High Stakes Bride

by Fiona Brand

  For the barest moment Dani’s heart stopped in her chest. She hadn’t known until that moment how much she wanted not just a proposal, but the whole deal—marriage, babies and family. The hunger had sneaked up on her, a silent ambush that had swept the ground from beneath her feet. “Not lately.”

  “He won’t walk out on you again.” Becca’s expression was fierce.

  “No,” Dani agreed, “he won’t.” She stared at the menu. Now that she was head over heels in love with him, her tolerance level had shrunk to zero. If he left again, that would be it; she couldn’t afford to have him in her life in any capacity. Staying away wouldn’t be just a simple case of protection, it would be a requirement for survival.

  Becca lifted her brows, openly fishing for some kind of admission. “And?”

  “And nothing.” Dani waited until Nola had set their coffee down on the table and left. “You know me.”

  “Uh-huh. The last thing you committed to was taking over where Robert Galbraith left off. Ever since then you’ve been on hold. When are you going to let go of that place? David’s got to be, what? Seventeen?”

  “Eighteen.” Dani sipped her coffee and set the cup back on its saucer. “I’ll let go when the cattle are sold and the mortgage is paid.”

  And not a second before. Quite apart from the fact that she loved her brother, she owed it to David—and to Susan and Robert—to hang on.

  “I just hope Carter stays around that long.”

  “What makes you think he’s even coming back after he’s pronounced fit?”

  “Call it women’s intuition.” Becca shook her head. “You know, sometimes I could shake you. You’re one of the smartest women I know, but you can’t see what’s going on right under your nose.”

  A flicker of movement drew Dani’s attention. On the other side of the trellis that enclosed the outdoor seating area she could see Nola talking to a man. A split second later Nola lifted up on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth.

  Dani looked away, faintly embarrassed that she’d witnessed the scene. “Tell me that wasn’t Walter.”

  Becca picked up her coffee. “It’s Walter. Nola rang John up last night to tell him the news. They’re dating.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the fire at her house.” Becca shrugged. “Nola won’t admit to anything, but rumour is that she lit the fire solely to get his attention—which she did.”

  As Dani lifted her cup to her mouth and sipped, Carter’s truck slotted into a parking space outside the café.

  Becca watched his progress as he locked the truck and stepped up on the curb. “Speak of the devil….”

  Dani tensed. There was no doubt that Carter looked good. Female heads automatically turned when he walked by. Her spine stiffened as a familiar voice called out. She spotted Mia sitting at a shady table with Roger Wells. The last she’d heard, Mia was just passing through—on her way to pick apples in Nelson. Either she’d never made it out of town or she was back for another visit.

  Carter lifted a hand, but didn’t change direction and Dani breathed a sigh of relief. She’d never thought of herself as a jealous woman—another of the changes she was slowly adjusting to.

  Nola appeared as he took the seat next to Dani. Within seconds a glass of ice water was deposited in front of him.

  Absently, Dani listened to the way he answered Nola’s queries. Not for the first time she noticed there was nothing flirtatious or over-friendly about Carter’s manner or his replies, he was decidedly low-key. Despite that reticence, the female sex gravitated to him—whether they were eight or eighty. The machismo aside, they simply liked him.

  Nola tucked her tray under one arm. “When are you leaving?”

  Carter’s gaze caught hers. “Tomorrow night.”

  Dani kept her expression blank. A few minutes later, Carter helped her into the truck. She felt edgy and aware and fragile, and more inclined to argue than make nice conversation. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  The word carried more poignancy than usual. One more day. She couldn’t help it; she had a sense of foreboding.

  Chapter 15

  Dani rose in the pre-dawn darkness. Rex, David’s gelding, nickered and trotted along behind her as she caught Elsie. A cool breeze blew in off the ocean as she led the mare out of the paddock, bringing with it the smell of salt and ozone and blowing away the last dregs of sleep. Suppressing a shiver, she rubbed the old mare’s nose as she slipped off the halter, slotted the bridle over her head and fitted the bit in her mouth. “Last time girl, then you can retire.”

