Fire Raiser (8 page)

Six

“I DON’T KNOW why you do that to yourself.”

Holly gave Lachlan exactly the look he’d expected: narrow-eyed, sidelong, and one spark away from furious. She was, at times—not often, but at times—comfortingly predictable.

He’d removed her from Reverend Wilkens’s vicinity and guided her toward the bar, and now told Laura, “Two vodkas on ice, one with a twist, one with olives,” before propping his elbows on polished oak and regarding his fulminating wife sidelong with an amusement he knew better than to show.

“What, exactly, is it that I do?” Holly asked through gritted teeth. “Stand up for what I believe?”

“Argue with people whose minds are never gonna change.” He accepted the vodkas from Laura, gave her a generous tip and a wink, and handed Holly her drink. “You stand up, yeah—but against somebody who isn’t playing by the same rules you are. You’re on completely different battlefields, lobbing shots at each other that will never hit anything.”

Nudging her with an elbow, he coaxed her toward a side door near a grand piano. A faraway crack of thunder echoed off the hills and hollows, and the wind had picked up in the last hour; he hoped the noise wouldn’t wake the twins, and that he’d managed to nail down that loose shutter at Lulah’s.

“I feel just as passionately about it as the Reverend does,” Holly said.

“But you get there by a completely different process. He hears ‘abortion’ and sees a dead fetus. You hear ‘abortion’ and see a living woman. He takes the side of—what do they call it? Oh, yeah—the ‘pre-born.’ You’re on the side of the already alive. The individual matters to both of you, but with him it’s an abstract concept and with you it’s the reality of a living, breathing person.”

“He wouldn’t call it an abstract concept.”

“He can’t look it in the eyes, can he? I think it’s a whole lot easier to care about a human zygote than it is to care about a human being who can actually look you in the eye when she’s talking about how her own father messed with her since she was ten, or that she’s had six kids and her body can’t survive another one, or when her boyfriend found out she was pregnant he disappeared into the wild blue yonder, or—” He broke off. “I see you get my drift.”

“You say you don’t know why I always argue with people like him—I don’t understand why you
never
argue with people like him!” She sipped vodka and crunched an ice cube, then said, “And ‘zygote’ is a pretty fancy word, Sheriff.”

“Intellectual snob,” he accused, grinning down at her. “You want the truth?”

“I’m assuming this truth will have about the same relationship to the real truth as every story you’ve ever told me about those cowboy boots—but go ahead.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” Lachlan teased. “
Truth
is, last week I took up reading the dictionary.” Pause. “Backwards.”

Holly choked on giggles and almost dropped her drink. Evan rubbed her back until she stopped coughing. “Christ, Lachlan—don’t
do
that!” she said when she could breathe again.

“Teach you to insult my boots, lady. Now, to get back to what I was sayin’ before—”

“You mean about how I should keep my mouth politely shut when the discussion turns to politics?”

He laughed aloud, genuinely amused. “Holly, you couldn’t possibly keep your mouth shut, and I wouldn’t want you to. I love it that you’re passionate about what you believe in—because one of the things you believe in is
me
.”

Her mouth twisted and her forehead scrunched up and she told him, “I wish you’d warn me before you say things like that. It makes me want to do things to you that would be illegal in several states if we weren’t married.”

“Now,
that
sounds promising!” A tall, lanky, redheaded man Evan didn’t know sidled up behind Holly and snaked his arms around her waist. Her violent start of surprise ended the instant he said, “Hey, Freckles!”

“Peaches!” she cried, delighted.

“Don’t call me that.” He squeezed tight and let go. As she turned, he went on, “You gonna call me that?”

“Whenever I feel like it, and definitely while I knock you silly for not coming to the wedding!” She smacked him a good one on the shoulder, and he yelped. “Why didn’t you come to the wedding?”

“Because I was in Lithuania?” he offered as he rubbed his abused shoulder.

“Lame,” she scoffed and with a glance at Lachlan went on, “This is my sorry-ass excuse for a favorite first cousin. Evan, meet Peaches.”

“Don’t
call
me that! And I’m only your favorite first cousin because I’m your
only
first cousin.” Extending his hand, he added, “Please tell her to stop calling me that or I’ll stuff ballot boxes for your opponent in November. I’m Cam Griffen. Glad to meet you.”

“Same here.” The pair shook hands, and Evan told Holly, “Don’t call him that.”

