Resonable Doubt

  On the tail of that thought, Breanna realized that every­thing he had ever told her was suspect. Every smile, every offhanded shrug, every explanation he'd given her for the strange goings-on, all of it had been lies. Even tonight when she'd been upset about Dane's behavior, his concern about her had been a sham. He had very artfully distracted her, bringing up the treasure hunt.

  Suddenly it was all so clear, so sickeningly clear. Tyler was committed to something all right; to Chuck Morrow. He was a counterfeiter.

  Pain twisted her heart as she studied him. "Was it you with the scythe, Tyler?"

  A sad smile curved his mouth. "You know better than that. Deep down, you know."

  "Lies, it's all been lies, hasn't it?" she whispered. "Ty­ler, I think it would be best if you left now. You can come get your things tomorrow."

  He sat there on her bed like an immovable rock. "Breanna, don't misunderstand this, but I can't do that. I'll sleep on the sofa if you like, but I can't leave you alone here. It's not safe. At least you know I won't hurt you."

  "Do I? I think I know precious little. I don't like being lied to, and I like being used even less."

  He averted his face, gazing at the floor.

  "There's something here on my land that you want, isn't there? You know who spied on me down by the creek. And you're involved in it somehow. Maybe not directly, but you know who did it." It was on the tip of her tongue to accuse him of knowing Morrow, too, but fear held the words back. She didn't want to find out she was right. "Leave, Tyler. And lock the door on your way out."

  He dropped his head into his hand, ruffling his hair with tense fingers. "I can't blame you for thinking what you're thinking, Bree. But let's get a couple of things straight. What happened between you and me...that has nothing to do with anything else, nothing. I would have felt the same way at any other time, in any other place. As for the guy with the scythe, if I knew who he was, he'd be mincemeat." He turned to look at her. "How can you think, even for an instant, that I'd let someone harm you? I know you're up­set. I know this looks bad. But surely you know me better than that."

  "I don't think I know you at all."

  He rose from the bed, pulling two blankets and an extra pillow from the closet shelf. "Don't pass judgment on me until you know all the facts." He glanced down at her. "Think how it was between us last night. How could that be a lie? You're jumping to conclusions... all the wrong ones. I may not be able to explain myself satisfactorily now, but I can tell you this. I'm no criminal. There's no need for you to go to the police."

  "Don't you dare throw last night at me!" she cried, jumping to her feet. "As far as I'm concerned, it never even happened. Is that c-clear?" When her voice broke, she threw up an arm to hide her tears, trying to step around him. He grabbed her bruised shoulder to stop her and she flinched. "Don't touch me!"

  "I'm sorry. I forgot you were sore there."

  "It isn't that. Just please, please don't touch me."

  He tossed the blankets onto the bed, reaching an arm around her waist to pull her against him. She couldn't bear him to see her face, so she burrowed her head into his chest. "Take your hands off me. You disgust me, do you hear? Lying is one thing. I might forgive that. But I'll never for­give you for using me."

  "I didn't use you."

  She laughed. "Oh, I see. It's true love, right? I've swal­lowed everything else you tossed me, hook, line and sinker. Why not one more time?"

  "I can see you're in no frame of mind to listen to rea­son."

  "Reason? I think you've reasoned with me far too much."

  "Breanna, please..." His voice flowed over her, warm, gentle, filled with concern. "Whatever else you think, don't misunderstand last night, please. I admit, I made a mis­take—"

  "A mistake?" She tipped her head back. "Oh, Ty­ler..."

  He rasped his knuckles across her cheek, catching her tears. "When I say it was a mistake, I only mean it in the sense that it was bad timing. I should have waited until all this was settled."

  "All what?"

  He sighed and closed his eyes. "Listen, I'll sack out on the couch. Okay? That far enough away for you?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  His gaze delved into hers. "No, not really, I guess you don't. Neither of us does." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before she realized what he was going to do. "Good night, Bree."

  He brushed past her to pick up the blankets. She swiped at her cheek with her sleeve, watching him. At the door­way, he paused, turning to look back at her. "Sometimes you have to go on gut instinct. What does your intuition tell you about me?"

