In the beginning, while Leif was an infant, she’d kept the books and handled the payroll. When their son grew old enough for day care, she’d assumed a more active role, working as hostess and filling in where she was needed.
“Who would do this?” he demanded again.
The answer eluded her just as it did him. Why anyone would want to hurt them was beyond her comprehension. They had no enemies that she knew of and no serious rivals. It was hard to believe they’d been the target of a random firebug, but maybe that was the case. So far, there’d been little real progress in tracking down the arsonist.
“Seth,” she whispered gently, stretching her hand toward him. “You can’t go on like this.”
He didn’t respond, and Justine suspected he hadn’t heard her. She longed to help him, to ease his mind, to reassure him. Her fear was that the fire had destroyed more than the restaurant. It had stolen Seth’s peace of mind, his purpose and, in some ways, his innocence. He’d lost faith in the goodness of others and confidence in his own abilities.
Her own innocence had been devastated one bright summer afternoon in 1986, when her twin brother, Jordan, had drowned. Justine had held his lifeless body in her arms until the paramedics arrived. She’d been in shock, unable to really grasp that her brother, her twin, was gone. He’d broken his neck after a careless dive off a floating dock.
Her entire world had forever changed that day. Her parents divorced shortly afterward and her father had quickly remarried. To all outward appearances, Justine had adjusted to the upheaval in her life. She’d graduated from high school, finished college and found employment at First National Bank, then risen to branch manager. Although she’d had no intention of ever marrying, she’d been dating Warren Saget, a local builder who was the same age as her mother. Then she’d met Seth Gunderson at their ten-year high school reunion.
Seth had been her brother’s best friend. She’d always felt that if Seth had been with Jordan that day, her brother might still be alive, and her own life would’ve been different—although she wasn’t sure exactly how. It was ridiculous to entertain such thoughts; she recognized that on a conscious level. And yet…yet it was what she believed.
All through high school she’d barely spoken to Seth. He was the football hero, the class jock. She was the class brain. And never the twain had met until that night nearly six years ago, when she’d run into him at the reunion planning meeting. Seth had casually mentioned that he’d had a crush on her during their high school days. The look in his eyes had told her he’d found her beautiful then and even more so now.
They didn’t experience an easy courtship. Warren Saget hadn’t wanted to lose her and made a concerted effort to pressure her into marrying him. He’d instinctively understood that Seth was a major threat. Warren bought Justine the largest diamond she’d ever seen, promising a life of luxury and social prominence if she agreed to be his wife.
All Seth had to offer Justine was a twenty-year-old live-aboard sailboat—and his love. By that time, she was so head-over-heels crazy about him that she could hardly breathe. Still, she struggled, unwilling to listen to her own heart. Until one day, when she couldn’t resist him anymore….
“I’m calling the fire marshal in the morning,” Seth muttered, breaking in to her thoughts. “I want answers.”
“Seth,” she tried again. “Honey, why—”
“Don’t honey me,” he snapped.
Justine flinched at the rage in his voice.
“It’s been a full week. They should have some information by now, only they’re not telling us. There’s something they don’t want me to know and I’m going to find out what.” He looked directly at her then, probably for the first time since she’d entered the room. Splaying his fingers through his hair, he released a slow breath. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to take this out on you.”
“I know.” Justine got up and walked into his arms, pressing her soft body against his, urging him to relax. “Come back to bed and try to sleep,” she said.
He shook his head. “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is The Lighthouse going up in smoke.”
Seth had arrived a few minutes after the fire trucks and stood by helplessly as the restaurant, engulfed in flames, had quickly become a lost cause.
“I can’t believe it was Anson Butler,” Justine said, thinking out loud. She’d liked the boy and had trusted him—which, according to her friends and neighbors, had been a mistake.
“You don’t want to believe it’s him,” her husband returned, the anger back in the clipped harshness of his words.
That was true. Seth had hired Anson several months earlier. The teenager was paying off court expenses because of a fire he’d set in the city park. He’d had no explanation for why he’d burned down the toolshed. All Justine really knew were the few details Seth had divulged at the time he’d agreed to take the boy on.
To his credit, Anson had turned himself in to the authorities and accepted full responsibility for his actions. That had impressed her husband, and on the recommendation of their accountant and friend, Zachary Cox, who’d become something of a mentor to the boy, Seth had given him a job.
At first Anson had made an effort to prove his worth. He’d shown up early for his shifts and put in extra time, eager to impress his employer. Then within a few weeks, everything had fallen apart. Tony, another dishwasher, had taken a dislike to Anson and the two had exchanged words. From what she understood, they’d also gotten into a shoving match once or twice. As a result of their animosity, the tension in the kitchen had increased. Seth had talked it over with Justine and she’d suggested they separate the two boys. Seth had decided to make Anson a prep cook. Tony didn’t like the idea of Anson getting a promotion, since he’d been on staff longer and remained a dishwasher.
