by Margaret Way
They went back to Dolly’s, where Lana ordered iced coffee for both of them, and two “slivers” of orange-almond cake. “My shout!”
“Please let me pay for myself.” Nyree wanted to.
“Won’t hear of it!” Lana smiled, showing beautiful white teeth, perfectly straight.
Their order arrived. It took Lana only two minutes more to get down to the real business of the day. “When are you moving out of the big house?” she asked, giving Nyree an encouraging look. “You can’t stay there for ever, you know.”
“I’m aware of that, Lana,” Nyree answered. “It’s scarcely my intention anyway. Only the cyclone threat has brought it about. Brant and the Contessa didn’t want me at the farmhouse. It was worrying them. They’ve been very kind to me.”
“Why wouldn’t it worry them, silly girl?” Lana exclaimed. “Foolhardy in the extreme! Good heavens, you could get raped.”
Nyree set down her long spoon. The iced coffee was very good. “I don’t think anything like that was ever going to befall me. Obviously you haven’t heard I had two big Dobermans standing guard.”
“And that made you feel safe?” Lana’s brows shot up superciliously.
“Why wouldn’t it? They would have eaten anyone who posed me a threat. Even Cat would have gone for them with her claws. I was perfectly safe. But I didn’t like the idea of worrying the Contessa at this particular time.”
“Ingratiated yourself with her, have you?” Lana laughed with open contempt.
That clarified matters. The gloves were off. “What is it you want to say, Lana?” Nyree called on her grandmother’s tone. She could do it at will. “Spit it out before it chokes you.”
It clearly wasn’t what Lana had expected her to say, or said in the way she’d thought. “Hey, drop the tone!” she exclaimed in shock. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” She kept her voice low. “What I want to say is this. Don’t turn those big brown eyes on Brant. It will bring you no good, only heartache. Brant is mine. He knows it. I know it. Everyone approves. He will marry me. He will only trifle with you. Who are you, anyway? A no one—the great-niece of the town drunk. What a pedigree! I know Brant feels responsible for you. You are young. But for your own self-respect, my dear, you have to move on. Sell the farm. You’ll get a good price. After that, go as far away as you can. There’s nothing for you here.”
“Really?” Nyree began to delve into her tote for her wallet. “It’s a free country. It follows I can roam freely. Is there a threat mixed up somewhere in there, may I ask?”
“Are you serious?” Lana looked taken aback. “I’m not threatening you. I suppose I’m doing Brant’s job for him. He’s confessed he doesn’t have the heart to tell you himself. That’s men for you. You’ve charmed his grandmother, but you haven’t charmed Brant to the point where he doesn’t want you off his hands. He does. More importantly, he wants the farm. One no-account person and you’re holding up the whole project. It will be marvellous for the town—and the whole of the North.” She leaned further across the table, her expression earnest. “If you’d like to borrow some money until such time as the farm is sold I can lend it to you. It would be strictly between the two of us. I feel for you. I want to help.”
“If that’s the case, you’ll help by shutting up,” Nyree responded, laying money on the table. “If Brant wants me gone, he’ll tell me. He doesn’t need you or anyone else to do his dirty work. I’d say he’d be very angry if I told him what you’ve had to say today.” She stood up, hoisting her tote over her shoulder.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Lana flashed, a kind of violence in her eyes.
Nyree leaned down, perhaps risking scratches. “No way I’d tell you. And no way I’ll tell him what you’ve had to say. So you’re safe.”
She could see, deep down, that Lana Bennett was a very unhappy person. She wasn’t about to add to it. If Brant loved Lana Bennett so be it. There was nothing Nyree could do.
Except mourn.
Maybe Great-Uncle Howard’s unhappy experience had put a hex on her?
Cyclone Callie swept in from the sea. Driven westward by the easterly trade winds, it struck the town of Laguna, some forty miles north of Hollister, right on midnight. Torrential rain was falling all over a vast area. A natural occurrence in all tropical areas of the world, cyclones, hurricanes, typhoons brought with them wild destructive winds, damage to life and property, as well as major flooding. The continuing monitoring of the status of Laguna said it was not as severe as had been expected. Though badly affected, the town and the surrounding district were not damaged at the level everyone had feared, the reason being Cyclone Callie had been downgraded from a Category Five to a Four, weakening to Three.
