"How long is too long?"
"Two weeks. Three?"
She pushed down the beginnings of panic. Later she would deal with how to manage such a long stay. "I'll take a room near the hospital."
"Perhaps someone there can help you settle in."
Kelsey continued to stare at Jake. Finally she turned to the doctor. She saw that the nurse had already stepped out of the room. "Could I be alone with him for just a moment?"
Dr. Munvelt looked uneasy. "I don't know. . ."
"I'll call you if there's a change, and I won't stay long."
He still seemed uncertain. "I'll be waiting just outside."
"Thank you." Kelsey waited until she heard the door close. Then she leaned over Jake's bed, tentatively reaching down to smooth her fingers across one grizzled cheek.
"Well, Jake, so here we are." He lay completely still under the ministrations of her fingertips. "Twenty-one years later."
She was filled with memories that were probably no more than wishful thinking. The sound of a voice, a squeal of laughter, warm, strong arms lifting her. And an Irish lullaby. She hummed a little, wondering if it had really been Jake who had sung the song to her. She had known the melody for as long as she could remember, had been punished once for singing a verse in front of the first aunt she had gone to live with after her mother's death. She no longer knew any of the words, but the melody still lived inside her.
"When you're better," she crooned, "maybe you can teach me the lyrics. Then I can sing it to your grandchildren someday."
Jake didn't stir. Kelsey drew back and stared at him. Jake Donovan had led a hard life. The signs were unmistakable. If there was anything left of the man her mother had married, it was locked deep inside him. For the first time since she had heard about the accident, her eyes glistened with tears. She might never know any more, never have any more, than this one moment with her father.
"Jake... Daddy," she whispered. "I'm here now. I'll take care of you. All you have to do is get better."
He continued to lie still and silent. Kelsey took one more long look at Jake Donovan, then turned and left the room.
* * *
SERGEANT EUGENE NEWBERRY was a man in exile. No one was sure just why, but rumors—a favored form of outback communication—abounded. Some said that he had made an enemy of the South Australian governor. Some said it was the prime minister. Some with more imagination had placed him in any number of compromising positions with any number of compromised Australian women.
Whatever the reason, it was clear that Sergeant Newberry was an unhappy man. It was also clear that he didn't want to be in Coober Pedy; he didn't like Coober Pedy or anyone in it. And most of all, he didn't like Dillon Ward.
Dillon Ward didn't like Sergeant Newberry, either. Now, with the man standing over him, breathing accusations of murder, Dillon merely shrugged. "Why would I want to murder Jake? We're mates."
"There's a small matter of some stones he was supposed to take into the Showcase today."
Dillon forced his eyelids apart. Sergeant Newberry hovered over him with all the subtlety of a wedge tail eagle circling to swoop down on dinner. "Those stones were worthless."
"You were taking worthless stones to the Showcase?"
"I wasn't taking anything," Dillon explained wearily. "Jake was taking them. I was to meet him there."
"But of course he never showed."
"As it turns out, he was a bit tied up in a mine shaft."
"When you found him, did you find the stones, too?"
"I wasn't looking for opal, Sergeant. I was looking for Jake."
"Opal?" the police officer asked with interest. "I thought you said the stones were worthless."
Dillon's laugh was humorless. "You've been in Coober Pedy what, two months? Three? It appears you still need to learn a few terms." He pretended to lecture. "Opal's a form of silica, similar to quartz, but with water in its structure. If the silica spheres are arranged in an even pattern, the stone is precious opal, the reason most of us came here to the back of beyond. If the spheres are absent or irregularly arranged, the stone doesn't produce color, and we call it potch opal or just potch." He tipped his chair back against the wall. "Have we cleared that up?"
"Don't patronize me, Ward."
Dillon ignored him, continuing in the same tone. "The opal Jake was taking to the Showcase was potch with a little color. Sometimes Gary buys it and sells it cheaply to tourists who don't want to spend money on the real thing. Jake was hoping to make enough to tide himself over until he got paid for some good stones he had taken to Sydney."
