her parents—well, her stepfather—a couple of years or so ago in an accident. He was killed instantly, and her mother was so badly hurt she never walked again.’
Niko said harshly, ‘Damn.’
‘Yes. Elana was with them—they were hit head-on by an out-of-control truck.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘She was lucky—not too much in the way of injuries, but she had to leave a good job in Auckland to come home and look after Mrs Simmons—her mother. She died after a stroke about six months ago.’ He paused. ‘Hell of a shame for Elana to come across young Jordan like that.’
Niko looked towards her car. Elana was still groping around in the front seat, presumably searching the bag she’d carried—a little satin thing that didn’t look big enough to hold the keys to any house. Frowning, he watched her straighten up and step back, bag in hand.
He turned to the constable and extended his hand. ‘I’m Niko Radcliffe from Mana Station.’
‘Yeah, I recognised you from the photos in the local newspaper.’
They shook hands and turned to watch Elana walk back, clutching her bag, her face drawn and taut.
Niko opened the passenger door of his car. When she hesitated he said, ‘Get in.’
Lips parting, she gave him a dark look, but clearly thought better of whatever she’d been going to say and obeyed, after thanking Phil Whoever-He-Was.
‘I’ll go and have a word with the fire brigade,’ Niko told her, and closed the car door on her.
Turning away so she couldn’t hear, he said quietly to the cop, ‘I’ll also ring my housekeeper; she’ll stay the night and will keep an eye on her.’
The constable nodded. ‘Great. She shouldn’t be on her own. I’ll get in touch with you when I know young Jordan’s condition.’ He paused, and gave a brief smile. ‘But watch out for fireworks. Elana’s pretty independent.’
However, when Niko returned to his car after being reassured that the leaking petrol was no longer a danger, Elana Grange looked far from independent. Eyes closed, she was leaning back in the seat, and even in the semi-darkness he could see that the colour hadn’t returned to her face, and that her hands were clenched on her bag as though reliving the impact of a crash. A pang of compassion shook him.
* * *
At the sound of the opening door Elana forced up her weighted eyelids and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks,’ she said, adding, ‘I didn’t realise just how—how affected I’d be by this.’
‘Accidents are always difficult to deal with, and for you now, I imagine much more so.’
So Phil had told him. She blinked back shaken tears. ‘I thought—hoped—I’d got over it. The shock, I mean.’
Only to fall to pieces... Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever recover from the tragedy of her parents’ deaths.
‘Give it time,’ Niko said as he set the car in motion. ‘It’s a truism, but time does heal most things—eventually.’ He paused before adding, ‘And if it doesn’t entirely heal, it usually provides the ability to cope.’
Surprised, she looked up. His angular sculpted profile and the tone of his voice made her wonder if he’d discovered this for himself. Immediately she chided herself for her self-absorption. She wasn’t the only person in the world to be forced to live with unexpected tragedy. Other people had even worse events in their lives, and managed to overcome their impact.
In a small voice she said, ‘I just miss them so much.’
To her astonishment he dropped one hand from the wheel and closed it over hers. Although strong, his grip was warm and strangely comforting.
‘That’s the worst part,’ he told her, releasing her cold fingers. ‘But eventually you’ll learn to live without them. And to be happy again.’
His pragmatic sympathy warmed some part of her that had been frozen so long she’d come to take it for granted. Had he too suffered a loss? Possibly. However, she wasn’t comfortable discussing her grief with a man she didn’t know, even though the events of the evening somehow seemed to form a link between them.
Opening her eyes, she gazed ahead as the headlights revealed paddocks and fences and the sweep of a bay.
‘Hey!’ she exclaimed. ‘Stop!’
‘Why?’ He kept on driving towards Mana homestead.
‘You’ve gone past my gate. Sorry—I should have told you where I—’
‘I know where you live.’
After digesting that she fought back bewilderment to demand, ‘Then why did you drive past?’
‘Because I agree with your policeman friend. You shouldn’t be on your own tonight.’
Silenced by a mixture of shock and outrage, she opened her mouth to speak, only to have her throat close and the words refuse to emerge.
The man beside her went on, ‘I called my housekeeper and she’s preparing a bed for you.’ And without pausing he added on an ironic note, ‘I’m sure there will be a lock on the door. If not, you’ll still be quite safe.’
Stung, she blurted, ‘I didn’t—I wasn’t...’
Housekeeper? Did he travel with a domestic ménage? Although various tradesmen and decorators had been working on the sadly neglected and almost derelict Mana homestead for some months, local gossip hadn’t mentioned a resident housekeeper.
Perhaps Niko Radcliffe guessed her thoughts, because he said calmly, ‘I assume you know that the house is still being restored, although fortunately it’s almost finished.’
Elana drew in a sharp breath. ‘It’s been the talk of the district since you bought the station.’ Along with the huge amount of money he was spending on the house as well as the land itself. ‘But I’m perfectly all right—a bit shaken, that’s all. I don’t need to be cosseted.’
‘Your policeman friend didn’t seem to think so.’
His amused tone rubbed her raw. ‘Phil’s a nice man but he’s always had an over-developed protective instinct. There’s no need for you to wake up your housekeeper and put her to this trouble.’
‘She’s another with an over-developed protective instinct,’ he said laconically, turning the wheel to swing between low stone walls. For years they’d proudly guarded the entrance to Mana homestead, but now more than a few of the volcanic boulders had tumbled to the ground.
No doubt they’d soon be put back in place.
Above the clatter of the cattle stop, Elana said grittily, ‘I—thank you.’ In his forceful, domineering way, Niko Radcliffe possibly thought he was being neighbourly.
‘It’s nothing.’
His tone told her that, indeed, he meant just that. Because, of course, his housekeeper would be the one who did any actual caring—not that it would be necessary.
She
