Angel Fire (4 page)

“Maintenance and laundry room. All the cleaning carts and room supplies are in here. Light bulbs, toilet paper, what have you. Same thing: check the door every time you go past. Guests might think it’s a free-for-all on towels and soap, and those damned things cost a fortune.”

I nodded again. “Got it.”

Uncle Edward gave me a stern look. I kept my face serious.

He grunted before he continued on down the line of rooms to the end of the motel, not looking back, simply assuming I was following.

Behind the building a length of pavement bordered a field of tall grass that stretched all the way to a gentle hill a hundred feet away. As a child, I used to love racing down there on my bike. Beyond the hill was Circle Lake, where we sometimes picnicked and fished.

My uncle pointed toward the end of the motel. He said, “Back there is the trash bin. Keep it locked as well. Ranch folk will drive up here in the middle of the night and fill it up with their junk otherwise. We don’t need to be paying to haul someone else’s garbage.”

“Uncle Edward, I want to thank you for giving me a chance. I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, and I know we’ve only gotten more distant over the past ten years, but I think…”

I trailed off under his harsh glare.

“I don’t give a hoot what you think, little girl,” he said. “I don’t need any help, no matter what Martha thinks. I only agreed to letting you stay and work the place out of respect for my sister’s memory. But I have just one condition for you, so let’s get this straight right here and right now. This is my motel and I’m the boss. You do what I say, when I say, and you don’t give me any sass. Otherwise, keep out of my way and I’ll keep out of yours. It pleases Martha that you’re here, and as they say, ‘happy wife, happy life.’ So as long as you work hard and be nice to your aunt, then everything will be right as rain. Clear?”

“Crystal,” I replied.

Uncle Edward watched my eyes a moment, as if that would tell him if I was mocking him. I wasn’t.

He said, “Now shut up and let me finish giving you the grand tour.”

I nodded. “You got it.”

Uncle Edward gave me the rundown on every aspect of the motel business over the next few hours, and I hung on his every word.

As the day progressed, I had the impression that he was somehow warming to me. At the same time, I experienced something I hadn’t felt in a decade.

Despite his gruff exterior and harsh comments, I found myself admiring Uncle Edward. He had a strange kind of confidence in himself, and he came at the world in a no-nonsense manner that was very refreshing. No matter how abrasive and standoffish Uncle Edward was, he nevertheless had taken that step into accepting me as a part of his life.

Uncle Edward had a lot of issues that I’m certain would never be resolved. As much as he and his sister differed, I knew they loved each other from how my mother had spoken of him, telling me stories of their youth, how they got into trouble together, and how Uncle Edward would rise to her defense whenever he felt Ellie’s honor was threatened.

I knew I could never replace my mother in his heart, but from piecing together all the anecdotes and opinions I had ever heard about Uncle Edward, I was fairly sure there was another way. Uncle Edward valued hard work, loyalty, punctuality, practicality and honor.

If I could earn his respect by mirroring his values and by working the motel without complaint, I would gladly suffer his hostility toward me.

I was already miles ahead with Aunt Martha, who didn’t have a mean bone in her ample body; but I swore to myself that I wouldn’t take her or her generosity for granted. I had a lot of work in front of me, but I was all right with that. It was all worth it if I could finally turn my life around and get back on track.

So, with that in mind, over the next couple of days, I immersed myself in the business. I worked the front counter, I helped Aunt Martha clean the rooms, and I even went so far as to organize Uncle Edward’s paperwork. He protested that everything was already where he could find it, and didn’t need rearranging; but even still, he didn’t stop me.

After ten years away, I was finally home.

Chapter Seven

It was late
evening nearing the end of my third work shift since returning home. I stared at a disordered mess of invoices scattered over the counter, some recent, some from previous years. How Uncle Edward ever managed to get by without a tax audit was beyond me. His accountant had to be a miracle worker.

With an exasperated sigh, I began the slow and methodical task of sorting the invoices by company and date. Although I heard the evening bus pull up, I was so absorbed in my duties, I barely registered it. The front door chimed.

