High Stakes Bride (8 page)

“You still got that floating pump?”

“It's in the implement shed. I was going to get that next.”

“I'll get it. If we drop it in the stream behind your house, we'll be able to spray down the back of the barn.” His gaze switched to Dani. “You help Tom wet down the house with the garden hose.” His meaning was clear: if they didn't stop Tom, he would keep going back into the sheds to rescue items.

Within minutes of locating the hose and directing a steady stream of water at the side of the house closest to the blaze, Dani heard a siren. Seconds later the fire truck pulled into the parking area in front of the barn, followed by two smaller trucks. From the logos on the vehicles, they were forestry crews driving “smoke chasers”—trucks with light appliances on the back that could go off road. When a fire was reported, not only the Fire Service but any company with a forestry interest within a certain radius were obliged to attend. In a rural community like Jackson's Ridge the fire-response teams were finely tuned, and lately, with the tinder-dry weather, they'd had to be. It was in everyone's best interests to get to a fire early.

Within seconds a steady stream of water was being pumped into the heart of the fire. The garden hose now superfluous, Dani went to help Carter with the floating pump.

Carter was thigh-deep in the stream, fastening the hose to the pump. The coupling secure, he backed out of the water. The pump was designed to float and suck water up from an intake at its base, which made it ideal as a portable fire-fighting tool, although it was of more use refilling the water tanks of fire appliances than for spraying the actual fire.

Dani uncoiled the length of hose sitting at the top of the bank, laying it out in a straight line pointing directly at the back of the barn. Retracing her steps, she picked up the end of the hose and hauled it down the bank, slipping and sliding in the mud and shale. As she passed the metal coupling to Carter, her sleeve peeled back from the makeshift bandage.

Carter's attention shifted to her arm. The towel was soaked red in places.

“What have you done to your wrist?”

“It's just a scratch.”

“Not with that much blood.” With deft movements, Carter checked that the coupling was locked on tight, waded into the middle of the stream and yanked the cord on the pump.

Blue smoke filled the air. The racket of the pump made any further conversation impossible. Pulling her sleeve down to cover the bandage, Dani climbed out of the muddy stream, her boots squelching.

One of the forestry crew was standing with the hose, legs braced as water fountained. Dani recognized the faces of the men helping: amongst them Walter Douglas and Jim McCarthy, both of whom had been volunteer firemen forever, and Athol Pike, the foreman for one of the major forestry companies. Her stomach automatically tensed when she recognized George Lynch, a regular holiday resident who owned a bach on the waterfront. He had been at the wheel of the furniture removal truck she had hit six years ago. Because the cab had been up so high, he'd only received minor injuries, but he'd still had to spend a night in the hospital.

A dark-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt stood out from the ranks of fire fighters and forestry workers, all of whom were dressed in coveralls.

The crumping sound of an explosion jerked Dani's head around.

Tom's expression was stoic. “There goes the drum of petrol. Now there'll be no stopping it.”

“If the petrol's only just gone, that means it wasn't used to light it.”

Dani stared at the stranger, who looked vaguely familiar. She'd heard an out-of-towner was staying in the Hamilton holiday cottage, which bordered her land. There were no prizes for guessing it was him, but after the spooky incidents around the farm, the sabotage and the fact that this was the third fire in Jackson's Ridge within a week, her tolerance for strangers was low. “What makes you think the fire was deliberate?”

He shrugged, his expression non-committal. “It's not the first one in Jackson's Ridge.”

W
ithin half an hour the fire was doused, and hot spots that had flared up in the paddock had been dampened down. The wife of one of the fire fighters had arrived with a cooler filled with bottled water, a large thermos of tea, and sandwiches.

Carter appeared beside Dani with a bottle of water, his expression grim. “Give me a look at your arm.”

She stared at the sipper bottle, her mouth suddenly bone-dry. “It's just a scratch.”

He handed her the bottle. “Trade.”

“Not fair.”

“When was I ever?” He indicated the bed of his truck, which had the tailgate down. “You'll need to sit down.”

Perching on the back of the truck, she allowed him to unknot the towel and examine the cut, averting her gaze when she saw the livid slash. Call her squeamish, but she didn't like blood: too many bad memories.

If she was squeamish, Carter wasn't. He could have been looking at a mosquito bite for all the emotion he showed. “At least it's clean.”

She took a long swallow of water and almost sighed with pleasure. “It ought to be, I bled enough.”

“How much?”

He opened a case and extracted a bottle. Liquid stung like cold fire.

“Ouch. I don't know—I was busy.”

He dabbed at the cut with more of the nasty stuff. She flinched.

“Keep still. You could do with a couple of stitches at your wrist—you've just missed nicking an artery. How did you do it?”

