Southern Star: Destiny Romance (14 page)

Desperately, he ran his hands across the gauzy fabric of the red dress, then down to her hips. She was whimpering continuously now. It sounded like, ‘Please, please no.’ Knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop himself, Mac hauled her into his arms, holding her close, his mouth pressed to her hair, whispering assurances. It was then he saw the blood on the ground beneath her.

Teeth clenched, he found a dry patch of ground and eased down with her head on his shoulder, pushing the dress up to her thighs. Blood smeared the length of them, drenching the bikini briefs she wore. As he watched, he saw her belly contract, her fingernails dig into the ground as she shuddered and cried out. And he knew.

‘Please, no,’ she muttered brokenly. ‘Make it stop, Mac.’ Against him she twisted half into the foetal position. His hands covered hers as they slid between her legs in an instinctive, futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

As the rain fell in a steady damp curtain all around, all Mac could do was hold her, whisper useless reassurances, and pray that the ambulance arrived before it was too late.

Blaze knew before she opened her eyes that she was in hospital.

The smell of antiseptic was overlaid with something floral. She felt a little floaty and could easily have sunk back into the nothingness that was so much better than the dragging, cramping pain, but she’d always been a sucker for flowers. Perhaps Mac had brought her more pansies.

Turning her head towards the scent, she saw it was a striking blue hyacinth in a pot. Not the kind of flowers a man gave a woman he was involved with. She closed her eyes and turned her head towards the window. She could hear the steady fall of rain, the ping as it hit the gutters, the gush as it overflowed. And she could hear breathing that wasn’t her own.

With some effort, she forced open her eyes again to meet the eyes of the tall, dark man who stood in front of the window, staring at her.

‘Mac,’ she whispered, her mouth curving in a sleepy smile, glad that he was here. He was so tall, so handsome, she thought. More a man than any she’d known before. ‘Why are you all the way over there?’ she whispered. But he didn’t come any closer, making her frown. Why was he standing there, so distant?

‘Mac?’ Her voice wavered.

‘I’ll get someone for you.’ His voice was cool and remote as he pushed away from the wall.

‘Mac?’ She tried to reach for him as he rounded the bed on his way to the door, but her body was too slow to obey. The door opened and shut and he was gone.

Alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t stop the on-rush of reality. Fragments of events at the waterhole spun unchecked through her mind: the tidal wave of cramps and that awful clawing sensation. In shock, she put her hands on her belly, but instinctively she knew the baby was gone.

Numb with grief for the tiny life extinguished almost before it had begun, she stared for long moments at the door, hoping beyond hope that Mac would return. When it was clear he wasn’t coming back, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when the nurse came in.

She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to talk. She just wanted Mac with her, strong and indomitable, a shield against the devastation that threatened to consume her. Eventually, when she did sleep, she dreamt she was running endlessly, searching and calling for an elusive child that she could never quite find.

The next time she woke, the room was empty, the blind up and the sky beyond washed clean of colour. Instantly, she put her hands on her belly, knowing even as she did so that it was over. Before she’d even had a chance to accept it as reality, it was gone. Like a dream that fled with morning’s approach.

Dry-eyed, she stared around the clinical hospital room. The hyacinth had moved to the table at the end of the bed to make room for a spray of blush-pink peonies. Awkwardly, she reached out for the card, saw that they were from Rowdy and Marianne, and that they were thinking of her. Did they know, she wondered?

And where was Mac? He’d been here. And he’d been with her there, by the waterhole, holding her, crying with her. Or had that just been the dream?

A nurse bustled in, her eyes brightening when she saw Blaze was awake. ‘Good, about time we opened our eyes. Now we must want to pee about now, I’d say. No, don’t get up.’

‘I want to,’ Blaze said hoarsely. She pushed herself into a sitting position despite the tut-tutting of the nurse, and let the woman help her across to the small adjoining bathroom, where she saw to her immediate needs. Fresh pads had been placed thoughtfully on the counter and she used one, and wished she was up to a shower. But she was feeling tired again already, so she gave herself a cursory wash, trying to ignore the white face and shadowed eyes reflected in the mirror.

