Welcome to Harmony

by Jodi Thomas

  Alexandra smiled. “I know. I’m proud of him. He’s a good kid.”

  Bob nodded. “The best, if you ask me. Tell him I said so.”

  “I sent him inside to wash. You can tell him yourself.”

  Bob took a few steps toward the house and stopped. He stared at the open door, with Stella moving around the kitchen. They didn’t have much. Didn’t even own the house they’d lived in for half their marriage. But when he thought about losing everything, he realized just how rich he was.

  He walked in, his face and clothes black with smoke. Walked right up to Stella and kissed her on the mouth like he hadn’t done in years.

  As always, she understood him and moved into his arms. They were alive.

  When she tugged away, he asked, “How are the rabbits?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “I meant for you to park the van across the road and stay there.”

  She shrugged. “I know, but I couldn’t see sitting with the rabbits while you were just down the road fighting to save the house. If those rabbits had died, we’d have dinner, but if you’d . . .” She couldn’t finish for crying.

  He held her tightly and smiled. He felt the same.

  People were moving all around now, washing up, doctoring burns on their hands and faces, rolling up the fire hose, but he didn’t care. Bob leaned close against her ear and whispered, “I think tonight, when we’re alone, I’d like to make love to my wife.”

  She giggled just as she had when he’d first mentioned the idea forty years ago.

  “And,” he added, “I don’t think I’ll smoke a cigarette afterward, if you’ve no objection.”

  Chapter 25

  ALEX CHECKED THE SECOND-DEGREE BURNS ON HER LITTLE brother’s hands and face. “You got too close without gear.”

  Several of the firefighters in the country kitchen agreed with her.

  Noah tried to pull away. “I didn’t exactly have time to go shopping for the crisis.” Immediately he looked like he regretted snapping back. Unlike her, Noah was usually even-tempered. “When I drove up and saw the smoke coming toward the McNabb house, I only thought about helping.”

  “Next time,” said Hank, who had joined them, “wet a bandanna and tie it around your face. Dunk your hat, too, if you get a chance.”

  “And wear gloves,” Alex ordered. “Mom’s going to have a fit about you getting singed.”

  “I’m not hurt,” Noah insisted, glaring at his bossy sister.

  “I’ve had sunburns worse than this.”

  Alex chose not to argue with him in front of everyone. They could both see the blisters rising on the backs of his hands.

  She nodded a thank-you as Stella passed, offering everyone iced tea in mason jars. When Noah joined the other men, Alex walked out into the night, where the smell of smoke was still thick in the air. Usually, this time of night was her favorite part of the day, but now danger drifted in the wind as if whispering of more trouble to come.

  When she reached the fence, she heard Noah’s truck and knew he must be leaving. The fire truck started backing through the mud toward the house. It was over. In a few minutes the night would be still and quiet again. And, thanks to the breeze, free of fire.

  Alex knew it was Hank who walked up behind her. She didn’t turn but whispered into the smoky stillness, “You were right. You warned of a fire tonight.”

  “Yeah, and I hate that I was,” he answered, resting his arm on the fence post. “If we’d been five minutes later, the McNabbs would have lost their home.”

  “McNabb told me he knew you’d come.” She smiled. “He thinks you hung the moon, Hank. Told me you were like a son to him.”

  Hank shifted. “He never told me that. I think a lot of him and Stella, too, good people. If he were twenty years younger, I’d give him this job and stay on my ranch long enough to make some money.”

  Alex shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d find something else to keep you busy. You’re nothing but a Boy Scout, Matheson. Always trying to help people.”

  He didn’t deny it. “You’re nothing but a wild child, McAllen. If you hadn’t been sheriff, you’d probably been an outlaw.”

  She didn’t argue. She’d made her share of dumb choices.

  They were both silent for a while, and then he added, “I hate the thought that someone is out there starting these fires. We have all we can handle with the accidental ones started by lightning or backfiring cars, or downed transformers. We don’t need a nut running around setting them on purpose.”

