A HOME FOR THE HUNTER

by Christine Rimmer

  "Jack! No! Don't do it!" Olivia ran for the doors, thinking wildly that if he was going into that inferno, he was going to have to drag her right along with him.

  But then, in midflight, she felt a hand close over her arm. She was yanked backward. Another hand grabbed her other arm.

  She kicked, she screamed. "Let me go! Don't you see? He'll die in there, don't you see?"

  But the strong hands held her fast. "Easy, Olivia, settle down." Jared spoke gently. But his grip was firm. She knew he wasn't going to let her go.

  Jared shouted more orders. "Patrick, go around back. See if any of the guys back there have seen a sign of Dad."

  Patrick shot around the back of the building. Olivia forced herself to speak reasonably. "Jared, please. I'm all right. You can let me go now."

  Jared only shook his head and held on.

  Jack could hardly see. The smoke was too thick. All around him was the hissing of water hitting fire, the roar of hungry, undoused flames, the crackling of boiling pitch and the creaking of burned beams about to give.

  Smoke clogged his lungs, stinging. It burned to draw breath. He yanked his shirt over his mouth. The shirt was wet, thanks to Jared. It helped a little to screen out the acrid smoke. But not much.

  To his left there was the sound of bottles exploding behind the bar. Then a long, whiplike snap—the big mirror cracking from the heat. Next, a tinkling like a thousand tiny bells as the mirror disintegrated and collapsed onto the floor.

  Jack peered through slitted eyes, trying to get his bearings, to see his way to the back room. He looked from side to side. Jets of water from the hoses shot by through the windows behind him. He had to be careful not to stumble into them. Their pressure was great enough to knock him off his feet and push him into the blaze that raged all around.

  He coughed, swiped at his burning eyes, then peered toward where he thought the back room should be. He saw a hole there, where the curtain had hung. And beyond it, a fire storm. It looked like the whole back room was alive with flame.

  He heard an ominous crack, like a gunshot in the roar and whisper of the fire. And he watched, stunned and sickened, as the ceiling in the back room crashed down to meet the floor.

  If Oggie was still in there, he'd been burned alive. And now the charred old bones were crushed as well.

  Jack tried to see if there might be a way through the fire, out the back hall through which he'd entered earlier that night. But the back hall looked like a tunnel of flame.

  Jack dropped to the floor, starving for air. He sucked it in, smoky, but at least breathable this low down. Over behind the bar more bottles exploded, more glass rained down.

  He looked around again and saw that the support beams in the middle of the floor were afire. The flames licked and ate at them.

  Overhead the ceiling seemed to be moaning.

  Jack knew there was no time. He knew that if the old man wasn't outside somewhere right now, he was dead. If Jack wanted to save himself, it was time to get out.

  And yet he didn't move.

  He thought of the people he had saved in his life.

  He'd dragged a buddy, half-dead, through a jungle on the other side of the world. The buddy had lived.

  He'd pulled a baby from a burning hut. The baby had lain so still, he'd thought life had left it. But when he put his mouth on the tiny blue lips and gave the gift of breath, the baby coughed and puckered up its little face and let out an angry cry.

  He'd tracked a little girl to a mine shaft where her kidnappers had left her to die. She was so weak she couldn't hold on to him. She lay limp, her head lolling, as Jack carried her out. After a few days in the hospital she'd been fine.

  But Oggie Jones was not going to be fine. Jack's own father, and he'd come too late to save him.

  Jack's eyes were full, burning, wet. And it wasn't just the smoke. Something was breaking inside of him, like a wall going, a shell cracking.

  "Oggie! Damn you, Oggie, are you here?" he shouted, knowing it was useless, knowing the old man was dead.

  But what had it been for, all those people he had saved, all the women and the children, the buddies and the babies? He knew what for. To give them a chance to return to what Jack had never known: a home and a family. A place that mattered and people who cared.

  And this time? This time was different. He didn't want to admit it. He fought admitting it. But this was for him. He'd been a fool to turn away from the old man. He could see that clearly, now that it was too late.

