A Memory Worth Dying For (6 page)

Sandra smiled at him as he walked through the door but frowned when another bang filtered down from upstairs. “Guess it’s time to brave the lioness in her den.”

She stomped up the stairs leading to Marti’s apartment. Getting Marti excited about a trip to Texas was as easy as getting a turkey excited about Thanksgiving. Yet Sandra knew Marti needed the trip . . . for her own peace of mind . . . for her future . . . and possibly Daniel’s as well.

When she reached the top step, she gaped through the open door of the apartment at Marti on her tip-toes—perched on a wobbly step stool. She was punching and prodding a small suitcase, trying to wrestle it into a larger bag sitting on the highest shelf of the closet.

“Marti? Do you need help?”

Marti half-turned to glance her way.

“I’ve almost got it.” One more shove and the luggage rocked against the wall. The small suitcase nestled down inside the larger one, and they both balanced on the shelf. A black overnight bag sat by itself on the floor of the closet.

Marti blew out an exasperated breath and stepped off the stool. She turned off the closet light, pulled the overnight bag and step stool out of the closet, and closed the door.

Sandra propped her hands on her hips. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but why are you putting the suitcases back in the cupboard when Wade just got them down for you yesterday?”

Marti looked down and avoided Sandra’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have gotten them out in the first place. I told you I wasn’t going to Texas,” she said as she slid the folded-up stool under the bed.

Sandra puffed her cheeks as a flow of air escaped her lips. She sat down on the bed and patted the comforter. “Sit.”

Marti shook her head. “I have things to do.”

“Sit!” This time, Sandra’s voice was a little more forceful.

Marti frowned and perched on the edge of the bed.

“Okay. Let’s have it. Why won’t you go?”

“I don’t want to talk to him—”

A loud “Fiddle sticks!” burst from Sandra’s lips. “Like you expect me to believe that. Come on, Marti, what gives? Yesterday when you left for the homeless shelter, you were open to the idea. What changed your mind?”

Marti gave Sandra a scared look before her lips tightened and her gaze swept toward the window. The white curtains couldn’t have been any whiter than Marti’s face, and her eyes looked far away. Her hands rubbed up and down on her jeans, as if she was remembering something she wanted to forget.

Sandra softened her tone. “Come on, Marti. Talk to me. I’m your friend. I only want to help. Yesterday, you promised you’d think about going to see Daniel. What happened?”

Marti couldn’t keep back the tears any longer, and they rolled down her cheeks. Sandra leaned over and pulled Marti into her arms.

“Marti, love, what’s the matter?”

Marti sobbed against her friend until the whole story of being chased and threatened the night before burst from her lips. As Marti talked, Sandra’s fury stewed inside her. Wade would hear about this. Maybe he could find a clue in the alley to pin down this bloke.

When Marti told her the stalker threatened Sandra, Wade, and the gallery, Sandra’s anger hissed out in her next sentence. “Of all the nerve. Who does he think he is, threatening us? And Wade’s the chief constable. Marti, don’t you listen to this barmy rotter. He’s just trying to frighten you. Wade can take care of us. You do what’s best for you, and we both know that means talking to Daniel.”

Marti stood up and walked to the window. She stared out at the morning sky. “No, Sandra. I can’t do it.”

Sandra leaned back against the wall. “Why not?”

Marti didn’t answer, just stared out into the street. Sandra frowned. She’d seen that stubborn look before. It wasn’t going to do any good arguing about it. It was plain that Marti had made up her mind.

Sandra stood and shook her head. “Okay, sweetie, this is your call, but at least go with us to the art sale. It’ll do you good to get away for a couple of days.”

Marti picked up the overnight bag and smiled a trembling smile. “That’s why I left this out—in case I decided to go with you. There’s a horse competition in Vick at the same time. I thought I might go by there one day and check it out. I think a little time away might be fun.”

Sandra smiled and gave Marti a big hug. “Jolly good. We’ll have a do. That’s the way I like to hear you talk.”

“A ‘do’?”

“A party.”

“Hashtag: a girl’s night out.”

Sandra grinned and nodded. When she left, Marti was staring out the window. Sandra would have to put her thinking cap on and figure out a way to persuade Marti to make that trip to Texas.

It meant everything to Marti’s future.

