by Kim McMahill
Dr. Clark, with surprising assistance from Janice, had negotiated for more time to continue testing and monitoring. But if the fire wasn’t an accident and Stephen had to divulge the truth about Charlotte, Grace knew the deal was off, and their time had run out.
An abrupt pounding on the door halted Grace’s progress of weeding through her dozens of emails, looking for those needing immediate responses and ignoring those that could wait. She quickly minimized the monitor screen, locked the keyboard, and made her way to the front of the house. She grabbed the shotgun that always rested behind the door, thankful she had thought to make sure it was loaded the night before.
“Who is it?”
“Don Matthews.”
Grace disliked the man but doubted he was a threat to her, so she set the gun down and stepped out onto the porch with her uncle’s two mutts, Blue and Aussie, at her side. Both dogs tensed but sat obediently. The man looked much older than she remembered, but the scowl on his face was as familiar as ever.
“You here alone?”
Grace was uncomfortable with the abrupt start to the conversation and the harsh tone of his voice and had no intention of answering.
“I doubt you give a darn about Butch, and I’m sure you’ll be sorry to hear Moss is recovering just fine, so what do you want?”
“No wonder no man has ever married you, with that sour attitude. You’ll end up an old maid just like your bachelor uncle. You deserve each other.”
“Is that why you stopped by, to insult me and my family, or is there something else you want?”
The old man glared at her for several seconds before continuing.
“It tore me up to hear about Butch, wasn’t his fault he worked for that mean, greedy, no-good uncle of yours. I thought I’d check to see if you needed help out of respect for Butch, but I see you’re just like Moss, so you can just fend for yourself.” He stomped off the porch, slammed his truck door, and spun out of the driveway before she could respond.
Grace stood, her arms folded across her chest, eyes squinted, teeth clenched, until his truck disappeared from view. She went back inside the house and clicked the deadbolt on the door. She took several deep breaths to calm her frazzled nerves. Kneeling down, Grace hugged each dog.
“Thanks for having my back.” She instantly felt more relaxed as both canines rubbed against her and wagged their tails.
When she was a child, Don Matthews had cut the fence in an area of leased ground seldom monitored due to its distance from the main ranch and let his cows graze on Talbot’s lease during a drought. When Moss went to rotate his cattle, he found the meadows grubbed down to the dirt, forcing the Talbots to pay inflated drought prices for hay in order to sustain the herd. Since then, the families had been distrustful and antagonistic toward each other. Grace had never feared Don, but after her conversation with Dr. Clark, which brought doubts about the fire into the forefront of her thoughts, she had nearly panicked when he’d asked if she was alone.
Grace poured the last cup of coffee from the pot and returned to the office. She picked up Logan’s card from the desk and turned it over and over in her fingers. Don had rattled her nerves, and she toyed with calling Logan, even if only to hear his voice. She had no right to lean on him. He had been kind and helpful, though he was probably just doing his job.
If, and she was beginning to feel it was more like when, he confirmed the fire was intentionally set, she would have to tell him everything. She doubted he’d be happy with her for not mentioning her suspicions from the start, and any friendship they had begun to develop would be over. As usual, she realized it was best not to get attached to someone who, like everyone in her past except for Moss and Butch, would toss her aside.
Chapter Twelve
Logan arrived at the Talbot Ranch at six sharp. His truck’s headlights pierced the darkness, and he wasn’t happy to see the horses’ noses buried in the feed bunks and the cattle lined up along rows of newly scattered hay. The ranch chores weren’t his responsibility, and definitely not part of his job, but he hated to see Grace work so hard, especially with all the sadness in her eyes. Ranching held a lot of risk for injury, and the thought of her laying out in the snow with no one to help made him shudder.
He knocked on the door, and the warm smile on Grace’s face that greeted him pushed every coherent thought from his mind, erasing his annoyance with her for not waiting for him to help with the animals. It took him a moment to compose himself and find his voice.
“Good Morning, Grace.”
“Morning, Logan.”
The aroma of coffee and frying bacon, and the sight of a beautiful woman clearly pleased to see him, gave him an overwhelming feeling of home and family. Shaking off the domestic illusion, he entered the house and removed his coat and boots, not waiting for an invitation.
“I thought we’d have time for some breakfast if I got the chores done before you got here. I hope you haven’t eaten.”
“I said I would help.”
“I appreciated the offer, but I didn’t really sleep much last night, so I was up early anyway.”
She didn’t wait for Logan’s answer as to whether or not he had eaten as she placed a heaped plate of bacon, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and toast in front of him and filled his coffee cup.
“You didn’t need to go to all this work, though I’m glad you did.”
“I usually cook for Butch and Uncle Moss every morning when I’m here, and I enjoy an excuse to eat a breakfast I would never make just for myself back home.”
“Not much fun cooking for one,” he said as he shoveled a fork full of hash browns into his mouth.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed, filling her own plate and joining Logan in companionable silence.