“That happened fast!” she shot back. “The masculine solidarity thing, I mean. Doesn’t the bonding process usually require a televised sporting event and a six-pack? Maybe a manly belch or two?”

“We smoke the same cigars,” Evan said serenely, with a nod at Cam’s shirt pocket, from which protruded two sleek cylinders of tobacco, each circled by a Cohiba label with its distinctive solid red O. “And we like hugging the same girl.”

“Nice work, Freckles,” Cam remarked. “He’s more than just a pretty face.”

“Be nice to your elders, sonny,” Holly admonished. “We’ve got four years on you.” She considered him with a frown. “Although to judge by your hairline, you’re working on catching up. Who’s running you ragged these days?”

He shrugged. “Just the usual Beltway Follies.”

“Cam is a constitutional lawyer,” Holly explained. “But don’t hold it against him. He’s really kind of likable—in a frenetic, unraveling-even-as-we-speak sort of way.”

“A ringing endorsement,” her cousin shot back. “You forgot to mention that I make the meanest julep north of Atlanta, I’m loved by children and dogs and dirty old ladies, and Republicans crawl into corners and whimper when they hear my name.”

Evan said, “And you have a personal interest in watching Rausche Junior give a concession speech in November.”

Watching them react, he reflected that they really didn’t look much alike. Having seen photographs of both Flynn sisters and their husbands, it was obvious that whereas with Holly the sturdy McClures had dominated, Cam’s finer bones were directly traceable to his mother. Bella had the same light build. Neither cousin had inherited the aggressive jawline of the McNichol kin. What they shared was the hair, the eyes, the scattering of freckles, and the ruler-straight nose. At the moment, they also shared an imitation of Thumper, astonished by the headlights of an approaching semi.

Evan smiled his sweetest smile. “More than just a pretty face,” he reminded Holly, and toasted her with his Scotch.

“Geeze,” Cam muttered. “Ya think? Where’d you find him, eBay?”

“Under a rock in Central Park.”

“How do you know that I hate Rick?” Cam demanded of Evan. “How do you even know that I
know
Rick?”

“I know that Rick knows you. He said so a few weeks ago. His exact words were, ‘You better tell that cousin of your wife’s to mind his manners if he comes back around here, Mr. New York City Liberal. I don’t have no soft spot for queers.’ ”

“To which you replied . . . ?” Holly prompted—knowing him, knowing there was more.

“That I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting my wife’s cousin, but if he is in fact gay, Rick’s soft spots are the last thing he’d be interested in.”

Cam nodded slowly. “Okay, Holly, it’s official. You can keep him.”

“I thought you might like him,” she said. “Where are you staying? And you’d better say ‘With you at Woodhush, Holly darling,’ or—”

“With you at Woodhush, Holly darling,” he singsonged obediently. “After I repack my suitcase, that is. I’m about fifty yards over and three flights up. Room 314.”

Evan couldn’t help a startled blink. “You’re actually staying here?”

“No,” Holly said, “he’s staying with us.” To her cousin: “Don’t mind him, he thinks this place is creepy.”

“As a matter of fact . . .” Cam began thoughtfully.

“Oh, don’t encourage him!” Holly interrupted.

“I’m just trying to tell you,” he protested. “I got in today around noon, and settled down for a nap—”

“Noon? Why didn’t you call?”

Evan gave her ribs a squeeze. “Shush. I want to hear this.”

Cam hesitated as if waiting for something, then widened his eyes. “ ‘Shush’? That’s all it takes?”

“In public, during an election year. Private’s another story. So you couldn’t sleep this afternoon?”

“I kept almost drifting off, then jerking awake—”

“
Jerk
is right,” Holly muttered.

“—and it was like sparks hovering just off my skin, all along my face and neck, and my hands. Weird.”

Lachlan mused for a moment. “You’re the one with the fabric thing, right?”

“Yeah. Nothing man-made—no polyester, no nylon, anything like that. Silk, cotton, wool, any kind of natural textiles—plus leather—”

“You were touching the bedspread, the blanket?”

“Bedspread,” Cam affirmed. “I was lying on my stomach. I had on a long-sleeved t-shirt, and I took off my shoes but not my socks. You think I was picking something up right through the skin?”

“And your face,” Holly said, and looked up at Evan. “He said he felt it on his face. That had to be because of the pillow.”

“He was lying on his stomach,” Evan objected. “It had to’ve been just one side of his face, right?”

