Sinister (13 page)

He tossed his jacket and hat onto the arm of her overstuffed couch. “Look, I’m sorry you found out about Rourke before I could explain.”

“It’s all right.”

His sharp gaze met hers and charged her with the lie. “It’s clearly not.”

“It’s not my place—”

“You keep saying that, but you’re looking at me as if I’ve hurt you, or let you down, or both. Which I get, because I took off after the fire. But this”—he spread his hand—“I didn’t know about Rourke. I fell in with Pilar in the wildest of my rodeo days. It wasn’t long, and I know what you’re going to say—it was long enough.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“After Pilar I pulled my life together. I met Margo and I guess I put the demons to rest. And then Darcy came along and we were happy, but then . . .” He lifted a hand and let it drop. “You know the rest.”

“I’m sorry you lost them,” Sabrina said, her resolve turning to water.

He nodded. “It’s been five years. I’m okay. I don’t want this”—he moved his hands to include her and him—“to be some kind of . . . grief counseling.” He hesitated, glancing up at the ceiling. “Oh, hell. I know this is sudden, and trust me, I didn’t expect it, but the truth is I just want a chance to start over, or pick up where we left off, or just plain spend time together.”

He was killing her with this. Making her feel her fears were insignificant, and maybe they were. She gestured for him to sit down, and when she sat on the couch, he dropped down beside her. For a moment she remembered making out on her parents’ sofa, and then later, making love. To this very man.

“Before I reached the age of twenty I was crazy in love with you,” he admitted. “But I knew I was too young to take on a wife, and you were barely legal. Then there was the fire, and everything got screwed up in my head. A shitload of guilt. I was on a downward spiral, and I didn’t want to take you with me. I loved you, Sabrina, but I knew you deserved better.”

“I loved you, too,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.

“I’m sorry for being young and stupid.”

“No . . .” She lifted her hands, warding him off. “It was what it was.” The fact that she’d never gotten him out of her system wasn’t his issue.

“Who told you about Rourke?”

“Mia Collins. She overheard Pilar talking about it.”

“Mia. Huh. No one was supposed to know yet except Ira.”

“Ira knows?” she said, surprised.

“It was the leverage that got me to come to the wedding.” He sat back on the couch and let his head drop back. “But I’m glad I’m here. I was hanging out with Rourke today for the first time, watching football at Ricki’s. Trying to get to know him a little better.”

“How’d that go?”

“Okay, I think. He wants me to know that Chad Larson’s his father, no matter what anybody says, but he liked that I was on the rodeo circuit. I told him I’d try to get him on a horse, though Pilar thinks it’s too dangerous.”

Sabrina almost laughed. “Way to get in good with the kid’s mom.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “She’ll probably have me tarred and feathered.”

He turned to her, and though she didn’t face him, she was acutely aware of the heat that came off his body beside her. What would it take to turn, to slip into his arms and lose herself in his warmth?

Don’t think about it,
she told herself.

“I can’t turn back time. I don’t even want to. But I’m here now, and when I think about the future, it’s hard to imagine it without you,” he said.

Oh, how she wanted to turn to him and burrow into his warmth, to trust him again. Was it possible, or just a pipe dream?

To give herself some room, she stood up and went to the window. “What exactly do you expect of me?” she asked, turning back to him now that there was a safe distance between them.

“A chance.” He cocked his head. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Dating,” she said. “Spending time together.”

“Whatever you want to call it. You and me together. That’s what I want.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

Yes. What?
She closed her eyes for a second and bit back the response that leapt to her mind.
I want you, Colt. I’ve always wanted you.

“I can’t think with you draped on my couch,” she said honestly. “A few days ago—no, wait—even today, I was telling myself and the whole world that I was over you, that there was nothing between us.”

“A lie.”

“Probably. Yes. But ... this is all too fast ... I need some time, so I think you’d better go.”

“If that’s what you want.”

She couldn’t respond because, damn it, she really didn’t know what she wanted.

He grabbed his hat from where he’d tossed it and got to his feet. “Okay, I’m out of here. But I’ll be back.” He actually cast her that roguish smile of his. “I’ll wear you down, Sabrina. You know I can be a persistent bastard.”

“I do know that.”

His boots clicked on the vestibule floor and then he was gone, as quickly as he’d come. Through the door, down the steps and across her lawn, where his boots made impressions in the blanket of fresh snow.

