by Jodi Thomas
I feel the same. Good night, my Kate.
He stared at the screen for a while. He was someone’s dear one.
Chapter 29
ALEX REFILLED HER COFFEE CUP AND SAT BACK DOWN AT the table across from her deputy, Phil Gentry, and Trooper Davis from the highway patrol. They were both men with experience, trusted men. Davis followed his gut feelings and now and then stepped on a few toes, but he’d asked for this assignment, so she knew it mattered to him. Phil Gentry had been with the department in Harmony for more than twenty years and always thought out every possibility.
Trying to concentrate, Alex figured she was the weak link in the team. She couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about before she went for coffee. Translation, the only man she truly saw in the room this morning was Hank Matheson. He seemed all professional and distant, as if nothing had happened between them in the parking lot of a bar last night.
For once she wished she’d had enough to drink the night before to have trouble remembering what she’d done. Unfortunately, she remembered every word, and worse, she remembered every touch. It had all started with the way Hank gently handled her on the dance floor. No one had ever driven her so crazy with such an easy touch. He’d brushed her, pressed against her, moved with her through song after song, but he’d never taken it beyond the limit. If he had, she could have stepped away. She might even have slapped him and stormed off the dance floor. As it was, she’d been the one making a fool of herself.
“If our arsonist follows the pattern,” Hank said, tapping the map on the table without looking at her. In fact, he hadn’t really looked at her since he’d arrived exactly at seven. “I figure he’ll strike in about ten days, maybe two weeks.”
The others agreed with his assessment. Alex downed a big gulp of hot coffee, knowing her concentration was off. Hank had been ready to work this morning and so had she—in theory. She couldn’t help wondering if last night lingered in his thoughts the way it did in hers. She remembered the way he’d touched her breast, not like a man exploring, but more like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. The man before her now was nothing like the man who’d kissed her last night.
Hank circled a spot on the map with a highlighter as he said, “I’m guessing right about here. I could be a mile or two off in any direction, but this guy is playing some kind of game, and it looks like Harmony is in the center of his target. When he finishes roping us in, he’ll head for town.”
Alex leaned forward. The area he thought would be hit next took in one corner of the McAllen ranch, half of Hank’s land, and part of the old Truman place on Lone Oak Road, along with four other small places scattered in between.
“What do we do that we’re not already doing?” Trooper Davis asked.
“We could ask the farmers to plow a fire break between the farms. That, and the roads will keep most fires from spreading.” Hank frowned. “If flames reach the CRP grass here, and here, it’s tall and thick. That kind of fire might jump, even a road or a plowed line.”
“I could get county crews to mow anything along the roads,” Alex suggested.
“That’ll help, but we don’t want to cause our arsonist to get suspicious. He might move somewhere else, and we can’t watch every mile of road. I’m thinking right now he has no idea we’re on to him.”
“We don’t know much,” Alex admitted. “We don’t know what he’ll do once he’s made his circle.”
“And,” Hank added, “if he panics, he could set more than one fire at a time.”
“We need rain,” the deputy said.
Hank straightened. “We can pray for rain, but we plan for fire.”
They all agreed.
“One last thing.” Hank finally glanced at her, but she saw no emotion in his stare. “On the outside of this circle, a mile or so farther out from Harmony than he’s ever set a fire, there’s a small branch of the Palo Duro.” Hank hesitated, pointing to what looked like a root running across the map. The Palo Duro Canyon ran for hundreds of miles across the flat land of upper Texas. The canyons grew shallow and small, branching out in thin veins cutting into flat land. There were long stretches of miles where no roads had ever been cut.
“If our firebug sets a fire at this rim of the canyon, there are no farms close and no roads to get the trucks into the area fast. A grass fire could burn wide before we could get to it. I’ve got two trucks at the station, but we can’t battle a fire line miles long and have any chance of putting it out before it reaches a fence, much less a road.”
Deputy Gentry leaned forward. “What if we had Wild Derwood fly over those sections a few times a day?”
Hank shrugged. “Who’d pay for it? The fire department runs on volunteers, and last I checked the city and county budgets had no extra funds.”
“If we requisition money, everyone in town would know about it,” Alex added. “Whoever is setting these fires would love all the talk. This kind of guy lives off the excitement. He could be right in the middle of us and we’d never know.”
“Right,” Hank agreed.
Phil Gentry smiled that fake smile he always used in poker games. “Wild Derwood would love to be on the volunteer fire department, Chief.”
Hank frowned. “Derwood’s crazy. Everyone knows that. He stole his dad’s Cessna and went joy riding when he was twelve. He flies over the cemetery every Sunday to wave at his mom, and his favorite topic of conversation is clouds. A few years back he told me he was born with cloudaphobia and had to fight like hell to overcome it. I think he may have gone too far in the other direction.”
“He brought the plane back safe that day he was twelve, so we know he’s a good pilot. And good pilots always watch clouds,” Gentry said, “and you can’t fault a man for loving his mother.”
“That doesn’t make him sane.” Hank folded his arms. Everyone at the table knew Derwood also occasionally smoked the weeds he grew in his backyard, but no one mentioned it or they’d have to deal with the problem and in so doing lose the town’s only good pilot.