He watched Sergeant Newberry's eyes light up. The sergeant was tall, with the translucent pallor of Australia's famed witchety grub and the physique of a man trying to survive in a country stalked by famine. The only compelling thing about him was the fanatic glitter of his blue eyes.
"Good stones?" the sergeant murmured, caressing each word. "Did you say anything about good stones before?"
"I didn't. Those stones have nothing to do with Jake's accident."
"Don't they? Who knew about the stones besides you?"
"I reckon whoever Jake told about them."
"And whom might that be?"
"Half of Coober Pedy, if he'd had enough to drink."
"And if he hadn't?"
"Nobody."
"Were the stones worth killing a man for?" Sergeant Newberry asked in a casual voice that didn't deceive Dillon one iota.
"There are some who'd say there's nothing worth killing a man for," Dillon answered. "Unless he's trying to kill you."
"Dillon?"
Dillon set the front legs of his chair down and stood. Kelsey walked toward him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but her chin still tilted proudly. He didn't know what to say. He only knew that he had rarely wanted so badly to offer comfort.
"I could only stay a few minutes." Kelsey stopped just in front of him. "Dr. Munvelt said they should be transferring him soon."
"You'll be leaving then yourself?"
"Dr. Munvelt said there won't be room for me in the plane. I'll have to follow tomorrow."
Dillon gently touched her shoulder, his fingers brushing one silky strand of hair. "That will be best, anyway. You're done in. You can rest tonight."
Kelsey's eyes signaled her gratitude.
"Are you talking about Jake Donovan, miss?"
For the first time Kelsey became fully aware of the man standing just behind Dillon. She took in his uniform and the grim set of his mouth. "That's right. You're from the police?"
"Sergeant Newberry at your disposal."
Kelsey extended her hand. "Kelsey Donovan, Jake Donovan's daughter."
Sergeant Newberry held her hand a little too long. "I wasn't aware Jake had a daughter. That wasn't in the information Mr. Ward gave me."
Kelsey switched her gaze back to Dillon. The question she hadn't been able to ask had been answered. "My father never told you about me, did he?"
Dillon wanted to wrap his big hands around Sergeant Newberry's skinny throat. "We didn't talk much about the past."
She smiled wanly. "You must not have talked about it at all."
"He wouldn't have been proud of leaving you, Kelsey."
Sergeant Newberry stepped between them. "How did you hear of your father's accident, Miss Donovan? You got here quickly."
"I'm afraid it's a coincidence. My father and I haven't been. . .in touch. I just discovered where he was, and I came to see him."
"A terrible shock, then, to find him in the hospital." Before Kelsey could acknowledge it, he went on. "A terrible shock to find that he had been the victim of a murder attempt."
Kelsey stared blankly at him.
"You did know we suspect attempted murder?"
She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean? Why would anyone want to murder my father?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out." Sergeant Newberry turned to include Dillon. "Mr. Ward here is trying to help me. You see, he knows
everything about your father." He hesitated, pinching the tip of his chin as if in deepest thought. "Especially how much old Jake is worth. Mr. Ward stands to gain the most from knowing, after all. Or stood to gain the most," he added after a short pause. "Of course, now that there's a next of kin. . ." His voice trailed off.
Kelsey felt a chill go through her despite the warm temperature in the hospital corridor. She turned her eyes to Dillon and realized he had seen her shiver. "You didn't tell me anyone suspected a murder attempt."
Dillon read the dismay, the denial, and finally, the beginning of suspicion in her eyes. He tried to reassure her. "Sergeant Newberry's been watching too much telly. I saw no point in worrying you until he has something concrete to go on."
"Somebody pushed your father down that shaft, then left him for dead. Somebody who knew the last place anyone would look was an abandoned mine." Sergeant Newberry smiled. "Someone who may even have been leading the rescue party."
Through the gray fog of his fatigue, Dillon saw red. He stepped forward and gripped the police officer's lapels. "I'll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself until you've got some kind of proof."
