Page 12 of Resonable Doubt

  When Breanna woke again, Tyler was no longer beside her. It was still dark beyond the window, but the doorway curtain danced with golden firelight. The inviting crackle of burning logs enticed her from the bed. She found her nightgown and logger socks, slipped them on, then tiptoed to the curtain, lifting it to peek out.

  Tyler sat before the hearth, one arm resting loosely on an upraised knee. He wore only his slacks, and the dancing amber of the firelight burnished his skin to bronze. Sensing her presence, he glanced around and lifted an arm to beckon her to his side. Breanna needed no further invitation. When she lowered herself to the rug, he cuddled her close, tracing circles on her arm through her flannel sleeve.

  "I've been sitting here daydreaming about murder," he told her with a low laugh. "I wish I could have caught that son of a bitch."

  "Didn't you see him?" she squeaked. "He had to have left right when you showed up."

  "No, I didn't see a soul. Of course, I wasn't looking for anyone except you on the way down. Which direction did he come from? Do you know?"

  "He came up behind me and pushed me in."

  "Can you identify him?"

  "No, he was wearing a black ski mask and overcoat." Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she stared into the fire. "I can't be sure who it was."

  "Something's troubling you. What? This is no time to keep secrets, Bree."

  She lifted her face. His hovered a scant inch away, cast into shadow by the firelight. For the first time since she had known him, his eyes didn't have that shuttered look. They ached with readable emotion, his fear for her underscoring all else.

  "It's just that—" Breaking off, she sighed, took a brac­ing breath and averted her gaze so she needn't look at him. "Chuck Morrow paid me a visit today. He was rather un­pleasant and I can't help but wonder..."

  "If it could have been him? My God, Bree, why would he—?"

  "Ten years ago, we had a very similar conversation and I ran away. I think he hoped the same tactics would work again."

  "What kind of tactics?"

  She leaned against his warmth, drawing strength from him. His arms crisscrossed around her. He rubbed her skin through the sleeves of her gown, massaging her, patting her, his every touch a comfort. "Remember, I told you Chuck came around asking favors? Of Dane? Well, he made de­mands on me, too. He tried to make me sleep with him. He said he'd tell the police the truth if I didn't do it."

  "Oh, damn," Tyler moaned, "that rotten bastard."

  "I—I was so scared by then that I went clear up into the loft with him. Dane begged me to do whatever he said. And then he threatened me if I didn't. He was more terrified of Chuck than I was."

  "How did Dane threaten you?"

  "He said they'd tell the police I set the blaze."

  "And what did you do?" His hands clenched on her arm. "Up in the loft, Bree. With Morrow?"

  The memories flashed in Breanna's mind, ugly, horribly real, as clear as yesterday. "I couldn't bear for him to touch me. He kissed me...pushed his tongue in my mouth. I'd never been kissed like that before."

  "Of course you hadn't."

  "It made me feel sick. I realized, almost too late, that jail would be preferable to having his hands on me and I ran."

  Tyler lifted a hand to her hair, stroking it. "What kind of man would use leverage like that on a young girl?" His whisper was ragged. "Ah, Breanna, no wonder you ran from the memories for so many years. Who would blame you?"

  "Dane," she whispered. "We were never friends again. I couldn't forgive him for standing down at the door of the barn, watching to be sure Gramps didn't come. He didn't care about me, Tyler, or about Rob. All he cared about was himself."

  Silence fell over them for a moment, then he said, "I have a feeling Dane has paid dearly for hurting you, Bree."

  "How has Dane paid? The only thing he lost was my friendship and I don't think he misses it. Dane has every­thing, fancy clothes, an expensive car, a beautiful home and family."

  "If Morrow tried to blackmail you, don't you suppose he's asked similar favors of Dane over the years?"

  The thought made her shiver. Knowing how low Chuck Morrow could stoop, it was entirely possible. "What kind of favors, though? What could Dane give him that he would want?"

  A tense silence followed. "Who knows?" Tyler replied. "I just have a feeling. How was that fire set? I know I read about it, but I can't recall."