When she went back into the room, the nurse had changed the sheets and was plumping the pillows. With efficient kindness, she helped Blaze back into bed, pressed a glass of apple juice into her hand and held out a couple of tablets. ‘For the discomfort,’ she told Blaze. ‘Now,’ she said, after Blaze had dutifully swallowed them. ‘You know what happened, don’t you?’

Blaze nodded and looked away towards the window.

‘Now, we mustn’t think we’re to blame. The doctor’s looked you over, and you’re in tip-top health. A little underweight in my book, but perfectly healthy. We’ll keep you in one more night just to be sure there’s no infection. The bleeding should be over within a week or two, and in a month you can try again if you feel ready.’

When Blaze didn’t respond, she sighed and patted her hand. ‘Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?’

Blaze thought of Mac and shook her head. What could she say to him?

‘We have a counsellor you can see,’ the nurse continued.

When Blaze shook her head again, she sighed. ‘Maybe later, then. Now, are you up to seeing the nice policeman who’s waiting to speak to you? And then we’ll see about feeding you.’

Startled, Blaze went to ask what he wanted, but the nurse was already opening the door and ushering in a tall, serious-looking man of about her own age with brown curling hair and grey-blue eyes. A uniformed female police officer stood by the door.

‘Ms Gillespie.’ The man shook her limp hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ryan, and this is Constable Mayhew.’ He nodded in the direction of the policewoman. ‘How are you feeling?’

Blaze just nodded and he sat down in the visitor chair by the bed. ‘Do you remember what happened yesterday?’

‘Yesterday?’ Blaze frowned.

‘Yes, when you . . .’ He studied her face. ‘You were out of it for a while. It’s now two-thirty on Monday afternoon.’

Blaze lifted a hand to her head. ‘I remember feeling tired as I was driving home from town to Sweet Springs. My property.’ Closing her eyes, she tried to remember, but everything was blurry and mixed up.

She opened her eyes. ‘Why are you here? I don’t understand.’ She thought of Paddy, felt her eyes mist. ‘You don’t think I did something to —’

Ryan raised a hand. ‘No, of course not. And before we go on, can I say how sorry we are for your loss.’

Blaze stared at the wall.

‘What happened when you got home?’ Ryan asked.

‘It’s all a bit vague. I was feeling pretty worn out. And I drove home, and something happened.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I heard Paddy kicking up a fuss, the dog. He was barking, snarling, and I found him at the waterhole, trying to stay afloat. I tried to reach him in time, but I was so tired, and he was so heavy.’

‘What happened then?’ the policeman prompted.

‘There was metal around his legs, a chain, dragging him down. He was so heavy and I couldn’t save him. I got him out, but he was . . .’ She looked away from the inquisitive eyes of the detective. ‘I was too late.’

Ryan looked startled, and shook his head. ‘No, Ms Gillespie, your dog’s fine. He’s recovering at the vet’s. Rowdy Parsons reports he’s doing well, wanted you to know.’

‘Paddy?’ Blaze stared at him with astonishment. ‘He’s all right?’

‘Why, yes.’ The policeman smiled at her, but his eyes were still cautious and curious. ‘Your dog is going to be right as rain.’

Blaze wanted to cry suddenly, but not yet, not in front of strangers, and not in this cold, clinical room.

Detective Sergeant Ryan leaned forward a little. ‘How did the chain get around your dog?’

‘I don’t know,’ Blaze told him with some heat. ‘It must have been deliberate, but I can’t think of anyone . . . I mean Paddy hasn’t done anyone any harm.’

‘Perhaps he’d been in trouble with farmers in the area? Chasing livestock, that kind of thing?’

Blaze shook her head. ‘Macauley Black’s the only property anywhere near Sweet Springs, and he would have . . .’ She remembered Paddy trying to take a chunk out of Mac that day in her study, but things had moved on since then. She’d have known if he harboured a grudge against Paddy, and anyway he wasn’t the type to drown a defenceless animal.

‘What?’ Ryan prompted.

