The Sheriff’s Runaway Bride

by Arlene James

  His cell phone rang. At 3:00 a.m. That couldn’t be good.

  Reaching into his pocket, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, muttering, “Hope that’s You with an answer, Lord.”

  Zach put the little phone to his ear. “Zach Clayton here.”

  Gene Jones’ trembling voice replied. “We’ve got a fire at our place! Somebody set a fire!”

  The binoculars clattered to the floor as Zach leapt to his feet. “On my way! Get everybody out of the house.”

  “Doing it now.”

  Zach tore out of the office and jumped into the county car, barking, “Call the fire brigade.”

  “Will do.”

  Zach shut off the phone and started the car. Lights flashing and siren wailing, he flew through town and barreled down Waxwing Road, the old sedan bouncing over the ruts. He could see a bright glow against the horizon. Two minutes later, dust and gravel spewed from beneath the rear tires as Zach yanked the wheel to make the turn into the driveway at the Jones place. Up this close, he could see that the blaze seemed to be coming from the back of the house.

  Lynette stood in the front yard wrapped in a yellow terry cloth bathrobe, her feet bare and her gray-streaked hair mussed. The anxiety on her face matched Zach’s. Throwing an arm to the side, she pointed left.

  “Back there. Right outside Kylie’s bedroom window.”

  Zach took off running. All he heard was “Kylie’s bedroom,” and that spurred him toward panic. God, no! he pleaded, running through the deep-black night shadows at the end of the house, the crackle and heat of the fire growing with every step. Not Kylie. I beg You! He almost tripped over something on the ground, realizing only as he left it behind that it had to be a water hose. Please, not her!

  Rounding the corner, he saw a blaze as tall as the house but about ten feet away from it. He realized at once that a tree had been set afire, but that paled in comparison to the familiar silhouette limned by the flames. The cloud of Kylie’s long hair seemed ablaze, but the way she calmly aimed a spray of water at the house, wetting down the logs so that the fire could not spread, belied that illusion. Her father, meanwhile, aimed another hose at the burning tree while Mariette stood with a filled bucket in hand, ready to douse any sparks that fell to the grass not already soaked.

  Without anything in his head except pure relief, Zach ran straight to Kylie and threw his arms around her.

  “Thank God! When your mother said it was your bedroom, I—I thought… I feared…” He was aware of the hose hitting the ground and water spraying his pant legs, but nothing mattered except knowing Kylie was safe and holding her close.

  “It’s okay,” she said, rubbing a hand over his back. “It’s just the bigtooth maple. They set fire to the tree outside my bedroom window. That’s what Mom meant.”

  His racing pulse slowing somewhat, Zach made himself loosen his hold. A little. “You saw them?”

  “No.” Pulling away a bit, she shook her head, her hands flattening against his chest. “I woke to a loud whoosh and saw the light. When I looked out the window, the flames were already head high. I yelled, ‘Fire!’ and ran for the water hose. When Dad came out, he told me he’d called you.”

  Zach nodded, his brain beginning to function fully again. He saw that she wore baggy pajama bottoms and soggy sheepskin house shoes beneath a ragged aqua-blue chenille robe. In his eyes, she had never looked more beautiful.

  “A whoosh,” he echoed, bludgeoning his thoughts onto a useful path. “That means an accelerant was used.”

  “That’s what we figured,” Gene said, stomping up in unlaced work boots.

  He’d donned his overalls without a shirt. Mariette, Zach saw, had taken over the other water hose. The flames had decreased in size, but Gene picked up the hose that Kylie had dropped and aimed it at the now skeletal tree.

  “Did you call the fire brigade?” Zach asked, facing the man. He kept an arm around Kylie despite some embarrassment at embracing the man’s daughter in front of him.

  Gene shook his head. “Nah. Once I realized what was burning, I figured we could handle it without calling out the volunteers. Besides, Vincent and a bunch of his friends are on the volunteer list, and I didn’t want them out here gawking and making jokes.”

  Zach nodded, feeling as if he’d run for miles. “Okay. I’d like you to come by the office tomorrow and sign a report, if you will.”

  “No problem. Sorry I got you out at this time of the morning.”