She picked up the cat and stroked Claudia’s soft fur as Colton climbed into his truck and drove off. She stood at the door for a minute or two, watching his taillights disappear in the night, and scolded herself for feeling like she’d just made a terrible mistake.

 

 

Colton switched on his windshield wipers and turned off the radio. With snow falling and a few drinks under his belt, he knew he had to keep his focus on the road.

When he’d left Sabrina’s house, his head reeling, he’d stopped at a local watering hole for a couple of beers and a hard mental shake. It was good to see some of the old guys at the bar, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

It felt like he’d blown it. He’d thought that he could convince Sabrina to give him another chance, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He drove out of town still chiding himself. Just seeing her again had awakened long-slumbering feelings in him, but she didn’t seem to feel quite the same.

He considered turning around, driving back to her house and pleading his case all over again.

“Don’t be stupid,” he told himself, glancing in the rearview mirror.

He switched on the radio only to hear the plaintive notes of George Michael singing “Last Christmas.” Before he heard the sad lyrics about “once bitten, twice shy,” he snapped it off. This isn’t helping, he thought as he barreled down the state road toward the Rocking D.

Half a mile farther he noticed a glow on the horizon, an eerie yellowish shadow. All but obscured by the snow, it seemed to move and shift like a ball of light.

What the hell?

A large ball of it on the hill beyond the fence line.

“Jesus! No!”

With a sick feeling he realized the old Pioneer Church, the site of his father’s wedding, was going up in flames!

“Son of a bitch.” In his mind’s eye and only for a split second, he saw the fire eighteen years ago, the raging flames, excruciating heat and charred beams of the old homestead.

He hit the brakes and reached for his phone, intent on calling 9-1-1, but his cell wasn’t in the cup holder. It wasn’t on the dash, or in the empty seat next to him and it definitely wasn’t in any of his pockets. He figured it must’ve slipped out of his jacket pocket at Sabrina’s place.

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, hitting the accelerator, his tires spinning. The Explorer shuddered, sending snow spraying to the side of the road as it jumped forward.

He switched on the emergency flashers and repeatedly hit the horn, hoping to wake up anyone who might be nearby, though the few surrounding houses were, for the most part, empty, the result of his father buying out the ranchers at the bottom of the market.

No doors flew open.

No porch lights snapped on.

No one raced across his porch to help.

“Damn!”

He reached the lane that led to the church and turned the wheel. His heart raced, his blood pounding in his ears. In horror he stared at the approaching inferno as thoughts of the fire that had shaped his youth clamored to the front of his brain. This time, he hoped to God there was no one inside.

Slumped on the sofa, Sabrina snapped off the news where warnings about another storm bearing down on this part of the state, and a plea for anyone who had seen the missing California woman to come forward, topped the hour. Depressing news. Even the tips on roasting a Christmas goose had made her feel bad, since she had no plans for the holiday.

Mom was going to be in Cheyenne with her sister, Mavis. Though Sabrina had invited them both to come to dinner in Prairie Creek, she and Mavis had decided to stay home for the holidays. Sabrina had secretly fantasized about spending Christmas with Colton, but now that seemed remote. Probably impossible. Of her own making, sure, but she felt the need to be cautious. She’d carried a torch for him half her life. She needed to be smart. Decide if this was what she really wanted and whether she could believe Colton felt the same.

Word would be out by next week’s wedding that Rourke was his son. After that, Sabrina would see Pilar and Rourke in town. She might run into him when she went out to the Rocking D. It was going to be hard, any way around it; Prairie Creek was just too small not to have Colton’s affair with Pilar be a hot topic.

But was she being too self-protective? Ira knew Rourke was Colt’s and he was dead set on marrying Pilar anyway. Maybe she should just throw caution to the wind and go for it.

She loved Colt; that much she now knew. Well, maybe she always had, deep down. Denial always made life so much easier, until it made it harder. The truth was Colton Dillinger was the only man she’d ever really loved and she had never gotten over him, no matter how much she’d tried to deny it.

Turning off the lights, she wondered what it would be like if Colton were still here, if she had taken him by the hand, led him upstairs . . . They were adults; what would making love to him hurt?

She was about to head upstairs when she heard a buzzing coming from the couch. Digging through the cushions, she discovered Colton’s cell phone. A text message from Rourke glowed on the screen. With the lock on, she could only read the first part of it:

Sabrina stared at the words and knew how important it would be to have Rourke reach out to him.