“I had to do a little B and E to get to Tom's phone. I didn't expect the glass in his kitchen door to be laminated.”

He relinquished his grip. Something shiny glinted.

“What is
that?
A
needle?
”

He gripped her wrist. “Don't be a baby.”

Oh great. Anesthetic. Her eyes squeezed shut. “This is not a battlefield, Carter, and I am not—
ouch
—a pincushion.”

He dropped the disposable needle in the case and picked up another one, this one with a small, wicked curve. “If I don't put a stitch in now, you'll have to drive in to the medical centre. Either way you're going to have a scar.”

He threaded the small needle. She lowered the water bottle, feeling faintly dizzy. “It'll add to the collection.”

One on her jaw, a jagged trail down her torso all the way to her hip, and a criss-cross series down the inside of one arm where she'd instinctively thrown it up to shield her face from the shattering windscreen.

“Are you all right?”

“Just give me a minute. I'll feel better when it's bandaged.”

Blinking against another wave of dizziness, she concentrated on the fire crew rolling up hose. As Carter worked, the cacophony of throbs and stings gradually melted away as the numbness spread. She felt exhausted and a little bleary, the aftermath of adrenaline and shock.

Carter handed her wrist back, now thickly padded with a bandage. She pulled her sleeve down, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She watched as Carter began treating the stranger, who had a nasty burn on the back of his hand. Carter had his own share of scars. Unfortunately, she remembered every one. Almost. She hadn't seen his latest scar, which, according to local gossip, had almost killed him.

A police cruiser pulled in and took a parking space beside Carter's four-wheel drive, closely followed by a sporty hatchback that Dani recognized as belonging to Tony Flynn, the owner and lone reporter of the local newspaper, the
Jackson's Ridge Chronicle.

Pete Murdoch eased out from behind the wheel of the cruiser, a black notebook in his hand. After briefly surveying the scene, he walked over to Tom, who was sitting, exhausted, beside the fire chief. Minutes later, Murdoch approached Dani.

“Tom says you were first on the scene.”

“That's right.”

“Where's your vehicle?”

She jerked her thumb in the general direction of Galbraith Station. “Parked back at the pump shed.”

“So you walked here?” His voice held a faintly incredulous note.

“Ran, actually. As soon as I saw smoke.”

“You put the call in from Tom's house. Why didn't you use your cell phone?”

Alarm prickled at the back of her neck. Murdoch's questioning was businesslike and definitely cool, with a faint edge that was confusing. “I was in and out of the river and walking my water line, my cell phone was back in the truck. I didn't go back for the truck because I was already halfway here when I saw the smoke.”

She took another swallow of water, her unease expanding when Flynn moved within hearing distance, his pen and notebook out. Seconds later, Carter propped himself against the truck, the move seemingly casual, but successfully cutting Flynn out of the conversation.

“I don't get where you're going with this,” she said, although she was beginning to. “I got here as fast as I could. Maybe I could have gotten here faster in the truck, but given that I would have had to have driven out onto the road before turning into Tom's drive, I don't think so. When I got here, I had to break into Tom's house to call emergency services. Tom arrived shortly afterward.”

Murdoch made notes. “Just seems odd to me that you arrived at your next-door neighbour's fire with no vehicle and no phone on you.”

“Are you trying to say I didn't want to help?”

“I'm not saying anything at all. I'm just trying to establish exactly what happened and when.”

Carter's expression was stony. “What Murdoch's getting at is that perpetrators like to revisit the scene of the crime as a little extra insurance because it means if their prints or DNA are found, they can claim it was from the later visit—and bang, there goes the case.”

Murdoch shot Carter an irritated look.

Dani stared at Murdoch in disbelief. She had known him for six years. He had been one of the officers who had attended the accident that had killed her mother and Robert Galbraith. He had been present at the inquest, and had always gone out of his way to check on her and make sure she was okay. “I didn't start the fire.”

“Calm down. I'm not saying—”

“Yes. You are.” Incensed, she shot to her feet and shoved the water bottle at Carter. “If I'm your best suspect, Jackson's Ridge is in trouble. What about Flynn, or Pike—or
him?
He's not connected with the crews.”

Murdoch glanced at the stranger Carter had just treated. “Never mind about O'Halloran.”

O'Halloran glanced up, his expression bland. “She's right. Look for your suspects elsewhere, she's not the type.”

A nerve at the side of Murdoch's jaw jumped. “I don't want trouble from you, O'Halloran.”

The man straightened from the bumper of the vehicle he'd been leaning on. “I'm not planning any.”

Dani stared at O'Halloran. “If you're not local and you're not part of the fire crews, just what
are
you doing here?”

O'Halloran pulled his gaze from the smoking ruin of the stables and the charred exterior of the barn. “Actually, I came looking for you. I'm your ten o'clock appointment.”

