A Memory Worth Dying For (7 page)

The crowd mumbled agreement.

Bud planted his feet on the ground and looked over the crowd. “Max, I know you’re worried about your job. Shane, Gerald, I know you and a lot of other farm owners here are frustrated and worried about your farms, but we’re gradually beatin’ this thing. It’s better than it was yesterday, in spite of what you think. We have it thirty-five percent contained—yesterday it was only ten percent. A couple of our firemen have been on vacation and are returning early to help.”

Gerald watched as Shane stood deliberately to his feet. The crowd listened silently as he spoke.

“All right, Bud. We’ll give you a couple more days. But, if things don’t change by then, we’ll be talking about other options. We can’t stand by without a fight and watch our farms go up in smoke.”

Agreements traveled around the room as they all stood on determined feet.

Gerald and Max walked over to Shane Duke, and the men shook hands.

“What do you think, Gerald? Think they’ll get it stopped before it hits your back two hundred acres of alfalfa?”

Gerald shook his head. “I hope so. I have an equipment shed that’s even closer than the back two hundred. If that goes, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe you should go ahead and move out the equipment.”

“Already did.” Max spoke up. “Got it stored in an old hay barn there behind Mr. Gerald’s house.”

Gerald nodded. “I told my men to take the hay plows out tomorrow and dig a fire break across the back side of the alfalfa field. I’m hoping it’ll help stop the fire at the line.”Shane perked up. “Yep, that’s a good idea. We talked about burning off some of the back fields to keep the fire from jumping to the woods closest to the house. If the fire reaches that field, and it’s been burned, it might burn itself out.”

Gerald nodded. “That’s a good idea too. Maybe that’s what we need to do.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

The men turned to see Jordan Welsh standing right outside their circle.

“Jordan. I didn’t know you were back in these parts.” Gerald’s surprise was evident as he shook Jordan’s hand. Something in Jordan’s eyes seemed hardened and unsettled.

“Yeah. I figured I may as well get back here before the ranch completely went to the dogs. Vinny and Angie put so much work into it; I hate to see it abandoned.”

Shane held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Jordan. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Tolerable, I reckon. It’s hard without Vinny. He was my life, you know.”

Gerald’s stomach felt sick. He knew the feeling. When Angie died in the wreck that killed Vinny, he thought time would heal that sick feeling he felt when he thought of losing his only daughter, but time hadn’t healed the wound—only made it easier to bear.

Jordan turned to him. “I’m headed up to Tennessee for a couple of days, but when I come back, I’d be happy to help anywhere I can. My farm’s not in danger of the fire, but I can sure imagine how I would feel if it was.”

“Thanks, Jordan. We’d welcome the help. We were talking about digging fire breaks and burning off some of the back fields closest to the fire, hoping that would at least slow the fire down if not stop it completely.”

“I guess it depends on how strong the wind is, but two fire breaks are better than one, I reckon,” Jordan said.

Gerald nodded. “I’ll probably start first thing Monday morning. My place isn’t that close to the fire yet, but it wouldn’t take long if the wind gets up. If you wanna come by when you get back, I’d appreciate the help.”

“I’ll be there.” Jordan nodded and left.

“See you on Monday, Shane, I’ll be starting bright and early.” Gerald said as he shook Shane’s hand. He waved at a couple of neighbors and walked out of the building. He looked across the parking lot as Jordan got into his car. The man had aged and seemed weaker than he remembered. Jordan’s hair had practically turned to all white since leaving Carson three years ago. Gerald shrugged. He probably had a few more white hairs himself. This fire wasn’t helping either.

ELEVEN

TENNESSEE

MARTI STEPPED OUT OF THE
Landeville City Post Office and bumped into a tall man standing outside the door.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m sor—”

Shock stopped her in mid-sentence. Standing in front of her was Jordan Welsh.

Seeing the father of her dead brother-in-law, Vinny, shocked her into silence. Jordan seemed much older, and his weathered features reminded her of the pain he’d suffered when Vinny and Angie died. She never saw him after the accident, but she heard he had taken their deaths very hard. She dreaded facing him now.

The veiled look in his eyes made her squirm under his gaze. He tilted his head and spoke.

