Rainbow Fire

by Emilie Richards

  "Apparently Anna thinks so. She told me you need a woman." Kelsey moved to the table to seat herself, but Dillon was behind her immediately, pulling out her chair. His arm brushed her cheek, and his hand lingered on her shoulder before he took his own seat. Kelsey savored a small volley of sensations.

  Dillon seated himself. "Well, now that my needs are clear, tell me, do you need a man?"

  Just days ago the answer would have been an unequivocal no. Now Kelsey wasn't sure of much of anything. "I've never thought so," she hedged.

  "And you've changed your mind?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "You didn't say anything worth saying, actually."

  She lifted her eyes in as flirtatious a movement as he had ever seen from her. "Some things aren't to be talked about."

  His heart threatened to quit beating. "But then, you're not a woman a man would want to take by surprise."

  "I doubt anything you'd do would surprise me." Her lips curved into a seductive smile. "Coober Pedy's taught me to expect the unexpected. Or maybe you've taught me that."

  He could think of other things he wanted to teach her. He shifted in his seat to accommodate the part of him that was volunteering. "Interesting town, Coober Pedy," he said, hoping he wouldn't have to stand very soon.

  "It's a funny name. Where did it come from?"

  Dillon was glad they were on a safer topic. "It's from an Aboriginal phrase, kupapiti. It means white man in a hole."

  Her laughter echoed off the walls. "How silly the first miners must have looked to them."

  "How silly we still look. All this fuss for nothing more than sparkling rock."

  She shook her head. "More than a rock. Rainbow Fire."

  He saw that she really did understand. Already. There were few women who would have—few men, for that matter. A life spent underground searching for the elusive opal was a life wasted, by most standards. "Do you understand how I can live in this place?" he asked, wondering just how far her tolerance stretched.

  "I think I like this place." Kelsey saw disbelief in Dillon's eyes, and she struggled to explain. "God knows, it's not beautiful or easy to live in. But there's a spirit here." She realized she was echoing Melanie, and she paused, unable to think of a better way to explain. "The place is crawling with characters."

  "One or more of whom is trying to scare—or kill—you."

  "I don't like that part."

  "And you like getting run off the road by a road train? Getting lost in a dust storm? Death adders curling around your slim little ankles?"

  She smiled again, and he shifted in his seat. "I haven't been bored."

  "We're not boring." He wanted to tell her to go easy on the smile, that he'd left his self-control somewhere off the old road to the Breakaways, but another part of him refused.

  The door opened, and Giorgio entered with a bottle of South Australian burgundy. He swallowed audibly. "Mama said to tell you this is almost as good as Italian."

  To the boy's obvious relief, Dillon took the wine and corkscrew. "Thank you, Giorgio. I believe I'll pour it myself. Tell Mama we're grateful."

  Kelsey watched Dillon go through the time-honored ritual of uncorking the wine bottle. He moved with clean, masculine grace, wasting no energy on flourishes. The sleeve of his navy blazer slid up and down to reveal glimpses of a wide wrist. The blazer parted over a white shirt and she caught the flash of the gold chain he always wore tucked into it. She imagined the huge opal nestled in the thicket of light brown hair.

  She lowered her eyes, suddenly flustered as she remembered what he had looked like wearing nothing more than the opal and a towel.

  "You do want some, don't you?"

  Kelsey held out her glass. "Yes, please." She kept her eyes on it as he filled it.

  Dillon filled his own, then held it up as a toast. "To. . ." He didn't know what to say.

  Neither did Kelsey. Her gaze locked with his. Slowly they clinked glasses, all the unsaid phrases still between them.

  In the background, a tenor began to sing.

  "This is a scene from Lady and the Tramp," she said at last.

  He had seen the Walt Disney cartoon. "Tramp takes lady out for a bone dinner, and Tony, the restaurant owner, makes them spaghetti."

  "And they share each piece to beautiful music." Kelsey hummed a bar or two before she lifted the glass to her lips.

  "A truly romantic scene."

  "And afterward, Lady ends up at the dog pound."