Buildings had lost roofs, power lines were down, and the electricity supply was cut in some areas. There was widespread flooding, with many roads impassable. Mercifully none were dead, none missing—a few non-life-threatening injuries. The town had been well prepared, but they still needed help from the emergency services as well as from trained volunteers.
Brant had long since made his decision to go. He would take the helicopter and land it on any section of the highway or the town that had been left high and dry, taking medical supplies, food and bottled water. He was guaranteed to be met by emergency personnel in one of their Land Rovers.
“I’ll come with you,” Nyree said, determination and willingness to help visible in every line of her. “I can be of service. People need looking after—the old, the children. I can be there for them, even if it’s only minding the kids or making tea and sandwiches.”
Brant shook his head, dismissing the idea out of hand. “It won’t be any picnic,” he told her, too adamantly for her liking.
“Who’s expecting a picnic?” Nyree was nearly dancing up and down in frustration. “I’m coming, Brant. Stop treating me like I’m a child.”
His brows met. “I’m not, Nyree. Honestly I’m not. It’s just—” He was so damned protective of her. Over-protective, perhaps?
“Let her go, my darling,” the Contessa intervened, laying a hand on her grandson’s arm. “You’re concerned, I know, but Nyree is a very capable young woman.” The whole household had learned that.
“There—you see!” Gratitude to the Contessa flashed from Nyree’s dark eyes. “I’m no child. I’m a capable woman. The Contessa has said so. What more do you want?”
“Dear Lord!” Brant groaned, putting a hand momentarily to his temple. “Women!”
“You can’t wrap me up in cotton wool!” Nyree cried, confronting the issue head-on. It was something he had done from the day he had met her. Her mind had to scurry away from what that meant. No time to explore now. She was still feeling raw from her confrontation with Lana Bennett.
The Contessa was laughing quietly, her still brilliant eyes moving between the two of them “My feelings exactly. Your grandfather adopted the same attitude with me, Brant. It was infuriating.” She turned to speak directly to Nyree. “You have got to be well wrapped up, though. Oddly, it can turn very cold with the rain. You’ll need a raincoat and gumboots, of course, and a good tight cap that will come down over your head.”
“Thanks for supporting me, Alena,” Brant said, very dryly indeed. “If things worsen it could turn into bedlam, you know.”
“Have you forgotten all the young women who served so bravely and competently at the front line?” replied the Contessa, who had seen many sad and tragic things in her life.
“No, I haven’t,” Brant conceded with a sigh. “But I don’t want to take Nyree into any kind of danger.”
“Where you go, I go,” Nyree said, as though that settled it.
She turned on her heel before he could say another word. She needed to hunt up the necessary gear. She already knew where it was kept. Something was bound to fit her.
They were met, as promised, and driven into town, flood waters gushing away in a rippling tide from the tyres of the big four-wheel drive.
“If y
ou want to be helpful, go to the town hall,” Brant instructed, already in the thick of it. This wasn’t his first rescue mission by any means. He had been at it since his teens. The town hall was where those evacuated from their homes had gathered, as pre-planned.
“I’ll take you.” Managing a smile, an exhausted-looking woman in her forties came forward to take hold of Nyree’s arm. “Good of you to come. We need all the help we can get. The name of Hollister is revered around here. Are you family, dear?”
Nyree shook her head. “Family friend.” She was—no matter what Lana Bennett had said.
The size of the crowd of displaced people, and the howling of the frightened children brought tears to Nyree’s eyes.
“I’ll get right in there and see to the kids,” she said promptly. “They look like they desperately need comfort.”
The woman nodded her approval. “Their dads will be out helping. Their mums are already flat out trying to feed everyone. I’m Heather, by the way.”
“Nyree.”
