Finding Stefanie (6 page)

“Dinner crowd will be coming in,” Missy said, carrying a pie from the kitchen. “Can you check the salt and pepper shakers?”

Libby nodded, heading back toward the kitchen. The phone rang.

“Pick that up, will you, Lib?”

Libby grabbed the phone and tucked it onto her shoulder. “Lolly’s—”

“Missy! There’s a fire at the Big K! Round up the volunteers!”

“Stefanie?” Libby fumbled with the phone, but it had already been disconnected.

“Who was that?” Missy said, squeezing past her in the door.

“Uh . . .” Libby stared at the phone. “Fire . . . fire at the Big K!”

Missy turned, her mouth open. “Call—”

But Libby couldn’t hear her over the crash of dishes as Gideon dropped his tray into the metal sink, turned, and sprinted from the diner.

CHAPTER 3

F
ATE COULDN’T BE
this cruel. The old Impala skidded on the dirt road as Gideon tore toward the ranch—good thing he’d found the name Big K etched into a board in the barn or he wouldn’t know that right now his sisters were burning to death in the house he’d found for them. The house he thought would harbor them, keep them warm, safe.

He should have known that it couldn’t last—the place to stay, a job with abundant leftovers, even his friendship, or whatever it was, with Libby. All of it seemed too good, too happy for a guy with a past like his.

He deserved this fire.

But his sisters didn’t.

Gideon could see the flames from here, a good mile away, clawing at the night sky. Adrenaline mixed with dread, and he thought he might retch.

He’d been careful—
so
careful. Yes, the house had filled with smoke the first time he lit a fire, but that had been weeks ago. Since then
he’d cleaned out the fireplace, opened the flue. And he’d taught Macey how to bank the fire, keep the place warm.

If only they hadn’t had the cold snap. . . .

No, if only he hadn’t snatched his sisters from the shelter. At least there they’d been fed and warm and . . . alive.

He couldn’t breathe. His hand went to his neck, to the chain, traveled down to the cross at the base. He gripped it, letting it bite into his palm, squeezing hard because words couldn’t come.

Then he hit the brakes and used both hands to turn the Impala into the Big K drive. A couple of women turned as he skidded into the yard and stumbled out of the car.

Cars and pickups littered the yard, people dousing the blaze with a garden hose, dirt, buckets of water. Flames engulfed the house, a literal furnace of red and orange and yellow consuming the structure, breaking through the windows, curling toward the roof.

His knees nearly buckled.
Macey
.
Haley
.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” A tall cowboy with dark hair came toward him, concern on his face.

“Two girls—did you see two girls?” He didn’t wait for an answer and ran around to the back of the house.

Haley liked to play in the back bedroom, in the closet, where they’d found a stash of old clothes, shoes, purses, and even a box of ceramic animals.

Gideon shielded his face with his hand as he saw that the flames hadn’t yet reached the room. “Haley!” Grabbing a rock, he hurled it at the window. He pulled his hood over his head and sprinted toward the opening. “Haley!”

He felt arms around his waist yanking him back, and he whirled, swinging.

He connected, then couldn’t believe it when he saw he’d decked a woman. She winced, stumbling back.

Gideon turned to the house. The heat burned his face and he flinched. But he couldn’t— “Macey!” He was crying now; he could feel his body lose control, hear his own agony as he danced there another second, hating himself for his fear.
Help me.
. . . He started for the house.

“No!” Whoever the woman was, she wasn’t staying down and she grabbed his arm. “Get back!”

He turned, more angry at himself than at her, using every ounce of adrenaline as he tried to push her away.

More arms went around him, this time male, and he struggled against them. “Leave me alone!”

“They’re out, man! They’re out!” The man dragged him away from the flames.

Gideon saw it was the same man he’d spoken to moments earlier. He shoved him hard.

The man seemed to expect it. He didn’t respond except to stay on his feet and guard him like a lineman from running toward the burning building.

“Where?” Gideon screamed.
“Where?”

“Gideon!” He heard Macey then, her surly tone replaced with terror. He turned and she rushed at him, face blackened. He crushed her to himself, probably hurting her, but he didn’t have the power to do anything else. His body betrayed him and he fell to his knees, taking her with him. They both landed in a pile. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. Or maybe he did because one arm locked around her neck and the other hid his face.

His body convulsed, and he became a fool, sitting there on the
cold, soggy ground, weeping like a grade-schooler. Macey, for once, kept her mouth shut.

When Gideon wiped his eyes, Haley had joined them, standing a few feet away, tears running down her face. Macey pulled away from him and reached out for her.

A crack sounded from the house. Gideon turned just as the outer wall crashed in. Sparks flew over his head.

“Let’s get you out of here,” the man said.

The woman Gideon had hit—he easily recognized her from the goose egg on her chin—came up behind him. “Put them in the truck with Piper, Nick.” Without even asking, she took Haley’s hand.

Haley stared up at her, and then, although Gideon expected her to pull away, she followed.

The man named Nick had Gideon by the arm, and for a second he was again in the past, back at the crash scene, watching the cars burn, being dragged away by the cops. For a moment, it all pummeled him—the tragedy, the blame, the fear.

He couldn’t go back to jail. He wasn’t worried for himself—he’d survive; he always figured out a way. But Haley needed him, didn’t she?

One glance at her as she walked away from him, in the grip of the woman with the long black hair, told him the truth. Maybe she and Macey would be better off if he just disappeared.

The man steered Gideon and Macey toward a black pickup parked safely away from the flames. A woman with blonde hair leaped out, worry on her face. She wore a baggy shirt, but even in the darkness, Gideon could see she was pregnant.

“Is he okay?” the woman asked.

“Shaken,” Nick said. “How about you sit in the truck for a while, huh, son?”

