High Stakes Bride (7 page)

 

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 Jackson'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.”

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.”

Carter turned on his heel, and headed for the once-worn track between the two houses. For the first time since he'd flicked on his flashlight she registered that he was limping.

Remorse tempered her anger. He'd come over because he'd thought there was a prowler, and if there had been one she would have been more than happy for his support.

A brief shudder ran down her spine. This afternoon she had thought someone was in the barn. “Carter, wait.”

She could just glimpse the pale flash of his T-shirt, enough to see that he'd stopped. Before she could change her mind, she walked inside, wrapped warm brownies in foil and took them out to him.

For a minute she thought he wasn't going to accept the peace offering.

“Thanks.”

Within seconds he had disappeared.

Rubbing her arms against the faint breeze from the ocean, she walked back inside, letting the screen door slap closed behind her. Somehow she'd travelled from towering anger to appeasement. Now she actually felt sorry for him.

And how typical that she had caved in and given him brownies. Somewhere, through all this mess, she had really hoped that she had learned to say no, and mean it.

T
he sound of an engine starting pulled Dani out of a deep sleep. She blinked at the bright light pouring through her bedroom window. For the first time since Ellen had died she had slept through her alarm.

With jerky movements, she shoved out of bed, pulled on fresh underwear, jeans and a T-shirt and jammed her feet into sneakers. Pushing out through the French doors that opened onto the veranda, she strode over to the shed. Carter had already backed the tractor out.

“What do you think you're doing?”

He parked beside the open double doors of the barn. Leaving the engine on idle, he jumped down. “You said you had to let Bill go.”

“That doesn't mean I need you to—”

“Forget it, Dani. We're neighbours.”

Her jaw clenched as he disappeared inside the barn and began loading hay onto the trailer. Trust Carter to pull the neighbour thing.

Despite the fact that he was having trouble with his lateral movement and he had the limp to contend with, he made the backbreaking job look effortless. “You're still hurt. You should be taking it easy.”

“I've had months to take it easy. I need to get back in shape.”

Way number two to bamboozle her. “And this is training?”

He brushed dust and hay off his T-shirt. “You can pay me with treatments.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not treating you.”

He shrugged and climbed back into the driver's seat. “Then someone else will.”

The tractor eased forward.

Deliberately, Dani stepped in front, blocking him. “You don't know where the cattle are.”

Carter spun the wheel and drove around her. “The north-east paddocks. I had a look last night.”

“Did you get
any
sleep?”

The sarcastic sting made him grin. “About as much as you, darlin'.”

Dani's teeth ground together. She had forgotten how much he loved a fight. “You don't have the right to do this.”

Dust rolled around her as Carter headed out of the yard. “Oh very good, Dani, very mature and in control.”

Next time she would go for a big hit, like issuing him with a trespass notice. That should really make him tremble. The only problem was that Carter and the local policeman, Pete Murdoch, weren't just major buddies, they were related—even if it was only by marriage to an aunt. Murdoch would probably sooner see her behind bars than upset his nephew.

 

An hour later, Dani manoeuvred the farm's four-wheel drive across an almost-dry riverbed and parked beside a pump house that was silvered with age and crusted with dried lichen. Carter feeding and shifting the cattle meant she had more time to carry out her regular system of checks on the water holes and the pumps that fed the troughs. Most of the troughs were low and one she'd driven past had actually gone dry, which was a bad sign.

As soon as she swung out of the truck she could hear the hum of the pump. The system was set up so that when the water fell to a certain level, the pump activated. She'd checked the previous day and the water level had been fine, but in this heat, moisture evaporated so fast it didn't take long for water levels to drop. The pump had probably been going all night trying to fill the dry trough. Since the pump appeared to still be working, the fact that no water was getting through meant that the intake pipe was no longer underwater. Stomach tight, she picked her way across rocks bleached a pale grey in the intense, dry heat and located the end of the pipe, which was out of the water and guzzling air.

If she didn't get water flowing through the pipes fast the pump would overheat and burn out, which would be a disaster. She couldn't afford the hundreds of dollars a new pump would cost, and if she couldn't get the system up and running, she would have to buy water in.

