Authors: Lauren Nichols
“It is. The tables get a fresh coat every season. It’s time consuming, but it’s a lot cheaper than replacing them.”
“Then I’ll see you after I write my report and take care of a couple of things. Okay?”
With all the work ahead of her, and her summer help not showing up for two weeks, it would be lunacy to refuse. But since Tuesday night, she’d felt as though she were walking an emotional tightrope. Worse, she didn’t know if the tension was her own doing or his. She glanced at her wristwatch: twelve-forty. “You’re sure you don’t have work of your own to do?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then I accept.” She opened her car door. “I have to run a few errands in town and pick up some things for the store. But I should be back by four.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
Rachel watched him walk to the green truck with the PA Game Commission logo on the side, unable to look away from his broad shoulders and loose, confident gait. Then she slipped inside her Explorer, started the engine and drove off, wishing she could see inside his head. Wishing he’d tell her what he was thinking and feeling. Jake Campbell was the most guarded man she’d ever known.
He was also the most intriguing.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Rachel said an hour later as she followed Jenna Harper outside to the B & B’s wide wraparound porch. She’d missed her sounding board and best friend. “Did you have fun?”
“I did,” Jenna replied with a smile. “It was great to spend time with my mom, but she’s a busy bee, and any more than a week with me would’ve had her climbing the walls. She’s used to being out and about.”
“Which you can’t do.”
Jenna sent her an uneasy look. “Not in Michigan.”
Not here in Charity either. Most people had something in their past they wish they could change—baggage they couldn’t unload. But her beautiful friend’s was as bad as it got without costing a life.
Jenna set a tray holding frosted glasses of lemonade and a small basket of tiny orange muffins on the glass-topped white-wicker table, then crossed to the porch’s edge to lower a sun-shading white vinyl blind. “But even if I’d felt comfortable running to the malls or whatever with my mom, I had to get back.” She joined Rachel on the wicker sofa. “With tourist season on the way, it’s going to get busy around here. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
“Around here” was Jenna’s Blackberry Hill Bed and Breakfast, a lovely pink-and-white Victorian inn with loads of white gingerbread surrounded by rhododendrons and azaleas that were just beginning to bloom. Although she, Jenna and Margo McBride Blackburn had been best friends all through high school, they’d lost touch after Jenna and her mother moved to Michigan. Jenna had returned to Charity a little over two years ago to buy and manage her great-aunt Molly Jennings’s B & B, but it wasn’t by choice. She didn’t talk about the jealous ex-suitor who’d stabbed her. But Jenna believed he was still out there somewhere, eluding the police and waiting for an opportunity to finish what he’d started. Jenna was running.
“I imagine reservations are pouring into the campground, too. Are you ready?”
Rachel took a sip of lemonade. “I’m getting there. I have vendors to call, supplies to shelve and some staining to do—and the game room could use a coat of paint. But I’ll get it done.” She frowned. “Doesn’t look like my putt-putt course will open anytime soon, though.”
Jenna nodded. “So I’ve heard. I stopped at the hardware store when I got back yesterday, and Ben mentioned Tim Decker’s troubles. He seemed to think I had the inside track because we’re friends. Do the police have any leads?”
“Not according to Tim. I saw him a few minutes ago. He said the bearings are shot in his machine—whatever that means. But his second dozer should be free in a week, so he hopes to get back to my project then.”
Jenna offered the muffins to Rachel, but she thanked her and declined. She took another sip of her lemonade, then felt a silly flutter in her stomach as she began
hesitantly. “You remember my neighbor Jake Campbell, don’t you?”
“Sure. Nice guy.” Jenna’s blue eyes danced beneath her side-swept dark blond bangs as she amended her description. “Nice, tall, good-looking, muscular guy. Or am I thinking of someone else?”
Feeling her cheeks warm, Rachel said, “No, I think we’re talking about the same man.”
“Okay. What about him? Is something going on?”
“I don’t know,” she returned quietly. “Maybe. It’s just so hard to get past …”
Jenna nodded her understanding. “David.”