  He wanted the old man alive. He wanted a chance with him. He wanted the family he had never known…

  Overhead the ceiling gave an ominous, extended moan. Not more than a minute—two, at the most—and it would come crashing down.

  "Oggie!" Jack shouted one more time. And then, after a short fit of coughing, he screamed, "Father! Father, where the hell are you?"

  More bottles exploded. The water from the hoses hissed and popped in a futile effort to douse the conflagration,

  Jack's body, which had learned the habit of survival in a thousand different trials, pushed to go on living. He began to crawl backward.

  He was almost to the door when he heard the groan.

  It sounded human.

  He froze, peering to his right, where he thought he'd heard the sound. Smoke eddied and swirled. Then he saw it. Sticking out from the overturned table not five feet away. An arm and a gnarled, aged, human hand.

  With a cry like an animal in pain, Jack slithered closer. The arm disappeared beneath the overturned table. Somehow Oggie had made it this far.

  Jack shoved the table up and over. It fell into the nearby flames with a muffled crash. The old man rolled his head and groaned once more, unconscious, but definitely alive.

  Jack lifted himself to a crouch, pulled the limp body up by an arm and positioned himself.

  In the middle of the room, one of the support beams collapsed. It broke in the middle and gave. Sparks showered. The ceiling-cracked and groaned. Jack could hear it beginning to go.

  With a yank that made the unconscious man moan, Jack pulled his father onto his back. Then he rolled to his feet, still crouching beneath his load, and aimed himself at the door.

  "Everybody back!" Jared shouted, taking his own advice and pulling Olivia along with him. "The roof's going!"

  Olivia, numb by then, staggered back because she was pulled that way. She stared, awestruck, broken inside, as the Hole in the Wall saloon caved in upon itself. She heard the groaning, the cracking, and then the center gave, pulling the rest in with it.

  Sparks shot up to heaven. The red glow inside peeled open to expose itself to the night. It was savagely beautiful.

  And it meant Jack was dead.

  And just as she allowed her mind to frame her loss, it happened.

  A bent, distorted figure burst through the double doors.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  « ^ »

  "Look!" someone shouted.

  "Woo-ee, lookee there!"

  "Do you believe it?"

  "It's Roper."

  "He's got Oggie."

  "He's saved the old man!"

  Olivia blinked. And joy shot through her, sharp as a lance, painfully sweet. "Jack!" She yanked against Jared's restraining hands. This time he released her.

  Olivia ran. It wasn't far.

  But she wasn't quite fast enough. There were others ahead of her. They'd already formed a circle around Jack and his burden. So she stood on tiptoe behind Rocky Collins, peering over his shoulder, trying to see what was happening in the center of the circle where Jack was.

  Olivia glanced from face to face. Brendan was there. And Amy. Delilah. Patrick. Regina. Eden. All of them. All the Joneses. Even Jared managed to slip past the outside of the circle to get to his father's side. Except for the men who had to stay with the fire, everyone crowded around Oggie Jones.

  Carefully Jack knelt and laid the old man on the ground.

  Delilah knelt beside Jack. "My
sweet Lord." Delilah looked at Jack. There were tears in her dark eyes and a warm, exultant gratitude. "You did it. You brought him out."

  "Come on now, folks, let us through. Let us see to this." It was the calm voice of Will Bacon, the practical nurse who ran the local medical clinic. People moved aside for Will, who was followed by Bertha Potts. Bertha drove the ambulance and assisted Will at the clinic.

  Will crouched beside Oggie, who was coughing and coming around.

  "Just take it easy, Oggie," Will said. "Looks like you're going to be all right."

  Oggie coughed some more and tried to speak, but another bout of coughing racked him.

  "You just lie down. Bertha, a pillow, please. And bring the oxygen tank."

  But Oggie shoved the pillow away and sat up. "Let a man get his breath, will you, Will Bacon?"

  "All right, all right."

  "What happened, Oggie?" someone asked.

  Bertha tersely instructed, "Don't bother him with questions now. Can't you see the man can hardly breathe?"

