Rainbow Fire

by Emilie Richards

  "You gave Serge what he's been asking for since he came to this town. I'd like to shake your hand."

  Kelsey was more interested in Dillon and Jake than Serge, but she couldn't resist one question. "Do you think Serge will try to get revenge for what I did? Dillon seems worried."

  "You made him lose face. He won't like you for that. Yes, Serge, he could try to hurt you." Anna frowned. "Maybe I'd better make a different list, huh?"

  "Do you know him well?"

  "He eats in here sometimes, but he never finishes his pizza. Nobody leaves without finishing my pizza." Anna sniffed disdainfully. "You're not finished with the list."

  Kelsey had already seen the last item. It was so much like number two that she had hoped to ignore it. "How can you possibly know that Dillon and I are right for each other? We hardly even know each other. And you've only seen us together once."

  "Dillon, he's like my son." Anna ignored the fact that she was only a little older than Dillon. "I've been trying to find him a woman for years. He don't like any of the women I find for him. Good-looking, smart women, too. But I see the way he looks at you. He looks at you like he looks at my pizza."

  Kelsey managed to swallow the last bit of her breadstick without choking. "Anchovy or pepperoni?" she asked when she was sure it was safe.

  "My special pizza," Anna said proudly as she stood to serve a new customer. "The one with everything on it."

  The dinner had been wonderful, but later, after Kelsey paid Anna and left, she decided the boost to her self-esteem had been priceless. She had been favorably compared to Anna's pizza. She had a whole new sense of feminine allure.

  Out on the street she admired the mauve-streaked golden sky, which was casting an ethereal glow over the little mining town and softening everything it touched. As the sun sank behind distant hills, the twilight air grew cooler and more humid. Filled with the herb-laden wealth of Anna's lasagna and the power of her own resolve, Kelsey started toward the pub.

  She would see Dillon tonight. He would be at the pub, she would see him, and they would talk. They would talk, she would try to explain that she'd had to be careful, and he would understand. He would understand and they could go back to being. . . Being what? Kelsey tried to imagine what they could go back to being.

  A man materialized from the shadows to stop just in front of her. "Hey, doll, whatya doing out by yourself?"

  Mentally Kelsey demoted herself to white belt for not paying attention to her surroundings. She distributed her weight evenly on both feet, levering herself forward so that she could be ready to dodge and run. "Were you waiting for me, Serge?"

  "I was waiting."

  Kelsey scanned the area to see if he had brought backup. They were alone. "I don't know why," she said quietly. "We have nothing to talk about."

  "I don't wanna talk, doll."

  She wished his source of B movie dialogue would dry up. "We have that much in common. I don't want to talk, either. I just want to wish you a pleasant evening and walk on by."

  He snorted, and she shifted forward a little more. She knew she could beat him in a race, but first she had to get away.

  "Where's your boyfriend?" Serge inched a little closer, but Kelsey stood her ground, meeting his eyes in an unflinching gaze.

  "Do you really want trouble?" Kelsey asked, ignoring his question.

  "I don't like what you did to me, doll."

  "And I didn't like what you did to me. I'd say we're dead even."

  Serge lifted his hand, as if to reach for her. Kelsey spun away from him as another figure stepped out of the shadows.

  "I'd say Miss Donovan was dead right," Dillon told Serge, moving closer as he talked. "And I'd say it's a dead cert you'd better be out of here in three seconds."

  "I wasn't doin' nuthin to your lady friend, Ward."

  "One. . ." Dillon stepped closer.

  Serge seemed to be weighing the situation.

  "Two. . ."

  Serge shoved his hands into the pockets of his ragged jeans. "Your bodyguard won't always be here," he told Kelsey, although he didn't take his eyes from Dillon's. Then, spinning on one heel, he turned and started down the street.

  Dillon took a step in his direction, but Kelsey held him back, her fingers resting against his bare arm. "Don't. Let him go. He's all talk."

