Oh, no … please, no.
Molly clamped a hand over her mouth, remembering her bouts of somnambulism in college. Had she sleep-walked and left the cabin when she wasn’t aware of it? She’d been so certain that her more recent sleepwalking episodes had been staged by Rodney to make her look crazy. But maybe she’d been wrong.
Someone had left the front door standing open.
Someone had gotten dirt all over her sheets.
This couldn’t be Rodney’s handiwork. He was nowhere around.
She glanced at the window where light from the fire still played over the glass. An awful, sick feeling moved through her. She thought of White Star’s sweet little foal. He might have died in that fire, and all the other horses could have as well.
Dear God. What had she done?
Pressing her hands over her face, Molly struggled to calm down. Don’t jump to conclusions. Back in her college days, she’d had difficulty coming to grips with her best friend Sarah’s suicide, and after her death, she had sleep-walked for a time. Once, she had wandered into the dormitory kitchen during the breakfast rush and awakened to find herself on display in nothing but a nightgown. Another time, she’d gone outside and awakened standing in a busy intersection. Those incidents had been alarming and undeniably bizarre, but she’d never done anything destructive or violent during the sleepwalking episodes until a year ago, shortly after her dad’s death. And she had reason to believe Rodney had staged those episodes for his own nefarious reasons.
Why, then, should she automatically assume that she was responsible for setting that fire?
Molly dropped her hands and hauled in a deep, bracing breath. There was really no reason for her to believe she’d been sleepwalking. There was another explanation for the open front door and the dirt on her sheets.
There had to be.
By midafternoon the next day, Molly was so tired she could barely move. Since breakfast she’d been helping the men build emergency pens and lean-tos for the horses. Despite the chill air, the sun felt hot on her shoulders, and sweat trickled down her spine. Each time she raised the ax, her muscles quivered and jerked. For what felt like the millionth time, she swung at the base of a branch, her aim to denude a young lodgepole pine so it could be used as a fence rail.
At the edge of the forest, Bill manned a chainsaw to fell more trees. A woody smell drifted on the breeze along with particles of sawdust that coated her nostrils. Occasional puffs of smoke from the smoldering fire stung her eyes.
“Here’s another one, Molly.” Danno heaved a tree onto the growing pile that awaited her attention. “If you need a rest, holler. I’ll take over for you.”
As much as Molly appreciated the offer, she couldn’t accept. Danno was needed to drag the fallen trees over to the pile, a job she lacked the strength to do. At least she was helping here. Sort of, anyway. No matter how fast she worked, she was unable to keep up with the men who labored behind her.
Each time they ran out of poles, one of the older hands helped Molly catch up, his skill and speed at wielding an ax putting hers to shame. They all seemed to appreciate her willingness to help, though, and that was what mattered.
“Got it!” Nate yelled to Ben. “Hold her steady.” That directive was punctuated with loud hammering. “Okay, she’s sturdy!”
Molly tried to swing the ax again, but her arms refused to cooperate. Accepting the fact that she had to rest for a few seconds, she propped the ax handle against the log, pressed a fist to the small of her back, and stood up straight. Pain. She could have sworn she heard every joint in her body pop.
She stared at the remains of the stable to her left. Warped and blackened by the extreme heat, the sheets of corrugated steel had collapsed helter-skelter, reminding her of a flattened house of cards. She remembered how the structure had once looked, a mammoth green pole building with tidy paddocks. Now the interior had been reduced to chunks of charred timber and ash.
“Pretty sad, isn’t it?” Hank commented as he came to get another pole. “Why anyone would do such a thing is beyond me.”
According to the Crystal County fire chief, who had concluded his investigation and left only a couple of hours ago, the stable blaze had been deliberately set. After dousing the back of the building with diesel taken from Jake’s machine shop, someone had ignited the fuel with a match.
“I can’t imagine it, either.” Parched with thirst, the walls of Molly’s throat rasped together. “At least you got all the horses out.”