Rachel felt her throat tighten. “I still miss him, Jen. I can’t imagine ever not missing him.”
“I know. The two of you were good together. But now there’s Jake.”
“Yes.”
“And you feel guilty.”
Rachel nodded. “I like him. He makes me feel good just being around him. He’s fun and he’s smart … and caring about him feels so wrong and so right at the same time.”
Jenna squeezed Rachel’s hand and she squeezed back, relieved to finally be talking about her feelings for him.
“Can I say something without making you cry?” Jenna asked.
“Probably not,” Rachel returned, laughing a little and already seeing her friend through watery eyes. “But go ahead.”
Jenna spoke softly. “Anyone who knew you and David could see the love you had for each other. But, honey, he can’t come back to you. That’s not the way life
works.” Jenna sent her a sad smile as tears spilled over Rachel’s cheeks. “A love that big isn’t selfish. David adored you. He’d want you to be happy, wouldn’t he?” Drawing a trembling breath, Rachel nodded. But knowing that and acting on that knowledge were two very different things.
Later, wrapped in the variegated blue afghan her grandmother had crocheted, Rachel sat on her deck, curled in a redwood lounge chair, staring through a break in the trees above her driveway. Overhead in the inky blackness, a plane on a night flight blinked red and green, momentarily distracting her from God’s magnificent light show. She’d doused all the lights in her home except for the forty-watt bulb glowing in her over-the-range microwave, and the stars seemed to shimmer and gleam in stereo. It was a perfect night for soul searching … a perfect night to consider questions that had caromed around in her mind since her visit with Jenna.
“What do I do about this, God?’ she murmured. “I loved David with all my heart. You know that. But Jenna’s right. He wouldn’t want me to give up a chance at happiness. That’s the kind of man he was, and it’s what I would have wanted for him if our lives—our deaths—had been reversed.” She watched the plane disappear behind the trees—searched for God in the stars. “As for Jake … You saw him tonight, staining my picnic tables, then leaving and bringing back pizza. But I don’t know if he’s being a good neighbor, if he’s still in protective mode, or something else. And is this the right time for ‘something else'?”
Fireflies flitted in the air, their tiny beacons flashing in the darkness—but throwing no light at all on her
conflicted thoughts. She shifted on the lounger, pulled her bare feet up under the afghan. “His broken engagement soured him on marriage, so he’s not looking for anything permanent. I get that.” But what happened if she began to care about Jake too deeply? Even though her own lack of decisiveness still had her emotionally shackled, she wasn’t sure how she felt about a surface relationship with him. What if she would always be someone he could enjoy chicken and ice cream with, believing she’d never want or expect anything more?
A loud bang and crash came from under her deck. Jumping up, Rachel waved a hand to turn on her motion lights and rushed down the steps in time to see—as she expected—two bristly lumps hurry away from her trash cans. Raccoons. You’d think they’d realize that when the trash cans were outside, they were empty. The best defense against marauding animals was to keep refuse inside until the morning that it was collected—which had happened today. But she’d failed to return the cans to her mud room.
So much for a night of soul searching.
Moving inside, then descending her basement steps, she unlocked the ground-level door, lugged the trash cans back inside and locked up again. Maybe all that noise was her cue to get some sleep. Jake wasn’t the only one who’d had a long, tiring day. She was slowly finding out that emotional stress could be just as draining.
A few hours later, she was thoroughly annoyed to realize she was coming awake again and tried to fight it. She burrowed deeper into her pillow, tried to concentrate on the dream she’d left behind. It was a good one. She and Jenna were crocheting baby booties, but she didn’t know who they were for. She drew a
breath—coughed. Coughed again. She would go back to sleep. She couldn’t keep—
Rachel bolted upright in bed, alarm bells clanging in her head. She flew to her bedroom window and saw flames licking upward over the siding.
Dear God! Her house was on fire!
