Irresistible Stranger (16 page)

“Not in this life,” Griff affirmed, although his pulse was suddenly slamming, slamming, slamming.

“So each of the boys she took up, they took advantage. And then they'd break her heart. Then she'd get so angry. And even more wild.” Conner shook his head. “The thing is, when I see a boy like Jason, or Steve, or any of the wild-eyed ones you've taken on…I always remember what we been through in our own family. You can love your kids. You can try to parent them right. But
sometimes problems come up that just plain take time, a lot of time, to turn around.”

Griff said quietly, softly, “So…it was Mary Belle, wasn't it? Who set those fires twenty years ago.”

“Say what? I was talking about the nature of teenagers, kids through times of trouble, how sometimes raising a kid just isn't a neat, tidy, straight path—”

“She set the fires, didn't she, Conner.”

The sheriff shook his head wildly, slammed his feet flat on the floor. “I don't know what you're talking about. “I only brought up my own family issues to share your frustration over Jason. I wasn't trying to—”

Griff could see it in Conner's face. The anguish. The guilt. Likely he would never have mentioned Mary Belle, his own troubles, if his daughter wasn't such a huge, festering worry in his mind that he couldn't always keep in.

“In high school. The arson fires that were never solved,” he said quietly. “She was in love with those boys. They took advantage, then jilted her. She was angry. She set those fires.”

“No, of course it wasn't her!”

“Only then came the fire that killed the Campbells. Lily's parents.” Griff eased to his feet, then crossed the room to quietly close the door. When he turned back, Conner's ruddy complexion had gone gray, his eyes old. He lifted a hand to push it through his rumpled hair. The hand was trembling. He realized it. Griff saw it.

“It's not like you think,” the sheriff said.

“So tell me how it was.”

“I didn't know it was her. Not to start. It never occurred
to me in a million years that it was my own daughter. “Once Conner started talking, it was as if a raw, festering boil had suddenly exploded.

“After her sister died, she just went searching for something, you know? She'd decide she loved some boy, sleep with him, probably scare the boy out of his mind with how fast and furious she was latching on. So he'd dump her. And then there'd be a fire.”

“Aw, hell.” Griff said it under his breath. He hadn't known, not totally, not for dead sure, until the sheriff let loose.

“I didn't associate those fires with Mary Belle. Why would I? At first I thought it was just vandalism. First one was in a school locker. I thought, probably pranks, a sports rivalry. It's boys who set fires, almost never girls. And our Mary Belle, we were worried about her morals. But we weren't worried about
crime,
certainly nothing like those fires. She'd never done anything like that, never got in any kind of trouble—”

“Why in God's name did she pick on the Campbells?”

“She didn't. But she was pregnant. I didn't know. Her mother didn't know. The house next to Campbells was empty, for sale. That's where she and this boy were meeting at night. He had a way of getting in. Anyway she told him she was pregnant. Thought he'd marry her, they'd live happy ever after. He dumped her, called her a slut, said the only reason he was with her was for one thing….”

“And?”

“When the fire happened, when the Campbells died,
I still didn't know it was her. Nobody did. But she came crying to me, beside herself, guilty, ashamed, torn up. She never meant to hurt anyone else. She didn't even mean to hurt
him.
She'd never harmed a person.”

Griff almost responded, realized every muscle in his spine was knotted tighter than barbed wire, and said nothing. Conner, he was pretty damned positive, had never told anyone about this. It had eaten him alive all this time.

“I'd do anything for my kids, you understand? I'd throw myself in front of a bus if I had to. When that fire happened—when she finally broke and told me—the Campbells, they were already gone. Nothing could save them. Nothing could make that right.”

“And you thought that made it okay to do nothing?” Griff had to keep the growl from his voice.

“No. Hell, no. But bringing it all to light was only going to ruin my daughter's life, too—as well as the child's in her belly. Her guilt, her responsibility, was to turn her life around. And she did that. She really did that. No, she didn't make good marriages. But she's been a good, fine mother. She pays her bills. She doesn't play around at all anymore. She may look like she does, but she's got her lights out at nine, just like her kids. She works hard, built that salon from scratch—”

Griff heard the word
salon
and a bullet went off in his head. He whirled around, grabbed the doorknob.

“What?” Conner said. “Where are you going?”

Adrenaline shot through Griff's veins. Lily had babbled last night about getting some clothes, getting the soot and singe cut from her hair. Maybe there was
another salon. It wasn't as if Griff kept track of the women hairstylists in town. But the only one Lily had actually met was Mary Belle.

“What?” Conner repeated from behind him. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I think Lily's with your daughter. Right now.”

He didn't look back to see what the sheriff did, he just ran.

