Authors: Janice Kay Johnson
At the knock on his door, he called, “Come in,” and rose to his feet with automatic courtesy. When he was done with this meeting, he decided, he'd drive out to the Hales' place and spend a little time with Caleb, however awkward that time would feel for both of them.
On the way out, he might stop at the front desk and ask Sergeant Shroutt to let him know when Anna Grant's wandering lamb was safely back in her care.
* * *
A
FTER
LEAVING
THE
downtown public safety building, Anna drove a route that led from Yancey's foster home and eventually all the way out to Highway 97, the main north-south corridor through central Oregon. Turning her head constantly in search of one undersize boy, she kept her speed down enough to annoy drivers behind her, one of whom decided to crowd her bumper. She was oh-so-tempted to slam on her brakes, but she didn't want the hassle of having to leave her car in an auto-body shop.
And
she'd have to deal with the police, who might not be feeling very fond of her right now.
Too bad. Somebody had to make them do their jobs.
Tension rising as the miles passed with no sight of Yancey, Anna went south on 97 and continued through La Pine. She'd reached Little River when her phone rang. As she pulled into a gas-station parking lot, she answered crisply, “Anna Grant.”
“Ms. Grant, this is Sergeant Shroutt. We've picked up the boy. He's currently at Juvenile Hall.”
She sagged with the rush of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“No, thank Officer Cherney,” the sergeant said drily. “Can we assume you'll be picking up young Yancey and taking responsibility for him?”
“You may,” she told him. “And please do thank Officer Cherney.” She hesitated only briefly. “And thank you. He's...a sad boy. I was worried about him.”
“I do understand. It's our preference to help, you know.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
They left it at that. She put on her signal and waited while a semi lumbered onto the highway, wondering if Sergeant Shroutt would be any more cooperative the next time she came to him. In one way, it was a pity that Captain Sawyer
wasn't
in charge of the patrol officers, as he might conceivably have turned out to be a useful ally. She'd be more convinced of that, though, if he had displayed even a tiny hint of real emotion. Plus, she'd been hit by sexual attraction, which he'd shown no sign of reciprocating. No, it was just as well that she wouldn't have to deal with him often.
Making up her mind, she made a call rather than starting back toward Angel Butte.
“Carol? Anna Grant. Listen, I know you wanted a longer break before you took another kid, but is there any chance you'd house a boy for a day or two until I can find another place for him?”
Carol Vogt was, hands down, Anna's favorite among the foster parents associated with AHYS. A widow whose own two boys were in their thirties, she worked magic on troubled teenagers.
“A day or two.” Carol snorted. “What you mean is, âWill you take him just long enough so you decide you didn't really want that break anyway?'”
Anna grinned. “Guilty as charged. But I promise, I'll move him if you ask me to. Yancey is only thirteen, and he's being tormented by the older boys in the home I had him living in. Which was his second since he came into the system. He ran away today and the police just picked him up. I've got receiving homes, but...”
She didn't have to finish. This was a kid who needed stability, not another way station.
A sigh gusted into her ear. “Fine,” Carol said. “But you owe me one.”
“I already owe you a few thousand,” Anna admitted. “Bless you. We'll be an hour or two.”
“I'll have his bedroom ready.”
Anna was smiling when she finally made the turn out onto the highway.
* * *
C
ALEB
HOVERED
AT
the head of the stairs where he knew he couldn't be seen. Voices drifted up from the kitchen.
“I'm not sure where he is.” That was Paula Hale, who with her husband ran this place. “Caleb's been spending a lot of time with Diego. They're probably over in the cabin Diego shares with another boy.”
“I'll take that coffee, then. Thanks.” This time, Reid's voice came to Caleb clearly. He must be facing the stairs. “Sugar?”
“You always did have a sweet tooth. And you can't tell me you've forgotten where I keep the sugar bowl.”
Caleb's brother gave a low chuckle. “I was being polite.”
“You weren't polite when you lived here. Why start now?”
