Grace Under Fire, page 20
“I really am a bastard, aren’t I?”
“Six months after the wedding, but there was a wedding, so you’re legitimate.” She winked.
“I approve, for what it’s worth.” Ryan wanted her to be happy, and she was of a generation to value the formal commitment.
“Bluey’s changed his mind lately. Now it’s cold feet because ‘Good heavens—marriage!’” she exclaimed.
Ryan laughed for the first time since he’d had his bust-up with Grace.
“What about you and Grace?” His mother picked up her needles again.
“What about me and Grace?” Ryan and his mother hadn’t talked much about feelings since Danny’s death. At first, Ryan had been absent, then they’d lost the habit, or he’d lost the habit. Grace had changed that.
“Not fair. I shared.” The needles continued their steady rhythm. She waited while he squirmed like an adolescent. “We women don’t know unless you tell us.”
“I care.” And he was telling his mother when he hadn’t told Grace. That didn’t feel right. “A lot. Smithhouse did a serious number on her.” He sought for the right words to describe what he’d finally worked out. “She has to do everything alone because, hell, you might be trying to trap her or cheat her.”
“The gossip about you and Grace has been fierce, son.”
“Wilsons don’t listen to gossip.” Rather, he had a compartment in his brain where he parked the crap some people spewed and kept it closed. Danny had been broken by gossip.
“Some trolls have left messages on Grace’s business site.” His mother was looking for gossip. “Bluey heard things, so I checked.”
“Shit! I’ve learned to block it out.”
“I’m guessing the gossip that says, ‘Why on earth would Ryan Wilson be interested in Grace if not for the land’ and then calls her a slut would hurt.” She rolled up her knitting. “She’s a bit like Danny that way. Uncertain of her own appeal and easily hurt.”
“I thought most of the dirt would be directed at me. She’s lived here all her life. Is it really bad?” Ryan had told Grace to ignore it without knowing she and her business were the primary targets.
“I walked into Bob’s café yesterday shortly after Grace made a delivery. Bob was upset because he’d been busy. Grace had to wait, he said, and was forced to listen to some pretty vile stuff.” Ryan’s mother was making a rare intervention in his life.
“She didn’t tell me about her business site or that other shit ...” He hadn’t asked for any details. His hand had fisted on his thigh, and he forced his fingers to straighten.
“Maybe she’s afraid.”
“Grace isn’t afraid of anything,” he protested. She’d gone back to the field day committee year after year, arguing for entry. She’d been an early adopter of organic and sustainable farming methods and stood up to the bullies in the district. He’d admired her even when her lady-of-the-manor act pissed him off.
“We’re all a little afraid of falling in love,” she said gently.
An image of Grace, thumping her heart and shouting that she loved him at the same time as accusing him of trying to cheat her, flashed through his mind. Never in all their lovemaking had she told him she loved him. Her touch had been loving. He’d been in enough beds to know the difference. “I’m not a good long-term bet, Mum.” He’d sign the contract, buy the poppy fields, move faster on getting the farm ready for sale and move on.
She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. “Speaking as someone who’s known you for the longest time, I’d back you.”
“The plan has always been to sell the farm.” Although he’d let the south coast property slide by him at auction on Saturday, despite the asking price being better than he’d hoped.
“Plans can change.” She returned to her knitting.
“I love you, Mum.” The words were easier to form than he’d expected. “I should have given you the words.”
She smiled at him, the sheen of tears in her eyes. “The words are beautiful, but you’ve shown me, every day of your life. I’m proud of you, son. I probably haven’t said that often enough.”
“I’ve always known.” Hearing her say the words made him feel taller.
Unsure of his next step, Ryan climbed into his Ute for the journey home. Grace had to know by now the clause hadn’t been his idea. She hadn’t tried to contact him. She said she’d been shamed by being his lover, as if what they’d shared had been dirty in some way. He’d never told her he cared, but he’d let her know making love to her had been a joy. More than sex. He didn’t need the words to know it was more than sex. But love, the kind that lasted, needed trust. They didn’t have that.
