Deadly Intent Page 2

  “I’m not complaining, if the alternative is indifference.”

  He could make her mad as hell, dizzy with laughter and aching with other things she refused to name. The one thing she could never be around him was indifferent. “Are you saying you like it when we fight?”

  “It’s communication, isn’t it?”

  Her nod conceded his point. “Not very constructive communication,” she observed.

  He released her hand slowly, as if reluctant to do so. “I don’t know. We’re getting the transmission filter changed.”

  Other things were changing between them, too, although they were harder to pinpoint. She fell back on the superficial. “At this rate, it will be dinnertime before the job’s done.”

  In tacit agreement, he dropped to the ground and shimmied back under the car and she heard the sound of bolts being tightened. Anticipating what he’d need next, she hunted around for a long-necked funnel and the AFT fluid. By the time he stood up again and was ready to let the car down, she had them handy.

  She watched as he fed fluid into the filler tubes. His moves were sure and capable. She’d also seen him handle a horse and rope cattle with the best of them. “Why haven’t you bought your own land?”

  “Didn’t suit me.”

  “To be tied down?”

  Fluid slopped over the funnel, earning a muttered oath. “Have I ever questioned how you run your life?”

  “Not for a long time.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t criticizing. I care about what happens to you.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  She was glad his attention was on his task so that he didn’t see her recoil in distress. “What makes you think I don’t?”

  He turned his head, his gaze sharpening. “If you did, you’d ask what’s going on in my life instead of constantly jumping to conclusions.”

  “You could simply tell me.”

  “I could.”

  But he wouldn’t, she heard. Annoyed at being put on the defensive, she examined her conscience. Had she jumped to conclusions about him? Perhaps he had a million dollars stashed away and chose to knock around the outback for pleasure, like the American billionaire she remembered reading about. Getty? Rockefeller? One of them, anyway.

  Somehow, she doubted it. “Ryan,” she said on impulse, “If you were really rich, would you use your money to help Dad save Diamond Downs?”

  “He wouldn’t permit it,” he said, avoiding the question.

  At his signal, she got into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. “But you would be willing to try?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?”

  She pulled the gearshift down through each gear in turn, allowing the fresh fluid to circulate through the transmission. “You do know we have less than a month to either pay off Max Horvath or find Great-grandpa’s diamond mine?”

  Ryan pulled out the transmission dipstick and inspected it critically. “According to Blake and Cade, Max is in financial trouble up to his neck and his creditors are pouring on the pressure. From what I’ve heard about Max’s character, he could be even more dangerous with his back to the wall. But the wet season is going to make it hard to find anything in the area Blake and Jo mapped out.”

  She nodded. “Especially if the mine is where they think it is, underground near Cotton Tree Gorge.” Jo Francis was a journalist who’d been working with Blake on a story when she’d tumbled into a hidden valley trying to elude one of Max Horvath’s henchmen. The ancient rock paintings they’d noted were placed high above the valley floor, indicating the dangerously high levels the creek flowing through it could reach during the monsoon rains. Diamond Downs had already tasted the fury of the rains soon to come, and the wet season still hadn’t started in earnest.

  She could only pray the Wet would hold off long enough for her and Ryan to look for the mine. If they didn’t find anything…resolutely she pushed the thought of failure out of her mind. Not only her father’s life, but the only thing besides Des’s family that mattered to him—his land—was at stake. They couldn’t afford to fail.

  Ryan swiped the dipstick with a clean rag and replaced it, then pulled it back out. “Close to full?” she asked.

  “A quarter inch away from the full mark, close enough,” he agreed.

  She got out as he began to check the radiator hoses and clamps. For a beat-up old car, it was in surprisingly good running order, she noted. Under her hand the engine had positively purred. Why drive a car that looked as if it was about to fall apart at any moment, yet keep it practically in racing condition? Another piece of the Ryan puzzle, she decided.

  She leaned on her arms on the car body, angling in under the hood to watch him work, finding more enjoyment than she wanted to in his easy movements.

  The thought disturbed her enough to say, “Why don’t we decide right now what we should do about finding the mine. Save us having to go out to eat later.”

  His wry look raked her. “Jumping to conclusions again, Judy? Don’t you think I can afford to buy you dinner?”

  From the look of him, a hamburger would stretch his resources. Then she considered what he’d said about asking first. “Can you?”

  “I may have trouble servicing the bank loan, but I’ll manage somehow.”

  Masking her irritation at the blatant mockery in his tone, she smiled. “Then we’d better find the diamonds soon.”

  He replaced the dipstick and reached to close the hood, forcing her to jump out of the way. “Not on my account.”

  “Won’t you feel better knowing Dad’s future is safe?”

  “Give me some credit. Des deserves health and happiness more than most men. But not because I’m indebted to him for rescuing me. I was fine as I was.”

  And what was he now? “Where do you call home?” she asked on impulse.

  He looked surprised at the question. “You sound as if you don’t think I have one.”

