The Hero Trap
Автор
Rosemary Badger
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CHAPTER ONE
DAMN that Jack Saunders!
Kelly McGuire walked slowly along the windswept beach at Bargara, on Australia’s subtropical Queensland coast, silently cursing the man who had destroyed her business. Her head was bent into the wind and her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jeans. A bright yellow scarf, tied into a bow at the back of her neck and the same colour as her jumper, did its best to keep her thick mane of auburn hair from becoming hopelessly tangled in the howling spring gale.
A worried frown marred her smooth brow and she dug her teeth deeper into her bottom lip. Her small savings were almost gone. Unless some jobs came her way, and soon, she would be forced out of the old beach shack she had been lucky enough to rent. The run-down shack, hardly more than a hut, was even owned by the man.
She stopped in front of the tiny shack. It could barely be seen through the gnarled mass of overgrown shrubs and spindly trees that had been allowed to grow around it unattended over the years. Beside it, but clearly visible, were twenty-four brand-new town houses. The elegant town houses, set in their magnificent landscaped gardens, served as a constant reminder of what the enormously wealthy and powerful business tycoon had done to her.
And she had helped him do it! That was the worst part. If only she hadn’t been so sure of herself then perhaps she wouldn’t have presented such an easy target for Saunders. If only she hadn’t decided she was some sort of knight in shining armour sent to defend the small and weak against the big and powerful. Kelly sighed heavily and started up the path towards the shack. If only she had kept her mouth shut!
It had all started so innocently. A chance of a lifetime, or so she had thought, when Saunders called in tenders for the landscaping of his stately town houses. Being connected with a project of this grandeur was just what her fledgling business needed to establish a reputation for being, well, not just a good landscape gardener but a great one. Submitting a tender and hopeful of winning a small part of the project, Kelly had carefully selected and purchased some much needed second-hand equipment, lined up a young labourer and nervously kept her fingers crossed.
The lucrative job was given to a huge landscaping firm in Brisbane! None of the locals had even been considered. She had felt so cheated. So had all the others. But Kelly was the only one to protest and she did so at every opportunity, on the streets, over the radio and through letters to the editor of the local newspaper. She became something of a celebrity, much admired for daring to take a stand against ‘powerful outside investors like Jack Saunders who exploited the locals, dried them up, froze them out by using huge, outside conglomerates.’
The publicity brought an unexpected windfall. Jobs! Lots of them. It seemed everyone wanted the local heroine to put in or tend to their gardens. Kelly put on the labourer she had lined up and hired another to keep up with the demand. At the age of twenty-six and after a long, hard struggle of putting herself through university, working and skimping and finally saving up enough to launch her own business, life was starting to look pretty darn good.
The good life ended abruptly. It ended when she accepted an invitation to tape a television segment for the six o’clock news. The interview was to take place at Saunders’s controversial site.
‘If only I had said no,’ Kelly muttered aloud as she continued along the winding path towards the shack. ‘If only I hadn’t been so eager to sink a few more barbs into Jack Saunders’s miserable hide!’
The interview was scheduled for two o’clock. Kelly left her two young employees to carry on with the rock garden they were installing for an elderly couple, wiped her hands on an old rag, coaxed a few damp strands of auburn hair under her wide-brimmed straw hat, tucked her blue cotton T-shirt into the waistband of her jeans, hopped into her old utility and sped jubilantly off to the site.
The television crew, consisting of an attractive young journalist and a boyish-looking cameraman, weren’t the only ones waiting for her! A tall, rugged giant of a man, dressed in a dark blue business suit was with them. His suit was expertly tailored, obviously expensive, the soft material hugging his broad shoulders and the long, straight columns of his legs. His shirt was a crisp white, the collar brilliant against his deep tan. A silk tie in contrasting shades of blue completed the picture of a very impressive man. Kelly had only seen him from a distance and had never spoken to him, but she knew immediately who this man was. Jack Saunders! Well, she certainly welcomed the opportunity to finally say to his face what she had been saying on the streets, the newspaper and the radio.
The utility ground to a halt close to where they were standing, Saunders in front, obviously in charge. A bit of gravel from the vehicle’s wheels shot up and sprayed his trousered legs. He peered down in annoyance. Kelly whisked off her straw hat, ran her slender fingers through the glorious tangled mass of her hair, stepped from the ute and smiled boldly up at him.
Up close he was younger than she had thought him to be, probably just into his thirties. His hair was jet black, straight, parted on the side, thick and vibrantly glossy, totally free of any dressings to keep it in place. His forehead was wide, intelligent, and his hair fell over it almost touching his equally black brows above the deepest, darkest, bluest eyes imaginable. There was a healthy glow to his tanned skin and his mouth was wide, perfectly sculptured, hinting at a deep sensuality and not just a little cruelty. He exuded a power and strength that was almost frightening.
