“It takes more than this to scare me off.” She flipped on the radio to a local news program. “Striker will be there in a few minutes.”
“Not soon enough.” Matt drove like a madman but Kelly didn’t comment, just punched out the number for Detective Espinoza’s home. Her heart felt like lead, her throat tight. Despite all her years of training on the force, she couldn’t maintain a professional veneer of calm. Not when two men she’d grown to love, Matt’s brothers, the men who would soon be a part of her family, were in danger.
Please let them be safe, she thought, reaching over and placing her hand on Matt’s thigh. She needed to touch him, to be reassured, to believe that they would be safe.
“Yeah?”
“Bob. It’s Kelly. I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s been more trouble at the McCafferty ranch. The stables are on fire. According to Nicole McCafferty, her husband and brother-in-law Slade are trapped inside. She’s already called 9-1-1. We’re driving over there now and emergency crews are on the way.”
“I’ll be there...oh, I’m just getting a page. That must be the call.” He clicked off.
“I don’t suppose you know Jamie Parsons’s number?” Kelly asked.
Matt frowned and shook his head.
“She’ll want to know,” Kelly added as the weather report reverberated through the speakers. “According to Nicole, Jamie’s in love with Slade. Nicole’s seen the way she looks at him.”
Matt’s fingers tightened on the wheel. He took a corner too fast and the truck skidded before its wide tires grabbed the road. “You could probably get hold of her through her grandmother’s old number...well, unless they interrupted service. It would be under Nita Parsons, I think, or Anita.”
Kelly dialed again, this time to directory assistance. After a few false starts, she located the number of Jamie’s grandmother. Punching the numbers quickly, she watched through the windshield as the town of Grand Hope sped by. Christmas lights reflected on the snow-blanketed streets, very little traffic disturbed the quietude, the peace and tranquility that accompanied the Christmas season.
Not far away, the sounds of sirens shrieked of impending doom.
* * *
The phone jangled. It sounded as if it came from a distance. Jamie stretched and frowned, pulled the covers over her head, then, finally, when the ringing didn’t stop, realized where she was. The digital readout of her travel clock showed that it was after one in the morning. Above the soft hum of the furnace, she heard the sound of sirens wailing. Groggy, she rolled out of bed, banged her head and didn’t bother with slippers as she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.
Lazarus meowed and hurried after her as she finally picked up. “Hullo?” she mumbled, catching sight of her reflection in one of the panes above the sink. Her hair was tossed and wild, and she could detect smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep.
“Jamie? This is Kelly Dillinger. Matt’s fiancée.”
Jamie’s heart stopped. Slade! Something had happened to him. She knew it.
“There’s a fire at the ranch. The stables.”
“What?” Her legs gave out and she slumped against the counter as her mind cleared.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a chance that Slade and Thorne might be inside.” Jamie’s knees gave way. She slid down the cabinets to sit on the floor. A million questions raced through her mind. This had to be a dream—a horrid nightmare...that was it. “Emergency crews are on their way.”
“Wait a minute...there must be some mistake,” Jamie said, almost pleading.
“I wish there were.” There was a pause and Jamie started to shake. The sirens sounded farther away. Oh, God. It couldn’t be.
“No,” she whispered.
“I just thought you’d want to know,” Kelly said.
“I can’t believe it.”
“I know...and...Slade’s probably safe. I haven’t tried calling the ranch again. We got the call about ten minutes ago, so things could’ve changed by now.”
But Jamie heard the doubt in Kelly’s voice. “I—I’ll be there.”
“That’s probably not a good idea. It’ll be chaos. I just thought you’d want to know. So why don’t you wait there? We’ll call you. Really. Stay put. I’ll keep you informed. Will you be okay?”
Jamie didn’t answer. She hung up and took the stairs two at a time. She threw on the first clothes she found, grabbed her keys, then raced down the stairs again. She was out the door and in her car within seconds.