  They both could. After this she would be packing her bags. When David came back, she intended either to move her practice into Jackson’s Ridge, or make a fresh start in Mason. For most of her life her home had been at Galbraith, but now that time was over. Whether she succeeded or failed to meet the mortgage, it was past time to strike out on her own. The challenge both invigorated and scared her, but the reasoning was sound.

  Becca had been right: it was time to let go. She was thirty years old, and for the past six years she had been running on guilt. Once David moved back to Galbraith it wouldn’t take long for him to settle into a relationship and start a family and when that happened, Dani intended to be long gone. There was no way she was going to play gooseberry in her brother’s marriage.

  Minutes later Dani cinched the saddle tight, swung up and squeezed her calves against Elsie’s flanks, although she hardly needed to urge the old mare on. Elsie was a stock horse born and bred, she might be close on sixteen, but she loved to work. Her ears pricked as she started forward at a brisk amble, automatically heading through the gate.

  Dani checked the luminous dial of her watch. The truck was due at ten, which gave her five hours to get the cattle into the stockyards. Most of the herd was already in close, it wouldn’t take much to move them, but Murphy’s Law held for farming just like it did for everything else. There was always a difficult one in the bunch. In this case she could guarantee it was going to be Buster. Buster had been a headstrong calf and a difficult yearling. Neutering hadn’t seemed to make much difference; he still thought he was in charge.

  As Elsie ambled on, the echo of hooves became more distinct, then separated into two sets of hoofbeats. A sense of inevitability gripped her as a rider materialised out of the mist. It was Carter up on Rex. He must have caught and saddled him just minutes after she’d ridden out.

  An ache started in her chest as he came abreast. “I thought you were leaving today.”

  “I changed the appointment.”

  By lunchtime the cattle, including the breeding herd, were mustered into the stockyards, ready to be trucked to the sale. Two hours later, dust hung in the air as the last truck pulled away, leaving the pens, and the farm, empty.

  Emotion gripped Dani as the roar of the last truck receded to be replaced by silence. She had the strongest sensation that the pulse that was Galbraith had just stopped. She had been prepared to feel empty, but she hadn’t expected to feel grief. Over the years the high, windy plateau and coastal strip had made a place for itself in her heart. It was home.

  As they rode back to the house a curious calmness settled on her. She would still have to wait on the sale prices to see if there was enough to meet the balloon payment. Win or lose, she had done her best. If that wasn’t good enough, she couldn’t change it now.

  The night was hot and close, most of the stars blanked out by cloud, as a vehicle idled along the dusty farm roads that crisscrossed the Rawlings property and provided access to the long peninsula that curved out into the sea and formed the northern-most point of Jackson’s Bay. The road angled in close to the beach before downgrading to little more than a goat track, but Carlisle wasn’t interested in reaching the peninsula.

  Bringing the truck to a halt in the lee of a small dune, he slipped a knapsack on his back and struck out across country toward the Rawlings place, keeping to the cover of scrubby manuka, stunted by salt and bent and twisted
toward land by perpetual sea winds. Satisfied that he had taken every precaution to elude Marc O’Halloran, who had almost caught him on a couple of occasions, he paused in the deep shadow of a lone pohutukawa, allowing himself several minutes to adjust to the night sounds. When he was satisfied he was alone, he threaded his way up the slope, keeping his steps slow and deliberate.

  A half moon emerged from behind a sullen bank of cloud and the bulk of the Rawlings homestead sprang into prominence. Keeping clear of the house, he skirted the shadows, waiting patiently for the cloud to blank out the moon. Rawlings was gone for the night, but that didn’t mean he would take unnecessary risks.

  A heavy patch of cloud slid across the moon. Satisfied that he was close to invisible, he drifted between the outbuildings, comfortable with the night.

  Dani climbed the shell path that led from the beach to her house. Carter had left shortly after the muster, but even though she knew he was only gone for one night, the fact that he was back in barracks didn’t make her happy.

