Take Me Home (9781455552078) (14 page)

Don't think! Just do it!

Taking a couple of quick steps, Peter leaped over the burning debris, aiming for the hole. Hanging in the air, it felt as if the fire was reaching for him. He landed in the gap a little to the left of where he'd intended, his bare skin scraping against the burning wood, and had to grab hold of the braced beam with his hand to keep from tipping backward. The pain was instantaneous and agonizing. Fighting down panic, he forced his way through.

When he crashed down the other side, skidding across the flaming debris, Peter's shirt caught fire; before he'd come to a complete stop, he was trying to pull himself free, wriggling and tugging it off his chest. Within seconds, another pair of hands began helping him. Finally, the shirt came off and he flung it away, the flicker of flame still devouring it.

“Give me your hand.”

John stood above him. Peter took the offered help and together they brought him to his feet. They hurried away from the barn just in time; before they reached the police car, there was a tremendous crack and they turned to watch the barn's roof cave in, shooting sparks and clouds of smoke high into the afternoon sky. Peter knew that if he'd still been inside, he would be dead.

“Are you all right?” the sheriff asked.

With his top half bare, his broad chest heaving, Peter tenderly touched his arm. Blisters had already begun to form where he'd touched the burning beam. There was a similar swath running across his shoulder and down to his collarbone; he had no idea when that had happened, but thought that it must have been when his shirt caught fire.

“I'll be fine,” he answered.

“I was yelling at you to get out of there,” John said. “It was already so far gone that the fire chief didn't want to get out of his truck.”

“I couldn't hear you. All I wanted was to get those horses out.”

“Roy's going to be mighty happy that you did.”

“Any idea yet what started the fire?”

“Nope,” the sheriff replied; Peter saw the man's eyes lock on Roy Lafferty, following him as the man paced back and forth in front of his destroyed barn, tears and sweat running down his face. “But I'll keep asking questions until I get the answers I need.”

Peter nodded.

It was time for him to do the same with Olivia.

Otto picked his way through the budding trees and thick bushes as he climbed toward the top of the ridge. He stopped just short of the summit and wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand. He looked back behind him at the black smoke that continued to billow into the blue sky and smiled, knowing that it was
his
handiwork.

Ever since Otto had left the cabin, he'd constantly been on the move. He'd broken into a home and stolen some clothes. He had looted an unlocked garage for a bit of food, a tattered blanket, and a few other odds and ends. He'd scrounged up enough to feel confident that it was time to strike, to begin terrorizing the Amerikaners in Hitler's name.

Soon after, he had set his sights on the barn. There'd been a small container of kerosene on a workbench near the rear. After splashing it around, he'd lit a match he'd taken from the garage and, within minutes, the barn had been engulfed in flames. He was well on his way back into the woods by the time he heard the first shouts of alarm.

While Otto knew that it would have been safer to start the blaze at night, there were still risks, particularly that it would've been much harder to get away in the dark. Still, there was a part of him that had wanted to stick around and watch, to see who came to put out the fire. He'd learned during the war how valuable it was to know the enemy's leaders; after all, these were the men who'd captured Becker. But in the end, he understood that the reward wouldn't have been worth the risk.

All that mattered now was that he would live to fight again. One day, he might grow too bold or too careless and would pay for it with his life. Until then, he'd continue to fight his enemy deep within their nation.

This was only the beginning.

H
ONEST TO
B
ETSY,
that was one of the craziest things I've ever seen,” Huck exclaimed, slapping one meaty hand against his knee as he reclined in his chair at the police station. “I can't figure how you done it! I'd have been fried to a crisp for even tryin'!”

Olivia waited for Peter's answer, but he didn't give one. The more she thought about it, she realized that he hadn't said much since she'd arrived, breathless from running after word had spread around town about the fire.

Peter sat shirtless in his seat, another borrowed item of clothing lying on the table next to them. With a cloth and a bottle of alcohol, Olivia gently dabbed at the raw, blistered flesh of his arm. She tried to be as careful as she could, but every time she touched him she felt him flinch; he struggled to remain impassive, to keep from showing the pain he obviously felt. Olivia didn't know what shocked her more, the ugliness of his burns or the amazing story of how he'd gotten them. Still, to intimately touch him in such a way, to see his muscular body, sent a ripple of excitement racing through her.

“That hole you jumped through didn't look much
bigg
er'n a knot in a tree,” Huck continued. “I ain't sure how you made it!”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Peter muttered.

“You best hope not,” the deputy said with a laugh, his ample belly jiggling, “'cause I think you done used up 'bout ten years' worth this afternoon.”

Peter frowned. When Olivia had first arrived, he'd looked straight at her, glanced down, and then turned away. She'd assumed that it was due to fatigue or the shock of almost dying in the burning barn, but the more time passed, the more withdrawn he became, until she began to wonder if it wasn't
her
that was making him behave this way.

“I'm wonderin' when someone's gonna thank me for all this.”