‘Nothing. Mac . . . Mr Black would have told me if there’d been an issue with Paddy. I really have no idea who’d try to do that.’

‘Do you remember what happened after you got the dog out?’

‘I think so. I felt very unwell.’ She put a hand on her belly. ‘And so weak I couldn’t get out of the water.’

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘Maybe.’ Blaze frowned. ‘It’s all a bit fuzzy after that. I thought I saw someone, but I can’t . . . and I think Mac . . . Mr Black was there.’

‘Macauley Black found you. He called me at around 6 p.m.’

Blaze nodded.

‘Well.’ Ryan stood. He took a card from inside his jacket and placed it next to the peonies. ‘My number’s on there. Call me if you think of anything.’

Detective Sergeant Ryan gave a cursory single knock on Jean Elsom’s door and walked straight in. It always amazed him that anyone could keep their office so tidy. Perhaps it was easier when you
had
an office, instead of the ridiculous cubicle that was all peasants like him were permitted. Except for a neat stack of files and an expensive-looking pen, it was empty. Her PC sat on a credenza off to the side, and there was no in-tray in sight. But Ryan wasn’t fooled; she kept her finger on the pulse.

Intelligent brown eyes glanced at him as he slumped in the visitor’s chair and tugged his tie loose. ‘Well?’ she asked.

Ryan shrugged. ‘Not what I imagined, I have to admit.’

‘What did you imagine?’

‘Someone a little larger than life. She actually seemed more fragile than sexy.’

The neatly plucked brows rose slightly. ‘You surprise me. Isn’t she supposed to be the most sought-after woman in Hollywood?’

‘That’s Angelina Jolie, I think.’

Inspector Elsom waved an impatient hand. ‘Well, anyway?’

‘She couldn’t tell us much. Got home, feeling unwell, and saw the dog was in trouble. Went in after him and couldn’t get out. She was genuinely concerned for the dog. Didn’t even realise the mutt had survived. Got a bit teary.’

‘Well, anyone would be shaken after a near-drowning.’

‘Except she didn’t. Nearly drown, I mean.’ Ryan smiled. ‘This is why you pay me the big bucks. Or should.’

‘I’m listening.’

He sat forward. ‘Well, by the time I got there she was already in the ambulance. I didn’t get to talk to her, and Mac was pretty shaken. He said something about pulling her from the water and getting her back to the house, not much more. But there was blood at the scene, both at the waterhole and at the house. Quite a bit. And nurses do like to gossip.’

‘Cut to the chase, Detective Sergeant.’

‘Blaze Gillespie had a miscarriage yesterday, complicated by heatstroke and dehydration. She was pretty out of it for a while.’

That got a reaction from his boss, who stood up and paced from one edge of the desk to another before pinning him with those shrewd brown eyes.

‘The dead gay boyfriend? Redmond?’

‘Oh, no.’ Ryan grinned. ‘Boy, am I good! The nurses described it as a

first-trimester deal. That means—’

‘First three months. I have had a passing acquaintance with pregnancy.’ She tapped her fingers. ‘When did Gillespie arrive in Queensland?’

‘Six weeks ago. That baby was almost certainly conceived after she got here!’

‘Interesting, very interesting if you’re the editor of a gossip rag.’ She stopped pacing. ‘But we’re cops, and scandal – however salacious – is irrelevant. Unless it relates to the case.’

‘Gillespie has a fling, dumps the guy,’ Ryan speculated. ‘He retaliates by trying to kill her dog. I don’t want to press her so I thought I’d take a ride out Macauley Black’s way. See if he knows who she’s been seeing.’

‘All right.’

Ryan stood to go. He was at the door when his boss’s voice stopped him. ‘And careful how you handle it, Andrew. You’ve got a conflict here.’

‘What do you mean?’ He frowned.

‘Macauley Black is a friend.’

‘So?’

‘He may be more involved in this than you imagine.’

If one more person spoke to her as if she was a mentally unstable three-year-old, Blaze thought she would scream. Visits from Rowdy, Marianne and young Trent had brightened her afternoon and provided a welcome distraction from the sense of numb shock. Rowdy reassured her that Paddy would be fine, and as he was ready to leave the vet’s, he would be a guest at Rowdy’s for the night.