He pushed through doors, down steps, past people. Torrents of rain bounced on the pavement, soaking him through before he'd made it a hundred yards. He passed his car—and yeah, it was right there—but to get three blocks, he could run faster, and did.

Enough had happened in the last three weeks to make the whole town jumpy. Griff running down Main Street attracted faces in windows, doors opening, a buzz of worried questions—and bodies in his way. He ducked and dodged, thinking that Lily had run through almost nine lives since she got here, but he was the one who wouldn't survive if she wasn't totally, completely all right.

He couldn't be too late.

He couldn't be.

Blinds were drawn on the salon windows; a sign at the door claimed the shop was closed for a few hours. That stopped him less than a second. Maybe the door was locked; if so, a sharp twist and push and it gave. He stepped in, had a heart attack. Damn near tripped over Mary Belle, who for some insane reason was curled on the floor crying her eyes out.

Lily was in a salon chair. Trapped. Tape circled her
a half dozen times and her mouth was taped shut. Her eyes, her gorgeous eyes, were spitting tears—fear, rage, pain? In that first instant, he couldn't grasp what was happening, the source of danger.

Lily made a muffled sound, bobbed her head over and over to the left. He crossed the room in long strides, saw in that single blink where she was trying to motion him…a hairdryer, plugged in, but the back off, revealing red-hot coils.

Then he got it. The counter of explosive products.

He yanked the plug, grabbed the dryer, heaved it into the farthest sink basin—traveling over the crazy heap of crying Mary Belle a second time. Then back to Lily. He ripped off the tape, heard her hoarsely cry his name. Then ripped at the tape wrapping her, unwinding it, his fingers fumbling blind, his gaze on her face, her lips, her eyes.

When he'd loosened all the miles of tape enough for her to break loose, she more than broke free, hurling herself up and into his arms.

His voice came out in rusty threads. “Damn stupid time to tell you, but I love you more than life.” More rust. His throat felt that raw. “I
told
you not to get a haircut here.”

“I know.” Her face lifted to his. She had to hear—so did he—the building commotion behind them. Bodies coming in. People talking. The sheriff's voice. All he could see or hear was Lily. She took in a heave of a breath, a gulp of a sob. He soothed his fingers in her short hair, touching her, holding her, wanting to shield her. From everything. From now on. Forever.

“You won't believe what stopped her,” she said. “Her youngest daughter telephoned. Mary Belle was all set to blow it up. To blow
me
up. And her daughter was just calling to ask about a spaghetti recipe or something that silly, and just hearing her daughter's voice—that was it. Suddenly she caved. Curled up in that ball, started crying and couldn't stop. Started rocking. But the coils on that hair dryer, Griff. They were hot. They were so red-hot. Another few minutes and…”

“Griff? Lily?”

A fire truck screamed from the street—this time, thank God, not needed—but Pecan Valley wasn't going to risk not being ready ever again. A man's hand cuffed his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Griff wanted to get her out of here. Knew there were things that needed doing, saying, knowing. But for that instant, he just needed to breathe her in a little longer. Feel her hair, her skin. The frantic pulse in her throat was finally easing, that shocky glaze in her eyes softening. Her lips parted.

“You can't mean it,” she said.

“Mean what?”

“That you're in love with me. I mean…I know. We've been…two. I know we have something, are something when we're together. But I told you it was all right, Griff.”

“Nothing's been all right since you got here.”

“Which will make it easy for you to forget me.”

“Which will make it
impossible
for me to forget you,” he corrected her. “You're going to have to give it up. Lily. Pretending you're into flings. You're not into
affairs. You're into
me.
The same hot, dangerous, risky, impossibly way I'm into you. And frankly, I'm expecting to be into you—”

“Through fire and smoke?” she whispered.

“Hey. We already know we can survive that part.”

Her lips curved on the start of a smile. It was all he needed to see. He ducked his head, sealed his mouth on hers. He closed his eyes and just took her in. The promise in her lips, the hope in how they fit together, the release of a lonely heart letting go. For her. With her.

Then, of course, they both lifted their heads. And turned together to face whatever questions needed answering, whatever issues needed resolving and explaining. Together.

Ten Days Later

“A
ll right, you.” Lily slid open the shower door, put her hands on her hips. “I've been looking all
over
for you.”

“I had to get some work done.”

“Yeah, right. In the shower.”

He looked up guiltily from his laptop. “I admit, I never tried setting up an office in the shower before. But your sisters are a little…”

“Petrifying?”

“They're adorable,” he assured her. “And I like their choice of men. Both of them, more than good guys. Interesting, bright. But your sisters—”

“Come on. I know you like them.”

