Fatal Burn

by Roxanne Rustand

  Embarrassment flooded through Kris at the implication that she was a bad risk.

  “It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “I do have some cash in my purse…but can you tell me why you’re concerned?”

  “Policy. Just—policy.”

  Kris pulled a twenty and a ten out of her billfold and handed it to her. After she had the receipt, change and her purchase in hand, she tried again. “Please? I just need to know.”

  The clerk’s lips compressed into a hard line. “It couldn’t stay a secret long, you know. Not in a good town like this…with decent, hard-working folks.”

  “Secret?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow.

  “About your bad debts and legal troubles.” She almost spat the words. “And drug charges—but you got off of them because of that pretty face.”

  Kris stared at her, stunned and speechless.

  “Like I said, we don’t want trouble around here…and I hope the sheriff is watching you close.”

  She’d paid for her mistakes in the past. Ever since then, she’d worked so hard to turn her life around. To be a responsible, law-abiding citizen. Yet a reputation was such a fragile thing—so easily destroyed. Had Allan managed to spread his lies here? No matter how much she denied them, rumors could fly like the wind, and this wasn’t the first time he’d subtly tried to ruin her.

  “Where did you hear all that?”

  The woman eyed her with suspicion. “You might think this place is backwoods, but that doesn’t mean the truth don’t get around.”

  “Look, my ex-husband was once in a lot of trouble, and I fell into that world for a while, but that happened many years ago. My word is good and my checks are, too. Just ask at the bank.”

  “Maybe…”

  “The sheriff is welcome to do a background check on me anytime. In fact, I imagine he did, before I got to open the animal shelter.” Kris’s shock had grown into anger, and now she took a slow, steadying breath. “Have you never, ever done something you wished you could change? Or found yourself the target of malicious gossip? Please—go talk to him, before you pass judgment. These rumors could ruin my life here.”

  The woman dropped her gaze.

  “And do consider,” Kris added gently, “that anyone passing it along could be sued for slander. I wonder who else in town is guilty of that? I’d like to know.”

  Out in her SUV, Kris started the engine, then draped her shaking hands over the top of the steering wheel and rested her forehead against them.

  Even with today’s temperatures already climbing into the fifties, she felt chilled to the bone. Embarrassed and horrified, to boot.

  The kernel of truth—her shaky financial situation—could make those rumors seem all the more credible.

  She’d come here with little cash, and what she had, she’d been sinking into Thalia’s property.

  And with the growing population of animals at the shelter, she had a long, long list of equipment and supplies that she needed to buy.

  But if one clerk in a tiny consignment shop had heard those rumors, how rampant were they? And how had they started? Her first thought had been Allan or his buddies, but that made no sense.

  Surely even Allan could reason through the logic that he had no chance of trying to wheedle her out of money if she lost her job. And there’d be little return on the risk, if his old friends wanted to harass her. What would they gain?

  These days a person with a credit card and Internet savvy could access legal records and frightening amounts of personal information for a bargain price…then twist the facts to do her harm. But why would anyone here be motivated to do that?

  Yet there’d also been those footprints on the hill.

  The anonymous note.

  The night the dogs had gone wild out in the kennel.

  She reached down and turned the heater to a higher setting as a chill crept deeper into her bones. If it was all related to the same perpetrator, then that person’s actions were escalating, and she didn’t want to find out what could happen next.

  She lifted her gaze toward the sheriff’s office down the street, then turned off the engine and climbed back out. It was time to pay the sheriff a visit.

  TWELVE

  “This was absolutely wonderful, Trace,” Kris said, setting aside her fork. “Such an amazing meal.”

  The candlelight on the table centerpiece danced as a waitress passed by, sending the lean planes and angles of his face into sharp relief. “It’s been a favorite of the locals for years. I think we all hope the tourists don’t find out about it, because it’s busy just as it is.”

  Quiet music filtered through the restaurant, and on a small dance floor in the far corner, an elderly couple followed the steps of a slow waltz in perfect harmony, as if they’d been dancing together all their lives.

  “Isn’t that sweet?” she murmured, canting her head in their direction. “The waitress said they celebrated their fiftieth anniversary last year. Do you like to dance?”

  “It’s out of my league. Would you like dessert? They have a white chocolate cheesecake here that Carrie orders every time.”

  At his swift change of topic, Kris caught her error. He’d once mentioned his rodeo days, and she’d seen him favor his leg more than once, especially on damp and chilly days. “What happened?”

  He flashed a quick grin. “With the cheesecake? Carrie and I ordered it way too often, and we both gained fifty pounds. Easy.”

  “There couldn’t be a spare ounce of fat on either of you anywhere,” she teased.

  “Looks can be so deceiving. Yours, for instance.”

  Her heart stumbled over all of the things in her past that he could mean, but then his eyes turned darker, smoky. And when his wicked grin kicked up a little higher, she felt a sense of reprieve.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You wear jeans and baggy sweatshirts every day. And then you get all cleaned up and look like a rock star. Who knew?”