The two women shook hands. “I’ll go and join the tea and sandwiches brigade,” Heather said. “You see what you can do for the kids. It would be good if you could find a way to keep them entertained. There are story books, paper, crayons—all that sort of stuff. The library is right alongside, with easy access between the two buildings.”
It was almost like being back at school again, with Nyree Allcott, Head Girl, organising all the lower grades for Sports Day. In no time at all she decided to set up a kids army—a stroke of luck, because the idea immediately took hold. Howling stopped in sheer surprise as the children were organised into grades. Responsibilities were handed down the line. Older, more capable-looking boys and girls acted as group captains, answerable to Nyree, who elected herself Commander. That brought lots of giggles. She had taken off the beanie so her hair sprang around her lovely face and down her back in a wildly curling glory. This added immeasurably to her success—and to the piquancy of her title.
There was no shortage of food and drink: muesli bars, sandwiches, fruit, biscuits, bottled water, and chocolate to keep spirits up. Quizzes were held—Nyree making sure they were all questions adapted to the age group—then art competitions, singsongs. The sound of young voices soaring soothed the nerves of the townswomen, all close to exhaustion point. Knowing their children were safe and happy in Nyree’s care allowed them to get on with their more pressing workload.
By the afternoon of the following day Nyree too had reached exhaustion point. The ferocious winds had died away. Rain was still falling—but nothing to compare with the great deluge of two nights before. Everyone inside the town hall was safe. The men out in the thick of it—coming in relays for the quick restorative of a cup of tea and something to eat—were all accounted for.
Nyree hadn’t caught a single glimpse of Brant, though she had been assured many times he was safe. Clearly she had her anxiety written large on her face.
“He’s a real hero to us folk in the North,” the Mayor’s wife told her with a kindly, curious eye. “A real man of the people. A great guy. He’d be a darn good Prime Minister. We’d all be behind him.”
With the worst of it over, the children who had been behaving so well started to get noisy. They wanted to get out! Out into the fresh air.
“I’ll take over from you, Commander.” A fourteen-year-old boy, a born leader, elected Group Captain, came to her side, carrying sandwiches and a pot of tea on a tray. “You’ve done a great job. You must be clean out of puff.”
“Just a little, Ian,” Nyree drew a shaky breath. “Thanks for this.” She had dossed down with the children, but found herself unable to sleep. For most of the night she’d kept looking towards the entrances, hoping Brant’s tall figure would move into the main hall.
All she wanted now was to sight him. She wanted to put her arms around him. Hug him. Tell him she was so proud of him—like everyone else.
She was returning her tray to Heather when Heather’s husband, covered in thick streaks of mud and slime, made his way towards his wife, grasping her shoulder as though about to fall down. It was clear he was in a state of shock.
Something had happened. For a minute Nyree crouched over like a woman in pain. She was assaulted by anxiety, but determined to find out the cause of it. She set the tray down, then nimble-footed made her way out onto the street, staggering a little with tiredness. The rain was coming down heavily, but she cared nothing for that. She wore only a yellow tank top and jeans, trainers on her feet. She’d been hot and sticky in the hall, but now her hair and clothing were already sopping wet. She saw a man coming towards her—a volunteer worker, a big, tough-looking man in easily identifiable orange gear. As she got close he appeared to be on the verge of tears.
“Is something wrong?” She caught hold of his arm, staring into a blackened, oil streaked, strained face. “Please tell me. I came with Brant Hollister.”
“Right!” The man made a huge effort to pull himself together. “You shouldn’t be out here, miss. I’m sure Mr Hollister is all right. He’s been a tower of strength. One of our mates has been killed. Right at the end!” he exclaimed bitterly. “He lost his footing and fell back against a power line. A dreadful accident. He’s got a wife and kids.”
Most probably among the children she had sought to entertain, Nyree thought with real grief. “I’m sorry. So sorry. But I have to find Brant.”
“Go back into the hall, love,” the man advised, his voice breaking. “Nothing you can do.”
“Thank you.” Her hand went out to him, trying to offer some comfort. “But I have to find Brant.”