Vicious gossip had made Danny feel ashamed. Was the same true for Grace? Ryan’s silence and lack of support would have been another hit to her confidence. He could have called Jake on the spot and made her brother-in-law tell her the new clause wasn’t Ryan’s idea. Instead, he’d asked her to leave. Because her lack of faith hurt him. Big, tough guys didn’t admit they hurt.
Satan lifted his head, sniffing the air, then whimpered before rising to his feet and pressing his nose against the slightly open car window. He whined, barked and tried to get out.
“What is it, boy?” Ryan rolled down his window. “What can you smell?” He caught sight of the spiral of smoke simultaneously with catching the scent. Instead of turning in at his gate, he flattened the accelerator. Then reached for the dog. “Good boy. It’s at Grace’s.”
The powerful vehicle ate kilometres as Ryan punched in the emergency number. Fire, police and maybe ambulance. The responder reassured him a call had been made, a tanker was on its way, with ambulance and police to follow. They confirmed the site as a paddock abutting the road.
“Fodder. The bastard!” Ryan thumped the steering wheel. This time whoever her attacker was had gone for animal feed.
The brief relief of hearing a call had already been registered evaporated as nightmare scenarios ran through his head. Grace wouldn’t be waiting patiently for help. At least Bluey would keep his head. Keep her from doing something brave and stupid.
As Ryan drew closer, flames shot through the smoke like splinters of lightning. Fire speared in all directions, exploding where it landed. It moved with lethal randomness. Like him, she had fire-fighting equipment. Serviceable and in good condition, but would it be enough? Would she have the sense to wait for help? More flames leapt into the sky. Satan strained at the window.
“We’ll find her, boy.” Fear pressed his foot harder on the pedal. “We’ll find her.”
Silhouetted against the sky, the fire was dancing maniacally behind her as she held the hose from her knapsack steady. His heart stopped. He slammed on the brakes and leapt from his Ute, racing across the field to her side, Satan at his heels. The thick black smoke clawed at his throat, the heat seared his skin.
“It doesn’t matter if it hits the road,” she gasped, battling to direct the hose along a side fence. “Need to hold it here.”
“Where’s Bluey?” The fire brigade siren was getting closer.
“Moving the cows.” She was breathing hard, and the crackle and pop shrieked around them.
“Shit, Grace! Why didn’t you bring him with you?” He scanned the area. She’d filled her knapsack from the pump perched on the water-tank platform.
“Someone had to see to the animals,” she croaked.
“Give me that.” He covered her hand on the hose, gestured with his thumb that she should shuck the pack and let him take over. “Get back.”
“If you want to help, there’s a second knapsack near the tank.” She coughed. “I’ll see to the other flank.”
“Get the fuck back, Grace.” He couldn’t fight the fire and her. “You’re not wearing a mask.” She needed to be safe. Blood pounded in his ears. If she didn’t move soon, he’d tackle her and haul her to safety. Fuck! Fodder wasn’t worth one mark on her body.
The fire tanker swerved around his vehicle and came alongside the farm tank.
“I’ll speak to them.” She shucked the pack and handed it to him before turning her back on him.
He didn’t give a damn if she lost her temper. “Look after Satan,” he demanded. She glared back. “Please?”
Ryan moved steadily up the line she’d started, the heat intense through his flimsy clothing. People spilled from the tanker, geared up, and moving fast. He was aware of someone gesticulating, of a hose being run along a different line, of foam being sprayed. Was this another contaminant?
Had that been the entire bloody purpose?
More contamination, more questions from the organic certifying body? A last attempt to stop the sale because people were convinced he’d pulled the plug and were prepared to take the risk. Shit! Forty-eight hours! This confirmed his suspicion someone in the bank was leaking.
The senior firefighter tapped him on the shoulder. A woman—Mel Agostini. “You’ve been here long enough. We can take over now.”