  "If you're not involved in anything illegal, then do as you preach. Go on gut instinct about me.

  Trust me and tell me what this is all about."

  He smiled. "I can't tell you anything more than I've told you. As for the instinct, I already used it. You don't know it yet, but I believed in you when no man in his right mind would have." He nodded toward the bed. "Don't mess with that gun. It's loaded and it has a hair trigger. And don't leave the cabin without waking me. If nature calls, I'll walk down with you."

  Breanna climbed back into bed. Sleep still refused to come to her and she could tell by Tyler's breathing that he, too, was restless. Sometime later, she slipped out of bed to get a drink of water. As she swept the curtain aside to tip­toe past the sofa, his dark head turned on the pillow. Even in the dim shaft of moonlight from the window, she could see him watching her.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get a drink."

  He settled back, but she felt his eyes following her as she went to the sink. The room was so quiet that every time she swallowed, the sound echoed. As she walked back to her room, her skin prickled. She was a prisoner in her own house.

  "Good night, Breanna."

  She could have sworn his tone was underlaid with laugh­ter. She climbed back into bed and glared at the ceiling. She heard Coaly plop onto the floor, positioning himself in the doorway between herself and Tyler. Even the dog loved and trusted him. Curling onto her side, she wrapped her arms around herself, watching the moon. This was either the first time Coaly had misjudged someone or Tyler was telling the truth, at least in part. Doubt crowded into her mind. Was she jumping to the wrong conclusions? If she was wrong, if Tyler, Dane and Chuck weren't involved in counterfeiting, she'd never forgive herself for running to the police with wild stories, getting Tyler in trouble for something he hadn't done. She knew what it felt like to be falsely accused. There had to be a way for her to find out for sure. All she had to do was think of it.

  In the other room, Tyler gazed out at the moonlight, too, his thoughts centered on the woman beyond the curtain. Without Jack's okay, he couldn't remove Breanna from the premises. And now that she had found his gun, he didn't dare leave her alone long enough to persuade Jack to give that okay. One minute with his back turned, that was all she would need.

  That thought brought him upright. Swinging to his feet, he went to the kitchen, opened her purse and took her car keys. He couldn't risk her getting away from him. If she made it to a police station, the local authorities would swarm in and ruin everything. Tyler didn't so much care at this point if the crooks got away, but he did care about the men he worked with, and didn't want any unsuspecting po­lice officers hurt, either. As important as Breanna was to him, he couldn't risk dozens of lives. Since he couldn't get her out of here, he'd protect her as best he could and hope to God that Jack didn't waste any time bringing this mess to a close.

  Tyler dropped the keys in his slacks pocket and returned to the sofa. From here on in, he was on his own.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Breanna woke up in the morning, she had a solution to her problem. Or at least to part of it. She could find out if her hunch about counterfeiting was correct by making a simple phone call to the Grants Pass police. How she had come up with the idea was a mystery to her, unless she had concocted the plan in her sleep, but it really didn't matter as long as it worked. And it
would. She felt sure of it. If she could just escape Tyler long enough to reach a phone.

  That turned out to be the catch. Tyler didn't let her out of his sight. When she made her morning sojourn to the outhouse, he accompanied her and waited outside. Later, when she walked down to the creek for her bath, he sat on the boulder with his back to her and kept up a steady con­versation to assure himself she was still there.

  By nightfall, Breanna's nerves were not only frayed, but the tension between herself and Tyler was nearly unbear­able. There had been no opportunity for her to use a phone, even though they had driven into Wolf Creek to continue spreading the rumor about their gold hunt. Their stops at the grocery store, the gas station and the cafe were brief, and Tyler stayed by her side every second. Breanna had never spent such a miserable afternoon.

  But the worst part about the dragging hours had been the constant ache in her chest, an ache that sharpened every time she glanced Tyler's way. She didn't know when and, God help her, she didn't know why, but somehow she had fallen crazy in love with him. She stressed the crazy every time the realization hit her; insanity was her only excuse. Their relationship, if by any stretch of her imagination she could call it that, was a shambles. She felt helpless, frus­trated and angry. How could Tyler look so happy all the time?