  Zach shook his head, too relieved to be upset. “I was awake anyway, and I’m off tomorrow, so I can sleep half the day, if I need to.” He reached for the hose, adding, “Now, let’s get this put out.”

  Gene yielded the hose and clomped off to take over for Mariette. “Go tell your mother that we’ve got it under control.”

  She left the bucket on the ground and went into the house through a back door, returning a few minutes later with mugs of something hot. “It’s apple cider,” she told her father. “Mama says she’s making breakfast, but you can’t have coffee because she wants you to lay down again for a little while.” She turned to Zach, who still had one arm around her sister. “And that goes for you, too.” Grinning broadly, she thrust a mug at him before passing the last one to Kylie and going back into the house.

  He’d removed his arm from Kylie’s shoulders in order to grasp the mug, but he noticed that she didn’t move away. Instead, she stood cradling her steaming mug in her hands with her shoulder touching his. Gulping down the fragrant cider, Zach had to work at not tossing aside the mug and wrapping his arm around her waist.

  Eventually, Kylie went inside to change her clothes. Zach kept glancing at the back door until she returned, wearing jeans, sneakers and a dark gold sweatshirt, to take a seat on the edge of the back stoop. She answered Zach’s questions as he aimed water at the tree.

  No, she hadn’t spoken to Vincent lately. He’d come into the diner on Friday, but another of the waitresses had seen to him. He’d sent over a message that he wanted to talk to her, but she’d said she was too busy, and eventually he’d left. She didn’t know what sort of mood he’d been in when he’d gone out the door because she had studiously ignored him. He had left a message on her cell phone at some point, but she had deleted it without listening to it. Zach filed away the information for consideration later.

  The hour approached 5:00 a.m. when he and Gene agreed that the tall, pointy stump of the tree harbored no glowing spark and put away the hoses. Kylie made sure that they both removed their boots, then she took a towel to Zach’s and carried them through the house to the front door. He forced himself into a chair at the plank table in the kitchen to keep from following her despite the impulse not to let her out of his sight. If anything had happened to her… Shuddering at the thought, he felt a pat on his shoulder and looked around to find Lynette smiling down at him.

  “Will you say a blessing for us, Zach?”

  “Oh, um.” He glanced over the table, shocked to find it weighted with the heartiest of breakfasts. “Sure. Lots to be thankful for, I see.”

  Gene chuckled. “Lynette cooks in a crisis.”

  “And rarely at any other time,” Mariette added drolly, dropping into a chair across the table from Zach.

  Kylie came and sat in the chair beside Zach, folding her hands and bowing her head. Zach couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to cover her hands with his. She turned a palm against his and reached for her mother’s hand with the other. Soon, they sat linked around the table, Gene’s thick, heavy hand gripping Zach’s on the other side.

  Zach bowed his head and began to speak, words of relief and gratitude pouring out of him. By the time he finished, Gene’s grip had intensified to the point where Zach began to think about bones cracking. Instead, his heart cracked open and love poured out for his God, this family and especially the woman whose small hand he held in his own.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” Vincent sneered, “and you can’t prove I did.”

  Unshaven, his hair spiki
ng in every direction, he sprawled on the sofa in the living room of his small, dingy house, looking much the worse for wear. Of course, that might be because Zach had pounded on his door shortly after 6:00 a.m. He smirked at Zach over the chipped rim of a mug of coffee.

  “Just answer the question,” Zach instructed, standing over Vincent with his hands braced at his waist. “Where were you last night?”

  “At a friend’s place.”

  “Which friend?”

  Vincent lifted his chin. “Rob Crenshaw. We had us a little drinking party, seeing as how we both had our women lured away.”

  “Lured away?” Zach scoffed. “Is that what you call getting caught cheating?”

  “That meant nothing!” Vincent snapped, lurching forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I’d have talked Kylie around if you hadn’t got in between us.”

  “You obviously don’t know Kylie as well as you think you do.”

  Vincent narrowed his eyes. “I suppose you think you know her better.”

  “I do. I also know that you can’t win her back by harassing her.”