This time they both laughed.
Caleb felt weird, an unseen third presence. He knew Roger, Paula's husband, was outside working on Cabin Five. This place was an old resort that must have been shut down, like, a century ago. Most of the boys were paired up in the small cabins. The Hales' room was on the main floor in the lodge, and Caleb and another guy were in bedrooms upstairs. If there were any girls in residence, Caleb had been told, they always had the rooms upstairs in the lodge so they were near the Hales. Otherwise, those bedrooms were used for new boys, until they had “settled in.” That was how Paula put it. Caleb wasn't sure how he would ever prove he had, or even if he wanted to. He didn't like it hereâbut nothing on earth would make him go back to his father's.
“You know he doesn't have to be here.” Paula's voice came especially clearly.
What did
that
mean?
Stiffening, Caleb strained to hear Reid's answer. It was brief, an indistinguishable rumble.
What you need isn't anything I have in me.
Remembering the expressionless way his brother had said that, Caleb sneered. Was that what Reid was telling Paula?
He couldn't catch the beginning of what Paula said in response, but the tail end made his heart thud. “...you could prove abuse if you wanted to.”
“You refusing to keep him here?” Reid asked more clearly.
“You know that's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“He needs to know you want him.”
Caleb quit breathing through the long silence that followed. And then his brother's voice was so soft, he came close to missing it.
“I do.” Pause. “And I don't.”
A skim of ice hardened in Caleb's chest. The
I do
part was a joke. The only honest part of that was
I don't.
Paula said something, and then Reid did, but their voices were fading. They must have left the kitchen for what Paula called the great room.
He needs to know you want him.
I don't.
His brother had found him, rescued him, but then palmed him off on someone else because he couldn't be bothered.
Caleb eased down the stairs, then out the kitchen door without even pausing to grab a parka.
* * *
“Y
OU
DON
'
T
?”
P
AULA
SAID
.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Reid made an impatient gesture. “Come on. You know what I mean. I'm not father material. I told Caleb I'm damaged, and it's true.”
Paula didn't take her gaze from his as she sat on one of the benches at the long tables where meals were served in the main room of the lodge.
Despite having stayed in touch and contributed financially, he hadn't actually seen either of the Hales in something like ten years until the day he'd brought Caleb here. He had been shocked to see Paula's long braid was turning gray. She'd always looked like an aging hippie to him, but that had been from the perspective of a boy. Now she really
was
aging. Roger's dark hair and beard were shot with gray, too. That wasn't supposed to happen. He'd imagined them, and this refuge they guarded, as eternally the same. Reid hated to think about the time when they couldn't take in kids anymore.
“Damage heals,” Paula said calmly.
Straddling a bench across the table from her, he had the uneasy feeling she was seeing further below the surface than he wanted her to. He'd forgotten the way she could always do that.
“I think you're underestimating yourself, Reid. You've changed your life for the sake of a boy you didn't know a couple of months ago. What's that but love?”
Love? He snorted. “I feel responsible.” So responsible, he'd started job hunting in central Oregon the minute he'd brought Caleb here. Left a job that satisfied him for one he wasn't so sure he was going to like. Yeah, he'd gone out on a limb for this brother, but he'd rather call it guilt than love.
“Responsible? Why?”
He eyed her smile warily. “He's my brother.”
“You'd never met him. It's not as if you grew up with him.”
“I swore I'd know if that son of a bitch ever had another kid. Instead, I let it go. Caleb has gone through hell because I shut my eyes.”
“No,” she said, correcting him, “he's gone through hell because your father is abusive. You have no responsibility for your father's sins.”
He stared at her, baffled and frustrated by her refusal to understand what he was saying. “So I should have shrugged and gone on with my life?”
“Neither of us could have done that.”
“Then your point is?”
“Is this about Caleb at all, or are you trying to save yourself?”
Not reacting took an effort of will. “What kind of psychobabble is that?” he scoffed.
“Same kind I've always thrown at you.”