  Dillon looked down at the long, delicate fingers that lay so naturally against his skin. He had told himself he wouldn't react to Kelsey Donovan again, but the lecture hadn't stuck. "I've heard rumors about Serge and women. Stay away from him."

  Kelsey bristled. "What do you think was going on here? Did you think I encouraged him?" She held up her hand to ward off his answer and forced herself to speak more gently. "I'm trying to stay away from Serge. But apparently he's been following me. Were you following me, too?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "Which manner of speaking? The one that says you were?"

  Dillon folded his arms in front of him. "I was looking for more death adders to put under my bed, actually."

  Kelsey scuffed her toe in the road and watched the dust billow. "I've got something to say to you, and it isn't easy for me."

  "Get on with it, Sunset. I've been looking forward to it all day."

  She lifted her eyes to his. "Sunset?"

  "The color of your hair. Sunset's gold."

  The nickname unnerved her more than the encounter with Serge had. This would be easier if Dillon were just any man she had misjudged. But he wasn't. He was Dillon Ward. And Dillon Ward was a force to reckon with. She wet her lips, wishing she could clear her throat. "Look, I can't make a real apology. I wish I'd never had to suspect that you hurt my father. But put yourself in my place. How could I trust you?"

  "Could? That has a certain implication."

  His eyes were the green of summer grass and absolutely impossible to read. She would have appreciated a spark of sympathy. "All right. I know I was wrong."

  "Do you?"

  "I do."

  "And?"

  She thrust out her chin. "I can't say I'm sorry. I had to be sure about you." She hesitated. "And now that I am, I'd like to thank you for saving my life." She hesitated again. "And my father's."

  "I won't say don't mention it."

  The small measure of defiance that had gotten Kelsey this far drained away. Tentatively she smiled, hoping to kindle the same in him. "I'd like to be friends."

  "That would be unique."

  The smile died. "Look, I don't blame you if you don't want to be friends. But I do plan to stay here, and I would like to continue going out to the mine with you."

  "You're asking?"

  "I'm asking."

  "You're asking, not telling? Not demanding? Not insisting?"

  "I'm asking."

  He nodded. "Then let's go get your things."

  It took Kelsey a moment to make the adjustment from the mine to her living situation. "My things?"

  "If you're serious about staying, I want you where I can keep an eye on you. I don't have time to slink around in the shadows waiting for you to come to harm. I want you right beside me."

  Kelsey knew she should protest. She knew she should assert herself and point out, once again, that she was perfectly well-equipped to care for herself. But the truth was that, for whatever reason—financial, safety, comfort, or something that was a combination of all those and more—she wanted to move into Dillon's dugout.

  "I'll come." But she couldn't let him think he had won. As Dillon started down the road, she touched his arm to stop him. "After all," she added, "you're the one they've been trying to kill. Someday soon, you might need my help."

  Chapter 9

  THE NEXT MORNING there was no sunshine streaming through leaded glass windowpanes. There was only the soft glow of incandescent bulbs seeping under the doorway to caress sunshine-yellow walls. Kelsey stretched, reaching for the lamp beside her bed as she did.

  Squinting, she peered at her watch, forcing her sleepy eyes to focus. Six o'c
lock. Some internal time clock had alerted her that it was morning; there were certainly no other signs, no bird song, no sunrise glow, no dew-freshened air.

  Morning in a cave, and a cave it was, even if the walls were sunshine-yellow. A cave with a resident caveman who would be up soon if he wasn't already, a caveman who had politely installed her in this room the night before and then disappeared into his own room without so much as a "sleep well."

  But then, Kelsey couldn't really blame Dillon. He was a man who was naturally warm and considerate, but he was nobody's puppy dog, to come running with tail wagging after a vicious kick. He had saved her life at the risk of his own, and she had repaid him with suspicion. He was wary now of being insulted again. And maybe a little wariness would be best. Wariness could prevent complications for them both.

  Kelsey forced herself to sit up and swing her legs over the side of her bed, digging her toes into the green carpeting. She always woke slowly. It routinely took her eyes fifteen minutes to focus and her brain another fifteen to send decodable messages to the rest of her body. At the end of an hour she was herself again, ready to take on the world. Before that she was anyone's easy mark.

