Gambling on a Secret (38 page)

Dylan came back out of the bathroom, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. Every toned muscle in his beautiful body was tight with a lethal combination of hatred, jealousy and anger. “What did the bastard want?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “Nothing. Come here.” He obeyed, and she took his hand. As she pulled him back onto the bed, she said, “He won’t be bothering us any longer.”

Before he could question her, she ran her hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck to bring him down into a passionate kiss. She intended to show him how much she loved him, even if she couldn’t tell him.

* * * *

Charli fitfully slept beside Dylan. Something was up with her. What did Leon want? The bastard hadn’t called or shown his face since he’d caught them on the porch. Whatever it was, it had upset her. She hadn’t said a word after she pulled him back into bed.

When they’d made love that time, she’d clung to him as if he was a raft in rough seas.

Caught in a dream, Charli mumbled, “Ric, no...no!” She tossed away from him, but settled and her breathing evened out before he had a chance to wake her from the nightmare.

He got up and pulled on the jeans he’d discarded the night before. He needed some air to clear his head.

After pulling on his boots, he went out onto the back porch and leaned over the railing. The house was nearly finished and he was glad. Maybe when it was done, he and Charli could finally have some peace. At least, they could after he figured out what recourse his family had regarding his grandfather’s will.

The cool air was refreshing against his bare chest. However, the breeze did nothing to clear his senses. What had Leon said to upset Charli? Had he heard about the baby? Ferguson had already been denied one child when Ella kept Annie from him. Did he believe her baby was his?

But if Leon thought that, it meant Charli had lied about not having sex with him.

No. He couldn’t accept it. Charli wasn’t a liar. She hid her past, but she had never lied to him about things that mattered to him.

While he peered into the darkness, a ruckus from the stallion stabled in the barn shattered his thoughts. He glanced in that direction and a cold lump formed in his gut.

All the other horses were in the stable, but it only had room for eight. The paint had been a little skittish at being placed in the big barn alone. He didn’t want the horse kicking the new stall to hell because he was lonely.

He was halfway across the gravel drive when he smelled the smoke. As he crossed the distance at a jog, he noticed a dark silhouette move between the barn and the stable, skirting the corral at the back of the barn in the darkness. The full moon was high, and he’d long ago developed good night vision.

Crouching in the shadows, he changed directions and followed the figure. As he circumvented the side of the barn, the odor of gasoline mingled with smoke.

Damn, the barn was on fire.

He stopped when the figure–definitely a man–moved into a splotch of silvery light. The horse inside the barn frantically whinnied and kicked at the stall. Flames shot up the back wall to the dry hay in the loft. Smoke was thick and getting thicker, but he continued to watch the man.

He got to the side of the stable and moved along it to the entrance. Once he was at the open sliding door, he pressed his back against the door and took a deep breath of the smoke-heavy air. In a few more moments, it would be too thick to breathe.

If he hoped to save the horse in the barn, he had to hurry, but he had a sinking suspicion he had to stop the intruder or the stable would go up in flames next. With the comforting surge of familiar adrenaline, he peered around the doorframe into the darkness.

At first, he didn’t see anyone, but the horses had. A few snorted and nickered in greeting. When the intruder moved into a shaft of moonlight, he recognized the arsonist. As Kyle McPherson–the youngest son of the Forest County Fire Chief–poured gasoline over the hay stacked in the breezeway, Dylan rushed in on silent feet.

Like a snake strike, he came up behind his younger cousin, grabbed him around the neck in a chokehold he’d used hundreds of times. McPherson tried to struggle, but he applied pressure to the back of Kyle’s head with his free hand.

Next to his ear, Dylan said, “I would suggest you stop trying to move. I’ve killed men with this very same maneuver.” To prove his point, he pushed on Kyle’s head. Despite the pain the kid had to be in, Kyle didn’t show it. “Just a little more pressure and I’ll crush your throat.”