Gideon glanced up at the guy, weighing his options. How soon before Nick—who had cop written all over him, from his stance to the accusatory look in his eyes—figured out that Gideon and the girls had been squatting?

Oh, who was he trying to fool? Clearly the guy already knew.

Gideon shrugged out of his grip. “I’ll stay out here, thanks.”

He looked at Macey, standing with her arms folded across her chest, staring at the chaos he’d brought them to. Just yesterday, as she’d sat with Haley in her arms, he thought he’d seen the flicker of a smile.

Gideon ached with how much he wanted that smile to stay. Because, though Macey didn’t know he’d noticed, he’d seen her arms, the marks in different stages of healing, some angry red, the older ones purple, and knew that she’d been cutting herself again.

No. He couldn’t leave. Macey needed someone who understood. Who knew what they’d all gone through. Who wouldn’t leave them.

But . . . he looked at the house again, felt the heat burning his face. His gut twisted, and again, he had the stupid urge to cry.

“How’d it happen, Mace?” he asked, grabbing her arm. The blonde woman gave him a frown, but he didn’t care, just pulled Macey away. “Tell me how it happened.”

The fire glowed in Macey’s eyes as her face hardened. She yanked her arm away. “Haley was cold. So I stoked the fire. I only left the house for a second—to get more wood—and when I came back, the carpet was on fire. A log had rolled out.”

“Why didn’t you put the screen on? I told you to—”

“Shut up, Gideon! Why did you bring us here, anyway? We were fine back at the group home!”

“That’s not what you told me.” He gritted his teeth, lowering his voice as the blonde shot him another look. “You told me to come and get you.”

Macey’s eyes glistened. “What was I supposed to say? That once we were free from that place, I didn’t want you around?” She shrugged, as if to say,
You forced it from me.

Her words choked him, burning as they fell to his gut. He glanced at Haley, in the cab of the truck, dirty, cold, afraid.

What had he been thinking? That he could somehow make things better? make them a family again? erase his crimes, his mistakes? start over?

He turned away from Macey, from Haley, and stared at the house that he’d thought—what an idiot—he’d make into a home. Another wall fell in, crashing, flames shooting higher into the night. The crowd gasped, stepped back.

Sometimes his naiveté scared even himself.

When he heard another car door slam, Gideon glanced over his shoulder. As if to put a resounding finish on his failure, Libby, cute Libby, stood in the cold night, a sweater wrapped around her waitress uniform.

She came toward him, concern on her face. He liked her eyes the most—hazel, with little flecks of gold around the edges. Although her sister, Missy, had the goods in the looks department, Libby, with her short brown hair and sweet smile, had a kindness about her that made her soft and pretty.

Libby’s friendship had dug into the nooks and crannies of a wall he’d thought so solid nothing could break through. And now he
knew why he’d erected it. A guy like him didn’t deserve a girl like Libby. Liking her, letting her into his life, would only hurt.

Not that he’d entertained any real considerations that she did like him; still, it was hard not to notice her when she stayed late with him to lock up. He’d started to live for her smile, and when she’d laughed when he snapped the towel at her—yeah, his brain had begun dreaming up all sorts of scenarios. He was probably the stupidest guy alive.

Libby approached him, put her hand on his arm. He sucked in a breath and focused on the fire.

“You okay?” she asked.

Gideon made the mistake of looking at her. And then, like the fool he was, he covered his eyes with his hand and, for the first time probably ever, at least for the last five years, answered that question truthfully. “No.”

The kid packed a mean punch, even if he didn’t intend to. Stefanie watched the boy—more of a man, really, the way he’d tried to fight her and Nick to get into the house after his sisters. In a way, he reminded her of her twin brother, Rafe, back in the days when Rafe had established his ironclad reputation as the bad boy of Phillips. This young man wore the same external attire—ripped jeans, an old sweatshirt, a shadow that could be more dirt than beard. But different from Rafe, or perhaps more visible, was the desperation, the agony, as he’d collapsed on the ground, holding his sister.

Even now, watching him fight the emotions on his face as he stared at John Kincaid’s burning house, Stefanie knew there had to be more to this story than just a kid accidentally setting a house on fire.

A story that included a very frightened little girl. One look at her had turned Stefanie’s heart inside out. She needed a bath, a warm meal, and someone to make sure she had a safe place to sleep.

Unfortunately, Phillips didn’t have a Social Services department. But it did have the Silver Buckle, and—staring at the two girls, the little one sitting in the cab with Piper where Stefanie had deposited her, the other standing behind the boy and Libby Pike—Stefanie knew in her heart exactly where they’d sleep tonight.

In fact, the idea felt so full, so rich, that she knew it was the perfect answer. The ranch had always been a place of healing—especially the past couple years with Nick and Rafe returning. Perhaps it could be again.

Especially to a young man who needed a break. Her jaw ached where he had walloped her, but given a switch in circumstances, she couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing.

Suddenly it hit Stefanie where she’d seen him before. Carrying dishes at Lolly’s Diner about three days ago. He’d been busing tables—wearing a white apron and a staid look.

How long had this little family been squatting on John’s land? They couldn’t be related to the new owners, could they?

The final wall of the house—the back wall—fell in, and then the house was just a pile of fuel, a giant bonfire lighting the night.

Nick was watching the fire with Egger Dugan and the two hands from the Silver Buckle, Andy and Quint, who had wet down the barn. Thankfully the other buildings had all been situated far enough away that the sparks hadn’t hit them.

Stefanie walked over to Libby and the boy. “Hey,” she said to Libby. She knew the pastor’s youngest daughter as well as anyone might know a kid five years younger than herself. She remembered
Libby as the one who climbed under the pews and untied worshipers’ shoes as her daddy preached. Or maybe that had been her sister, Missy.