High Stakes Bride (2 page)

Four years later, Jackson's Ridge, New Zealand

T
he noonday sun burned into the darkly tanned skin of twelve-year-old Carter Rawlings's shoulders as he slid down the steep scrub-covered hill just below his parents' house. Grabbing the gnarled branch of a pohutukawa tree, he swung and launched off a platform of black rock that jutted out from the bank, the tip of one of the ancient lava flows that had made its mark on Jackson's Bay and a string of other beaches stretching along the east coast of the North Island.

Wincing at the heat pouring off the sand, he loped down the beach to check out the new kid who had just moved next door.

A pair of gulls wheeled above, shrieked and swooped low, beady eyes hopeful. Carter slowed to a walk as his feet sank into the cool damp sand that delineated the high-tide mark. Keeping his gaze fixed on the thin body of the boy, he searched the pockets of his shorts. “Sorry guys, no food today.”

Normally he remembered to grab a slice of bread for the gulls, but today it had been all he was capable of to sit at the table once his chores were done and bolt down a sandwich before being excused. The new kid was the first exciting thing that had happened all summer. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but in Jackson's Ridge, a tiny coastal settlement that had flat-lined long before he was born, a new neighbour ranked right up there with the apocalypse.

The surf-casting rod the boy was holding flicked back, then forward. Silvery nylon filament shot out across the waves. Bait and sinker hit the surface of the water just beyond the break line and sank.

Great cast. Perfect. The kid had done it like a pro, except, Carter now realized, the boy, Dani, who had moved in the previous evening, wasn't a “he.”

She
had red hair scraped into a long plait over one shoulder and a blue T-shirt plastered against her skinny torso. Her faded cut-offs were soaked and she'd lost one of her sneakers in the tide. He caught the glint of a tiny gold stud in one lobe. A tomboy, maybe, but definitely not a boy.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Hi.”

For an answer she stepped into the water foaming just inches from her feet and waded in until the water eddied around her knees. Her rod dipped as she wound in slack line; a few seconds later it shivered as something nibbled at the bait. She moved forward another step, playing the fish.

Automatically, Carter studied the swell. The waves came in in sets. Jackson's Bay was sheltered so it wasn't usually a problem, but every now and then a big one arrived. “Careful. There's a rip just there, sometimes it—”

Water surged, she staggered. A second wave followed, forming a sloppy breaker, and with a yelp she went down, the rod flipping into the surf.

Carter lunged, turning side-on to the wave as his fingers latched onto her arm. The water went slack then almost instantly surged back out to sea, the pull dragging the sand from beneath his feet.

“
Let go.”
Staggering upright she wrenched free, dashed water from her eyes then dove into the next wave and came up with the rod.

Cool. Carter wiped salt water from his face as he watched her wind in the line. She hadn't needed his help. “I guess your name's Danielle.”

Her dark gaze was dismissive as she strode, dripping, from the water.

Carter didn't let it get to him. He had never met a girl yet who could resist him, let alone one who hardly knew he existed. He was used to girls noticing him: he had killer blue eyes.

Shrugging, he trailed after her as she followed a line of scuffed footprints to a battered tackle box and a beach towel. With cursory movements she examined the chewed bait dangling from the hook and flipped the lock on the reel. His gaze fixed on the set of her jaw and the fine sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

Time for phase two. “
Is
Danielle your name?”

A lean tanned hand slapped the lid of the tackle box closed. “Get lost.”

Bemused, Carter watched as she snatched up the tackle box and towel, strode across the sand and took the rocky path up to the Galbraith house.

She was tall for a girl—although nowhere near as tall as he was—with a lean lanky build and a face that would have been a knockout if she hadn't been scowling. According to his mother she was the same age as he was, which meant she'd be in his class at school.

Not Danielle, Dani.

He shrugged. The conversation hadn't exactly been riveting, but…

He grinned as he strolled back home.

She liked him. He could tell.

 

“He's a pain.” Dani ignored her mother's frown as she propped her ancient fishing rod against the side of the house, removed the ragged shred of bait and tossed it to a hungry gull.

Jaw set, she stared at the distant view of the horizon, and the hazy line where sea met sky, her heart still pounding from the embarrassing near-death experience followed by the hike up the hill.

She had been
that
close to landing the fish. If what's-his-name Rawlings hadn't come along she would have caught it—guaranteed.

Susan sent her a warning glance. “His name's Carter and he's your next-door neighbour.”

For how long? “That doesn't mean I have to like him.”

Dani wrung out her still-dripping plait, toed off her remaining sneaker and strode to her new room to change. When she was dressed, she grimaced at the pile of wet things in the laundry basket. She had lost a sneaker. Her mother had been too preoccupied to notice that detail, but when she did, she would go crazy. Susan had been out of work for the past three months, ever since her last job as a counter assistant at one of the town-and-country stores in Mason had dissolved after the business had merged with a larger firm. In theory they couldn't afford to eat—let alone spend money on shoes.

Dani stared at the unfamiliar bedroom; the pretty bed with its white-and-green patterned quilt, the elegant lines of the dressers and the needlework sampler on the wall. Not for the first time the strangeness of moving into someone else's home, of being surrounded with someone else's things, hit her. She'd been used to bare rooms and minimal furniture—all of it impersonal and second-hand—of keeping clothing and possessions sparse and relationships nonexistent, so that if they had to pick up and leave in a hurry they wouldn't lose too much. For four years the isolation of that existence had worked—until they'd landed in Mason and Susan had met Galbraith.