  Something else she hadn’t thought to ask. What additional surprises lay behind his inscrutable facade? “You’ve never mentioned one.”

  “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  Anger bubbled through her and she fisted her hands on her hips. “Is it too much to expect one straight answer out of you?”

  He seemed to collapse in on himself. “You’re right, there’s no reason you shouldn’t know. I have a home, an old pearling master’s cottage in Broome.”

  She knew her eyebrows had risen. Such heritage properties weren’t cheap to acquire or maintain. “I’d like to see it sometime.”

  “I don’t spend very much time there.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw her expression become shuttered, Ryan regretted being so blunt. It wasn’t her fault that she’d haunted his thoughts since his teens, making a mockery of his vow to rely only on himself and not allow anyone to get to him emotionally ever again.

  In the three years since she’d shown up at a station where he was working, he’d returned to Diamond Downs only a handful of times, the last being four months ago, and he knew she was the reason. Around Judy he felt too much, wanted too much. On previous visits he’d managed to keep his feelings in check. This time, perhaps because Des’s health was declining and Diamond Downs faced such an uncertain future, Ryan had felt his resistance slipping.

  The solution was as obvious as it was appealing. Have a fling with Judy and get her out of his system once and for all. He’d be doing them both a favor, he reasoned. She insisted she was more interested in flying planes than in serious relationships, so easing the tension between them with a no-strings affair should suit her, too. Afterward they’d be free to get on with their separate lives.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I am away a lot, but when I’m home I’ll gladly show you around,” he said.

  “Deal,” she said, and smiled at him.

  The change transformed her into the woman who’d filled his dreams since he was fourteen years old. Streaked with grease and dressed in
slim-legged jeans, dusty elastic-sided boots and a high-cut T-shirt that revealed an inch of golden midriff with every move, she looked sensational.

  He knew only too well why every other woman who’d crossed his path on his travels around the Kimberley had left him cold. However beautiful, pliant or eager for his company they’d been, they weren’t Judy Logan.

  How many women would choose to spend an afternoon working on a car, as competently as Ryan himself? If she wanted him to join her hunting for a diamond mine he wasn’t convinced had ever existed, he’d be with her every step of the way.

  He respected Des Logan enough to want to see him restored to health. And his intended fling with Judy would go more smoothly if she had the security the diamonds would provide, so it was what Ryan wanted, as well.

  “You’re staring,” she said softly.

  He felt as if molten metal were pouring along every vein, pooling in his groin. “If you had my vantage point, you’d stare, too.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other as if the compliment made her uncomfortable. “Look, maybe this dinner date isn’t such a good idea.”

  “It isn’t a dinner date—it’s a strategy meeting.” And he was Robinson Crusoe.

  “And that’s all?”

  He made the time-honored gesture. “Cross my heart.”

  “Then perhaps Cade should come with us.”

  Now there Ryan drew the line. “He ought to stay here in case your father needs anything.”

  She caught her lower lip between slightly uneven white teeth. “You’re right, but—”

  He couldn’t help it. His hand drifted to her cheek and he brushed away a streak of dust, eliciting a shiver that told him she wasn’t completely indifferent to him. “No buts. Be ready at seven.”

  Chapter 2

  “What’s going on?” Judy demanded as she followed Ryan into an old cottage a short drive from the main homestead. “I thought you wanted to come here to collect something.”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “I did. You.”

  She’d planned on spending the evening with him at a café in Halls Creek. Now she was confronted by a table set for two in the middle of what had been her grandparents’ home until the present homestead was built.

  The old cottage, now used as guest quarters, was presently unoccupied. She found the scarred dining table disguised by a white cloth borrowed from the main house. A utilitarian candle jutted from a glass holder. A few wildflowers drooped in a jar, making her soften inwardly at Ryan’s attempt at creating an atmosphere. He had succeeded, but not in the way she suspected he’d intended. “You could have told me you planned on eating here,” she said to hide her discomfiture.

  “Again, you could have asked.”

  True. It had never occurred to her that he’d be this creative. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d rattled her, she looped her bag over the back of a chair and sat down. “I hope you don’t expect me to do the cooking,” she said, her tone disabusing him of any such notion.

  He went into the kitchen and she heard him moving around. “I have everything under control,” he said through the open door.

  Too curious to sit still, she got up and went into the kitchen. The setting wasn’t the only thing he’d planned, because he pulled two thick steaks out of the refrigerator and carried them to the stove where a pan was heating. When he placed the meat in the pan, the steaks sizzled fiercely and sent up a heavenly spicy aroma. She sniffed appreciatively. The evening might not be going according to her plan—and Lord knew, she hated having her plans thwarted—but the reward might just be worth it.

  “There’s a tomato salad and ice water in the refrigerator. Or wine if you prefer,” he said.

  “Ice water’s fine.” She took them out and carried them to the table, then went back to enjoy the sight of the family black sheep working in a kitchen. “You never let on you could cook,” she said.

  He turned the steaks expertly. “If you’d known, you’d have had me pulling my weight long before this.”

