Grace Under Fire, page 22
“A whiskey.” Ryan held up a bottle of Lagavulin.
“A single malt. That’s a rare treat,” the cop said. “Just a small one.”
Ryan poured two drinks, set Bill’s in front of him and sat in the chair beside her. Easier, not having to look at him.
Bill rolled the whiskey over the ice, inhaled and took a sip, then raised the glass in a toast. “We’ve charged Smithhouse with arson.”
“Smithhouse?” Grace expelled a long, slow breath. None of the suspects she’d landed on had sat comfortably. The opponents to organic farming just fed their animals more hormones and muttered darkly about her greenie credentials. While random vandalism didn’t make sense, Smithhouse hadn’t been on her radar. “He wasn’t the person running away the night of the break-in.”
“The CCTV footage nailed him. I never expected him to break cover that way,” Bill explained. “He and a mate started the fire.”
“Why?” Ryan sat forward in his chair.
“Sheer bastardry. Grace is not the first property owner he’s leaned on. He’s been at the edge of a few inquiries over the last ten years.”
“Since he cheated Mum and Dad?” She jerked upright. The police’s refusal to intervene had been a bitter blow. Their line then had been that they couldn’t charge Smithhouse because they didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute.
“About then. They weren’t the only victims. He did some suspect deals in town. Nothing technically illegal, nothing he could ever be picked up for. Your mother’s tip-off started us on this cycle, Ryan.” Bill nodded his satisfaction. “He organized for that short-term farmhand of yours to steal some bags of quick lime months ago. Sold him a story about you not wanting it. Said it was a harmless building product but would save him a bit of cash. Payment was fixing him up with a job further north.”
“I didn’t know the labourer was that desperate.” Ryan downed another mouthful. “Did he cook up the lime sulphur and dump the drums?”
“Still working on that. He’d moved on by then. Unlikely to have been Smithhouse, however, we’re expecting a few people to find their voices now we’ve charged him.” Bill’s beam would have lit an electricity grid.
“And the break-in?” Grace locked doors now and resented the loss of innocence she’d known all her life.
“We picked up a local guy who does some B and E, breaking and entering, and he’s fingered Smithhouse. Turns out Rochelle Harkiss tipped Smithhouse off to the sale of Blue Sky after the country women’s meeting.” Bill had followed every lead, which explained why they’d been able to act quickly with the CCTV footage.
“Is she in on it?” Grace asked. Rochelle was pushy. Being pushy didn’t make you a saboteur or an arsonist.
“No malicious intent as far as we can tell.” Bill shrugged. “Ran into him soon after the meeting, shared a juicy bit of gossip, given his past interest in the property. Then he called in a few favours from a mate at the bank. Had an insider’s view of all the sale negotiations. He was mightily pissed off that first Donovan’s and now Blue Sky had slipped through his fingers.”
“Why didn’t he target me?” The leashed anger in Ryan’s demand shivered down her spine. He was taking responsibility for Smithhouse’s actions, giving himself another reason to sever links between them.
“You’re known to have security. And no one knows how deep your pockets are. It’s likely you could have withstood minor attempts at sabotage. And your place isn’t on the market, is it?” Bill feigned innocence.
Ryan didn’t answer.
“Anyway,” Bill continued. “Grace’s place is more vulnerable, the rules for organic certification tighter.”
“What’s going to happen next?” Grace was too stunned to feel relief.
Bill rolled his shoulders—job done. “His lawyer’s got him out on bail. The first court hearing is early next week, and we’re going to argue he’s a danger to the community.”
Ryan asked a few more questions. Bill lingered over his drink, asking about the robotics, and Ryan offered a tour when Bill had a free day.
“Might bring my grandson,” Bill said. “Lorraine’s boy.”
“How is she?” Ryan asked.
Bill laughed. “Happily married.” Another bit of the past was put to bed. Bill set his glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll be off.”
“Thanks for everything, Bill.” Grace stretched out her hand.
“It really should be over now.” He turned towards the door, and Grace busied herself carrying his glass to the sink while Ryan escorted him out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ryan leaned against the doorway watching her, wondering why she lingered. Her scent filled his head when she wasn’t here. The hit was harder when she was within touching distance. When her short curls, clear green eyes and determined chin messed with his mind. Not beautiful, but that was the word he found when he thought of her. Where had she been hiding the white, Indian-cotton dress? Short sleeves, a scooped neck, the light fabric clung to every curve. She’d sauntered towards him earlier, and the damn dress had swirled around her thighs, draining the blood from his head. He needed to haul back from fantasises of peeling the dress off her. He didn’t know she wore dresses. If her intention had been to show him what he was missing, he was already there.
Her arrival with Bill hadn’t been a coincidence. Ryan’s regular scan of his front gate CCTV, a precaution he’d put in place until the police had someone behind bars, had shown her stop, take off towards the highway, double back towards her place and then come in the gate just behind Bill.
“Maybe I could have that drink now?” She looked at him and then away.
“Whiskey?” He’d never seen her drink spirits, but he’d never seen her in this mood either.
“Red wine, if you’ve got some, please?”