  "What lovely things are on the agenda for tomorrow?" she called through the curtain as she undressed for bed that night.

  The clank of the coffeepot resounded and she heard the pump handle squeaking. "I guess we'll go get a metal de­tector."

  Breanna shrugged. There was no point in getting the metal detector, but no point in arguing about it, either. She slipped into her nightgown and turned to get his bedding off the top shelf. With no undo ceremony, she elbowed her way through the curtain and tossed it onto the sofa. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

  He turned from the stove, placing his hands on his hips. "Am I to understand that you're going to let the sun go down without us settling this?"

  She nodded toward the dark windows. "It's already down. And even if it weren't, in this situation it's beyond my control. Only you can rectify the problem. Good night, Ty­ler."

  "Great attitude. If it isn't rectified your way, it’ can’t be rectified."

  She returned to her room and jerked back the bedclothes with a snap. "Good night, Tyler "

  "Good night, Breanna."

  She climbed into bed and pulled the quilt up to her chin, staring at the ceiling. She wouldn't let him put a guilt trip on her. There was a gun under her bed that was still unex­plained. He had been up to something last night and he wouldn't tell her what. Oh, no, she wasn't the guilty party here. And she wouldn't let him make her feel that she was.

  She heard him making his bed. In a moment the lantern light faded. "If you wake up first, the coffee's ready. Just light the burner," he told her.

  Breanna didn't bother to reply. Better just to pretend she was already asleep. Fat chance of that. The way she felt, she'd lie here awake all night. She curled onto her side and tried her best to relax. It seemed to her as if hours passed before she finally grew drowsy and drifted off.

  Fire

  At first, Breanna thought she was dreaming. The amber glow flickered through her closed eyelids and she heard the crackling of the flames. Fear clutched her and she tossed fitfully in her sleep, trying to stave off the images she knew would come. It was the nightmare, just as she had experi­enced it a thousand times, and she didn't want to give in to it. Forest fire.

  When she opened her eyes, she knew something was ter­ribly wrong. The fire wasn't a dream. It was real. The flames were outside, beyond the paned windows. She rose to her knees in bed and stared through the glass, horrified. Her fruit cellar was burning. Flames snaked up the siding to­ward the shingled roof, hungry, hot, eager. Breanna screamed.

  "Bree..." Tyler tore through the curtain, making a dive for his gun. He was already crouched beside the bed when he saw what she was screaming about. "Oh, Lord..."

  "My house..." Her voice faded to a moan. "Oh, my God, there's no water! It'll catch the cabin."

  She leaped out of the bed, and his arm lashed out, catch­ing her around her waist before she could get beyond the curtain. "You stay right here until I'm dressed."

  "Dressed? Dressed! You're worried about clothes when my place is burning down?"

  He shoved her toward the bed and slipped into his shoul­der holster, pulling his shirt on over the top of it. "You're damned right. I don't know who's out there and, believe it or not, you are more important to me than this hulk of logs!"

  When he ran through the living room, hopping first on one foot and then the other to drag on his boots, Breanna was right behind him. Coaly barked excitedly when they went outside, but Tyler shoved him back as he closed the door.

  "A shovel, where's a shovel?" he roared.

  Breanna stood staring at the outside of the door. A skull and crossbones were painted on the wood, glaringly white, with LEAVE scrawled below it. When Tyler turned and saw it, he hissed, "Those bastards."

  Breanna rounded on him. "You know, damn you! You know who did this, don't you? Oh, God, Tyler, I'll never forgive you if my cabin burns, do you hear? Never...."

  "Where's a shovel?"

  "In the lean-to!"

  He jumped over the retaining wall and ran into the lean- to, returning in moments with two shovels, one of which he thrust at her. "Smother the flames with dirt. It's the only chance we've got."

  Breanna dug her blade into the hard soil, heaving on the handle. "I trusted you. I trusted you!"