He beamed at her, evidently thrilled that his little household was now three strong – if only temporarily – as Marianne would also move in that evening. Blaze took Rowdy’s enthusiasm as a good sign that he and Marianne were getting along. And Marianne seemed to have picked up an admirer in young Trent, if his sidelong glances at her were anything to go by.

From the conversation, it was clear that they had no idea of the real reason for her stay in hospital. They seemed to think she’d been injured rescuing Paddy, and Blaze went along with it.

Later, Stella also stuck her head around the door, after getting off the late shift at the airport, and promised to go by the house tomorrow to collect some clean clothes and toiletries for her. Blaze thanked her for the hyacinth, as a nurse shooed her out the door at the end of visiting hours.

By ten it was clear. Mac wouldn’t be visiting tonight.

Later, when the hospital was quiet, she broke the rules and checked her mobile, which she’d found, charged, in her bag in a drawer. There was a message from Jax telling her to check her emails for an updated script for
Siren
, but nothing from Mac.

Reasons swirled around her mind. He had a million things to deal with at the station. He wanted to talk to her in person. Or maybe blamed her for the situation or he didn’t know what to say. Any of them had validity if she was talking about any man other than Mac. If Mac had something to say, he’d say it, however difficult.

She was sure he knew. He was around female animals all day every day, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew. Maybe he just needed time; that she understood. Even if he was ready to talk, was she? Probably not just yet. And not in such a public environment.

She spent her second night in hospital dry-eyed but sleepless, and got up before anyone could stop her to take a shower and wash her hair. The nurse came in, saw her damp hair and tut-tutted, but Blaze told her the bleeding had lessened, she felt fine and she would be going home. When Stella arrived that afternoon with a bag of her clothes, Blaze was grateful to change into loose yoga pants and a baggy top. Stella helped her wrap the flowers and plant and pack up her things, and carried everything to the car for her.

She’d been less than three days in hospital. There was no permanent damage, just an unfortunate experience. It happened to thousands of women every day and they got over it. She would, too, she told herself. Apart from a few hospital staff, Mac and the police, no one knew or needed to know. It would be easy to get on with her life, especially with so much to look forward to.

With one ear, she listened to Stella’s easy chatter about her colleagues and family, conversation that didn’t require much more than a nod or a question to keep it going, kilometre after kilometre. Blaze found herself drifting off, and kept herself awake with thoughts of the progress Rowdy would have made, and the screenplay for
Siren
that had begun to get under her skin over the past days. But nothing seemed quite able to hold her attention, and her mind drifted from one thought to the next, until her eyes closed and she dozed.

A gentle shake from Stella woke her as they pulled to a stop at Sweet Springs, which was unusually quiet for early afternoon when Rowdy was normally on-site.

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Stella said, following Blaze inside with her bag and the flowers. ‘Trent said that he and Mr Parsons are in town to order supplies this afternoon. They thought you could do without all their drilling and sawing. Mr Parsons will bring Paddy over tomorrow morning, so you can just rest.’

‘Oh.’ Blaze stood at a loss in the entrance hall. She’d hoped there would be questions to answer, problems to deal with, a dog to make a fuss over.

‘Now, why don’t you go and sit down while I make you a cup of tea? No,’ she protested when Blaze went to show her the kitchen. ‘I can work out where everything is. I’ll take your bag up first, though.’

Feeling a little useless, Blaze dutifully did as she was told. The old living-room sofa, comfortably saggy, moulded to her shape, and within minutes she was so deeply asleep that she didn’t hear Stella set her tea down on the coffee table. Nor did she hear her close the front door gently behind her two hours later.

When she woke it was late afternoon and she felt the grogginess that comes after sleeping half the day away, coupled with a lethargy that made her want to drag herself upstairs and spend the rest of it in oblivion, which was ridiculous. This morning’s wait in hospital had driven her insane. She’d been dying to get out of there and back home so she could do . . . something. And now she was here, she just wanted to pull the covers over her head.

