Rainbow Fire Read online

  "Caveman tactics!" Kelsey said.

  "Too right."

  "And you think that I'll go quietly now?"

  "That would be too much to hope for. But you'll go, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

  "My kicks and screams might be beyond your handling."

  "We may have to put that to the test." He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. "Damn it, woman, don't you see that I can't put your life in danger? I care about you. If you come with me, I'll be worrying, no matter how able you are to take care of yourself. I need to move fast, and I need to go alone."

  He cared for her. His feelings had been perfectly obvious, but he'd never told her so quite this way. Kelsey clamped her jaw shut. What did you say to someone who cared about you? "I just want to be there to help," she said finally, her voice softer.

  "Believe me, you'll help more if you're not there. And if I need you, I'll know where to find you. Can you trust me to know what's best just this once?"

  She didn't understand the warm glow suffusing her. She should still be furious. He was no different from every other man in the world. He'd been born believing he was superior, that women were there to serve his needs. But even as she tried to convince herself she was right, she knew she wasn't. Dillon was different. And when she was with him, she was different. The Kelsey Donovan who was about to agree to what he wanted was a woman she was only just beginning to know.

  "Just this once," she said stiffly. "And if I don't hear from you by midnight, I'll come looking for you."

  He sighed. "I'll count on it."

  * * *

  MELLY AND GARY'S dugout was just on the edge of town. The dugout was an egalitarian architectural form. From the roadside it was difficult to tell if the dweller hadn't earned back the price of his mining permit or if he had hit a vein of opal worthy of the crown jewels.

  When Dillon stopped his ute, however, Kelsey realized there were exceptions. This was one.

  "Gary does well in Coober Pedy, I assume." She looked out over the elaborate marble patio shaded by thriving trees and decorated with white willow furniture and flowering shrubs in pink brick planters. One side of the patio was bordered by a fan-shaped trellis covered with brightly blooming bougainvillea.

  "He does well. Gary always has his finger in this pie or that." Dillon got down and came around to help Kelsey. She could tell he was in a hurry to go, because he was at her door before she could step down. "I had Alf ring Melly for me. She's expecting you."

  "I still don't like this."

  "I know." Dillon took Kelsey's arm and guided her along the walkway to the patio. Melanie opened the door before he could knock.

  "Come in," she said, with no trace of her usual buoyant good spirits. "You poor thing," she said, giving Kelsey a sympathetic hug. "Alf told me what happened."

  "I'm fine," Kelsey assured her. "And so is Dillon."

  "You big oaf," Melanie said, poking Dillon in the ribs. "How could you put Kelsey into danger like that?"

  Kelsey saw that Melanie was only half kidding. "It's not Dillon's fault someone's after us."

  "Kelsey shouldn't be in Coober Pcdy, then," Melanie said, still addressing her words to Dillon. "Why are you keeping her here?"

  "Try getting her to leave and see if you come away with your fingers." Dillon dismissed Melanie's criticism and turned to Kelsey. "Don't worry about me, Sunset. I'm going to be careful." He clamped his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him for a kiss, ignoring Melly. "And don't you try to come after me."

  "Yes, master," she said, venom mysteriously missing from her voice. "Don't take any chances."

  He kissed her again, then turned and strode toward the door.

  "Something new in Coober Pedy," Melanie said, watching him go. "You've been doing something besides getting shot at."

  "Almost."

  "Almost doesn't sound like fun."

  Kelsey smiled absently, already worrying about Dillon. "This is lovely. Will you show me around?"

  "I'd love to. Gary's gone for the night. He's off in Melbourne wheeling and dealing, so we have the place to ourselves." Melanie linked arms with Kelsey. "Now you can stare at his exhibits undisturbed."

  "Exhibits?"

  "Gary's a collector. This dugout is his own private museum."

  Kelsey remembered that Melanie had told her that before. "What does that make you, then?"

  "Oh, I'm part of his collection. Luckily he only collects his women one at a time, so I don't have any competition now, but who knows if that will last."

