Chapter Six
Scooter, watching the way Josie’s back had stiffened, pinched his lips together. Kissing her may have been the biggest mistake of his life, but he wasn’t regretting it. Not in the least. The perfect curves of her five-foot frame had haunted his dreams for years. So had that delectable mouth. She didn’t slather bright red lipstick over her lips like her sisters did. He appreciated that, and recognized that that was Josie. She didn’t mask who she was. Not in that sense. In other ways, she was as secretive as a turtle tucked into its shell.
She’d released herself during their kiss, and that had thrilled him in ways not even motorcycles did.
“You’re not thinking of the fire?” he asked, withholding his grin. Inside, though, he was chuckling. She must be thinking of the kiss they’d shared, and was most likely mentally beating herself up over letting it happen. Josie liked to pretend she held no interest in men, but he knew she’d wanted him to kiss her as badly as he’d wanted it. “Not thinking about who may have thrown that fireball?”
She spun around. A frown tugged on her brow while her eyes displayed a hint of surprise.
“That’s what I’m thinking of,” he said. “How someone wanted to spoil your party.”
“You said it was probably a practical joke.”
He knew she didn’t believe that any more than he did. Whoever had started the fire had had more in mind than a joke. Scooter had nothing to go on but instinct, but that was enough. A man of Roger Nightingale’s stature was bound to have enemies.
Big shots and no-name gangsters, and those in between, had all been in attendance at today’s party, but Scooter’s gut told him none of them were responsible for the fire. He had a horrible suspicion that, whether it had happened before tonight or when Roger had introduced his family to the crowd, someone knew Josie was the girl infiltrating the prostitution rings at the docks.
His stomach clenched. That firebomb suggested they wouldn’t stop until she did. Or worse.
She spun all the way around to face him. “You told—”
He interrupted, “Because I didn’t think you’d want them discovering your secret.”
Her lips snapped shut as her eyes widened.
“You need help with the stands?” Dac yelled, as he climbed out of the boat near the dock a few yards up the shoreline.
“No, thanks,” Scooter replied. “I’ll come get them in the morning.”
“See you at the party,” Dac answered.
“See you,” Scooter replied, while gliding the boat up next to the dock they’d launched from earlier. While stabilizing the boat by grabbing hold of the dock, he gestured for Josie to step out. Several sizes too big for her, his coat hung down to her thighs and the sleeves completely hid her hands. The sight also stirred his insides more than any other outfit she’d ever worn. Climbing out, he grabbed the rope at the front of the boat and tugged it along the side of the dock as they walked to shore. There, he walked through the damp sand, pulling the boat toward the boathouse.
Josie didn’t follow, and he didn’t expect her to. Those ugly green shoes would get stuck in the sand. A grin crossed his lips. His coat was an improvement on the dress that matched those shoes.
A spit and sputter echoed over the lake, signaling Dac had climbed on his cycle and was heading back to the resort building. Scooter released several feet of rope, letting the boat float out into the water a bit in order to line it up with the double doors he pulled open.
The boathouse was pitch-black when, after hauling the boat all the way in, he closed the double doors facing the water, yet he knew Josie stood just inside the other door. Not just because he’d heard the door squeak, but because his internal awareness honed in on her presence—as it always did.
With the stealth of a cat stalking a mouse, he maneuvered his way between the boat and the side of the building, listening for any sound she might make. She was silent. Perhaps she was hoping to scare him. She’d been known for doing that, years ago, when they’d played hide-and-seek as kids.
He paused at the sound of a twig snapping. An almost silent hiss said Josie had heard it, too. It also told him exactly how close she was.
Scooter reached out and grabbed her arms. “Gotcha!”
She squealed, and then pushed at his chest. “That was not funny.”
There was laughter in her tone. His, too. “Oh, and standing in the dark, prepared to scare me, was?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Thinking about scaring me?”
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I thought about it, but only because I want to know what secret you were talking about.”
The boathouse was darker than a barrel of oil and he could barely see her eyes, but he really didn’t need to. She was right before him, and his lips could find hers without him seeing them. “Not the one about us kissing,” he whispered.
Her protest was little more than a murmur. His lips had found hers. They were warm, lush and sweet, and met his with an intensity that said they’d wanted another bout of kissing as much as his lips had. For a man who was cautious around fire, he sure was playing with it right now.
When her arms reached up to circle his neck, he took a step closer. His hands found their way inside his coat to run up and down the trim curves of her sides before grasping her hips to hold her against him. The heat of the contact, of her body aligned with his, sent warning signals to his brain.
He was making the second-biggest mistake of his life, but he might never get this chance again and was not going to let it slip away. One faint click wasn’t enough to make him stop kissing her, but a second one was.
She let out a little mumble and he pulled her closer. “Shhh. Listen.”
A snap sounded, like the one he’d heard earlier, as if someone had stepped on a twig. A tingle spiraled up Scooter’s spine. There were no twigs inside the boathouse. It was all sand. Clean sand, from when it had been refurbished.
The double doors on the far side of the structure rattled slightly before something clanged and clicked.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“What?” Josie asked.