He relinquished the hose and retraced his path to his vehicle. Despite the poor visibility, he made out the ambulance beside it, with its back open. He hadn’t heard it arrive above the roar of the fire. Grace hunched on the floor with a paramedic crouched in front of her. Satan lay beside her, his head in her lap, while she absently stroked the dog’s head. Ryan stopped a few feet away.
“How do you feel?” the paramedic asked.
“Fine,” she rasped.
“Your throat will hurt for a few days.” The paramedic rose to his feet. “You know better than to fight a fire without a mask.” She was taking the raking down from the paramedic better than she’d accepted Ryan’s instructions.
“Speed ... smelled petrol ... needed to hurry.” She stopped, racked by another bout of coughing. Her hand paused its caress of the dog, and Satan nuzzled to make her continue. “Knew fire brigade on its way.”
“Do it again, and I’ll report you to your divisional captain in the bush fire-fighting brigade.” The paramedic turned and spotted Ryan. “More walking wounded?”
“I’m fine,” Ryan added pointedly. “I tied a handkerchief over my face.”
“Pay attention, Grace.” The paramedic shook his finger at her.
“Go to hell, Marty,” she scowled.
“Is that any way to talk to a childhood friend?” Marty was inviting Ryan to weigh in, and a vague memory of the guy surfaced. Older than Ryan and a townie. Maybe that gave Marty special rights to chastise Grace. “Although I’m not impressed by your lack of protective gear either, Ryan.”
Ryan shrugged. “None in the Ute.”
“Satan wanted to go after you.” Grace cocked her head to one side. “You told him to stay.”
“He smelled it first. His instinct is to protect.”
“I’m not arguing. Not here and now. I hoped it was over,” she whispered. The uncharacteristic defeat in her voice skewered him. “Can ... save ... any of it?”
He leaned against the side of the ambulance, his heart rate slowing with the worst over. She’d pissed him off, hurt him, and he’d delayed the contract a few days. The bastard who’d been after her from the first had struck. Ryan blamed himself.
The firefighters followed a practised routine, reducing the square, watching for flare-ups. Surreal against the moonlit sky in their protective gear and masks, they moved through their well-choreographed dance. Grace coughed again, and Ryan’s hand formed a fist.
“How long before I got here?” Ryan asked.
“Fifteen, twenty minutes.” She was gripped by another coughing fit. “Bluey ... a last check before bedtime ... caught the scent.”
“Why not go to the hospital? See a doctor.” Rage came fast on the heels of Ryan’s fear.
“I need ... assess ... what’s lost.”
“That can wait.” Forever as far as Ryan was concerned.
“My responsibility.” She tried to rise from the seat, and he pushed her back down.
“Most of this forage field is lost.” He remembered her enthusiasm when she’d told him of the experimental crop, a mix of fescue, ryegrass, red and white cover.
“Why?” Her hair smelled of smoke, and beneath that, sweat. She was filthy, her face soot-smudged. “To poison the soil? Torch our animal feed for the next few months? Have to buy in feed now.”
“Take your pick.” Ryan remembered the blobs of a tar-like substance he’d avoided as he worked. “I smelled raw petrol when I arrived.”
“Me too.”
Grace,” Mel called out.
Ryan stepped back again and turned to face the woman, leaving Grace to take the lead.
“It’s under control, but it’s worth posting a lookout to make sure no embers start up.” Mel tucked her headgear under one arm.
“Bluey and I’ll work out a roster for the rest of the night,” Grace croaked.
“There’ll be three on the roster,” Ryan said.
“It’s deliberate. But you knew that.” Mel shook her head, the sweat-slicked hair remaining firmly stuck to her scalp. “Any ideas?”
Ryan answered for Grace. “There’ve been a few incidents in the last few months. Bill’s investigating. The main theory is someone’s trying to cost Grace money so she can’t afford to buy the farm.”
“Deadline’s the end of the week.” Mel looked pointedly at him. If she knew that level of detail, half the state probably knew.
“The sale will go through.” Tomorrow, and he’d demand an overhaul of the bank’s security and confidentiality procedures.
