Jolie tapped a finger against her lips, restraining a smile as she took in the precious little girl in front of her. “I don’t know…”
Ellie’s frown was almost comical. “What’s wrong?”
Jolie shook her head. “I don’t know…” She sat back on her ankles and pretended to scrutinize the adorable costume, when in reality she was committing every last detail to memory. The way the neckline scooped to reveal her defined collarbone, the hand-stitched lace edging that made it more a costume than a regular leotard. She tugged on the tutu. “Turn around for me. Yes…like that. All the way.”
Even the white tights and satin slippers were divine. Jolie’s throat tightened with emotion. She remembered her own mother fussing over her when she was no older than Ellie was. Now she understood the funny expressions her mother used to wear.
Ellie shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
Jolie smiled so wide her face hurt. “It’s…how do I say it? You’re…absolutely, positively…perfect.”
Ellie’s return smile outshone even the sun setting outside the window. “Good enough for the party?”
“Party? Oh, you’re talking about the annual town get-together.” She placed her hands on Ellie’s slender hips. “I don’t know if they’re going to have it this year, honey.”
The five-year-old sucked in her lower lip, then released it. “But Erin and Lindy said they’re going to be there.”
A voice from the doorway caught their attention. “I just spoke with Gary,” Dusty said. “The party’s still on. The site’s cleaned up, and the mayor thinks the townsfolk need to see what happened. To adjust.”
“As if we weren’t all down there last night,” Jolie said quietly. She told Ellie to get her jacket, something light, just enough to ward off the slight chill of the night.
The five-year-old didn’t move. Instead, she was looking at Dusty expectantly. Then it hit Jolie. She was waiting for some sort of response to her costume.
Jolie cleared her throat, vying for Dusty’s attention and nodding her head toward Ellie. When he frowned, not catching on, she mouthed the words “the costume.”
While he didn’t say “oh,” it was written all over his face as he pushed off the doorjamb. “My goodness, who do we have here?” he said, rounding the preening little girl. “Jolie, why didn’t you tell me we were going to get a visit from a ballerina tonight?”
Ellie rose up on the tip of her toes, cupping her hands over her mouth. Dusty leaned down and the girl said loud enough for Jolie to hear, “It’s me, Dusty. It’s Ellie.”
He pulled back, feigning shock. “Ellie? No…it can’t be.” He brought his face closer to hers, looking, and causing the girl to giggle. “Well, I’ll be. It is Ellie.”
Jolie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then held her hand out for Ellie’s. “Come on. We want to be the first ones on the block to go trick-or-treating, remember?”
Ellie eagerly put her fingers in hers, then grabbed Dusty’s hand, as well. Dusty’s gaze lifted to Jolie’s. Her stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. And the feel-good emotions wending through her bloodstream seemed to evaporate, suddenly leaving her edgy and nervous.
Earlier in the day, when she’d returned home from the fire site, and stood in the same shower in which she and Dusty had shared so much the night before, she’d fallen completely to pieces. She’d tried blaming it on the stress of the situation, the long hours spent battling a fire that had destroyed so much, but she recognized the lies for what they were. She knew she was on the verge of losing Dusty forever and her heart had begun grieving. A state of mourning she refused to give herself over to for Ellie’s sake.
But after Darby and she had shared a cup of coffee, and her sister-in-law left to go back out to the ranch, Jolie’s mind kept returning to Dusty. Especially when he didn’t come back until she and Ellie were having lunch at the picnic table in the back yard, both laughing at Spot as she chased a squirrel around in the fallen leaves, then up the old oak tree.
Dusty wanted her to quit the department….
Jolie had waited for the unfairness of his request to strike her. Expected her spine to snap straight, her ire to rise. But she’d felt nothing. Merely an aching pain in her chest that seemed to grow in intensity as each minute passed; as she remembered every empty minute of the past six months. Dusty had left her alone. And the department hadn’t come near to filling the hole left in his wake.
She’d drawn a deep breath while watching Ellie play with a couple of neighbor kids in the backyard that morning, and questioned why being a part of the department in the first place had meant so much to her. She thought back to the god-awful loss of her parents…the purpose she’d felt after that…the need to battle a fierce animal that struck without prejudice, uncaring of who it killed, or who it left behind to fend for themselves in a world void of love.
But then she’d found love, hadn’t she? She’d found it in Dusty’s generous smile, his skillful hands, his comforting arms. Knew what it was like to be held, to understand that no matter what, that person was there for you.
Only in the end, she hadn’t been there for him, had she? When Erick died, Dusty had needed her in a way he’d never needed her before. And she’d been so wrapped up in her own life, her own problems, her own need to undo the bad that had happened with Erick’s death and replace it with good, that she’d missed the signs that her marriage was in trouble.
But after last night…
Jolie shivered and took a deep breath, feeling both free and so full of pain her body throbbed. Dusty was right. She’d been living her life fire to fire. Looking beyond what she had in front of her and searching for something that couldn’t be found outside, but only from within: acceptance of her parents’ deaths. Acceptance of Dusty’s love. And his demand that she quit the department was his attempt to get her to see that.