Reid gave a reluctant chuckle.
“Do you see yourself in Caleb?”
“Save the crap, Paula. I'm not a kid anymore.”
“You'll always be one of my kids.” Her voice had descended a register, letting him hear the tenderness, tying and untying a knot in his chest.
Reid cleared his throat. It didn't do anything for the lump centered beneath his breastbone. “I'm sorry I haven't been back to visit in so long.”
“Caleb made you revisit your past.”
Oh, crap. Here we go again.
“I'm giving him the same chance I had, that's all.”
“You're doing more than that, or you wouldn't have moved to Angel Butte,” she pointed out. “You're trying to be family, Reid.” She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “He needs you and you need him.”
He bent his head and looked at her hand, which was getting knobby with the beginnings of arthritis. So much smaller than his hand. Still so unfailingly...loving.
Shit. Did that mean he knew what the word meant after all? He'd have told anyone who asked that all he felt for Paula and Roger was gratitude and admiration, but...now he wasn't sure that was true. He'd just as soon the possibility hadn't occurred to him. Love had never been a safe emotion for him.
“Maybe so,” he said, hearing his own gruffness. “And I'd better go hunt him down before he decides I'm not here to see him at all.”
“Yes, you should.” She let him come around the table to her and lean over to kiss her cheek, but she grabbed his hand before he could turn away and looked at him with those penetrating eyes. “You're a good man, Reid Sawyer. Trust yourself.”
He felt about seventeen again, as if his feet were still too big, and his cheeks turned red at any compliment. “I may be a decent man,” he said finally. “But good? No. You're a good woman, Paula Hale. I don't measure up.”
He tore himself away then. Her voice followed him. “You will, Reid. I have enough faith for both of us.”
Faith.
Out of her hearing, he grunted. There was a word more foreign to him than
love.
So, okay, she could be right that on some subconscious level he was seeing himself in this younger brother, who looked so much like him. Why else the cauldron of emotions he'd been feeling, the ingredients of which he didn't even want to identify? That kind of transference was probably inevitable. He'd needed to be saved; now it was his turn to do the saving. Paying it forward was what people called it these days.
That's all I'm doing.
He didn't think about why he was looking forward to seeing Caleb. Or why he was so disappointed when, twenty minutes later, he conceded defeat.
The disappearing act was so good, it was clear his brother didn't want to see him. Reid told himself that was okay. The two of them hardly knew each other. When Reid had first come here, he'd been like a feral animal in a trap, suspicious of anything that looked like affection. He didn't know why he'd expected different of Caleb.
The Hales had a gift for healing wounded, fearful young men. Paula was wrong; Caleb didn't need his brother, the stranger.
Which raised the question, why
had
he turned his own life upside down to be nearby when he'd already fulfilled his responsibility? He could have stayed in touch long-distance well enough.
He laughed, short and harsh, as he climbed into his Ford Expedition. Taking a last look at the ramshackle lodge that anchored a line of even more run-down cabins strung along the bank of Bear Creek, he breathed in the distinctive odor of ponderosa-pine forest, sharp despite the near-freezing temperature. Trust Paula to get him analyzing his choices. One of her more irritating characteristics.
But he was a big boy now, capable of resisting. A big boy who, for whatever idiotic reason, had taken on a new job with more scope than he'd anticipated. What he needed to do was concentrate on that job, not hanker for some elusive connection he'd lived his whole damn life without.
CHAPTER TWO
“I
T
'
S
ARSON
,” R
EID
said flatly. He crouched and stared closely at the distinctive pattern of charring that climbed the interior wood-paneled wall of the cabin. He'd been lucky to find it, given the extent of the damage. “I'm no fire marshal,” he said, rising to his feet, “but I don't have to be.”
Beside him, Roger Hale grunted. “I thought I smelled gasoline.”
“Hard to miss,” Reid agreed.