“So, if his only flaw is insanity”—Alex looked from Phil Gentry to Hank—“what does that make him?”
Hank frowned.
Phil smiled. “A firefighting volunteer.”
Alex choked down a laugh. Hank looked like he’d swallowed a horned toad. She knew he didn’t want Derwood around the fire station, but he also saw Phil’s point. One plane could do more good at spotting a fire than twenty men.
She watched Hank fold up the map and shake hands with the other men as they moved to the door. He didn’t say a word to her. She told herself everything was back to normal. Last night had been a lapse into a place neither of them planned to go.
If and when she was ready to get involved with a man, it wouldn’t be Hank Matheson. He’d always seemed so much older than she was. When she was sixteen, going to her first dress-up dance, he and Warren had been like two fathers, questioning the boy, taking pictures on the porch. Half the conversations she’d had with Hank in her life had been when he was telling her what she should do or ordering her to listen to her brother or telling her to grow up and act like a lady.
Alex frowned as she took a seat behind her desk. She hadn’t acted like much of a lady last night. But then, he wasn’t exactly acting like a big brother.
She knew they should put this attraction for each other aside, but when this was over she had a feeling a different kind of sparks were going to fly.
“Alex.” Hank’s voice snapped her back from her thoughts.
“Yes.” She grabbed a pen and spent a few seconds looking busy before she glanced at the door. She couldn’t help but notice he looked a little hesitant. “What is it?”
He took one step into her office and stopped. “I told Noah he could come over to the station this afternoon and I’d start his training. I want him more aware of safety before he stops to help out at another site, if that’s all right with you?”
“It’s a good idea.” She knew no one in her family could stop Noa
h. She’d been a wild child, but her little brother was both wild and brave, a far more dangerous combination. “Thank you, Hank.”
“No problem.” He leaned against the wall. “You know, when he learns enough to go on a call, I’ll do my best to keep him out of harm’s way.”
“I know.” She smiled. “He’s stubborn.”
Hank gave her a pointed look. “It must run in the family.”
He was five feet away and she swore she could feel his hand on her breast. This man drove her mad. He wasn’t her type. He knew every fault she had, every wild thing she’d ever done. She wasn’t looking for a man, and if she were, it wouldn’t be him.
She liked her men reckless and out of control with the taste of danger on their lips. Hank was steady and solid. How reckless can a man be who lives with his mother, two sisters, two great-aunts, and a four-year-old? The man had so much baggage he needed his own U-Haul.
Last night in the parking lot was probably as close as he’d ever come to being out of control. And even then, he’d been the one to stop, to think of what a scene they’d make, to think of her.
The memory of how he’d handled her in the dark flooded back, and she felt fire in her cheeks.
She looked up and saw that he was still standing by the door staring at her. “What are you looking at?” she snapped.
“You,” he said, and his slow smile told her he had guessed what she was thinking.
He turned and walked out of the office.
Alex put her elbows on her desk and held her forehead in her palms. “That’s it,” she whispered. “When this is all over I’m going to check myself in for observation. I’m losing my mind.” She slapped her forehead. “Or, maybe I’ll go flying with Wild Derwood and let him tell me about clouds while we fly over the cemetery and wave at his mom.”
Chapter 30
REAGAN SAT IN THE PACKED STANDS OF THE HARMONY rodeo waiting for the bull riding to begin. Everyone in town was at the rodeo grounds tonight, and most had come to see Noah “Preacher” McAllen ride. She’d heard talk that many thought he might just be a better rider than his father, Adam, had been. Adam McAllen had put Harmony on the map in his youth. When he’d ridden in the national finals, it was said that more than a hundred folks went to Las Vegas to see him win.
Adam McAllen was a legend. Even when he moved to Amarillo three years ago and separated from his wife, he still told reporters in interviews that he was from Harmony.
Reagan didn’t care about Adam McAllen. All she cared about was his son. She hadn’t seen Noah except at school for almost two weeks. Since the night of the fire at the McNabb place, Noah had been hanging out at the fire station when he wasn’t training for this one eight-second ride tonight.
At lunch, he’d told her all about it, until she felt she knew as much as he did about how to fight fires. She also learned that both his sister, Alex, and Hank Matheson were worried that there would be more fires. Hot, dry weather warned of it, and spring seemed to have nothing but hot, dry days coming one after the other.
She and Noah had sat on the tailgate of his pickup one afternoon and planned what would have to be done on Jeremiah’s place if fire came. Reagan hated the thought of it. She didn’t mind that the spooky old trees to the main road might have to be cut down, but she didn’t like the idea of scarring the earth with a plow. Jeremiah loved looking out over his land and it wouldn’t be the same if they plowed a fire line.
She pulled her thoughts away from the threat of trouble and watched people wandering around the grounds. Some of the middle school kids in front of her hadn’t seen any of the rodeo. They were too busy walking from one end of the stands to the other, or talking, or hopping from bench to bench. Three blond girls about fourteen were dressed like they thought they were going to a beach party and had gotten off at the wrong stop. Even though it was after dark, they still wore their sunglasses.
