By Request Collection 1. Jackie Braun

she fired back. ‘Like wait for ever?’

      He slammed his head back against the door in frustration. The sound echoed in the courtyard above the shouted instructions of the firefighters and the police. She was right. He should have been here sooner. This was his responsibility, not Bronte’s. ‘I’ll call the police,’ he said, bringing out his phone.

      ‘Everything happened faster than the boys expected,’ Bronte explained as he cut the line. ‘The barn went up like a rocket, and there was no time for them to get away before the police arrived, and so they hid in here. I just dropped the latch.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have chased them.’

      ‘What did you expect me to do? Stand around sulking because the party was cancelled?’

      She was furious and he deserved it. Emotion welled inside him. ‘I only care that you’re safe,’ he shouted, his voice hoarse with smoke and emotion.

      They were silent for a moment, and then she said quietly, ‘Hello, Heath.’

      He shook his head, then held her gaze.

      ‘Hello, Bronte …’

      All the things he should have said to her long before now. All the things he should have done for her. His head was pressed against the door and as he turned to stare down at her he wondered what kind of fool he’d been. The door she’d been defending was one of the few yet to be replaced and the rotten wood was already splintering under the barrage of blows it had received. They could have killed her. ‘Would you like to go and get changed for the party now? I’ll deal with this.’

      ‘The party’s cancelled,’ she said steadily, ‘and I’m not leaving you.’

      ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ He glanced at the petrol can lying discarded in the centre of the yard, and the box of matches Bronte had tightly clutched in her hand.

      ‘It’s all gone,’ she whispered.

      ‘Don’t,’ he said firmly. ‘This isn’t over yet. We’ll build a new barn—we can buy in more hay—’

      ‘But we didn’t need to buy hay before this happened.’

      ‘And now we do,’ he told her calmly. ‘All businesses have setbacks, Bronte. It’s how you get over them that matters.’ There were oily smudges on her face. Her eyes were red and wounded from the smoke, and from crying, he suspected—not that Bronte would show that sort of weakness in a crisis situation. ‘You’re quite a girl,’ he murmured.

      ‘And you’re still an absentee landlord.’ She scowled, rallying.

      ‘Something I’ll have to change.’

      She didn’t believe him. Why should she? Now wasn’t the time, but it might be the only chance he got. ‘I have a mature business, and when I realised what I was missing out on I think I finally learned to delegate. I’ve appointed a CEO, an operating officer, a financial controller, and a sales and marketing guy.’

      ‘To do your one job,’ she said. She didn’t dare to hope that this might mean progress. ‘No wonder you’re such a pain in the ass, Heath.’

      ‘They should be able to handle it,’ he said wryly.

      ‘While you take broader control of your business portfolio, which now includes a country estate?’

      ‘I’m only sorry it’s taken so long,’ he said, ‘but it takes time to find the right person.’

      ‘And less than an hour to undo a full year’s work,’ Bronte remarked as she glanced over her shoulder to where the flames were still hungrily licking up the remains of the barn.

      ‘We’ll get over it,’ Heath promised.

      ‘We?’

      ‘You and me. We’ll get over this. I promise—’

      ‘Together?’

      He placed another call to the police. ‘Go and hurry them along, will you, while I bring these lads out?’

      ‘Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Heath.’

      ‘Thanks for the advice.’ He flashed a rueful grin. ‘I think I’ll be okay. And if I’m not, I’ll call for you.’

      A faint smile touched Bronte’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, starting to run.

      He wanted a chance to speak to the boys without anyone being present. He wanted to see them punished and for them to make reparation for what they’d done, but he wanted them to know there was another way—if they chose to take it. He wanted them to spread the word when they went inside that there was someone who understood the poison that drove them and who had the antidote to it, and that this same individual would be running the boot camp at Hebers Ghyll.

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      HEATH worked like a Trojan alongside the officers to clear the debris and make everywhere safe, while the people who could stayed on to help. Bronte was touched to find Quentin in the kitchen making tea and sandwiches for everyone, and didn’t even mind that he had taken command of her beloved Aga.

      ‘I’ve never had such a huge piece of kit to play with before. Or so many interesting new friends in uniform.’

      ‘Quentin,’ Bronte scolded, knowing that if anyone could bring a smile to people’s faces when they most needed it, it was this man.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Heath said, drawing Bronte aside discreetly. ‘You’ve been so brave up to now. Don’t crumple on me, Bronte.’

      ‘I’m not crumpling,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I’m just watching you and Quentin, and all the people milling round the kitchen, and wishing it could stay like this for ever. I know,’ she said through gritted teeth before Heath had chance to speak. ‘I know I’m dreaming again.’

      He was too tired to argue. Everyone was tired and battle scarred, but he had to admit Quentin had come up trumps, making people laugh as he doled out mugs of tea and coffee, and the biggest, thickest sandwiches, which everyone professed to love. But it was to Bronte that most of the praise was due, Heath reflected as he watched her moving between people, offering her own brand of encouragement. She had worked tirelessly inside and outside the house, clearing up the mess, and offering words of reassurance, creating such a feeling of warmth and camaraderie that everyone wanted to stay on late to help out.

      ‘You should try one of Quentin’s sandwiches,’ she said, distracting him by plonking a huge platter in front of his nose. ‘They’re really great.’

      ‘And he’s used to having them made for him,’ Heath said, selecting one. ‘Quentin’s partner is a dab hand in the kitchen—with a penchant for gourmet food.’

      ‘Lucky Quentin.’

      ‘Lucky me,’ he said.

      They were too busy to speak after that. Bronte didn’t go home with the rest of the crowd, but stayed on to help Quentin and Heath clean up the kitchen. It was like the day after a party when everything was set to rights … except there’d been no party. And now there was no barn, she thought wistfully, staring out of the window at the heap of jagged timbers and blackened ash.

      ‘Don’t go home tonight,’ Heath murmured, coming up behind her.

      She turned in his arms. I can’t go through this again, she thought. The others had left the kitchen and all any of them were seeking tonight was comfort, but where would comfort lead with Heath? She wondered what to say to him, how to phrase what she had to say to him—to a man who had led so much of the salvage work today. I’m not in the mood, sounded ugly. I don’t want to spend the night with you, would be a lie.

      ‘I’m not going to let you go home