Eighteen
“Where’ve you been?” Dena’s voice was filled with accusations when Cassidy, filthy and wet, made her way into the house.
“Out riding,” she said, then noticed the pasty pallor of her mother’s face. Instead of the lecture she’d been expecting, Dena grabbed her daughter and began to sob. Mindless of the fact that she was ruining her silk dress, she held Cassidy’s grimy body close.
“Thank God you’re safe. There was a fire—”
“I know.”
Dena clung to her. “Two bodies were discovered.”
Cassidy closed her eyes, refused to think of the charred remains that the fireman had carried from the gristmill. Angie and Brig. Please, don’t let it be.
“They haven’t identified them yet—a man and a woman, but Angie’s missing and Derrick, and oh, my God, Cassidy, if they’re dead, I don’t know what we’ll do, what Rex will do.”
“Angie?” she repeated, her heart icy with dread though she knew the truth. How she’d gotten back to the house she didn’t remember. She’d given the horse his head and he’d turned homeward, but the ride passed without her knowing where she was, what she was doing. All at once she’d ended up in the lane…She didn’t even remember dismounting…Oh, God, please, please, no…
“Angie’s car was parked just two blocks away,” Dena said brokenly.
“No.” Cassidy shook her head and started stepping backward, trying to shake the horrid image from her mind, denying what her own eyes had seen. “It’s not Angie. It’s not.” She was shaking, her teeth chattering, fear clutching her heart in its terrifying grip. If she said it over and over again, if she could convince herself that Angie was alive, then maybe she’d wake up from this agonizing nightmare and—
“I hope you’re right.” Dena shoved trembling fingers through her hair. “Your father, he’s with the police right now and…Derrick—” Dena’s voice cracked and she blinked against tears. Mascara ran down her face, trailing black lines across the hills of her cheeks.
Cassidy remembered her brother’s face, twisted in rage, hatred gleaming in his eyes, a deadly weapon in his hands. Out for blood. “I can’t…” Cassidy’s voice barely worked. “I won’t believe it. Derrick and Angie. They’ll come home. They have to.” And Brig. He has to be alive. They all have to be alive.
Dena let out a pitiful little moan. “Oh, baby, I wish.”
“They’re all right!” Cassidy nearly screamed, refusing to believe the horror she’d witnessed with her very own eyes. But Brig’s words haunted her. He’d been looking for Angie tonight; she’d wanted to meet with him even though they’d been together at the Caldwells’ barbecue.
“Just pray it isn’t true.” Dena sniffed, her shattered composure slowly disappearing. “I’m just thankful you’re alive. So thankful. Now, come on in and…clean up. I’ll make some tea and coffee and cocoa, or maybe you should just go to bed…Oh, God, where’s Rex? He’s been gone for over an hour, and it really shouldn’t take that long with the police.” She began crying again, muttering something about this being her fault. Cassidy, fear congealing her insides, led her mother to the stairs. “I need a cigarette.” Dena searched the hallway for her purse.
At that moment beams from headlights splashed through the windows and Cassidy saw cars, three of them, rolling down the lane—looking for all the world like a funeral procession. This was it. Cassidy’s throat burned, the stench of smoke still clung to her and she began to shake violently. A police car was first, followed by Rex Buchanan’s Lincoln and Judge Caldwell’s Mercedes.
Stomach churning, Cassidy opened the door and walked on numb legs to the front porch. Dena clutched her arm. “Oh, God, no. Please, no,” Dena whispered.
Cassidy watched in despair as her father climbed unsteadily from the passenger side of his car. His face was ashen, his hair matted by the rain, and the stoop of his broad shoulders foretold the pain in his heart.
Dena let out a mewl of protest.
Bile rose in Cassidy’s throat, and she barely felt pain when her mother gripped her injured wrist fiercely.
With The Judge and Sheriff Dodds as support, Rex walked slowly to the front door. Before he could say a word, Derrick’s truck screamed down the lane, squealing to a stop in the yard. Derrick hurled himself from the cab. Nostrils flared in outrage, wet hair plastered to his head, he strode toward the house.
“I’ll break his fuckin’ neck!” He was still carrying his shotgun and his shirt was ripped, his hands and arms black with soot, his eyes slitted in pure hatred. “I swear to God I’ll kill him!”
“What—?” Dena asked her husband. “Not Angie—”
Rex’s eyes squeezed together so tightly that he swayed and Cassidy was certain he would pass out.
“No, Dad, it can’t be,” she said, not wanting to hear, refusing to believe the death she saw in her father’s eyes, unable to accept what she, herself had witnessed. “No—”
“Go upstairs, Cassidy,” he said.
“But Angie—”
Tears pooled in her father’s eyes. “She’s with her mother now.”
Derrick let out an agonized howl of disbelief. In his pain, he aimed his shotgun at the cloud-blotted moon. Crack! The gun went off. Buckshot sprayed the yard.
“Drop it, son,” The Judge insisted, crossing the lawn swiftly, his hand extended toward the weapon.
“Leave me alone!”
“Derrick,” his father reprimanded, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Come inside.”