‘So you are Kelly McGuire!’ he growled, making her name sound like a notorious bush-ranger’s or worse! Kelly proudly drew herself up to her full height of five feet seven inches.
‘And you must be Jack Saunders,’ she hissed, deliberately making his name sound like a collection of venomous snakes! His deep blue eyes narrowed shrewdly on her face and she immediately felt a burning heat scorch her cheeks. Don’t let him unsettle you! she quickly warned herself.
But when those same blue eyes drifted slowly over her, from the top of her brilliant auburn hair tumbling with a wild abandonment down to her slender shoulders, to linger slightly longer on the small, uptilted breasts beneath the thin fabric of her cotton T-shirt before casually taking in her trim waist, long, slender, jean-clad legs, and feet encased in brown work boots, Kelly knew she was losing the battle.
And when the seductive journey was mercilessly repeated, with those cobalt blue orbs drifting leisurely up again to the strawberry moistness of her trembling lips to settle with a keen shrewdness on the green lights glittering angrily in her eyes, Kelly knew she had very little armour against this man. She stood helplessly in front of him, detesting his blatant appraisal of her, detesting those arresting blue eyes holding her captive, detesting herself for letting him get away with it, for not giving him a swift kick in the shin with the steel toe of her work boot!
Saunders continued to take charge. He stated that the interview would take place, not on the roadside facing the complex as suggested by the journalist, but rather where the landscaping, the reason for them being here, he had added pointedly looking straight into Kelly’s eyes, was in full progress. Leading the way, he cast aside his domineering manner and became instantly charming.
Too charming! Kelly decided suspiciously. She followed in the rear, disgusted that the journalist and cameraman could be so easily wooed by Saunders’s deep baritone voice and brilliant white smile as he boastfully listed the many virtues of his fabulous complex. Sickening! she thought. It’s not that magnificent but she knew that it was.
The fresh clean odours of mortar, plaster and paint assailed their nostrils as they followed a boarded path between the stately town houses, each one uniquely different with its own distinctive personality. Kelly knew them well. She had spent days, weeks, designing perfect little gardens for each one of them.
Saunders brought the trio to a halt at the edge of a clump of casuarina trees, their long, silvery needles bending in the soft sea breezes. Behind them was a fleet of impressive white vans with the words SUPERIOR LANDSCAPE ARCHITECTS boldly emblazoned along their sides. Kelly’s mouth dropped open in dismay. Landscape Architects? Good grief! Well, she hoped they were charging him a fortune.
The cameraman immediately shifted the camera onto his shoulder and zoomed over the complex. Saunders nodded his approval and after a few minutes signalled to the journalist. She cleared her throat and obediently faced the camera.
‘There has been much controversy over the landscaping of this fabulous beachfront housing complex here at Bargara. The lucrative job was given to an outside firm of landscape architects. With me is the Brisbane owner and builder of these luxury dwellings, Mr Jack Saunders, and local gardener, Miss Kelly McGuire, who had led the campaign against Mr. Saunders. Miss McGuire has publicly voiced keen disapproval at being one of the many local tradespeople snubbed by Jack Saunders.’ She smiled prettily at Saunders and cooed, ‘Why did you overlook our local tradespeople, Mr Saunders?’
Kelly’s mouth tightened and her heart pounded as she relived the rest of the interview. Jack Saunders started off praising the submissions he had received. His voice was charged with sincerity while he told how some of the tenders had come close to being awarded the lucrative contract.
‘The only thing holding them back,’ he had insisted, ‘was their lack of experience and equipment for a job of this vastness, this scale, this enormity.’ He turned and smiled tolerantly down at Kelly. ‘Miss McGuire totally misunderstood what was involved here. Miss McGuire,’ he sighed, giving the impression he considered her somewhat dim, ‘seemed to think a seeded lawn, a few trees, shrubs and flowers was all that was needed.’ The journalist and cameraman grinned. Kelly’s cheeks turned crimson.
‘I didn’t think that at all,’ she quickly insisted and immediately realised that by the sudden lifting of his arrogant brows she had somehow played straight into his hands.
‘Didn’t think, Miss McGuire? Didn’t think about drainage systems? Or lighting systems?’
‘Well, no, I mean, yes, yes of course I did, but I wasn’t—’
‘What about filtering systems?’ he interrupted harshly. ‘Did you spare a thought for them? Or sprinkling systems? What about picnic and play areas, creating passageways with the proper coatings and underlays? And what about swimming pools, wading pools, tennis and squash courts, Miss McGuire? You completely left them out of your submission.’
He had waited patiently then, giving her a chance to speak. But she could only gaze helplessly up at him, too choked by humiliation to utter a single word.