He hadn't expected to hear from either of the Hales so soon after his Wednesday visit. On this fine Sunday morning, he'd been sprawled in bed trying to decide whether he could roll over and get some more sleep or was already too wide-awake when his phone had rung. Given his job, he kept the damn thing close, despite how often he cursed its existence. Hearing what Roger had to say had driven away any desire on his part to be lazy.
When he arrived half an hour ago, a cluster of boys had hovered on the front porch of the lodge. Caleb wasn't among them.
Walking to greet Reid, Roger had seen where he was looking. “Probably his turn in the shower. We were all pretty filthy by the time we got the fire out.”
Paula had been the one to spot it, according to Roger. She'd gotten up to use the john and seen a strange orange glow out the small window. Roger had yanked on clothes and run outside to find the fire climbing the back wall of the last cabin in the row. Even as he'd hooked up hoses, he had yelled to awaken the boys.
“This wasn't one of the occupied cabins,” Reid said, turning slowly to examine the interior. Frigid blue sky showed through a gaping hole in the roof. There hadn't been much furniture in the cabin. No mattressâor at least no springsâbut the wooden bed frame was so much half-burned firewood now. On instinct, he started picking through the debris.
“No, we haven't put anyone in here in...oh, five or six years,” Roger replied. “I'd been thinking I either needed to raze it or do some serious work. But you know we never fill all the cabins.” His expression was troubled. “You're saying our firebug didn't want to hurt anyone.”
Yet.
Reid didn't like thinking that, but had to.
“No, this was done either for fun or to get some attention.”
He debated whether to say more, but suspected he didn't have to. Roger was a smart, well-read man. He'd already been thinking hard, or he wouldn't have summoned Reid to take a look.
Arson wasn't like shoplifting or half a dozen other crimes Reid could think of, tried by a kid once out of curiosity or on a dare, then forgotten in a generally well-lived life. Famously, arson was one of the classic precursors of a serial killer. A budding pyromaniac, who set fires for the thrill, was bound to escalate in a different way.
This fire had been relatively harmless. The cabin hadn't been close to any of the others, and given that the last snowfall had melted only a few days ago, sparks had been unlikely to find dry fuel in the surrounding woods.
Reid found what he'd sought and wordlessly held out what was left of the side rail of a bed for Roger to see. One end was seared; the other was freshly splintered. As he'd suspected, the bed had been broken up to serve as firewood that would give the blaze what it needed to grow until it had the size and heat to bite into the solid log walls.
Roger shook his head. “We've had our share of troubles, but never a kid who wanted to burn up the world.”
“There's a first for everything.”
“We can't be sure it's one of the boys.”
Reid kept his mouth shut.
“Goddamn.” Roger vented by kicking at a still-steaming pile of half-burned wood. One piece fell away, revealing an orange spark beneath. Part of the headboard, Reid diagnosed, as he stamped out the ember beneath his booted foot. “Shit,” Roger growled, “we'd better rake through this and be sure there's nothing that can start it up again.”
“Yeah, you got lucky none of the neighbors spotted the glow and called the fire department.”
Everybody around here had acreage, so there were no close neighbors. This fire must have leaped pretty high into the sky before they began fighting it, though. The last thing the Hales needed was a fire marshal out here asking questions. He or she wouldn't be able to help but notice that the Hales had too many kids. Even if Paula and Roger succeeded in hiding some of them, it would take barely a casual glance to see that a number of the cabins were occupied. With the addition of Caleb, there were currently ten boys in residence in the old resort, which was actually fewer than Reid knew they sometimes had.
Roger paused in the act of kicking through the charred debris. “Could that have been the point?”
“To rat you out?” Nice thought. “Only if you've got a kid who doesn't want to be here.”
“Who says it has to be one of the boys? The middle of the night, anyone could have brought a can of gasoline and a matchbook. With this cabin down at the end, he'd have been unlikely to be heard.”
“It's a possibility.” Reid wasn't sure it was one he liked any better than the idea that one of the boys here was a newbie arsonist.
Roger gusted out a sigh. “We'll talk to all of them. Along with Caleb, we've got two other relatively recent arrivals.”