  Thinking of the times she’d cooked for him on his visits, assuming he didn’t know one end of a grill plate from another, she twisted her mouth into a sneer. “What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?”

  His eyes sparkled. “If I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises.”

  “Stop being so damned mysterious and talk. You have a house in Broome. You know your way around a kitchen. Did you win the lottery or something?”

  “Or something.”

  He would tell her when he was good and ready and not before, she heard in his tone. Happy to watch his fluid movements, she perched on a stool. “Did you know Dad had mortgaged the land to Clive Horvath?” she asked after a while.

  Without turning back, Ryan shook his head. “We only talk on birthdays and Christmas, so I’m the last to hear anything.”

  “He didn’t tell any of us until it was almost too late. Maybe it still is. You never met Max Horvath, did you?”

  Ryan slid the steaks out of the pan onto plates. “His father and mother split up and he moved with her to Perth before I was sent here.”

  Sent here, she noted. As if he’d been under a prison sentence. Not came to Diamond Downs, or joined the family. Typical of Ryan not to forget that the choice had been forced upon him. “Of course, you had to learn to cook while you were living alone for all those months,” she said with sudden understanding. “Looks like you’ve added a few frills since then as well.”

  He picked up a plate in each hand, and nodded to indicate she was to return to the table. “Took you long enough to work it out.”

  She sat down at the table and he placed a plate in front of her. The aroma made her mouth water. “You’re a crafty one. But when you came to us, you were so angry and introverted. And you took off before I got the chance to ask how you’d been managing your life.”

  He took his seat and offered her the salad bowl so she could help herself. “I probably would have told you to mind your own business.”

  “In words of four letters,” she said, smiling to soften the reminder.

  “Yeah, I knew a few of those. Still do.”

  But he rarely used them these days.

  She sliced into the steak and took a bite, closing her eyes in appreciation. “Who do I have to bribe to get the recipe for this marinade?”

  “Just me. Do you want to know my price?”

  She opened her eyes and almost recoiled at the sight of her own reflection in his dark gaze. His expression told her more surely than words that she wouldn’t like his price, so she didn’t ask. “There’s garlic and oregano,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  His mouth turned up at the corners as if he could read her inner turmoil and was amused by it. “What else?”

  She took another bite and let it linger on her tongue. “Red wine?” He nodded. “And something spicy. Not chili. Damn it, why don’t you just tell me?”

  He rested an arm on the table. “Because it’s fun to watch your eyes go off like firecrackers when you take my bait.”

  “That’s exactly the sort of remark we could have avoided if we’d eaten in a public place.”

  “Why do you think I chose this one?”

  She stared at him. “So you could provoke me?”

  “Not provoke, challenge you into admitting you want me as much as I want you.”

  She almost choked on the mouthful of steak she was just swallowing. Suspecting how he felt and having it spelled out were very different experiences. “Now I know you’ve gone crazy.”

  “It isn’t crazy for a man to be attracted to a woman, especially when she feels the same way.”

  “I do not.”

  “Do, too.”

  The childish exchange reminded her of all the reasons this conversation was totally inappropriate. “You can’t be attracted to your foster sister.”

  His knife and fork clattered onto his plate and he indulged in a couple of the words they’d just discussed. �
��You are not and never have been my sister.”

  “You were fostered by my father.”

  “Not by choice. I lived in your house for less than a year, and I left before the relationship was made official.”

  She took a hasty gulp of water. “Surely Dad became your legal guardian as he did for the others?”

  “He wanted to, but I didn’t give him the chance. So my statement stands.”

  His feelings were hardly news to her, but she’d always assumed nothing could come of them as long as he was family. Or had she hidden behind the belief rather than acknowledge the power of her response to him? She’d spent most of her adult years keeping men at a distance, determined not to have a life like her mother’s.

  Or a death.

  Judy still nursed a deep well of hurt whenever she thought of Fran Logan ignoring the pain of appendicitis and continuing to minister to her family’s needs until she collapsed. By the time medical help had been obtained for her, it had been too late.

  Outback women like Fran lived and breathed the belief that their families came first. No sacrifice was too much. More often then not they hid their own feelings, needs and wants, never letting on to their families and those closest to them that they might be suffering. When food was scarce, they served themselves the smallest portions or none at all. If children were sick, they were nursed day and night, sometimes through their own sickness. They set bones and mended fences with equal stoicism. Educated their children at home. Endured isolation and deprivation beyond most people’s comprehension.

  Satellites and cell phones might have eased the solitude, but not the need for sacrifice. Judy still encountered plenty of it on her flights to deliver supplies, medicine, news and visitors to outlying properties. The women were the ones who suffered in silence. Judy didn’t intend to become one of them. She didn’t have their qualifications for sainthood.

  These days, there was no requirement for a woman to marry. Judy saw herself as living proof you could have a satisfying career and a social life without tying yourself down forever.

  “Lots of men tell me they’re attracted to me,” she stated, wishing for another glass of water to ease her parched throat. “I’m not interested in anything long-term.”