Sylvester Eddings slumped on his cot, his head resting against the wall of his jail cell. He looked miserable, with a couple days' worth of whiskers on his sagging cheeks, his eyes bloodshot and narrow; since he hadn't said a word or moved an inch since she'd arrived, Olivia had thought he was asleep.

“What in the hell'd make you think you deserve any thanks for what Peter done?” Huck asked, chortling but curious.

The jailed man took a deep breath before he spoke, his lungs wheezing. “'Cause if I hadn't hit him with my truck,” he explained, “he woulda already done left town. Who woulda saved them horses, then?” The old drunk chuckled at his own joke before he even told it. “Even if both them barn doors had been thrown wide open, I bet your fat ass woulda had to squeeze to get inside.”

The smile on Huck's face deflated so fast it was as if it had been popped. “Funny talk from a man who can't keep himself outta that jail cell.”

“I done told you I shouldn't be in here,” the jailed man grumbled bitterly.

The last time Olivia had listened to Sylvester as he sat inside a jail cell there'd been more playfulness in his voice, due in large part to his still having been drunk at the time. Now, after being locked up for nearly a week, he was stone sober, a condition that clearly didn't suit him. But Olivia didn't pay his grumpiness much mind; she was more concerned with Peter's surliness.

“If half of what Huck said is true, what you did was incredibly brave,” she told him as she finished cleaning his burns.

Peter glanced at her, the first time he'd looked at her in quite a while, but once again turned away. “I did what I had to,” he said simply.

Setting down her cloth, Olivia began to unroll a strip of gauze. As she started wrapping it around his arm, her heart and thoughts raced. It bothered her that something wasn't right between them. By now, she'd become convinced that he was upset with her; otherwise, she was certain that he would have told her what was bothering him or, at the least, given her a smile to set her mind at ease. But he hadn't. The problem was that she hadn't the slightest idea what she had done.

Olivia knew she shouldn't let it bother her as much as it did, that she hadn't known Peter long enough to feel so out of sorts, but there was no point in denying the spark between them, one that both excited and perplexed her. It was much more than the fact that he'd kept her from harm. It was talking with him, the way he smiled, even watching him sleep. It was their kiss…When she'd heard that he'd been hurt in the fire, her fear surprised her. Even though she was engaged to Billy, there was nowhere she wanted to be other than by Peter's side.

She had to know what it was that she'd done.

“What's bothering you?” she asked him.

But Peter didn't respond, which made her a little angry.

“Tell me,” Olivia insisted; when she spoke, she was so worked up that she accidentally squeezed his arm, causing him to pull away in pain. “I'm sorry,” she apologized quickly, shocked by what she'd done. “I just want to know what's got you so upset.”

Slowly, Peter raised his eyes to hers; the way he looked at her made Olivia feel as if he was accusing her of something. “Not here,” he said, his voice low and weary. “Not now.”

Olivia was about to say more, to argue that that wasn't good enough, when the argument between Huck and Sylvester interrupted.

“I've 'bout had enough of this,” the deputy barked.

Sylvester stood at the bars of his cell, feebly rattling them with what strength he had left, beads of sweat standing out on his pale forehead. “And
I'm
tellin'
you
that I shouldn't be in this jail no more! I oughta be gettin' a medal pinned to my chest!”

“Keep it down in here!”

Every head in the room turned toward John. He had a hand cupped over the telephone he was using, staring hard at Sylvester; even as ornery as the old drunk was, he held his tongue, unwilling to anger the sheriff further. No one said another word until John hung up the receiver.

“What's the good word, boss?” Huck asked.

“The fire's finally out,” he answered. “By Roy's count, looks like only two horses were lost.”

Olivia thought Peter would have been happy to hear the good news, but from the frown that creased his face, he reacted as if he hadn't saved a single one.

“Any idea 'bout what caused it?” the deputy inquired.

“We won't know for certain until things cool off a bit. Once we get a chance to sift through the ruins, my hunch is we'll find what's left of a still. I'll go out and question Roy in the morning. If we're lucky, maybe he'll give it up without much fuss.”

“His old man sure could brew a drink,” Sylvester commented, a faraway look in his bloodshot eyes.

“You been out that way lately?” John asked him.

The old drunk shook his head. “With the way I've been treated 'round here, I wouldn't tell you even if I had,” he huffed.

The sheriff shook his head. “We'll find out in due time.” He walked over and sat on the edge of the desk opposite Peter. “How're you feeling?”

“I've been worse.”

“Like when Sylvester hit him with his truck,” Huck said with a chuckle.

“I don't much like the looks of those,” John said, nodding at Peter's burns. “It's going to take me a while to tie up all these loose ends. Why don't I have Huck drive you back to the house so you can get some rest?”

“If it's all the same, I think I'd rather walk,” Peter replied. “I reckon the fresh air might do me some good.”

“I'll go with him,” Olivia offered quickly; since they were sure to be alone, she thought it would be the perfect opportunity to finally find out what was bothering him. “I can see that he gets home safe.”

