Julianna’s anger receded as she watched the two men. She hadn’t believed it would come to this. Their raised voices had drawn the attention of the passengers across the aisle. She wondered how many others were witnessing the confrontation. “Just go, Gray,” she said, reaching out to put a restraining hand on Dillon’s arm.
Gray shook his head. “I’m going to talk to you, and I’m not leaving until I do.”
The two men were well matched in height. Gray assessed the Australian. Whatever advantage the other man had in weight, Gray knew he could probably make up for in speed. He never settled his problems with his fists, but he knew he could if the occasion arose. And the occasion would arise if the Australian took a swing at him.
“Gentlemen, please.”
The two men broke eye contact at the sound of a woman’s voice.
“Everyone is supposed to be seated. The seat belt sign is on.” If the young flight attendant knew exactly what she had interrupted, she didn’t let it show in her voice. “Sir, will you please take your seat? And you, sir, will you sit down and buckle up? We’re heading into worse turbulence, and we don’t want anyone to get hurt.’’ She emphasized the last part of her sentence.
For a moment Gray considered ignoring her. But he knew he had lost this round. He gave the young woman a curt nod, then addressed his next words to Julianna. “I know where I can find you, both at work and at home. So we’ll talk, whether you think it’s a good idea or not. Maybe by the time we do, you’ll realize how childish you’ve been today.”
“This isn’t Mississippi. The Sheridans don’t own Hawaii. If we talk it will be because I want to. And that won’t be until hell freezes over!”
“We’ll talk.” Gray turned and strode down the aisle, disappearing into the next cabin.
Dillon made sure Gray was out of sight before he sat down again. He buckled his seat belt before he spoke. “Are you all right?”
“I’m so sorry.” Now that Gray was gone Julianna blinked back tears. “I never use people the way I used you.”
It was obvious that Dillon would have been more comfortable throwing a punch than he was with Julianna’s tears. “Nothing happened,” he reminded her. “And he’s gone now.”
“For a while.”
“Will you be all right?”
“He won’t touch me.”
“Maybe you should have talked to him. Now you’ve got to worry about meeting him again.”
Dillon’s words were only an echo of Julianna’s own thoughts. She listened to the sounds he made settling back in his seat as she cursed her own behavior. She’d been childish and spiteful and so full of fear and anger there hadn’t been room for anything else.
There had been a time when things were different. Once there had been room inside her for much more. Those days were gone, but as the plane hurtled through the storm-filled skies, she remembered them. She was powerless to do otherwise.
FROM GLOWING EMBERS is available on Smashwords.
RAINBOW FIRE
She had landed on the moon. Without benefit of rocket, space suit or NASA's famed countdown, she had landed on the moon, and the trip had only taken three hours, ninety-one dollars and the wind-tossed flight of a Cessna 421.
Kelsey Donovan squinted at the dusty landscape that spread in front of her like a Jules Verne fantasy. She half expected to see astronaut litter: abandoned space buggies, useless rocket modules, or, at the very least, competitively waving flags proclaiming a race for control of the heavens.
Instead the sun beat down on her bare head, reminding her that this was Coober Pedy, South Australia. If she didn't find shade quickly, her legs were going to crumple, and she was going to litter this remote corner of Planet Earth with her slender body and small, battered suitcase.
Kelsey picked up the suitcase once more and began to trudge down the track that had been pointed out to her by the airport taxi driver who had grudgingly dropped her off half a mile back. Half a mile was nothing. In her quest for mastery of her body and emotions, she had once run miles every day as a prelude to more difficult training. Her small-boned frame and delicate milkmaid skin said nothing about the strength of the woman underneath.
But even a strong woman could be defeated by a blazing midafternoon sun that reflected off coarse red earth like a raging bonfire.
She wouldn't think about it. She would put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. She would not curse herself for turning down liquids on the flight from Adelaide; she would not curse herself for wearing her best forest green dress and matching heels. She would not curse the faith that had brought her to this strange place.