  “If the wind had been stronger tonight . . .” she began.

  “We’d be standing beside ashes,” he finished.

  On impulse, she gripped his forearm and closed her fingers around the solid muscles a few inches above his wrist. “You’re not in this alone, you know; we’ll fight this, Hank. We’ll fight it together.” All the problems they had between them—all the past that haunted them—didn’t matter. All that mattered was stopping whoever was setting the fires before someone was killed.

  His hand closed around hers. “There’s nothing else we can do here tonight. I’ll call in help first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll find the point of origin. Maybe our firebug got careless and left a clue.”

  “Until then,” she said, wishing she could see his face in the darkness, “I’ll have a patrol out here making sure no one sets foot on the land. As far as I’m concerned, this entire burn is a crime scene and I’m treating it like one.”

  Someone yelled, “Chief!”

  Hank turned, pulling away from her touch. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, as if someone might be close enough to hear.

  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him. “Name the time?”

  “Seven, your office for coffee. The team should be here by eight and we’ll find out where this fire started.”

  He walked toward the house, but she stayed in the shadows. She wanted to stand there and listen to the wind, feel the heat still in the earth, smell the smoke. Somewhere near was a criminal who was trying to destroy her town, and she planned to get to him first.

  Chapter 26

  REAGAN SAT DOWN BESIDE JEREMIAH IN WHAT SHE THOUGHT of as her chair. The darkening sky seemed muddy tonight, but the air was far too dry for it to be fog. She swore this part of Texas sometimes had negative humidity. The air just sucked what little moisture there was out and turned it into dust mites.

  “There’s a fire northwest of here,” Jeremiah said to himself. “I can smell it.”

  “Any idea what’s burning?” She’d learned he could read the atmosphere better than a crossbreed of a weatherman and mystic.

  “Grass, I think, just grass. When trees burn, they leave the smell of heartbreak in the air.”

  “Oh.” She tugged her blanket around her, thinking she’d always wondered what heartbreak smelled like. “How far away do you think the fire is?”

  “It’s out by now. All we’re getting is a drift of the smoke in the wind.”

  She looked at the silhouette of him a few feet away. Even in the night she could see his bent, crippled-up frame. Like an old tree root, he seemed to draw life from the earth. There was not one ounce of doubt in her mind that he loved his apple trees more than he’d ever love any human.

  “You ever have your heart broke?” she asked, just for something to say.

  He was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he planned to answer, and then he surprised her and said, “Once.”

  Reagan waited. For Jeremiah, the flow of conversation was more like a drip.

  “I was engaged to a Matheson girl before I left for the war. I thought she was about the prettiest gal in the state. She called me Dimples and giggled every time she said the word. I suspect that would have gotten irritating in time, but when I was eighteen I remember thinking it was cute.”

  “Really.” Reagan leaned over the arm of her chair and looked at him upside down. “Was this girl any kin to the Mathesons in town?”

  He d
idn’t answer, but she could feel the look he was giving her even in the dark. It was the one that silently said she was dumber than a chipped rock.

  “Oh, of course. You grew up around Mathesons with their ranch bordering us near the apple trees.” It occurred to her that if he’d married the girl, the Truman name wouldn’t be down to two. Now, when he died and the town figured out she wasn’t a Truman, one of the founding families would be gone. Completely gone. The thought hurt Reagan’s heart. How would she tell people that her family was extinct?

  “So, what happened to the giggling Matheson girl?” she asked him as she shoved aside her thoughts of being alone again.

  “When I got back from the war, she said she was more interested in a career than me. Became a grade-school teacher and lived with her sister in town until they both retired and moved out to Hank’s ranch where they grew up.”

  Reagan had heard Noah say once that Hank lived with a houseful of women, but she never thought one of them might be Jeremiah’s old flame. “Did you ever go over and say hi?” Hank’s ranch was within walking distance.

  Jeremiah didn’t answer, but she thought she saw him shake his head.