  Vincent left his cup on the scarred coffee table and leaned back again, grinning slyly. “Now, that’s a contradiction in terms, don’t you think? You can’t have it both ways, law dog. Either I’m trying to get her back or I’m harassing her. Which is it?”

  “We both know you seek to destroy what you can’t have,” Zach said.

  Vincent’s face clouded. “It’s time for you to leave. I’ve answered your questions, and now I’m going back to bed.”

  Bed sounded good to Zach, too, but he had one more question. “What time did you get home this morning?”

  “About five. I fell asleep on Rob’s couch around two. His snoring woke me up a few hours later, so I came on home to get some real rest. Then you come pounding on my door to ask your questions without even telling me why.”

  “You know why,” Zach said, unsurprised that Vincent had an alibi for the time that the fire had been set. He wondered which of his hangers-on Vincent had gotten to do his dirty work this time. “You should know, too, that I’m building a case against you, brick by brick.” Vincent made a rude sound, which Zach ignored. “You crossed a boundary tonight, Vincent. What you did—or had done—was stupid and risky. Only by the grace of God was no real harm done, but your time’s coming if you don’t change your ways.”

  “The law can’t touch me,” Vincent said confidently.

  “You don’t think so?” Zach rested one hand meaningfully on the butt of his gun holster and leaned forward to loom over the smug man, the other hand braced on the back of the sofa. “One little misstep, that’s all it’ll take for this law dog to catch up to you. I’m telling you now that if Kylie so much as stubs her toe because of one of your stupid stunts, I’m coming after you, and the same goes for my sisters and cousins and their families, too.” The cocky facade began to slip. Vincent drew back as Zach leaned closer still, adding, “This isn’t the badge talking now, cuz. This is the Zach that used to beat you bloody for bullying my sisters in school. A bruise, a scrape, I don’t care how seemingly minor. If one of them gets hurt, you get hurt, and that includes Kylie.”

  The bravado had faded completely now, replaced by resentment. As Zach straightened, Vincent snarled, “Real Christian of you to threaten me.”

  “You think Christianity equates to cowardice, Vincent?” Zach asked mildly. “You think God would tell me not to protect others from bullies like you? If that’s what you think, you need to seriously study the Bible.”

  An odd look flashed over Vincent’s face. It seemed equal parts hunger, fear and vulnerability. That brief glance of common humanity in his old nemesis woke an unexpected empathy within Zach. He felt the sudden desire to reach out to the other man.

  “Any time you want to explore the Bible, you call me. I’ll be glad to help you. Believe it or not, Vincent, I don’t want to be at loggerheads with you and yours.” He sighed. “But I won’t stand by while you harm or intimidate others. We can be friends or we can be enemies. It’s entirely up to you. Think about that.”

  Sullen and silent, Vincent looked away, leaving Zach to wonder if he had imagined that instant of ambivalent yearning. Hoping that it had been real, he turned and walked out.

  When he at last crawled into bed a few minutes later, he prayed that something he had said would have an impact on Vincent. The time had come for the Claytons—all the Claytons—to really be family again. He knew that God would not make the choice for Vincent and his side, but he prayed that hearts would be softened and minds opened, which reminded him of Cade. Maybe, Zach conceded, the kid was more on the ball than he had given him credit for. With that in mind, Zach prayed that he wouldn’t have to get physical with Vincent—not because he doubted or feared his ability to come out on top of any altercation with his old nemesis, but because he earnestly desired peace between the branches of his family.

  Kylie’s well-being now took precedence over every other consideration, however. That had to come first, even at the price of peace. Quite simply, she had become the most important person in Zach’s life. She had become his personal responsibility, his to protect, and he suspected that it would always be so, no matter what the future held.

  The ringing of his cell phone woke Zach mid-afternoon. He groaned, rolled over and found the instrument of torture on the bedside table. Making the connection, he sat up and cleared his throat.

  “Zach Clayton.”

  The call was from his buddy in Florida, the state cop he’d asked to track down Lucas. The news troubled Zach, but at least he now knew something. Lucas had been staying in cheap motels around the Everglades but apparently never for more than one night at a time and always alone. Clearly, his cousin was on the run from someone, but who? And how could the family help him if they couldn’t contact him? Did Lucas even know about the will?