  Oggie coughed some more. But all eyes were on him. He wasn't passing up an opportunity like that. He shoved away the oxygen mask that Bertha was trying to put over his mouth. "I woke up from a little nap. The damn place was alive with flames. I couldn't find my cane. I staggered out through the burnin' curtain, into the main room. I made it almost to the door. And then I tripped. Grabbed on to a table, and it came down over me. It's the last thing I remember—until I heard someone calling me." Oggie hacked and spat.

  "It was that cigar of yours, wasn't it, Father?" Delilah's tears had already passed. Now she was looking more herself.

  Oggie grumbled and hacked some more. "Don't get on me, Delilah, damn it. Can't you see I almost died?"

  "But if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times—"

  "Shh, sweetheart," Sam Fletcher said gently, behind his wife.

  Delilah looked up at him. "But Sam—"

  Sam shook his head. Delilah said no more.

  And now Oggie was looking at Jack's soot-smeared face. "It was you, wasn't it? You were callin' me." Oggie grabbed Jack's hand. "You pulled me out, didn't you, son?"

  Jack nodded.

  "You called me Father…"

  Jack nodded again.

  Will Bacon shook his head. "Can you folks go into all this later and let me and Bertha do our job? Oggie, you've got one heck of a goose egg here. And you've got several burns that need attention."

  "Well, I told you, I fell down and hit my head. And I was just pulled from a burnin' buildin'. It makes sense I got burned. But right now I'm tryin' to talk to my son here. This is important. This is priority number one, you hear what I'm tellin' you, Will?"

  "Take it easy. Bertha, let's get him into the ambulance."

  "What the hell's the matter with you, Will?" Oggie demanded to know. "Can't you see what's happenin' here?"

  "Settle down," Jack soothed. "Settle down. Will's right. You need care. And we can talk about this later." Jack smiled.

  "You hear that?" Oggie gave in to another coughing fit. But as soon as it passed, he went on, "You all hear that? He's gonna talk to me. We got a lot to say to each other. 'Cause, you see, I'm his dad."

  Delilah grunted. "Oh, well. What a surprise," she muttered, not sounding surprised at all.

  Jack blinked and stared at his half sister, while those nearby in the crowd whispered knowingly among themselves.

  Delilah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. It was so obvious, right from the first. I grew up with three other brothers just like you, after all." She put her hand on Jack's shoulder and stared into his eyes. Suddenly she was looking emotional again. "And I'm glad we've found you…" She sniffed a little. "Though I admit, I'd like to hear you tell me that my father never cheated on my mother. That's the one thing I've always respected about my brothers and my father. They drive the rest of us crazy, but they never cheat."

  "He didn't," Jack said gruffly.

  "Damn straight I didn't," Oggie groused. And then he yelled at Bertha. "Hey, easy there. Can't you see I'm old?"

  "Quit your bellyaching," Bertha advised. By then Oggie was on the gurney. "Everyone, clear the way."

  The crowd cleared a path as they wheeled the old man toward the ambulance.

  Jack watched them take his father away. And then he handed Jared back his hard hat and jacket and turned to scan the crowd.

  Olivia waved. He saw her. She smiled at him. He pushed through the crowd until he reached her side. He held out his hand.

  She took it.

  Right then, in the circle where Oggie had been, Eden groaned and clutched her huge stomach.

  "Eden, honey?" Jared's usually stern face was a portrait of stark fear. "Is it—?"

  "Yes." Eden's contorted expression slowly relaxed. "There. Got through that one."

  "Oh, my God."

  "Jared, it's okay."

  But Jared was already shouting. "Hey, I need help! Bertha, Will, get the hell over here. Eden's having the baby now!"

  "Jared. Jared, settle down." Eden reached for her husband's hand and brought it to her lips. "I'm fine. And anyway, first babies take a while." She glanced at the Mercantile Grill, which was still ablaze inside. She sighed. "Well, it could be worse. The Mercantile building is brick. They'll be able to save the structure at least."

  Right then the front wall of the bar gave way. It collapsed inward like a toy stepped on by a thoughtless child.