"You could be charged for threatening me."
Dillon tightened his grip. "Try it," he said, lingering over each word. "See how far you get, Sergeant." He shoved the smirking man a full foot, then dropped his hands. "Now take your two-bob accusations somewhere else so I can escort Miss Donovan to the hotel."
Sergeant Newberry pretended to ignore Dillon's orders, but he stepped backward another pace. "Have you thought about what you'll be doing with your father's mine, Miss Donovan?"
Kelsey looked from man to man. The gratitude she had felt evaporated, to be replaced with wariness. Wariness was more familiar, anyway, and from long experience, she knew it was safer. If she suddenly felt alone and surrounded by hostile strangers, at least it was a feeling she knew well.
She tried to compose herself. "What do you mean?"
"The Mining Act says your father's claim has to be worked for not less than twenty hours a week or he loses it."
"I'll be working it," Dillon told Kelsey, his tone controlled and his words clipped. "Until I can find someone to help, I can work the necessary hours."
"A bit like a dingo minding the sheep, wouldn't you say?" Sergeant Newberry asked.
Dillon stepped toward him, but the police officer made a smooth retreat. "Miss Donovan, your father's claim may be consolidated with Ward's here," Sergeant Newberry continued, "but the law says that the opal that's found in your father's claim belongs to him, no matter who works it."
Dillon dismissed his words with an abrupt wave. "Jake and I split everything we find fifty-fifty, no matter where we find it."
"You didn't take his share of the fall," Kelsey said softly. "He's the one lying in that bed down the hall."
Sergeant Newberry's suspicions were to be expected. But Kelsey's affected Dillon like a jolt to an exposed nerve. "Do you think I don't know? I spent nearly forty hours looking for him."
"In all the wrong places." Kelsey didn't want to believe that Dillon was responsible for her father's fall. She didn't want to believe he wanted Jake Donovan dead. But neither did she want to believe that Jake was injured and unconscious, yet that was irrefutable.
Dillon had never had to defend himself to anyone, and he wasn't about to start. He took a moment to swallow his anger. "I'll take you to the hotel now. Then I'm going home to get some sleep. You'd better do the same if you're going to catch a plane out of here tomorrow."
"We'll be looking after things here for Jake," Sergeant Newberry assured her, though his next words diluted the pledge. "As well as we can."
"Do you mean the mine?" Kelsey asked.
"The mine. The investigation. It's just too bad there won't be someone right on the scene to look after your father's interests. You don't have a brother, do you?"
Kelsey straightened a little. "I've never needed a brother. I fight my own battles." She saw the incredulous looks on both men's faces and straightened a little more. "Always," she added for emphasis. "And quite well."
"I'll take you to your hotel," Dillon repeated, reaching for her arm.
"I don't think so," she said, shaking off his hand. "I'll find my own way."
Dillon's hand dropped to his side. He took in the smug look on Sergeant Newberry's face and the way Kelsey was trying to dust the ceiling with her butterscotch curls. Suddenly he was more tired, if that was possible. "Have it your own way," he said, bending down to retrieve his hat. "Good day, Sergeant." He nodded to Kelsey. In a moment he was gone.
"I'd watch that one," Sergeant Newberry said, his gaze following Dillon down the hall.
"I won't be here to watch him," Kelsey said wearily.
"A pity, that." The sergeant's gaze floated over Kelsey. "I'll do what I can, but there's really little anyone can do unless they're on the spot all the time. Just don't be surprised if your father recovers and there's not an opal left in the Rainbow Fire mine."
* * *
THE MOTEL ROOM was quiet, if not plush. Kelsey sat cross-legged on her bed, counting her money once more, as if by doing so the amount might double. Unfortunately the count was less this time by one dollar.
She had appallingly little to see her through the weeks of Jake's recovery. She hadn't expected to stay in Australia for more than two weeks. She had her ticket home and five hundred Australian dollars. She had counted on a slightly better exchange rate; she had counted on prices in the land down under being cheaper.