“Jolie?”
Dusty’s voice broke into her thoughts and she turned her head toward him. Slowly she focused on the bedroom surrounding her, grew aware of the tiny hand tightly clasping hers, and she managed a tremulous smile.
“Jolie, we’re going to be late,” Ellie complained.
Jolie met Dusty’s gaze, thinking the five-year-old’s words all too on par. Only it wasn’t merely getting late. Seeing the distance in Dusty’s brown eyes told her it already was too late.
Dusty returned to the house later that evening, alone. He placed Ellie’s overflowing pumpkin-treat holder on the kitchen table, his eyes catching on a familiar sheaf of papers neatly folded and propped on top of the gleaming wood. Suddenly numb, he pulled out a chair and sank into it.
That explained why Jolie had suggested he not stick around for the town’s annual Halloween party. He’d thought she might not want to confuse everyone by being seen together. Instead, she had been setting up the scene he now faced.
He picked up the papers and tapped them against the table. He didn’t need to look. He already knew they were signed. But rather than the relief he had expected, instead he felt a pain so cutting, he didn’t think he could get up from the chair if he’d tried.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Damn it, Jolie, he thought vehemently. Why did you do it?
He came to realize something about himself in that moment. He saw that while all his actions had led up to this very point—his leaving, his returning, his attempts to force them both to get on with their lives, separately—he’d never really believed it would happen. Somewhere deep inside, he’d thought Jolie would fight his attempts to the end. That ultimately, somehow, some way, they would find their way back to the love that had always joined them together.
Instead, she’d given up.
His every muscle contracting, he glanced around the kitchen he’d spent his whole life in. But rather than seeing the memories of himself and Erick as he had been recently, his mind was filled with images of him and Jolie. Of the breakfasts they’d shared together. The long, leisurely discussions over steaming
cups of tea. The late-night snacks that more often times than not had led to other, hotter late-night activities.
He turned his head toward the back window, to the yard beyond, and the town all around. Old Orchard. Home. He hadn’t known how important the place was until he’d been forced to defend it when he’d sworn he’d never pick up another hose. Or when he saw the sheer delight on his twin nieces’ young faces, so like their father that the grief he still felt over his brother’s death had led to joy that he had these two important reminders in his life.
Despite the papers he crumpled in his hands, he realized he didn’t want to leave there again. He’d already lost Jolie. He didn’t want to lose the town, too.
He also found that in defending the town, putting on all his old gear, that he’d learned how to master his fear again. He ruled it instead of it ruling him. And while he didn’t think he wanted to go back to firefighting full-time—the prospect of rebuilding Old Orchard appealed to him more—the thought of conducting training at the academy, or filling in part-time at the station, made him look at his future in a different light.
He only wished he could shine that same light on his marriage.
Dusty pressed the pads of his index finger and thumb against his closed eyelids, then rubbed, considering the debris that was his life with Jolie. Only fire wasn’t to blame in this case. Not the way it was to blame for the destruction of so much of downtown. Oh, no. He’d played a dangerous, high-stakes hand of life poker with his marriage by trying to force Jolie into being something she wasn’t…and he had come up the loser.
Something brushed against his ankle. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, then the chair gave a squeak as he leaned back and looked down at the black-and-white scrap of fur vying for his attention. The cat looked back at him.
“What is it, Spot?” he asked dully. “Do you want to go outside?”
The feline circled his ankle again then meowed.
Pushing himself to his feet, Dusty strode to the back door and opened it. Spot merely stared at him.
“Well, go on, if that’s what you want to do.”
Another meow, but the cat stood her ground.
Dusty frowned and closed the door. He knew she couldn’t be hungry because Jolie had fed her only an hour and a half ago. He headed back to the table, but Spot seemed to have other ideas as she brushed against his leg, as if trying to guide him away from the table and toward the hall.
Dusty stopped and stared down at the new addition to the household. “What? Do you want to be let out the front?”
A louder meow and a sprint toward the kitchen door gave him the uncanny feeling that the feline understood him.
Sighing, he headed in that direction. “Don’t feel up to walking around, huh? You’d better watch it, fur ball, or you’ll end up on a diet. Especially given the way you eat.”
He opened the front door, then the screen door beyond, and Spot happily trotted through, stopping in the middle of the porch and twitching her tail. Dusty shook his head and began to close the door when he spotted someone sitting on the steps. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edge as he eyed the young man he’d mistaken for Erick once before. That Scott Wahl was sitting in his brother’s old spot helped that illusion along.
“Scooter?”
The boy didn’t answer.
Dusty stepped out onto the porch and allowed the screen door to slap quietly shut. Still, the teen showed no sign that he’d heard him. He walked to the steps, descended a couple, then dropped down to sit next to him.
“Scott?” he said.
Finally the teen glanced at him, a faraway, haunted shadow in his eyes, his skin noticeably pale under the glow of the porch light. Dusty squinted at him. The fire last night must have affected the kid far more than even he’d suspected. Which wasn’t surprising. After a guy stared death straight in the face, he tended to look at life a little differently afterward.