“Well, Martha. This is a surprise. Now I know where you disappeared to. I heard you moved away and didn’t tell anyone where you were going. ‘Course, I moved too and sort of lost touch with everybody there in Carson.”

Marti stood still, not knowing what to say. Finally, the silence made her uncomfortable. “Mr. Welsh. It’s good to see you. I hope you’ve been well.”

Jordan nodded. “As well as could be.”

“What are you doing in Tennessee?”

“I . . . uh, still travel around for the quarter horse competitions, and I decided to attend the one in Vick.”

“Oh.”

“Are you living here now, Martha?”

She nodded. “For the past year. I’ve been working at an art gallery here in the city.”

“I see.”

The pause that followed was uncomfortable for Marti, so she backed up a little and said, “I guess I better be getting back. I ran over to get the mail for my boss. It was good to see you again, Mr. Welsh.”

Mr. Welsh put his hand on Marti’s arm. “Wait, Martha.”

She stopped and half-turned toward him. The hand on her arm gave her an uneasy feeling.

“I just wanted to say that . . . I don’t hold any ill feelings toward you.” His eyes shifted to stare at the ground.

The breath she was holding came out quickly in a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Welsh.”

“I know things happen sometimes that are out of our control, and . . . well, I just wanted you to know.” The smile he gave her was strained but she hoped it was sincere.

Marti turned toward him then and fingered the chain around her neck. “Thank you, Mr. Welsh. I know it was hard losing Vinny, especially right after your wife died. I’m just sorry it had to happen.”

For a second, his eyes met hers, and then he shifted, and his gaze spiraled downward. “Yeah, same here.” His voice was so soft she could hardly hear the words. He squared his shoulders and spoke. “I’ll let you go now, Martha.” He nodded and turned away.

She stood still and watched him cross the street to the courthouse. His lanky figure looked strong, but his legs were still tall and painfully thin. A small twinge started in her stomach and spread to her heart. Reminders of that accident always popped up somewhere. She wished there was a pill to take so she could forget everything in her past.

She shook her head and flipped through the mail while she walked in the other direction but froze when she saw a familiar address label.

Carson, Texas.

A pain hit her in the chest so hard it made her dizzy. Who would be writing her from Daniel’s address? How did they know where she was?

She stared at the letter, torn between two decisions. Should she open it? Should she throw it in the sidewalk trash can and not give it another thought?

What if it was important?

She ripped open the envelope before she could talk herself out of it.

Gerald’s scribbling popped off the page. Suddenly, her legs wouldn’t hold her up. She collapsed on the post office steps. The rest of the mail slipped from her hand to the ground as she stared at the words on the white piece of paper.

“Daniel is dying. Please come back so he can see you before it’s too late.”

The first three words were the only words she saw, and they pulsed inside her brain with each heartbeat.

Daniel is dying. Daniel is dying. Daniel is dying
.

A burning pain twisted in her heart, and she struggled to breathe.

“No. Please, no.” The words came out in a whisper. She closed her eyes—daring the words to remain on the page when she opened them again. Even though she’d decided to forget Daniel, her heart wasn’t listening. Now, the sharp pain she felt when she read those three words wouldn’t go away. It kept stabbing her heart into little pieces, leaving deep wounds that would never heal.

Now going to Texas had a whole new meaning. She needed to see him—even if it was just to say goodbye.

She looked at the letter again. Gerald was begging her to return quickly. A cold chill washed over her when she remembered the man in the alley. Those threats were real and made returning to Texas a scary thing.

What was she going to do? If she went to Texas, Sandra and Wade would be in danger. The stalker had threatened to burn the gallery. No matter how hard Wade tried to keep them safe, he couldn’t be in two places at one time, and he couldn’t keep Sandra with him the whole time Marti was gone.

One bullet was all it took, and their lives would be destroyed.

And hers.

If Sandra or Wade were killed, she would never forgive herself for caving in to the selfish desire to see Daniel one last time.

