Rainbow Fire Read online

  Kelsey couldn't bear to. "There's nothing you can do?"

  "How can I prove it? And how could I prove Serge or anyone else was responsible? Unless I'd caught them red-handed...."

  Kelsey was almost glad he hadn't. Even in the dim light she could see murder in Dillon's eyes. "Let's go home." She watched him survey the drive, as if by examining it closely he could will himself to believe that the mine was still opal rich. Kelsey put her hand on his arm. "Dillon, let's go home. Please?"

  His survey reached her. "I wanted to hit opal. For you." He gave a derisive laugh. "I wanted to hit enough that I never needed to hit it again."

  "I know, but you'll make a big hit someday. I'm sure of it."

  She didn't understand, and he knew it was just as well. In the last days, even with the promise of opal just ahead in the drive, he had still thought of little other than Kelsey. He had begun to believe that he could leave this place, could take the opal they would find together and build a new life for them somewhere lush and verdant, somewhere where a fly or two was only an addendum to lazy summer days under towering gum trees.

  There would be no gum trees now, no lazy summer days. He wasn't fool enough to think he could leave Coober Pedy without opal in his pockets—if he could leave it even then. It wasn't that opal meant more to him than Kelsey, it was only that he knew part of him would always be here in the Rainbow Fire, even if he and Kelsey were together somewhere else. He could not give her less than all of him.

  She would not want less, and she would not want this.

  "Dillon?" Kelsey stroked her hand up his arm. There seemed to be nothing to say. "Let's go home."

  "Someone should have told you not to give any of yourself to an opal miner, Sunset."

  She forced a smile. "The obvious person to tell me that would have been my father. I suppose he did, in his own way."

  She was right. That was one thing Jake had done for her. But she hadn't listened. Dillon took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Let's go home."

  On the drive back to the dugout there was no bantering, no innuendo-laden conversation guaranteed to have them in bed the minute they crossed the threshold. They sat in silence, possessed by their separate thoughts.

  Kelsey wanted to comfort Dillon, but she didn't know how. She needed comfort, too.

  She showered first. Dillon was sitting in the bed when she came into his room to dress. Her clothes hung there now, and her toiletries were scattered across his dresser. For the first time since Christmas Eve, however, she felt as if she didn't belong. She was a visitor, a visitor due to leave any day. And he was the man who was going to let her.

  He rose without a word or a look to take his shower. She watched him go, and she realized she was blinking back tears.

  Dillon stood under the pounding water and let it wash away the dirt of the Rainbow Fire. But nothing could wash away his misery, his fury, his self-hatred. Nothing could change him into the man Kelsey needed.

  He had dried himself and dressed before he realized that he didn't know where Kelsey had gone. She was nowhere in the dugout; it was as quiet as a tomb. In the last few days she had begun singing to herself as she worked. She had a clear, sweet soprano that was a humorous contrast to the words of "Tie Me Kangaroo Down," her favorite selection. He would never hear the song again without an ache in his gut.

  Her things were haphazardly strewn about the bedroom, and he thought about that change in her. The obsession with neatness had been replaced by a more carefree attitude. She was still neat—when she got around to it. But the change reflected her comfort with him and with herself. In subtle ways, his home had become hers.

  Now, however, the untidy bedroom was a reflection of one more thing: her haste to leave it. Dillon strode from room to room looking for her, even though he knew she wasn't inside. He was almost to the sun porch when he heard a fierce shout.

  He took the remaining distance in a leap, throwing open the door. Then he came to a dead halt.

  Kelsey stood in the space in front of his patio, wearing a white gi and a rising-sun bandanna tied around her forehead. Her body stance was defiant. Then, as he watched, she relaxed and gracefully pulled her body to attention.

  She hadn't seen him. Dillon pulled back into the shadows of the sun porch to watch. In a moment she shouted words he recognized as Japanese and began to move in a time-honored series of choreographed steps, the karate kata. She twirled, kicked, punched and defended herself with the twist of a wrist, the slash of a forearm.

  She was everything beautiful in motion. She was liquid fire and unadulterated passion. She was elemental movement and absolute stillness. Each kick reached higher than the last until he could hardly believe she could balance. Her bare feet dug into the ground, then split the air so cleanly that he could almost hear molecules collide. She toyed with her imaginary opponent, bending low on knees that seemed elastic before she leaped at him, fists raised. She circled, and this time her stance was different, her hands open to slice through the air like sabers. Two shouts rang through the air and chilled Dillon's heart.

  She relaxed and straightened again. Dillon could see that she was breathing hard. The sun was almost on the horizon but still sending blistering rays to burn the outback landscape. The dugout cast its own shade, but she was barely touched by it. And, somehow, he knew she didn't even notice.

  She began again, this time executing jumps that looked more like ballet than karate. The dance was a deadly one, a warrior's dance. Inadvertently, Dillon shuddered, but not from repulsion.

  Desire. He had thought he knew all its faces. Now he knew he never would. Desire would always be Kelsey, every facet of her, every twist of her body, movement of her hands, smile on her face. Desire would always be Kelsey, and it would never be assuaged.