This place. This strange, sterile, desolate place. Why would a man like Jake Donovan choose to live among barren red hills in a country that wasn't his own? He would be sixty now, a time when even rugged men begin to think about reaping the rewards of years of hard work. Kelsey had been told often enough that Jake was a dreamer, a man with no common sense and no sense of responsibility. She had been told that he chased the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and found his pleasure in the chase. But there was no rainbow here, and no pleasure that she could see. Just an endless vista of dust and earth and shimmering heat.
And one slowly melting woman with a dream she had nurtured since she was three years old.
She stopped again, pulling a tissue from her pocket to wipe her forehead. Surely she should have reached the house by now. But there wasn't a house in sight; in fact, she had seen nothing resembling one since she had left the airfield. Perhaps if she had gone into town, as the taxi driver had insisted, she wouldn't be so disoriented now. Certainly there had been houses in town. She could have checked into the motel, along with the other three passengers and the rest of her luggage, then found a ride to Jake's front doorstep. But she had been stubborn—a trait that some people claimed was synonymous with the Donovan name. She had waited twenty-one years for this moment, and she hadn't wanted to wait even one more hour.
So the disgruntled driver had dropped her at a fork in the road and pointed, muttering something with a heavy accent that she hadn't taken the time to decipher. Half a mile later, she wished she had made more of an effort.
Kelsey trudged along the dusty track again, lifting one foot, then the other. The track curved, skirting a clump of naked hills to her right, but she had almost passed the first before she noticed a door in its side.
A door in a hill.
"Curious and curiouser," she mumbled with a tongue that felt swollen and heavy. She wondered if the door led to a mine. This was opal mining country. If she opened the door, would it lead to riches beyond imagining? Or would there be nothing except darkness and mildew and disappointment?
She wished she could find out. Instead she hiked on to the next hill, past another door, and then to the next.
There was a door in this hill, too, but unlike the others, it wasn't constructed of ill-fitted planks leaning haphazardly against a narrow hole. The door was sturdy and green, a door meant for a brick ranch house in some suburban subdivision. And in front of the door was a flat stone porch crowded with plants and shaded by a grass roof like a South Sea island hut.
On the porch, in a straight back chair, was a man. Kelsey felt a voluminous surge of relief. Only then did she allow herself to recognize the fear that she had struggled so hard to suppress. She had learned something about the Australian outback today. She would never underestimate it again.
"Excuse me." She cleared her throat, then tried again, moving off the track toward the man. "Excuse me," she said a little louder.
The man had one hand buried deep in the fur of a dust-drenched cat at his feet. At her words, he lifted his head and stared at her as if she were a mirage.
Kelsey noted brown hair not yet touched by gray and the bronzed skin of a man in his early thirties. This man was certainly not her father, but maybe he could lead her to him. "I'm looking for Jake Donovan's house." She swallowed painfully. "Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?"
She watched surprise spread across his features as she swayed in the blazing sunlight. His face blurred as sweat dripped into her eyes, and she blinked twice. "Please?" she added when he didn't say anything.
"Jake Donovan?" he asked finally, his voice resonant with the music of Australia. He stood, stretching to a height that towered over her five foot four. "Who's looking for him?"
She shut her eyes and swayed again, half expecting to feel the earth rise to meet her. "Kelsey Donovan," she said through thirst-parched lips. "His daughter."
* * *
The apparition was real. The wraithlike female was flesh and bones and pale red-gold hair, a curling mane of it that reached past her shoulder blades in a fiercely glorious profusion. Her skin was cream, scorching to an unhealthy rose as Dillon watched. And if his first impression had been correct, her eyes, now squeezed tightly shut, were the pale brown of outback desert before the spring rains.
Dillon took two huge strides to the collapsing woman and circled her with arms that were turning black and blue from the battering of another rescue mission that day. "Here, let's get you into the shade."