Crowds circled around her, and she realized people were staring. She gathered the gallery mail and stood up on shaky feet. The steps home were slow and deliberate. She watched the birds flitting from one power line to the next, wishing she had as few worries as they did. The Bible said God took care of the birds. She wished she could count on Him to take care of her as well. But she had learned long ago that His watchful care was selective, and she wasn’t one He favored to protect.

When Marti reached the gallery, the door opened by itself. She understood why when Sandra popped around the open door and pulled her inside.

“What in the world’s wrong with you? I’ve been watching you since you left the post office. You look whiter than the mail in your hand. Who was that man you were talking to? Is something wrong?”

Marti said nothing but handed Sandra the letter.

When Sandra was done, she looked at Marti with clouded eyes. “You have to go, love. You need to see Daniel and get this settled between the two of you before it’s too late.”

“I’m scared.”

“Hon, you need to trust the Lord for guidance.”

Marti swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “I can’t hear Him anymore, Sandra. I don’t know what He wants from me. As soon as I gave Him my life, He left me. All those horrible things happened, and He ignored me. How can I trust that He’ll lead me in the right direction now?”

Sandra pulled Marti to the loveseat situated near the front door of the gallery and sat down beside her.

“Marti, I know you feel like God pushed you out on a limb and let it fall when you stood up for Him in front of your family, and I know it’s hard to understand why He let your family turn away from you, but I know He had a reason. The Bible says ‘all things work together for good to them that love the Lord.’ The world is a beastly place, and wickedness touches our lives even if we are God’s children, but God will never . . . ever . . . abandon you. God stays the same. If we feel far from Him, it’s because we’ve moved—not Him.”

Marti’s tongue felt numb. She couldn’t say a thing. Deep down inside her heart, she knew what Sandra said was true, but once you’ve been hurt, it is almost impossible to trust again.

TWELVE

TEXAS

THE ATMOSPHERE AT THE MARVEL
County Clinic in Carson, Texas, buzzed with static as Lydia Barnes, the oldest nurse in the clinic, stared up at the face of the demanding woman standing in front of her. “What do you mean you want the key to Mary’s office?”

The tall nurse, Clara Watting, stood to attention and faced the other three nurses in the small reception area like a sergeant in front of a group of boot camp trainees. Her blue nurse’s uniform was starched and perfectly pressed with creases in all the right places, and she looked down her wire-rimmed glasses at the women staring at her in awe.

The other two nurses, Cynthia Morrison and Skyler Rountree, scurried from the room and disappeared into the filing room next door—trying to get out of the line of fire. Lydia frowned at their retreating backs.

Leaning over the edge of the reception desk, Clara seemed ten feet tall. She glared at Lydia sitting in front of the computer and barked at her again. “Since the board has promoted me from temporary head nurse status to a permanent position, I mean for things to be done more efficiently around here. Now, I said it once, I’ll say it again—find the key to Mary’s office. If I’m to be in charge, I’ll need a bigger space.” Her spine stiffened, and she threw her shoulders back—showing she meant business.

Lydia discreetly waved her arm to dispel the strong whiff of powdery perfume emanating from the determined nurse.

“But, Clara—”

“Call me Nurse Watting now.”

Lydia Barnes lowered her head and rolled her eyes. Her voice was low and controlled. “Shane Duke said to leave that office locked until the board approved the change.”

“I don’t care what Shane Duke said. He declared the room off limits because it was his precious
Mary’s
office. It’s been a year since she died. It’s time he got over his superstition and let us alone. Now, give me the key.”

Lydia bit her lip and pulled a large ring of keys from a deep drawer in the reception desk. She found a key with “Head Office” written on the ring and separated it from the rest.

“All the patient files in Mary’s office were removed already, Clara . . . er . . . Nurse Watting, but there may be some of her personal things in the drawers that her family hasn’t picked up yet.”

“
Humph.
Well, it’s too late now. They’ll all go in the trash if I have my say.”

When Nurse Watting left the small reception room, Skyler, the youngest of the nurses at the clinic, stuck her head around the corner and searched to see if Clara was gone.

“Is the coast clear?” she whispered.

Lydia watched the back of Nurse Watting as she fumbled with the lock in the door at the end of the hall and pushed her way into the office. She nodded at Skyler. “She’s gone.”