  Kelsey turned when she finished the kata and saw Dillon in the shadows. She hadn't heard his approach, hadn't thought of him once since she had begun. She knew that forever after it would take this kind of single-minded concentration, this fierce denial of her feelings, to forget him. And then only for minutes.

  He stepped off the porch and came toward her. She was still breathing hard, and her body gleamed with sweat. As he approached she dragged the bandanna over her curls and began to wipe her face and neck.

  He reached her and stopped her hand. Then he lowered his head to taste the salt-tinged flavor of her skin. She leaned into him, eyes closed, mind blissfully numbed. His hands spread over her shoulders into the open neck of her gi. He wanted to tear it from her, to take her there, the warrior, the woman. His woman.

  She was his. In all the ways that counted she would always be his. And he had given himself so completely to her that there was nothing left to withhold.

  She tasted of salt, sweat and woman, and he wanted to plead for more. He lifted her, warrior, woman, soul mate, and carried her inside. He had no patience to strip away her clothes. He untied the black belt that bound her gi. Her skin was unbearably hot, her heartbeat so rapid he couldn't feel an individual pulse. She lifted to shrug her arms out of the gi, then reached for him, sliding her hands under his polo shirt to strip it away. She fumbled with his belt, her hands unsteady, until he impatiently pushed her away and took care of it himself.

  She was more than ready when he came to her. He gave until nothing drove him except the fever of her body and the ache in his own. He gave until she was neither warrior nor woman. She was a part of him.

  But afterward they slept without touching.

  * * *

  KELSEY GOT OUT of bed, showered again and dressed, leaving Dillon asleep. She had no desire to wake him. Reality could be faced later. For now he seemed at peace. Perhaps he had found opal in his dreams.

  She was hungry, although she didn't know what time it was, but it was dark outside. They had missed dinner, letting other needs take precedence, but now her stomach was rebelling, reminding her that she had eaten nothing since lunch.

  She was in the middle of grilling a cheese sandwich when
the telephone rang. She balanced the receiver between her neck and shoulder, a spatula in one hand, frying pan in the other.

  "Miss Kelsey Donovan?"

  She frowned, recognizing the voice, but not able to place it. "This is Miss Donovan."

  "Dr. Munvelt here."

  She set the spatula on the stove and eased the receiver to a more comfortable position. "Yes, Dr. Munvelt."

  "I have some bad news, Miss Donovan." There was a pause, and with peculiar objectivity, Kelsey could almost imagine the shy physician looking away from the telephone as if to avoid her eyes. "Your father left the hospital this morning."

  "I don't understand."

  "His physician in Adelaide just rang me. It seems your father took what few things he had there and walked out of the hospital about noon. No one saw him go. No one knows where he went."

  Stunned, Kelsey couldn't think of a response. As if he understood, Dr. Munvelt went on. "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry?" Kelsey leaned against the stove and closed her eyes. "He's well enough to walk out of the hospital, but he wasn't well enough to be told that his own daughter wanted to see him?"

  There was another pause. And then, "He was told, Miss Donovan. This morning, right before teatime."

  Kelsey let the truth sink in. She understood why he hadn't told her that first. But there was no way the blow could have been softened. Jake had left the hospital rather than face her.

  "I see," she said finally. "Do they think he'll be all right without care?"

  "He's a long way from well, but he is thinking clearly, walking, talking. His physician there is cautiously optimistic."

  She focused on Dillon's calendar. Two more days before December ended. As many more before school began again and she was expected to be back in a North Carolina classroom. She had pushed going back from her mind, even thought of requesting another leave of absence. Now she knew she had no choice. "Will you give the physician there a message for me?"

  Dr. Munvelt coughed in embarrassment. "Whatever you'd like, my dear."

  She noted the endearment and knew it hadn't come easily. "If my father comes back, I'd like him to be told that I've left Australia. I won't be back, but I wish him well."

  He coughed again. "I'll see that his physician is informed."

  Keisey gently replaced the receiver.

  "When do you leave?"

  She looked up and saw Dillon standing in the kitchen doorway. He showed no emotion. "How much did you hear?"

  "Only one end, obviously."

  "My father walked out of the hospital today. They don't know where he is. But he left after he found out about me, which was obviously not a coincidence." She didn't even try to smile. "I guess we could say I put him on the road to recovery, huh?"

  "I should have left him in the bottom of the mine," he said fiercely. "He didn't deserve rescuing."

  She shook her head. "No, I should never have come." When he stepped closer she held up her hands to ward him off. "Wasn't the message clear enough without my having to hear it in stereo? He didn't want me. I must have been one hell of a kid."

  Dillon couldn't let her blame herself. "There's never been anything wrong with you."

  She knew he didn't understand. No one had ever wanted her after her mother's death. Not really. Her father, her relatives. Even Dillon didn't want her, not the real Kelsey Donovan, anyhow. He wanted her body, and he even believed he loved her. But he didn't want her. Not forever. No one had ever wanted her forever.

  "I'll be going back just as soon as I can get a flight."

  Dillon heard himself calmly reason with her even though he was in turmoil. "That may be difficult with the holidays."

  "Then I'll swim." She lifted her chin.