“I think someone just locked us in here.” Scooter sidestepped, keeping one arm around her as he felt for the handle of the door that he knew had to be just behind her. Finding the handle, he grasped it and gave the door a hard shove. It barely moved. Someone had fastened the padlock outside.
“Who?” she asked. “Dac?”
“Dac wouldn’t lock us in here,” he whispered. There was another sound and the eerie sensation it created made him add, “Listen.”
After a brief silence she answered, “That’s just the waves splashing.”
Every sense Scooter had kicked into full awareness. “That’s not water. It’s gas.” Grabbing Josie’s hand, he spun around and rushed toward the back of the boathouse. The lock on the double door would give way easier than the smaller door.
“Gas?”
“Yes, someone is throwing gas on the building.” He let go of her hand. “Stay back.”
A well-aimed, solid kick sent the double doors flying open. “Stay here!” Scooter shot out of the building and ran around one swinging door. A can rolled down the bank as he dashed up it. He raced all the way around the building, but didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of anyone. The smell of gas filled the air, though, and he ran down the bank on the other side of the building.
Josie stood near the door. “Who was it? Did you see anyone?”
“No,” he said. “But we interrupted them before they could strike a match.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
Dismay and fear shimmered in her eyes as she looked up at him. A great storm of emotions collided inside him. He stepped closer, wrapped both arms around her and kissed the top of her head as her body, trembling, snuggled closer. Earlier he’d wanted to tell her someone had learned who she was, what she was doing. Now he wanted to protect her from that possibility as much as everything else.
“P
robably just another prankster,” he said.
Her arms were around his waist, holding on tightly. “Don’t lie to me, Scooter,” she whispered. “You don’t believe that. I know you don’t.”
Not saying anything about what he did or didn’t believe, Scooter held her close for several minutes before gathering the will to step back. “Come on, let’s get back up to the party.”
A lost kitten couldn’t have looked sadder than when she lifted her eyes to his. “You think this is my fault, don’t you? The fire and—” she waved a hand “—this.”
Scooter grasped her cheeks. “I didn’t say—”
She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. “I didn’t ask if you’d said it, I asked if you were thinking it, but never mind, I know the answer.”
He let his hands fall to his sides as she started walking away, but then he lurched forward and grabbed her arm. “Hold up. We have to shut these doors. Help me grab a couple of rocks to keep them shut for now.” He didn’t remind her someone might still be close at hand, waiting for her to take off alone.
While he closed both doors, she positioned decent-sized rocks in front of them to keep them shut. She didn’t pull away when he took her elbow to help her maneuver through the sand, either. Once on the grass, she stepped away and stopped near the gas can.
“That looks like an old milk can to me.”
He reached down and picked up the can by one of the two handles welded near the top. The cap was a few feet ahead of them and he walked forward to scoop it off the ground. Demonstrating how it fit, he explained, “See, the lid screws on.”
When she made no comment, he added, “You can’t tell me you don’t smell gasoline.”
Huffing out a sigh, she said, “Yes, I smell gasoline.”
Scooter set the can down by the front of the boathouse and when they arrived at his motorcycle he gave it a thorough examination, making sure no one had tinkered with it in their absence. Once satisfied, he climbed on and gave it a good wrench backward to release the stand. After locking the stand in place, he stomped on the kick-starter. While the engine sputtered to life, he held out an arm. “Climb on.”
Cautious of the muffler, she climbed on. He waited until she had her skirt situated, had set her feet upon his and had placed her arms around his waist before he shifted into gear. Her hold tightened and every place where her body touched his awakened a renewed awareness within him.
So focused on ignoring what was happening inside him, Scooter almost missed the image of a man flashing before the beam of the single headlight on the cycle. He braked and brought the motorcycle to a stop near the edge of the road. Recognizing Bronco, Scooter thanked the stars above that his luck had finally kicked in.
Cutting the engine so they wouldn’t have to shout, he said, “Where’re you headed?”
Bronco glanced at Josie before he said, “Just making a round.”
“Ty talk to you?” Scooter asked.
Bronco’s nod was slight, and meant only for him to see. An impossibility. Josie had eyes like an eagle.
“Head down to the last boathouse,” Scooter said. “I’ll be back there in a few minutes.”
With a nod, and a final glance at Josie, Bronco started down the road at a faster pace.
Scooter leaned the bike slightly to the left. “Hold your leg out of the way while I kick the starter,” he told Josie.
She did as he said, and then wrapped her arms around his waist again as they started up the road. The fact she hadn’t commented on what he’d told Bronco weighed heavily on his mind. She couldn’t be trusted to stay at the resort. Not left alone, anyway. Roger’s men were out searching the grounds, so leaving her with one of them would be impossible. He didn’t trust her sisters much more than he trusted her. If she told them what had just happened, they’d all be out looking for the culprits.
Just then Scooter recognized Tuck Andrews stepping out of the row of pine trees. Tuck was another one of Roger’s men. Scooter swerved the bike to the side of the road. This time he didn’t bother shutting off the engine. “Meet us at the last boathouse,” he said. “Bronco’s there.”
