High-Stakes Bride

Roger Wells inclined his head. “Mrs. McKay, Dani.”

Becca made a face. Dani killed any hint of a smile and kept her gaze fixed on the collar of Wells’s pristine white shirt. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket today, and looked younger and a lot more casual than he had the previous evening. With an effort, Dani made polite conversation, but her replies were forced; Wells represented the bank. No matter how charming, she couldn’t get past that fact, or the fear that missing that mortgage payment engendered. Besides, he was just a little too smooth-tongued for her liking.

Nola appeared at the screen door with a tray. Wells did the gentlemanly thing and opened the door then lifted a hand as he strolled back to the office.

Becca fanned herself. “Looks like you’ve got yourself an inside track there, girl. From what I hear, Wells is single, lonely and alone.”

Nola set the tray on the table with a sharp tap. “Better not let Carter catch him chatting you up.” She threw a dismissive glance at Wells’s retreating back, her voice pitched loud enough to carry. “Man must have a death wish.”

Dani’s jaw clamped. “Carter and I are finished. We’ve been finished for months.”

Nola’s expression didn’t flicker and Dani had to wonder if she’d even heard.

A latte was placed in front of Dani, a small star-shaped biscotti and a sachet of sugar placed neatly on the saucer. “Let’s hope he knows that.”

Becca lifted a brow. “If I were you, Nola, I’d start worrying about it when it becomes your business.”

Nola’s head swivelled. Her gaze settled on Becca like a pair of twin lasers, old issues bubbling to the surface. “All I’m saying is it’s a shame that boy has to come back from almost being killed and find out his girlfriend lost interest while he was lying in a hospital bed.”

Dani ripped open a sachet of sugar and emptied it into her cup. “Like I said before, we broke up before he left. And he’d been gone about eight months before he hit the hospital bed.”

“Hmmph.” Nola turned on her heel.

Becca let out a breath. “She didn’t know that.”

Dani shrugged. “Neither did I, until I talked to Gladys Hainey at the supermarket.”

Becca lifted her cup and took a reflective sip. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Dani lifted a brow. “But—?”

Becca grinned. “Uh-huh. Impossible.”

Dani cradled her cup between her fingers, and transferred her gaze to the view. The small cove the town was built around was sheltered, with rock promontories at both ends, a pretty stretch of shelly beach and enough deep water that fishing boats could tie up at the jetty. “Better drink up before Nola comes back to clean the table. You might have forgotten who owns this café, but I haven’t. Closing time could be any second.”

“Talking about closing. I heard the Barclays’ barn caught on fire last week. According to John, they lost a shed full of plant.”

Dani tensed, the memory of the fire and the swiftness with which it had spread, eating through steel and timber, wasn’t one she’d forget in a hurry. “I was there—for an appointment. The building was already ablaze when I drove in the gates. By the time the Fire Service got there it was too late, the building had burned to the ground. Luckily they’re covered by insurance.”

Twenty minutes later, John arrived to pick up Becca.

Becca eased to her feet, grimacing as she rubbed the small of her back. “Brunch. Next Sunday?”

“It’s a date.” Becca’s leisurely brunches were legendary, and usually peopled with an eclectic, sometimes oddball mix of characters. Whenever an invitation was issued, Dani always turned up. If the food itself was plain, it was a certainty the company wouldn’t be—and, as it happened, Becca was a fabulous cook. All the years she’d spent travelling hadn’t been wasted. She spoke several languages and cooked with inventive gusto. It was one of the things Nola just didn’t get about Becca—she didn’t see the interesting woman behind the pretty face.

Dani finished her coffee, hitched the strap of her purse over her shoulder and walked back toward the supermarket where she’d parked the truck. As she passed the alley that led to the back of the café, she paused. She could smell smoke.

A fragment of blackened paper with a glowing orange edge swirled in the breeze. The wisps of smoke thickened. Frowning, she stared down the narrow, potholed lane, reluctant to trespass. Nola wouldn’t thank her for poking around her property, but she couldn’t just walk away without investigating. Not after what had happened to the Barclays’ barn. From what she knew of the layout of the shops that fringed the beach and the conglomeration of houses and flats built behind them, the buildings were too close to allow for any activity like burning rubbish.

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