“Intuition?” she asked with a smile.
He grunted. “Call it a hunch. I’ll feel better to have you where I can see you.”
She had to admit she felt secure being near him. There was something big and safe and comfortable about Alistair Redhawk’s presence.
She had no memories of ever being at his home, but he’d just told her they were getting close when he suddenly broke more news to her. “Helen’s daughter and granddaughter are flying out tomorrow. They want to find out more about the death at Medicine Stick. They seem to think the body is that of their aunt.”
“My Helen’s daughter?” Hart said wonderingly. “Helen Larkin?”
“Her name was Johnson after she married. She called herself Helen Larkin Johnson.”
“She didn’t marry Arlin Johnson?” she asking, laughing a little at the idea. “Why she never had a good word for that boy. And he was always tagging after her, playing tricks on her and being a general nuisance.”
“I believe they referred to her as Mrs. A. J. Johnson,” he said.
“That’s be Arlin. Arlin Jack Johnson, named for his grandpa.” She sat, contemplating the idea of her little sister as anybody’s wife and barely noticed that he was looking at her in a kind of funny way.
Chapter Thirteen
The evening was bittersweet, taking him back to the few precious days when they were first married if he let himself forget that his Hart was out of her mind and only accepted that she was married to him because people told her so.
They had hearty hot soup, defrosted from the freezer where he kept specially prepared emergency meals, thick slices of buttered bread from a Wichita bakery, salad from a bag and peach cobbler with ice cream for dessert. Alistair was no more than a middle-grade cook, but he knew where to find the best food in the county.
Hart only nibbled at her cobbler while he had a second helping and finally pushed his bowl aside. “Feels like winter outside,” she said with a shiver.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “Usually the first blue norther moves in on rodeo weekend early in the month so this is a little overdue since it’s nearly October.”
Instinctively both of them avoided the subject of the intrusion into the antique shop or the disconcerting remarks she’d made earlier about ‘her’ sister. He knew very well that Hart had no sisters. Her half-brother was her only sibling. But she had not retracted the statement and had been extra quiet so far as though a whole lot was processing through her brain.
He went into the living room to light the wood in the fireplace and she followed him, settling into a big recliner. “I like your house,” she said. “It feels welcoming.”
He avoided saying that for a little while it had been her home as well. “My parents built it and gave it to me when they decided to move to Florida.”
She looked up in surprise. “Somehow I thought they were deceased.”
“Mom and Dad? Not hardly. But Mom didn’t grow up around here, she and Dad met at college. And she finally said she’d had enough of Oklahoma winds and wanted to live near her sisters. Dad gave in very reluctantly, but I think Lakeland’s warm winters are good for his arthritis and he’s taken up playing golf. They come back for long visits though, say it’s their duty to disturb my peace now and then.”
“Lakeland?”
“Over between Orlando and Tampa. Nice place.”
“Does she . . .I mean, do I know them?”
He shook his head. “They were planning to come back to meet you, but then things kind of went sour.”
“You didn’t let them know about the false accusations and you’re being put in jail?”
He shook his head. “No need to upset them. I figured it would work out.” A huge understatement, of course, but in that period he’d been more worried about the whereabouts and safety of his wife than keeping his parents informed. Their peace hadn’t needed disturbing, especially when neither one was entirely well.
“Do you want a divorce, Alistair?” she asked, surprising him. “I mean, you must want to get on with your life.”
“Let’s worry about that, honey, when we get this mess straightened out.” Surprisingly the thought was a painful one, his fierce anger toward her erased and changed into something protective. Something was very wrong with her and as long as they were legally married he had a right to be involved in her life. Somewhere deep down inside him, he refused to touch the hope that if she were well again she would remember that she loved him.
It was a common event, of course, for the sheriff of even a low-population largely rural county to be summoned in the middle of the night so when his alert went off, he quickly made contact to determine the state of the emergency—fire in Mountainside—dressed hastily and ran into Hart in the hallway outside his room.
“I heard sounds,” she mumbled, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“A sheriff’s work is never done,” he evaded. “Get back to bed. I’ll lock the door behind me.”
He saw no point in telling her right now that the building on fire in Mountainside was that which housed her own apartment, but ran toward his car and was soon cutting through the dark night with flashing lights and the sound of a siren.
Mountainside, like the other communities in his county, were served by volunteer fire fighters and he was one of them so when he reached the main street of the little town it was already crowded with dozens of trained volunteers and the Mountainside fire trucks had been joined by some from Wichita and other assisting communities.
His heart sank when he saw that leaping flames were shooting up from the back of the building. Thank God Hart wasn’t in there! The fire was climbing right up into her second floor rooms.
Grabbing his gear, he ran toward the center of action and began to help with the hose. Water pressure in Mountainside wasn’t exactly something to brag about and he couldn’t feel too optimistic about saving the dried out wood that had framed the old building.
“Mostly we’re just trying to keep it from spreading, sheriff,” his long-time friend Jason Pitcher, fire chief and mayor of Mountainside, both of which were unpaid positions, called to him. “This could take all the buildings in this block down.”