After years of staying on the move and never putting down roots there was no way she could like the permanence that was building here—no matter how much either of them craved it. This life—the settled-in comfort and the homeliness—just didn't fit with the tactics that had kept them safe.

Dani trailed, barefooted, back to the kitchen, eyeing a line-up of gloomy oil paintings in the hallway and taking care not to touch any of the highly polished furniture or the pretty ornaments placed on dainty occasional tables.

Everything about the Galbraith house radiated family and permanence—from the slightly battered antiques to the family photos depicting grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins: generation upon generation of Galbraiths—so many of them that every time she looked around she felt exactly as she had when she'd lost her footing and been swept into the surf—off balance and floundering.

Eyeing the crystal chandelier that hung from the ornately molded ceiling in the dining room, she stepped into the kitchen. Her mother was placing a large bowl filled with apples in the centre of the table—one of the many little touches Susan Marlow did to make a room look just so, whether they were living in a crummy little one-bedroom flat or a caravan.

Dani glanced around the high airy room with its antique dressers and air of fading elegance. Or on an impressive homestead sited on a large sheep and cattle station.

She could see why her mother had been bowled over by Robert Galbraith and the Rawlings family next door—and why she liked it here. Who wouldn't? As people went, they had it all: nice homes, acres of land, and their own private beach that was so mesmerizingly beautiful she had just wanted to stand there and stare.

Her mother finished setting the lunch table and stood back to admire the gleam of porcelain and old silver. She lifted a brow. “Carter's a nice-looking boy. I think you do like him.”

Fierceness welled up in Dani. “I don't.”

Boyfriends weren't on her agenda—they couldn't be. She'd seen the way girls at school mooned after them, and the way Susan had changed. If she were going to depend on anyone, it would be herself. From what she'd seen, falling in love was nothing but trouble.

The bark of dogs and the sound of footsteps on the veranda heralded Robert Galbraith's arrival. Seconds later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, with a kind of blunt, weathered handsomeness that seemed to go hand-in-hand with the rugged contours of Galbraith Station.

Warily, Dani watched as her mother's face lit up, and noted Galbraith's corresponding expression. Her mother was an attractive woman, not beautiful exactly, but tall and striking, and today she looked a lot younger than thirty-five. She might not have a million dollars, but with her hair piled on top of her head and the simple but elegant clothes she was wearing, she looked it.

Galbraith set his hat on a small dresser just inside the door. Dani's head snapped around, almost giving her whiplash as she instinctively avoided witnessing the kiss. A count to ten later, she risked a look.

Ten seconds hadn't been long enough.

The meal stretched on interminably. Dani ate bites of her sandwich, helped down by sips of water while she observed Robert Galbraith, reluctantly fascinated. He was a new phenomenon in her life—the only man she had ever known Susan to date—and now they were living with him.

Abruptly, a nightmare image of the shadowy man cleaning up at the sink after he'd broken into their cottage made her stomach clench. She hadn't told Susan she had seen his face, or that she had injured him. They had simply packed and run, leaving everything but the necessities behind and driving through the night.

Dani transferred her attention to Susan, her gaze fiercely protective. There was no question; they would have to leave, and the sooner the better. The risk Susan was taking was unacceptable. In every attack she had always been the focus. The only time Dani had been hurt had been when she had finally gotten up the courage to run at him and he had swatted her away like a fly.

When Galbraith finally left the lunch table, Dani began clearing dishes. As she piled plates and cutlery in the sink, the words erupted out of her. “We're making a big mistake.”

Susan's expression turned sharp. “For the first time in years I'm making the right choice. He's asked me to marry him.”

Dani froze in the act of turning a tap. “Does he know?”

“
No.
” Susan scraped leftover food scraps into the compost bucket under the sink. “And don't look like that, missy.”

Dani clamped her jaw and retrieved the empty salad bowl from the table. She stared at the fragile porcelain. It was so fine and translucent she could see the shadow of her fingers through it. “We're not safe here.”

That was an understatement. They were sitting ducks. After years of lying low, of Susan working for cash under the table—even forgoing welfare payments because that would pinpoint where they were—of never forming relationships, let alone dating, the abrupt turnaround was stunning. A marriage meant legal paperwork and bank accounts. The paper trail would point a huge neon arrow in their direction.

Susan snatched the bowl and rinsed it. “Yes. We
are.
” The bowl hit the draining board with a clatter. Susan's fingers gripped the edge of the bench, her face abruptly white.

Dani stared at her mother, heart pounding. Susan was tall and lean and strong. She'd worked all sorts of jobs from legal secretary to shop assistant to picking fruit. They might be poor, but she had always prided herself on having the constitution of an ox. Apart from the occasional sniffle, neither of them was ever sick. “What's wrong?”

Susan straightened. “I'm pregnant.”

Dani stared at her mother. Of all the answers she might have expected, that hadn't ever been one of them. Suddenly the move and the way her mother was behaving began to make sense. “Does Galbraith know?”

“His name's Robert. And no, not yet. I've only just realized myself.”

The expression on her mother's face made Dani feel even sicker. Dani's father had left before she'd been born, the only remnant of that brief relationship a name on her birth certificate. The concept that Galbraith would willingly take on not only a wife but
two
children—one of them not his own—was staggering.

Her mother retrieved the salad bowl, examined it for cracks and rinsed it. “Don't worry, we'll manage—one way or another.”

“What if
he
finds out?”