Frowning, she checked the lay of the pipe. Normally it ran in a straight line from the pump shed and was anchored in the deepest part of the river. Somehow, it had moved several metres, or—cancel that—it had
been
moved.

There had been no torrential flood of water through the riverbed to throw the pipe out, and no animals in this particular paddock since the last time she checked the pump just two days ago. For the pipe to have shifted position meant someone had deliberately pulled it out of the river, leaving the pump to burn out and her cattle to go thirsty.

Removing her boots and socks, she rolled up the legs of her jeans and stepped into the trickling flow, dragging the length of alkathene. When it was stretched to its limit, she pushed the pipe into the deepest part of the pool and fastened it in place with a couple of heavy rocks. Wading deeper into the water, she held her hand over the end of the pipe to check the suction, which was halting. The pump was operating, but air had gotten through the system and it had lost pressure.

Stepping out of the water, Dani wiped her hands down her jeans and grabbed the bike pump that was kept in the toolbox in the back of the truck. Minutes later, sweat dripping, she unscrewed the bike pump from the nozzle on the pump, flicked the pump switch back on and prayed. Water spat and gurgled; seconds later the high-pitched whine settled down to a hum. If the pump was damaged, she couldn't tell.

Letting out a breath, Dani checked the suction of the pipe in the water then pulled on her socks and boots and began walking the pipeline, checking for leakages. With the intense ultraviolet light in New Zealand, plastic didn't last long out in the open. Most of the line was buried to protect it, but it was exposed in places. If there was any damage, it usually occurred around the troughs where the pipe was out of the ground and being walked on by cows.

With relief she saw the first trough was filling. When it had reached capacity, water would automatically feed on to the next trough, and so on.

Flickering movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention away from the steady flow of water. A vague, indefinable tension filled her as she examined the dense grove of ancient puriri trees that marked the boundary.

A hawk launched from a high branch, wheeling overhead, and she shook her head. She was becoming neurotic—seeing shadows where none existed. Someone had tampered with her water system—she hesitated to use the word
sabotage,
because it had probably just been a kid's prank. School had been out for weeks now, although there was no family within close range that had children old enough to pull a prank like that. The Barclays were the closest, their boundary butted up against the southern end of Galbraith, but their house was several miles away. It wasn't likely their children would wander this far, or have the strength to dislodge the rocks that had held the pipeline in place.

Still tense, she examined the ridge of hills visible from the high pasture and the reason for her tension finally registered. She could smell smoke, and now she could see it, drifting along in the wind, coming from the direction of Tom Stoddard's farm.

Gaze fixed on the smoke, her stomach tight, she began walking toward it, keeping the blue-grey column in sight until she entered the grove of trees.

Dried leaves crackled underfoot, the sound explosive in the quiet grove. Beneath the canopy of trees the air was close and aromatic, the light dim. Massive trunks thrust upward out of drifts of leaves, branches thick with epiphytes and dripping with creepers, but despite the dense, enclosing foliage the smell of smoke was still strong.

Quickening her step, she hurried through the grove, wishing she had taken the time to go back and get her truck. It wasn't like Tom to burn rubbish at this time of year. He was an ex-member of the local Fire Service and normally ultra safety conscious. With grass and trees like tinder and the fire risk on extreme, he knew better than anyone that all fires were banned.

When she emerged from the trees her heart squeezed tight and she broke into run. It wasn't a rubbish fire, it was Tom's house.

Breath shoving in and out of her lungs, she climbed a fence, stumbled through a ditch then ducked low to get under an electric fence, careful to avoid the live wire. As she straightened she checked her jeans pocket for the cell phone she usually carried for emergencies. Her jaw clenched when she came up empty. Because she'd been in and out of the creek, she'd left her phone in the truck.

Dried seed heads and stalks whipped around her legs as she ran, impeding her. As she got closer she realized the house itself wasn't ablaze, but almost everything else was. The old stables at the rear were a pyre and smoke poured from the barn and garage. Adrenaline pumping, she unfastened a gate, pushed it wide and ran into the gravelled area in front of Tom's outbuildings. His truck was missing, which meant he was either out on the farm or in town.