“That’s true.” Hefting a pole onto his shoulder, Hank walked away.
After he left, Molly wanted to just stand there for a few minutes. She checked the position of the sun. There wasn’t much daylight left. Of the horses now grazing in the front pastures, two of the mares were due to foal soon, one of the geldings had a respiratory infection, another had been suffering with diaphragm spasms, and White Star’s new baby still needed shelter at night when the temperature dropped. They had to get the lean-tos up before dark.
She clenched her teeth and bent to grab the ax. Just then she heard the front door of the house slam shut, the sound cutting through the air like a rifle shot. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jake coming down the porch steps. The erect set of his shoulders and the brisk way he moved told her he was angry.
In the middle of notching a pole, Hank stopped and swept off his hat to wipe sweat from his brow. “Well?” he called. “What’d the insurance guy say?”
Jake kicked a charred board from his path. “Son of a bitch is trying to renege. Says the machine shop should’ve been locked, that they aren’t liable.”
Hank slapped his Stetson back on his head. “That is such bullshit. Name me one working ranch where they keep all the outbuildings locked.”
As Jake drew closer, he cut Molly a glance. Then he settled his hands at his hips. “If I have to, I’ll hire a lawyer. There isn’t a single clause in my policy that says the out-buildings have to be locked.” Looking bone weary, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I spoke to the sheriff as well. He thinks kids set the fire.”
“Kids?” Tex leaned over to spit. “This wasn’t the work of youngsters.”
Jake sighed as he surveyed the devastation. “Maybe the sheriff has a point. A sane adult would draw the line at setting fire to a stable full of horses.”
Molly’s stomach clenched. A sane adult? Sweat beaded her face. She resumed her task of hacking off branches. With every swing, the ax grew heavier. Half the time, she missed her mark and left big gouges in the log.
“The fuel cans were full and handy,” Jake went on. “You take a bunch of drugged-up kids out on the prowl, and they might think setting a fire was fun.”
“Oh, horse puckey,” Levi said as he hammered a nail. “Even dopey kids have more sense than that. He gonna check for fingerprints on those cans?”
“Sure. Problem is, they may not match up with anything on file. If it was kids, they may never have been finger-printed.”
Molly was about to take another swing with the ax when a brown hand locked over her forearm. Startled, she glanced up into Jake’s brilliant blue eyes. “You’re finished,” he said softly.
Molly gestured at the poles she still needed to strip. “I’ve got at least—”
“You’re finished,” he said again. “Go on up to the house and have a cup of coffee. You’re so tuckered you can’t spit. That ax could jump back at you.”
Molly had narrowly missed hitting her shin a few minutes ago, so she didn’t argue the point. She really was exhausted.
As she started away, Jake called, “Why are you limping?”
She paused to stare stupidly at her filthy sneakers. Recalling her race to the stable last night, she shrugged and said, “Stickers, I guess.”
No sooner had she reached the kitchen than she heard the front door open and close. The thud of heavy boots followed her path through the house. She was about to pour a cup of coffee when Jake appeared in the archway. Without a word, he settled his hands on he
r shoulders and steered her to a chair.
Molly sank down, too weary to protest when he hunkered before her and lifted her foot onto his knee. Off went her shoe, then her sock. Turning her ankle, he bent to examine her sole. “Holy hell. Why didn’t you get these out right away? Now they’re all inflamed.”
Molly craned her neck to see. The bottom of her foot was dotted with red spots. “I was so upset I didn’t really notice the tenderness.”
He lowered her foot back to the floor and went to a drawer for the kitchen matches. When he returned a moment later, he fished his pocketknife from his jeans, struck a match, and sterilized the blade. Molly watched him dubiously.
“If you plan to dig stickers from my feet with that, think again.”
He chuckled and hunkered back down in front of her. Curling a warm hand over her ankle, he lifted her foot back onto his knee. “Trust me. This is the best sliver picker you’ve ever seen. Hold still, okay?”
