Deadly Intent. Valerie Parv
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“You think I live the way I do to avoid taking on responsibility?”
“Don’t you?”
He made a harshly dismissive sound deep in his throat. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
She started to turn away. “You’re right, I don’t.” And if she were wise, she would keep it that way.
His fingers clamped around her wrist leaving a smear of oil like a handcuff. “Such slim wrists,” he said unexpectedly. “Beats me how you pack so much muscle into such a slight body.”
If looks could kill, he would have been ash where he stood. “Aren’t you afraid of snapping such fragile bones?”
At her sarcastic tone, his mouth tightened. “I know precisely how much pressure I’m applying.”
So did she. Her whole body quivered with the awareness of his touch. Trying to shake him off would only betray his effect on her, so she schooled herself to stillness. “I prefer wiry to slight.”
He eased his thumb over her pulse point, making her wish she could slow the frantic beat by willpower alone. “Wiry, then. I like a woman with good muscle tone,” he said.
As if she kept herself fit to please him. “You didn’t always have so much muscle of your own to throw around,” she snapped.
Cruel, she told herself when she saw his dark lashes veil those memorable eyes. “Malnutrition does that to you,” he said.
She placed her hand over the one holding her. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled-for. I shouldn’t have reminded you.”
He looked down at their joined hands and an odd light flickered over his rugged features. “You didn’t have to. Some things you never forget.”
Her sigh gusted between them. “Ryan, why do we strike such sparks off each other?”
“I’m not complaining, if the alternative is indifference.”
He could make her mad as hell, dizzy with laughter and aching with other things she refused to name. The one thing she could never be around him was indifferent. “Are you saying you like it when we fight?”
“It’s communication, isn’t it?”
Her nod conceded his point. “Not very constructive communication,” she observed.
He released her hand slowly, as if reluctant to do so. “I don’t know. We’re getting the transmission filter changed.”
Other things were changing between them, too, although they were harder to pinpoint. She fell back on the superficial. “At this rate, it will be dinnertime before the job’s done.”
In tacit agreement, he dropped to the ground and shimmied back under the car and she heard the sound of bolts being tightened. Anticipating what he’d need next, she hunted around for a long-necked funnel and the AFT fluid. By the time he stood up again and was ready to let the car down, she had them handy.
She watched as he fed fluid into the filler tubes. His moves were sure and capable. She’d also seen him handle a horse and rope cattle with the best of them. “Why haven’t you bought your own land?”
“Didn’t suit me.”
“To be tied down?”
Fluid slopped over the funnel, earning a muttered oath. “Have I ever questioned how you run your life?”
“Not for a long time.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t criticizing. I care about what happens to you.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
She was glad his attention was on his task so that he didn’t see her recoil in distress. “What makes you think I don’t?”
He turned his head, his gaze sharpening. “If you did, you’d ask what’s going on in my life instead of constantly jumping to conclusions.”
“You could simply tell me.”
“I could.”
But he wouldn’t, she heard. Annoyed at being put on the defensive, she examined her conscience. Had she jumped to conclusions about him? Perhaps he had a million dollars stashed away and chose to knock around the outback for pleasure, like the American billionaire she remembered reading about. Getty? Rockefeller? One of them, anyway.
Somehow, she doubted it. “Ryan,” she said on impulse, “If you were really rich, would you use your money to help Dad save Diamond Downs?”
“He wouldn’t permit it,” he said, avoiding the question.
At his signal, she got into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. “But you would be willing to try?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
She pulled the gearshift down through each gear in turn, allowing the fresh fluid to circulate through the transmission. “You do know we have less than a month to either pay off Max Horvath or find Great-grandpa’s diamond mine?”
Ryan pulled out the transmission dipstick and inspected it critically. “According to Blake and Cade, Max is in financial trouble up to his neck and his creditors are pouring on the pressure. From what I’ve heard about Max’s character, he could be even more dangerous with his back to the wall. But the wet season is going to make it hard to find anything in the area Blake and Jo mapped out.”
She nodded. “Especially if the mine is where they think it is, underground near Cotton Tree Gorge.” Jo Francis was a journalist who’d been working with Blake on a story when she’d tumbled into a hidden valley trying to elude one of Max Horvath’s henchmen. The ancient rock paintings they’d noted were placed high above the valley floor, indicating the dangerously high levels the creek flowing through it could reach during the monsoon rains. Diamond Downs had already tasted the fury of the rains soon to come, and the wet season still hadn’t started in earnest.
She could only pray the Wet would hold off long enough for her and Ryan to look for the mine. If they didn’t find anything…resolutely she pushed the thought of failure out of her mind. Not only her father’s life, but the only thing besides Des’s family that mattered to him—his land—was at stake. They couldn’t afford to fail.
Ryan swiped the dipstick with a clean rag and replaced it, then pulled it back out. “Close to full?” she asked.
“A quarter inch away from the full mark, close enough,” he agreed.
She got out as he began to check the radiator hoses and clamps. For a beat-up old car, it was in surprisingly good running order, she noted. Under her hand the engine had positively purred. Why drive a car that looked as if it was about to fall apart at any moment, yet keep it practically in racing condition? Another piece of the Ryan puzzle, she decided.
She leaned on her arms on the car body, angling in under the hood to watch him work, finding more enjoyment than she wanted to in his easy movements.
The thought disturbed her enough to say, “Why don’t we decide right now what we should do about finding the mine. Save us having to go out to eat later.”
His wry look raked her. “Jumping to conclusions again, Judy? Don’t you think I can afford to buy you dinner?”
From the look of him, a hamburger would stretch his resources. Then she considered what he’d said about asking first. “Can you?”
“I may have trouble servicing the bank loan, but I’ll manage somehow.”
Masking her irritation at the blatant mockery in his tone, she smiled. “Then we’d better find the diamonds soon.”
He replaced the dipstick and reached to close the hood, forcing her to jump out of the way. “Not on my account.”
“Won’t you feel better knowing Dad’s future is safe?”