  Zach needed someone who could predict where Lucas would turn up next, instead of merely tracking where he’d been, but without proof of a threat or crime the state police couldn’t go further. His buddy recommended an experienced private investigator and mentioned a name quite familiar to Zach, but he couldn’t make this decision alone. He’d have to bring the girls in on this.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate all you’ve done, and I owe you for it.”

  “Hey,” said his friend, “maybe I’ll bring the wife to Colorado for a little snow skiing in the winter.”

  “Come on up,” Zach said thoughtlessly. “We’ll make it a foursome.”

  “Oh, yeah? You’ve got a better half now?”

  Zach blinked, realizing that he’d automatically assigned that role to Kylie. “Uh, not exactly. Let’s just say I’m working on it.”

  “Now I’ve definitely got to get up to Colorado.”

  Laughing, Zach said, “The invitation stands.” Then he got off the phone and forced his mind onto a pathway that did not, for once, lead directly to Kylie Jeanne Jones.

  Ideally, Zach would have loaded up and headed back to Florida to search for Lucas himself. He had all the contacts and knowledge necessary to get the job done, but he also had a real job here. That and the possibility of violating the stipulations of his grandfather’s will made it impossible for him to take on the task. Frustrated, he realized that he needed to speak to his sisters and cousins as soon as possible about hiring that private investigator.

  Hauling himself out of bed, he headed for the shower. Half an hour later, he and Brooke walked up the pathway of Grandpa George’s elegant old house on Railroad Street, just a block off the town green, where Arabella lived with her daughters and Jasmine. Together he and Brooke stepped up onto the deep, wraparound porch with its white wicker furniture and red flowering geraniums. Knowing that Arabella would likely be busy with her baking and the triplets, the cousins knocked, then let themselves in, the leaded glass front door being unlocked.

  “Arabella?” Brooke called from the entry hall. A voice from the front parlor answered them.

&n
bsp; “Brooke? Come join us.”

  Brooke walked into the living room. Zach tucked his sunshades into his shirt pocket and hung his hat on the coat tree before following her into the large, sprawling space. Despite a mixture of modern and antique furnishings, the room possessed a more formal aura than the smaller den where Arabella and the girls gathered to relax and watch television in the evening.

  With her legs folded and bare feet tucked beneath her, Jasmine sat in the center of the long sofa that gave the room its focal point. Kylie sat beside her in her usual work attire, a laptop perched atop her knees. She flashed Zach a welcoming smile. Despite his delight at seeing her, he shifted his weight uneasily, sure he knew why she was here.

  “Come look at the dresses,” Jasmine said, eagerly waving them over.

  Zach went to stand next to Brooke behind the sofa and peer over Kylie’s shoulder. Wedding gowns, as feared. Zach said nothing, but he couldn’t prevent a frown from dragging down the corners of his lips.

  “I really like this one,” Jasmine said, pecking the computer screen with a fingertip. “Isn’t that gorgeous for a winter wedding?”

  “It’s pretty pricey, of course,” Kylie cautioned, “so instead we could do something like…this.” She clicked on a different tab. A screen came up showing a similar style of dress devoid of the costly embellishments. “It’s a heavy knit, so we don’t have to worry about alterations. Add our own trim, and we come up with the same look at a fraction of the cost. Actually, this style would be easy and inexpensive to make from scratch, too.”

  “Isn’t that cool?” Jasmine gushed. “Kylie’s got lots of great ideas like that. Show them the candles.”

  Kylie manipulated the view until a photo came up. She described how she would use sprigs of holly or mistletoe and natural greenery harvested from local landowners to create an inexpensive Christmas-themed décor purchasing only simple white candles and ribbon. While Brooke murmured appropriate remarks, Zach gritted his teeth.

  A slight sound had Zach looking toward the doorway. Arabella leaned a shoulder against the casing, her wavy, golden-brown hair held back by a clip at the nape of her neck. Arms folded, she wore a loose, gauzy white blouse, gathered at the shoulders and belted at the waist with a length of braided cord, over comfy jeans and sandals. Running after her four-year-old triplets and worrying about Jasmine had kept the young single mother slender despite her occupation as a baker of excellent goodies.