The Secret Heiress

by Bethany Campbell

“What, honey?”

  She thought that a man with a deep voice and a Southern accent saying “honey” to a woman ought to be classified as a genuine aphrodisiac. “I like your funny accent,” she said.

  “And I like yours. It’s even funnier,” he teased.

  But she felt the familiar tension climbing her spine. “Going to a detective—could that, well, put you in danger of any kind?”

  “Hardly anybody knows about it. You, Tyler, Darci. I keep thinking about yesterday and you. Maybe it’s good I’ll be far away. It’ll be easier for me to be a gentleman. You’re very kissable, you know?” He laughed. “Somehow, I bet you don’t know. You’re one of a kind.”

  She felt herself blushing. “Should you say things like that on a phone?” she asked. “I mean, you were concerned about being watched. What if—what if somebody put a tap on your phone?”

  Oh, good grief, she thought. I’m starting to sound like Bindy. Conspiracy around every corner. Intrigue and paranoia everywhere.

  He laughed. “You can’t tap a cell phone. Well, if you have zillions of dollars, you could. Only governments can afford that kind of equipment. I don’t think Australia’s interested in a horsey ol’ boy from Kentucky like me.”

  “You’re sure?” she asked.

  “Trust me. I’ve asked about taps. You can’t tap a cell phone. So I can say it all I want—your lips are kissable, kissable, kissable.”

  “Stop,” she ordered, but in a soft voice, because she liked hearing him say it. It made her think again of his mouth, so firm, yet sensitive on her own.

  “Then talk to me. Tell me about your day.”

  “Well,” she said wryly, “Fairchild Acres is at sixes and sevens. Louisa is not a model patient. Dylan Hastings wants a bedside hearing—how morbid can you get? And Louisa’s lawyer wants Hastings’s head on a stake, but he’s trapped in Sydney.”

  “And what about you?”

  She took a deep breath and felt a bit desperate about how this “getting acquainted” was going to work out. But she’d prepared herself, just in case.

  “I’d rather hear about you. I—I found a sort of quiz in a magazine Megan left on the kitchen table. It’s supposed to tell a lot about a person. Should I ask you the questions?”

  He gave a low laugh. “Sure.”

  “It’s called the Proust Questionnaire. Like what’s your worst fear?”

  “Losing someone I love,” he answered without hesitation.

  “What’s your favorite way to spend time?”

  “With the people I love. But tell me how you’d answer those two questions before you go on. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  Before she realized it, they’d talked for an hour and a half.

  At last he said, “Oops, I hear Ollie coming back from the bar. I’ll call you tomorrow from Geelong.”

  “Okay, I suppose…”

  “I’ll call you two nights from now. When I’m in Melbourne. All right?”

  “All right,” she said. And when she hung up the phone she was happy, in some strange way that she couldn’t understand or analyze.

  During the next few days, the household staff was wild with gossip. Rumors flew that Louisa’s lawyer would have an injunction for Dylan Hastings that would end Hastings’s career.

  And Monday, word came Louisa would be spirited back from the hospital that night, a good sixteen hours earlier than the press expected.

  D’Angelo had made it back from Sydney, and he didn’t want a media circus at Louisa’s expense. Her early release had to be kept completely secret. Marie knew she couldn’t tell Andrew.

  Another secret to be kept. But at least this one would be short-term.

  He called at nine o’clock sharp. “How are things? I hear there’re still fire watches on. I’m coming back tomorrow, but I’m not ready to face another fire.”

  “I don’t want to face one, either,” she said with feeling. “Tell me how the campaign’s going.”

  He told her it was going fairly well, but Jacko didn’t want to talk issues. He was in full personal attack mode. “Let’s not dwell on that. I finally saw the detective, Gerhart. He says Jacko’s connections to any sort of crime group seem tenuous. But he also says he’s sure there’s more there than meets the eye. He quoted that line about following the money. He said it would be a twisting trail, but it might lead to some surprising destinations.”

  “Nothing more specific,” she asked.

  “Not yet. As soon as I know anything, you’ll know it. But we’ve got personal things to talk about. Don’t you still have some questions left on your trusty questionnaire? Hit me with one.”