“You know I’ve got some.” He’d never seen her meek either and wasn’t sure he liked it.
She returned to her chair, her hands neatly clasped on the table while he opened a bottle. Having her stay allowed him to say what he needed to say. Find out why she was delaying the sale.
He handed her the glass and took Bill’s seat.
“I can’t quite believe it’s over.” She studied the wall over his shoulder, as if unsure how to start the conversation.
That worked as an opening. Ryan swallowed another mouthful of his whiskey, relishing the hit to his system when it slid down the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”
Her head snapped around, and her stunned gaze met his. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one who owes you an apology. Several apologies. You’re the only person who’s acted with integrity throughout this whole business.” She was babbling.
She never babbled.
“Don’t go overboard with the grovelling, Grace. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I can go bloody overboard if I want.” That sounded more like her.
“A sizeable chunk of the motivation was a vendetta against me,” he pointed out.
“You’re seriously not going to sit there and argue that your cock is bigger than mine?” She slapped her hands on the table, then realised what she’d said and started to backpedal. “I mean, he’d have gone for me whether or not you were in the picture.”
“Bizarrely, I know what you mean.” And that had been part of his undoing, discovering he liked the way her mind worked, could follow her when she disappeared down a rabbit hole seeking solutions to a knotty problem.
“I’m doing it again.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“How do you think it sounded?” he asked. Her readiness to “fess up” and take responsibility were because she cared too much. Her kind of passion warmed him from the inside out. He was a man who made careful plans; he hadn’t planned for her.
“Ungracious.” She lifted a hand and let it fall. “Argumentative. I didn’t even thank you properly for the other night.”
Ryan let the silence stretch, waiting for her next move because she’d come here for more than apologies and thank yous. He braced for bad news.
“The organic certifier’s due next week.” She picked up her drink, then set it down again without taking a sip. “The fire will probably delay certification. Hopefully not too long.” She shifted nervously in her seat.
“That’s good news,” he agreed. But again, wasn’t why she’d come. She’d needed him to bankroll her for the deposit, and he’d shamelessly used the excuse to get closer. He’d stopped needing excuses eons ago when he’d worked out life was better when she was around. Her request for a delay had rocked him. He didn’t want to hear she’d found another backer, but that was the place he’d landed. “You asked Jake for twenty-four hours. What’s your decision?”
“Have you changed your mind about selling your farm?” she countered.
For her, it was all about the land. Only about the land. The crazy thing was, he wanted her to have that dream. To have every dream she’d ever wanted, which was why he’d agreed to Ella’s final clause in the contract. To future-proof the farm. If someone tried to cheat her or if she got into trouble, he could make sure she kept the farm. That plan blew up in his face. If he couldn’t have her, he’d be on his way.
“Why would I change my mind?” He sipped his whiskey, crunching on the ice he’d used to dilute it. He didn’t want his senses dulled.
“Naming the farms after Danny and then walking away doesn’t make sense.” She clutched the stem of the wineglass tightly enough for it to snap.
If she’d worked that out, Ryan had no place left to hide. “After Danny?”
“I’m a crossword freak. I thought you knew. Crosswords, word puzzles, acrostics. As soon as I saw your company name, I knew it spelled Daniel backwards.” She’d kept one of his secrets for him, and he hadn’t known.
He toasted her loyalty with his whiskey. “Mum hasn’t worked it out.”
She smiled without much humour. “I need to up my training with Bluey.”
If they were clearing the decks, he’d do it right. “I missed his call.”
“Whose call?” Her brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“Danny called me. I was working. Didn’t hear it.” Ryan nursed the whiskey glass in both hands, looking for redemption in the amber liquid. “Didn’t expect any calls. By the time I got it, I was too late.”
“You’ve never forgiven yourself,” she said slowly, her brow clearing.
“I guessed he’d met a friend. He was excited. I’d warned him to be careful before I left.” Ryan set his drink down. “Not the same as being on hand.”
She nodded. “Did he say, ‘All good,’ because that’s what he said to me?”
“Probably.” Ryan raked a hand through his hair, dragging in a breath. What the hell did that have to do with anything?
“Did you try to ring back?” She pushed. She always pushed for him to share more.
“Yes.” He’d been on auto-recall until he’d gotten his mother’s message.
“I knew he had a meet with that boy after school. Didn’t know where or what might happen. I waited at the bus stop for as long as I could,” she confessed, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Your mother called Dad the next morning, asking for his help.”
Ryan flinched at the unexpected blow. “And you feel guilty?”
“Why not?” Her baffled cry from the heart stunned Ryan.
Knowing you’d failed someone you loved off-balanced you. Life reduced to two steps forward, one step back. And the burden of silence got heavier. A private burden, until she’d started prodding him. “I was his brother. I should have done more.”
He’d let go of every attachment to survive the grief. Let go of the land, let go of happily-ever-afters, let go of love. But she’d dragged him back. Made him care for her. Care for his land. It wasn’t enough if she couldn’t trust him.
“I was here. We all should have done more.” She’d been fiercely loyal to his brother. “Hindsight’s a wonderful thing.” She smiled crookedly.