  "Cans of gas, stashed in the brush around the hippie commune. Someone put a dynamite cap over the mouth of one, set the fuse and ran. When the fumes in the one can exploded, the resulting fire set off the others."

  "A person would need a permit to get a dynamite cap."

  "Not if you were the grandson of a retired miner."

  "You really believe Dane did it, don't you?"

  A faint memory invaded Breanna's mind. Gas. She had a vague recollection of driving to town with Dane in Gramps's Jeep, filling the back with red cans. The muscles in her stomach tightened. When had they done that?

  She pressed closer to Tyler, suddenly cold. "Oh, Tyler, I don't know. Dane was a good kid. Not mean. He might have set a little fire...as a prank...but I can't imagine him trying to light the whole mountain. He knew how tinder-dry the woods got."

  "You may never know the truth," he told her. "Mor­row—he didn't hurt you when he came this time?"

  "No, I handled him. I don't expect him back anytime soon."

  Quiet settled over them, the minutes passing, the warmth of the fire and Tyler's presence soothing her. Breanna stared at the orange embers. The gas. Why couldn't she remem­ber? Had it been for Gramps, for Chuck Morrow? Was it the gas used to set the Reuben Creek blaze? Her head be­gan aching again. She had to find out, she had to. The only way to do that was to arrange a meeting with Dane and ask him flat out. Even if he wouldn't tell her, she knew him well enough to read him. If the questions scared him, then she'd know

  "Bree, don't get angry." Tyler's hand tensed, pressing hard against her arm. "I have to say it one more time. Leave. Go stay in town, at least for a while. Please. You could have been seriously hurt tonight. Let me drive you to town, your parents' place... anywhere."

  "Oh, Tyler. I know you're right. And I'm scared, really scared. But now it's even more important than before that I stand my ground. Don't you see? I ran before. I've lived with it for ten years, never escaping it. If I don't see it through this time, I'll be running from the truth for the rest of my life. Try to understand."

  "I do understand. I hate to admit it, but if it were me, I'd stay, too." He sighed. "Okay, lady. You want to stand your ground and fight back? I just volunteered for the infan­try."

  She smiled. "What does that mean?"

  "It means you have a new roommate. Mind? No more baths alone, no more staying alone here nights."

  "I should say thanks but no thanks. It's an awful impo­sition on you."

  "What are friends for? Besides, you couldn't pry me away from here with a crowbar, not after tonight. I say we check out that brush by the creek come daylight, find out where our friendly scythe carrier came from. Seems like the first move to make. Agreed?"

  "Agreed. Oh, Tyler, I'm glad you're here."

  His mouth moved next to her ear, whisper light. "Me, too."

  She tipped her head back to look at him. "You know, there is another possibility we haven't considered. Last night by the creek it could have been the ghost."

  "Old John, guarding his treasure? Come on, Bree, you're just upset, strung out. You can't believe that."

  "What if he did find the mother lode?" she whispered. "Is it so farfetched?"

  "Honey..."

  "I know I'm upset. It did frighten me. It's just that he seemed to come out of nowhere and disappear the same way. You didn't see him, did you?"

  "No, but there's so much brush, you can hide quite eas­ily. Remember the evening I met you? I was right at the edge of the property and you couldn't see me. Tell you what. We'll save the ghost theory as a last resort, until after we c
heck the brush. I'm fairly sure we'll find evidence that your friend was a real live creep, not a dead one."

  Breanna hoped he was right.

  Chapter Ten

  Daylight found Breanna and Tyler circling the copse. Tyler walked from the brush to the diving rock, studying the footprints, his face creased in a scowl. "I don't understand it," he said, propping his hands on his hips. "We can see where he stood in the copse. His tracks come out to the rock and go back. So why the hell isn't there any sign showing what direction he came from? It doesn't make sense."

  Sinking to a log, Breanna braced her elbows on her knees. "It does if you think ghost."

  "Oh, come on. He didn't disappear into thin air. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation. We're just overlooking it."

  "What is it then?"

  Tyler strode back to the copse, staring at the circle of prints that led to the bank and vanished. The trees there weren't big enough for climbing. "I don't know. It'll come to me. But it wasn't a ghost, that's for damned sure."