  Moonlight slanted over Carter’s house as she stepped up onto the lawn. She studied the luminous dial of her wristwatch. It was just after eleven. She’d walked for an hour, trying to wear herself out in the hope that she’d simply fall asleep, but the remedy hadn’t worked, she didn’t feel even remotely tired. After months of being alone, it had only taken days to get used to being one half of a couple again. She missed Carter.

  Corrosive anger ate at Carlisle as he watched Dani stroll beneath the trees, feet and legs bare, long hair trailing down her back, as if she’d just enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the beach. In the fitful light her resemblance to Susan was uncanny.

  Hunkering down in the deep well of shadow cast by an old oak, he set himself to wait, letting the rhythmic sound of the surf on the beach below soothe away the eruption of temper. A few minutes later her bedroom light went out. He gave it ten more minutes then he rose to his feet and strolled along the edge of the lawn toward the house.

  Fifteen minutes later he crawled beneath the house and extracted dry strips of kindling, newspaper, a lighter, and a container of fire gel from his knapsack. Petrol or white spirits were more volatile, and normally he got a kick out of the explosion, but in this case he needed to keep the noise level down. The surf provided a level of background noise that would hide the initial sound of the flames, but not for long, and the last thing he wanted to do was alert Dani.

  He watched as the flames consumed the kindling then fed the fire with larger wood he’d found on the woodpile. A burst of blue-white flame spat a glowing ember out of the centre of the fire into a drift of dried leaves. Instantly flames shimmered to life.

  Grabbing his knapsack, he retreated from the small blaze and coldly assessed the weather conditions. The usual sea breeze had dropped, leaving the night disappointingly still. The lack of wind and the boxed-in position he’d built the fire in—set where the house bellied low to the ground—would slow the fire but, all the same, once it took hold it would be spectacular.

  Picking up his knapsack, and checking the ground in case he’d left anything behind that could incriminate him, he backed into the shadows. This fire was an exception to the rule.

  This one he wanted to watch.

  Carter strolled through his darkened house, waiting for Murdoch to call. He had ostensibly left town this afternoon, calling in at the supermarket on his way to make sure the message that he’d gone back to barracks was clear. If Carlisle was going to show his hand, it would be tonight.

  He hadn’t told Dani. As certain as Carter was that Carlisle was the arsonist, so far all he and Murdoch had was supposition. They didn’t have one evidential link that connected Carlisle to the Jackson’s Ridge arsons. He’d tossed up and decided that with five police officers and himself surveilling the property, Dani didn’t need to know that it was possible the man who had stalked her and Susan when she was a child was back in Jackson’s Ridge until after they’d apprehended him.

  The phone rang. Murdoch and Lowell were on stand-by down on the beach road, the two Mason cops were watching Dani’s driveway, O’Halloran was watching the beach.

  Dani kicked the cotton sheet, her only covering, aside. The polished wooden boards were cool on her feet as she padded across the room to switch the ceiling fan on. Normally, she would simply push her French doors open and let the night air circulate through the house, but Carter had insisted that while he was away, she secure the house. Every window was latched, every door locked, and had been ever since she’d left the house earlier on in the evening. Consequently, the old homestead with its tin roof and lack of ventilating windows was as hot and airless as an oven.

  The steady hum as the blades stirred the air provided more comfort than relief; it didn’t cool the air so much as move it around.

  Sliding back into bed, Dani punched the pillow into shape and made herself comfortable. She needed to sleep, but it was hard to relax when the relationship she needed was slipping through her fingers—for the fourth time.

  When Carter had left for barracks she’d recognized the remote quality in his gaze: she’d seen the look often enough.

  Her head lifted off the pillow. For long seconds she listened, but the hum of the fan drowned out everything but the distant cry of a pukeko—one of the swamp birds that inhabited the marsh down on the river flat. Punching the pillow again, she forced herself to relax.

  It must be her imagination, but it seemed to be getting hotter.