  "Kelsey—"

  "There's nothing more to say, Dillon. I came here to see my father. That's impossible now. There's not anything else I can do in the mine. What other reason is there to stay?"

  He wanted to shake her, to make her spill the emotions so obviously choking her. But what would he do if it all came spilling out? What could he say? Could he ask her to stay with him forever and share a life of hardship and drudgery? Could he ask her to nourish his dream?

  "I'd hoped we would have some time. . ." he said lamely.

  "Our time is up."

  "You make it sound like a prison sentence."

  "Never that," she said, realizing she was close to tears. She willed them away. "An education. For both of us."

  She had never told him that she loved him, and now her words stabbed through him. "Is that what it's been, then? A lesson in sex? There's been nothing of love in it?"

  "And what's love? Finding out that you can be forgotten like that?" She snapped her fingers. "I know that kind of love. Maybe it's the only kind there is. God knows it's the only kind I've ever seen."

  She stepped back as he moved closer. "And you think I'll forget you?" he asked.

  She snapped her fingers again, taunting him.

  "You think I'll go down into the mine every day and not think of you, dream about you?"

  "You'll dream of opal."

  "And what will you dream of, Sunset, now that you know love's a sham?" he asked bitterly.

  "I'll dream about the day I don't care anymore!" She swallowed, and her eyes filled. She retreated another step until the countertop bit into the small of her back. Then she dodged the arm that reached for her and turned to run.

  Chapter 17

  ONCE OUTSIDE, KELSEY didn't know where to go. She knew it would take Dillon precious seconds to pull on enough clothes to follow her, but she knew that it might be all the head start she had. Jake's ute was parked near the road beside Dillon's, and without further thought she headed there. For once the ancient motor purred at the first twist of the key that hung in the ignition. She ground the gears in her haste to back away, but she made it out to the road and around the first turn with no sign of Dillon following.

  She didn't know where to go. She didn't want to talk. She knew if she went to Melanie's or Anna's they would want to know why she was there. She had brought nothing with her, no money, no change of clothes, but she knew the motel was her best alternative. She could get a room for the night, then go back tomorrow for her things after Dillon had gone to the mine. She could make airline reservations from the motel, too.

  She took the back roads, hoping Dillon wouldn't catch up with her. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she wiped them against her shoulder. She had never felt so alone, even though she had been alone most of her life.

  She was a dreamer, just as much as the man she had given her heart to. She had dreamed all her life of finding love, just as Dillon had dreamed of opal. In the last days love had beckoned her just as opal beckoned him. Now there was no promise, not for either of them. His mine was empty. Her heart was empty. Both had gambled; both had lost.

  She was on a short, deserted stretch just before she reached the edge of the town proper when the steering wheel spun out of her hands. At the same moment she heard the unmistakable sound of a tire exploding. She knew which one it would be, even as she fought to keep the ute from running off the road. Dimitri had repaired the front tire that had collided with the hill during the dust storm, but he had warned her that it was only patched, and almost worn through at that.

  She pumped the brake and wrestled with the wheel until finally the ute hobbled to a stop. By the light of the full moon she got out to survey the damage. The tire was in shreds; that much was obvious.

  Her choices were few. She could walk into town, or she could replace the tire with the spare that she knew was lying in the back. She was tempted to leave it, to make the hike and ask Dimitri to come back for the ute tomorrow. But she also remembered what Dillon had told her about vehicles being stripped and burned. If someone came along and destroyed Jake's ute, she would be responsible.

  There was nothing she could do except change the tire. Her father might not want to see her, but she had no wish to leave him with worse feelings about her i
f he came back to Coober Pedy. She had been using his ute. It was up to her to take care of it.

  Kelsey dried the remnants of her tears with the back of her hand. She would change the damn tire and be on her way. And she would toughen up. She would never be this vulnerable, never let herself fall in love, again. Because she knew now that she had done just that. Jake's newest rejection was an ache inside her, but Dillon's refusal to ask her to share his life was more than an ache. She had been hollowed out, emptied of everything good. And only love, aborted love, had that kind of power.

  She moved slowly around the back of the ute and released the newly repaired tailgate. It screeched in protest, flopping against the bumper until it was finally silent. She climbed into the back and lifted the tread-bare spare on its side to roll it out the end. Then she began to search for a jack.

  There was no jack in her father's toolbox, although she found everything else she needed. Nor was there one under the front seat. The flashlight she had discovered lent an eerie urgency to her mission. Dillon would find her if she didn't hurry, and if she confronted him, she wanted it to be at the motel, where they were surrounded by people and his natural reticence would keep him from creating a scene.

  There was nothing he could say to her that she wanted to hear. She wanted none of his compassion. She wanted no words of love unless they were laced with words of commitment. And those were words he would never say. He was an opal miner. Like her father, he wanted nothing lasting except the gem he mined.

  She climbed into the back once more, fruitlessly searching the toolbox for something she could use to crank up the truck to change the tire. In a fit of anguished frustration she slammed the top down and, standing with one lithe movement, 'kicked the side of the box.

  It twisted, sliding an inch to reveal a thinly etched line on the floor.