by Nancy Bush
Dodge swayed behind the door and teetered. There was a flurry of motion, a thump, and Dodge was on the floor of the trailer. Sam pushed the door in against the man’s stocking feet. “He’s out,” he told Ricki.
Sam bent over the man, saw that he was breathing. “You’re the one who’s down, my friend.” He surveyed the dimly lit trailer, though it was hard to decipher objects in the clutter lit only by a dim light over the kitchen sink.
“What do you think, Sam? A search? Call for an ambulance, or let him sleep it off?”
“Jes’ leave me alone,” Dodge mumbled from the floor.
“We’ll let him sleep it off.” Sam stepped back and reached for the door behind him. “Let’s check back tomorrow.”
“I hate to let it go till then.”
“I know.”
They waited a few moments until Dodge’s heavy breathing turned into a loud snore, then they left the trailer. Climbing back into the Jeep, Ricki let out a sigh. “I know he’s hit some hard times, and I’m not saying that he hurt Mia, but that man is one angry son of a bitch.”
“Amen.”
Chapter Twenty
“I managed to talk our bride out of lining the staircase with little votive candles, seeing as how the gown Emma designed for her is made out of chiffon,” Delilah said to Nell the following day as she examined one of the bows she’d tied to the railing, trimming it with a fat pair of clippers. “It could go up in a puff of smoke with the slightest spark.”
“When’s Pilar getting back?” Nell asked.
“This evening, I think.”
“Guess what I found.”
Delilah looked up at her sister and saw her eyes were dancing. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“The jingle bells. They were in the attic.”
“Lucky us,” Delilah teased her younger sister as Nell bounded up the stairs to ostensibly find the bells.
Delilah was just finishing up her handiwork when her father came stamping through the front door along with Georgina Kincaid and the oilmen. Ira immediately threw an arm out to encompass his domain, showing off a little as he pointed out the handmade wood finishes on the stairs, the cathedral ceilings, the wide plank hardwood floors and the breathtaking views of Dillinger land, as far as the eye could see. She’d heard it all before, but Delilah thought it was a little obnoxious to be spouting off in front of Georgina—especially if Dad wanted to acquire some Kincaid land. For a successful businessman, Ira could be obtuse at times.
“Really fine place you’ve got here,” Len Mercer said as Ira led the group toward his office.
Realizing he was planning to sequester himself inside for God knew how long, Delilah called, “Dad?” She needed to remind him of the upcoming sleigh ride.
“What?” Ira frowned, letting her know by his tone that he didn’t appreciate the interruption while he was conducting business.
“A word, please.”
Tom Unger paused, facing Delilah. He seemed amused by the interplay between Ira and her.
“This won’t take long,” Ira said. “A few hours at the most.”
It was already afternoon. “That might be too long,” she said.
Delilah could hear Nell’s approach as the jingle bells rang merrily on the upstairs landing.
“Dad!” Nell cried, seeing he was about to enter his office.
Exasperated, Ira shooed the others into his office then glared at his daughters.
“We’re going on a sleigh ride. How long is this meeting?” Nell asked.
“If I miss it, I miss it,” he declared, annoyed.
“Go.” Delilah made a shooing motion with one hand. “Nobody’s twisting your arm.”
He shook his head, hesitated for a moment, then returned to his office, leaving a crestfallen Nell and a totally ticked-off Delilah.
“You’re coming, aren’t you?” Nell asked her.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As Nell left, Delilah threw a baleful glare at the closed door. Her father was a hard and irascible man. While he pretended to have a strong sense of family pride, it was more show than substance. When he’d called her on the phone the night before she left Hollywood, she’d asked him if he’d sent wedding invitations to the rest of their family—Lila and her husband and children, Delilah’s cousins Tara and Garth, in Alaska; Ira’s own cousin, Royal Daugherty and his family from Bad Luck, Texas; her mother’s sister, Cecile, whom Delilah hadn’t seen since she was a child. Ira had snorted and told her no, acting as if she were crazy to even suggest such a thing. For all Ira’s delight in his own nuclear family, he had no use for anyone outside it except select residents of Prairie Creek.