“Change of plans,” she said to the cat. Though it was after eleven, she tossed on her jeans and sweater, then found her jacket, socks, boots and gloves. With the cell phone tucked in her pocket and her heartbeat accelerating, she set out to track Colton down.

With the Ford’s headlights flashing, his horn blaring, Colton drove over the final rise and stood on the brakes in front of the conflagration that had been the small, historic church.

Flames, spitting and hungry, shot skyward through the roof while black smoke billowed in the snow flurries. As he watched, a window splintered, spewing hot glass, the roar of the rolling flames thunderous. He flung open the door to his SUV and, despite the freezing temperature, the heat hit him in a wave. Snow was melting around the burning building, while flakes continued to fall.

No vehicles were parked in the lot, but there was one set of tracks in the otherwise pristine snow. His heart thudded, adrenaline spurred by fear racing through him. Dear God, was anyone inside? If so, how could they survive?

He couldn’t wait for firefighters.

More intense, stark images of the fire eighteen years earlier swept over him as he ran forward. Mia, her hair aflame, screaming and rolling off the porch. The smell of burning flesh. His uncle’s grotesquely charred body.

The steps to the main doors were still intact, and as he blinked against the smoke he realized the fire was on the far wall of the building, rising above the altar like a ghostly monster. The steeple tower was still, for the moment, standing. He would start with the church bell.

Quickly, he backtracked to his SUV, stopping to hit the PANIC button on his remote. The blaring horn began pulsing into the night.
Ehh! Ehh! Ehh! Ehh! Ehh!
He grabbed gloves and a towel from his trunk and quickly soaked them in the melting snow. Holding the wet rag over his nose, he slogged through the smoke and watery snow to the broad front porch.

The front doors hung open, the entrance a great yawning maw of darkness from which smoke boiled. Squinting, holding his breath, he peered inside, shined his flashlight over the interior. The altar was engulfed, the curtains behind the pulpit a mass of flames, the pews at the front of the church already burning.

He knew the building. He had explored it as a kid. Past a coat closet, he found the door to the bell tower and inside, the ropes that were still attached to the ancient bell overhead. Throwing his weight on the chain, he yanked hard and was rewarded when the bell began to peal.

Bong! Bong! Bong!
The bell tolled through the night, echoing in the tall tower and drowning out any other sound but the car alarm and the pounding of his own frantic heart. The noise was deafening, but it didn’t smother the questions blaring in his mind. What had happened here? Why was the church ablaze in the middle of a snowstorm?

Coughing, he threw his weight into the ropes. As the bell pealed loudly, he considered the hazards and extent of this fire. Even if the church burned to the ground, there were no other buildings nearby. Granted, the church was a piece of Prairie Creek history, but buildings could be replaced.

People couldn’t.

When two more windows blew and the crash of exploding glass punctuated the ringing bell, he knew it was time to get the hell out.

His hands were blistered from the ropes, his body soaked in sweat as he finally let go and backed out of the tower closet. Shooting a glance toward the burning altar, he winced against the heat as flames enveloped the first three rows of pews ... and then he saw her.

Sitting in the third row, a woman faced the altar.

“Oh, Christ.” How could she stand the heat?

He didn’t have time to think. Holding the towel over his face, he raced down the aisle toward the wall of heat. Overhead, the old beams creaked. His eyes burned and smoke forced him to stay as low as he could and keep moving forward, passing row after row of pews whose varnish was already blistering.

“Lady!” he screamed. “You have to get out of here!” But she would know that. She
had
to. If she was aware. But she wasn’t. She had to be passed out from the fumes. Or worse. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself forward. Heat scorched the air around him, sparks flew and the smoke seared his lungs as he finally reached the pew and grabbed the woman by the shoulders.

“Come on!” he barked through the mask of the towel.

She didn’t move.

He lifted her onto one shoulder and that was when he knew. She was already gone. Dead.

Creeaaak!
Old timbers splintered overhead and another window shattered. The building shuddered and Colt knew within minutes the whole roof would collapse.

Without thinking, Colton threw her over his shoulder and raced to the front doors of the church, the wall of heat pressing against him, closing around him, melting the air so that he had to close his eyes and navigate by memory.

His knee banged into a pew, but he kept moving forward. A deep crackle overhead told him the old roof was giving out. Off to the side, a chandelier dropped down and smashed onto the pews. Flaming debris followed. The hair on his arms singed.

Two more steps!