  In her understated ivory outfit and simple gold chain she knew she was pretty much the polar opposite of a rock star, but his expression was so warm and intent that she felt her cheeks heat. “Tell me about yourself, cowboy.”

  He caught the eye of the waitress, then settled back in his chair. “Not much to say, really.”

  Kris felt the atmosphere cool a few degrees as he dropped his gaze to the multifaceted crystal ball between them that held a single votive.

  “I don’t mean personal stuff,” she added with a laugh. “Just random. Like, Carrie tells me you’ve been a volunteer fireman and the county fire investigator for quite a while, yet I’ve never heard you mention either one. It all sounds fascinating.”

  “It’s a way to give back.” Mr. Conversationalist shifted his attention to a waitress who swooped in close. He spoke to her in a low tone and after she flitted away, he gave Kris an expectant look. “So tell me about you.”

  “That’s fair, I guess. I think I mentioned that I grew up in various small towns around Battle Lake. Foster care, after my mom disappeared.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Died when I was just a toddler. My sister, Emma, was in the system, too, but I haven’t seen her in many years. Once I have enough money, I plan to start searching for her again.”

  The sudden warmth and compassion in his eyes was so strong, so mesmerizing, that for a moment she forgot to breathe.

  “So you’ve been on your own for a long time.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “With the exception of a very youthful error in judgment when I met my ex-husband. Isn’t there a saying, ‘marry in haste, repent at leisure’? We were wrong for each other, and that pretty much ended my longing for family ties. Except for finding my sister Emma—but that search is on hold until I can hire another investigator.”

  “And that’s why you came here, so determined to sell and move on?”

  It was her turn to feel uncomfortable, but she forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “My ex-husband Allan
and his friends got into serious trouble, and I ended up getting involved. With those legal costs plus his staggering amount of debt—in my name, as well—I’ve been struggling ever since. Fixing up Thalia’s estate is taking every penny I’ve got, and the real estate taxes alone will probably wipe me out. I’ll have no choice but to put it on the market.”

  “Carrie mentioned that you want to go back to school, too.”

  “I’ve thought about it for years, though I’m finding the animal shelter is really rewarding. So now, I’m not as sure.” She gave a casual, dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s me in a hundred words or less. I want to hear more about the firefighting part of your life. I think that sounds so amazing—and exciting.”

  He gave a low laugh. “In the movies. In real life it can be hot, exhausting and miserable. Long hours, often in the middle of the night. Sometimes it can be so tragic that it brings you to your knees.”

  “I don’t think I could handle it.”

  “We actually do have four very capable women, and I’m glad to work beside them any day.”

  “But it sounds awfully hard for all of you.” She thought she knew the answer, but she asked him anyway. “So what’s the biggest reward?”

  “This is a small community. People need to pull together. We save people’s homes, businesses and their lives. Like I said, it’s a way to give back.”

  His words were too pat, too practiced, to be complete. “And?”

  The waitress returned with two slices of white chocolate cheesecake garnished with a dollop of dark chocolate whip cream and a cherry on the side, then she disappeared.

  Trace took a bite of his, savored it, and set aside his fork. His mouth lifted into a brief, faint smile, as if he knew he might as well give in and tell her, even if it was hard to share. “I spent a few weeks every summer at my aunt and uncle’s place as a kid. Uncle Jess was a wonderful guy, with twin boys my age.” The shadows in his eyes deepened. “I went off with some buddies for the afternoon, hiking and swimming down at the creek—and then I heard fire engines. We all got excited, thinking something cool was happening in town, so we ran back, whooping and hollering. When I got there, my uncle had already died trying to save my cousins.”

  “Oh, Trace. I’m so sorry.”

  “No one ever figured out the cause of the fire. For the rest of her life my aunt was left to grieve, not knowing if she’d been partly to blame…and I felt the same way. What if I’d left something plugged in that sparked? And what if I’d stayed home and played with my cousins instead of going off on my own? Maybe I could’ve seen the flames and gotten everyone out.”

  “Or maybe you would’ve died, too. It must’ve been a fast fire to trap them like that.”

  “I want to think I could have made a difference.”

  “So now you do, as a firefighter.”

  He shrugged.

  “And you do those fire investigations so other people won’t be left without answers.”

  He looked at her from across the table. “That, and to deal with a bad case of survivor’s guilt, I guess. Carrie keeps badgering me to do less, but I just…can’t.”

  Kris already knew he was a responsible, hardworking and capable man, but the depth of emotion in his eyes touched her heart. “She’s really proud of you, Trace. And I can see why.”

  “If she is, she’s still totally naive. Because I’m not someone to be proud of at all.”

  They lingered for a while longer over their decadent desserts, then Trace drove her home. They kept up a light conversation all the way there…though Trace’s surprising, final statement in the restaurant still sat between them like an elephant in the room.

  She understood that he didn’t want to elaborate, knew that the pain of it was far fresher than the fire of his youth. If he didn’t want to share, so be it.

  Back at Wind Hill she’d left a light on in the kitchen, but he still insisted on walking her to the door.