NINE

TEXAS

SIXTY-YEAR-OLD GERALD RUSHING
jumped when the back door slammed. He was sitting in the office of his rambling ranch house in Carson, Texas, when he heard Daniel’s call through the hallway.

“Dad?”

“In here, son.”

Daniel’s steps pounded on the kitchen tiles then entered the wide hallway leading to the office.

Gerald squirmed in the antique chair sitting behind the office desk and frowned at the ancient computer keyboard. When Daniel entered the room, Gerald looked up. Frustration pulled his face as tight as a drum.

“What’s wrong, Dad?”

“This crazy computer lost my file again. Why in the world I let you talk me into putting the farm bookkeeping on computer, I’ll never know.”

Daniel grinned then scooted around the desk behind his dad. He punched a couple of keys, clicked in the open folder, and the file Gerald was looking for magically appeared on the screen.

“How did you do that?” Gerald’s eyes opened in surprise.

Daniel hid a grin and moved to the side of the desk. “You’ve gotta stop pushing the ‘delete’ key instead of the ‘enter’ key, Dad.”

Gerald shook his head. “Well, they’re too doggone close on this tiny little keyboard.”

“I told you before—you need to get one of the newer keyboards. The keys are further apart, and it’s much easier to type. I don’t know why you keep that one anyway. The keys are always sticking and the
R
key stays down half the time. That’s tough when your name has two
R
’s in it.”

Gerald grunted and pressed the “enter” key to save his file then looked up and pretended he hadn’t heard. “Were you lookin’ for me, son?”

“Aren’t you going to the town meeting about the wildfire?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, but it’s been rescheduled—two hours from now. The fire chief was waylaid checking the fire damage. Bud said the wildfire overran the firebreak on the south side wall—that means it’s headed our way if we don’t get it stopped. Hopefully, the state fire marshal will offer resources he can contribute. Is that what you came in here for, son?”

Gerald watched a furrow grow between Daniel’s eyes. “No, uh . . . I have something to tell you. I . . . I guess Veronica and I finally made a decision.”

Gerald tilted his head to the side and waited.

“We discussed getting married.”

Gerald never moved, but his chest deflated inside his ribs, and his blood felt like it turned cold in his veins. “What do you mean . . . you discussed it?”

“Well, she’s ready, and I guess I am too.”

Gerald leaned back in the groaning chair and studied his son’s face.

“If you ask me, you don’t look too happy about the whole thing.”

Daniel plopped down in the chair opposite his father and ran his hand through his hair. His eyes blinked rapidly.

“It all happened so fast. One minute we’re walking through their stables looking at her horses, and the next thing I know, she’s talking about adding stalls in our barn for her horses after we get married.”

Gerald knew he had to tread lightly. Saying the wrong thing could only push Daniel in the wrong direction. “Daniel, do you love her?”

Daniel rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “I care for her.”

“But, do you love her?”

“We’ve been close for so long, Dad. This is the next step, don’t you think?”

“No, son, I don’t. You need to at least wait until your memory comes back. Two months ago, you could hardly remember Veronica. Two years ago you were still getting over—”

“No, Dad. I don’t want to talk about my ex-wife. Veronica says she was nothing but a slut and an alcoholic.”

“Daniel! Just because she—”

“Stop, Dad! We’ve been through this before. I don’t want to talk about it again. Every time I think about the past, it reminds me of Angie.”

Gerald blew out a pained puff of air. “Daniel, your sister wouldn’t want you to grieve. Angie would be the first to tell you to let it go and get on with your life. She’d want you to be happy. I’m just not sure Veronica—”

“Enough, Dad.” The strained tone of those two words quieted Gerald.

“My marriage was over a long time ago. It’s because of her that Angie’s dead. I want to forget the past and move on with the future. That means giving Veronica and me a chance. She’s the only one I remember from the past. I’ve known her my whole life. We’re comfortable with each other. Our marriage will have a lot better chance of surviving if we’ve been friends for this many years. We like the same things. Besides, Veronica’s right—little Chris needs a father. Today he begged me to be his daddy.”

Gerald started. “What do you mean, his
daddy
?”

“Well, I know technically he’d be my brother-in-law, but it wouldn’t make a difference to him until he’s older.”