‘Well! Well! Well!’ he had drawled softly. ‘Suddenly you have nothing to say?’ He reached into his breast coat pocket and withdrew a large envelope. It was the submission she had laboured over.
‘I guess this says it all, doesn’t it, Miss McGuire? You’re a gardener, and judging from this submission, a pretty good one with plenty of imagination and flare.’ His voice hardened. ‘But you are not a landscape architect capable of undertaking the whole of this project, start to finish, which is what the tender called for. This is a multimillion-dollar complex, Miss McGuire. There’s no room for amateurs!’
He gently pressed the submission into her trembling hand, firmly wrapped her frozen fingers around it, a final convincing gesture to show how wrongly he had been accused and how unjustifiably provoked! The pretty journalist said as much as she wrapped up the interview, warmly thanked Saunders for his time, coldly thanked Kelly for hers. The camera rolled to a halt. The interview was over but the nightmare had barely begun!
Pleased with his success, and obviously not one to miss an opportunity, Saunders had chatted amicably with the crew while leading them towards the nearest town house. With the camera rolling once again, he opened the door and ushered them inside. Kelly could hardly believe the gall, the nerve, the sheer audacity of this man. Thanks to her, his multimillion-dollar complex was receiving a fortune in free advertising. Thanks to him, she would probably become the laughing-stock of the town.
Humiliated and disheartened, Kelly made her way slowly back along the boarded path towards the utility. He hadn’t given her a chance to speak, to explain how she and several of the other tradespeople had innocently assumed he would use subcontractors for various sections of his huge project. Surely people would see that and not like him for it. But even as she thought this, Kelly knew it wouldn’t happen that way. He had charmed the journalist and cameraman and he would charm the viewing audience.
She reached the utility and opened the door. Strong, warm hands gripped her shoulders, spun her around. And there they were again, those lightning blue eyes.
‘Let go of me!’ Kelly gasped and struggled to free herself. Jack merely tightened his grip on her slender shoulders. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ she shrieked. ‘I said let go of me, damn you!’
‘I will. In a moment. After we chat.’
‘Chat?’ She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Chat!’ Her green eyes blazed up at him. ‘How dare you suggest we chat after what you did to me back there?’
He shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘I did what had to be done. What you deserved!’
‘You crucified me!’
‘You were becoming a nuisance.’
‘A nuisance! By standing up for myself and others? By wanting a fair go?’
‘A “fair go” is a two-way street, Kelly McGuire.’ His voice matched the hardness in his eyes. ‘You might have brought your grievances to me instead of howling to the media.’
‘I might have, had I thought it would do any good.’ She added in disgust, ‘You big land developers are all alike. You take and take and take and never give anything back!’
An angry flush stormed across his hard cheeks. ‘It seems you make a practice of making wild statements, Miss McGuire,’ he stated harshly. ‘As it happens, most materials used in constructing my town houses were purchased locally. I’ve hired local tradespeople wherever possible and my own construction crews, engineers and architects have rented homes, flats or stayed in motels during their time here. They’ve purchased groceries, clothes, petrol, gifts for their families and spent money on movies and other entertainment. Add to that the very considerable sums spent on council fees, land tax, sales tax, rates and road improvement and I think you must agree, Miss McGuire, that on the whole, this town has fared rather nicely under us. Rather nicely indeed,’ he added arrogantly, his look telling her he fully expected an apology.
But Kelly was in no mood to apologise. A lot of people might have benefited but she hadn’t been one of them, nor had any of her colleagues. True, her protests had brought her work but that had been a by-product of her own undertaking, she quickly reminded herself.
‘What a pity your benevolence stopped short at gardening!’ she muttered and shot him a withering glare.
So! he thought. There was to be no apology! His fingers twitched on her shoulders as he resisted the urge to shake her.
‘What a pity indeed!’ he drawled and his hands moved slowly down her slender arms sending her pulses racing and her anger soaring.
Kelly struggled in vain to free herself but his fingers were like bands of steel encircling her wrists. He pulled her abruptly up to his chest and she tingled at the unexpected contact. Fury danced in her eyes making them seem even more beautiful. He bent his head as if to kiss her. Kelly’s heart pounded in her chest.
‘Forget about any further grandstanding, Kelly,’ he stated softly and released her. ‘Get on with your own business and leave others to theirs!’
An indignant flush rose high on her cheeks. ‘Are you threatening me, Jack Saunders? Because if you are, I’ll have you know that—’ Her words ended in a startled gasp when he raised his hand and ran a finger lightly across her trembling lips, effectively silencing her.
‘There, that’s better!’ His sudden grin revealed a set of handsome male dimples. ‘Do you know what I think would be a damned good idea?’ he added cheerfully.
‘For you to leave town?’ she muttered hatefully.