“Delicious,” Logan said, getting up, refilling both cups, and sitting back down. He hadn’t really looked at Grace when he arrived, since she had practically pushed him into a chair and forced a plate of food on him. Now that he studied her, he couldn’t help but notice it was the first time he’d seen her with makeup, just a hint, but enough to add a touch of pink to her cheeks and a gloss to her lips. Her curls were more under control than usual, and it made him itch to run his fingers through those golden locks and see if they were as soft as they looked.
“Something wrong?” Grace shifted under his intense gaze.
“Just thinking…not only can she cook, but she’s beautiful, too.”
Grace was momentarily stunned speechless. She was used to men staring and offering compliments, but considering her work environment, she hadn’t put too much credence in the flattery. The women were outnumbered by at least five to one in the corporate headquarters and in the research facility, so she always attributed the attention to being a rare novelty in a male-dominated environment filled with socially challenged, yet brilliant, men.
“But she isn’t thrilled with doing dishes, so if you wouldn’t mind clearing the table I’ll go check on Charlotte once more, and then we can hit the road. She seems a bit under the weather,” Grace stated as she pulled on her boots.
“I knew there had to be a catch.” Logan smiled warmly at her as he gathered up their plates and headed toward the sink.
The drive to Billings, Montana, took less time than Grace remembered, but then again, she was enjoying the company. She learned Logan was only a couple of years older than she was, had lived most of his life in southern Arizona, had one sister, and had worked border patrol before taking the deputy job and moving to Wyoming.
“Seems like a pretty drastic change, Arizona to Wyoming,” Grace stated.
“I have nothing against Arizona. In fact I miss it quite a bit from December through March, but after ten years working the border, I needed a serious change of scenery.”
“Because it’s so dangerous?”
“It was getting harder and harder to differentiate between the good guys and the bad guys. Most of the people we came into contact with were just struggling to find a better life for their families,
but others had no problem waging war on law enforcement. Unfortunately, more often than not, the only way to tell the difference was when the guns came out. I saw a lot of people die…fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and good cops, and too few drug dealers, human traffickers, and hardened criminals.”
Grace was still mulling over Logan’s observations about good guys and bad guys when they pulled up in front of the hospital. Her limited experience with criminals was in the arena of corporate espionage, but one aspect was the same…determining the honest, law-abiding employees from the money-grubbing crooks usually didn’t happen until the damage was done.
The spy was often a trusted colleague whom no one ever suspected until the person transferred to a new job with a competing company, started driving a Porsche, and somehow the new employer managed to release a valuable product ahead of the original former company. The practice was fairly common but generally not dangerous, and definitely not her area of expertise.
Logan opened the truck door and extended a hand to help her out of the tall four-wheel-drive pickup. She smiled at the rare, gentlemanly gesture, but as they approached the automatic doors leading into the hospital, Grace’s mind returned to her uncle, and she was seized by the overwhelming desire to see him and be reassured he was truly going to survive.
Quickly making her way to Moss’s room without stopping at the nurses’ station, Grace completely forgot about Logan trailing behind. When she entered, she was disappointed to find her uncle fast asleep. Pulling a chair up next to his bed, she held his hand and watched him breathe.
His head was wrapped in white gauze, but the black and blistered flesh on his face, arms, and neck were left exposed to the air. He looked so beaten up Grace could hardly think and struggled to hold back the tears. He had always been her rock, afraid of nothing, stronger than men half his age, but now he looked so very fragile.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Logan whispered in her ear and placed a strong hand on her shoulder.
The gesture nearly made Grace jump out of her chair. She had forgotten she wasn’t alone as she held Moss’s hand, silently thanking the Lord he was alive, and praying for his recovery.
She nodded, and Logan slipped quietly from the room, leaving her sitting alongside the only father figure she had really ever known. Grace remembered her father, but he hadn’t played much of a role in her life, especially when it came to what mattered. As her father, she’d needed him to love and protect her, and he had failed.
The thought of almost losing Moss took her mind back to the night she had arrived on his doorstep, scared, angry, but mostly confused. Her mother’s words continued to haunt her, and her father’s actions hurt even after all these years, but Moss had rescued her. For that, she loved him and felt she owed him everything.
Forcing away the painful memories, Grace pulled his hand closer, and after several minutes, his eyes fluttered open.
“Grace…you came. You shouldn’t have made the drive. It’s too far, and I heard we’ve had some bad weather.”
“I didn’t. Deputy Carlson drove. I would have been here sooner, but that storm dumped several feet of snow, and there’s been a lot to do at the ranch, not to mention trying to get up and running so I can work remotely.”
“The doctor said Butch didn’t make it.”
She bit her lip and nodded, afraid if she spoke her defenses would fall and the tears would flow.
“Darn it, Grace, I tried to save him. I don’t know what happened. Everything’s just a blur. I was heading back from town, and when I turned off the highway I knew it was bad. By the time I pulled up, the barn was totally engulfed. I didn’t see Butch, so I feared he was inside or he would have been trying to put out the fire.