He nodded, not bothering to answer as he took his part in the work chain. The buildings were all old, dating back to the early 20th century, and most of them connected in a nearly continuous line. It didn’t look good.
The red and yellow flames glowed brightly against the dark cold night and high winds sent them into furious activity. Fighting fires in the powerful gusts of an Oklahoma windstorm was not a positive scenario.
He felt someone tugging at his back and heard shouting that barely reached above the noise around him and tried to shake off the intruder who was interrupting his concentrated efforts. Then he recognized Tommy Benson’s frantic voice, “My sister is in there. Let me through. I’ve got to get to her!”
Realizing that Tommy was trying to push through the fire lines, Alistair released his part in controlling the hose to a friend, and stepped back to grab Tommy and pull him back, yelling first to the fire chief. “Hart’s not in there, Jason, she’s safe at my house.”
Tommy began to pummel frantically against Alistair’s arms and face until other men had to pull him off. “She’s safe, Tommy,” Alistair yelled. “She was scared to stay alone tonight because somebody broke in. She’s sound asleep out at my house. “
“You’re lying!” Tommy struggled against restraining hands. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you want her to die in there so you’ll get all her money.”
“Hey, Tommy,” Jason yelled. “We’re trying to fight a fire here.”
“Then go in after her!” Save her if you won’t let me do it.”
Jason looked inquiringly at Alistair. He grimaced, not wanting to risk firefighters’ lives in a futile effort to get to a woman who wasn’t there. “Call her,” he told Jason. “She’s number 3 on my speed dial.” He tossed his personal phone to the fire chief, who immedi
ately hit that number and within minutes was talking to Hart, trying to explain to her their concern that she was within a blazing building. Once he’d reassured himself, he nodded to the others to release Tommy Benson and handed the phone to him. “Talk to your sister. She’ll tell you she’s all right.”
After that Alistair didn’t have time to concern himself with either Hart or her brother. He was too busy helping to keep Mountainside’s small downtown from burning to the ground.
Startled from sleep by the fire chief’s call, Hart dressed hastily in the jeans and pullover she’d brought in her bag, but didn’t bother to even comb her hair. Anxious to get into Mountainside, she searched through a drawer in the kitchen, almost as though she knew what was kept there, found the keys to the pickup truck that was the sheriff’s personal property. She didn’t take time to try to figure if she really knew that the keys would be in the drawer or that the pickup would be out in the big red barn, or if these were just logical places to search.
She found her way uneasily along darkened roads, once or twice having to turn back and retrace her tracks, trying to remember the way they’d come last night when Alistair drove her out.
Not only her little apartment, the only home she had, was in danger, but all Mrs. Harris’ possessions as well. In some way she felt like the caretaker for the belongings of an old woman she didn’t remember ever having met.
In the darkness of a wind-whipped night she could barely see the plumes of smoke above the downtown, but it scented the air and as she drove into Mountainside, she could see the bright spewing of flames.
She choked as much from the sense of horrific loss as from the wind-thinned smoke as she parked the pickup behind a host of others and raced toward the fire, pushing her way forcefully through the crowd until restrained by the town’s constables.
“Tommy,” one of them called. “Here’s Hart.”
Her brother, looking distraught with his thinning hair crammed down under a cap and shivering in a jacket inadequate for the cold, rushed over to take her in his arms. “I was so afraid you were up there, Hart,” he said.
She hadn’t thought to grab a coat and now the freezing wind pierced her body even while he hugged her. “I’m fine, Tommy. This is awful, but at least no one was inside.”
Alistair joined them, wrapping a huge smoky coat, his own or someone else’s, around her. She welcomed the warmth it offered. “We’ve got the fire confined,” he said, hardly recognizable with his face blackened with soot. “But I’m afraid your apartment is a total loss. That’s where the fire started.”
“Did you leave the stove on?” Tommy asked, his forehead creased in a frown. “Or maybe the dryer caused the fire; that happens sometimes.”
“I don’t have a washer or dryer,” Hart protested. “And I’m sure we turned off the fire before we left.”
Alistair nodded agreement, but it wasn’t until Tommy stepped away to ask questions of the busy fire chief that he whispered to Hart, “I’m afraid it was arson. Somebody dumped gasoline on your floor and set it on fire. That’s what Jason says.”
She didn’t even ask who Jason was, but just stared up at him. “Why would anybody do such a terrible thing?”
He reached down to pull her into a hug, kissed her gently, then laughingly tried to remove the smudges he’d left on her face. “Hey, lady, you look like you’ve been fighting a fire.”
She sniffed, tears coming to her eyes. “My favorite book,” she said. “Take Three Tenses was on my bedside table. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” Then she gave a little laugh. “Which isn’t very long.”
“I’m just thankful you’re all right,” he whispered.
Tommy pushed him aside. “I’m taking her home with me,” he insisted.
Hart tried to protest, but Alistair nodded agreement. “That’d probably be best for now. I’m going to be involved in investigations, but I’ll pick you up later,” he told her, then rushed off to join the cluster of firefighters who were seeing that the final embers were doused.