Gerald’s heart was heavy. He recognized that it was probably Chris who was pulling Daniel’s heartstrings instead of Veronica. Daniel’s eyes lit up when he talked about Veronica’s three-year-old brother. Shane and Mary Duke had adopted little Chris, and exactly two years later, Mary had died of a brain tumor. Shane was so devastated by his wife’s death that Veronica took over the mothering role for Chris.

“Have you prayed about this, Daniel?”

“Dad. I told you, I don’t remember all that praying stuff. We never prayed when we were growing up—how am I supposed to remember it now? You might like all that religion, but I want no part of it. Just because you say I ‘got saved’ doesn’t mean I feel it in here.” Daniel placed a fist over his heart.

“You don’t have to feel it to make it real, Daniel. Just pray, and God will bring it all back to you.”

Gerald grimaced as Daniel shut down the conversation with a frown. “Veronica and I are getting married in a month.” With a wave of his hand, and an end-of-discussion look, he walked out the door. Gerald slumped in the chair, defeated.

“Well, Lord, what do I do now?”

He leaned his head back against the chair and thought about Martha. If only she were here, she’d be able to show Daniel what it felt like to be in love.

Suddenly, he sat up. Quickly he pulled open the top drawer and rubbed his face between his thumb and fingers. He should have done this months ago.

TEN

GERALD SAID A QUICK PRAYER
when his neighbors grew restless in the sweltering auditorium. Anger was not the solution. They had to work together in order to solve this wildfire problem.

“Hold on, hold on!” The face of the Sander County Fire Chief, Bud Greeson, flushed red as he held both hands in the air and waved them at the men filling half the auditorium. The white shirt of his uniform was dark and sweaty around the armpits and collar.

He waved his right hand and tried to get the attention of the angry crowd. “Please, calm down. I called this meeting to assure everyone that we’re fighting this wildfire with everything we have. Losing your tempers is not the solution.”

Shane Duke stood up and raised his voice to be heard over the others mumbling in the background. “Well, anger is all we have right now, Bud. You said you’re fighting it with everything you have, but that isn’t enough. The fire’s growing every day. It’ll be at Gerald’s in a week or two if we don’t stop it or the wind don’t change. If the wind changes, my farm will be next—or the Mayberry’s. We thought the state fire marshal was coming in to bring us reinforcements. Now we hear he didn’t even care enough to show up.”

Bud drew in a deep breath before he spoke. “I told you Shane, his plane had engine problems. He’ll be here in a day or two.”

Gerald cringed as the crowd grew more restless, then he stood and pushed to the end of the aisle. “Look, Bud. We know you’re trying, but next week might be too late for some of us. Even if the wind changes, it’ll still sweep across somebody’s farm. And a lot more is at stake than a barn or a bunch of sheds—our livelihoods and our homes are in danger. Can you assure us it’ll be stopped before it destroys our lives?”

The crowd mumbled in agreement.

Bud looked tired and deflated. Gerald felt sorry for the man. It looked as if he knew he couldn’t offer a solution. “We’re doing the best we can.” He held his hands, palm up, as if defeated.

Shane’s protest was subdued but firm when he stepped back into the conversation. “Then you need to get men in here from other states for backup. Our men are tired, and that fire is spreading. Not only are our farms in danger, but if the fire spreads outward, the town itself could be burned. Our men can’t fight twenty-four hours a day, Bud. They need rest. Can’t we ask neighboring states for mutual aide? Maybe some of us should step in and help where we can so we don’t feel helpless standing around watching our homes and businesses burn.”

“Hold on a minute!” Bud pushed around the podium and walked to the edge of the platform. “That’s unacceptable, Shane. Don’t panic and do something you might regret. You’re not trained firefighters—neither are your men. We don’t want people getting lost in the middle of a wildfire, getting hurt . . . or worse. Let us do our jobs. Please.”

Several of the men started arguing among themselves.

Max Gibson, a small, muscled-looking man with a long white beard, stepped forward. “I’d like to say somethin’, Mr. Greeson; I’ve been Mr. Gerald’s stable manager for over thirty-two years. It’s all I know how to do. If we don’t get this fire under control, not only will Mr. Gerald lose his barn and his home, but all of us stable hands will lose our jobs. We’d be willin’ to help if we can.”