  Finally, he said, “I didn’t have nothing to offer her. My land ain’t hardly fit for farming, and I never wanted to nurse a bunch of cattle. If it weren’t for those apple trees my father planted a hundred years ago, I would have starved by now. The government pays me to let all my grass go back to nature. Even sent me seeds years ago.” He looked out in the darkness as if he could see his land. “I like the idea that the native grasses are growing up, making my place look like no one ever settled here.”

  “If you like the natural land so much, why have all those tractors?”

  He laughed. “Do you wake up ever’ morning with a certain number of questions you have to ask?”

  “No. What about the tractors?”

  “I fixed trucks in the army; never carried a rifle all my time in the war. I got so good at it I could tell what was wrong with a motor when they pulled a truck into the garage. When I got home, old tractors were about the only thing around to work on. Working on them was easy, and it passed the time. I used to do work for everyone around, even bought all kinds of old farm equipment and fixed them up to sell, but when newer models came along, they weren’t so much fun, so I quit and just kept the old ones I liked.”

  Reagan almost giggled. Jeremiah had just said more words than she’d heard him utter in weeks. “Would you show me them?”

  “Sure.” He patted the dog’s head and the dog stood. “Maybe tomorrow before supper. I think we’ll turn in now.”

  The old dog and the elderly man moved silently toward the house. The dog that had no name but Dog was never far from Jeremiah’s side. The few times she’d gotten up earlier than Jeremiah, she’d seen the dog on a rug just outside the old man’s door.

  Reagan curled into her blanket. She loved it here. Each day a piece of her soul dug deeper into the soil of this land along Lone Oak Road. She wasn’t sure if it became more of her, or she was slowly becoming a part of it, but she knew she’d never leave this place completely no matter what happened. A part of her would always be here.

  She watched a pickup turn off the main road and recognized the sound of Noah’s truck.

  Jeremiah moved up the steps. “Tell that boy to change his spark plugs. Engine’s missing.”

  “I will.”

  “And tell him he’s welcome to a slice of leftover pie. He gets any thinner I’ll mistake him for a sapling.”

  “I will.” Reagan smiled as she stood. Jeremiah liked Noah McAllen even if he did complain.

  “Don’t let him talk your ear off, girl. We’ve got work in the orchard tomorrow.”

  “I won’t.”

  Noah’s pickup pulled to a stop just as she heard the kitchen door close. Jeremiah might like Noah, but that didn’t mean he planned to be sociable.

  She saw the white of the bandage on his left hand as he walked toward her.

  “Are you hurt?” As he approached, she tried to see his face beneath the shadows of his battered cowboy hat. “Did something happen?”

  He stopped several feet away. “Now don’t start babying me, Rea, or I swear I’ll leave. I just got a little burn. It’s not even blistered in but a few spots. Between my sister and my mother I’ve had all I can take of being pampered. I came over to tell you about the fire at the McNabbs’ place tonight.”

  “I know about it.”

  “You know?”

  “Sure, Uncle Jeremiah said he smelled smoke. Grass fire, right?”

  “Right. What else did the old man say?”

  Reagan smiled. “He said you could have some pie if you wanted.”

  They moved toward the kitchen door. “You know something,” he said as he held the door with his good hand and let her pass under his arm. “Food seems to come with being hurt. I never noticed it before.”

  She slid the pie tin toward him, sat down on the seat next to him, and handed him one of the forks.

  The kitchen was still and silent, like the night. With no TV and a radio that got only three stations, she was glad for the company.

  He told her all about the fire while they finished off half a chocolate pie.

  He moved his bandaged hand to rest on the back of her chair, just above her shoulder, and she didn’t mind. Maybe she was getting used to his nearness. Maybe she knew he meant nothing when he drew closer.

  “I did something good tonight, Rea, and it felt really great.”

  “I wish I could have been there.”