  There were other places where Dillon would prefer to have this lady end up tonight. He wondered why even a child's cartoon led back to that thought. He quickly changed the subject. "You haven't told me if you've heard any more about Jake."

  "I spoke to his doctor just before we left." Kelsey rolled her glass between her hands. "He says my father is a fighter. Apparently he's coming along as well as they can expect. He's still not speaking, but he is responding to voices. The doctor expects to be able to tell him about me in a week or two."

  Dillon was torn between satisfaction that Jake was improving and disappointment that Kelsey would be leaving. But Coober Pedy was no place for her to be now or ever. "I'm sure you're glad."

  On the contrary, she wasn't sure what she felt. She was sorry her father's recovery was going to be slow, but now that she was staying at the dugout, money wasn't a problem. She was in no danger of losing her job unless she didn't return by the end of the holidays. She wanted her father to get well, but she was also aware of a new reluctance to leave Coober Pedy, bullets, snakes and all. That would be difficult to explain to anyone, especially Dillon.

  "How do you think Jake will feel when he sees me?" Kelsey didn't miss the way Dillon lowered his eyes. "Tell me the truth, Dillon. I think it would help to know."

  "I can't say. He's a man who avoids roots. He doesn't own anything except his ute, and he doesn't have any real mates, except me, I suppose."

  "He's had a daughter all these years, though, even if he hasn't talked about me. Maybe he doesn't think of me often, but he must remember I exist."

  "From everything you've told me, it seems he's worked hard to make you forget him."

  "I don't remember much." She had never shared her memories with anyone before. Now she took the chance. "Strong arms throwing me into the air. Laughter. And snatches of a song." Over Puccini, she hummed what she remembered. "Someone told me it was an Irish lullaby. Maybe it was Jake."

  She watched something indefinable flicker over Dillon's features. "Do you know it?"

  Dillon struggled to think of a way to avoid answering. "It's familiar," he said at last, hoping he had been vague enough to stop more questions.

  But Kelsey was too astute and too attuned to him not to have seen his struggle. "What is it?"

  He didn't want to destroy the fantasies her childhood had been built around. "Just an Irish ditty."

  She set her glass on the table. "Define ditty."

  "Song."

  "Tell me about this one." Steel crept into her voice.

  He was trapped. "I've heard Jake sing it, that's all."

  "Where and when."

  "At the pub."

  "A lullaby at the pub?"

  "It's not exactly a lullaby, Sunset."

  "Then what is it?"

  "A drinking song. A naughty drinking song." He took a large swallow of his wine. "A terrible, naughty drinking song," he finished.

  Kelsey just stared at him. Then her shoulders began to shake, and her chin began to quiver. Dillon watched, appalled at what he had done. "It's a lovely melody," he said, trying to stem the flood. "I'm sure he just hummed it to you."

  Kelsey took a deep breath and then exploded. "Damn the man," she said between bursts of laughter that threatened to leave her breathless.

  "Me or your father?"

  "Both of you!" She grabbed her napkin to wipe her eyes. A fresh burst of laughter left her choking for air.

  Dillon wasn't sure if she were hysterical or truly tickled. He waited apprehensively to fi
nd out.

  "Damn him," she said at last. "The man had no shame, did he? No wonder my aunt paddled my behind. I couldn't sit down for a whole day after I sang that song for her."

  "No one should hit a child," he said, narrowing his eyes. "No one should ever have hit you."

  This was a man she could love. Kelsey met Dillon's gaze, and suddenly all the laughter was gone, leaving the pain of a little girl in its wake. She tried to make light of it. "I'm sure I wasn't a very nice child. No one could manage me."

  "All they had to do was love you."

  "I think I must be hard to love."

  "I think you're very wrong."

  She saw in his eyes what she knew was in hers. She reached for his hand just as the door opened.

  "Ravioli and my special salad," Anna announced from the doorway. "Come on, Giorgio. Bring it in."

  They ate the first part of their meal in silence, wary of moving closer than they had, afraid they might move apart. The silence wasn't comfortable or comforting, but neither was it a barrier. Instead it was another gateway, one that terrified them both.

  Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Kelsey searched for a topic. Her eyes fell on the centerpiece. She gestured toward it. "This flower is beautiful. Do you know what it is?"

  "It's a right bit of a surprise in the middle of the outback. But then, Anna's got a green thumb and a tremendous water bill to prove it." Dillon fingered the fragile white petals. "Frangipani. Plumeria, they call it in Hawaii."

  She was afraid the conversation was going to end again, so she grasped for his last word. "I came through Hawaii on my way to Australia. It's so lush, so forgiving. I got the feeling that if I dropped litter in the airport courtyard, something fabulous would grow right up to cover it."

  "It's not always forgiving. I was there for Hurricane Eve."

  She made a small sound of sympathy. "How did you cope?"

  "With the help of friends." He knew he didn't need to elaborate, but he wanted to tell her about his experience. He had never shared it with anyone. "They weren't friends at first. They were strangers. And none of us was happy about being thrown together to wait out the storm."

  "But that changed?"

  "It changed." He didn't know how to explain the way two men, two women and a child had become so important to each other. "Maybe it's a bit like you and me. Adversity can make strange bedfellows."

  Her smile was slow, lighting her face by degrees. She wondered if the phrase was a Freudian slip. "In other words, if you hadn't been trapped in a hurricane, you never would have gotten close to these people. Just like you might never have given me a second look if I weren't Jake's daughter and we weren't in danger."

  "I'd have looked more than twice." On an impulse Dillon lifted the flower and reached across the table, brushing Kelsey’s hair over her ear as he anchored the flower in her butterscotch curls. "I wouldn't have stopped looking."

  She held his gaze. "And these people, are they still friends? Or have you forgotten them and drifted apart?"

  He knew what she was really asking. Would he forget her? Was their attraction for each other based on the intimacy of their situation or on something more important? "I haven't forgotten them," he said, caressing her cheek before he reluctantly dropped his hand. "Nor will I ever."

  Kelsey wasn't even sure why she felt so relieved. "Do you correspond?"

  "We drop in and out of each other's lives. The hurricane changed us all. I think we seek each other out to renew that." He could see she didn't understand, but she wanted to. He continued. "There were five of us, all of us about the same age, except for a little girl who was traveling to meet her mother."

  "Tell me about them."

  He was pleased she wanted to know more. He understood that the questions were a way to know him better. "Julianna and Gray were married, but they had been separated for years. Strangely enough, the hurricane brought them together again. They're living together now, and Julianna is pregnant." He thought of his last phone call from Julianna. "She lost their first baby a long time ago. She's understandably frightened. We speak often."

  Kelsey heard the warmth in his voice and knew that Julianna must be special indeed. "And her husband? Gray?"

  He smiled. "Gray is the man she needs and loves. They'll make it."

  "What about the others?"

  "Paige went to New Zealand after Hawaii and met her husband, Adam. I went to their wedding last month, a big, happy Maori affair."

  "Romance is all around you."

  He crossed a smile and a grimace, creating something lopsided and totally endearing. "Then there was Jody."

  "Don't tell me she got married, too?"

  "She's eight. Maybe nine by now. Beaut brown eyes and pigtails."

  "And what happened to her?"

  "She and her mother are traveling, although I don't know just where. There's been some sort of trouble in her past. I only hope she's free from it now."

  "And then there's Dillon Ward."

  He sipped his wine and tried not to read more into her expression than what was really there. "Then there's me."

  "And what's changed for you since the hurricane?"

  He couldn't explain. He knew he had grown lonelier, more dissatisfied with his life. He knew he had been touched by the warmth of the love of friends, and that somehow it had opened a place inside him that needed more than friends could ever give him. But he didn't know how to explain that to Kelsey. Or how to explain that he didn't believe that place would ever be filled.

  "Dillon?" she coaxed when he had been silent for a time.

  "I suppose it's made me curse the miner's life a time or two," he said finally. "But I'm a miner, and a miner I'll stay."

  "It's not a prison sentence," she said gently. "Last I heard, Australia wasn't a penal colony anymore."