  She shivered a little as she fumbled with her keys, thinking about good-night kisses and imagining the pleasure his touch might bring…but still knowing this relationship wasn’t at that place and never would be.

  From the corner of her eye she caught a dark, low shadow bounding through the pool of light beneath the security lamp near the house. She spun around, nearly losing her balance on her three-inch heels. “Good heavens—what was that?”

  “A coyote maybe?”

  The shape froze for a moment, then turned for the house. As it drew closer, she saw it was one of the strays that had come in just yesterday.

  “How on earth…” She stared as the dog came to the edge of the porch steps and woofed once, wagging its tail. “Before I left home, I checked every pen and I shut the exterior doors tight. Just like always. He couldn’t have gotten free. Not on his own.”

  Trace glanced at her flimsy shoes. “Change your clothes quick. I’ll take this dog and run down there to start checking on things.”

  “I’ll be right out.” She hurried inside, pulled on a pair of coveralls over her good clothes, yanked on a pair of boots, grabbed a coat and ran for the kennels, her heart pounding.

  What if a grizzly had torn off a door and had attacked the helpless animals inside? What if—

  Trace stepped out of the kennel, his face a grim mask. “Every one of the dogs is gone. The gates are all unlocked. Someone tossed the office, too, and made quite a mess.”

  Stunned, she pulled to a stop in front of him. “All of them?”

  “All but the puppies. The cats and small pets are still there, too.”

  Alarm rushed through her over what had happened while she was out enjoying her dinner. “Blood—is there any blood? Were any of them hurt?”

  “Nothing I could see.”

  “So…it wasn’t a bear, then.”

  “Not unless a bear can manage those safety latches—which I doubt. A grizzly could tear them apart, but these were all unlocked.”

  She closed her eyes, thinking over the past week. “The dogs have been going crazy at night. It first happened Saturday after midnight. Ken came out to look, but he didn’t see any wool or bear tracks—only people’s footprints. So then I figured the dogs were maybe just barking at wolf calls from up in the hills.”

  “Do you have any idea who could’ve done this?”

  “A few thoughts…but the thing right now is that I have to find those dogs. Six of them are on antibiotics, and the vet has bandaging on several. The scent of those wounds could make them very easy prey. And Lucy—poor Lucy will never make it on her own.”

  Trace looked up from his cell phone, his finger poised over the keypad. “Lucy?”

  “An old fellow brought in his beloved old Brittany recently because he just couldn’t care for her anymore. She’s as feeble as he is, and she was a house pet all her life. She won’t last a day out there.”

  Trace punched in a number, spoke to the dispatcher, then clipped the phone to his waist. “A couple of deputies are on their way. The dispatcher wants to know if you want her to run up some volunteers.”

  “In the dark? No…wait, yes—tell her yes. With enough people combing the woods nearby, maybe we can round a lot of the dogs up and get them back to safety. If even one of them dies…” She said a swift, silent prayer, then hurried into the office to paw through the rubble for the two flashlights she kept on the shelf.

  When she came back outside, Trace was talking to someone on the phone. “I’m going,” she mouthed, gesturing toward the woods. “I’ll head east—”

  He broke away from the call. “No—let me go with you. It’s safer that way. We don’t want to range too far at any rate—some volunteers are on their way, and you’ll need to give them directions.”

  “But at least I—”

  “I’m getting my rifle, and we’re going together. The last thing we want to do is get separated or lost out there—especially since we don’t know who might be waiting.”

  THIRTEEN

  Sam Martin and a half-dozen sleepy-lo
oking adults showed up within the hour, flashlights in hand. They stood by the kennel and whispered amongst themselves until Kris caught their attention.

  “Trace and I have found five dogs so far. They hadn’t gone far, and they responded to our calls. That leaves twenty-eight of them on the loose. If they took off running we won’t have a chance tonight…but I’m guessing that most are close by. Some might even come back, knowing they have food and shelter here.

  “I understand that Sam gave you all whistles—give a long whistle if you find a dog. Two blasts if you found one and need help. That way we can all keep a running tally of what we have left. Grab some leashes, and fan out. Can we meet back here in an hour?”

  The volunteers—mostly middle-aged women—nodded in agreement, then headed across the clearing.

  “You should stay here, Trace,” Kris said. “You can coordinate the efforts and make sure everyone is accounted for in case some of these gals head for home early.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re limping. It’s hard going out there in the dark.”

  “That’s nothing new,” he growled. “Let’s go. No one headed straight north, and we haven’t been up there, either.”

  “But—”

  “You can stay here. I’m not. And I’m not limping.”

  She threw up her hands in frustration and joined him in a few strides. “Whatever you say, cowboy. Just remember that I probably can’t carry you back.”

  At the top of the hill overlooking the ranch, she stopped and looked back. “You saw footprints up here, once. Do you suppose it was the same person who let the dogs loose?”

  “Maybe.”

  She slipped on an icy patch and had to grab for some branches to keep from going down. Trace shot an amused look at her but kept walking. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should head back.”

  “No.” Despite the chilly night air, the return of his dry humor warmed her clear to her toes. “But I—”