  So obviously the first hour of her morning was not a good time to encounter Dillon. She needed her wits about her with him. That thought sent her to her feet. She drew her knee high and executed a clumsy roundhouse kick, feinting with a right jab as she did. She barely stayed erect.

  "Shower," she mumbled sleepily. "Coffee."

  She smoothed her turquoise nightshirt over her bottom before she wove her way to the door. There was silence in the hallway and no visible sign of Dillon. Satisfied that she could make it into the bathroom without encountering him, she gathered the clean clothes that she had laid out in a neat pile the night before and started down the hall.

  Padding barefoot past his room she listened for signs of waking. There were none, nor were there signs of life from the kitchen. Dillon was probably still asleep, and she would be wide awake, showered and ready for anything when he finally woke up.

  Except that as she pushed the bathroom door open she discovered she had miscalculated. Billows of soap-scented steam greeted her, as did the sight of a muscular giant wrapped from the waist down in a white bathtowel. She cursed her brain for being as foggy as the bathroom mirror.

  Dillon watched the steam turn Kelsey's sleep-ruffled waves into ringlets. So much hair for such a small woman.

  So much woman.

  Her skin was flushed and her eyes heavy-lidded. He could see surprise war with befuddlement. Without a doubt she was not a morning person. Dillon tried to suppress a smile and failed. His eyes drifted down to skim over the turquoise shirt that stopped mid-thigh to expose a vast expanse of leg. So much leg for such a small woman.

  "You're supposed to be in bed," she mumbled.

  He lifted one eyebrow and wondered if it was pulling his smile wider, higher. He waited for her next inanity.

  She rubbed one fist over an eyelid, as if to insist it open farther. "I was sure you were."

  "Disappointed?"

  On some barely conscious level Kelsey knew she really shouldn't be standing in the bathroom with a man who was wearing nothing more than a towel, an uncut opal on a gold chain and a dimple-adorned grin. Especially if that man was Dillon. She blinked and wondered why her eyes were taking a complete census without asking her brain for permission. She wondered how she was going to feel after the census was completed and tabulated. As warm and tingly as she did now?

  Disappointed? What was there to be disappointed about? The man was perfection. Trim and firm and muscular. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with none of the beer-belly slackness of some of his counterparts. And she should know, because except for what the small rectangle of terrycloth covered, every part of him was exposed. She cleared her throat. "Disappointed?" Her voice squeaked.

  "Disappointed that I'm not in bed." Dillon watched the flush on her cheeks deepen. When she didn't speak, he lifted his hand and caressed her jaw. "Sunset, are you awake?"

  The touch did what the visual census had not. She was jolted into consciousness. She felt her cheeks burn. "I'm sorry." She backed up a step. "I'll leave you to finish in here. I really must be half-asleep."

  "I believe I prefer you all soft around the edges like this."

  She couldn't dispute that. But soft in the head was more like it. She turned to head back down the hall.

  "Don't hurry off. You can have the bathroom. I'll dress in my room." Dillon's hand settled on her shoulder.

  Kelsey wondered if the imprint of his hand would be etched in her skin when she took off her nightshirt. Soft in the head and getting softer all the time.

  "I don't want to rush you." She tried hard to sound normal, even strong, while she rebuilt her decaying defenses. But so far she was at best, only conscious. Strength took more than two open eyes and a nervous system that was tuned for takeoff.

  Dillon let himself touch her hair. One long curl twined around his fingers. "I'm not rushing. I can dress in my room as easily as in here."

  She didn't turn. "You must be in a hurry to get to the Rainbow Fire."

  "I reckon I've got some work to do around here before I go anywhere."

  He sounded as if he thought she would understand, but her brain wasn't working well enough yet to think past the hand on her shoulder. "Work?"