Something in Roger's tone caught Reid's attention. He turned slowly to meet his shrewd gaze. Damn. Of course that question had to be asked.
“Caleb has no history of anything like this.” His jaw set. He made the reluctant addition, “That I know of.”
Roger waved his hand in what Reid knew was a conciliating gesture. “Didn't think so, but he's the newest.”
“And you've never had a fire before.”
“No. We've never had a fire before,” Roger echoed. “Guess it had to happen sooner or later.”
The resigned, even philosophical conclusion wrung a reluctant laugh from Reid.
They both heard the sound of approaching voices. End of discussion. Damn, he didn't like to think what was to come. Once the Hales started separating boys and probing, the atmosphere would be poisoned by suspicion. How could it help but be?
He wouldn't be the only one looking at every one of these boys differently from here on outâincluding the brother he didn't know all that well.
Frowning at that blackened wall, he shook his head. He almost hoped the fire had been set for fun. Because if it actually had been intended to draw attention to the existence of this illicit shelter, it had failed in its purpose. Whoever he was, the arsonist would not be happy the fire had been put out quietly, causing only the slightest stir and some undirected finger-pointing.
The back of Reid's neck prickled.
Fun
was a misleading word to start with. Fire suggested rage. Would the next blaze be bigger, causing more damage? Or would whoever set it try something completely different?
* * *
P
USHING
HER
CART
down the aisle at Safeway, Anna caught a troubling whiff of smoke. Not tobaccoâburning wood. Although there might be a hint of something else. Frowning, she came to a stop in front of the displays of boxed pastas and turned to look around her.
A man, also pushing a half-f cart, was directly behind her. Captain Reid Sawyer, no less, who had been featured on the front page of this morning's
Angel Butte Reporter
. In well-worn jeans, boots, a heavy flannel shirt and down vest, he was dressed a whole lot more casually than he had been the last time she saw him.
He gave her a slightly crooked smile. “I thought I recognized that hair.”
“Hair?” Her hand rose to touch her head.
Yes, it was still there.
Feeling foolish, she snatched her hand back and wrapped it safely around the handle of the cart. “It's brown,” she said repressively. “How could you recognize my hair?”
“It's not brown.” He sounded amused. “It's dozens of colors. I'll bet you were a towhead when you were a kid, weren't you?”
She and her sister both had been. She shied away from a memory that was borrowed from a snapshot rather than real, of two girls standing stiffly, side by side, staring at the camera. She thought it was one of the times when they'd been delivered to a new home.
“Once upon a time.” The smell was stronger, if anything. “Do you smell smoke?”
Strangely, he bent his head to sniff at himself. “Ah, that would be me. I'm sorry. I should have gone home to shower. I didn't realize I'd soaked it up.”
She finally identified that illusory
other
component of the smell. “Gasoline.”
His eyes sharp on her face, he said, “Yeah. You've got a good nose.”
“What were you doing, cheating when you lit the briquettes?”
His chuckle was the first she'd seen echoed in his eyes. “That sounds suicidal.”
“I had aâ” She stopped, said more stiffly, “I knew someone once who used so much lighter fluid that there'd be a huge burst of flame when he tossed on a match.”
“Also suicidal.” His gaze was thoughtful now, as though he wondered what she hadn't wanted to say. “In my case, I was checking on a fire a friend had to put out on his property. He wanted to know what I thought.”
“You mean, whether it had been set on purpose?”
He dipped his head.
“And it was.”
“Thus the gasoline,” he agreed.
“Did you call the fire department?”
“No, it wasn't that significant. More of an annoyance. But since I had to go right by the store on my way home, I decided to stock up for the week.”
“Oh. Me, too.”
Duh.
“Well, um, I'd betterâ”
“I hear Yancey was found alive and well.”
“Yes.” Anna was impressed that he'd remembered the name. The help he'd offered her had to have been a trivial part of his week. “He hadn't gotten as far as the highway yet.”