“If I’d spoken to you at the funeral, I would have spewed all that guilt and anger and hate all over you, because I was burning up with it.” He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, slapped the empty glass on the table.
“If you’d talked to me, we might both have purged the guilt a lot sooner.” Hell, she was brave.
He should have guessed she’d shared the guilt, but for the moment, he could only stare at her.
* * *
Grace ached to wrap her arms around him, but she’d forfeited the right. She was here because she refused to let the past ambush them again. “That’s why you cut yourself off?”
“I told you I hated this place.” Did he know he was using past tense?
“Do you still?” Grace picked up the wine she hadn’t wanted, then set it down. Attachment to the land was a big part of this equation. He’d cut himself off from the land as well as people.
“What does it matter?” he asked harshly.
“It matters to me. It matters if you want the future to be different to the past.” Grace jumped to her feet, pushed her hand through her hair and spun on her heel to walk towards the sink. Leaning on it, she saw him reflected in the windows, head bent. “All these years I’ve carried an image of my father in my mind. We’d lost the land, Mum’s recovery was touch and go, Ella gave up law to nurse her.” Grace swung to face him. “He was exhausted. More than exhausted, devastated by all that was happening, and no end in sight. I knew something was about to break. I wanted to stay home that day. Dad sent me to school.”
“Grace.” He pushed to his feet and took a step towards her.
“He looked broken. I rode my bike to the barn, but I couldn’t go in. I could hear guttural noises, the pain so raw it scraped my insides. My bones hurt.” Tears stung her eyes.
“I’m sorry. It’s a kick in the gut when you can’t help the people you love.” Was he still clinging to defeat?
“Do you know what I did?”
“What did you do?” He was listening.
“I got angry. With him. I learned something about myself that day. If someone I love is hurt, my default position is anger. How ridiculous is that? Instead of being sensitive and sweet, I’m irritable and bad-tempered. I snap at the person I love.”
“Freud probably has an explanation for it,” he muttered.
“When I’m afraid, I get angry.” She hugged herself as she laid bare the source of every attack she’d ever made on him. “When I’m facing loss, I get angry.”
“You’re allowed to be angry, Grace, so long as you understand not everyone’s the same. Men like your father are hard-wired to protect. You feel less of a man when you fail,” he said.
Men like Ryan Wilson were hard-wired to protect. She’d forgotten that when the town’s title-tattle had fed her fear he didn’t care for her.
“After Danny died, I made a vow that with the exception of my family, I’d lock myself away. After Smithhouse, I vowed I’d never let anyone take another piece of our land. I focused on helping Dad make the farm viable. On making sure it stayed Anderson land. Not letting anyone in,” she cried passionately. “That’s arrogance for you.”
“You were a child.” He excused her but not himself.
“We were all children. You, me, Danny.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You turned your back on this land. I fixated on it.”
“Smithhouse is a world-class, lowlife bastard. He took advantage of your father. From what Bill said, your father wasn’t alone. You can’t let one mistake shape your life.” Ryan’s jaw set. He gripped her upper arms, shook her gently.
“You think I don’t know that!”
“At this stage, I don’t know what the hell you think!”
“It was my dream, the goal that kept me moving forward.” Grace brought her hands together as if in prayer, pleading for his understanding. “Is there anything you’re attached to, Ryan?” She took a step closer, gripping his wrists. Each time she’d sensed the possibility of intimacy with him, true intimacy, not just making love, he’d backed away. His hesitation had fuelled hers. “Are you planning to stay?”
He didn’t answer. He kept secrets, and who was she to question his decisions? Sometimes secrets and dreams were the same thing. Too afraid to speak them aloud in case they were snatched from you.
“I’ve apologised so many times without explaining why I lash out. I’m trying to explain now. I was wrong to fixate on the land.” She blew out a long breath. She needed him to make this journey with her. “We were both wrong,” she continued. “Me to fixate, you to turn your back.”
He scowled. “Why are you still here?”
Grace returned to the table and sat down. “I want to change the contract.” This was the riskiest part of her plan.
“Of course you bloody do!” he roared. “Why did you drive backwards and forwards outside my place earlier?”
“I was using Bill as my Trojan horse.” Grace lifted her chin. So, he had seen her.
“You still see me as an enemy who needs to be beaten.” Satan left his position and came to Ryan’s side, sensing his master’s distress.
“I wasn’t sure you’d let me in if I came alone,” she confessed, but the sign had given her hope. “Driving backwards and forwards meant I spotted the sign. Is it temporary or permanent?”
“Why does it matter?” He rested his hand on Satan’s head.
“Because it might make a difference to my proposition,” she said. If he’d decided to stay, maybe he’d forgiven her. Maybe there was a chance they could share more than Blue Sky.
“Tell me the proposition first.” He collected the bottle of whiskey from the sideboard, set it on the table between them and sat down.
Grace eyed it cautiously and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Maybe I should come back tomorrow.”
“We’ll finish this tonight!” he roared. Satan crawled under the table.
“No sale on the poppy fields!” Her words came out in a rush.
He shot to his feet, the violent movement causing her to jump. “You’ve found another backer!”