Instead of protesting, Peter said, “All right with me.”

With as quickly as he had answered, Olivia began to wonder if she shouldn't have been more careful about what she'd asked for.

The sun was setting in the west when Peter and Olivia set off from the police station for home. There was something about the early evening that reminded Peter of springtime back in Germany; it might have been the color of the sky, the way the sun burnt the bottoms of the low clouds, or the pleasant nip in the air. But for as much as things were similar, he was constantly reminded that he was a stranger in a strange land.

While the buildings had been constructed differently and the cars weren't exactly the same, there was still something about Miller's Creek that was comforting to Peter. Even the American flag, so strikingly different from the swastika, spoke to him; in it, he saw a people who had come together, sacrificing for the greater good to fight against an evil so that others might be free. When he'd been on the prison train, he had wondered whether Americans truly knew that their country was at war; it hadn't taken him long to see how wrong he had been. Watching the stars and stripes flutter in the breeze filled him with hope.

But there were other things that filled him with dread.

Peter glanced at the front of the hardware store. There, taped to the inside of the display window, was a poster. It depicted Hitler with a pistol in his hand rearing up over a globe turned toward the United States, a Japanese soldier beside him, holding a bloodstained knife. In large print, it read,
WARNING! OUR HOMES ARE IN DANGER
NOW
!
Immediately, Peter thought of Otto and the acts of violence he'd promised against the town and its people. For a while at least, the poster had been telling the truth.

“How do you feel?” Olivia asked shortly after they'd resumed walking.

“I'm fine,” he answered curtly.

“I was worried I might have wrapped your bandages too tight.”

From the quick smile Olivia flashed him Peter understood that she was trying to break the ice between them. She wanted to get him talking so that they could discuss what was bothering him. But regardless of his earlier intentions, he wasn't yet ready, so he stayed silent.

All of your big talk has gone up in smoke!

Back in the burning barn, all Peter had wanted was a chance to confront Olivia about her engagement, to learn why she'd never mentioned her fiancé, to see if the attraction he'd felt growing between them was real or a figment of his imagination. But now, he struggled just to look at her.

How could he ask Olivia to explain why she'd been keeping secrets from him when almost everything he'd told her was a lie? The answer was that he couldn't. It would make him a hypocrite. If he wasn't willing to come clean about his own past, it was hardly fair to expect the same of her.

But then, a sudden, unexpected thought struck him, something that he'd never considered. Maybe Olivia hadn't told him about her relationship with another man for a reason other than what he'd assumed. Maybe she had avoided talk about her engagement because she had begun to be attracted to him! Sure, Peter had been the one to initiate their kiss, but it was more than that. Thinking back on their time together, there were hints that he was right; it was in the way she looked at him, her eyes lingering a moment longer than might have been considered appropriate, in the way she laughed, her eyes shining brightly, the fact that she had kept her ring hidden from sight. Earlier that afternoon, Peter had stood in the Marstens' backyard, wondering whether there was a chance for him and Olivia…

Deep in his gut, Peter knew he had to
take
a chance.

Odds were that he was wrong, that he was going to make a fool out of himself and embarrass Olivia, both at the same time. Just like when he'd walked away from the wrecked train with Otto, he knew that once he'd taken that first step, there would be no going back. Still, it was worth the risk. Silently, he swore a vow. If he was wrong, if Olivia had no romantic feelings for him, if she had no interest in finding where those feelings might take them, he would tell her the truth and the two of them would turn around and march right back to her father's jail.

Peter took a deep breath.

Walking home, Olivia became more and more frustrated with every step she took. When she and Peter left the jail, she had assumed that he would finally tell her what was bothering him. But so far, he'd hardly said a word. While she had tried reminding herself that he was surely exhausted from all he'd been through, her patience was fast running out. He was keeping something from her, some offense that she'd committed. She'd tried everything she could think of short of throwing a fit to get him to come clean, and that option was under serious consideration. But then, just as she was about to give in to her temper, he spoke.

“There's something that I want you to know…”

Olivia's heart began to beat faster.
Finally!
“What is it?”

He paused. “I don't have anyone back home.”

“You told me. Both of your parents…”

“That's not what I'm saying,” Peter explained. Though they were only a couple of blocks from home, he suddenly stopped walking; he turned his face toward the sun, his expression serious. “What I need you to understand is that there isn't someone special writing me letters or waiting for me to walk back through her door.”

Olivia's breath caught; he was telling her that he didn't have a sweetheart. It was as surprising as it was exciting. Looking at the way the sunlight danced across Peter's face, his blue eyes sparkling, it seemed impossible to her that a man so handsome, so kind and strong, wouldn't have a woman to share his life with. An unexpected tremor of happiness raced through her.

Was it relief that she was feeling?

Neither of them spoke. Peter watched her intently; she felt as if he was waiting for something. Olivia could guess what it was; he wanted to know if there was a man in her life. But even though she knew she should tell him about Billy, about their engagement, she couldn't bring herself to do it.