“So Sergeant Shroutt told me. You return him to his foster home?”
“I found him a new one,” she corrected. “For the time being, he'll be the only child in the home, which I think he needs. If I have to put anyone else in it, I'll send, I don't know, a ten-year-old girl.”
“A child who might look up to him.” He sounded approving.
“Yes.” Anna didn't like feeling as if she had to defend herself, but she hadn't liked his expression Wednesday when she'd told him she had been trying to find Yancey a better placement. Or, more accurate, she hadn't liked her own sense of having failed one of the children for whom she was responsible. “This particular foster parent is one of my best. The brother and sister she had were returned to their parents, and she'd asked for a break. I was hoping Yancey could hold out until she was ready for another child. My mistake was not telling him what I planned.”
Something had changed on his face. “Returned to their parents,” he repeated in an unreadable tone. “That must be hard on a foster parent.”
“It depends. Sometimes we all have doubts about whether the family can be stable, but in this case, Carol had developed a close relationship with the mother in particular. She thought it was time. I know she plans to stay in touch. And of course the kids' caseworker will keep an eye on the situation.”
He nodded. “Does this Carol keep kids long-term?”
“Usually not.” She hesitated. “Yancey has been freed by the court for adoption, but given his age it's unlikely there'll be any takers. I hate to have her tied up for that many years, but...” She sighed. “I think she'll love Yancey, and he'll love her. So...I hope she's able to keep him.”
Something clanged into her cart and she turned quickly.
“I'm so sorry!” The woman had clearly been trying to squeeze her own, heavily laden cart past. “I'm a lousy driver.”
Anna smiled. “And I'm blocking the road.” She pushed hers out of the way, then glanced back at Reid Sawyer. “I'd better get on with my shopping now that I know the store isn't going to burn down.”
“I should, too, before I scare anyone else.” His gaze rested on her face with a weight she'd never felt before. “Any chance you'd like to have a cup of coffee when you're done?”
A curl of warmth low in her abdomen battled with the bump of alarm in her chest. She didn't like the way he seemed to hear more than she meant to say, but... Oh, lord, if he was attracted to her, too...
Could
he be? He was law enforcement calendar-cover-model material, while she knew perfectly well she was ordinary personified.
One eyebrow rose. “I'll accept a polite no. You don't have to agonize.”
“No.” Oh, for heaven's sakeânow her cheeks were heating. “I mean, yes. I was, um, just juggling my schedule in my head. Coffee would be nice. If you don't mind waiting until I finish,” she added hastily.
His eyes had warmed. “I have a ways to go myself. In fact, I was going to grab some rotini as soon as you moved.”
The rotini she was blocking. No wonder he'd lingered to make conversation.
“I'm sorry,” she blurted and pushed her cart forward. Then remembering she needed pasta, too, she turned back to grab lasagna noodles at the same time he was reaching past her. They bumped. He dropped the box he'd been taking from the shelf, and she apologized several more times and felt like a klutz and a social disaster by the time she wheeled around the end of the aisle and out of sight of the single sexiest man she'd ever met.
* * *
A
NNA
WAS
JUST
getting into line when Reid accepted his receipt and decided to put his groceries in the back of his Expedition so he'd be free to help her stow hers.
The store was a busy place today, and he intercepted several interested glances in the parking lot. He managed civil nods in response. Much as he hated the idea, he'd had to cooperate when the newspaper decided they wanted to run a piece on him. He wasn't just a cop anymore; he was a public official, symbolizing this small city's police department. Unfortunately, there'd been more interest in him than there likely would have been if his predecessor had accepted a job somewhere else and faded away. No such luck for Reid. Colin McAllister had run a very public, highly scrutinized campaign right here in this county and unseated an incumbent sheriff that the Hales, at least, had described as lazy and self-satisfied. The reforms McAllister was instigating in the sheriff's department were drawing a lot of press, too. It wasn't surprising that people were curious about the man who had replaced him in his old job.