Rose from the Grave

by Candace Murrow

  While they ate, the conversation remained neutral. They discussed the weather, how different the climate was in Rosswood compared to Seattle. He brought up the town's history and explained to her how mining had played an important role in its settlement.

  After the meal he asked her to sit with him in the living room. With food in her stomach, the dizzying effects of the wine had diminished.

  "Do you mind if I take off these shoes? I've been in them all day. They're Brianna's, and they're a little too snug."

  "By all means. Make yourself at home." He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses. He sat in one of the corner units of the modular sofa while she sat in the middle with her feet propped up on the coffee table. "Comfy?"

  She nodded. "Thank you for cooking me dinner. It was scrumptious."

  "My pleasure."

  Some time went by before Kat spoke. "May I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  "What's the story with all the donkeys? I mean, you don't seem like that type of man to me."

  "What type is that?"

  "You don't seem like the type to live in a place like this and to live a life taking care of animals. Wilma said you'd only been here five years, about the time Brianna moved here."

  "It didn't take you long to find the town gossip."

  "If you don't want to tell me."

  "It's no secret why I came here, if you really want to know."

  "I do."

  He took a deep breath in and let it out. "Long story short, I was working in Boston when Meredith and our daughter, Stella, moved to Seattle. While Meredith was there, she was diagnosed with cancer. I took a leave of absence from my job and came out here to be with her and help her through the chemo. It was an aggressive form of cancer. When she died six months later, I never went back."

  "I'm sorry about your wife."

  "Ex-wife. We'd been divorced several years."

  "Really. Not many men, or women for that matter, would do what you did, sacrifice their time and energy for an ex-partner."

  "I never fell out of love, even though she filed for the divorce. But that's another story." He broke eye contact with Kat, giving her the feeling the recollection was painful.

  "Why did you decide to stay out here?"

  "Taking care of someone dying of cancer changes your outlook on life, what's important and what isn't," he said. "I couldn't stomach the job anymore, and I had Stella to think about. I scouted the area, found this ranch, and turned in my resignation. Shortly after that I got interested in saving the wild burros in the Southwest from being shot or sold to pet food companies. I had all this land to put to use, and for once in my life I wanted to do something meaningful."

  "You sound somewhat bitter about your job," Kat said. "What was it that you did for a living?"

  In an instant the compassion in his eyes melted away. "That, I don't want to talk about." He smiled at her again. "What I do want to talk about is you, and if everything Brianna said about you is true."

  Kat hugged her glass and drew her knees to her chest, wondering just what secrets Brianna had revealed. "And what exactly did she tell you?"

  "Nothing bad, I can assure you. In fact she raved about how smart you are and what a successful realtor you turned out to be, considering your background."

  "What did she say about my background?" That information was sacred, not to be bandied about.

  "Nothing specific, only that you pulled yourself out of a messy situation and made something of yourself. I'm curious about what you went through."

  "Like you, I don't care to discuss my past." Aware of the intensity in his eyes, she lowered her gaze and stared into her wineglass.

  A dog's barking cut into the moment. Chance excused himself and opened the front door a crack. After conversing with someone named Rusty, he brought Zeke inside by the collar and walked him toward the kitchen. Zeke wiggled and whined, trying to jerk free to get to Kat. But Chance held tight and guided him all the way through without letting go. Kat heard the inside door leading to the garage open and close. Chance came back and took his seat.

  "Because of me, poor Zeke has to stay out in a cold garage."

  "It's not going to hurt him." Chance picked up the bottle of wine and offered her more, but she refused. He poured more for himself.

  He'd had at least two full glasses of wine and didn't show it in the least; he neither slurred his words nor raised his voice as people tended to do when they drank too much.

  Kat was beginning to feel lightheaded again and therefore brave enough to ask a question that might launch her into the same dangerous territory as the night before. "May I ask you something?" So much for control.

  "Anything within reason."