“That’s what he thinks,” Tommy muttered, pulling her away from the crowd and down the street to where he was parked.
“But Tommy, I’ve got Alistair’s pickup over there.” She pointed, but he opened the door to his own pickup and lifted her inside.
“He can take care of that.” He edged away from the crowd and down the short streets to his home while Hart huddled on the seat, wishing she could have left on her own.
Chapter Fourteen
In the light of the cold, late September morning Alistair, feeling as smoky, grimy and dejected as the half burned old building stood with two young volunteer firemen, looking at the damage, and only half listening to their chatter.
“Awesome that we managed to save what we did,” one of them said with tired pride. “Old Miz Harris may be able to savage some of her belongings.”
The other nodded. “Nobody died and we kept the other buildings from getting on fire. That’s one for our side.”
Alistair nodded. They deserved more in the way of accolades, these volunteers who practiced and prepared, then got out on an instant to fight for their townspeople, but he was too tired for speech and scared too. From first examination, it looked like a deliberate fire set so as to destroy Hart’s apartment. He knew he was too exhausted to feel anything but negative right now, but it seemed to him as though someone had tried to kill his wife. If he hadn’t insisted on taking her home with him . . . He let the thought trail away, anxious about her well being right at this moment.
Everybody had seen Tommy take her home so she should be okay, but right now he just wanted his eyes on her to make sure.
“State fire marshal will come in later today and we’ll get the official word, but my guess is its arson,” one of the youngsters at his side said. He knew both their names, but right now didn’t even try to remember what they were. His brain was too fuggy for extra effort.
All he could think was he had to get to Hart so he started for his car.
“Get some rest, Sheriff,” one of them called after him. Damn, but those two seemed bright and annoyingly cheery after the long night. He had put in many an all night’s work himself and emerged in fine condition, but the hard labor and adrenalin rush of firefighting had left him limp and not thinking too clearly.
He didn’t trust anybody with Hart, not even her own kin. Somehow, even in his current state, he couldn’t imagine Tommy or Nikki creeping around her building with a can of gasoline, but he wasn’t sure they’d be alert enough to protect her from whoever wanted to do her harm.
If such a person actually existed. Of course there were those sick people who just liked to start fires to see them burn. He wanted to accept that explanation, but it didn’t quite fit.
He drove to Tommy’s house. It was already after nine. The family should be up. He pressed the doorbell and when there was no immediate response knocked loudly.
Nobody answered. He looked around. Tommy’s one-ton work truck was gone, as was the little car Nikki drove to her job as coach and teacher. By this time of the morning both she and the girls would be at school.
He felt a rising anger that they’d gone off and left Hart alone. He knocked again and when nobody answered this time, he felt ready to tear the door down.
Then it occurred to him that maybe she too had gone to work. Hurriedly he called the prison, identified himself and asked if she was there. A positive answer left him slumped in relief and, checking in again to his own office to determine that nothing urgent was underway, he drove home for a bath, some breakfast and a couple of hours of necessary sleep. He suspected that a lot of volunteer firefighters were either in bed or just about dead on their feet this morning.
She’d gotten little sleep the previous night and still felt numb at the knowledge she’d lost her apartment and all her possessions including the new television and computer, but her brother and sister-in-law had gone to work, so she’d asked Nikki to drop her by to pick up her car and, hoping Ali
stair would see to the pickup she’d left downtown, she’d driven out to the prison to begin her usual day’s routine.
The pants and shirt she’d borrowed from Nikki were too loose and the pants not quite long enough so that she looked as though she was ready to go wading, but at least she’d shown up and the guys in their orange suits wouldn’t tease her about her apparel.
She’d been glad enough to escape her brother’s home and her sister-in-law’s not too veiled remarks about how it looked like they were going to have a house guest once again.
She got on the computer to look for local rentals and found exactly none. Most housing in Wichita County, such as it was, was occupied. She resolved to just drive the streets once she got off work until she found someone willing to rent to her. She could not stay at Tommy’s when his wife made it so evident she was anything but welcome.
Mr. Jeffers shuffled over to her, asking for a book recommendation and she put aside her own concerns to help him find something. It wasn’t always easy as he read a book every day or two and had gone through most of the small library’s offerings.
By the time she’d gotten through her library chores and the day’s offering of a GED class for those working to get high school accreditation, she was more than ready to go home—if she’d had a home.
She stepped out into still frigid winds, clasping her heavy coat around her and thinking she had to invest in warm gloves and a cap when she noticed the sheriff’s car parked next to her own.
Alistair got out to open the passenger door and since it was too cold to argue in the open, she got in. “You look like something dragged through a knothole,” he said with concern once both doors were closed and the harsh wind shut outside.
“You don’t look so hot yourself,” she returned.
“You should have seen me before the shower.” He grinned.
“And I’d look a lot better if I were wearing my own clothes, but I don’t have many anymore and Nikki was good enough to lend me this outfit.”
Wrong Face in the Mirror: A Time Travel Romance (Medicine Stick Series) Page 9