  Rocky Collins, who practically lived at the Hole in the Wall, stared at the disintegrating building as if he were losing his best friend.

  Tim Brown, another Hole in the Wall regular, patted Rocky on the back. "Don't worry, Rock. You know Eden. She'll have them rebuilding in no time flat."

  "Yeah. Sure. You're right, Tim." Rocky tried to keep his chin up. "Somehow, I'll get by till the Hole in the Wall's standin' again."

  By that time Will Bacon was at Eden's side. "I think you'd better ride along with us to the hospital, don't you?"

  Eden cried out as another contraction gripped her. When it eased, she agreed. "Yes, I think you're right."

  Jared helped his wife into the ambulance, where Oggie was already waiting. "I'll follow in the truck," he told Will Bacon. Patrick and Brendan promised they'd watch over things until the fire had burned down to nothing and everyone went home. The ambulance pulled away. As soon as it disappeared around a bend, everyone turned back to watch the burning buildings and the relentless efforts of the volunteer firemen.

  At last, as the sky to the east began to turn pale, the fire was declared contained. A few random threads of smoke still spiraled up from the ruins, but nothing was left burning. The Mercantile stood gutted, a black shell. The Hole in the Wall was no more.

  Slowly, in groups of twos and threes, the townspeople left the scene and trudged back to their beds.

  Except for Olivia and Jack.

  They stood side by side, holding hands, until the last fire fighter had gone home. Then, together, they turned to face the eastern mountains where a new day was being born.

  Olivia watched the thread of gold that was the sun as it strove to breach the crest of the highest hill. She was thinking that only a few hours before, she'd wanted to hold back the dawn.

  Now she smiled in welcome, as morning claimed the world. "You understand now. Don't you, Jack?" she asked him quietly.

  He nodded. Then he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  She looked at him, into those beautiful obsidian eyes. "And we're staying here, we're living here."

  "All right." They were only two little words. But they meant everything to her.

  But Jack was still a realist. He tipped his head toward the burned-out Mercantile. "I want to point out, however, that we're both unemployed, as of now."

  "We'll find something. The family will help. And I'm rich, after all."

  She didn't say which family. He knew. The Joneses. The family that had taken her in and helped her to find the incredible woman inside herself. The family that se
emed to have been his all along.

  "I won't live off your money."

  "Of course you won't. But this is our place, Jack." Her face glowed in the new light of day. "The place we really found each other. The place we're meant to be, where our children will grow up. It's going to be a great life we'll have, Jack. I know it. I feel it in my bones."

  The sun broke above the mountains. Jack Roper reached for the woman he loved. They kissed, there in the middle of Main Street

  , with the dawn on one side and the burned-out buildings on the other. Then, hand in hand, they turned for the little house on Rambling Lane

  .

  They made only one stop on the way, at Swan's Motel, where they let Buzz out of Jack's room. The cat followed behind them, loyal as a dog, all the way to the white house with green trim.

  Inside they undressed and showered quickly, together. Then they climbed wearily into bed.

  He gathered her into his arms. "I love you."

  "I know. And I'm so glad you're willing to say it at last."

  "We're getting married. As soon as we can get a license. Today. Tomorrow, at the latest."

  "Can we get some sleep first?"

  "All right. But as soon as we wake up, we're looking for the nearest justice of the peace."

  "Absolutely." She yawned and snuggled up close.

  Jack nuzzled her damp hair. She smelled, as always, of soap and of sweetness.

  Her breath was even, her body limp. She was already asleep.

  Jack lay holding her, thinking about the shell, vanished now, that had for so long encased his heart. Olivia had seen beyond it. She'd led him to this town where his family waited.

  And then she and the town and a crazy old man had set to work on him, to crack open the shell.

  Jack Roper was a realist. He didn't believe in fate. Yet, somehow, while hunting down a poor little rich girl, he had found everything that had been missing in his life: a family, a life's mate and a true home at last.

  In his arms Olivia stirred. "Jack?"

  "Umm?"

  "Stop thinking, Jack. Get some rest."

  "I think we should be married in Vegas."