Kelsey let him take her weight for a moment. Gratefully she leaned against his chest, barely aware of anything except strong arms and the rasp of a cotton shirt against her face. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I guess I'm just not used to the sun. I feel like a fool."
Dillon realized he was just about to stroke her hair. His right hand hovered over the gold-red mass like a falcon with no place to roost. "Let's get you into the shade," he repeated awkwardly. He was suddenly very much aware that he was holding a beautiful stranger in his arms and that the smell of his own filthy clothing had been replaced by the fragrance of lavender.
Half-assisting, half-dragging, he helped her to the porch and seated her in the chair he had just vacated. He gave the cat a helpful nudge with the toe of his boot and watched him slink a yard or two to rest between potted plants. "Are you going to pass out?" he asked, turning his attention back to the young woman.
Kelsey shook her head, and Dillon nodded in satisfaction. "I'll get you a drink." Without waiting for her answer, he disappeared inside, coming back out a moment later with a glass of water. "Take it slow, a sip at a time."
Kelsey gripped the glass with trembling hands. Every bit of coordination she still possessed went into guiding it to her mouth. The first sip tasted like salvation. Three sips later she cleared her throat. "Thanks."
Dillon went back inside and returned with a wet washcloth. Kelsey flashed him a wan, grateful smile and bathed her face and hands, appreciating the moist coolness against her heated skin. "I don't even know your name."
"My name's Dillon. Dillon Ward." Dillon satisfied himself that she was recovering before he took the chair next to her. He watched her smooth the cloth over her cheeks until the worst of the flush disappeared. Only then did he let himself think about her announcement. "So you're looking for Jake."
"Am I looking in the right part of the universe?"
Dillon didn't know how to answer. He made a steeple of his hands, resting his unshaven chin on his fingertips. "You say you're his daughter."
Kelsey drained the glass and wished for another. She turned to examine the man she had only viewed through sweat-tainted eyes. He wasn't just tall, he was broad, although she would stake her life on the fact that there wasn't an ounce of fat on him anywhere. His shoulders were wide enough to create problems in doorways, and his chest strained against the buttons of a remarkably grimy shirt. His curly hair was shaggy and rumpled, and what might otherwise be an intriguing face was dirt-streaked and unshaven. He was an unlikely savior, but her savior nonetheless. "I am his daughter." She set the glass beside the washcloth on a wooden table. "Can you tell me where to find him, or shall I push on?"
"You won't find him if you push on," Dillon said grimly.
"I was told his house was nearby."
"This is his dugout." Dillon gestured behind him. "Rather, it's my dugout. He's been living with me recently. Jake and I are partners."
"Partners?" She savored the sweet thrill of being so close to the end of a search that had begun a lifetime ago. In strange ways she had been searching for Jake Donovan since he had walked out of her life with nothing more than a kiss on her chubby, baby cheek.
"Mining partners."
Kelsey wet her lips and tried to figure out how anyone could live inside a hill. "Is he inside?"
"He's not."
She ignored her frustration. "Then where is he?"
Dillon wondered how he had worked beside Jake for years and never once heard him mention a daughter. He wanted to dispute her claim, at the least tell her she was mistaken, that this was not the Jake Donovan she was looking for. But there was something about the anticipation in her brown eyes that forced him to be silent about his qualms. And if she were indeed Jake's daughter, he sensed how devastating it would be if he told Kelsey Donovan that in all the years Dillon had known him Jake had never mentioned a daughter, never mentioned a marriage, never mentioned anyone name Kelsey. The news would be almost as devastating as what he had to tell her instead.
"Where is he?" she repeated.
"Jake's been hurt," he said, watching to see if he was going to have to pick her up off the ground after all. "There was an accident at the mine. Jake's in the hospital."
Kelsey heard the words, but she couldn't absorb them. They skittered somewhere in the sunshine, just out of reach. "Hurt?"
He passed a hand over his hair, belatedly giving a thought to his appearance. If he and Kelsey had met on a dark city street, he would probably have struck terror in her heart. But then, no one looked like a prince after crawling through mine drives dragging rescue equipment and lights and. . .