He threw himself out of the building, carrying the woman, leaping down the stairs, his boots sliding on the wet snow. Somewhere over the honking of the Explorer’s horn and the
whoosh
of the conflagration behind him, he heard the scream of sirens.

Relief soaked through him along with cold, fresh air.

He hauled the dead woman far from the flames to the other side of his truck and laid her gently on the ground to see her face.

Blood drizzled from her lips. Her dark hair was shiny, as if she had just brushed it, but her skin ... His stomach lurched at the sight of her skin. The skin had been stripped from her arms and torso—almost peeled off in a horrendous way that reminded him of that dead coyote.

Despite the mutilation, he recognized her. The missing Amber Barstow. Her picture had been on all of the newscasts in recent days, as well as highlighted on the front page of the local paper.

Through the blur of smoke and falling snow he saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles as they rolled into the pristine white parking lot.

He sank down into the snow of the parking lot and stared at the dead girl
. What happened to you?
he wondered. A coughing spasm overcame him. He turned away to spit in the snow, then looked back at her.
What the hell happened to you?

 

 

The glow on the horizon was unmistakable: fire.

Sabrina slowed as she tried to figure out the location of the orange flames burning through the haze of falling snow. The old Pioneer Church?

She didn’t think twice, but cranked on the wheel of her truck as she reached the turnoff. From the flashing lights, she could see that the fire department was there, but she was a licensed EMT. Maybe she could help. Heart in her throat, the wheels of her truck slipping a little, she hit the accelerator and bumped up the lane to the rise.

Emergency vehicles were already on the scene, strewn haphazardly across the snow-covered parking lot. Firemen pumped water high into the air, creating dazzling fountains that fell onto the church, fighting the flames, sizzling against white-hot timbers. Smoke billowed out of the open front doors and through gaps in the roof.

At this time of night, chances were no one had been inside.

As she turned her truck to park away from the emergency vehicles, her headlights hit a familiar truck. Colton’s truck.

She threw the truck into park and bolted out. “Colton!” She wove around the pump truck and lunged toward the double doors.

“Stand back!” a fireman ordered. A man she recognized as Hunter Kincaid stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

Sabrina pounded the arm of his heavy coat. “Colton Dillinger!” she screamed. She must have sounded like a lunatic but she didn’t care. “I’m looking for Colton Dillinger. His truck is here and—”

Another fireman said, “We’re clear. No one else in the building.”

“
Else?
” she repeated. “No one
else?
” Was she too late? Had Colton been caught in this horrid inferno?

Oh, God, she couldn’t lose him now. All the cold fear she’d felt eighteen years ago came back in a rush. “No!” she cried, tears filling her eyes.

“Stand back,” Kincaid said, all business. “Now!”

“Sabrina . . . Is that you?”

She turned and found Sam Featherstone standing near his department-issued Jeep.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked as she made her way toward him.

“Looking for Colt! I know he’s here. His rig’s right there!” She jabbed a finger toward his SUV. “And, and . . .”

Then she saw him. Covered in soot, black from head to toe, but standing upright, tall and rangy as ever, he emerged from behind his SUV.

“Colt!”

He tossed his blackened gloves into the snow, then looked up at her.

“Oh, God.” Her knees threatened to give way, and she willed herself not to sink to the ground in sheer relief. Instinctively she ran to him and threw herself into his waiting arms. “I thought you were dead,” she cried, clinging to him, not caring who saw.

For an answer he kissed her, hard. She could feel the pounding of his heart. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said on a shaking breath, keeping her tight against him.

Sabrina bit back a sob. He was alive!
Alive!
“What were you doing in there? For the love of God, what happened?”

“Nothin’ good,” he whispered into her hair. “Nothin’ good until now.”

She couldn’t let him go again, couldn’t deny what had become so crystal clear to her in the past few hours. “I want to start over. I do. I do, Colton. I don’t know what was holding me back.”

“Good. Good.” He held her like he’d never let go, but then he finally lifted his head and guided her farther from the noise of the trucks and the shouts of men and the hiss of the dying fire. “I want a new beginning, too. With you.”

“I’ve been too careful. I won’t be anymore.”

“They’ve got it now. Let’s get out of here,” he said.

 

 

The distraction was working.

From his own truck, the killer had witnessed the lights and sirens of emergency vehicles tearing up the narrow streets of Prairie Creek, on their way to the biggest fire to hit this part of Wyoming since the Dillinger ranch blaze nearly two decades earlier.