“Narcissism,” she muttered aloud. The men in her life were lousy with it.
She wanted a baby, but the idea of finding a male to help with that endeavor was fast losing what little appeal it had once had.
Well, there were ways to have babies without getting into a relationship with a man. She had some money saved up. She could take some time off and have a baby and start her own nuclear family, without the autocratic and narcissistic tendencies of a male.
She could do it. But somehow, the idea of being a single parent didn’t sit right with her. She had always harbored a notion that she would hook up with a certain lean, long-legged cowboy with blue eyes that could see straight into her heart. A Kincaid; forbidden fruit.
Delilah sighed. Why did she always dream impossible dreams?
Ricki combed over the lab report on her home computer one more time. A new bit of evidence that had come in early this morning: the coroner had managed to identify a second blood type on Mia Collins’s body, and that blood had been a match with Amber Barstow.
“We believe the killer used the same knife to carve up both victims, and the knife wasn’t completely cleaned,” Sam had told her when he’d called to wake her up this morning.
“So it’s definitely the same killer,” Ricki had said. “Why? What’s the motive?”
“Victim selection appears to be random. The only major link is that both murders took place in Prairie Creek.”
Sam was right, of course, but Ricki felt there had to be something they were missing. She’d rushed through breakfast and lunch so that she could get back to the computer. Unfortunately Brook had tagged along down from the lodge, and now wouldn’t come out of her room. She seemed determined to stay planted in an attempt to avoid the family sleigh ride.
Well, Ricki wasn’t going for that. They were going on a sleigh ride, and then Brook would have to go back to the main lodge while Ricki headed out to interview Doc Farley’s “secret friend,” Allison Waller. Sam had finally gotten her name from Doc, and they’d both thought the woman might be more forthcoming if she was interviewed by a female.
Closing the file, Ricki rose from the computer. “Brook? We need to get going. Bundle up. Layers always work, and you definitely need a hat.”
The bedroom door opened and Brook stood scowling in the threshold. “I told you, I’m not going.”
“Honey, it’s time for the family sleigh ride.”
“So? Sophie is gonna call me any minute on Skype. I told her I’d be here.”
“Send her a text and reschedule.”
“She’s going to her aunt’s for Christmas. This is our last chance.”
“Oh, Brook.” Disappointment seeped into the room, separating mother and daughter. “Why do you do this?”
“I had this set up like forever!”
Ricki turned away, drawing in a breath. “Fine.” It wasn’t fine, but then she had to remind herself that her daughter could be doing far worse things, the kind of things they’d left behind in New York. “Lock the door behind me, and do not leave this house. It’s going to be dark soon. I shouldn’t even leave you alone here.”
“I know how to use a gun now,” Brook said airily. “Sam said I’m pretty good. Maybe you should leave your gun with me.”
“Yeah, that’s just what I’m going to do.” Ricki had grown up in a culture wit
h guns, but she wasn’t yet ready to pass that on to her daughter. “Stay put. I’ll be back as soon as it’s over.” Ricki left the house, wondering why she bothered.
As soon as her mother was gone, Brooklyn opened the kitchen cabinet. She shoved two Pop-Tarts into the toaster, then went to the laptop and clicked on the Skype icon. Sophie was bursting with all the energy and coolness of New York.
“Aw … it can’t be all bad,” Sophie said.
“The only good thing is that my aunt Delilah is here from California. She makes TV commercials, and she’s really nice.”
“Really? Do you think she could get you in a commercial?”
Brook sighed. “She used to be an actress … I don’t know … maybe. I wish we had gone to live with her, instead of here with cows.”
“So what are you doing for Christmas?”
“Nothing,” Brook answered. Nothing she wanted to do, anyway.