“I do. I do. It's just that the grilling is nonstop. So are the orders. You can't live in a hot climate. Anyone who
hurts you will endure a not-very-pretty death. Expect high phone bills, you three talk every week. You've all been through hell, but they both say you were hurt the worst. A lifetime of my pampering you isn't enough or close to enough. Jewels aren't enough—”

“Okay. I get the picture.” Truthfully, she'd primarily tracked him down to empathize. She knew what her sisters had put him through. He'd been a brick. But she needed some time alone with Griff, and totally understood how he felt.

“Your oldest sister—Cate—hey, she should be in Special Forces, particularly in interrogation. She would have followed me into the bathroom if I'd let her. When she wants to know something, she just doesn't let up. And then there's Sophie—she flashes those big, soft eyes and you think she's sweet. She's not. She's a pit bull with a soft voice.”

“You poor baby.”

“At least they like my ice cream. But a locked door doesn't keep Cate out of anything, does it? Nor Sophie. Neither of them have ever heard of privacy.”

Lily winced. “Not where I'm concerned, I'm afraid.” Of course, he was the one who'd invited both her sisters—and their husbands. And insisted that everyone stay at his place. Lily was willing to feel a little sorry for him, but not too much. Particularly when he was hamming up the long-suffering tone. “I had to search you out for a reason.”

“Because you wanted to take a shower with me?”

“You know I do. But not right this minute.” She took
a breath. “Two calls came in. One from the district attorney. The other from Sheriff Conner.”

Griff immediately closed down his laptop and stood up, all teasing gone from his voice. “What's the news?”

“No trial.”

“
What?
Don't tell me they're letting her get off scot-free—”

“Now, Griff. Don't let your temper get away from you—”

“I have no temper. I've told you a zillion times.”

He had no temper he'd vent on her. She had no doubt about that whatsoever. She put a hand on his chest, hoping to calm his suddenly galloping heartbeat. “I was happy with this, Griff. There's been enough loss and hardship. She has two young daughters. What happens to them is part of this picture. So she'll plead guilty and do a plea bargain. There'll have to be some time done, but possibly locally. And she'll have to participate in several years of intensive counseling, do community service for more years than that.”

She felt his eyes on her face, searching, trying to read her. “You sure you're all right with this?”

“I'm not sure there is an ‘all right' for this kind of thing. She's to blame for our parents dying. That's not easy to let go of, even if she never dreamed that could happen. But her intent does matter. She was young. She was messed up. She'd never figured out the loss of her sister, why she went looking for love in the wrong places, what all that anger of hers was about. But she stopped at
the salon, Griff. She heard her daughter's voice on the phone, felt that love for her daughter, and she stopped.”

Griff wasn't ready to be so forgiving. “The whole place could still have blown up—”

“Yes. And that's still on her head. But I don't see how it solves anything to wipe the floor with her. I want there to be a penalty, yes. Costs, yes. But nothing's going to really change until she understands how those screws got loose. She's got a daughter, a father, siblings. I'll be darned if I want to be part of separating another family, Griff.”

“And is that what your sisters think?”

“I haven't told them. I told you first. I was hoping you'd come with me to share it all.”

“Sure.”

“Even if you
don't
agree with me, I
want
you to agree with me,” she said firmly.

He shook his head. “The fact that I understand what you just said is frightening. I think it's a sign we should get married, Lily.”

It was her turn for her heart to stop. “Is that a proposal?”

“Good grief no. You're not getting a formal question until your sisters are long, long gone. Just for the record, I did happen to pick out a ring. But it's a box that I'm afraid you can't open until we're in Vancouver.”

Odd, how her heart not only restarted, but suddenly picked up a luscious, sweet speed. “Vancouver?”

“Yeah. I don't know if you'll want to live there, But doing the proposal there would give us a good excuse to check it out. It's nice and cool. Your kind of climate.
I know a place…high up. Overlooking the water. Big white feather beds and giant Adirondack chairs on the balcony. Lobster for lunch. Love for dinner. How does that sound so far?”

She took his hands, looked up at him. It was still hard for her to accept it, to believe it—the love in his eyes, the absolute sureness. Griff was so un-self-aware. He really believed he was laid-back, when he wasn't remotely. She loved everything about him, from the way he was with kids, to how hard he fought to repress any hint of temper, to his dedication in everything he took on, to everything he did….

He'd be a good man to hunker down with, she knew. On a cold winter night, setting a fire with him was the best dream she could imagine. Not the kind of fire that hurt.

But the kind of fire that burned, from the inside out. The kind of fire that came from the heart. The kind of fire that made babies, that made a family, that protected and sealed and warmed.

“Lily,” he murmured. “You're scaring me to death. Could I have an answer?”

“Yes!” she said clearly. “Yes, to everything. Yes to loving you, Griff. Yes to being with you all the days of our lives. Yes to—”

His kiss interrupted all the yesses she was about to offer him.

She'd have to get the rest in just a wee bit later.