Then money had gone missing from the office, and although others had access to the money box, both Tony and Anson had been seen entering the room. When questioned, Anson claimed he’d been looking for Seth because a supplier had a problem. Tony insisted he’d needed to talk to Seth about his schedule. Both boys were suspects, so Seth felt he had no choice but to lay them both off. The money was never found. Seth blamed himself, because he’d left the safe open, lockbox inside, while he was briefly out of the office.
A week later, The Lighthouse burned to the ground.
“We don’t have any proof it was Anson,” Justine reminded her husband.
“We’ll get proof. Whether he’s the culprit or somebody else is. We’ll find whoever did this.” Seth’s hard mouth was set with determination and his body was tense.
“Try to sleep,” she urged again. Despite his reluctance, she led Seth back to their bedroom.
Together they slipped under the sheets and she moved her body close to his. Seth lay on his back, eyes open, as she slid her leg over his and draped her arm over his powerful chest. He held her tight, as if she were the only solid thing left in a world that had suddenly started to crumble. Kissing his neck, Justine purred softly in his ear, hoping that if they made love, the restlessness in him would ease and he’d be able to relax. But Seth shook his head, rejecting her subtle offer. She swallowed down the hurt and tried not to take it personally. All of this would be over soon, she told herself; soon everything would be back to normal. Justine had to believe this. Without that hope, despair would encroach, and she had to avoid that at any cost. She fought to maintain a positive outlook, for her husband’s sake and for the sake of her marriage.
When Justine woke again, it was morning and Leif was climbing onto her bed, wanting breakfast.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, sitting upright, rubbing her hand tiredly over her face.
Her son dragged his teddy bear onto the bed with him, blue eyes soulful. “In his office.”
That wasn’t a good sign.
“It’s time we got you ready for school,” Justine said briskly, glancing at the clock. Leif’s preschool class was held three days a week, and even though t
heir own schedules had fallen apart, Justine and Seth had done their best to keep Leif’s timetable consistent.
“Daddy’s mad again,” the four-year-old whispered.
Justine sighed. This was an almost daily occurrence, and she worried about the effect of so much tension on their son, who couldn’t possibly understand why Daddy was mad or Mommy sometimes cried.
“Did he growl at you?” Justine asked, then roared like a grizzly bear, shaping her hands into make-believe claws. She crawled across the mattress after her son, distracting him from thoughts about his father.
Leif shrieked and scrambled off the bed, racing for his bedroom. Justine followed and laughingly cornered the boy. Leif’s eyes flashed with delight as she set out his clothes. He insisted on getting dressed on his own these days, so she let him.
After saying a perfunctory goodbye to her husband, Justine delivered Leif to preschool. When she pulled back into the driveway, Seth came out the door to greet her. The April sky was overcast, and rain was imminent—the weather was a perfect reflection of their mood, Justine thought. A sunny day would’ve seemed incongruous when they both felt so fearful and angry.
“I talked to the fire marshal,” her husband announced before she’d even had a chance to get out of her car.
“Did he have any news?”
Seth’s frown darkened. “Nothing he was willing to tell me. The insurance adjuster’s taking his own sweet time, too.”
Justine found herself sighing again. “Seth, these things require patience.” She needed answers as much as he did, but she didn’t want the fire marshal to rush the investigation.
“Don’t you start in on me,” he flared. “We’re losing ground every day. How are we supposed to live without the restaurant?”
“The insurance—”
“I know about the insurance money,” he said, cutting her off. “But that isn’t going to keep our employees from seeking other jobs. It isn’t going to pay back my parents’ investment. They put their trust in me.”
Seth’s parents had invested a significant amount of the start-up money; Seth and Justine paid them monthly and she knew that Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson relied on that income.
Justine didn’t have any solutions for him. She realized he was distressed about more than the financial implications of the fire, but she had no quick or ready answers. “What would you like me to do?” she asked softly. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”
He scowled at her in a way she’d never seen him look before. “What I’d like,” he muttered, “is for you to stop acting as if this is a temporary inconvenience. The Lighthouse is gone. We’ve lost everything, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.” Justine recoiled at the unfairness of his words. He made it sound as if she was some kind of Pollyanna who didn’t fully grasp their situation. “Don’t you realize the last five years are in ashes?” he railed. “Five years of working sixteen-hour days, and for what?”
“But we haven’t lost everything,” she countered, hoping to inject some reason into his tirade. She didn’t mean to be argumentative; she simply wanted Seth to recognize that although this was a dreadful time, they still had each other. They had their child and their house. Together they’d find the strength to start over—if only Seth could let go of this anger.
“You’re doing it again.” He shook his head in barely controlled frustration.
“You want me to be as angry as you are,” she said.