  Within reason? Inhibitions, be damned. She set her glass on the table. "I want to know more about your relationship with Brianna, everything." But the warmth in his eyes cooled, just like it had the previous night. "I didn't mean it that way. Honestly. Just let me explain."

  "How did you mean it?"

  She suddenly wished she hadn't pursued this line of questioning. "I know Brianna worked here, and you spent time with her for a year."

  "Your point is?"

  "You're a very attractive man," she said. "Why didn't you and Brianna become more than friends? It only seems natural."

  "Haven't you ever been friends with a man?"

  "Sure. Well, maybe, the ones I've worked with anyway."

  "I'm not attracted to every woman I meet," he said, raising his voice a notch. "Brianna was beautiful, yes, and under different circumstances I might have pressed for more than friendship, but your sister was very vulnerable, Kat, and I don't go after women who are that vulnerable. Brianna needed support, not another relationship. Does that answer your question?"

  "Yes, and you can pull in your fangs. I wasn't accusing you of anything."

  He draped his arm over the cushion and relaxed back. "I've done it again, haven't I?"

  "If you mean jumped down my throat for no good reason, I'd have to say yes, but I won't hold that against you." She drew her knees closer to her chest and began to rub the tops of her feet.

  "Cold?"

  "No matter how much wine I drink, or how high the heat is, my feet are always cold."

  He scooted toward her. "Here, let me help." He laid her feet in his lap and ran his large, warm hands over the tops and under the arches, massaging again and again.

  "This is heaven," she purred, her eyes drifting shut. When she opened them again, he was smiling that sultry smile of his. She worked at ignoring the tingles shimmering up her legs. Get back in control, Kat. Ask anything. "Can you tell me about Brianna's relationship with Tim Holmes? Wilma told me a few things."

  "I'll tell you what I know," he said. "After Brianna was working here a while, she began to trust me more, and that was when she started opening up about her personal life. She told me the reason she was upset the night I saw her at Bertie's was because she'd just broken it off with him. Did you know he was married?"

  "Wilma told me."

  "Brianna wanted him to get a divorce, and he refused, so she cut him off."

  "Did she tell you how he reacted?"

  "She said he was furious, and soon after that he came out here to the ranch, and they argued. I had to run him off."

  "Poor Brianna," she said. "I bet everyone in town hated her."

  "Something like that happens, and people take sides."

  "So, did he eventually leave her alone?"

  "He never came back out here, and she never mentioned him again."

  Kat's feet were toasty warm because of Chance's huge, hot hands, and she was swept into that dreamy, tingly feeling again. She fought for control. "I'm really grateful to you for helping Brianna when she needed it and helping turn her life around."

  "I can't take credit for that," he said. "She worked hard that year to straighten herself out."

  "But you offered her the opportunity to do something productive."
r />   "Well, yes, but she was also beginning to sell her stories, and that raised her spirits, too."

  "I just don't understand it," Kat said. "If she was doing so well, why would she kill herself? Everyone in this town has been telling me how well she was doing."

  "I never understood that either," he said. "I was out of town the week it happened. I was shocked when I came back and heard the news."

  "Did you ever read any of her stories?"

  "When I asked her to bring them over, she told me they were children's stories and said I'd be bored. I never pressed the subject."

  "You know, it's odd. The postman told me she was still sending them out, although not so often, but he never mentioned anything about her selling them."

  "Maybe she didn't tell him."

  "He seemed to know everything about the subject." Kat glided into thought. When she focused again, she was sure Chance had moved closer. Panicked he might do something rash, like try to kiss her, she swung her feet to the floor and grabbed her shoes.

  "What's the hurry?"

  Her current picture of Chance was that of a very admirable man, and she wanted to keep it that way. In all honesty though, she didn't trust herself. One more flutter of those dark eyelashes was all it would take to push her over the edge into a place she unquestionably didn't want to go. When she'd finished tying her shoes, she looked up and saw Chance at the door, keys in hand.