And, if she were honest, she had counted on being able to stay with Jake once she found him.
Kelsey knew better than to count on anything or anyone, but this time her good judgment had been suspended. She had wanted to see Jake so badly that one week before Christmas break she had taken leave from her job as a teacher's aide, taken the money she had been saving for her final semester at the University of North Carolina, and bought her ticket.
She had been low on funds before. Too often, in fact. The night she had graduated from high school, her grandmother had handed her a new suitcase, a fifty-dollar bill and wished her well, spoiling the unexpected generosity by asking for her house key with the next breath. Kelsey had moved into a mobile home with a girlfriend until she had found a job—not an easy task in the small North Carolina town where she had been branded a rebel and a troublemaker. But after two weeks of peanut butter sandwiches she had found work at the local laundry, and while her schoolmates had gone off to college, she had washed, dried and folded towels until she had enough money for a one-way ticket to Raleigh.
Life had been better where no one knew her past. She had graduated from laundry to day-care center, and finally, to teacher's aide in an exclusive private school. Along the way she had picked up college credits every time she saved enough money to pay for them until she was within only a few credits of receiving her degree.
Not one of the last six years had been easy. What she had accomplished, she had accomplished alone, but then that had been the pattern of her life from the day her mother died and left her a quasi-orphan at age five. She had been fed and clothed by relatives who didn't want her, shunted back and forth between houses like unwelcome cargo. She had learned not to respond to comments about her parents, learned not to listen to the fights about whose turn it was to take her in next. And somewhere along the way, she had learned to stop expecting Jake to rescue her.
But she had never learned to stop caring that somewhere in the world she had a father who once had hugged her and played with her and sung her an Irish lullaby.
She still cared.
"Five hundred dollars." Kelsey looked down at the foreign bills spread over her bed. She knew just how quickly five hundred dollars would slip away. And once it was gone, there would be nothing to replace it. Her visa was very specific. She could not work while she was in Australia.
She would have to be careful to make the money last. Once she got to Adelaide she would have to find an inexpensiv
e room where she could cook her own meals. And she would have to pray not only that Jake recovered, but that he recovered quickly.
Kelsey still couldn't believe her father was going to have to recover without her by his side for the first weeks. Hours had passed since her conversation with Dr. Munvelt, and right now Jake was probably in a bed in the Adelaide hospital. She'd had time to nap a little, to snack on some crackers she had bought at the airport, and to think about the doctor's words. Reluctantly she had accepted his decree, at least temporarily. Once in Adelaide, however, things could change.
She was still staring at the piles of bills when the ringing of the phone beside her bed split the silence. The sound was a link with civilization, and Kelsey answered it with enthusiasm.
Her enthusiasm had diminished severely by the time she hung up the telephone. Dr. Munvelt, the caller, had graciously reassured her that Jake had made the flight with no particular difficulties. The physician in charge of his case in Adelaide felt that Jake's chances of a recovery were good, although he cautioned that it might take some time. Additionally, however, the Adelaide physician concurred with Dr. Munvelt. Kelsey's presence would be a new blow that could slow recovery. They would stay in touch with her, but they didn't want her at the hospital just yet. His suggestion was that Kelsey see a bit of Australia while she was waiting.
"A bit of Australia!" Kelsey angrily threw her pillow against the wall, scattering cash in the resulting draft. Which bit of Australia could she afford to see? How far would five hundred dollars take her? How many nights at a hotel? How many meals? If she was penny-pinching cautious, she might be able to stay two weeks. But the truth was inescapable. Her money was probably going to run out before Jake was ready to see her.
She shouldn't have come.
Kelsey slid off the bed and knelt to pick up the scattered bills. She had learned years before just how far self-pity would get her. Five thousand towels, not self-pity, had gotten her out of the town of her birth. Years of inquiries, letters, phone calls and just plain snooping, had gotten her the information about Jake's whereabouts. She had come all the way across the world for a reunion with her father. Somehow, some way, she would still manage it.
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