“Yes!” he shouted. “You should be angry. You should want answers the same way I do. You should—”
“More than anything,” she cried, her own control snapping, “I want my husband back. I’m as sick as you are about everything that’s happened. We’ve lost our business, and to me this is horrible, it’s tragic, but it isn’t the end of my world.”
Her husband stared at her, incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “How can you say that?”
“Maybe you’re trying to lose your wife and son, too,” she yelled, and before she could change her mind, she slipped back inside the car, slamming the door. Seth didn’t try to stop her, and that was fine with Justine. She needed to get away from him, too.
Without even looking at him, she started the car and backed out of the driveway at 6 Rainier Drive.
With no real destination, Justine drove into town, just a few blocks from where Leif attended preschool classes. Her son would be in school for another two hours, and she had nothing urgent to do, no one to see, so she walked down to the marina.
Struggling to find meaning in the disaster that had hit her marriage, she sat down on a wooden bench in Waterfront Park and gazed out at the cove. The sky was even darker now, and the water pounded against the rocks near the shore. Everything would be all right when she got home, she told herself. Seth would be sorry for what he’d said, and she—
“Justine, is that you?”
She glanced up to see Warren Saget coming toward her. She offered him a weak smile. She didn’t welcome his company—didn’t want to see anyone right now, but especially Warren, who’d let it be known that he still had strong feelings for her. When she’d declined his proposal, he hadn’t taken it with good grace, and she tended to avoid him.
Not waiting for an invitation, he sat down beside her. “I was sorry to read about the fire.”
The Cedar Cove Chronicle had published a front-page spread about the arson, and everyone in town had been talking about it all week.
“It was…a shock,” she mumbled, suddenly cold.
“You’re going to rebuild, of course?”
She nodded. She couldn’t imagine Seth not wanting to rebuild. In a few months, she reassured herself, all this would be behind them. Everything would go back to normal. Yes, everything would be all right again.
A chill ran up and down her arms as she remembered this was exactly what she’d believed the day they buried Jordan. It was over, she’d thought then. All the relatives would go home and school would start and everything would go on the same as before. Only it hadn’t. How naive she’d been, a thirteen-year-old girl who’d trusted her parents to maintain the steady course of her life. They hadn’t; they couldn’t. Their own suffering had made them unable to cope with hers, destroying their marriage and tearing their family apart. Far from being over, the grief had barely begun.
“Warren,” she said, panic rising inside her all at once. She reached for his hand, gripping it hard. She was hyperventilating; she couldn’t get her breath. She heard herself gasping for air. The world began to spin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice seemed to come from a long way off. “Are you ill?”
“I…don’t know,” she said on a choked whisper, the panic settling in. She felt an overwhelming need to find her mother.
“What should I do?” he asked, placing one arm protectively around her shoulders. “Should I take you to the clinic? Call for an Aid Car?”
She shook her head, feeling small and lost and childlike. “I…I need my mother.”
Warren didn’t hesitate. He leaped to his feet. “I’ll get her.”
“No.” She started to sob. She was an adult. She should be more capable of dealing with the events in her own life. Looking at Warren, she forced herself to take deep, even breaths. She forced her heart to stop racing.
“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Warren said, gently brushing damp hair from her temple. “My poor Justine. Where’s Seth?”
“H-home.” She couldn’t, wouldn’t tell him anything more.
“Should I phone him?”
“No! I—I’m fine now,” she said shakily.
Warren slipped his arm around her and held her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he whispered soothingly. “I’ll take care of you.”
ISBN: 978-1-55254-493-8
THE WYOMING KID
Copyright © 2006 by Debbie Macomber.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in wh
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About the Author
Through both words and deeds, Debbie Macomber inspires women from all walks of life to realize their dreams. Debbie Macomber overcame the obstacles in her own life to become one of the world’s most popular writers. She encourages women to achieve the goals that burn in their hearts as fiercely as the desire to become a bestselling novelist did in her own 15 years ago. When Debbie first decided to write a novel, people called her a hopeless dreamer. She had only a high school degree and was dyslexic. She was also the very young mother of four active children. No one believed she had what it took to write a book—except Debbie. She eventually saved enough money to rent an old typewriter, and every night when the children were asleep, she would sit down to write. She wrote for years. But each time she completed a story and mailed it off to a publisher, the manuscript was returned, stamped “rejected.” As tough as it was to keep her spirits alive, Debbie never gave up. Five long years and thousands of pages later, she received a letter in the afternoon mail. The letter was from Silhouette Books—and they wanted to buy her story. Her first novel, Heartsong, was published as a Silhouette Inspiration in 1984, and it became the first romance novel ever to be reviewed in Publishers Weekly. Today, Debbie is the internationally acclaimed author of more than 100 novels. Popular around the globe, she receives approximately three thousand letters from readers every month. And she responds personally to each one. She lives with her husband in Port Orchard, Washington. Their children are grown and she is now a proud grandmother.
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