  Breanna rose from the log, brushing bark from the seat of her jeans. "You're right. I know you're right. But the kid in me is getting spooked. This is the second time!"

  "Bree, say it was John Van Patten? Hell, I'm open- minded. Let's say he haunts the place, guarding his trea­sure trove. If he did, you'd be the last person he'd harm. You're a Van Patten. He'd want you to find it."

  "That's probably true."

  Their eyes met, and Tyler started to laugh. "I can't be­lieve this. I'm actually standing here talking about spooks as if they're real. Come on, let's go to my place and pack my things."

  She threw one last glance at the ground as they left, hop­ing against hope she'd spy something both of them had missed.

  Tyler slowed his pace so Breanna could catch up, drap­ing an arm across her shoulders. "I tell you what. Let's go on this assumption. Say it's treasure seekers, like you sus­pected before, acting out the ghost legend to scare you away. The only way to put a stop to it is prove there's no gold, right?"

  She nodded, not quite sure what his line of reasoning was.

  "Okay, so let's do it," he said.

  "Do what?"

  "Prove, for once and for all, there is no gold. We'll go all out, use the maps, rent a metal detector, dig all over God's creation. And we'll tell everybody we see that we're look­ing. If it's treasure hunters doing all this, when we find nothing, they'll give up and leave you alone."

  "Mr. Ross, I hate to burst your bubble, but whom do we ever see to tell? I mean, it's a good idea, but this isn't ex­actly a metropolis out here."

  "We can start tonight in Wolf Creek."

  "Wolf Creek?"

  "Yeah, yesterday's dinner, remember? We'll go tonight. Talk loud. Tell everybody we meet. And then tomorrow, we'll go to town, get a metal detector, make a big deal out of it. The treasure hunters will hear. Rumors travel like wildfire."

  "I suppose it might work. Okay, let's try it."

  A smile settled on Breanna's mouth as she fell into step with Tyler. She wasn't sure treasure hunters were her prob­lem, not after the things Chuck and Dane had said, but going along with the idea would assure her of Tyler's com­pany. After last night, she was running a little short on bra­vado. With Tyler along as her backup, tonight would be an ideal time to ask Dane about that gas they had bought years ago, too. She would find a pay phone and give her cousin a call. If he wasn't home, she could leave a message with his wife, Nan, saying she would be in Wolf Creek most of the evening and needed to see him.

  When Tyler opened the front door to his cabin and led Breanna inside, she hid a smile. Natural wood tones and leather. It pleased her that he liked down-to-basics living. It gave them something else in common. The kitchen area was clean. A four-place set of brown earthenware dishes shone on the open shelving. The top of the gas cooking range was scrubbed and shining white. His small dining table was po­sitioned in the center of the rectangular room, flanked by the kitchen and the small living area, which boasted a leather sofa, a matching chair and a neatly made bed.

  Coaly flopped just inside the door, and Tyler motioned her toward the ranch-style sofa. "Grab a seat."

  Breanna chose a straight-backed kitchen chair instead, drawn by the array of radio equipment that crowded half the tabletop. Citizen band? She didn't know much about shortwave communication, but the paraphernalia spread out before her looked too sophisticated for a simple CB base unit. Propping one elbow on the arm of her chair, she leaned forward. An unpleasant odor drifted to her. Next to the radio she spied a brimming ashtray.

  "Tyler, I didn't know you smoked."

  "I don't. Oh, that's Jack's."

  "Jack?"

  "Yeah, my partner. He comes down to work now and again."

  "Oh, I see." She pushed the ashtray to one side and re- focused her attention on the radio. "Do you mind if I turn this on and talk?"

  Tyler glanced up from where he was taking jeans off a shelf. "Yes, I do. Please don't touch it."

  His tone was so curt that she jerked her hand away from the power button. "I wouldn't break anything."

  "It's for emergency use only." It was so unlike him to speak harshly that all she could do was stare. He must have seen how hurt she was; he shrugged offhandedly and turned away from the shelf where he was gathering clothes. "Someday when we're not pressed for time, maybe I'll teach you to operate it. Would you like that?"

