Breaking Free

“I was standing right there.”

He sipped his coffee, realizing he’d underestimated this woman. “It was a B&S ball,” he said. “Being held out on one of the farms north of here. They’re—”

“Bachelors and Spinsters. I know what they are. People dress up in fancy gowns and gumboots or whatever, drive for miles to some really isolated rural area, sit in some shed or paddock in mud or dirt and drink a ton of beer from kegs around a big bonfire while decked out in all their finery.”

This time he did smile. “And then they do burnouts in their parents’ sports utes on some poor farmer’s field.”

“Great big drunken orgies,” she said.

His jaw tensed.

“I’m not surprised a father wouldn’t want his teenage daughter to go. I wouldn’t either.” She assessed him quietly for a moment. “Does her mother have a say?”

He raised his brows. Megan was fishing. And very directly so. “Her mother hasn’t been around for the last ten years,” he said carefully.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She walked out one night, never looked back.” He swallowed the last of his coffee. “She’s a big-shot interior designer in London now. Exactly where she wants to be.”

“And you?”

He got up, feeling intensely uncomfortable. “I’m also exactly where I want to be,” he said, scrunching his cup and tossing it forcibly into the rubbish bin.

She watched him, her curiosity clearly piqued, and the fact she was personally interested in him sent a hot frisson through Dylan’s gut. Discomfort, or pleasure, perhaps an odd mix of both—he couldn’t be sure.

“You’ve been with the Pepper Flats station awhile, then?”

“Ten years.”

“That is a long time.”

He knew what she had to be thinking, that someone of his age and tenure should be working higher up in the Land Area Command, or handling one of the big-city beats. Not manning a rural three-man station.

Truth was he’d had it with metropolitan policing. His stint with the Sydney narc and homicide squads had eaten up his life like a cancer, sent his marriage down the tubes, and he’d had his fill of the grit, the death, the drugs, the graveyard shifts and overtime. Marriage problems on those beats were an occupational hazard. His had been no exception. Sally’s affair on top of the usual stress had been the real killer.

Dylan had taken a demotion in order to move his young family back to the Hunter Valley, where he’d hoped to make a last-ditch go of his relationship with Sally. He’d wanted to give his kid a life—a yard, a dog, a swimming pool, access to the bush. Country values.

As unconventional as it sometimes seemed these days, he’d always dreamed of an honest-to-God traditional family.

Perhaps it was because his own family had been decimated in childhood.

Hell alone knew why, but it was what he wanted, and he’d taken the career-killing move to do it.

He’d stayed for all those same reasons, for Heidi, even when Sally couldn’t hack it. He inhaled deeply. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Megan Stafford all that.

“I believe in community policing, Megan,” he said simply. “I believe in this town.” He checked his watch, and got up, suddenly needing space. He’d said too much. It was fine for him to ask questions—that was his job. But her asking questions felt personal. Too personal. And this woman made him want to share. That freaked him. He never shared this stuff.

“It’s got to be tough,” she said. “Being a single parent.”

“Why? You have kids?” he answered much too aggressively.

She snorted softly. “No, I don’t. But I was a fourteen-year-old girl once. So I do know something about that.” She looked up at him and smiled a smile that made Dylan’s heart tumble in spite of himself.

“And I had a father. A real alpha dad who pretty much wouldn’t let me do anything.” She regarded him with a shrewdness that wormed way too close to home. “He’d have liked to have kept his ‘baby’ girl in cotton wool for the rest of his life…” Her voice caught, a poignancy crossing her lovely features, and then she gave a half shrug. “He never got that chance. I lost him when I was about your daughter’s age.”

Dylan immediately wanted to ask what had happened, but just then the ward doors swung open with a crash, and the surgeon came striding out, removing his mask.

Megan surged to her feet, reached her hand out, and for an insane second Dylan thought she was going to grasp his own for support. But she caught herself, wrapping her arms tightly over her stomach instead. He was even more stunned to realize he’d have welcomed her touch, taken hold of her hand in that moment, and comforted.

That knowledge made his heart hammer, soft and steady, as he searched the approaching surgeon’s features for a sign of positive news.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Dr. Jack Burgess said with a warm smile as he neared.

“Oh, thank God!” Megan cupped her hands over her mouth, her eyes shimmering with emotion as they flashed to Dylan’s. But she froze at the look on Dylan’s face.

He knew why.

His cop mask was back, the moment between them lost to the night.

She turned back to the surgeon. “What exactly happened?” she asked.

“She had a myocardial infarction—your basic heart attack,” he said. “We performed an emergency angioplasty, inserting two drug-eluting stents, which are basically little medicated wire baskets that will help keep the arteries open. As long as Louisa rests and takes regular medication, she could be up and about within three or four days. It’s a fairly common procedure, and recovery is generally swift.”

“When can I see her, talk to her?”

The doc smiled at Megan. “You can see her now. The process was done under local anesthetic using a catheter inserted into her left femoral artery. But we did sedate her, so she’ll be a bit woozy.”

“So you expect her to be discharged in about four days, then, Jack?” Dylan asked. He was on first-name terms with the doc, as he was with most people in town.

“We may want to keep her under observation a little longer because there were a few minor complications. Otherwise, yes, about four days. She’s a fighter. But—” He directed a warm grin at Megan again, which for some reason irked Dylan. “That’s going to be part of the problem. Louisa needs to relax, and you’re going to have to be there to make sure she does, Megan.”

“What…kind of complications?” she asked.

“Her white-cell count was a little low, so we’d like to watch that—keep an eye out for infection at the site of insertion. We also want to make sure there are no drug interactions, but we should know more when Patrick gets back. And we want to watch for internal hemorrhaging. The potential for another heart attack still remains with this procedure, which is why she must stay calm.”

Dylan cleared his throat. “And when will she be fit to see me, doc?” he asked, feeling Megan’s eyes boring hotly into him.

The surgeon pursed his lips, his brow furrowing slightly. “You mean…in a professional capacity?”

“She remains in police custody.” Dylan raised the papers in his hand. “I do need to officially charge her as soon as—”

Megan whirled to face him. “You cannot possibly still be thinking of charging her?”

“—as soon as she’s well enough,” he finished his sentence, eyes remaining firmly on Jack.

“I’d wait until tomorrow, Dylan,” said the surgeon. “Check in with me then and I’ll be in a better position to make a judgment. Now—” he smiled again “—if you’ll both excuse me, I do have another patient. Megan, Jenny will show you to Louisa’s room. If you have any questions, ask her. She’ll page me if it’s urgent.”

“Of…of course. Thank you, doctor.” She spun to face Dylan as the surgeon left. “You’re insane.” She glowered at him. “I want to know how on earth you can think Louisa burned that barn full of horses? What makes you so certain she killed a man?”