  All the way back to Brianna's house, he talked about his trips to Nevada to rescue wild burros and how he stayed home now and took in abused animals from the surrounding area. He talked as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed between them. Perhaps the chemistry was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps he hadn't inched closer to her at all. Perhaps he wasn't going to kiss her. She felt like a fool for even having these thoughts and for ending the evening as abruptly as she had. It had to be the wine.

  When they finally arrived at Brianna's house, Kat was relieved to be on her own turf again. But something was wrong. The light was on inside, and she had no recollection of leaving it on.

  Keeping her thoughts to herself, she exited the truck. Like a gentleman, he escorted her into the house and set her grocery bag on the end table.

  "Thank you for dinner," she said. "After tonight, it's going to be hard to want to eat the beef stew I bought today."

  "You're welcome to come back tomorrow night," he said. "I have a whole collection of recipes."

  "It's tempting, but I have to concentrate on getting this place in order."

  "Why don't you take down my phone number in case you change your mind?"

  After he wrote his number on the pad she'd given him, she reached for the doorknob, expecting him to take the hint, but he stood firm. She waited for him to say whatever he had to say, but instead of talking, he raised her chin and brushed her lips with a soft, subtle kiss, a kiss that left her wanting more.

  "Goodnight, Kat Summers."

  She stood in the doorway, watching him stroll to his truck, her heart swaying with his every step, but the phone's shrill ring jarred her out of her fantasy mood. "Damn that phone." Without thinking it through, she clamped onto the receiver and barked a hello.

  A short pause, followed by rapid breathing, and then a click.

  She left the receiver off the hook and waited for the bothersome warning beep to end. The call was pure coincidence. But was the light on a coincidence? She couldn't remember leaving the lamp on.

  The house was cold and drafty. The bedroom curtains were rippling in the breeze. She slammed the window shut and locked it in place. She could have sworn she closed the windows before she left the house, but had she locked them? She needed more sleep. That was a fact.

  She quickly dressed in her pajamas and wedged a chair under the doorknob, just to be safe. To keep her mind off her unfounded fears, she climbed into bed and thought of Chance and the kiss, the unexpected yet thoroughly satisfying kiss. She melted into sleep, into what felt like a dream.

  A sharp, squealing sound, like a siren, whistled in her ear, but no visual accompanied it, no ambulance or police car. She grasped for the meaning but tumbled into consciousness. She forced her eyes open. At the foot of the bed was a filmy likeness of Brianna. Kat sat up to get a better look, but the image was sucked into the shadows. The house creaked twice, then grew deathly still.

  Kat refused to give credence to what had just happened. She took solace in the fact that soon she'd be finished in Rosswood, finished with Brianna's affairs, and hopefully with closure there would be an end to these tormenting visions.

  She checked the stability of the chair guarding the door, went in search of the Valium, her body quivering from the inside out. For the next several hours, she wanted her senses dulled.

  * * *

  Chance couldn't sleep. His covers hung half on the floor. Too much wine. Too much conversation. Too much of Kat Summers, or not enough. He'd had a taste of her. He swept his fingers across his lips, the lips that had kissed hers. She tasted as sweet as a summer's breeze.

  At times the woman was a pain in the rear. Speaking of rears, he pictured her shapely backside. He lost himself in the memory of the day she'd first come to town, the day he'd helped her with her car. The recollection was as clear as if she were standing in the room now.

  As he recalled, she'd been leaning over the opened hood, her jacket hiked above her waist, and those tight, tight jeans squeezing that beautiful rear end. He could have embraced her on the spot.

  But why torture himself? In time Kat Summers would be out of his life forever.

  For a diversion he wandered into the study to go over his notes for Saturday's meeting. If he handled it right, he hoped to convince the townsfolk to run the likes of Wheeler out of Rosswood once and for all.