“Like hell! She’s dead, Dad, dead and that McKenzie bastard killed her!”
“Stop it, son. Do as your father says,” The Judge insisted.
Again the shotgun blasted, firing buckshot to the heavens. Derrick dropped to his knees and began to sob brokenly.
Cassidy couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
Dena wrapped her arms around her husband, holding him close, as if afraid he might disintegrate. “It’s all right,” she whispered aimlessly. “Somehow it’ll be all right and we’ll get through this.”
Rex Buchanan staggered and his wife helped him up. The Judge managed to convince Derrick to come into the house, and the sheriff, a big man with red hair and a bulbous nose, looked stern.
“Can’t you come back later?” The Judge asked as they all settled into the den.
“Sorry. This has got to be taken care of.”
“But Doc Williams is coming by and he’ll probably give Rex a sedative…”
“Then we’d best get this over with. Look, Judge, I know you’re just trying to be kind, but I got a job to do. Three people are dead, if you count the baby and—”
“Baby?” Dena’s head snapped up.
“That’s right, Mrs. Buchanan. The coroner’s report is preliminary, of course, but it looks like your stepdaughter was a couple of months pregnant.”
“No—”
Rex fell into his favorite recliner and buried his face in his hands. “Angie,” he whispered, over and over again. “Angie, Angie. My baby.”
Cassidy leaned heavily against the doorjamb. Her knees felt like water, and she had the urge to throw up at the thought of Angie being dead, never laughing again, never flirting outrageously, never commenting on Cassidy’s sorry taste in clothing, never pleading with her to braid her hair…Tears tracked silently down her cheeks. Angie had been pregnant; no wonder she’d seemed so depressed at times. Nausea roiled up from Cassidy’s stomach. No one needed to tell her who the baby’s father was. It had to be Brig, just as he had to be the man with her at the time of the fire.
No! her mind screamed, and she bit her tongue not to let out the sound.
“We’re not certain who the man with her was, but we’ve got a couple of leads. Bobby Alonzo and Jed Baker are missing, as is Brig McKenzie.”
Cassidy’s heart jolted.
“McKenzie?” Dena repeated.
“Yeah, his bike’s down there, parked near to Angie’s car.”
“No!” Cassidy shouted, and every eye in the room turned on her.
“Why not?” the sheriff asked.
“Because…because…he was here earlier and he couldn’t have had time to get to the mill and…”
“What the fuck was he doing here?” Derrick yelled. He stormed across the room to tower over Cassidy. “What?”
“He—he was looking for Angie.”
“That goddamned prick.”
“Stop it!” the sheriff commanded. “Then he couldn’t have got to the mill in time.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, hardly daring to breathe, hoping beyond hope that she was right, that he wasn’t dead, that he and Angie hadn’t been in that horrid inferno.
“It’s all crap—a pile of smelly, disgusting crap!” Derrick said, striding to the bar and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Grime and soot covered him from head to foot. “I shoulda killed him when I had the chance.”
“Derrick!” Rex’s raspy voice commanded everyone’s attention. “I don’t want to hear any nonsense.”
“Chances are he’s dead already,” Sheriff Dodds said. “His mother was down there chanting and crying and carrying on, claiming that she saw this fire in some sort of vision. You know how it is with her—half the time I’m not certain that she shouldn’t be locked up. Anyways, I had someone take her to see Doc Ramsby. He opened the clinic and will probably give her a tranquilizer or something. Her other boy—Chase—he’s with her. The Alonzos and the Bakers are out of their minds with worry.”
Derrick swore loudly at the sheriff, “Listen, you stupid bastard! You don’t understand. He killed her! He had to have! I saw Jed earlier and he was out for blood. McKenzie had already beat him senseless with a baseball bat. He’s your man, Sheriff, and if you let him slip through your fingers, everyone in town will know it.”
“Sunny’s boy wouldn’t hurt Angie—” Rex’s voice was broken and lacked any ounce of conviction.
“He won’t slip through,” the sheriff said, but he didn’t look pleased as Derrick’s words settled into his mind. “I’ve already sent a car to the McKenzie place and I’ve got men posted on all the roads leading out of town.”
“So you do suspect him?”
“I don’t know what to think, that’s all. Until this is all straightened out, everyone’s a suspect. Even you.” His eyes narrowed on Derrick.
“Fine. ’Cause the truth will come out, and when it does, I hope McKenzie hangs by his fuckin’ balls.”
Dena cringed at the foul language.
Cassidy couldn’t stand it anymore. The house seemed to close in on her. She eased away from the hallway, where no one was paying any attention to her anyway, and staggered out the back door. At the bottom of the steps, she couldn’t help herself. She leaned over, retching over and over again, pain throbbing at her temples, denial screaming through her mind.
She wiped her arm over her mouth and ran to the stable, where she always sought refuge. She’d climb on Remmington’s back and ride and ride and ride until she could go no farther, until all the pain in her heart would somehow drain away.
Inside the barn, she stumbled, tears blurring her vision, her legs too weak to support her. Her arm had begun to ache, but she didn’t care, the pain in her heart far greater than her wrist. Yanking down the bridle, she reached for the gate.