This couldn’t be happening. Not to Slade. No, no, no! Her fingers shook as she jammed the key into the ignition and cranked the defroster to high. She didn’t wait for the window to clear, just twisted on the wipers and with her head hanging out the driver’s window, drove like crazy. Her car slid and skidded. She didn’t care. She blinked against the snow, swore as she slid on the bridge, then floored it. Tires spun. The wind slapped her face and she blinked as the defroster and wipers cleared the windshield.
She nosed her little car north toward the Flying M, toward a glimmer of light, a bright orange glow that cut through the snowstorm. “God help us,” she whispered, then drove as if Satan himself were following.
* * *
“Slade! For God’s sake, where the hell are you?”
Slade heard Thorne’s voice, tried to shout but could only moan and cough. The timber that pinned him down singed his back and fire danced in front of his eyes. He tried to drag himself out from under the heavy weight, his hands clawing at the hot cement. He didn’t so much as budge. It was too late. “Get out,” he tried to scream to his brother. Heat as intense as a blast furnace poured over him. The fire raged, flames crawling everywhere.
He thought of Jamie. “I love you,” he mouthed, envisioning her face. Would he ever see her again?
A window splintered. Shards of glass spattered. Somewhere too far away, over the roar of the blaze, sirens screamed. Help was on the way. Too little. Too late.
Get out, Slade. Don’t give up! The voice in his head nagged him as the fire stormed. With all his effort he reached forward, straining, stretching, until he heard his tendons pop. Pain shrieked up his spine. He grabbed hold of the lowest rail of a stall. Inside the box the straw ignited. Gritting his teeth, he pulled. Hard. His muscles rebelled. Agony ripped through him. The heat was unbearable, the smoke thick. He began to pass out, his vision blurring from the outside in...
“Hang on!” Thorne yelled.
“Get the hell out of here,” he croaked.
“Not without you.”
The building shuddered and another flaming beam crash-landed two feet from Slade’s head. Burning splinters flew crazily. Bales tumbled down. Dust exploded. Smoke billowed. From somewhere nearby, choking and gasping, Thorne appeared.
His face was covered in soot, his eyes searching the inferno until his gaze landed on his brother.
“Let’s go.”
Sirens shrieked. The rumble of huge engines—fire trucks—was barely audible over the blaze.
“Come on—” Thorne grabbed hold of Slade’s shoulders, tried to pull, got nowhere. “Slade, come on...” Choking and gasping, Thorne let go, yanked an ax from the wall and while Slade barely hung on to consciousness, threw his weight into a swing. The beam shuddered. Pain screeched through Slade. The world swam in darkness.
Thorne swung again, coughing, nearly doubling over, then threw his weight into it again, jarring Slade, hacking at the beam. “Hang in there!” Thorne yelled as the flames hissed. Cra-a-ack. The timber split. Thorne threw down the ax, grabbed Slade by the arms and dragged him toward the open double doors.
Another window burst. Glass sprayed. Air rushed. Flames licked around them. Slade tried to move his legs, but they were dead weights, wouldn’t so much as flinch.
“Help out here,” Thorne demanded as he pulled Slade outside. Cold air swept over him and in his blurry vision he saw the flash of red and blue lights strobe the night. Firemen in slick suits carried hoses, aimed huge noz
zles at the stables and shouted orders. Horses galloped madly throughout the property, generally getting in the way. A group of people, his family, was gathered on the front lawn. Safe. Thank God.
“Is he the last one?” a fireman asked.
“I—I think so,” Thorne said as Slade fought the urge to pass out. He willed his eyes open, but the pain in his back brought the blackness again. Coughing, feeling as if his lungs were charred, Slade looked toward the ranch house and saw Jamie.
Running through the snow toward him, tears streaming down her face, her hair wild and streaming behind her, she ignored the shouts of firemen and police to stay back.
“Slade,” she cried, her voice dim in the cacophony. “Slade...oh, God!” Two ranch hands chased after her. But she was determined and as she reached him she fell to her knees, her tears raining upon him. He tried to smile, to form her name, but he couldn’t move and the blackness, sweet and enticing, promising freedom from pain, finally closed over him.