  Tyler's face looked grim as he bent to his work. He threw twice the dirt she did, but she was still panting with exhaus­tion by the time they had extinguished one corner of the cellar fire. She sagged, leaning on the shovel handle.

  "Watch out!"

  Tyler cast his tool aside and dived toward her. For a mo­ment she didn't know what madness had come over him. His shoulder slammed into her midriff and carried her backward. They hit the dirt with jarring impact, and he be­gan slapping at her legs. Breanna glanced down and saw flames shooting up her nightgown.

  The moment was both nightmare and reality. She was back on the mountain the night of the forest fire, seeing Rob Thatcher's panicky face, hearing his screams. Only this time, she was the victim, and her own screams were pierc­ing the night. Her first instinct was to run, and that was ex­actly what she tried to do. Tyler was all that prevented it and she fought him wildly.

  "Let me go! Oh, my God, please, let me go!..."

  "Breanna...dammit, hold still."

  His arms clamped around her and hysteria whirled in her mind. She was pinned by Tyler, just like Rob Thatcher had been pinned by the fallen tree. And the fire would consume her. Her arms were anchored to her sides and her legs were vised in the crook of his. All she could do was scream in helpless rage as he rolled with her.

  Rolling... screaming... rolling. The sky became the ground and the ground the sky.

  "It's out, Bree!" he yelled. "Honey.. .do you hear me, it's out, it's out! You're okay. My God, Bree, stop scream­ing like that . . . .Breanna, stop it. Breanna—"

  Whack. Her head snapped back and she blinked. Tyler's face came into focus, illuminated by the nearby flames, his expression frightened. She pressed a palm to her cheek.

  Even in the flickering light, she could see the anguish on his face. "Bree, say something, say anything. Are you burned? Answer me."

  He tried to lift the charred hem of her gown and she grabbed hold of the still-warm flannel to hold it over her knees. "Don't touch me!" she sobbed.

  His gaze swiveled from her to the fire and back, as if he couldn't decide which required his attention the most. With an oath, he ran back to the cellar and began shoveling again. Too numb to move, she sat there, watching him battle the blaze. When at last it was out, he staggered back to her and sank to the ground, resting his forehead on his knees.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  For the life of her, no words wou
ld come out of her mouth. She turned to look at him, her eyes coming to rest on his soot-streaked face. There was blood on his cheek; she realized she must have scratched him when they were strug­gling.

  "Tyler, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what came over me. I know you were only trying to help me."

  "Do you?" he asked hollowly. "You sure had me fooled. I would have sworn you thought I was trying to barbecue you."

  "I..." The words to explain died in her throat.

  "Come on, let's get you inside and see if you're burned." He helped her up and led her inside.

  "I'm okay, Tyler, really I am," she argued as he reached to peel off her nightgown.

  "I want to see that you're okay." Her arms were snagged in the sleeves of the gown and when she instinctively tried to cover herself, she foiled his attempts to get it off. "Breanna."

  His tone brooked no nonsense. She sighed in defeat and let him tug the sleeves off her wrists, then crossed her arms over herself. He tossed another log onto the fire to give them more light, without exposing them to whoever lurked out­side, and sparks sprayed up the chimney. When he turned back to her, she felt a flush of shame creep up her neck.

  "For God's sake, I've seen everything there is to see. Turn around." He hunkered down behind her, and her skin tin­gled beneath his gaze. His light touch on the backs of her thighs did nothing to dispel her tension. No matter what he said, being naked when they were making love had been an entirely different thing than standing here, all passion gone, him studying every inch of her. His fingers grazed her back and she flinched. "Do you have any ointment?" he asked.

  "In the bedroom, but I don't need it. I wasn't burned, I tell you."

  "You might not know it right now, the state you're in. I'll put on ointment, just to be safe." With that, he stomped to the other room. When he returned, Breanna had her night­gown clutched to her breasts, which earned her a disgusted snort from Tyler. "Turn around," he said tonelessly.

  "Really, there aren't any—"