  Kelsey couldn't let the breezy observation pass unnoticed. "You're not happy with Gary, are you?"

  "Not happy with him, but even unhappier without him. Gary's one of a kind, like everything he collects. There's no chance of replacing him. And I keep hoping—"

  "Hoping what?"

  Melanie laughed. "Hoping that one morning he'll wake up and realize what he's got in me. He doesn't have to search any further, because I'm the best he could possibly have."

  "If he doesn't realize that already, he's hopeless."

  "All men are hopeless. And all women are hopeful anyway."

  The hallway was wide, and arched with the painstaking precision of a cathedral. The smooth freshly limed clay stone walls were lined with works of art. Melanie stopped under the first group of paintings. "We have been passing through the hall of South Australian masterpieces," she intoned in a nasal voice. "As you can see, each of these paintings depicts a scene of Australian life. Notice the intensity of the light, the use of color, and the sensitivity of each artist as he captures his subject. Although none of these artists is well known, we have it on good authority that each will be famous one day." She dropped the tour-guide accent for a moment in an aside. "Gary's authority."

  Kelsey admired Gary's eye for talent. "He's probably right."

  Melanie resumed the tour. "And here, on this wall, we have paintings by the famous Aborigine family, the Namatjiras. The members of this illustrious family capture the outback in a manner that cannot be equaled."

  "These are exquisite." Kelsey moved closer. "Melanie, these must be worth a fortune."

  "Nothing's too good for Gary. In fact, nothing's ever good enough."

  "Well, the man does have taste."

  Melanie pushed her tousled hair over one eye coquettishly. "Doesn't he though?"

  They wandered the rest of the hallway, examining Gary's collection. As Melanie ushered her into the living room, Kelsey stopped to stare at the life-size portrait on the far wall. Done in oils with a Rembrandt like clarity of detail and contrast of light and shadow, the portrait was of a young woman wearing a scoop-necked, gathered blouse covered partially with a simple gray shawl. Most of her hair was hidden by a white mob-cap, but one long black lock fell over her shoulder, coming to rest provocatively at the peak of one breast. Her body was at an angle, her head turned over one shoulder as if to petition the artist with her pleading eyes. Directly in front of her was a line of ragged people in chains waiting to board a sailing ship.

  The portrait would have been riveting under any circumstances. The fact that Melanie had been the model for it made it more so. "That's incredible," Kelsey said.

  "Do you like it?"

  "I more than like it."

  "She looks like me, doesn't she?"

  Kelsey faced her friend. "It's not you?"

  "The painting's very old. She was a convict who sailed on one of the first prison ships to leave England for Australia. Her lover painted the portrait. He was supposed to sell it to make enough money to earn her passage back to England when her sentence ended."

  "Did he?"

  "The story is that he sold the portrait, then gambled away the money. She died here."

  "It could be you, it's so like you."

  "The resemblance was what attracted Gary to me, I suppose. He's had the portrait longer than he's had me. When we met my hair was long, like hers. And I used to have that same air of naiveté. My, how I've changed."


  "Did Gary want to keep you like the portrait?"

  "Oh sure. He flew into a rage when I cut my hair, and he hates the way I dress. But at least when he looks at me now, he notices me."

  Kelsey was surprised that Melanie understood her own motivation so well. The zany clothes and the outrageous hairstyles were just ways of forcing Gary to see her for the individual she was.

  She wondered if all men were like Gary. Who did Dillon see when he looked at her? The real Kelsey Donovan, or a woman he could mold into some image he admired? The flicker of doubt was fanned into flames by Melanie's next words.

  "Take my advice, Kelsey, sleep with a man and enjoy him, but don't ever let him get to you. Because if you do, you'll find out that he owns you, body and soul, and you'll spend the rest of your life doing the craziest things just to make him love you."

  The remainder of the tour took another hour. Gary's collections weren't limited to art. They included early settlers' furniture, Aboriginal artifacts, ancient maps, rare books about Australia and an extensive accumulation of photographs. Melanie informed her that Gary had other collectibles at the Opal Showcase under lock and key, humorously complaining that she had never been kept under lock and key herself.