* * *
Josie bit back the grin tugging on her lips. Scooter had changed his mind. He’d been going to deliver her to the resort and then go back to tell her father’s men about the incident, but now, as he turned the motorcycle completely around, she realized he was taking her with him. By not saying a word, she’d gotten what she wanted.
Although she wasn’t exactly sure what that was—what she wanted. Other than to know who was behind such dastardly deeds. Someone playing practical, albeit dangerous, pranks made more sense than what Scooter thought. No one knew her from her trips to Duluth. She’d been careful. Extremely careful.
She momentarily lost her train of thought when Scooter leaned as the bike followed a curve in the road. Holding on to his waist, she leaned with him. This was by far the most fun part of riding. Swerving with the bike reminded her of dancing. The steady whine of the engine could very well be music and the road a dance floor.
Just like the first, this ride ended too soon. And it was just as well. She had to keep her wits about her, and that couldn’t happen while she was musing over how wonderful it was riding on Scooter’s cycle. Josie shook her head, trying to shake loose the thoughts that did no good. All of them included Scooter, and how he’d kissed her. Twice. She truly hadn’t expected that second kiss. Perhaps that was part of what made it so thrilling.
“What happened here?”
Bronco’s voice was like a plunge into cold water. She even shivered, and then realized Scooter had already turned off his motorcycle and was waiting for her to climb off. She did so rather hastily, and was thankful when he grabbed her arm to steady her. She had to get her thoughts in order. There were far more important things to worry about than kissing Scooter. Bronco was sure to tell her father what had happened, and that could ultimately lead to him discovering her Tuesday trips to Duluth. That would put a stop to her future, too. The one she’d covertly planned.
When Scooter let go of her arm, he answered Bronco. “Someone locked Josie and me in the boathouse while we were putting away the boat.”
“Why do I smell gasoline?” Bronco asked.
With the bike on its stand again, Scooter climbed off and took her arm as they walked down the grassy slope. “Someone splashed it against the outside of the boathouse,” Scooter said. “I kicked open the double doors and they ran off before they could strike a match.”
Tuck, having cut across the grass, had arrived in time to hear what had happened. “Did you get a look at anyone?” he asked.
“No,” Scooter replied. “Not even a glimpse. But they left their gas can behind.”
Bronco picked up the can. “It’s the resort’s. The one we use for boat-motor gas.” Setting the can back down, he asked, “Do you think it was the same person who threw that fireball?”
Josie held her silence. They expected Scooter to answer, so she let him. However, she did make a mental note that it hadn’t taken long for someone to report what had happened to Bronco. That was Norma Rose, no doubt. Unlike Scooter, her sister wasn’t thinking that Josie had anything to do with the fire, so at least she had that in her favor. If Norma Rose had any suspicions, her father would already have learned of them.
“Yes, I do,” Scooter answered.
An eerie sensation fluttered its way up her spine. What if Scooter was right? That somehow all of this had something to do with her? She could be putting her entire family in danger.
“Any idea who?” Bronco asked.
Josie didn’t know she was biting her lip until the sting almost made her yelp. Scooter hadn’t answered, and she hoped beyond hope he wouldn’t implicate her.
“No,” he said heavily. “I don’t.” He shrugged. “Could be some whiskey runners mad at Roger, or one of Galen Reynolds’s old cronies who wanted to get back at Forrest for seeing Galen never gets out of jail.”
“Yeah,” Bro
nco said. “Could be, or there are a few others I can think of. This place was crawling with gangsters today, a few I’d rather never see the likes of anywhere near here.”
None of what either man said should have caused her to feel relieved, but Josie did.
“We’ll take care of this,” Bronco said. “Rinse away the gas so there’s no worry of fire. The two of you can go back up to the party. It’ll be going strong for another few hours, I imagine.”
“All right,” Scooter said, steering Josie around by the elbow. With a nod, he told Tuck, “Catch up with you later.”
Tuck nodded and Josie had the distinct feeling the men had said a whole lot more than she’d heard. It was that way with her father and his men, and she’d learned to read between the lines.
She held her tongue, biting it at times to keep it in place, until after she and Scooter had ridden his cycle back along the winding road that ended in the resort’s parking lot. He left his leather hat on after he’d secured the motorcycle on its stand. It looked nice on him and went well with the way he had his white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even with the narrow suspenders, the hat and rolled-up sleeves made him look more like Scooter, rather than just another man in a suit.
She grasped the lapels of the coat she still had on. “Here, you’ll want your coat back.”
Scooter caught the coat before it fell off her shoulders and pulled it back up. “Naw, you keep it on.” Grinning, he winked. “It looks a lot better than that green dress.”
“It is somewhat homely,” she admitted.
“Somewhat?” he asked. “There’s no somewhat about it. It’s ugly, plain and simple.”
“Twyla picked them out,” Josie explained. “They were the only green dresses that would fit all three of us. There wasn’t time to order any others.”
He patted her shoulders before dropping his hands to his sides. “I figured as much.”
With a wave, he gestured to start walking toward the resort.
Music and the sounds of people laughing and having fun filtered through the parking lot. Josie had no desire whatsoever to rejoin the party. “Just like you figured I was behind what happened tonight?”
The Forgotten Daughter Page 9