Dusty cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you at the party downtown?”
Scott shrugged, then leaned back on his hands, much in the way Erick used to. Only he wasn’t Erick. Something was very evidently bothering Scott. Nothing ever seemed to bother Erick. His brother was always grinning, joshing and teasing…even in the moments right before his death.
Dusty looked down to find himself clasping his hands between his knees. Just like he used to. Only he wasn’t that same guy from years ago, either.
For long minutes, he didn’t say anything. And neither did Scott. The street was quiet. Unnaturally so, because the majority of the neighbors were downtown bobbing for apples, touring through the two haunted houses—one for adults, another for children—and enjoying the treats the Women’s Club always supplied. Jolie would be there now. With little Ellie. Smiling and laughing.
Dusty absently rubbed his chest where a dull ache echoed there.
Spot bounded onto the bottom stair, nearly startling him. He absently petted the cat’s head and glanced at Scott again. “You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
While it wasn’t unusual for neighbors to visit one another in Old Orchard, Dusty could count the times he’d found Scott Wahl sitting on his steps on one finger. That it was Halloween, and he wasn’t at the town celebrations, or hanging out with his friends, or even at the station, made the situation even more curious.
“I bet you’re thinking about the fire last night,” he said quietly, turning to stare at the street in front of him, hoping the absence of his gaze would make the teen feel more comfortable. When he saw Scott jerk to look at him, he felt justified.
But still Scott said nothing.
Dusty nodded, sensing he had the teen’s attention. “It was quite some fire. The worst I’ve ever seen, and I was with the department for a long time. I’ve knocked down a lot of fires. But this one…” He grimaced. “It’s enough to strike fear in the bravest of souls.”
He took a chance and glanced at Scott, hoping his words had laid the groundwork for the kid to open up. But he glanced away, and while he couldn’t be sure in the dim light, he thought Scott had blushed.
“It’s okay to be afraid, Scott,” he said, convinced that the incident with the dog, when Dusty had had to pull the teen out of the pub from where he was crouched under the pool table, was what was behind the kid’s somber mood. Was the reason he’d even come to the house in the first place.
When Scott finally spoke, it surprised Dusty. “Do you think they’ll put me in jail for a long time?”
Dusty cocked his head to the side, trying to make sense out of his words. “Why would they put you in prison, Scott?”
The teenager looked all of twelve years old as he dropped his chin to his chest. “I didn’t mean for…all that to happen, you know? I just wanted to be given a chance. To prove to everyone that I had what it took to be a firefighter. No. Not just a firefighter—a great firefighter.” He leaned forward, suddenly radiating nervous energy. “My brothers were always teasing me. Putting me down. Telling me I didn’t have what it took. My girlfriend…Shawna…she laughed at me, said I was more of a station mascot than a real fireman and that I should get a real job.”
Dusty remained silent, allowing Scott to work through his thoughts, although an alarm began chiming in the back of his mind. A four-alarm bell that the teenager was about to tell him something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
Scott looked at him dead on. “Those gasoline containers that John, I mean Sheriff Sparks found? I…” His voice cracked and his shoulders slumped. “I put them there.”
Dusty went completely still.
He recalled putting out the fire at the general store earlier in the day. Chief Gary Jones’s certainty that they had completely knocked the fire down, leaving not a single hot spot behind. Scott’s standing in the middle of the street, staring at the fire in wide-eyed shock.
He rubbed his hand over his face. He’d thought the kid’s reaction was due to the enormity of the blaze. It had been. In a way. But only because he was the one who ha
d restarted it.
Oh, my God.
Dusty sat there for a long moment, working everything out in his mind, glad that Scott lapsed into silence next to him.
“So,” he finally said, looking at the teenager, careful to keep his face neutral. “What are you planning on doing about all this?”
Scott blinked at him. “I don’t know.”
Dusty took in a deep, calming breath, thinking of the catastrophic destruction of nearly half of Old Orchard’s history. Then he reminded himself that the future of a young man’s life was more important. Yes, the kid had done wrong. Yes, he should be punished. But that Scott realized what he did was wrong, that he was here offering up a confession…well, maybe all wasn’t lost.
Scott shifted next to him. “Do you think I should go tell John…I mean, Sheriff Sparks?”
Dusty looked at him, then lightly draped his arm over the teen’s shoulders. “Yes, Scott, I think we should.”
The following afternoon, Jolie tightly gripped the Jeep’s steering wheel, then released it. She felt both lighter…and heavier. Lighter because she’d just lunched with Nancy Pollard and had finally come clean on her and Dusty’s situation. Rather than hear the words she’d feared, that Ellie would be removed from their custody immediately, Nancy had smiled and shared some news of her own. The child psychologist was very pleased with the progress Ellie was making, the bond she was forming with Jolie, and despite the uncertain nature of Jolie and Dusty’s relationship, would she consider keeping Ellie for the duration of time it took her father to recover? Alone, if need be?
The Woman for Dusty Conrad Page 18