  After the tour the two women sat in the den, watching a videotape. Like everything else he owned, Gary's video equipment was the best, and their choice had been extensive. Kelsey paid little attention, however. Her thoughts were filled with Dillon, and her gaze wandered to the clock as the time crept closer to midnight. She was just about to ask Melanie for a ride into town when someone pounded on the front door.

  Kelsey sprang to her feet, but Melanie beat her to the den door. "You'd better let me get that. We don't know who it is," she pointed out. "It could be your friend with the gun."

  "In which case I'd be better prepared to take him on."

  "But it's not me he wants," Melanie said firmly. "So I'm as safe as can be."

  Kelsey let Melanie precede her, but only by a few feet. By the time they reached the door Kelsey was anxious enough to rip it off its hinges.

  Melanie put her car to the carved wood. "Who's there?"

  "Dillon," came the answering shout.

  Melanie unlocked it, opening it wide. Dillon stood on the doorstep, one eyelid suspiciously swollen. "Kelsey?"

  She was so relieved to see him that she could hardly speak. When she did, though, it wasn't relief she voiced. "You've been fighting!"

  "Can I at least come in before you start giving my ears a bashing?"

  "It looks like more than your ears have been bashed." Kelsey stepped aside, following Melanie's lead, and let Dillon enter. She restrained herself from hugging him. She wasn't sure he'd remain standing if she did.

  Melanie rose on tiptoe to examine Dillon's face. "Let's get you into the den where we can have a look at that eye."

  "Thanks, Melly, but I just want to go home. With Kelsey," he added, the expression in his one good eye as warm as a Coober Pedy summer.

  "Is that safe?" Melanie asked.

  "I doubt we'll be bothered again."

  Kelsey wondered how he could be so matter-of-fact. "Are you going to do an 'aw shucks, ma'am, it was nothin',' on us, or are you going to tell us what happened?"

  Dillon swayed, and she was instantly contrite. In a split second she had her arms around him for support. "Forget I said anything." She hugged him harder than was necessary.

  "Serge has left town. In his tomato-red truck." Dillon rested some of his weight against Kelsey. She had never felt quite so soft, quite so warm. He wanted to stand this way forever.

  "Serge?"

  "It was Serge who shot out the windows. But he won't be around to shoot at anything again. He got my message."

  She turned amazed eyes to Dillon's. "All this because I used a little karate on him at the pub? None of this had to do with Jake's accident?"

  "It had to do with Jake's accident, all right, although I don't have the proof yet. But it seems that our friend Serge has been on opal for some time. He came across a small seam at the border of his mine and ours, and he got greedy. Tomorrow we'll start a new drive and see if there's enough opal in the Rainbow Fire to kill a man for."

  Chapter 13

  YOU REALLY THINK there's opal on our side of the boundary?"

  Dillon lay back and let Kelsey handle the ute. They had said a quick good-night to Melanie, then started for home. The first minutes of the drive had passed in silence, and now he had to rally himself to answer her. "Serge thinks so."

  "Then he tried to murder my father so he could move past the boundary into the Rainbow Fire and rat the opal?"

  "He denies it, of course, but there's no denying he blew out the windows on the sun porch. His rifle was still in his ute."

  "Are you going to tell Sergeant Newberry your suspicions?"

  "I've already taken care of my suspicions."

  Kelsey's temper had been on slow simmer since she’d seen Dillon standing at the door. Now it boiled over, her soft tone no match for her words. "With no help from anyone, of course. But then, a big, strong Aussie man can do anything with one hand tied behind his back. He doesn't need anyone, not the police, not a woman with a black belt, not his friends. I'm just surprised you chased Serge out of town instead of lynching him. That's a much more effective approach for a do-it-yourselfer."

  There was no answer from the seat beside her, which angered her more. "I know you, Dillon. There are men like you all over the world. You're so busy proving how big and strong you are that you don't even realize you need someone else occasionally."

