The ride to his house was so quiet, Barrett would have thought he was alone in the truck if he hadn’t constantly glanced at Quinn. Without a doubt, she was in shock or something very close to that state. His brain knew it was normal. Anyone would feel violated and betrayed. And Quinn had been so overwhelmed by gratitude to all the people who had helped build the cabin that she probably felt she had let them all down.

That part was more than a little irrational, but Barrett had a feeling she’d grown up the scapegoat in her family. The concept was absolutely foreign to him. Someone in his family did wrong, they got called on it, were helped to figure out how to fix it and then they were forgiven. No one bore the blame for something that wasn’t their fault, no one was held to a higher or lower standard than anyone else.

Pulling up to his house, he parked the truck and turned the engine off. Sitting in the dark, he reached across the cab and covered her hand with his. This time, she didn’t try to evade his touch.

“Your hands are cold, baby. Let’s get you inside.”

She nodded but didn’t move.

“I’ll go unlock the door.”

Barrett wasn’t sure whether he might have to carry her in—or take her to a doctor. His mother had been sedated after she found out that she’d lost her husband and only daughter in the same accident. Even if she’d been an hour’s drive away from Jester’s at the time the fire was started, it had been a vicious attack against Quinn by someone she had once loved.

Knowing Quinn, she probably still loved the sister that had done this to her.

Unlocking the door, he turned on the light, went into his bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp.

Returning to the front of the house, he pulled up short, surprised that Quinn had followed him in.

A good sign, or so he told himself despite the blank face and hollow gaze staring at him.

He walked her into the bedroom and sat her down on the mattress. Getting on his hands and knees, he took her boots and socks off. He started on her shirt next, unthreading the buttons, stripping her down to her tank top.

Barrett stripped the jeans away, leaving her in her underwear.

Life moved too fast when it wasn’t moving too slow, he mused. Just that afternoon, returning to his mother’s home, he thought he’d lost Quinn as anything more than a friend when she wouldn’t move off the couch. She’d been shaky, her mind and body overstimulated from the news report that had her thinking he might have been badly hurt.

But then they had kissed in the bathroom and exchanged a few deep, meaningful gazes during dinner. It had made him think it was time to talk with her about the next step in their relationship, to stop worrying about whether she felt obligated to him.

Then Finley showed up and ripped the rug out from under him and Quinn.

Now he wasn’t just afraid of losing her as a lover or friend. He was afraid she would leave Willow Gap forever.

Not happening, he vowed.

“Baby,” Barrett said, his fingers tapping once against the back closure of Quinn’s bra. “You need to get out of this or let me take it off.”

She reached behind her, unsnapped then drew the straps down her arms, all without revealing anything under her tank top. It was a mesmerizing female magic trick, but he was too sick with worry to appreciate the moment.

Barrett coaxed Quinn onto her back then drew the covers up to her chin. Still dressed in the clothes he’d put on after his shower, he stretched out next to her, his body on top of the covers. He draped his arm across her chest, his hand cupping her opposite shoulder.

“Baby, you’re in shock right now,” he whispered, hoping the softly voiced words would reach her. “Anybody would be. But, whatever you’re thinking, just give me a chance to fix things.”

His hand moved up to her head, his fingers stroking at the side of her face and her hair. By the dim light of the lamp, he watched her eyes grow heavy and close. Her breathing fell into the deep rhythm of sleep a few minutes after that.

Easing out of the bed, Barrett shut the door, went into his office and grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the closet. Putting a pot of coffee on to brew, he went out to the truck and grabbed Quinn’s bag.

Beyond a few clean clothes in the dryer, Quinn’s habit of taking her laptop with her was the only lucky break of the day—well, that and the fact she hadn’t been at the cabin when her sister decided to play firebug. From what he had seen on the camera’s memory card, he agreed with Quinn that the girl was capable of almost anything.

That didn’t mean he was going to let Quinn run away in an effort to protect those around her. That part of her life was over.

He put the bag down on the table by the front door, locked the front door, then poured a cup of coffee. Opening his laptop, he found the email Quinn had forwarded with the terms of Jester’s will.

Two cups of coffee later, he was finished reading and re-reading the document. Next to him was a pad of yellow paper, dozens of notes written in bold, black handwriting.

Clicking over to his web browser, he opened up FINDLAW and JUSTIA and plugged in search terms.

He finished the pot of coffee, made another one. He wrote down new questions on his notepad, added answers to the original queries, and kept searching.

A little after midnight, he went into the Montana section of a wills and probate forum and searched through the threads. Another hour later, he sent Adler an email asking him to set up a meeting with the head of the Real Estate Management division of the state’s Trust Lands division.

With the email sent and the last of his coffee consumed, Barrett drifted off to sleep, the laptop balanced on his chest and the notepad full of questions and answers across his thighs.