 

A few minutes later the fire truck and all but one of the forestry crews, which was staying on mop-up duty for the rest of the day, pulled out. Tony Flynn had left, hot on Murdoch's tail—his nose practically twitching with excitement.

Tom's sister, who owned a small beach house in town, arrived to stay with Tom, who was looking pale and shattered beneath the soot that streaked his face.

Satisfied that Tom was in good hands, Dani began walking across the paddock, heading for her truck and home.

Carter stepped in her path. “I'm giving you a lift.”

“I don't need one. My truck's down by the pump house.”

“You're not walking.”

Dani made a production of looking down at her legs. “Could have fooled me.” She noticed that aside from being wet and muddy, her jeans were blackened with smoke and soot, which meant she looked like almost everyone else—as if she'd been dragged backward through a chimney. A short, muscular man, dressed in forestry coveralls lifted a brow. “You two fallen out?”

Irritated, Dani glanced at Athol Pike, who was loading hose along with another member of the forestry gang, Eddie Thompson. Dani had been at school with both men, although Athol was a couple of years older. “That's none of your business.”

White teeth gleamed. “Does that mean I finally get a date?”

Eddie snickered.

Carter's expression didn't change, but something about him must have made Pike feel a chill. He held up both hands, all sign of humour gone. “I was only kidding.”

Dani glanced at Carter. First he had practically stood over Murdoch while he questioned her, now he was warning Pike off. “Does that mean you're turning me down, Athol?”

Carter snapped the tailgate of his truck closed.

O'Halloran looked interested. “I can give you a lift.”

A shovel hit the bed of Carter's truck. “She's not treating you today.”

O'Halloran turned his attention to Carter. “I didn't expect her to.”

Dani finally made direct eye contact with Carter and almost flinched. Now she knew why Pike had backed down. “It's rude to talk about people in the third person when they're still present.”

Carter opened the passenger door. “Get in the truck, Dani. You need to go home.”

That was true. She still felt faintly dizzy, which was a bad sign. She could make it to her truck on foot, but she had a feeling she might need to lie down and rest before she got there.

Pike and Thompson had melted away. She glanced at O'Halloran, who looked as though he had a stubborn streak. “Will ten o'clock tomorrow do?”

His gaze dropped to her wrist. “Are you sure you're up to it?”

Dani flexed her fingers. The anaesthetic had numbed the area, but even so she could still feel a throb. “From memory, your doctor referred you for a neck and shoulder problem.”

“That's right. A beam dropped across my back.”

She recalled the notes Jan Pearce, an orthopaedic specialist from Auckland, had faxed her. The beam had crushed one shoulder and broken his neck. He had been lucky to survive the accident, let alone come out of it functioning normally. He'd come through surgery and months of physiotherapy with flying colours. All he required from her was a little maintenance work while he was on holiday. She blinked, her head heavy, as if a vice was slowly tightening on her skull. “How did that happen?”

O'Halloran turned away. “In a fire.”

A hand curled around her upper arm, the touch electric even through the cotton of her T-shirt. “In,” Carter snapped. “Before you pass out.”

Dani jerked free. “I'm not going to faint.” She hauled herself into the passenger seat and clung to the dash. “I never faint.”

The door closed with an expensive thunk. Carter didn't bother arguing.

Minutes later, Carter pulled up beside her house. After nearly falling asleep while he drove, Dani didn't protest when he walked around the vehicle, opened her door and helped her down. Her head was one solid ache; any movement was painful.

Hanging onto the railing she pulled herself up the steps to the kitchen door, one step at a time, levered off her boots and socks and walked into the kitchen.

“Go and lie down, I'll bring you some painkillers.”

Dani clung to the counter. “You're not coming into my bedroom.”

She caught a hint of frustration in his expression. “Then lie on the couch.”

Moving slowly, Dani walked down the hallway and grabbed a couple of towels from the linen cupboard, then spread the towels over an ancient, well-padded sofa so she wouldn't stain it with her sooty clothes. With a sigh, she stretched out.

Carter handed her two pills and a large glass of water. “You're probably dehydrated. When you've finished the water I'll get you some more.”

After drinking a second glass, Dani eased herself into a more comfortable position and let herself drift. She could hear Carter out in the kitchen washing the glass. After her initial reaction against letting him into her personal space, it was oddly comforting to have him in the house.

Maybe
comfort
was a strange word to use, but Dani couldn't think of a better way to describe how she felt. Carter had a knack for taking control of situations and bringing order to chaos. It was a quality that carried its own attraction. Today he'd steadied Tom and looked after her—suturing her cut and buffering her from Murdoch's questioning and Flynn's acid pen. If Carter hadn't been there, casually staking a claim on her, she was almost certain Murdoch would have gone further—maybe even taken her in for questioning.