  "Are we in a hurry?"

  "Dinner out, remember? If we're going, we have to get cracking." He sighed and strode toward her. Tossing down a pair of jeans near the radio, he placed his hands on the chair arms to lean down and kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry, Bree. It's expensive equipment, that's all. I have the fre­quencies all set and the antenna just so. With no phone, it's a lifeline in case of emergency. You can understand, can't you?"

  "That's fine. It's yours. I respect that."

  He cupped her chin in his hand. "Accept my apology?"

  The sincerity in his expression was irresistible. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and his answering grin brought it to full bloom. "Accepted. With my luck, I'll be the emergency."

  "Come help me pack," he said, taking her hand to pull her from the chair.

  Breanna stowed his things in a bag while he finished se­lecting an assortment of clothing off the shelves.

  "I'm taking you dancing tonight," he announced. "You do dance?"

  "I'll dance you under the table."

  "Oh, no, I'm not talking fast stuff." He cast her a teas­ing grin as he walked to the closet. "I mean romantic danc­ing."

  "Oh, that kind." She picked up a pair of socks and put them in the bag, then strolled toward him.

  He opened his closet, and Breanna's eyes widened. On the inside panel of the door, in a very carefully arranged order, was a host of pictures. Her own image stared back at her, some frontal shots, some full-length of herself walking across her orchard. Below them, he had printed Breanna Van Patten Morgan on an index card in bold, black letters. There was even a picture of Coaly, with Bites scrawled on the bottom edge of the photograph.

  Tyler had no sooner opened the door than he tensed. It was so obvious that he had forgotten the gallery of photos that it almost struck her as funny. Almost. It was so strange a collection and so painstakingly displayed that it sent a chill over her instead. Why? What had possessed him to take all those shots of her and her dog?

  Her gaze flew to a cardboard poster that stood just in­side the closet. Pictures of her claim? Breanna couldn't be­lieve what she was seeing. The layout was extensive, done almost like a map, each photo labeled. Tyler...

  He took some clothing off hangers and pushed the door shut with a loud click. The muscle in his jaw ticked as his eyes met hers. "I was fascinated with the subject matter."

  Fascinated? He had clearly marked off her land, almost as if he had staked it out. But why? And when?

  "Breanna..." He looked down at her for the longest time, then sighed in defeat.

  "Why di
d you take all those pictures?"

  "I needed an exact layout of the property for my obser­vations. I use the orchards all the time for my animal stud­ies. You know that. You use maps, don't you?"

  "Yes, but—why did you need an exact layout of me?"

  "I've wanted an exact layout of you since the moment I first saw you."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "I'm asking you to," he said simply.

  "And what if I don't buy it?"

  "I know it seems a little peculiar, Bree, but why wouldn't you buy it? I've got no reason to lie, do I?"

  "Tyler..." She watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reactions. "I—I'm beginning to care for you, you realize that? You wouldn't use me to cover looking for the gold?"

  She relaxed when his gaze didn't waver from hers. "No, Bree, I'm not looking for the gold. The gold? You don't believe that."

  "But Tyler, the pictures. Why did you put them on a poster like that?"

  He sighed and ran his hand over his hair. "Well, when I put them up, I barely knew you. I took the pictures on a lark, then when I developed them, I thought I might as well use them, so I did a layout. Sometimes I work with a part­ner. Not often, but I have been doing that here the last cou­ple of months. And since I quite often use the blind in the orchard, I didn't see any harm in doing a spread for him, so he'd know how the land was situated in relation to the cabin." He shrugged his shoulders. "The pictures of you were so he'd know you if he saw you. And the ones of Coaly are pretty self-explanatory. I didn't want Jack getting his leg chewed off."

  Now that he had explained it to her, it all made perfect sense. Only moments ago, he had mentioned Jack, his partner. The ashtray was further proof the man worked with him. Tyler was a photographer, after all. He probably snapped pictures of just about anything if the mood struck him, much as she did with her writing, doodling notes and sketching stories.

  "Oh, Tyler, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm acting this way."