“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“Throw a punch, I can take it,” Wilder said. “Do what you need to do. I owe you a lot more than that.”
Annie rushed forward and Sawyer held up a hand. “I don’t want to hit you.” He rubbed his stomach for a moment. “Shit. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you.”
“No. That’s not it. Wilder, I don’t blame you. You were just a kid, the same age as Atticus.”
All eyes turned to the little boy who had taken out a Matchbox car and was pushing it along the bench lost in his imaginary Formula 1 race.
“It hurts to know that’s what’s been eating at your insides for so long.”
“You don’t . . . hate me?” Wilder couldn’t believe that he didn’t see anger in Sawyer’s face, only sadness.
“Hell no,” Archer said. “And you either, Grandma. What happened to our family was a tragedy, but Wilder was too young to understand what he was doing and, Grandma, you handled the situation how you thought best. In hindsight it was a mistake, but you acted out of love for Wilder. You hoped he’d forget and move on.”
Grandma nodded, stiffly. “My heart wasn’t as tender as it should have been. But know this, I loved you boys with every ounce of strength in this skinny body.”
“And we love you, Grandma.” Archer slung his arm around her narrow shoulders and pecked her cheek. Sawyer did the same. Then they both looked at Wilder.
“I heard you and your grandma fighting,” Garret said. All heads swiveled to him; Wilder had forgotten he was even there.
“After our fight at the fair, my mom sent me to apologize to you. I heard you and your grandma arguing in the barn. You said, ‘You know I burned the house down and killed my parents. I did that. Me.’ ”
Grandma shook her head. “It was the only time we ever spoke of it.”
“I thought you were a killer, man,” Garret said. “When you came back into town covered in burns, I was suspicious. Then the fires started.”
“Sawyer said you were almost always first on the scene,” Wilder said.
“That’s true, but there aren’t many of us on the Brightwater force. It’s not hard to be the first responder.”
Wilder raked a hand through his hair. “If it wasn’t you setting the fires, and it wasn’t me, then who the fuck was it?”
Sawyer shook his head. “I’ll call ATF tomorrow morning and light one hell of a fire under their ass, pardon the pun. We can’t have some sort of nut job running around town setting fires.”
“Guys, PG language, please,” Annie said, reaching out to take Sawyer’s hand and nodding at Atticus.
Wilder rubbed his chin. “I still think it’s someone associated with the fire department.”
Garret shook his head. “Besides me, every other guy is a family man. What would be the motive?”
“To be a hero.” Wilder leaned back with a frown. “Or make one of you the hero.”
Quinn stepped forward. “What about Lenny?”
“What about Lenny?” Garret scoffed, wrinkling his brow. “He might be a joker, but he’s also a friend. Plus no way does he have it in him.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Wilder glanced over at Quinn with dawning awareness. “You’re a genius.”
She winked. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“You’re modest.”
“Are you serious? Lenny?” Garret glanced between them as if they’d each sprouted an extra head and announced an intention to take up tap-dancing. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Think about it. He was your lap dog all through high school,” Wilder said. “Always idolized you. What better way to set up a hero than to make him someone the whole town can get behind?”
“You might be on to something,” Annie replied slowly, turning to Sawyer. “He was the one who contacted the paper and suggested that I do that story on Garret.”
“Does he happen to drive a Honda Civic by any chance?” Quinn asked, remembering the car that scared her recently in the A Novel Experience parking lot.
“That’s his mom’s car,” Garret replied. “He still lives at home. But I’m telling you, he’s harmless, not our guy.”
Wilder folded his arms. “Go to his house and I’ll bet you’ll find everything you need. I might have been wrong thinking Garret was the culprit, but Lenny fits the bill. He wanted to make his buddy a hero so he could bask in the limelight.”
“A hypothesis does not a search warrant make,” Sawyer said. “I say we all get on home and in the morning I’ll look into everything.”
“Remember the milk jugs?” Wilder pushed.
Garret jerked. “What about milk jugs?”
Wilder studied him. “That’s what started the fires. Gasoline was poured into milk jugs as an accelerant and a cotton sock was used as a wick each time to light it.”
“We never found a milk jug,” Garret said.
“You didn’t look, or rather, didn’t know what to look out for. We had a few arsonist situations on and off in Montana over the years and one’s method of choice was the milk jug.”
“Lenny is allergic to dairy,” Garret muttered, “but I saw him buying two gallons last week. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“Think you can keep your trap shut, not alert him that he’s a suspect?” Sawyer said with a layer of menace.
“Sure thing, Sheriff. But are you sure about Lenny?” Garret shook his head. “This guy makes more sense.” He jutted a thumb at Wilder.
“This guy isn’t sitting in the hot seat for one second longer,” Quinn said, reaching out a hand. “He’s coming home with me.”
Wilder blinked at her hand. She still wanted him? “Home?”
Shit. That was a hell of a thing to say.
“Your home,” she clarified.
Grandma nodded. “I knew I liked this one.”
Wilder glanced down at Quinn’s beautiful, trusting gaze and knew what he felt was a good deal more than like.
Chapter Nineteen
QUINN STARED AT Wilder’s back as he bent, big hands braced on his kitchen counter. He was a powerfully built man, no doubt about it, with shoulders that could carry more than his fair share of the load. Morning was still a ways off. “The darkest hour is just before dawn,” she whispered.
“What’s that?” he asked, his voice distant.
“Sharing your story with your brothers tonight was brave. I am proud of you.”
“Feels like a dream.” He shook his head. “I always thought that if they knew, they’d hate me as much as I hated myself.”
Quinn walked to him, rested her hand on the small of his back, and felt the big muscles tense and bunch at her touch.
“Your mother sounded like she loved you very much. She was a brave woman.”
“I wonder if she can see me ever.” Wilder shook his head. “If she looks down and sees the man I’ve become. Whether I’ve disappointed her.”
“I don’t know where she is, or what she sees, but I do know one thing. You are the kind of man any mother would be proud to claim. You’re a hero—”
“No.”
“Yes,” Quinn retorted firmly. “You protected vulnerable people when you were younger, even if the fight wasn’t your own. You had a job where you jumped out of freaking airplanes to battle wildfires. You leave out cracked corn for deer in winter and worry if they are getting enough to eat. You were kind to a strange man who needed a helping hand, and as much as you might say you’re a fighter, you’re also a lover.” She gave a naughty smile. “And a darn good one at that.”
He turned around and faced her full-on. “Can I ask you for one thing, Quinn?”
“Of course.” Her stomach rolled at his use of her name. This sounded serious.
“Hold me?” he asked gruffly.
God, this man knew how to melt her. “Come.” She took him by the hand, led him into his room. There in the quiet dark, they removed their clothes. Not fast or urgent, but as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Wilder set his leg against the dresser. “Same as leaving out a glass of water,” he said ruefully.