Little kids played under the bleachers, and a group of men were taking a smoke break over by the parked cars. Reagan almost preferred the “no name” rodeo to this one. Too many people. She recognized most of their faces, and most smiled or waved at her, but she really didn’t know them.
Speaking of too many people, Brandon Biggs stepped on the empty seat next to her with a hard pound that wiggled the entire bleacher. He had on army-style boots and a jacket the local giant must have lent him. Brandon could have wrapped it twice around his stocky frame.
“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.
“If you’ll behave yourself,” she answered.
“If I accidentally forgot, the scar on my leg from the heel of your shoe would remind me.”
“How did things go the other night after we left?”
“Me and the Fraser boys had a real nice visit.” He leaned over. “They’re nothing but trash, you know.”
She snorted. Whatever.
As the announcer introduced the next rider, two of the three middle school blondes stood up. Brandon yelled for them to sit down or they’d be needing the dark glasses to hide a black eye.
The girls squealed indignantly, but sat down.
The first bull rider managed to hang on to the count of seven.
When the cowboy hit the dirt, Brandon stood.
“I better move on. Everyone knows you’re Noah’s girl.”
She thought better of correcting him. “Brandon,” she smiled, “before I get mad at you and forget it, thanks for what you did the other night.”
He stood just a bit straighter. “You’re welcome.”
She watched him push his way down, pestering a few of the middle school kids just for the hell of it.
The announcer yelled that Preacher McAllen was the next rider. Reagan stood up.
Noah came out of the chute spinning on a bull that looked like he’d breathed in smoke and couldn’t wait to blow it out. She’d never seen one buck so high. Noah’s free hand reached for the sky as he gripped tight, and the battle between man and bull went full force.
With snot flying, the bull turned left toward the gates, snorting and heaving, and then suddenly twisted right.
Noah tumbled as if snapped off as quick as an icicle breaks.
He rolled, but the bull was still kicking in a tight circle.
Reagan screamed as Noah’s body curled and twisted beneath the animal.
Noah was on the ground, fighting to crawl free, but the bull kept turning like a mixer, catching him with every turn. The clowns she’d watched and laughed at took on their real job, bullfighters. They moved in, trying to get the bull’s attention. The first caught a horn in his side and slammed into the chute gate; the second tumbled backward on the uneven ground.
For one heartbeat there was no one near to help Noah.
The pickup men couldn’t get close and the bull paid no attention to the last rodeo clown, a kid in training, as he waved and danced like a medicine man around a fire.
Reagan couldn’t breathe. She counted seconds in her head as if at some point there would be a bell and the round would be over.
“Don’t let him die,” she whispered.
As if in answer, a tall man jumped down from the back fence and swung his hat at the bull. When that didn’t work, the man spread his arms wide and rushed forward with his chest.
The animal charged the stranger, his horns pointed straight at the red shirt beneath the man’s western suit.
Like a matador in the movies, the stranger jumped out of the way a second before the bull reached him. A heartbeat later, the riders had their ropes, swinging them like whips as they turned the bull toward the corral.
It had all happened so fast, yet the seconds had seemed endless. Reagan began to shake as the bull charged into the corral. Nothing had prepared her for such panic, such violence, such fear. For those few seconds with Noah under the bull, the entire world seemed to be holding its breath.
She watched Noah, expecting him to stand and wave that he was all right, as all the others had done.
But Noah lay curled in the d
irt like a broken toy cowboy. His hat was gone. Dark hair mixed with shiny red blood covered part of his face.
The stranger who’d saved him knelt at Noah’s side. The crowd fell silent. Everyone watched as the doctor ran out with his bag. A circle of men all knelt around Noah, blocking any view from spectators. Behind the chutes, emergency lights flashed through silent air and an EMT van pulled to the edge of the arena. The announcer’s voice seem to whisper in the air, “Preacher may need your prayers tonight, folks.”
Reagan pushed her way from the stands and headed toward him. By the time the stretcher was brought onto the grounds, she’d crawled through the fence and was almost to Noah.
She saw his face, gray-white as they lifted him carefully and began to carry him out. She tried to see him as they put him in the ambulance, but there were too many men, all taller than she was.
The sirens sounded as she screamed his name, but Noah couldn’t hear her. For a moment in the chaos, she couldn’t hear herself.
The door closed and red lights flashed. She heard someone yell to call the sheriff and let her know her brother was heading to the hospital.
Reagan backed away to the shadows of the bleachers. She shoved hot tears off her cheek. Noah was all right, she thought. He had to be.
The rodeo went on, but people had lost interest. She waited in the darkness, not wanting to talk to anyone or see anyone.
She wanted to be with Noah. She wanted to know what was going on. She crossed her arms around her and wished she could hug away the pain she felt inside. If this was what it felt like to care about someone, it hurt too much.
“You all right?” A voice came out of nowhere.
She turned and saw Brandon. “No,” she said. “Where’s the hospital?”
“It’s all the way north on North. I pass it every time I come in from Bailee. You sure you’re all right?”
Reagan shoved her fingers into the pocket of Noah’s jacket. She felt his truck keys, as she knew she would. “I’m fine. I’m going to check on him.”