  This time they talked an hour and twenty minutes, and when Marie hung up she felt that same happiness again. She felt as if she was genuinely getting to know him. And, for one of the few times in her life, she was allowing someone to know her.

  Andrew had told Marie he’d be back the next morning.

  On the way from the airport to Lochlain, Tyler phoned him.

  “Listen,” Tyler said. “Things are happening fast. Word is they’re releasing Louisa from the hospital today. Dylan Hastings is ready to pounce on her. But it sounds as if Louisa’s lawyer’s going to slap an injunction on him. I need to be there. I mean, it was my barn that burned, my horses that were damaged, and my property where Sam was killed.”

  “I’ll join you,” Andrew said.

  “Good,” Tyler told him. “Because somebody’s got to make a speech. It isn’t going to be me, mate. You’re the one with practice.”

  “Yeah,” Andrew replied grimly. “I’ve had lots of practice all right. But I’ll have to write it in my head as I go along.”

  “Darci’s going to be there and some of the Fairchild Acres staff. The press will be out in full force. Including Jacko’s hyenas.”

  Andrew swore inwardly. He’d have to watch every word he said or Bullock’s media monster would devour him. “Okay,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. “See you shortly. I’m about twenty minutes away.”

  “Perfect,” said Tyler.

  When Andrew reached Pepper Flats and approached the hospital, his innards knotted. The parking lot was full, crowded not only with Lochlain and Fairchild Acres vehicles, but dozens of press vans and cars. Paparazzi swarmed around the front stairs and wheelchair ramp, snapping pictures and thrusting microphones at people.

  Andrew parked a block away and, striding swiftly, reached the stairs. Although the press immediately surrounded him, he plowed through until he was with the familiar crowd at the top, outside the doors.

  Tyler was there with his arm around Darci Parnell. Dan Whittleson, Sam’s son, looking stormy, stood beside his wife. Andrew recognized grooms and stable workers from Fairchild Acres and some from Lochlain and some from Whittleson Stud.

  Megan Stafford pressed near Mrs. Lipton, but there was no sign of Patrick Stafford.

  And, making Andrew’s heart spin, Marie was there, slightly apart from the others. She wore her usual uniform of navy shorts and a white T-shirt, but she held herself straight, her chin high, set in determination, and she had one hand on her hip. The sun made her hair gleam like a golden helmet.

  Andrew walked over to her. “What’s been happening?”

  “Dylan Hastings is coming to arrest Louisa,” she whispered. “He doesn’t know she’s already gone to Fairchild Acres.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “We heard the press would be here,” she said. “We came to show our support, that’s all. But the media wants a statement. Can you give one?”

  “I can try.” He nodded solemnly to her, his eyes lingering on hers. Then he went to stand next to Tyler.

  “Preston!” cried a reporter. “Andrew Preston! Why’re you here? Louisa Fairchild supports your opponent.”

  Microphones waved in his direction. He prayed for the words to come.

  And they did.

  He wasn’t dressed to make a speech, he hadn’t planned on this, Marie could tel
l. He wore boots, jeans and a chambray shirt, opened at the collar so she could see the cord of his wooden charm. His hair was rumpled, and there was no slickness in the way he looked or the way he moved.

  Marie could see the strain in his face. But he spoke clearly, firmly and with a fierce conviction.

  “Louisa Fairchild is a vital member of this country’s strong and proud legacy…” he began. “I want to say—” he nodded to Tyler and Megan “—that we all stand by and believe implicitly in Louisa Fairchild’s innocence.” The word innocence rang out as sonorously as the roll of a cathedral bell.

  He was an intriguing paradox: a firebrand who was perfectly controlled. And the crowd must have sensed both his staunchness and his strong sense of right and wrong. They listened.

  He pledged his full support for Louisa and her family. “They’ve been victims of police ineptitude, deprived of justice because of this current state of emergency.”

  Marie noticed that Dylan Hastings had appeared on the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against a jacaranda tree. He looked as if Andrew had struck him. He turned and abruptly left.