T
errified, Rachel ran to her nightstand, grabbed her cordless handset and raced for the living room. Suddenly, her smoke and heat detectors began to beep and scream. She punched in 9-1-1—jerked the phone to her ear. No dial tone! Her panic escalated. Rushing to her kitchen phone, she yanked the receiver off the hook and released another frightened breath. Still no dial tone!
Her thoughts ran wild. Save what you can! No! Get out, get out! Then: the camp store has a phone! The smoke was faint, and the fire was at the rear corner of the house. She had time. Rachel was through the patio door in seconds and bolting down the steps. She hit the driveway’s limestone chips at a run. Behind her, motion lights clicked on.
She still had lights! Thank you, Jesus! Now please, please let the phone work!
Eighty yards away, the camp store’s faint overnight lighting showed the way. She ran faster, barely aware of the stones cutting into her feet. Sixty yards. Forty. Twenty. Gasping, she leaped onto the stoop, tried the door. Locked! She yanked the wooden No Pets Inside, Please sign off the siding beside the door and smashed the glass pane—fumbled an arm inside to free the latch.
Seconds later she uttered a shaky prayer of thanks again.
She had a dial tone!
Every nerve in his body pulsed and thumped as Jake yanked a T-shirt over his jeans, jammed his feet into his boots and strode for the door. He jerked his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair on his way out. The police scanner beside his bed was still squawking orders to and from firemen and emergency personnel on their way to the campground.
Maggie ran after him through his still-open door—jumped into the truck with him when he slid behind the wheel. Then he gunned the engine and roared out of his driveway, his brain all needles and fear. Rachel was too vigilant to have accidentally caused the fire, and she was a stickler for upkeep. No old paint cans or turpentine rags would be lying around waiting to spontaneously combust. That pile of rocks was back in his belly. He wasn’t an alarmist by nature, and he really didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. But after seeing a man skulking around her place on Sunday night, what were the odds that Rachel’s fire was a coincidence? A small voice answered,
Low, but keep an open mind.
Jake rounded the deep curve in the road, saw the sign for her campground in his headlights, then touched a boot to the brake to make the turn. He flew over the uneven lane and skidded to a stop outside her store. She’d told the dispatcher that’s where she was calling from. Already, the smell of smoke permeated the truck’s cab.
Jake ordered Maggie to stay, then leaped out and quickly ascended the stoop. There was broken glass all
over—and no sign of Rachel. He ran down the driveway. He could see flames now, could see smoke billowing from the far side of the house. Jake’s stomach fell to his feet when he spotted her on the deck. She threw an armful of clothes, books and a heavy case over the railing, most of it landing beside her red Explorer with the campground emblem on its side.
He accelerated, shouted at the top of his lungs. “Rachel! Get out of there!”
“I’ll be right back!” she cried.
“No! Get out of there now!” he repeated. “There’s nothing in your house worth dying for!” But she’d already covered her nose and mouth with a cloth and was rushing back inside.
Jake took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding triple time. “Rachel!”
She reappeared, clutching something tightly against her chest.
Latching on to her wrist, he tugged her down the stairs. The blaze had found its voice now, angry orange flames roaring as they lit the night, devouring siding and igniting roof shingles.
She pulled away—rushed to the items scattered on the ground. “Help me grab my things! Throw them in my car!”
Arguing was useless, so he moved swiftly, then hustled her into the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition. Hitting the gas, he backed all the way up the drive, then swerved into a parking space outside the camp store.
He shot her a look of total disbelief, worry making his tone harsher than he intended. “For the love of God, Rachel, what were you thinking, running into a burning
house? You have a propane tank out back that could blow to kingdom come and take you with it. What was so important that you’d risk—”
She jerked a look at him. “Don’t yell at me!” Then her face crumbled, and she started to cry. Slowly, she turned the wedding photo she’d held to her chest to face him, and her voice dropped to a sad, teary whisper. “I couldn’t just leave him in there.”