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ He cupped her chin in his huge hand and forced her to look up at him. ‘We could watch the interview together!’ The grin romped straight into his wicked blue eyes. ‘How about it, McGuire? Your place or mine? We could even make a night of it,’ he continued suggestively. ‘Well, what do you say?’
‘Go jump in the lake!’
Kelly climbed stiffly into the cab of her utility and sped off, the churning wheels showering Saunders once more with gravel. But he hardly seemed to notice, much less care. The grin slowly widened as he loosened the blue silk tie at his neck, undid the top button of his crisp white shirt and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He watched her roar down the road and tried to remember the last time he had felt this alive, this great!
Kelly watched him through her rear-view mirror, saw him loosen his tie, undo the button, shove his hands into his pockets. She felt sure he was humming or whistling or something! He deserved to be shot! The wheels of the utility screamed in protest as she swiftly took a bend, anxious to be out of his sight.
But she couldn’t relax. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw tightly clenched, her back stiff. When she finished work that evening she didn’t do what she always did after a hard day toiling under the hot sun. She didn’t strip and enjoy a long, refreshingly cool shower before preparing a light meal and having it on the balcony of her small, two-bedroom apartment overlooking the sea. Instead, she headed straight for the living room and stood in front of the television set, staring warily down at the empty screen. It was almost six o’clock, time for the news. She bent forward and pressed the switch.
Various items ranging from the plight of the district’s sugar-cane farmers struggling with the fall of world prices, to the increasing vandalism in the neighbouring town of Bundaberg’s central business area, danced across the screen. As the stories gradually unfolded, Kelly felt herself daring to relax. The local news was almost over. Perhaps they had axed her interview with Jack Saunders. But far from axing it, they had simply saved it for the last, a dramatic finale to the day’s events.
She looked like a teenage delinquent dressed as she was in her blue jeans, T-shirt and work boots compared to Jack Saunders’s impeccable elegance and that of the attractive journalist. Her flamboyant auburn hair had never looked so wild, the wind tossing it about her face but not quite managing to hide, first the smug confidence, then the blazing defiance, and finally the humiliation as she glared up at Saunders. The camera showed her no mercy, zooming in on her hands nervously twisting the brim of her old straw hat as she struggled unsuccessfully to answer his simple questions. Jack Saunders had made her look like a fool, even worse, a troublemaker.
The ones who had encouraged her the most were the first to turn against her. She was bailed up on the street and accused of trying to turn ‘big business’ away. It seemed everyone had suddenly realised just how much their tiny hamlet had profited from Jack Saunders’s presence in their tiny community. Over the next few days all the jobs she had lined up were cancelled and no others were forthcoming. She held out as long as she could but was finally forced to let her employees go and rent out her precious apartment to help cover the mortgage payments. It was the first real home she had known since orphaned at ten and shunted from relative to relative. Now the dilapidated old shack, with its paint peeling from the walls, seemed to reflect her despair as she climbed the creaking steps leading up to the rickety veranda.
The sound of a car’s powerful engine purring to a halt, followed immediately by a door slamming shut, caused Kelly to halt on the steps. She stiffened, head raised high, beautiful green eyes narrowed, wary, every muscle in her body tensed, ready for flight, ready to seek refuge.
For this was what she always did whenever she heard the unmistakable sound of Jack Saunders’s sleek grey Jaguar convertible pulling into the driveway backing onto his fabulous complex. If she was too far from the shack to reach it safely without being detected, she quickly took refuge behind whatever was available: a tree, a boulder, a depression in the sand-dunes. Not only couldn’t she bear the sight of the man but she refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing what he had done to her, how his actions had forced her to live like a destitute hermit in his run-down, overgrown shack, right next to the exquisite, parklike setting he had used to destroy her.
Usually, she didn’t have to hide long. Saunders mainly made lightning-swift stops to check on the landscape architects before rushing off again. But the final touches to the landscaping had been completed yesterday so she really had no idea how much time he would spend admiring the finished product!
She heard his firm footsteps on one of the tile walkways closest to the shack. But this time, instead of running inside, Kelly swallowed her pride and didn’t move. Her small savings were gone, the rent was due and a girl had to eat. She could no longer afford to hide from him.
Kelly could see him clearly now, and even though she detested him, she couldn’t help but be affected by his devastating good looks. He wasn’t wearing one of his exquisite tailor-made business suits but was dressed instead in a pair of blue jeans topped with a black woollen sweater, the sleeves pushed up his tanned forearms, and on his feet were a pair of brown leather sports shoes. The wind tossed his thick glossy black hair away from his forehead and deepened his ruddy complexion. He looked more like an incredibly fit athlete than the heartless entrepreneur she knew him to be.
She walked slowly towards the edge of the veranda, and with her heart thumping in her chest, stood there, hoping he would notice and call out to her. It seemed important, somehow, that it should happen this way.