  He laughed softly. Her voice was as unfocused as her eyes. Somehow it pleased him to see a chink in her armor, even if the chink was only a metabolism that worked at snail speed in the mornings. "Work. I've got to make certain no more pets are dropped off in my bedroom." He paused. "Or yours. I took care of things temporarily yesterday, but today I've got to make certain we stay safe."

  Starless velvet darkness had closed around them when they had come back to the dugout last night. Kelsey knew only that Dillon had asked her to stand back as he had unlocked the door. "What did you do?"

  "I trip-wired my front door."

  She was awake now. Fully awake. She turned, hands on hips. "You did what?"

  "Wired the front door. For explosives. A temporary measure until we get to the bottom of this."

  "And what if I'd decided to go for a walk last night?"

  He grinned as he outlined an unmistakable mushroom cloud with his hands. "Boom."

  Kelsey took a menacing step forward. "You bastard."

  "Ah, the lady comes awake with a vengeance."

  "Just what do you mean, boom?"

  His eyes danced with humor. "I suppose if you'd gone through the front door there wouldn't have been enough left of you to feed to a kookaburra."

  She didn't know if his grin was because that thought pleased him or because he just enjoyed seeing her angry. Whichever it was, she wanted to wipe it off his face. "Apparently that's what you hoped. Maybe I was right about you before. Maybe you have it in for the Donovans, after all."

  The grin disappeared. "You lack a sense of humor. But you make up for it with an overdose of paranoia."

  "I've never thought dying was funny."

  "I wired the door, but the wires aren't hooked to a thing. They're there for the effect. It's an old trick your father taught me. Used to wire Rainbow Fire for real until he nearly blew a finger off. Then he started pretending he was wiring it, and it worked just as well."

  "Then why did you have me stand back last night when you unlocked the door?''

  "To fool anyone who might have been watching."

  It was all too much for her: the sight of Dillon's perfect and nearly unclothed body; the early morning hour; his Aussie sense of humor; and the fact that she had, once again, thought the worst of him. She sagged against the sink, all signs of life gone. "Then why didn't you say so?"

  "I thought you'd realize I was having fun with you. I forgot that nothing's funny to you."

  "That's not really true." She met his eyes. "It's just that there's been nothing to laugh at here, Dillon. These haven't been the funniest few days of my life."

&
nbsp; He felt her words cut right through both of them. Without thinking, he stepped closer and put his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Sunset. I should have realized this isn't the time for jokes."

  Warning bells rang even as she relaxed a little. "I guess I'm not used to your sense of humor."

  Since humor was now the farthest things from his mind, Dillon's arms tightened a little. "What is it about you Donovans, anyway? You're a right difficult lot to get along with, yet I don't seem to be able to stay away from you."

  "Maybe you like trouble." And maybe she did, too. Why else would she still be resting in his arms?

  "I never thought I liked trouble. And I shouldn't like you. You're suspicious and cynical and as prickly as an echidna."

  "Echidna?"

  "A bit like your porcupine. It relies on its strength and its prickly spines to stay alive. You've got that much in common."

  She laughed a little. "But you can't hug an echidna."

  "Even an echidna has its soft spot, its vulnerable area."

  And this echidna, at least, was just beginning to comprehend how vulnerable she was. Kelsey could feel Dillon's body react to the feel of hers. There was nothing between them except a towel and her nightshirt, and if she didn't move quickly, the towel was going to be history.

  Dillon seemed to realize the same thing, because he moved before she could, dropping his hands to the scrap of terrycloth at his waist. "Take your shower," he said gruffly. "I'll see you at breakfast."

  "Yes." She tried to sound businesslike. "I'll help you with whatever precautions you're planning to take."

  "No you won't." Dillon watched her eyes narrow, and his voice grew heavy with irony. "My apologies. You're an expert on gelignite, then?"

  "You said the wires were for show."

  "Yesterday they were. After today they won't be."

  "Wouldn't it be simpler and safer just to change the locks?"

  "Whoever broke in here didn't leave as much as a scratch on the keyhole. We're working against a professional. Not a lock in the world would keep him out. Fear of blowing off a hand might, though. And I'm not going to trust a decoy for another night."