Her words hit him squarely in the heart. He couldn’t have felt lower if he’d attacked her physically. Sighing, Jake slid over on the seat and reached for her … wrapped her in his arms as tightly as David Patterson’s picture would permit.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I know you couldn’t.” But as much as he wanted to keep holding her, with every tick of the clock, the fire crept closer to that propane tank. Easing her away, he spoke softly but seriously. “Rachel, it’s the middle of the night. It’ll take the firemen time to get here. We should try to slow down the fire—keep the propane tank cool.”
Jake saw her eyes widen as she realized how much worse the situation could become. The woods, her cabins and store—her very livelihood—could go up in a fireball explosion that seared the sky.
“Your garden hose has a high pressure nozzle,” he said quickly, opening the car door. “It’ll spray a hundred feet.” Whether that would do any good was a mystery, but they had to try.
He didn’t have to say another word. She was already halfway out of the car.
Hours later, Rachel stood by Jake’s side, tears streaming again as she watched volunteer firemen training
their hoses on hot spots, and continuing to wet the utility shed where David’s truck, golf cart and lawnmowers were stored—wet down the trees surrounding her home. Utility servicemen still milled around, talking to firemen and drinking coffee supplied by the ladies of the firemen’s auxiliary.
The house itself was all but gone now, nothing left but charred timbers, a creek stone chimney that wouldn’t give up, and the acrid smell of burned memories she would remember all of her life. It hurt so much that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Jake slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned into him, holding on tightly and grateful for his strength.
“Let’s go back to the camp store,” he murmured against her temple. “We can grab another cup of coffee or a donut or just sit for a while.” After the firemen had arrived, Jake had pulled a pair of flip-flops, bottled water, towels and antiseptic spray from her store shelves. Then, over her teary objections, he’d knelt down to clean the dirt from her feet and attend a bloody cut she didn’t know she had. “You should give your foot a rest. There’s nothing you can do here.”
She knew that, but somehow she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop monitoring every word the firemen and hazmat team called to each other. She’d managed to save some of her things; besides her wedding portrait, she’d gathered a photo album, the clothes from her dryer and her security box. Thankfully, David had insisted the box be placed in the laundry room off the kitchen—not in the bedroom or living room where thieves might expect it to be.
Rachel swallowed hard. Electric service to her home
had been separate from the store and campsites, and light poles throughout the campground glowed in the lingering smoke and haze. She stepped back from him, but not very far. “You’re a good man.”
“I try,” he said quietly.
“You do more than try.” He’d barely left her side since he’d arrived except for a few minutes a half hour ago. Once it was certain that the fire wouldn’t spread to the woods, he’d driven Maggie back home and put her in her pen. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done tonight.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s not as if I was busy doing anything else.” At some point, he’d slipped his green jacket over her dorm shirt—startling her because she’d forgotten how she was dressed. Now he adjusted it on her shoulders. “Come on. The firemen’s auxiliary’s been working hard back at the store. You don’t want the ladies to think they’re unappreciated, do you?”
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t want that.”
They were preparing to walk back up the lane to the store when, from some distance away, Fire Chief Ben Caruthers called for Rachel to wait.
“Give me a minute?” she said to Jake, automatically backing up several feet.
“Sure.”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m through.”
Dressed in smoke-smudged, dull-gold bunker pants and an insulated coat striped with reflective tape, Ben came toward her. An SCBA mask dangled from his neck. Like many of the firemen who attended her church—Roy Blair, Nate, Joe Reston and the Atkins brothers—Ben had offered his sympathies earlier. She wasn’t surprised when Reverend and Mrs. Landers
showed up to offer their prayers and visit for a few minutes. They were loving, caring people who did whatever needed to be done for St. John’s congregation, day or night. The big surprise was the courtesy that off-duty Chief of Police Lon Perris had shown her. Maybe it was the lack of a uniform and a gun on his hip that seemed to soften his demeanor. But by the time Charity P.D. officers Charlie Banks and newly hired Caleb “Call” Drago took him aside to talk, she was nearly ready to change her opinion of him.