  If Andrew noticed, it didn’t slow him. “I’ll work with the Fairchild legal team to ensure that the people who’ve caused her this distress are held responsible for their actions.”

  The little knot of people around him all nodded in agreement, and Louisa’s biggest groom crossed his arms over his massive chest, as if daring anyone to jeer.

  “That’s all I have to say,” Andrew said. “Except that I know that all the folks up here—and a lot of you out there—agree. Thank you.”

  Many in the crowd at the foot of the stairs applauded. And some did not.

  He stepped away from the microphones and began to make his way back down the steps, but the press swarmed him. Marie flinched as they closed in, but he kept moving. He was a tall and powerful man, and he stayed steadily on his path.

  But when he reached the sidewalk, one of Jacko Bullock’s reporters planted himself in front of Andrew. “Did you come here to get into Louisa Fairchild’s good graces?” the man demanded. “To try to gain her support?”

  “Louisa Fairchild can support who she wants,” Andrew shot back. “I’m here because I don’t like seeing people railroaded.” He frowned. “Or being tried by the media. Courts should try people, not the press. My family had trouble once, and you all know that story—the media piled on us, saying we lied about Leopold’s Legacy’s bloodlines.”

  His lip curled in disdain, he glowered at the reporter. “We were proven innocent. But not before the media wanted to lead a lynch mob—and some are still trying to do just that. I don’t like lynch mobs. Period. Not for me. Not for Louisa Fairchild. Not for anybody.”

  But the reporter stood his ground. He was a squarely built man, almost as wide as he was tall. “Come clean, Preston. Why are you really here today? For the big photo op?”

  “I’ve got a better question for you,” Andrew said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “How come Jacko Bullock isn’t here? Louisa Fairchild’s been loyal to him for years. She’s poured thousands into his campaign. But I don’t see him. Do you? And I haven’t heard him say a word in her defense. Have you? I’d think her ‘good friend’ Jacko would be here with Louisa’s other allies. But he’s not. He’s conspicuously absent. Conspicuously.”

  With that, Andrew shoved his way past the man and stalked back to his car. This time, the reporters let him go. They fanned out and began questioning others, Tyler, Daniel Whittleson, people in the crowd. Once again Daniel angrily insisted Louisa should be arrested.

  Marie saw Andrew stride alone down the street, jerk open the door of his car and get inside. She wanted to run after him, to tell him how proud she was of him, but she knew better. There were far too many reporters. She hoped with all her heart he’d call tonight.

  And she guessed that there, on the hospital steps, as she watched him rebuke Jacko Bullock’s lackey, it had finally happened.

  She’d realized that this was a man she could love.

  “So Andrew Preston stuck up for me!” Louisa said, nearly cackling. “I adore it. Or maybe he’s trying to suck up to me. Either way he did a good job, by God. And he’s right. Where was Jacko? Oh, he sent a fancy bouquet, but he kept his distance. Afraid my criminal reputation might rub off on him?”

  But then she started to cough. “Megan—my cough medicine,” she said between the hacking sounds. “Marie, please make me a cup of strong tea.”

  Megan folded her hands primly and said, “Dr. Burgess prescribed new medications for you. And you’re not to have more than one cup of caffeinated tea a day.”

  “Oh, damn,” Louisa said in disgust. “Marie—go make the tea. Do you have my new prescriptions, Megan?”

  “I have.”

  “Well, get them,” Louisa ordered. “Marie—strong decaffeinated tea.”

  “Fine,” Megan said with resignation. She and Marie exited the room together, shutting the door behind them.

  Marie gestured helplessly. “I thought this experience might change her. Mellow her.”

  “She has mellowed a bit, I think,” Megan said, but looked pensive.

  Marie sighed. “I need to go to Branxton to some of the gourmet shops. It’s going to be hard to keep Louisa happy on a limited diet.”

  Megan nodded. “It’s just hard to keep Louisa happy period. But she’s had a difficult life. More difficult than I’d ever imagined. She has demons to fight. Awesome demons.”

  Marie cocked her head in curiosity. “Really?” she asked. “What?”