  Carter’s phone rang again. O’Halloran had spotted a vehicle concealed at the far end of the beach. At first he hadn’t been overly alarmed, because the truck was parked some distance away, at the opposite end of the beach, on the track that led out to the peninsula. Locals who were serious about fishing and owned four-wheel-drive vehicles used the track on occasion. And this particular vehicle was familiar; it belonged to a neighbour.

  Carter tensed, all of his instincts on alert. The Galbraith roads were being watched; not his. The omission had been a calculated risk. Murdoch only had so much manpower, and they were already stretched thin covering the access points into Galbraith Station. Added to that, after Walter’s arrest, Carlisle should have felt safe enough to use one of his usual routes. The arsons had been “solved” and the manpower Murdoch had thrown into the case was supposedly reduced.

  “Are there any rod holders welded on the back?” asked Carter.

  O’Halloran swore beneath his breath. “None.”

  “Then that’s our boy. Radio Murdoch, tell him our plans just changed; he’s already here.”

  Carter retrieved the Glock he kept in his bedside table. The handgun was light and reliable—a standard-issue police weapon—which meant the gun and the ammunition were relatively easy to obtain. He checked the load on the clip, slotted the magazine in place then slipped the gun in the waistband at the small of his back.

  Pulling on a black knit cap to hide his light hair, he exited the house through the French doors that faced the beach. The line of Dani’s house was a solid silhouette against the night sky. Her light was out which meant she had finally gone to bed.

  He checked the kitchen door and a window. Satisfied that she was safe, he ghosted along the edge of the trees, heading for the barn and outbuildings. He knew she had locked up, because he had watched her do it.

  Chapter 16

  Moonlight slid through a narrow gap where the drapes weren’t quite pulled to, gleaming off polished wood floorboards and an elegant Edwardian dresser set against the wall. Cold light reflected off the mirror, making a ghostly image on the wall.

  Punching her pillow into shape again, Dani turned over. The mattress was new, but the bed was old and in need of repair. The faint creak of the wire-woven base was almost indiscernible, but tonight every sound registered. The bed was also an antique, carved from the same oak as the dresser and the escritoire in the corner. All part of the set of furniture one of the Galbraith brides had received as a wedding gift from her husband.

  Weddings. Dani s
tared at the intricate plaster moulding in the centre of the ceiling. That was the trouble. In this house she had always been surrounded by wedding memorabilia. Almost every piece of furniture had had a romantic or funny story passed down with it—all connected with the comfortable, seemingly inevitable continuation of the Galbraith family line.

  Now that most of the furniture was gone, and with it the stories, the house felt hollow and empty, as if its heart had been taken away. The Galbraith bad luck had finally peaked.

  With a restless movement, she shifted sideways on the bed, trying to find a cool spot. Despite the air fanning down from the ceiling, the temperature seemed to be rising.

  The muffled roar of the waves had grown louder, and with it the sound of the wind in the trees. Stifling a yawn, Dani leaned over and switched on her bedside lamp.

  The darkness remained absolute.

  Either the bulb had blown or the power was out.

  Frowning, she pushed to her feet, felt her way across the room and opened the drapes. Fantasies of grey sheets of subtropical rain pounding on the roof and dripping from trees died as she stared at the sky. A waning moon hung over the water, surrounded by ragged cloud, but the trees were barely moving and the wind was minimal.

  She shoved damp hair back from her face. The air was warm and close—even the floorboards felt hot.

  That was because they were hot.

  Dani stared at the floor where pale moonlight angled across the bare boards. A wisp of smoke drifted between her feet. She had been wrong. The Galbraith bad luck hadn’t peaked, it was still on the rise.

  The faint roaring wasn’t the surf, or the wind.

  Someone had set a fire beneath the house.

  The flames were growing, even though the progress of the fire seemed painfully slow, impeded as it was by the lack of wind, and only visible if you crawled under the house, but even so the satisfaction Carlisle thought he would feel was eaten away by something else.