“Upstairs, we found Chief Swanson’s wife, Janet.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Dead. With her wrists bound behind her back.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. Oh, dear God, the chief didn’t…
It was only the second time he’d looked directly at me since he began the story. “I know what you’re thinking, Anna. It’s the same damn thing everyone thinks. But Chief Swanson didn’t do it. He loved his wife. They’d just gotten back together after being separated for almost six months, and it was the happiest I’d seen him.”
Confused, I lowered my gaze and finally found my voice. “P-people sometimes do…things.”
“Not this,” he said, adamantly shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have hurt Janet like that. Maybe he wasn’t a perfect husband, but the chief and I were good friends. I spent a lot of time with that man. I know he didn’t do it.” He sighed heavily. “Besides, none of it makes any sense. Why would Chief Swanson tie up his wife and leave her upstairs while he doused himself with an accelerant and…”
I wasn’t sure if Cowboy didn’t finish the sentence because he couldn’t say the words or just didn’t want to. Either way, I was relieved. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it was tough. For you, I mean.”
He nodded and turned onto my road. “The other firefighters are all part of my extended family. It’s like someone telling me that my brother killed himself and his own wife when I know he didn’t.” He released a hard breath. “I just can’t prove it.”
I gaped at him, recalling the book I’d helped him locate. “That’s what Bobbie Jo was talking about earlier?”
“There are no other leads. I have to know what happened that night.”
Up ahead, the small white house I’d rented came into view. I nodded at it. “That’s where I live, the one with the blue shutters.”
He slowed, veered off the road, and rolled to a stop in front of my driveway to let me out. “Chief Swanson and his wife lived up the road, only about half a mile.”
I remembered passing by the charred rubble of a home nearby and even stopped to take a closer look. But, at the time, I didn’t know it had belonged to the chief. Dread flooded over me as torturous images flickered through my mind. I didn’t need or want any more sleepless nights than I already had.
Instead, I wanted to get out of the truck and walk away from the horrible pictures flashing through my head. Get as far away from them as I could. But I sat there for a second longer, feeling like I owed Cowboy some sort of comforting thought in return for the roadside assistance he had given me.
“No matter what happened to your chief, I’m sorry for your loss. It had to be devastating for you to lose someone so close.”
Cowboy gave me a quick nod. “You lost someone, too, right? In a fire?”
For some strange reason, I wanted to answer his question. But the moment I opened my mouth to do so, nothing came out. Damn it. Frustrated, I looked down and twisted my fingers together.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know I understand and you’re not alone.”
I glanced back up, meeting his unwavering gaze. Then I realized what he’d been trying to do. He’d hoped that by talking about his traumatic experience, I would open up to him about mine. “I…can’t.”
“If you ever want to talk about it, I might be able to help. Who better than a fireman, right?”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As I reached for the door handle, he cocked his head and said, “You don’t like me, do you?”
Oh, hell. What could I say to that? I couldn’t forget how Cowboy had snapped me out of my panicky state and suppressed my inner demons. Like some kind of fairy tale with a brave knight who had courageously slain the maiden’s dragon and won her hand, as well as her heart. But I didn’t believe in fairy tales. Or knights in shining armor.
Because the one man I trusted—a man who swore he was saving me—ended up taking the one thing I loved most in this world. That knowledge left me with a dilemma. And it had Cowboy’s name written all over it. “It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just…well, I’m a little quiet, that’s all.” And I had no intention of starting something I couldn’t finish.
“A little?” Cowboy chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, if you got any quieter, I’d check your pulse.” He smiled at me. “You know, I joke that Austin looks like a turtle, but he’s got nothing on you.”
I blinked with confusion. “Did you just refer to me as a turtle?”
“Yep. That’s what you remind me of. Judging by the way you acted tonight, I’d say you have a tendency to protect yourself by pulling in your limbs and head.” Then he grinned sinfully. “Bet I’d have one hell of a time breaking you out of your shell.”
I could only imagine why he’d think that would be fun. But I didn’t want him—or anyone, really—scraping at my innermost layers. That wasn’t what I moved here for. In less than six months, I’d be long gone. So the last thing I needed was to fool around with a handsome, exciting playboy. Especially one who was only looking for me to stroke his ego. Probably among other things.
“Well, Cowboy,” I said, shaking my wrist loose from his grip and hopping out of the truck’s cab. “I guess that’s just one more thing you’ll never know about me. Thank you for the ride home.”
I closed the truck door and stepped away before turning to wave good-bye, but I didn’t miss the look he gave me. I’d only meant to discourage him from pursuing this venture any further. Unused to being shot down, Cowboy’s stubborn eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth tipped up, as if I represented some sort of intriguing challenge. One he intended to overcome.
To get away from the scrutiny of his riveting green eyes, I quickly spun and headed for the house.
He motored down the window on the passenger door. “Hey, Anna,” he called out from behind me. “You’re still going to hold that book for me, aren’t you?”
I stopped halfway through the yard and glanced back. “Of course I am.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, then…Sparky.” He flashed me a smug grin, then drove away.
Waves of regret crashed against the barrier of my heart, breaching my defenses, and creating tidal pools of sorrow. I barely cleared the doorway into my home when I bent over, squeezed my arms across my middle, and felt hot tears streaking down my face. Not only had he used a nickname that had taken me back to a time I wasn’t fond of visiting, but…
He remembered me.
Chapter Three
It was all so bare.
No flowers. No trinkets left in his honor. No proof of the lives he’d impacted. Only unruly weeds and climbing vines that had taken over the gravesite, covering the bottom half of the granite marker.
I avoided the stinging bull thistle while carefully clearing the other invading weeds, then removed the vines that clung to the solid gray headstone, revealing the rest of the sandblasted letters beneath his name that had been enhanced with black lithichrome paint.
In honor of a husband, a friend, and a hero.
Saddened by the words, I lifted myself from the ground and trudged ten feet away to gather some wildflowers into a nice bouquet. White heath aster and blue-eyed grass were the closest, but I bypassed them, opting for the Indian blankets I had spotted a yard away. They looked similar to a sunflower, but were smaller and had bright reddish-orange petals with yellow tips. I took my time gathering a small bundle, and with my gaze trained on the grass in front of me, solemnly strolled back to the grave.
I kneeled down once more, arranging the flowers neatly together before placing them at the base of the stone. I’d been there for almost half an hour and hadn’t cried once, but that one little good deed filled my heart with sorrow and had my eyes brimming with blinding tears. The only reason I’d chosen those particular flowers was because they were also sometimes referred to as “firewheels” and I thought it was a gesture Chief Swanson would appreciate.