Determined to complete one task, however small, she dragged herself into the study, meaning to review the changes to the screenplay. The original should have been on her desk where she’d left it earlier in the week, but it wasn’t. She’d spent days poring over it, jotting down questions in the margin and notes on how various scenes could be played. It should have been right next to her laptop, but she’d been so tired and muddled recently. Perhaps she’d left it somewhere else. Tomorrow she’d find it and compare it to the revised version Jax had emailed to her.

It was an effort to get upstairs, and by the time she got to the top, she felt shaky and pathetically weak. In the bathroom, she steadied herself against the vanity while she cleaned her teeth. She looked impassively at her reflection, which was even worse than expected. The shadows around her eyes looked like bruises, there was a livid scrape down her neck and her hair had lost its usual lustre, but right now she didn’t care.

When she staggered into her bedroom, she barely managed to get into her nightdress before she fell into an exhausted sleep full of dreams of lost children with blank stares and holes where their eyes should have been.

From Rosmerta’s front steps, Mac watched the tail-lights of Andrew Ryan’s police-issue vehicle disappear down the driveway. When the car was out of sight, he drained his beer and then launched the bottle viciously at the corner of the house, venting some of the fury that boiled inside.

‘Shit!’ he muttered under his breath when the bottle duly shattered. He’d have to pick up the pieces before he turned in, in case one of the property’s working dogs sliced open a paw, but he felt marginally better for the brief explosion of violence.

He’d never had to lie to the cops before, but he’d come precariously close tonight. It was only because Ryan was a friend and quite obviously reluctant to interrogate him that Mac had been able to fudge some of the answers. Did he know who had been the father of Blaze Gillespie’s miscarried child? No, he didn’t. If it hadn’t been for their first impetuous night, he would have been one hundred per cent sure it wasn’t him, but the possibility – though unlikely – was there and it was killing him. But the question that stuck in his head, going round and round on a loop, wasn’t one that Ryan had asked. Why hadn’t she told him?

She was home now at Sweet Springs, Ryan had informed him, and the impulse was there to drive over and make her tell him the truth. If the baby had been his, how could she not have told him?

In his mind he caught a fleeting image of a dark-haired scamp with Blaze Gillespie’s devil-may-care gold eyes and a cheeky dimple all his or her own. God knows, any child of hers would be a hellion.

What right did she have to keep something like that from him? he raged. Whether or not it was his, they’d been sleeping together. Or maybe that had been the plan: to use him as stud service.

As soon as he’d thought it, he rejected the idea. It simply wasn’t her style. True, he’d only known her for a short time, but Blaze Gillespie didn’t strike him as a user, any more than she was a killer. Okay, she was an actor, but at some point she would have hit an off-note, and he’d have spotted it. Wouldn’t he?

Christ! He rubbed a hand across his face. Thank God Beau had started this week, otherwise with all the distractions the station would really be up shit creek without a paddle. And talking of creeks, there was also the issue of who in hell had tried to drown the damn dog. Ryan had even broached the question of whether Blaze herself was responsible, but it just didn’t make sense and he’d told the detective so. Why adopt a stray only to turn around and do that to the poor bloody animal?

But all the rest of it paled next to the possibility that he’d lost a child before he even knew of its existence. He had to know. He
needed
to know. And only Blaze could tell him.

He was halfway to Sweet Springs before he brought his truck to an abrupt halt at the realisation that she might well tell him the child hadn’t been his. And what the hell would he do then?

So the cat was really among the pigeons now. The plan had been just to mess with the slut’s head a little more while she was out, shift some things around, take a look at what she was up to. But then the dog had appeared and, well, you had to take your opportunities where you found them. Animal was too stupid to know he was being lured to his death by his own pet food!

It probably wasn’t wise to have hung around for so long watching the mutt whining and flapping around, being slowly sucked under, but it sure had been enjoyable. And then for the bitch to arrive home and try to rescue the damn thing, nearly drowning in the process, was a real bonus.

True, the animal hadn’t died, but there would be other times, other opportunities. And more care would have to be taken in the set-up. After all, what was the point in the bitch dying too soon? No, she had to suffer first, and when it was her time to die, she’d beg for it.