“Cassidy?”
“Brig?” Had she imagined his voice, conjured it up from her disbelieving subconscious. Was she going crazy? “Brig?”
“Shh. I’m here.” Suddenly he was beside her, his strong arms drawing her close, his face, smelling of ashes and smoke, pressed against hers.
“You’re alive,” she said, the words barely audible. Tears fell from her eyes. He was safe. Safe! “But how—” It didn’t matter. She clung to him, her fingers digging deep into his flesh, her lips moving urgently over his rain-soaked face. “I thought. Oh, God, I thought…” Then she was sobbing. Deep soul-jarring sobs tore through her.
Folding her into his arms, he buried his face against her neck. His sinewy muscles surrounded her, and for a second she thought that everything would be all right. Then the weight, the horrible weight of the truth, fell down on her again. “You…you have to leave,” she said. “Angie’s dead.”
He stiffened. “I know.”
“And someone died with her.”
“Baker.”
“How—?” She swallowed hard and drew away from him. Soot smudged his bruised face, smoke clung to him. “How do you know?”
“I was there. I saw their cars. But I was too late to save them.”
She gave a strangled sound of protest.
“It was like being in hell,” he said, his voice distant.
“They’ll try to say you did it—” She touched the scrape above his eye, tried to ignore the doubts swirling through her mind.
“I didn’t.”
Fear pounded an alarm through her brain. As soon as they found out that Jed was the boy with Angie, as soon as the sheriff checked out Derrick’s story that Jed and Brig had already had a fight…her mind raced to the inevitable conclusion.
“Did anyone see you there?”
He stared into the darkness, and his hands flexed in the folds of her blouse. She felt her body respond and knew that she would believe anything he told her.
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“You’ve got to leave.” She forced the words over her tongue and felt as if she was dying inside because she knew if he left he would never return. She’d never see him again—the love she felt for him would slowly die.
“I’m not running from—”
“You have to,” she cried, desperate to save him. “But don’t take your bike—they’ve already found it.” Her mind was galloping ahead with the only plan feasible. “Take Remmington. I’ll say that I was out riding and he threw me again and took off. By the time they have it figured that he’s missing, you’ll be gone—”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Don’t lie for me.”
Tears clogged her throat. This really was good-bye. “I’ll—I’ll have to. Otherwise you’ll go to jail—”
“You don’t know that.” But the defeat in his eyes told her she’d already guessed the truth. Unless…unless…
“I didn’t set that fire, Cassidy. I don’t care what the whole damned town believes, but I have to know that you trust me.”
“I—I do,” she swore, staring up at him with naïve, believing eyes. “Don’t you know that? I’ll always believe in you.”
A groan ripped from his throat, and he yanked her closer still. “I don’t deserve you.” His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was as desperate as it was brutal.
“I can’t do this,” he admitted, his voice rough. “The sheriff’s here. I’ll talk to him. Tell him the truth—”
“No! Brig, you don’t understand. They’ve already nailed you to the cross. I was there; I heard him. Derrick’s told them about your fight with Jed, and they know you were there. The sheriff needs to hang this on someone…” Tears slid down her cheeks, his or hers she couldn’t tell, and she felt his long, smudged fingers tangle in her hair. “Please, do this. Save yourself. What good would it do to stick around for the rest of your life in jail?”
“You don’t believe in justice?”
“In Prosperity? When Rex Buchanan’s daughter and the Bakers’ son was killed? What do you think?”
“I’ve never believed in the system.”
“Then go.” She wrenched herself away. Her heart was pounding in dread, and she couldn’t lift the saddle over Remmington’s back. But Brig helped her, and within seconds she was handing Brig the wet reins. His fingers twined over hers for a heartbeat, and she fought a losing battle with hot tears.
“Take me with you,” she whispered, and she felt him stiffen. “Just to the south edge of the property, then head east through the mountains. I—I’ll make it look like I fell there.”
“Forget it.”
“Brig, please—do this. For me.”
His jaw clamped tight, but he helped her onto the horse and swung up behind her. In silence, through the sheeting rain, they rode through the fields where the air was still thick with the smell of smoke and dawn would appear within the hour. With each stride of the colt’s long legs, Cassidy knew she was closer to never seeing Brig again. She felt his arms around her and wished he’d never let go. Finally they had reached the far end of a field.
“Stop here,” she said. Brig pulled Remmington to a halt. “This is it…Here,” she said, twisting in the saddle and slipping her chain over her head before placing it around Brig’s neck. “For luck.”
He hesitated, then swept her into his arms one last time, his head bent to the crook of her neck, his hard body trembling. “This is wrong.”
“It’s all we can do.” She kissed him, ignoring the painful tug on her heart. She slid to the ground to stare up at him astride the horse he’d tried to tame. Then she reached down, picked up a rock and flung it at Remmington’s rump. The colt squealed and took off at a dead run into the mist-shrouded hills.
“I love you,” she whispered, realizing that she’d never see him again, never hear his laugh, never look into his eyes, but her words were drowned by the steady drip of the rain and the echo of fading hoofbeats.