Grace was visibly deflated, and Ryan had something else to blame himself for. She’d thought he wouldn’t go ahead. That he’d let her lose the farm. He’d been hunkering down like Satan in the months after his amputation, licking his wound. Missing her like the devil, and not having a blind clue what to do about it. He cursed himself for a selfish bastard.
“I might be able to help,” he added. “With identifying the perpetrator.”
They turned to him as one, the fire captain curious, Grace dumbstruck.
“I moved one of my CCTV cameras to the edge of Grace’s farm. Aimed at the road,” he explained.
Grace gasped. Right! His jaw clenched. Another point scored against him, another supposedly high-handed decision—something else to add to her list of suspicions.
“Were you expecting something?” Mel studied him with new respect.
“Bill and I agreed it was a reasonable precaution after the break-in.” Ryan had been planning to move it in the next few days when the sale was complete.
“Another thing I didn’t need to know.” Grace’s chin lifted belligerently.
“You would have told us to go to hell,” he replied curtly. “It should carry a record of the vehicles passing my place tonight, what time they passed, how long they spent in the valley.”
“I don’t envy Bill the job of trawling through that footage.” Mel grimaced. “He’ll have to cross-check with the visitors to the Centre. Rochelle won’t be pleased.”
The sardonic tone caught Ryan’s attention. “Why would Rochelle be annoyed?”
“We did our regular inspection to make sure the place meets fire safety standards, and she assigned that gardener to show us around.” The fire captain shrugged. “Prevent us looking around more like.”
“Protecting her clients’ privacy,” Grace rasped. “Rochelle takes it seriously.”
“You’re probably right. However, their safety is as important as their privacy.” Mel glanced over her shoulder as the police cruiser pulled in behind the ambulance. “Perfect timing. We’ve done what we can here tonight. I’ll brief Bill on my thoughts before I head off.”
Grace stretched out a hand. “Thanks. For the speed. For the help.”
“It would have been worse if you hadn’t been on the spot so quickly.” The woman crossed to intercept Bill.
“I might make a move too.” Marty waved to his assistant. The paramedic had been moving among the firefighters, doing a quick check they were okay.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ryan steered Grace towards his Ute. She trembled, and he knew she wouldn’t thank him for asking if she’d been terrified. It was enough to know he was. To know that seeing her single-handedly fighting a runaway fire made every fight they’d ever had insignificant. He could have lost her. Love! His gut rolled. He’d told himself he didn’t do that anymore. But he didn’t know any other word for the feeling that had rocked him when he’d arrived to find her surrounded by flames.
When she climbed onto the passenger seat, he recognised the concession she was making. She sat upright, unspeaking while they waited for Bill to finish his conversation with Mel. Her laboured breaths were loud in the eerie silence crowding them, shallow in an attempt to disguise the rasp, and Ryan wanted to smash something.
The fire captain climbed into the firetruck. Bill waved as it rumbled back onto the road, then crossed to them.
“Hi, Bill.”
The officer nodded. “Your CCTV footage might stitch up this deal.”
“I’ll bring it in tomorrow morning.” Ryan inclined his head towards Grace, signalling Bill to make it short and sharp.
“Sounds good,” Bill answered. “You should get inside. Get some rest, Grace. I can talk to you tomorrow as well.”
“More work to do,” she whispered.
“I know, a roster,” Ryan snapped. His mother was right. Bloody-minded independence was one way to survive.
Grace placed a hand on his forearm, a light grip, but it annoyed him to know he needed her touch to steady him. “I was safe. I’ve done the volunteer training, my gear’s reliable, and I knew help was on its way.”
“That’s rational bullshit, and you know it.” Adrenalin drained from him, leaving an impotent rage. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to bed, to keep her there until Bill solved this. But Ryan had made the mistake of thinking the extra clause in the contract was innocuous. That he’d won her trust. A monumental miscalculation he couldn’t undo.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Bill waved a hand as he backed away. “Don’t fight all night.”