Cutting across a small square of lawn, she tried the front door of Tom's cottage, which was locked. Seconds later she'd tried every other door and window; every one was locked tight enough to resist a siege.

Frustrated, she peered through the glass panel of the kitchen door. She could see the phone sitting on the kitchen counter.

Dani cast around, looking for something to break the glass. Grabbing one of the rocks that formed a neat edging along the path, she drew back her arm and threw it.

It bounced.

With a fluid movement, she retrieved the rock and brought it crashing down on the panel. Glass shattered in a web like the windscreen of a car. As forceful as she'd been, the hole she'd made was the size of a walnut.

She couldn't believe it. Tom had laminated glass in his kitchen door.

Lifting the rock, she hammered at the glass until she'd knocked out enough to reach through and unfasten the door, but precious minutes had passed. Seconds later, she had emergency services on the line.

Struggling to stay calm, she reported the fire and supplied the address, then clamped down on her impatience when the operator asked her to supply her own name and details and requested she stay on the line.

The slow tick of the clock seemed preternaturally loud as her gaze swung around the kitchen. She noticed that something red speckled the glittering shards of glass and the trail ran from the door to the counter. Blankly, she registered that the slow drip of blood came from her. A long, shallow cut ran along the inside of her wrist; she must have cut herself when she'd broken the panel.

The popping crackle as timbers exploded jerked her head around. Stomach tight, she stared out of Tom's tiny, pristine kitchen as a thick column of smoke darkened the sky. The steady roaring of the fire had increased until it drowned out the slow tick of the clock, and fear gripped her. It would take a fire crew a good ten to fifteen minutes to get out here, by then it could all be over. Fingers slippery with blood, she fumbled the receiver back on its rest, grabbed a tea towel to wrap her wrist, using her teeth to knot it tight as she ran to the barn. She had given the operator all the information required. There was no way she could just stand in Tom's kitchen and watch while his place went up in flames. She could at least try to save his tractor and after that, she would do what she could to save the house.

Oily black smoke billowed as she entered the barn, the heat almost driving her back. The tractor was easy to find. Tom was very precise in his habits—he always parked his tractor in the same place—backed in so that it faced the door. Eyes stinging, lungs aching from holding her breath, she pulled herself into the driver's seat and felt for the keys. Her fingers brushed metal already hot from the flames licking at the back wall of the barn. Her heart plummeted. The keys weren't in the ignition, which mean Tom must have them either hidden or hanging somewhere.

Dragging her shirt up around her mouth and nose, she sucked in a breath and almost choked as acrid air burned her throat. Coughing, she swung down from the tractor and made her way to the door. The smoke was so thick she was having trouble breathing, let alone seeing. A blast of heat sent her reeling, a split second later she stumbled outside just as a vehicle drove into the yard. She had a glimpse of Tom's nut-brown face and wispy grey hair as he reversed, gravel spitting, then she doubled up in a paroxysm of coughing.

A gnarled hand gripped her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I called emergency services then I tried to get the tractor. Couldn't find the key.”

Tom's expression was grim. “I've got a spare.”

“Tom,
wait.
” Dani's heart clenched as the old man disappeared into the smoke. Tom was as tough as rawhide, but if he didn't come out soon, she was going in after him.

Seconds later, the stuttering rumble of a tractor starting was followed by the dull gleam of smoke-blackened metal as Tom, equally blackened, drove his tractor, with a trailer hitched behind, out of the barn.

As Tom parked the tractor beside the truck in the paddock, a vehicle slid to a halt, gravel spraying.

Carter.

His gaze touched on hers, cold and brief as he swung out of the truck, then shifted to Tom. “Got sick of the old place, Tom?”

Coughing and clutching at his chest, Tom swung down from the tractor. “Someone has. Don't know how a fire could start in the stables. There's nothing in there.” Wiping at streaming eyes, he reached for one of several shovels lying in the bed of the trailer and passed one to Carter. “Damned if it'll get the house, though—or start a bush fire.”