  “Me, too.” He stared at her for a few seconds and added, “Want to go with me to Dallas next week? There’s a PRCA rodeo and for once, I’d be going just to watch. Several of us are skipping school after lunch and heading down, but it’ll run too late to drive back on Friday. There’s a church that opens their doors and lets us sleep on bedrolls in their fellowship hall. Last year there were kids from all over the state sacked out on bedrolls. The rules are strict, but you’ll—”

  “No,” Reagan said without hesitation.

  “But—”

  She didn’t give him time to try to talk her into anything. “Uncle Jeremiah is feeling bad. He’s got a cough. I’d better stay close.”

  Noah nodded, but the look in his eyes was skeptical. “You’re still afraid I’m going to turn into a werewolf or some other kind of monster, aren’t you?”

  “No.” The word came too fast to be complete truth. “I just don’t want to be that far away from home.”

  She hated it when he got that kind of smile that said he’d read her mind. He couldn’t read her thoughts. He couldn’t know . . . he didn’t know anything about her. Yet he understood.

  “All right, stay home, but you’re missing a good time.”

  She’d heard those words before in another place, another time . . . and they’d been wrong.

  “Well”—he tapped her shoulder—“how about watching me ride in two weeks? The rodeo is right here in Harmony, close enough for you to walk home.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  When she stood to wash the pie pan, she noticed him looking at a calendar on the wall by the door. “You marking off the days to something?”

  “Not me, Uncle Jeremiah. Every morning he crosses one more day off.”

  “It’s a long time before Christmas. What do you think he’s marking?”

  “I have no idea. He hates talking at breakfast and by evening I’ve forgotten about it.” She frowned. “If I were guessing, I’d say he’s marking off the days until I leave. I don’t think he’s really gotten used to the fact that I might stay.”

  She tugged Noah out of the chair by his unbandaged hand and walked him to the porch.

  Just before he headed down the steps, he turned, shoved his hat back, and leaned close as if to kiss her on the cheek.

  She moved away, looking down, not wanting to see his face.

  Neither of them said good night. He just walked to his truck and
drove away while she watched.

  “Don’t get close,” she whispered to the night. “Never let anyone close.” She watched at the taillights faded. “Not even Noah.”

  Chapter 27

  HANK WENT BY THE FIRE STATION WHEN HE CAME BACK from the McNabb place. He showered, then made sure all was in order.

  Willie Davis was so pumped Hank almost had to peel the kid off the ceiling. He’d been around a year, but this was the first real firefight he’d been in. Luckily, Andy Daily was still at the station running off copies of pictures he’d taken when they were fighting the fire. He seemed to enjoy rehashing the details as much as Willie did. He finally had to leave to walk across the street to the city dispatcher’s desk. Hank had a feeling Andy would have no problem staying awake tonight.

  Adrenaline still pounded in Hank’s blood, too, so instead of going home, he headed down North Street for no reason. The fires, or rather the fact that someone was setting them on purpose, ate away at his gut. He took the crimes personally, as though each were committed against him.

  Since his father died when he was a kid, Hank had always thought he had to take care of things. His branch of the Matheson family didn’t have much money, but Hank had the original land old Harmon Ely had given his greatgranddad. Somewhere a few generations back, his ancestor had managed to buy out the others. Every other relative moved to town or away except his branch of the family tree.

  He had cousins who worked in the bank and one who owned the Ford dealership. Cousins taught school at every level. One second cousin was a lawyer, one the youth minister at the Hilltop Baptist Church. Almost everywhere he looked in town, he had a relative who worked there, but none wanted to ranch, except him. Hank’s father must have handed over the last gene for ranching before he died. Maybe that’s why Hank understood Alex’s brother Noah so well; he knew how the kid felt about the land.

  The day Hank graduated from college, his mother signed the ranch over to him with the understanding that the big rambling house would always be home to family. His two sisters would always have a place to come home to, but Hank held the title to the land. Which, as it turned out, was very smart, otherwise some ex-brother-in-law would now own a slice of the Matheson ranch.