“Go to hell.” Kyle choked and sputtered.

“How much is Ferguson paying you to torch the place? Was the house next, Kyle? You planning to add murder to your rap sheet of burglary, livestock poisoning and attempted murder?” He had to speak loudly over the roaring and crackling of the blaze and the worried horses.

Kyle clammed up. An eerie orange glow filled the void outside the door. The air was growing hot. If he planned to save the paint in the barn, he had to disable Kyle. In another lightning fast jujitsu move, he laid an unconscious Kyle on the sawdust-covered floor.

Once he made sure Kyle was still breathing but out for the count, he grabbed a couple burlap sacks and ran back toward the burning barn.

* * * *

The roar reminded Charli of the Amtrak rail, which ran by the Cat Call. Was she locked in a nightmare again? What was that smell? Smoke? She bolted upright. “Dylan?”

She flipped the bedside lamp on. Where was he? She rushed out of bed, tripping on the sheet tangled around her legs. After grabbing the clothes Dylan had stripped off her the night before, she dressed and ran from the room.

“Dylan! Where are you?” When he didn’t answer, she headed to the kitchen. She saw the blaze through the window behind the table and stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, God, no!”

She sprinted from the house and partway across the driveway, despite the gravel cutting into her bare feet. When she heard the bloodcurdling squeal of the horse in the barn, she feared Dylan was trying to save it.

“God, no! Dylan!”

She ran as close as the heat would allow. The snapping and crackling of old oak boards and dry hay devoured by flames hurt her ears. The hellish light burned her eyes, while she choked on the bitter smoke.

“
Dylan!
”

Hunching over and pulling on the halter of the big paint stallion, he appeared in the doorway, like an avenging angel from the bowels of hell. What looked like a feed sack covered the horse’s head. Another draped over Dylan’s head with a corner held over his nose and mouth, scantily protecting him.

She called to him again, and he looked in her direction. Dylan coughed and wheezed as he approached. He pulled the sack off the horse’s head. “Did you call nine-one-one?”

Unable to grasp what was happening, she shook her head.

“Go! Call!” A violent cough raked him for a moment, bending him over. He struggled for air so badly his body shook from the need of precious oxygen. When he caught enough breath, he said, “And tell them it’s arson.”

“Arson?” She coughed on the polluted air. In the crimson light, she noticed a red welt on his upper back. “You’re burned!”

“I’m fine. Some hot hay fell on me. It’s nothing,” he barked and struggled to hold the halter as the horse thrashed his head from side to side and stomped the ground. “Get back, I’m going to turn him loose.”

She backed toward the picket fence. Dylan pulled the sack from the nervous paint’s head and let go of his halter. He took off like a racehorse from the gate, jumped the pasture fence and disappeared into the darkness.

Would she ever see that beautiful horse again?

“Charli?” Dylan’s croak brought her attention back on him. “Go! If this fire spreads, we’ll lose everything. I’m going to turn the other horses out.”

As if outside her body watching the events unfold, she ran into the house and called for help. When she came back out, Dylan was leading the last horse out of the stable. The frightened animals circled each other in the pasture. He entered the stable again, and when he came out, he was dragging someone beside him. When he reached the edge of the yard by the driveway, he dropped Kyle McPherson unceremoniously onto the grass.

She rushed off the back porch. “Is he hurt?”

“Not permanently.” Dylan’s voice was hoarse from the smoke he’d inhaled. He wiped sweat and soot off his face and neck with his hand. “I knocked the damned idiot unconscious when I found him getting ready to torch the stable.”

Beyond shocked, she shook her head and stared down at the sleeping man. She didn’t particularly like Kyle, but he’d always done his work. “Why would he want to burn my barn?”

Dylan coughed again, bending over his knees.

She rushed to his side and put her arm around him. “Dylan, are you okay?”

He nodded and coughed again. After he straightened up, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m fine. Peaches, Kyle poisoned your calves and horses. I think he shot at me, too. I just didn’t have proof.”