At first I couldn’t focus when I glanced up, my eyes were so tight from the filing job. When I finally realized there was another person in the office, and settled my eyes on him, my breath caught in my throat.

Wearing a pair of dark jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders, a very attractive man stood in front me, a wide smile on his face. Tanned and athletic, he could have easily been a model.

“Uh, hello?” he said when I hadn’t yet spoken. I self-consciously brushed my hair back with my hands and mustered a smile.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Lazy Z. May I help you?”

“Yes, please,” he said with a warm smile. “Can you tell me what your room rates are?”

“One ten a night in advance. Plus plus.”

He cocked his head. “Plus plus?”

“Plus tax. You know, hotel tax, sales tax.”

“Ah.” He seemed to be considering his decision.

“You here just for the night? We have discounts for longer stays?” One could only hope—

He smiled. “Actually, I’m probably going to be in town for quite some time.”

“Oh?”

“Name’s Neil.” He stuck his hand out.

I stared at it like an idiot for a moment, then caught myself and put mine out to shake his.

“Uh, Darcy. How long is ‘a while’? A week … or so?”

“Most likely permanently.”

I cocked my head to one side. “How’s that?”

“I work for the Denver Fire Department, and don’t get me wrong, it’s been great, but not much room for advancement. Do you know Hank Hrzinski?”

“Chief Hrzinski? Yeah,” I said after a moment. Hank had been the one who’d dragged me from the fire. “He’s been here long as I can remember—since I was a kid.”

“Well,” Neil said. “He and my chief knew each other from way back. About a month ago Hank called him up and said he was thinking about retiring and asked if there was anyone who might want the position. Together they pulled some strings with the town council here and, long story short, I got offered the job when he steps down next year. I’m here to learn the ropes until then.”

“Well, congratulations.”

He smiled with a hint of shyness. “Thanks.”

I blurted, “So are you here on a house-hunting trip? —Oh, God, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I always hated how everyone in a small town knew your business, and here I am poking my big nose into yours.”

Neil laughed. “Don’t worry about it. After spending nearly all my life in Denver, I think I would rather give up a little privacy knowing that your neighbors are at least taking an interest.” He shrugged. “The chief offered me a room at his place until I got settled, but I just couldn’t impose. I made tentative arrangements at a boarding house run by someone named Kathy Thornhill, but the room won’t be available for a few days.”

I made a sour face, and Neil raised an eyebrow in question.

“Listen,” I said. “We have a monthly rate for a room with a kitchenette. Probably a better rate than you’d get boarding at Kathy Thornhill’s place, and a good deal more privacy.”

“Sounds great.” Neil smiled. “I’ll take the room.”

Trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, I processed the check-in form and ran Neil’s credit card through for pre-authorization.

“Say, is there any place I can get something to eat?” he asked.

“Well, there’s the Finer Diner, but it closes at ten, except on weekends.” I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was a quarter to eleven. “Looks like you just missed it. You could try The Trough.”

“The Trough?”

“Country bar,” I explained. “It’s open till one every night and has a short order grill. At least you could get a plate of fries or wings or something. The owner—Jack Creel—is a bit of a grouch, but the food is good.”

Neil made a face. “That’s all right. I’m not really in the mood for Hank Williams, Jr.”

I laughed. “I’m sure they’ve updated their playlists in the last fifty years.” I handed him the form. “I’ll just get you to sign this.”

While Neil signed, I grabbed the room key and plunked it down on the counter. “Room twelve on the right.”

“Thanks. Mind if I grab some coffee?”

I flicked my eyes to the coffee station, which I hadn’t yet tackled in my quest to organize the front office.

With a gesture in that direction, I said, “It’s your funeral.”

Neil laughed and slipped the room key into the front pocket of his jeans. He stepped over to the coffee counter and poured himself a Styrofoam cup of sludge. With a grimace, he stared at the coffee and said, “You weren’t kidding—”

The front door swung open and three men entered, their faces dark with menace. My stomach suddenly clenched.

