fire chief sparkled with mischief. ‘Mr Sanderson.’
The fire chief gave a brief grin. ‘Why am I not surprised to find you trying to put out a fire with nothing more than a garden hose?’ he asked in a not quite fatherly tone before turning to Cade.
The farm manager introduced them and, as they shook hands, Cade said, ‘It didn’t take you long to get things under control.’
Hugh Sanderson nodded. ‘Easy enough when you’ve got the men and the equipment. However, I’ll leave a gang here to keep an eye on it. Just as well you both kept at it—probably saved a lot of destruction. Do you know how it started?’
‘Ms Angove’s theory seems logical,’ Cade told him. ‘All I saw was smoke in the sky.’
She flashed a green-gold, glinting glance at him as she explained what she thought had happened.
‘Yeah, that would be it.’ The fire chief indicated the sign that announced a total fire ban. ‘Some idiots think a fire on the beach doesn’t count. Thanks for keeping it away from the bullrushes—although I damn near had a heart attack when I saw you two trying to put it out.’ He transferred his gaze to Taryn. ‘No more heroine stuff on my patch, all right? If that fire had got into the rushes you’d have been in serious trouble, both of you. You OK?’
‘Fine, thanks.’ Her radiant smile made light of smoke stains and sweat.
The older man grinned. ‘You never were one for keeping out of mischief. Patsy was just saying the other day she hadn’t seen you for a while. Come and have a cup of tea with us when you’re in town next.’
Cade waited until they’d gone before asking thoughtfully, ‘What sort of mischief did you indulge in?’
She flushed a little, but laughed before explaining, ‘When we first came to Aramuhu I was twelve, and I’d spent the previous eleven years living with my parents on a yacht in the Pacific. Fruit grows wild in the islands and I was used to just picking something off the nearest tree whenever I was hungry. At Aramuhu we lived for a few months next door to Mr and Mrs Sanderson and one day I took a cherimoya from his orchard.’
‘Cherimoya?’
‘It’s bigger than an apple, sort of heart-shaped with bumpy green skin. Cousin to a custard apple.’ Her voice sank into a sensual purr. ‘They have the most delicious taste in the world. My mother marched me over to apologise and offer to work to pay for it. Mr Sanderson decided I could weed the garden for an hour, but once I’d done that he gave me a bag of them to take home. Even when we moved to a new house he made sure we were supplied with ripe ones in season and he still likes to tease me about it.’
Cade wondered if that husky tone was reserved for fruit, or if she murmured like that when she made love. His body tightened—and then tightened again for an entirely different reason at another thought.
No doubt Peter had also found that sleepy, sexy note both erotic and beguiling.
In an ironic tone that banished the reminiscent softness from her expression he said, ‘Ah, small town life.’
‘Where everyone knows your business,’ she agreed with a swift, challenging smile. She focused her gaze behind him and he looked over one shoulder to see a racy red car hurtling boisterously down the road.
When he turned back she was frowning, a frown that disappeared when she asked, ‘Did you grow up in a big city, Mr Peredur?’
‘I was born in one, yes.’ When taken away from his mother, he’d been living in the stinking backstreet of a slum. ‘I’m going back to the beach house now. The invitation to swim is still open.’
And waited, concealing his keen interest in her answer.
She hesitated, then said lightly, ‘I’m sticky and hot and I’d love a swim, thank you. I’ll follow you in my car.’
‘Right.’
Taryn watched him stride towards his Range Rover, long legs carrying him across the sandy ground in lithe, easy paces.
In a word—dominant. He compelled interest and attention by sheer force of character.
The swift fizz of sensation in the pit of her stomach startled her, but what made her increase speed towards her own car was the arrival of the one driven by a journalist for the local newspaper, an old schoolfellow who’d made it more than obvious that he was angling for a relationship.
Although she’d tried as tactfully as she could to show him she wasn’t interested, Jason didn’t seem to understand.
She fought back an odd clutch of apprehension beneath her ribs when she saw the possessive gleam of his smile as he swung out of the car, camera at the ready.
‘Hi, Taryn—stay like that and I’ll put you on the front page.’
‘I’ve done nothing—showcase the men who put out the fire,’ she returned. From the corner of her eye she noticed that Cade Peredur had opened the door of his vehicle, but not got in; he was watching them across its roof.
‘Babe, they don’t look anywhere near as good as you do.’ Jason gave a sly grin and lifted the camera.
‘No.’ She spoke more sharply than she intended.
He looked wounded. ‘Oh, come on, Taryn, don’t be coy—we’d sell a hell of a lot more issues with you in those shorts on the front page instead of old Sanderson in his helmet. How about coming out with me tonight? I’ve been invited to a soirée at the Hanovers’ place and they won’t mind if I bring along a gorgeous girl.’
‘No, thank you,’ she said, keeping her voice even and light.
‘Going to wash your hair, are you? Look,’ he said, his voice hardening, ‘what is it with you? Think you’re too good to go out with an old mate now, do you? I’m not trying to get into your pants, I—’
He stopped abruptly as a deep voice cut in. ‘All right, Taryn?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ she said quickly, adding rather foolishly, ‘Jason and I went to school together.’
‘Hey,’ Jason exclaimed, ever the opportunist, ‘you’re Cade Peredur, aren’t you? Mr Peredur, I’m Jason Beckett from the Mid-North Press. Can I ask you a few questions about the fire?’
‘The person to tell you about it is the fire chief,’ Cade said evenly. He looked down at Taryn. ‘You go ahead—I’ll follow.’
‘OK,’ she said, fighting a violent mixture of emotions.
Cade watched her walk across to her car and get in, then looked down at the reporter. Yet another man smitten by Taryn Angove’s beauty; he should feel a certain amount of sympathy for the good-looking kid even if he was unpleasantly brash.
Instead, he wanted to tell him to keep his grubby hands and even grubbier statements to himself, and stay away from her if he valued his hide.
Shrugging, Beckett said, ‘Well, that’s women for you, I guess.’ He produced an ingratiating smile. ‘Are you planning to buy Hukere Station, Mr Peredur? I’ve heard rumours of development, a farm park