She pulled away, shaking her head, not wanting to believe it. “Why...” But she knew, even before he told her.

“Leon,” he said between gritted teeth. “He’s been paying him to make trouble and to spy on us.”

A siren split the night. Within minutes, the early arrivals of the volunteer fire department were on the scene. One of the firefighters ran over to Kyle.

Dylan growled, “He’s fine.” When the same EMT wanted to treat his burn and put an oxygen mask on him, he brushed him off. “Hell, I was blown up once. This is nothing. Go take care of the damned fire.”

The county’s ancient fire truck bounced over the iron bridge and came to a skidding stop with gravel flying. A sheriff’s department Tahoe followed in the fire engine’s dusty wake. After sliding to a halt near them, Zack Cartwright jumped out. “Are y’all okay?”

“Yes.” Dylan answered before she had a chance.

Zack looked around, taking in the scene. “What happened?”

The fire chief came running over to them. “Is anyone hurt?” he anxiously asked, but he was clearly looking at his son, now sitting up in the grass.

Dylan turned to the older McPherson. “No. But I suggest you stay out of this, Marlin, and worry about getting the fire out before Charli loses more property.”

Kyle pointed at Dylan. “Crazy sumbitch tried to kill me.” With his other hand, he rubbed his throat where he had the beginnings of a bruise.

Dylan coughed again, but it wasn’t as harsh as before. Ignoring Kyle’s accusation, he said to the officials, “I found this yahoo dousing the stables with gasoline after I saw him leave the back of the barn–where the fire started.”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “Dad, I can explain.”

Marlin McPherson’s shoulders drooped and he bowed his head as he closed his eyes. “I’m sure you can. You always have a story, Kyle. I’m done saving you. I’ve been doing it since you were fourteen, but I’m not doing it anymore. You’re a disgrace to our family. Your older sister’s a teacher. The other risks her life in the war. Your brother’s a Texas Ranger. But you...”

He shook his head and his face pinched as if in pain when he turned to the sheriff. “He’s all yours, Zack. If he set this fire, throw the book at him. I’ll call in the state to make sure no one can claim I doctored the evidence.” Chief McPherson nodded toward Charli and swallowed hard, regret visible in the man’s eyes. In the light of the harsh red glow, the old firefighter walked away, his shoulders stooped, head hanging.

Zack’s question to Kyle pulled her focus back on the arsonist. “Why would you set Miss Monroe’s barn on fire, Kyle?”

He jutted his scruffy chin and stared up at the sheriff. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ without a lawyer. I know that much.”

Cartwright grinned, but his blue eyes flashed dangerously. The sheriff grabbed Kyle by his upper arm, yanking him to his feet. “Fine. Let’s get back to town so you can call your lawyer. Wouldn’t want you to incriminate yourself.” Zack pulled a pair of handcuffs off his service belt. Once Kyle was duly handcuffed and Mirandized, Zack took a two-way radio from the truck and called for a deputy.

Dylan hadn’t taken his hand from her waist, giving her comfort and strength in the touch. He was still shirtless, and she was concerned about the burn across his back. While he spoke to Zack about coming to the station in the morning, she looked out on the terrible scene beyond the pickups and the fire trucks filling the driveway. She wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed against the painful lump in her throat.

The barn was a complete loss.

Dylan could have died in the inferno.

Leon had done this. He’d hoped to prove his point.

Zack’s next statement had her looking back at the sheriff. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this now, but by morning your fire won’t be the only news buzzing.”

“What is it?” Dylan asked peevishly.

Zack rubbed his stubbly jaw. “Ella Larson was shot dead tonight.”

“What?” Dylan’s voice raised an octave.

She rasped, “Oh, God! Where’s Annie?”

“Julie Larson’s caring for her. But she’s the prime suspect.”

“No.” She shook her head and pulled her arms tighter around her. “She wouldn’t ever kill her mother.”