Barry Burke was one of the largest men in Middleton, both in height and in width. Though well on his way to growing himself a good sized beer belly, there was no doubt underneath that layer of fat was a powerful man. It didn’t look like he had shaved in a few days, and when he spoke, I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Well ain’t this a kick in the crotch.” He said it in a loud voice intended for an audience. Both Troy and Frank laughed in appreciation. I knew them only too well. Troy Hartman was a little weasel of a man. I had forgotten all about his lecherous smile and hyena-like laugh. Frank Simmons, eyes dark and menacing, had a mean streak in him that had always left me with a chill. He lifted a half-empty bottle of beer to his mouth and tipped it back.

From the coffee station, Neil glanced over.

Frank barked at him, “What’re you looking at?”

With a quick glance at me, Neil said, “Nothing. Just getting some coffee.”

In a mimicking sing-song, Troy said, “Just getting coffee.” He shared a laugh with Frank. “Well? Get your damned coffee and get out.”

Neil said to me, “Can I get you a cup?”

“No,” I replied in a measured tone. “I’m fine.”

With a half nod, Neil turned around and hunched over the coffee machine, searching for whitener.

Barry never even glanced at Neil; he simply continued to stare at me, a twisted smile on his lips.

Behind the counter, I clenched my fists at my sides and literally bit my tongue.

Barry growled low in his throat. “Never thought you’d have the guts to show your face in town again.”

“What’s past is past, Barry. We all have to move on.”

My eyes can see.

My tongue can taste.

Barry cocked his head to the side, as if hearing my inner thoughts.

“Maybe I don’t want to move on,” he said.

My mouth can smile.

My lungs can breathe.

Barry leaned forward, his face ugly with anger. “What the hell are you whispering there?”

Out loud, I said, “Back off, Barry, or I’ll report you.”

Troy cackled. “Who’re you going to call, the sheriff? You hear that, Barry? She’s going to call your dad and tell on you.”

Barry’s smile deepened. “Is that so, Darcy? You going to tattle on me?”

“I’m warning you, Barry.”

“That’s funny: you warning me. You know, it’s time we finished this. I would say, about ten years past due.”

My heart can beat.

Tendrils of smoke curled around the fingers of my balled hands while Frank and Troy continued to grin from ear to ear, obviously enjoying the confrontation. Some people just get off on conflict.

“I don’t want any trouble, Barry,” I said, my voice tight.

He growled. “Well, you should’ve thought of that before you tried to kill me.”

Deep within me, I could feel the anger stirring. This was not the kind of personal information I wanted dredged up in front of anyone, least of all Neil, the new fire-chief-in-training. Never mind that I didn’t even know him, first impressions were lasting impressions, and the last thing I wanted was this kind of drama my first week home. I just wanted to put it all in the past and rebuild my life. Some people, however, just couldn’t let go of old wounds.

My heart can beat.
Wait. I said that one already.
My stomach can digest…

The mix of anger and embarrassment I felt threatened to make me lose control; and that was not something I could afford to do.

My legs can—

“But like the stupid idiot you are,” Barry continued, “you ended up killing your own parents!”

I felt the burning in my hands, but I couldn’t stop it.

I yelled, “I wish it was you in the cemetery, you sick bastard!”

Barry roared in anger. “Bitch!” He lunged at me, hands outstretched.

Reacting without thinking, I grabbed his wrists before his meaty paws could find my throat.

My hands shook with the effort to hold him off, and also from another kind of exertion. A kind of energy swelled inside me. It wanted out.

At first, Barry was so outraged, he didn’t feel anything, but as black smoke began to billow out from between my hands and his arms, Barry’s rage quickly turned to surprise and then fear.

“What the hell?” he yelled.

I could smell his flesh burning.

Barry screamed, and jerked his arms back, but the power inside me had taken control and I could not let go of him.

Control!

I had to regain control! I had to finish the mantra properly.

My heart can beat.

I couldn’t let it out.

My stomach can digest.

But Barry’s shrieking ruined my concentration.

My legs can walk!

No! I had kept it contained for so long, I was not going to falter now.