Beyond Sophie’s smiling face on the laptop, Brooklyn could see the snow-covered landscape outside the window. The big lodge was covered in beautiful lights, and there were two ginormous trees. They’d gone to that Christmas party in town, and although Brook didn’t really know anyone other than Sara, it had been kind of fun seeing the town hall set up like a winter wonderland. That little gingerbread house with Santa inside. All the lights and the trees. The miniature train set run by an old man who was so proud of it. Rourke had helped out with the pony rides and had also delivered cups of hot cider to the volunteers.
“… and I went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center yesterday,” Sophie was saying. “We were going to go ice skating, but—”
The screen went black as the connection cut out.
“Oh, shi—” This was just her rotten luck.
The furnace bucked a few times, then the room went dark but for the flicker of flames in the fireplace. Brooklyn shuffled to the windows to open the drapes. Watery light faded in, along with a cool draft.
Mom was wrong about moving back here. This place was creepy. She shivered and took her cell out of her pocket. Well, at least her cell phone still worked, although the battery was low. Where the hell was her charger? Well, it wasn’t going to work with the power out. Quickly, she sent a text to Sophie: computer down! this place sucks.
A moment later, her phone buzzed. Sophie!
“Oh my God, can you believe the power went out?” Brook paced away from the window, unable to shake the creepy feeling.
“Thank God for cell phones,” Sophie said.
“Really.” As Brook talked, she went into her room, grabbed the blanket from her bed and collapsed into the closet where she’d nested the other night when she’d heard that scary noise.
“Did I tell you about the murders?”
“Murders?” Sophie laughed. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”
“No. No. No, I’m not,” Brook assured her. She told Sophie about the woman who was just passing through town, and then how Mia Collins, sort of a distant relative, was killed in the same way.
“Ohmigosh! That’s way more dangerous than New York!”
“I know, but my mom is all like, this is a great place to live. And people are just rude here. And strange. Not like New York strange. Like hick strange.”
“Well, this relative of yours that got killed … seriously? I mean, Brook … that’s really scary!” Sophie said.
“That’s what I’ve been saying! I didn’t know Mia all that well. Kit’s her daughter, and she’s like a cousin, sort of, and Mom’s worried about both of us. Oh. And Mom’s a deputy now.”
“A deputy?”
“I’m telling you, my mom will never leave! I can’t wait till college when I can get the hell out of …” Brook’s voice trailed off as a strange odor reached her nose. What was that? It smelled kind of … like nail polish remover. She sniffed again. No. Now it smelled like smoke. There had been a few logs in the fireplace, but she usually couldn’t smell that back in her bedroom.
Letting Sophie talk, she got out of the closet and took a deep breath. Definitely something burning.
“I’ll call you right back.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and recalled the Pop-Tart she’d left in the toaster. Her pulse raced a little faster as she thought of how mad her mom would be if …
She opened the bedroom door to a room of haze. Immediately, her eyes burned, and she choked on a breath. Dark smoke masked everything … except the flames rolling over the walls at the front of the house!
“Oh, my God!” Casting a quick look at the kitchen sink, she considered throwing water on the flames, but this was no toaster fire.
Get out. Get out! GET OUT!
She edged forward, snatched up a dishcloth and covered her mouth, her eyes, searching wildly for escapes.
The kitchen door was a wall of flame. And the front? She couldn’t even make out the door in the roaring fury of fire!
Whimpering in fear, she backed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. The window! She yanked on it and accidentally dropped her phone behind the side of the bunk bed.
Oh, no. Oh, no. For some stupid reason the window wouldn’t open.
“Damn it. Damn it!”
She was trapped in a burning house!
Seated between Delilah and Nell, Ricki wasn’t allowed to sulk about her daughter during the sleigh ride. It would have been impossible, with Tyler’s wife, Jen, acting as the Christmas carol police, calling out new songs and making sure that everyone was singing. Well, almost everyone. Delilah seemed lost in her own world and Colton said he didn’t want to scare the horses, and Rourke followed Colt’s every move. That, at least, was heartwarming to see how he was accepting his father. Brook could take a lesson from him.