  "But opal is a prison warden, and once you've gone underground, there's no escape."

  She didn't understand what he was really saying, but she suspected he had said as much as he would. "Tell me about the opal you wear around your neck."

  He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the heavy gold chain so that the uncut chunk of opal could glisten and wink in the candlelight. "It's the first good nobby I ever found. I don't know what it would be worth if it was cut and polished, but it's worth more to me this way. My first piece of rainbow fire."

  Kelsey reached across the table to finger the large stone. She still knew little about the worth of opals, but she suspected Dillon was wearing a small fortune around his neck. The stone was alive with color. "You must keep it in a safe when you're not wearing it."

  "I wear it all the time." He grinned. "Superstition."

  "I thought the superstition was that opal was unlucky unless it was your birthstone."

  "In ancient times opal was a gem of good luck. Worn on a man's chest it was thought to strengthen his heart and endow his body with vitality. At one time or another it was thought to shield the wearer from harm and intrigue."

  She shook her head regretfully. "I don't think that part's working, Dillon."

  "Perhaps not, but there's always my favorite superstition."

  She lifted a brow in question.

  "A man who wears opal, uncut opal particularly, will be lucky in love. The woman he desires will fall into his arms."

  Kelsey dropped her head. "You made that up."

  "Did I?" Dillon toasted her with the last of his wine. "You might have to do some research to find out."

  She was sure she knew just what kind of research he had in mind. Strangely enough, the idea warmed her blood a degree and sent her heart racing. Kelsey picked up her glass and silently toasted him back.

  Dessert was amaretto cheesecake served with espresso. The meal ended right along with the last Puccini aria, and Dillon and Kelsey heaped praise on a blushing Giorgio and a proud Anna before they left.

  Outside, the starlit sky held no traces of clouds. The air was clear, the wind nothing more than a cooling breeze. Only the dust sti
ll blanketing cars and streaking windows was a reminder of the storm.

  Dillon walked Kelsey to the ute, his hand at the small of her back in a seemingly innocent gesture. Kelsey felt his tension, however, and knew that he was alert to every sound, every shadow. She felt his protection not as an insult, but as the support it was meant to be. Dillon protected her because he cared about her, not because he didn't feel she could take care of herself.

  "It would help, wouldn't it, if we just understood why someone was trying to kill us," she said.

  "I'm not sure someone is," Dillon said, his eyes scanning the far corners of the street. "But if he keeps it up, he might succeed without half trying."

  "You mean you think someone is just trying to scare us?"

  "I think he's either ambivalent or a right poor shot. He aims high, stops after a shot or two and disappears."

  "What about the snake?"

  "There was an excellent chance I'd find the snake before he found me. I think our town terrorist is a gambling man."

  "He pushed my father down the shaft."

  "I think he meant to kill Jake." Dillon opened the ute door and waited until Kelsey was safely in before he went around to his own side. "And I think he's killed before."

  For a moment she wasn't sure she'd understood. "Killed before?"

  "Jake's not the first victim of violence here. We've had two unsolved murders in the last year. One was an old prospector name of Fred Haskell. Everyone here called him Fizzle Fred, because every lead he ever got on a new field was a fizzle. Old Fizzle Fred never went underground to find his fortune, he just wandered the countryside boring an occasional hole but mostly looking for a place where the opals lay on top of the ground, just for pocketing. He had an old brumby, a wild horse he'd saved from dingoes once up in the Territory, and he'd load that brumby down with supplies and wander miles out into the never-never until he had to come back for more. Sometimes it would be three months or four before anyone saw him. One day eight months ago or so, about a week after he'd loaded up with supplies in town, somebody saw his brumby running loose, pack still tied to his back. We found old Fizzle Fred a few days later."

  Kelsey shuddered. "Dead?"

  Dillon nodded. "A miner came back from holiday and found Fred's body down his main shaft. Some said he'd gotten desperate and was trying to rat opal, but I know Fizzle Fred had never been down a shaft in his life. Told me once that he couldn't stand a closed-in place. Too much like a crypt."