"There's no pretty way to tell you," Dillon said. He stared at the horizon, wishing for the first time that there was a tree to focus on. But there was nothing, just red-brown dirt and conical hills, a numbing sameness that was broken only by patches of scruffy saltbush. There might still be the occasional wildflower—pink hops and even Sturts desert pea—hiding in the shade. But from his porch he couldn't see them.
Kelsey felt herself deflate, like a balloon slowly losing helium. She had come so far. So far. "What happened?"
"He fell down a fifty-foot shaft."
She nodded blankly, as if she understood. "He's been hurt."
Dillon was exhausted. He hadn't slept for sixty hours; he hadn't eaten for twelve, and then he had only wolfed down someone's idea of a sandwich so he could keep searching for the man who now lay unconscious in a hospital bed. Dillon was a man of both warmth and wit—or so he had been told by the occasional women in his life. Now his insides were frozen, and each word he spoke was a death knell.
"I'll take you to him," he said wearily.
Jake was hurt, maybe dying. Kelsey mentally repeated the words, trying them out like a half-memorized poem. Jake was hurt. Her father was hurt. She felt nothing except the first sting of sunburn on her cheeks. Giving up, she looked down at her sweat-stained, dust-covered dress. "I should change."
Dillon wondered if Kelsey even knew what she had said. She was in shock; the response had been rote. Someone, somewhere, had taught her that a clean dress could solve any of life's problems. "Have you got something else?"
Kelsey gestured to the small suitcase she had brought with her. "Only photographs," she said softly. "Photographs of me with my father. And my birth certificate. I didn't want to leave them in the taxi." She sighed. When she looked up, Dillon saw that her eyes were still dry. "I've come too far to be stopped by a dirty dress." She stood and inclined her head toward him, jutting her strong, pointed chin in a movement that made his heart drop to his stomach. "Will you please take me to see him now?"
And because Dillon had seen Jake's own pointed chin assume the same angle more times than he could begin to count, he rose to his feet. There was nothing else about Kelsey Donovan that was like Jake, but at that moment there was no one in the world who could have persu
aded him that she wasn't Jake's child. And Jake was Dillon's partner, his mate.
He grasped her elbow, although for whose support he wasn't sure. "We'll be there in ten minutes."
RAINBOW FIRE is available on Smashwords.
OUT OF THE ASHES
The child's scream shattered the early morning stillness. When it ended, silence washed into the space where it had lingered, smothering all traces of its existence.
By then Alexis Whitham had already left her warm bed and raced barefoot to the front porch of the small farmhouse. By then she had already had time to name her fear. The man she and her daughter had crossed the world to escape had found them anyway.
Charles had found them.
"Jody!"
As if to assist in Alexis's search, the still hidden sun began to streak the purple horizon with fire.
"Jody!" Alexis took the porch steps in one frantic leap, nearly tripping over the hem of her nightgown. "Where are you?"
There was a cry from behind the spiny bushes rimming the small patch of grass that passed for a front yard. Alexis could just make out the outline of Jody's thin body, bent as if she were searching the ground. She was alone "Mommy! Quick!"
Alexis swallowed a sob of relief. Jody was still here. Charles hadn't come and taken her, stolen her so he could hold her until he could get the prize he really sought. He hadn't found them yet. Perhaps he never would.
But something was wrong. Alexis ignored the sharp rocks stinging her feet as she ran along the path. "I'm coming." In seconds she parted the bushes, heading for the nine-year-old sprite who was her whole world.
"Over here." Jody didn't even turn at her mother's approach. She was bending between bushes, just visible in the dim light. "It's a koala bear."
Like a disqualified runner halfway to the finish line, Alexis abruptly halted her frenzied flight. She took a deep breath and willed the overload of adrenaline in her system to evaporate. She didn't trust herself to speak, but Jody didn't notice.
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