“I don’t dare move. I could lose a leg.”
He smiled, his ministrations so gentle that Molly barely felt them. She sighed and relaxed. Well, almost. It was difficult to completely relax with his long fingers curled over her foot.
When he finished extracting all the stickers, he kept her left foot on his knee, his big, calloused hand wrapped over her ankle. His pinky found its way under her pant leg and lightly caressed her calf, setting her skin afire. He gazed solemnly up at her, the expression on his face unreadable.
“I guess you’ll live,” he said softly.
This was the first opportunity they’d really had to talk since the fire. “I’m so sorry about your stable, Jake.”
“No need for you to be sorry. It wasn’t your doing.”
Molly prayed not. “I’m pleased that all the horses are okay.”
He nodded. “They’re all that really matters.”
Molly gripped the edges of the chair. “I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve said things that lead me to believe you may be in difficult financial straits.”
“Now there’s a nice, fancy way of putting it.”
“So I haven’t misread it?”
He lowered her foot to the floor, then reached for her shoes. “I’m in hock up to my gonads and feeling the squeeze.”
Molly thought of the huge amounts of money that would be hers when she regained control of her inheritance. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that she should have so much when someone like Jake had so little. “I’m so sorry.”
His mouth twitched. “You have a bad habit of saying you’re sorry for things that aren’t your fault. No one twisted my arm to make me buy this ranch back.”
“Why did you then?” Again Molly realized she was asking a question about something that was none of her business. “You’ve been to college. You could probably make a far better living working for someone else.”
He nodded. “Without a doubt, but money isn’t everything. I grew up here.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain what that means to me. I thought us boys would take it over one day, that we’d live on this land, raise our families here like generations of Coulters had before.” His mouth curved in another slight smile. “From the time I was a little guy, I was good with horses. When I grew older, I dreamed of raising my own line, of training them from birth. I always thought I’d be able to do it here, that one day I’d make the Lazy J famous, in its way. When I got the chance to buy it back, it wasn’t a decision I made with my head, but with my heart.”
Molly knew how that went. Helping Sunset had been a decision of the heart. “How did your dad lose the place?” She imagined him drinking or gambling himself into deep debt. “Or is that too personal a question?”
“He went bankrupt and lost everything,” Jake said solemnly. “Everything but the dream, anyway.”
By his husky tone of voice, Molly knew that had been a painful time for him.
“As soon as I got out of college, I started working and saving to buy another place,” he went on. “It took me a few years to scrape up a down payment and the working capital, but I finally managed. I was watching the market, never dreaming the Lazy J might be available. One day, after looking at a spread out this way, Hank and I stopped by here on impulse to take a stroll down memory lane. The man who owned the place was ready to sell. I leaped at the chance.”
Molly dug her nails into the underside of the chair seat. “What caused your dad to go bankrupt?”
He ran a hand over his rumpled hair. He’d scrubbed the soot from his face, but he still looked tired. “My sister Bethany was paralyzed in a riding accident. She underwent three surgeries, and our health insurance wasn’t that good. My dad went into hock, hoping she might walk again. She never did.”
Some men might resent that, but not Jake. She’d seen his disregard for the burning stable last night, his sole concern for the welfare of his horses. He undoubtedly would have sacrificed anything for his sister. “If the insurance company won’t cover the fire damage, what will you do?”
“There’s no way I can scrape up the money to rebuild the stable by myself.” He pushed wearily to his feet. “They’ll cover it. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Molly couldn’t let it go at that. “But if it happens that they don’t?”
His brows pleated in a frown. He stared out the kitchen window. Voice husky, he said, “Then I’ll be back to square one, with only a dream in my pocket.”
Molly fixed supper alone that night. Jake was far too busy working outside to help her cook. At his suggestion, she made a tuna-and-rice casserole, a simple concoction of rice, canned tuna, and cream of mushroom soup, which she sprinkled with cheddar cheese and baked. Two huge pans of cornbread and a giant mixing bowl filled with canned corn complemented the meal. High starch, high fat. Molly felt sure the men would love it.