“Help him!” Jamie cried as she witnessed Slade drifting away. One minute he was staring up at her, alive, breathing. The next, his eyes closed. “Oh, God, no...”
“Excuse us, ma’am.” Big arms pulled her back as a team of rescue workers, EMTs, worked over Slade and Thorne, who, after the supreme effort of pulling his brother to safety had fallen in a heap in the snow. Like Slade’s, Thorne’s jacket and hair were singed, his face lacerated and blackened, but he was awake, barking orders while Slade... Oh, Lord...Slade was immobile, unresponsive and as a team of rescue workers and Nicole began to tend to him, they pushed her further to the background.
Jamie heard pieces of the conversation, his blood pressure, heart rate...other statistics as they hooked him to tubes and carried him on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Nicole was helping Thorne to his feet and he was limping, but insisting that he didn’t need a stretcher as they made their way across the snowy yard. The sheriff’s department had arrived and deputies, the firemen and ambulance workers were trying to contain the blaze, the horses, and keep everyone safe.
“Are you all right?”
Jamie turned and stared at Kurt Striker, not immediately recognizing the private detective in his hooded ski jacket.
“Yes...I guess... But, Slade...” She swallowed hard as she watched the EMTs load him into the ambulance.
“They’re taking him to St. James Hospital.”
“Then I have to go.” She started for her car, but he held on to her arm.
“Why don’t you ride with Nicole? She’s driving Thorne.” Striker motioned to one of the trucks owned by the Flying M. Nicole was helping Thorne into the cab.
Pull yourself together, Jamie. Obviously this man thinks you’re out of it. A horse raced by, galloping to join some of the herd. Randi was holding her baby and talking to Kelly Dillinger who was shepherding the twins as they cried and pointed to the pickup.
“I’m not sure you should drive,” Striker was saying.
Jamie glanced back to the truck. Nicole was already at the wheel. With a roar, the engine sparked to life and wipers tackled the snow on the windshield. “I can drive myself.” She pulled open her car door, determined to follow the ambulance to the hospital. To be near Slade.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Matt was asking this time, his dark eyes penetrating from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “There’s plenty of room in Thorne’s truck. I’d drive you myself, but I’ve got to stay here awhile until the bomb squad has searched the place.” He looked at Striker. “The police think the fire might have been arson and want to know that the house isn’t booby-trapped.”
“What? Bomb squad? Booby-trapped? It wasn’t an accident?” Jamie asked, stunned.
“Probably not,” Kurt said.
“Someone intentionally did this?” She swept an arm to include the stables, now soaked with water, the flames sizzling and sending up deep clouds of steam with the smoke. “How do you know so soon? I mean...” She stared at what was left of the charred, gutted building and the fire that was slowly beginning to die.
“Gut instinct,” Striker said, pushing gloved hands deep into his pockets as he eyed the house. His gaze dropped to Randi and the girls, and his jaw visibly tightened. “I think this is another attempt to warn the McCaffertys, especially Randi.”
“By killing horses?” That didn’t make sense.
“Her horses. She owns half the ranch.”
The ambulance, lights flashing angrily, took off.
“Matt owns half the ranch, as well,” Jamie said. “Or will soon.” She wasn’t letting out any information that Striker didn’t already have.
“I know, but no one’s made an attempt on my life before and Randi’s seems to be a target for some nutcase.” Matt glowered into the night.
“So you think that whoever started this fire was warning Randi to back off of something?”
“Could be,” Striker said.
“I think he’s right.” Matt looked over at his nieces and fiancée. “I’d better help out with the girls.” He looked over at Randi, who was clutching J.R. With Kelly’s help, Randi was to ride herd over the twins who continued to sob and cry even after their parents had driven off. Snow swirled around them. Kelly leaned down and picked up one little girl while Matt ran through the trampled yard and snagged the other off her feet. Jamie felt cold to the bottom of her soul. Who would want to harm this family? “What could Randi be doing that would make someone want to kill her or her child or the livestock?”
