The Far Side of Paradise

She thrust the hose into his hands and commanded brusquely, ‘Keep directing it anywhere the flames try to get away. If they make it to those bullrushes the whole place will go up. I’ll wet my towel and have a go at it from the other side.’

‘Get dressed first,’ he suggested, turning the pathetic dribble of water onto the flames.

She gave him a startled look, then nodded briskly. ‘Good thinking.’

Taken aback and amused by her air of command, Cade watched her race across to her car to haul on a pair of inadequate shorts and a T-shirt and jam her feet into elderly sandshoes. Only then did she sprint down to the waves to wet her towel.

A sudden flare almost at his feet switched Cade’s attention, but as he sprayed water onto it he wondered why on earth he was bothering. It was a losing battle; a wet towel would be as useless as the meagre trickle from the hose. Yet clearly the woman had no intention of giving up and doing the sensible thing—getting out of there before the fire made retreat impossible.

Cade admired courage in anyone, even reckless, blind courage. She might have lit the fire, but she was determined to put it out.

When she came running up from the shoreline she thrust the heavy, sodden towel into his hands. ‘I’ll take the hose—you’re stronger than me so you’ll be more efficient with this. Just be careful.’

The next few minutes were frantic. And hopeless. Working together, they fought grimly to hold back the flames but, inch by menacing inch, the bright line crept closer to the stand of bullrushes, pushing first one way and then, when frustrated, finding another path through the long, dry grass.

‘Get back,’ Cade shouted when flames suddenly flared perilously close to those lithe bare legs. Two long strides got him close enough to put all his power into beating it out.

‘Thanks.’ Her voice sounded hoarse, but she didn’t move, directing that inadequate spurt of water with a stubborn determination that impressed him all over again.

She looked down at the towel, which was beginning to scorch. ‘Go down and wet the towel again.’

‘You go.’ Cade thrust the towel into her hands and grabbed the hose from her.

Sensibly, she didn’t waste time in protest, turning immediately to run across the sand.

His foster-mother’s influence was embedded so deeply he couldn’t evade it, Cade thought wryly, stamping out a tuft of grass that was still smouldering. Women were to be protected—even when they made it obvious they didn’t want it.

He glanced up the hill. No sign of the fire brigade yet. If they didn’t appear damned soon he’d grab the woman and, if he had to, drag her away. It would be too late once the bullrushes caught; they’d be in deadly danger of dying from smoke inhalation even if they took refuge in the sea.

Panting, she ran up from the beach and almost flung the dripping towel at him. Her face was drawn and smoke had stained the creamy skin, but she looked utterly determined. Clearly, giving up was not an option.

Cade said abruptly, ‘The brigade should be here soon,’ and hoped he was right.

His arms rose and fell in a regular rhythm but, even as he beat out sparks along the edge of the fire, he accepted their efforts were making very little headway. No way could they stop the relentless line of fire racing through the grass towards a stand of rushes so dry their tall heads made perfect fuel.

If they caught, he and the woman would have to run, but not to the cars. The beach would be their only refuge.

Once the fire got into the coastal scrub it would take an aerial bombardment or heavy rain to put it out. The cloudless sky mocked the idea of rain, and a helicopter with a monsoon bucket would take time to organise.

And if the wind kept building, the blaze would threaten not only the beach house he’d rented, but the houses and barns around the homestead further up the coast. Cade hoped the farm manager had warned everybody there to be on the alert.

A muted roar lifted his head. Relief surged through him as the posse from the station came down the hill on one of the farm trucks, almost immediately followed by two fire engines and a trail of other vehicles.

‘Oh, thank God,’ his companion croaked, a statement he silently echoed.

Taryn had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. Smoothly, efficiently the firemen raced from their vehicles, the chief shouting, ‘Get out of the way—down onto the beach, both of you.’

She grabbed a bottle of water from her car and headed across the sand. Without taking off her shoes, she waded out until the water came up to her knees, and only then began to drink, letting the water trickle down a painfully dry throat.

Heat beat against her, so fierce she pulled off her T-shirt, dropped it into the sea and used it to wipe herself down. The temporary coolness was blissful. She sighed, then gulped a little more water.

The stranger who’d helped her strode out to where she stood. ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded.

He was so tall she had to lift her face to meet his eyes. Swallowing, she said hoarsely, ‘Yes. Thank you very much for your help.’

‘Go easy on that water. If you drink it too fast it could make you sick.’

Taryn knew the accent. English, clipped and authoritative, delivered in a deep, cool voice with more than a hint of censure, it reminded her so much of Peter she had to blink back tears.

Not that Peter had ever used that tone with her.

The stranger was watching her as though expecting her to faint, or do something equally stupid. Narrowed against the glare of the sun on the sea, his disconcerting eyes were a cold steel-blue and, although Taryn knew she’d never seen him before, he looked disturbingly familiar.

An actor, perhaps?

She lowered the bottle. ‘I’m taking it slowly.’ Stifling a cough, she kept her eyes fixed on the helmeted men as they efficiently set about containing the flames. ‘Talk about arriving in the nick of time!’

‘I wouldn’t have thought the village was big enough to warrant a fire station.’

A note in his voice lifted tiny invisible hairs on the back of her neck. He was very good-looking, all angles and strong bones and lean distinction. Not exactly handsome; that was too neutral a description for a man whose arrogantly chiselled features were stamped with formidable self-assurance. His aura of cool containment was based on something much more intimidating than good bones. An odd sensation warmed the pit of Taryn’s stomach when she met his gaze.

Unnerved by that flinty survey, she looked away, taunted by a wisp of memory that faded even as she tried to grasp it.

‘They’re a volunteer group.’ She took refuge in the mundane and held out her bottle of water. ‘Would you like some?’ Adding with a wry smile, ‘I’ve wiped the top and as far as I know I have no diseases you need worry about.’

‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ he drawled, not taking the bottle. ‘Thanks, but I’ve already had a drink—I brought my own.’

Stick to social pleasantries, she told herself, rattled by a note in his voice that came very close to mockery. ‘Thank you so much for helping—I didn’t have a hope of stopping it on my own.’

‘Didn’t it occur to you that lighting a fire in the middle of a drought could be dangerous?’

No, not mockery—condemnation.

Controlling an intemperate urge to defend herself, Taryn responded evenly, ‘I didn’t light it. I came down for a swim but before I got that far I noticed someone had had a fire on the beach above high tide mark to cook tuatua—shellfish. They didn’t bother to put it out properly with sea water so I hosed it down, but a spark must have lodged somewhere up in the grass.’

‘I see.’

Nothing could be gained from his tone or his expression. Stiffening, she said coldly, ‘As soon as I saw smoke I rang the emergency number.’

‘Ah, so that’s why they arrived so quickly.’

Screwing up her eyes in an effort to pierce the pall of smoke, she said, ‘It looks as though they’re winning, thank heavens.’

Heat curled in the pit of her stomach when her gaze met his, aloof and speculative. Something in his expression reminded her she’d been clad only in her bikini when he’d arrived. And that the shorts he’d ordered her to get into revealed altogether too much of her legs.

Shocked by the odd, primitive little shiver that tightened her skin and set her nerves humming, she looked away.

He asked, ‘Are you a local?’