  Looking across the room, he noticed the frame housing the photo of Meredith and Stella wasn't lined up quite right. On further inspection, the dust around the edges had been disturbed.

  Even his manuscript wasn't perfectly stacked the way he'd left it. A few inside papers were askew.

  The only other person in the house had been Kat Summers. She came in to use the bathroom and if he remembered right, she'd taken more time than she needed to.

  Had she discovered his novel, which happened to be based on his life? If so, how much had the woman read, and how much of his past had she uncovered?

  He felt a rise of indignation. His life's story would be revealed to the world in his time and his time alone. He relaxed with a breath. But how could he fault Kat for wanting to know more about him when he was determined to learn everything about her?

  CHAPTER 11

  The Rosswood Community Church, nearly as old as the town itself, had been updated over the years, re-roofed and repainted inside and out a number of times, but its basic timbered structure remained sound and sturdy. It provided space, both religious and secular, for church services, baptisms, weddings, town meetings, and potlucks. Its pastor offered comfort and counseling to everyone in the town, parishioners and non-parishioners alike, holding a wealth of secrets, including his own.

  Word made it back to Chance that Pastor Fletcher did confess a personal transgression in front of the congregation, giving no detail, admitting only that he'd lost his way. He offered to step down as the town's pastor, but not knowing the specific nature of the sin, the church folk gave him a vote of confidence, and he remained in his post.

  Because of the proximity of the church to Brianna's house, with no other houses in between, no one in town saw him take his morning detours, nobody knew for sure where he'd gone or what he'd done. There was only speculation. By the time his wife told everything she suspected to Wilma, the congregation had already rallied around him.

  Today Chance hoped the people would rally around the idea of booting Nate Wheeler and his planned development project out of Rosswood. The weather was dreary, the sky overcast, and the wind had revved up again, not a particularly good omen; the people of Rosswood thrived on sunshine.

  As
he approached the church, he was heartened to see the parking lot nearly full and cars lined along the street. Some of the residents were making their way on foot, even Mrs. Frazier, the old woman who lived in the corner house. He tipped his hat to her.

  He found an empty space next to the sheriff's cruiser. Sheriff Holmes had backed in and was leaning against the hood with his heel on the bumper, gnawing on a piece of straw and surveying the crowd. Chance emerged from his truck with a notebook in hand.

  "Looks like a good turnout," Holmes said.

  "Are you joining us?"

  "Yeah, but since Brianna, your little attack dog, isn't at this meeting, I don't anticipate any trouble."

  The reference to Brianna irritated Chance, but he had more important things to do than debate with the sheriff. He took notice of the people entering the church. Wilma supported the arm of Mrs. Frazier as they walked up the final steps. They were followed by two older gentlemen.

  "I don't think you'll have any problems today," Chance said.

  "Let's keep it that way.

  "Is that a threat, Sheriff?"

  Holmes shrugged. "Just doing my civic duty."

  Inside, the sheriff broke to the right, and Chance walked down the left outside aisle and sat in the front row next to Hank.

  The interior of the church had recently been painted stark white with paint Hank had acquired at a discount store in Benton. When the women of the congregation objected, Pastor Fletcher said the color would help raise spirits during the dark grays of winter. With that everyone agreed.

  The pews were filling up with no elbow room to spare, and by the time the pastor closed the door, people were lined against the walls. He strode down the center aisle and stationed himself behind the lectern. The low-level chatter trickled to silence.

  "You all know why we're here today, so I'd like to ask Chance to come forward and proceed with the meeting." He exchanged places with Chance.

  Chance peered at the faces staring back at him, mostly middle-aged and older with a spattering of youth. Skimming the crowd, he zeroed in on Wilma Combs, Lenny and Clare Faulkes, Bertie sitting next to Tim Holmes and his wife, June, and Patsy Fletcher next to her husband. Doug Jones leaned against the back wall to the right. The doctor came in late and edged to the left.