  When he still didn't answer, she turned on him in frustration. "Well?"

  His eyes were shut, and his face was drained of color. Blood was seeping slowly from the cut over his eye, and the skin over one cheekbone was already turning black and blue. As she gazed at him, she saw the deep but uneven rise and fall of his chest.

  She swung back around to stare out the windshield. Tears stung her eyes, and, angrily, she blinked them away. "Fool," she whispered, but she wasn't sure whom she was labeling. "Just what am I going to do with you?"

  Alf was standing guard in front of the dugout when she arrived. His son, a boy of about eighteen, was nailing boards over the windows. A door of sorts was already back in place.

  The glow from Alf's cigarette warmed the clean contours of his face, which was just barely discernible in the light of a three-quarter moon. Kelsey got down and went around to help Dillon out.

  He awoke slowly, groggy at first, until he finally realized where he was. "I fell asleep."

  She couldn't repeat her lecture. For a moment he looked like a little boy, curls falling over his eyebrows, face flushed with sleep. She reminded herself that he was far from being a child. He settled his scores with violence, and he prided himself on needing no one. Somehow she couldn't work herself back into anger, though. For that moment anyway, he needed her.

  "Come on, you big bully. Let's get you inside."

  He grinned a decidedly lopsided grin. "Should I remind you that Serge was the bully? I don't shoot at helpless women." He held up his hands in apology as her brows drew together. "God help me, I'm sorry. I forgot. There's nothing helpless about you." Dillon pushed himself out of the seat and stepped down.

  Alf strode toward them. "You've been hurt?" he asked in his lilting accent.

  "Nothing serious," Dillon assured him. He put one arm around Kelsey's shoulders and leaned on her. "A few cuts and bruises."

  "You found who did this?"

  "I found him, yes. It was Serge Traovich."

  "He's still here?"

  "Let's just say he's remembered pressing engagements elsewhere."

  Alf nodded. "I'll tell the other miners. He won't come back. No, not without your knowing."

  Kelsey silently added Alf to the growing list of townspeople she was glad to know.

  "Alf, thank you for everything. I don't think there'll be any more trouble tonight," Dillon said, extending his hand.


  "Tonight?" Kelsey asked. She would have felt better if Dillon hadn't added that. "Are you expecting trouble tomorrow?"

  "I'm just taking this one step at a time."

  Alf nodded solemnly again. "Ja, that's the way to do it here. One step at a time, one day at a time." He was still nodding and muttering to himself when he beckoned his son and walked away.

  Dillon watched them go. "Alf's a good sort."

  "And you're a dead on your feet sort. Lean on me, big boy, and let's get you into bed."

  "That's where we left off, wasn't it?"

  She stopped, flustered. Those moments of intimacy with Dillon seemed as if they had happened a century before. She gathered her composure and started back down the path. "And that's where we'll leave off indefinitely."

  Dillon couldn't blame her. Blood and bruises weren't the best aphrodisiacs. His head was spinning; every joint felt like a rusty tin woodman's. He suspected that if Kelsey undressed him again it would be horror not desire he saw in her eyes. "I can't blame you," he mumbled. "But you're sleeping with me tonight anyway."

  "Now just a minute."

  He started to tell her the truth. He felt certain Serge was gone, but Dillon wasn't taking any chances. As tired as he was, as much as he ached from the beating he had endured, he would be alert enough to hear any intruder tonight. He wanted Kelsey by his side to protect her. Luckily he realized just what she would say if he told her that.

  "It's not what you think," he said instead. "I need you to be my ears tonight. Once I go to sleep, I won't wake up unless you get me up. I really don't think we'll have any trouble, but just in case. . ."

  "Why don't you just say that you'd like someone warm and soft in bed next to you to help take away your aches and pains?"

  He examined her words and realized just how true they were. "Will you sleep with me, Sunset?"

  He was both a big bully and an unrepentant little boy, just like every man she had ever known. And, somehow, he was so much more.