Ben pulled off his helmet and heavy gloves as he reached her—kept his insulated hood on. “Sorry, Rachel. The house was just too far gone by the time we got here. But you were insured and you can rebuild. Focus on that—and the fact that you got out alive.”
“I am, Ben. And believe me, I’m grateful.” But she couldn’t think about rebuilding right now. She was too worried that she might have inadvertently caused the fire. “Do you know how it started? I can’t think of anything I did that might have—”
Caruthers glanced aside for an uneasy moment, then said, “I can’t say, Rachel. That’s up to the fire marshal to determine. I expect he’ll be here tomorrow.” He exhaled heavily. “In the meantime, what are your plans? Do you know where you’ll be staying? We’ll need to get in touch with you.”
A firm voice came from behind her. “She’ll be staying with me.”
Rachel turned sharply and her eyes welled with tears again. “Jenna.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jenna murmured, hugging Rachel close. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Rachel tried to keep her voice from cracking but
failed. It was nearly daybreak, and Jenna should have been in her kitchen preparing breakfast pastries for her guests. “Jen, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Of course I should. You’re my friend.”
“You have an inn to run.”
“Not for another three days. I’m not reopening until Monday.”
Rachel sighed. That was right. They’d talked about it yesterday. Or was it the day before? She couldn’t think. Everything except the present was a blur. “How did you know about the fire?”
With a cheerless smile, Jenna turned her to face Jake, and there was no need for her friend to answer. “You’ve been a busy boy tonight,” she murmured.
He ambled closer. “I figured you’d eventually get sick of me, and want someone who could actually do you some good. I phoned Jenna when I took Maggie back home.”
“But how did you—?”
“—know to call Jenna?” He smiled. “You’ve mentioned her enough times that I knew she was important to you. Not all men have selective hearing.”
Gratitude cinched her voice. “I owe you.”
He shook his head. “Anyone who knows you would have done the same.” He glanced around, seemed satisfied that she was in good hands, then backed away. “I’ll see you later. If you need anything, holler.” He turned to Jenna. “You have my phone number. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for calling,” she replied. “I just wish you’d done it sooner.”
Then Rachel watched as he strode back to the camp
store where his truck waited and—not for the first time tonight—thanked God for his friendship.
Why wasn’t she
dead?
Why wasn’t this
over?
He was far from the madness of smoke and flames now, but his heart still pounded so frantically that he feared he’d stroke out. Rushing to the bathroom medicine chest, he snatched a bottle of aspirin from the shelf and turned on the cold water spigot. Pills clacked against plastic as he shook out two tablets, then swallowed them with a handful of water. He jammed the bottle back inside the mirrored chest and stared at his reflection.
He could still feel the heat of the fire, still feel the weight of his gear and the SCBA mask pressing into his face. And despite his shower, he could still smell the stench of smoke.
He wet his hands—pumped liquid soap into his palm and scrubbed his face. Pushed frothy bubbles into his nostrils to cover the smell.
He’d been smart about the fire—used a common accelerant that would positively point to arson and rule out an educated fireman. In this day and age of forensics, it was nearly impossible to create an “accidental” fire. Kerosene and gasoline would have done the trick because they had low flash points. But ultimately he’d chosen one that fit his purposes better in the event that Rachel lived through the blaze. He’d used the same stove-and-lantern fuel she sold in her store, and in doing that, planted a little seed that she might have started the blaze herself.
He walked around, fretted, wondered if the aspirin was burning a hole in his stomach lining. He’d heard of
repressed—or was that suppressed?—memories. What if she woke up one morning and realized he was the man she’d seen Sunday night? Tears formed in his eyes. She’d tell. And life as he knew it would be over. Everything he’d worked for would be over!
Suddenly his insides revolted, and with an anguished cry, he bent over the toilet and emptied his stomach. “God, help me,” he whispered gripping the bowl. But he doubted that God was listening anymore.
Rachel swam toward consciousness in the shaded room, the world around her slowly taking shape. Two tall posters rose at the bottom of her cozy bed, and from somewhere to her left, a soft breeze touched her face. She smiled—stretched a little.