Heart pounding, she stared in the direction of the barn. There was no breeze to explain either sound. The air was still and heavy with condensation. The only way one of the trees or shrubs that clustered around the outbuildings could rustle was if something or someone had brushed against them. As likely as it was to be something rather than someone, she had to check.

  With a smooth movement, she rose to her feet and slipped inside the screen door, closing it silently behind her. Grabbing the flashlight from the shelf in the mudroom, she inched the door open and eased outside and down the steps, holding her breath while she listened.

  The sound of the insects seemed heightened as she crept toward the barn, a cacophony that filled her ears so that the harder she strained to listen, the less she heard. Feeling her way, she crept into the opening of the barn and flicked the flashlight on, swinging the beam in an arc and double-checking the corners. When she was satisfied the barn was empty, instead of walking back out the main doors, she used the small side door that opened out onto the dusty space between the barn and the implement shed.

  Flashlight now flicked off, her hand closed around the handle. Holding her breath, she pushed the door open and stepped outside. Between the two buildings it was almost as pitch-black as the inside of the barn had been. Using the flashlight had been reassuring, but any night vision she’d had was gone.

  Gingerly, she stepped forward. Hot pain shot up her shin. She stumbled off balance, the flashlight slipping from her fingers as she gripped her leg. The back of one hand brushed against rough metal, and she remembered the ancient, rusted tractor scoop that sat against the barn wall, almost buried in weeds.

  A light shone directly into her eyes, almost stopping her heart.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Dani bit back an unladylike word when Carter swung the flashlight beam so that it illuminated the barn wall, washing them both in light. “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “I was outside on the porch when I thought I heard someone over here.”

  Her jaw clamped. “I’m over here.”

  “You were in the kitchen. The sound came from the barn.”

  Dani massaged her shin again and wondered if the pain would ever stop. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

  She caught the speculative glance he gave her and suppressed another bad word. Now he knew she’d been checking on him.

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Next time try taking a pill.”

  “I don’t take sleep aids.”

  She should have been ready for that one. Aside from being a career soldier and a self-confessed adrenaline junkie, Carter was a medic. Nothing went into that high-octane body that wasn’t scrutinized and judged pure.

  Wincing, Dani retrieved her flashlight, flicked it on and examined the derelict scoop. It didn’t stick out from the wall by much. If she hadn’t been sneaking she would never have walked into it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Apart from needing a tranquillizer and very possibly a tetanus shot. Trying to ignore the hot little coal of pain, Dani swung the light around and studied either end of the alley, examining the dark shapes of the trees, and what might possibly be lurking beneath them.

  Carter walked to the end of the barn and stared out into the night. Something about his quietness made all the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. If Carter had heard something, there must have been—

  “I can smell brownies.”

&n
bsp; She let out a breath and felt like beating her head against the side of the shed. “I’ve been baking. And before you ask, the answer is no and no.”

  The last thing she needed right now was to hear that sexy, faintly plaintive note in his voice. He knew what buttons to push; he knew what made her melt. If she said yes to the brownies he’d take that as encouragement, and right now she couldn’t afford the extra stress. Added to that he knew she was vulnerable at night and he knew she didn’t like being alone. The first time she had weakened and given in to the attraction that had simmered between them for years had been barely a week after Susan’s and Robert’s funerals. Carter had been there, his shoulder at the ready, and she had dropped into his bed like a ripe plum. “Go home, Carter. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “Your choice.”

  “That’s right.” Her choice, and against all the odds it felt good to say no.

  She hadn’t realized she was so angry until now. She thought she’d had plenty of time to get over him. In a weird way it wasn’t even fair to be angry, because it wasn’t as if Carter hadn’t ever told her what he was like. He had always been too restless for Jackson’s Ridge. The challenge of Special Forces suited him better than farming or a settled relationship ever would. He couldn’t commit, pure and simple and she wasn’t exactly prime relationship material either.

  He strode past her and checked the large gravel turnaround area in front of the barn, as matter-of-fact as if they’d been talking about the price of hay.

  Gripping her flashlight, she followed him. One of the things that upset her most was the fact that she’d let herself fall in love with Carter in the first place when she’d always promised herself that she wouldn’t, but it seemed that her body had always had a different agenda than her mind. From that first moment, she’d been attracted—cancel that, stunned practically speechless—and he’d known it. It had complicated her life. She’d had enough guilt and issues to deal with without buying into a relationship that was never going to work.

  “I’ve done a circuit of the place and checked the sheds. There’s no one parked down the road, and I couldn’t see anyone on the beach. At a guess, you’ve probably got a stray dog or cat hanging around.”