“Then look for the ambulance,” the man told her, realising she was dead set on her task. “They’re taking the body away. You’ll most likely find Mr Hollister there.”
The minute she saw him Nyree felt such relief. If something had happened to Brant…! It didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t think she could survive such a tragedy. She rushed forward to meet him—only one of the men had caught sight of her and immediately told Brant. Instantly he turned, tall and powerful, moving with cat-like grace and purpose amid the mayhem. They met up halfway, and Brant caught hold of her and whirled her about.
“I want you to go back to the hall,” he ordered, undoing his yellow oilskin and fitting her under it. “I’m all right. Poor devil lost his life. A hell of a thing to happen. We’re moving him now. A tragedy. He lost his footing through sheer exhaustion. We were all aware of the fallen power line.”
“I’m so, so sorry!” She held on to him for dear life. “Promise me you’ll take good care, Brant? Promise!”
“With a reception like this?” Her words reverberated in his very soul. Turquoise eyes ablaze, he hugged her rain-soaked body to him. “Ask one of the women to find you some dry clothes. I’m here for at least another night, but I’m pretty sure I can get you out. A lot of people will be able to go back to their homes. The water is subsiding fast. The lucky families will rally around their neighbours. Mercifully the sand bags held. It’s not nearly as bad as was first feared. No arguments now,” he said, as she went to protest. “Just do what I ask, Nyree. I’ve heard all about your splendid efforts with the kids, but I can see you’ve used up your strength.”
They were back under cover of the town hall building. Brant released her from her cocoon, only to pull her back into his arms “Hang in there, Commander,” he said, half teasing, wholly proud. “You’ve been very brave.”
“Of course I haven’t.” Her teeth began to chatter. Every muscle in her legs and back ached from fatigue and sleeping on the hard floor of the hall.
“Oh, Nyree!” With a groan he lifted her clean off her feet, planting a long, deep, possessive kiss directly on her mouth.
Plenty of people would have seen it, would be ready to pass the news on. But Brant either didn’t give a damn or actually wanted people to see them together. A couple. No one could possibly kiss a relative or family friend like that!
“Get changed,” he ordered
. Then he turned and disappeared again into the rain.
“The long wait’s over!” Heather touched Nyree lightly on the shoulder. “You’d better come along with me and get dry, dear,” she said, with understanding and kindness. “I know what it’s like to wait for your man.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE’D BEEN told to frighten her. Just that. Not to touch her. That had been made very plain. Just give the little fool a good fright, then get the hell out of there. The money was too good to refuse. He’d get it when the job was done. He hadn’t had work—hadn’t tried all that hard—for a good eighteen months. The stash on offer would tide him over Christmas and the New Year. He’d been just long enough in the town to know the score. He’d even seen his little victim. Hell, what a beauty! He licked his lips. It was going to be very hard for him to get close to her, albeit wearing a balaclava, and then switch off. But he knew if he disobeyed orders he would be hunted down like a rogue dingo. His client was one of the North’s mega-rich. A good-looking bitch, but he thought her appalling. Jealousy was such a curse. And women were the worst of all…
The moment Brant was inside the house, he went in search of his grandmother. They weren’t expecting him until the following day, but the emergency services had the situation well in hand.
Alena drew him into a loving embrace. “So good to have you home again, my darling. Nyree has been like a cat on a hot tin roof.”
Instantly he felt the quickening in his body. “Where is she?” He didn’t look in the least worn out, as well he might, but brimming over with life.
“She went into town.” Alena smiled, reading him well. “A few little errands for me. So considerate! I have two grandchildren these days. She was heading out to the farmhouse afterwards.”
“Oh, no!” Brant groaned. “I wanted her here. Safe. Not at the farmhouse. Not without the dogs.”
“Don’t overdo the protectiveness, my darling,” Alena warned. “Nyree won’t sit still for it. She’s a young woman of spirit. She’s at the farmhouse to say goodbye.” Alena reached up to pat his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for feeling so protective. Just ease up a little. She’s young, but she’s up to whatever you want of her. Why don’t you take a run out there when you’re ready?”