“That’s what I have to find out,” Striker admitted as he gazed at the horses, calmer now, ears flicking as they huddled together on the far side of the house. “Before anyone else gets hurt.”
Jamie stared down the lane. The ambulance lights flashed through the trees and her heart twisted. Slade was inside...but surely he would pull through. She slid behind the wheel of her compact and twisted the key in the ignition. She’d always thought of Slade McCafferty as indestructible.
Now she prayed that she was right.
Chapter 13
Dawn was still a few hours off. Through the windows of St. James Hospital, Jamie stared into the darkness, to the parking lot of the hospital. The snow had stopped falling.
And not a word about Slade.
Her stomach in knots, Jamie leaned against the windowsill and swirled powdered cream into her tepid coffee. She knew he was alive. Certainly someone would have told her if he wasn’t okay. But how long could it take?
Glancing at the double doors of the hospital emergency room for the zillionth time, she willed someone, anyone—doctor, nurse aide—to appear and give her a sliver of information. All she knew was that aside from the smoke inhalation and burns, his back was involved.
Broken?
God, no. She couldn’t think that way. She looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. What was taking so long? She hadn’t heard a word on Thorne, either. Where was Nicole? Why didn’t she appear with some kind of information?
Because she’s with her husband. Standing by the man she loves. Where you should be, if you could.
Jamie paced from one end of the small waiting room to the other, then rested a hip against the wide ledge of a window again. She’d arrived five minutes later than the ambulance, hadn’t gotten so much as a peek at Slade, and the hospital staff was being tight-lipped. She wasn’t family.
She sipped the horrible sludge in her cup without really tasting it. She’d been up for hours, was bone-weary, but knew that if she went home, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with Slade here. Not without knowing about his condition.
Surely he would pull through. He was a McCafferty; they were all tough as old leather and had more lives than the proverbial cat. Right? Then why did she have a cold feeling in the middle of her stomach, a knot of fear that wouldn’t go away?
She remembered him swinging the ax and splitting kindling for her that first night they were alone together. Then there were images of him cutting down the Christmas tree and driving the sleigh, m
ental pictures of him holding Randi’s baby or playing with his nieces. And, of course, the more recent memory of being with him, of gazing into his eyes as he’d peeled off her clothes and made love to her in the very building where he’d been nearly crushed to death and burned alive.
Her throat ached. She wanted to break down, but wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He might need her.
When pigs fly, Jamie. When has he ever needed you?
Now, she thought determinedly. He needs me now!
He would be all right.
He had to be.
She dropped into one of the chairs.
“Jamie!” Chuck’s voice rang down the empty corridor and she looked up to see him breezing toward the waiting room. Four-seventeen in the morning and he was clean shaven, not a hair out of place, dressed in pressed khakis, the sweater she’d given him last Christmas and a wool overcoat. As if he were going to the damned golf course. All he needed was one of those funny little caps. “I just heard what happened.”
“How?” she asked. Why hadn’t he been sleeping?
“Cell phone. Matt called from the ranch. Thought I’d want to know what was going on.” His smile seemed genuine, his eyes kind. “Thorne McCafferty is a friend of mine, you know.”
That’s right. All of Chuck’s friends were business associates in one way or another. She closed her eyes for a second, hated to be so cynical. “And Matt was concerned about you. He and...oh, what’s her name?” Chuck asked.
“Kelly?”
“Yeah, the wife-to-be will be here as soon as they’ve got things handled at the ranch. I think the sister will be here, too. Something about waiting for a babysitter or the housekeeper, or someone to look after the kids.”
“Good.”
“Are you all right?” Was there genuine concern in Chuck’s voice?
“Holding my own,” Jamie said, though she knew she must look a wreck. Not that she cared. She shoved her hair from her eyes and glanced at the clock again.
“And Thorne?” Chuck’s expression grew more serious.
“He’ll be all right, I think, though I haven’t heard... I expected Nicole to come out and explain what was going on.”