“It was so hot already, but I was able to get close enough to try and open the door. It wouldn’t budge. I yanked on it, tried to kick it in, but nothing. It must have been barred from the inside so no one could get in, though I can’t figure out why. Anyway, I decided to get the truck and ram the door, but before I could turn around everything went black. Next thing you know, I woke up here yesterday in more pain than I thought possible and learned Butch is dead.”
Grace gripped his hand tighter. Seeing the mist in his eyes nearly broke her resolve not to cry again. She had never seen her uncle vulnerable before and had no doubt his physical pain was nothing compared to what he felt over the loss of his longtime friend.
Moss lifted his head and focused his eyes behind her, and Grace wondered how long Logan had been standing there.
“How are you feeling, Moss?” Logan asked as he set Grace’s coffee cup on the table next to the bed.
“Just wishing it was me instead.” Moss avoided Grace’s gaze, knowing what he said had probably hurt her.
“Sometimes that decision is out of our control, and we just have to live with it,” Logan replied, understanding Moss’s feelings completely, having experienced the same desire in his old job.
Moss nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, you heard what I know. Tell me what I don’t.”
“Not much more. I was hoping you could fill in some gaps, but since you apparently weren’t home when the fire started I guess that won’t be happening. The county fire warden was at the ranch a couple days ago. I got his report late last night. Not a lot of useful information, since there wasn’t much left of the structure. The best theory he could come up with, considering the lack of evidence, is that the fire was started by a kerosene lantern. He found a miniscule fragment from a lantern, and that’s about all.”
They all fell silent as the nurse came in and jotted notes on Moss’s chart, took his temperature and pulse, and peeked under the sheet to examine his burns. After she left, Grace stood and paced nervously about the room as she waited for Logan to continue.
“Grace said the barn has never had any locks, and she’s never seen a hurricane lantern on the place, but I just wanted to check and make sure you hadn’t installed any locks or come across a lantern since she last visited.”
Moss shook his head. “Kerosene, flames, and hay don’t mix. That’s why we had the barn wired a few years ago. We use electricity for everything, and we have gas generators as a backup when needed. When we do use the generators, we operate them outside and run electrical cords into the barn so they’re properly ventilated, but we haven’t fired up the generators since last winter anyway. Grace is right. No locks have ever been installed on the barn, or any of the outbuildings for that matter. I just can’t figure it out. Why wouldn’t the door budge? The barn was still fairly sound when I arrived. When I called out to see if anyone was inside, I got no answer. I knew if I couldn’t see or hear Butch, something was drastically wrong above and beyond a burning building. The barn can be rebuilt, but Butch—”
Logan placed a hand on Moss’s shoulder and neither spoke for several moments as the old man’s words hung in the room, sucking the air out of the space and leaving a painful void.
“Did Bud find anything else?” Moss asked, his voice cracking.
“We found an iron tamping bar close to where the doors would have been, so maybe the rod was wedged in from the inside to keep the doors from opening.”
“That makes no sense. Why would Butch barricade the door, especially when he was the only one on the ranch?”
“You didn’t see any other vehicles?”
“No, but then again, I didn’t have time to check behind the barn. There’s plenty of room to park vehicles back there alongside the trailers.”
“You know, the coroner found a pretty significant crack in Butch’s skull. Could have been from a falling timber, but under the circumstances I have my doubts.”
“Seems to be a bit of common theme starting to develop, I’d say. You know I’ve got this big lump on my—”
Grace stopped pacing, turned toward the men, and pulled in the gasp before it could escape her lips, interrupting her uncle’s sentence. It was the first she’d heard about Butch’s head wound. Her abrupt halt drew the
attention of both men. Under their intense gaze the room began to spin, sweat beaded on her brow, and her vision blurred.
She prayed the fire had been an accident, but she was now certain it had been intentionally set. She supposed there was a remote possibility the arson had nothing to do with her research, but deep down she knew her work had killed Butch and nearly cost Moss his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Logan’s eyes widened as he watched the color drain from Grace’s face. In two strides he was at her side and caught her as her knees buckled. Cradling her in his arms, he dashed out into the hall and called for help. Instantly he was surrounded by nurses, and Grace was taken from him, laid on a gurney, and wheeled away. Stunned and not knowing what else to do, he walked back into Moss’s room and collapsed into the chair next to the old man’s bed.
“Did they say anything?”
“No, they just took her from me and rushed off,” Logan replied. “Is she like a diabetic or something?”
“No, she’s hardy and tough as nails. It looked like she fainted, but that’s not like my Grace. You can’t have a weak stomach in her line of work or on a ranch, and after her mother dropped her on my doorstep when she was ten, she matured fast and became fiercely independent and strong, some might say stubborn, focused, and driven. Nothing shakes her.”
“Are her folks still around?”
Moss paused, and Logan was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. He wanted to learn all there was to know about Grace. In the three years he’d been in the job, he had never crossed paths with the mysterious niece of Moss Talbot who slipped in and out of the basin, having minimal contact with anyone.