She was about to call them in to eat when the kitchen wall phone rang. Grabbing a towel to wipe her hands, she hurried to answer it. “The Lazy J.”
“Howdy. This is Sheriff Dexter. Is Jake handy?”
Molly had steered clear of the sheriff that morning. Knowing it was he on the phone made her nerves leap. “I, um—yes. Can you hold for just a moment?”
She raced through the house and out onto the front porch. “Jake?” she called. “The sheriff is on the line.”
He abandoned the section of fence he was building and came loping up to the house. Molly preceded him as they made their way to the kitchen. While Jake conversed on the phone, she put glasses on the table, along with two gallons of milk. She’d just finished when he broke the connection.
“Bad news?”
He nodded. “There were no prints on the fuel cans. Chances are the person or persons responsible will never be caught.”
“No prints? That doesn’t sound like the work of kids to me.”
Jake scowled. “Not to me, either. Seems strange that a bunch of kids would have thought to wear gloves.”
“Yes, it does.” It also struck Molly as highly unlikely that a sleepwalker would have the presence of mind to be that clever.
The relief that coursed through her made her bones watery.
Directly after supper, the men went back outside to work on the lean-tos, using halogen floodlights to see in the deepening darkness. By the time Molly had finished all her kitchen chores, only half of the needed shelters were done. Jake was busy moving horses in from the pastures to put them in the few available lean-tos. The moment he saw Molly, he turned over the task to one of his men and walked to meet her.
“How can I help?” Molly asked.
He shook his head. “You’ve done enough for one day.”
“Some of the horses need shelter, and the work still isn’t done.”
“But you are.” He took her arm. “I want you to get a good night’s rest.”
“While you stay up half the night, finishing the lean-tos?”
“I’m used to losing sleep. You aren’t.”
As they fell into a walk, Molly realized he was heading for h
er cabin. “You don’t need to see me home tonight, Jake.” Gesturing toward the lights, she smiled. “I’ll be able to see well enough. It’s as bright as day out here.”
“Not away from the lights, it isn’t.” He jerked off his soiled leather gloves and tucked them over his belt. “Besides, I’m due for a short break.”
Molly saw no point in arguing. She’d come to know Jake well over the past three weeks. No matter what she said, he was going to walk her home.
“No detours tonight. You’ve got work to do, and my feet are sore.”
Shortening his strides to match her pace, he chuckled and cast her an inquiring look. Light from behind them illuminated one side of his face, casting the other in shadow, which served to delineate the sharp bridge of his nose, the muscular line of his jaw, and the nearly perfect bow shape of his hard mouth.
“How’s the rest of you doing?” he asked. “Any muscles screaming yet?”
Her muscles had started screaming hours ago, but she wasn’t about to complain. Everyone else had worked hard, too. “I’m sturdier than most women.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, telling her he was trying hard not to smile. “A veritable Amazon, that’s you.”
Molly shivered at the cold and drew her jacket closer around her. “Laugh if you like. I may not be well toned and athletic, but I am stout.”
He said nothing to contradict her. As they walked along, Molly stared at their shadows, which danced like dark specters ahead of them, his tall and lean, hers short and squat. There was no denying that she was solidly built. Next to Jake’s, the outline of her legs put her in mind of tree stumps.
Once at the house, he insisted on going in to check the rooms. Though touched by his concern for her safety, Molly couldn’t resist teasing him when he entered the small, U-shaped kitchen to open the broom closet.
“That’s barely big enough to hide a midge,” she observed. When that didn’t deter him, she laughed and added, “Don’t forget to look under the sink.”
“Go ahead, make fun. Anyone who’d set fire to a stable has a screw loose. Every last one of those horses could have burned to death. The person who did it has no conscience, and mercy is a word beyond his understanding.”
Sweet Nothings Page 26