  Megan only shrugged and gave her the guilty smile of a person who knew she’d accidentally said too much. “Never mind,” she said. “There’s a storm coming. I hope it doesn’t bring lightning. More fires could start.”

  “This community can’t take another fire,” Marie said. “Everybody says so.”

  And what, Megan, do you mean about awesome demons?

  Andrew called her before the usual time, at about a quarter to eight. “There’s too much lightning, too many spot fires, and the wind’s blowing in your direction. You’ll need extra hands.”

  Marie could see the fires from the kitchen window, and they were moving closer fast. If the separate blazes met, they could form an inferno.

  “I can see them coming. They look bad.”

  “They are bad. When they started up in Koongorra, they were contained. But if they join, and the wind doesn’t shift, they could jump the Hunter River.”

  “Good grief, Andrew. Is Lochlain safe? Are we? Should people be evacuating?”

  “Louisa’s place looks like the first that would be hit. Tyler’s sending a few men over to help wet things down and dig firebreaks. Rennie and I’ll be with them.”

  “You?” she asked. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger. Help your cousin. Louisa doesn’t fully appreciate what you did today. I’m sorry, because I thought you were wonderful.”

  “I didn’t expect her to appreciate it. And Tyler wants to try to mend fences. She didn’t help him when he needed it most. But he won’t, in conscience, do the same to her. She’s old and ill and erratic.”

  “That’s very good of him,” she replied. “And you, too.”

  “We’ll leave in a few minutes. But talk to me a little, okay? I heard Dylan Hastings is going to lose his badge. How do you feel about that?”

  She hesitated then said, “I don’t like the pigheaded way he handled Louisa—like she was the only possible suspect. It never made sense. But I also feel sorry for him. God knows he’s shorthanded. It has to be terrible on him.”

  She changed the subject. “Let’s not talk about him. Tell me about you. Your campaign. How’s it going?”

  “Fairly well. I’m waiting for Jacko to use his death ray on me at the last minute. Pull out his dirtiest tactics. Tell me about you. Everything you’ve done and thought and said.”

  “Nothing important. I fed Louisa, I fed the staff. And now— I’m glad you’re back.”

  “It�
�s good to be back. I missed you.”

  Did he mean it? Did she dare to say it back to him? Instead she said, “You were great today. Especially with that goon of Jacko’s. And I was proud of you.”

  “I probably shot myself in the foot,” he said, his tone sardonic. “But it doesn’t matter. I said what I thought.”

  And let your anger show, thought Marie. You weren’t the cool Mr. McPerfect today. You were a human, passionately defending another human. And you were wonderful.

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “They’re loading up. I need to go.”

  “Be careful—please,” she said. “And watch out for Rennie. He’s still nursing those cracked ribs. I think he was hurt worse than he ever admitted.”

  “Will do, honey. Take care of yourself.”

  He hung up. She sat on the bed in her Spartan little room.

  Why is he so kind to me? she wondered. He acts as if he really cares. But how can I know for sure?

  Ten minutes later word came that the fires had joined. Marie heard sirens, and even inside the house the acrid scent of smoke hung in the air. Louisa ordered every able-bodied member of the staff to help with hoses and move the horses to a safe place.

  Louisa herself turned on the vast sprinkler system to wet the lawn.

  Marie, Bindi, Helena and some of the stronger maids worked with the stable boys to lug the heavy hoses to the property’s edge. The hoses were as big around as Marie’s wrists, and though she was strong, the things coiled and knotted and tangled in the shrubs, and when the water was turned on, she felt she was fighting a water-spewing anaconda.

  The most experienced men, grooms and trainers, got the horses out of the stables and into the far paddocks by the lake. They were waiting to turn on the sprinkler systems in the stables until it was absolutely necessary. Then they came and relieved the women handling the hoses.

  Bindi backed off a few steps, then sank to the muddy ground, crying with fatigue. Helena knelt beside her, trying to comfort her. Marie, exhausted, managed to run, gasping, back to her bungalow. She was filthy, but she snatched up her cell phone, took it back outside and tried to dial Andrew. In the chaos, she hadn’t seen him or Rennie or any of the other men from Lochlain.