Maybe Ricki’s glum feeling was about more than Brook’s defection. Maybe it was about Mom. Rachel Dillinger had always said there was nothing like a country sleigh ride to clear the head. She’d been right. And with Ricki’s head clear, she realized that she still missed her mother. In some ways, she always would.
As Colt shifted the reins to guide the sleigh team back to the barn, Ricki noticed a dark cloud on the horizon. Not so much a cloud …
“Stop the music a second. Someone’s got a fire going on our property.” Ricki pointed through the purpling skies. “Do you guys see that smoke over toward the east?” The song trailed off as everyone turned to take a look.
“Think it’s Davis, doing a controlled burn?” Nell asked anxiously.
“Not this time of year. Not this late in the day.” A stab of worry pinned Ricki as she squinted at the black puff on the horizon.
“What is it?” Jen asked.
“It’s back toward the lodge.” Colton slapped the reins and hollered to the horses, and the sleigh shot ahead down the snow-covered path.
A stand of trees and a gentle rise blocked that part of the landscape from view, but the second that the sleigh broke past the barrier, Ricki’s worst fears were confirmed.
The foreman’s house was on fire!
The front porch was in flames!
And her daughter was inside.
“Hold on tight!” Colt shouted back.
“Go! Go, go!” Ricki shouted, though it wasn’t necessary. Colt had already urged the horses into a run. The sleigh bounced and rocked as its runners strained against the brittle, frozen land.
Beside her, Delilah was already on her cell, asking for the fire and rescue squad.
Nell shook Ricki’s arm. “Brooklyn?”
It was hard to hear over the horses’ hooves, the rocking sleigh and the pounding of her pulse. Ricki swallowed back the knot in her throat. “She’s inside.”
Everyone braced themselves as the sled flew over the final rise and slammed back on the path. Ricki’s teeth jolted in her head, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but the baby girl she had loved for fourteen years.
With the foreman’s house in full view now, the fire’s fury was undeniable. Black smoke rolled off the roof timbers and mixed with falling
snow. The blaze engulfed the entire front of the house, orange and yellow flames licking the beams, outlining the A-frame shape.
Ricki’s fingers dug into the seat as the sled drew closer.
Don’t panic.
She knew hysteria wouldn’t help the situation, but she wanted to bound out of the moving sleigh and dash through the roiling flames.
When they reached the final slope, Colton halted the horses and Ricki scrambled out while the sleigh was still moving. She landed in a drift that covered her boots, but she tore through the snow to get to her daughter.
The wood of the front porch glowed red—pulsing, hot coals. There was no getting through that way, so she raced around to the side of the cabin, hoping to find Brook waiting outside the kitchen door.
But the side door was ablaze, too. A separate fire, suspiciously confined to the exit. There was no way in … no way out.
“Oh, my God!” She tore at her hair, veering into the searing heat. “Brook! Brooklyn! Where are you?” Her throat burned. Her eyes teared from smoke.
In the periphery of her focus, her family moved around her, shouting and scrambling and calling for Brook.
If the doors were impassible, Ricki would have to find another way in. She was backing around the house in search of a way in when a crashing sound split the air.
Glass exploded from the window of the rear bedroom—Brook’s bedroom.
“Brook?” Pressing into a gust of thick smoke, Ricki could make out a flurry of movement in the window. Something fell over the sill—Brook’s zebra blanket. A moment later, there was a denim-clad leg on the windowsill.
“Brook!”
The teen jumped, sailed out the window and dropped into the snow.
Ricki rushed forward. She picked up her daughter from the ground and folded her arms around her, noting the smell of smoke on her, the ash on her face, the coating of soot that made her hair brittle as Ricki stroked it.
“Brook. Oh, my God, Brook.” Her voice cracked, wrought with emotion. “Are you okay? What happened?” She was shaking from head to toe and so was her daughter.