“Nope. And I’m guessing it wasn’t so much your palms as the backs of your hands, right?” When Cam nodded, she looked smug. “He sleeps with his face scrunched right down into a pillow—nobody can ever figure out how he manages to breathe—and his hands tucked against his stomach. He’s done it since he was little. Nobody knows why. Well, except that he’s weird, of course.”

“Bite me, Freckles,” Cam said sweetly.

“God, I love my in-laws,” Lachlan grinned. “The point to all this is that Lulah did a spa thing with Holly when the place first opened, and she won’t come back. Said she felt blind the whole time she was here.”

“What?” Holly scowled. “She never told me that.”

“She didn’t want to freak you out. Lulah Sees pretty good, Cam.”

“Yes, she does.” He chewed his lower lip. “And she said she felt blind? You discuss this yet with the rest of the family?”

That Cam automatically included him in their massive kin network made him smile. Some of the relatives had been a little dubious about him. Being Irish Catholic had been recommendation enough for most of them, but a few eyebrows had arched over his being from New York. And one or two of the cousins weren’t happy that Holly had married outside her magical ethnicity.

She was talking again—big surprise. “I can’t believe you two are discussing this! If anything really was strange, one of us would have known about it long before now.”

“Nobody’s said anything,” Lachlan admitted. “But I don’t know how many of them have been here.”

“Or how many of those went past the front desk to the rooms or the spa,” Cam added. “Y’know, Evan, I may need some help with my suitcase later on.”

He felt his smile widen to a grin. “I like him, too, Holly. If he follows us home, let’s keep him.”

“Fine,” she retorted, “but you’re assuming he’s housebroken.”

“And this would make him different from the twins how, exactly? Cam, let’s say ten or so.”

“Meet you by the lobby stairs?”

“I’ll just happen to run into you while you’re checking out,” Evan agreed.

Holly did the follow-the-bouncing-conversation thing. “You guys are really going to sneak around upstairs? You’re crazy. Besides, if anybody’s going to sneak into a hotel room with my husband, it’s gonna be me.”

“We won’t be sneaking,” Cam corrected. “I have a key, legitimately paid for.” He paused. “And—meaning no offense, Evan—not only is he not my type, I’m damned sure I’m not his type.”

“None taken,” Lachlan replied serenely. “So—ten, okay? You have a car?”

“Westmoreland has a courtesy van from Shenandoah Regional—which reminds me, Holly, did I hear right and Gib Ayala is running the airport now?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he moved back into the area last October. He and his wife are here tonight, in fact. If you don’t have a ride, then I guess you’re going home with me—and don’t get me started on why we have both cars tonight, okay? You can help me carry the kids back from Lulah’s.”

“They’ll be asleep,” Lachlan said. “Which is the only time they shut up.”

Cam grinned. “Take after Holly, do they?”

She gave him another thwack on the arm. “For that, Peaches, you get to baby-sit.”

“If you don’t stop calling me that—”

“Get over it,” she advised. Glancing up at Evan, she added, “It’s from when he was little—”

“Aw, c’mon!” Cam whined.

“When he was little,” she repeated forbiddingly, “and Aunt Lulah used to say he was all cinnamon curls and a peaches-and-cream complexion and sweet as pecan pie. Of course, he never kicked
her
in the shins. Or tried to spook every horse she got on when he was around—”

“I
was
sweet,” Cam protested, blue eyes big and innocent. “I was adorable. I still am. Ask anybody.”

She grinned. “Anybody outside the Beltway, you mean?”

“Pretty much. And speaking of your infants, I haven’t congratulated you yet.”

“Thanks,” Evan said. “She did all the work.”

“And bitched about it for the whole nine months, right? You don’t change, do you, Freckles?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Be nice,” Lachlan advised. “I bet he knows things about you that would surprise even me.”

As Cam’s fiendish grin produced a pair of dimples more or less the depth of the Grand Canyon, Holly gave a superior sort of sniff and retorted, “Not a concern, lover man.
He
knows that
I
know what his real name is.”

Lachlan had on occasion simultaneously admired and deplored that his wife showed scant delicacy of feeling for those she vanquished. He wondered if it was cowardly to enjoy the unholy glitter in her eyes as long as it wasn’t directed at him. But a glance at Cam did not show him the queasy expression he expected; the next instant demonstrated how vast had been his underestimation of her cousin. And, not incidentally, redefined
unholy glitter
.