In the meantime, there was a script to read. From an initial scan, it was another whore role. Once a bitch, always a bitch.

The next morning, a door slammed, Rowdy’s voice sounded indistinctly and a cacophony of joyous barking followed him into the house. Blaze spun around from her vague contemplation of the mug of coffee in her hands, and only just set it down on the kitchen table in time as Paddy launched himself towards her.

‘Down, boy. Down. Don’t you know your manners?’ Rowdy puffed. But if Paddy did, they’d been forgotten in his happy reunion with his mistress.

‘Oh, you gorgeous boy. I’m so happy you’re all right.’ She knelt down so he could cover her face with doggy kisses. A tear ran down her cheek, and was swept away by Paddy’s rough, damp tongue. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you.’

Unsteadily, she got to her feet, while he pressed himself adoringly to her leg. ‘Or without you,’ she said to Rowdy as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the bench. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’

‘Might as well have one stray as two. This one’s far less trouble.’

That didn’t sound good. ‘Is Marianne settling in?’ she enquired with as much delicacy as she could muster this early in the morning.

Rowdy shook his head in baffled bemusement. ‘Why one slip of a thing would need all those clothes, especially when she soon won’t fit into them, I don’t know.’

Blaze smiled. ‘It’s a girl thing. Trust me. Otherwise okay?’

‘Picks at her food.’ He sounded miffed. ‘I keep telling her she needs to eat for two. Worried about putting on too much weight.’

‘I’m sure her doctor will keep an eye on her health.’

‘The young fella’s got his eye on her. Turns the colour of a tomato when I catch him eyeing her up.’

‘Trent?’ Blaze clarified. ‘Yes, I thought there was something there. And she could do a lot worse. He’s got a solid head on his shoulders.’

‘Well, she deserves someone decent after the bastard who knocked her up.’ Rowdy’s voice took on a bit of heat. ‘She’s a nice kid as teenagers go. Invited me for supper last night, she did. Cooked a fair meal even if she did eat like a bird. Talked a bit about how she’s going to fix the place for when the baby comes. Might be I could help her with a few things on weekends.’

‘That’d be nice,’ Blaze felt a sharp pang of envy. If things had been a little different, she, too, would have been nesting in a few months. She shoved the thought back in its box. It just wasn’t meant to be, that’s all. Not right now, anyway.

‘How are you feeling?’ Rowdy asked.

‘Happy to be home.’

‘Well, you take it easy,’ he told her. ‘You heard any more about the bugger that nearly got old Paddy here killed?’

‘No.’ Blaze shook her head. ‘I haven’t heard anything from the police since they interviewed me at the hospital, but I can’t imagine they’d put much work into an attack on a dog.’

Rowdy grunted. ‘Could be right, especially when they’ve still got to catch the low-life who put Peg in hospital.’ He topped off his mug with the last of the coffee. ‘Ryan was over at Rosmerta yesterday, so they say. Don’t know what they were talking about, but I figure if he wasn’t picking Mac’s brains about a possible connection between what happened to poor Peggy and the near-miss with Paddy, he should be. Any animal – sorry old fella.’ He stooped to scratch Paddy behind the ear. ‘
Anybody
that would do that to Peg could easily have tried to drown Paddy, too.’

‘Well, if it was the same person, they were long gone by the time Macauley Black found Paddy and me. I don’t know what he could tell them.’ Blaze frowned, trying to remember what had happened that afternoon. It seemed like a dream now, hazy and confused. Had she seen someone darting away when she was trying to rescue Paddy? Or maybe it had just been Mac looking for her? She shook her head. Something was there, lurking just beyond recall.

‘If Mac wasn’t the straight-up bloke he is, coppers’d be looking at him,’ Rowdy mused.

‘What?’ Blaze was shocked. ‘Why?’

Rowdy shrugged, put his empty mug down and stood, ready to start the day’s work. ‘Cops don’t like coincidences. I watch those crime shows and I know how it goes. First attack happens at Mac’s place, but he doesn’t hear it. Why?’