Nothing To Lose

by RaeAnne Thayne

  The flames hadn’t made it to this part of the house yet, he saw with relief when he reached the back door, though smoke seeped out from around the door frame.

  The dog’s barking was louder now, frantic and wild, and she was scratching against the door so hard it shook.

  Wyatt tugged the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. Damn. He should have thought to have Taylor give him the key, but then, given the urgency of the situation, now probably wasn’t the greatest time to have to mess with a lock.

  “Hang on, pup,” he called to the dog, though he knew Belle likely couldn’t hear him over her barking and the growl of the flames. With tension seething through his veins like that smoke, he scanned Taylor’s small brick patio for anything he could use to break into the house. He finally settled on a heavy clay planter.

  Taylor wouldn’t mind the sacrifice for the greater good, he knew, so he lifted the planter and swung it with a mighty heave through the small window inset in the door.

  The window shattered with a crash and smoke instantly billowed out in a thick gray cloud.

  Wyatt dug his mouth and nose into his jacket, then reached inside to work the lock. His fingers fumbled with it for a moment but he finally heard a click and it slid free.

  The instant he wrenched open the door, a furry russet shape bolted out and raced toward a corner of the backyard, her barks frenzied and determined now instead of frightened.

  What was she barking at? he wondered. The dog had just escaped a fiery death and her first thought was to chase after a stray cat?

  “Come on, Belle,” he called. The dog snarled once more into the darkness, then hurried to follow him as Wyatt made his way around the crackling flames.

  They arrived around the front of the house just as a ladder truck pulled up. Taylor gasped with relief when she saw Wyatt and Belle, and dropped to her knees in the grass to embrace the dog.

  When she looked up again, her eyes were dark with emotion. “Oh, Wyatt. Thank you!”

  He wasn’t a hero. He wanted to tell her to stop looking at him like he was, but before he could, a gruff-voiced fire-fighter decked out in full Nomex ordered them out of the way so crews could do their job.

  Wyatt led her and the dog to a neighbor’s yard, where they joined a gathering crowd.

  Wyatt could imagine few things more heartbreaking than standing in the cool October night with Taylor, holding her while they watched the firefighters’ feeble efforts to save her home and belongings. After a half hour of standing by helplessly, Wyatt could see now that their efforts would be in vain. The fire burned too fast, too hot. At this rate, he would be surprised if even a wall was left standing.

  She grew more quiet, more fragile, as the minutes ticked past, until now she stood next to him like a slim, silent wraith.

  “I bought this house after my father died.”

  They were the first words she had whispered in at least ten minutes and he could barely hear her over the cacophony of flames and firefighters. He said nothing, just tightened his arm around her, wishing he could do more.

  “Hunter moved out years before, and our family home was too big after the Judge died for just me. I didn’t want to rent some cold, impersonal apartment. This seemed like a good compromise—close to the hospital and downtown. I loved being part of a neighborhood. Mowing the lawn on Saturday mornings, taking muffins over when someone was sick, painting and decorating. It was my escape from the pressures of med school—”

  Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and Wyatt pulled her closer, turning her away from the fire to nestle against him. She slid her arms around his waist and tucked her head under his chin.

  “I’m sorry, Taylor,” he murmured, hating the inadequacy of the words.

  “All my things were inside. Everything.”

  “The firefighters might be able to save some of it. You might find it’s not a total loss.”

  She tilted her head to meet his gaze, and he saw stark reality in her blue eyes. She said nothing but he could see she knew his words were mere platitudes, that the fire would leave very little once its destructive power burned out.

  He hated that he couldn’t fix this for her. He wanted so much to spare her this loss, to make all the devastation disappear. He pulled her tighter, stunned and unnerved by the tenderness settling in his chest.

  What had happened to his much-vaunted objectivity? Somehow in the last week everything had changed. Right now, with her in his arms, he knew he had been kidding himself.

  He couldn’t be cool and distant with Taylor Bradshaw. He had known from those very first days of the trial that she brought out this impulse to protect, to hold her close and keep her safe.

  That impulse sharpened at the approach of a man wearing a fire department uniform but without protective gear. The man was lean and tough with graying hair, piercing blue eyes and a nickel-sized scar on one cheek. From a flying cinder? Wyatt wondered.

  “Are you the owners of the dwelling?” he asked in a voice roughened by the acrid smoke.

  Taylor pulled out of Wyatt’s arms, color staining her pale cheeks. “I’m Taylor Bradshaw. I live here.”

  “Chief inspector Kirby,” the man said. “While the crews are finishing up here, can you tell me if you have any idea how the fire might have started?”

  In the flickering glow from the fire and the flashing emergency lights, her eyes were wide, distressed. “I don’t know. We smelled smoke when we returned from a meeting, so I assume it started while we were gone.”

  She gave a helpless shrug that made Wyatt want to pull her close again.

  “I’ve been trying to think if I left anything on—an appliance or something—but I can’t think what it might be. I wasn’t cooking or ironing or anything else like that before we left. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Kirby said, and Wyatt wondered if he was only imagining the implied accusation in the statement.

  “Ms. Bradshaw has been with me for the past two hours interviewing a source for a book. I can personally vouch for her whereabouts during that time and so can our source if necessary.”

  The fire inspector turned probing blue eyes in his direction. “And you are?”

  “Wyatt McKinnon. I’m a friend.”

  The ice in those eyes thawed slightly and Wyatt was slightly embarrassed to see recognition of his name there.

  “I’ve enjoyed your books,” the inspector said. “Especially Point of Origin.”

  “Why would you need to vouch for my whereabouts?” Taylor asked suddenly, before Wyatt could respond. “Am I some kind of suspect or something?”

  Her frown deepened, and Wyatt saw the same grim conclusion he had arrived at some time earlier dawn in her eyes. “You think the fire was set deliberately?”

  The inspector seemed far more friendly now—compassionate, even—as he turned back to her. “It’s too soon to say for certain, ma’am, but I can tell you there are signs that certainly point in that direction. By all indications, an accelerant was used near the southeast corner of the house. We found traces of gasoline spilled around the foundation where the fire is burning most intensely. We’ll know better when it cools and we can do a trace analysis.”

  “That’s impossible! Who would do this?”

  “That’s something we’ll do our best to find out, ma’am.”

  Another fire official called his name and gestured for him. Kirby nodded tightly to them and hurried away with a long, ground-eating stride.

  “This can’t be happening.” Despite her height, Taylor looked small and frightened standing in the cold, her eyes devastated. “Why would anyone want to do this to me?”

  From the extensive research he did for a book he had written about a northern California town terrorized for month by an arsonist, Wyatt knew the deadliest fires happened in the middle of the night when people were generally sleeping. By the time the smoke woke them, sometimes it was too late to escape.

  An early evening fir
e would probably cause mostly property damage—that’s the time of day when people were usually awake, fixing dinner, watching television, just going about the business of life. They were alert to their environment and would most likely be able to smell smoke and escape in time.

  His gut told him this fire wasn’t meant to hurt her. He couldn’t help thinking about the note she received. Maybe the fire was a more sinister variation on the same theme.

  “A warning?” he asked quietly.

  She stared at him for one long, stark second, then realization clicked into her eyes. If possible, she paled a few more shades, and would have sagged to the ground if he hadn’t reached for her.

  “Let’s just slow down here,” he said, kicking himself for his bluntness, for springing his suspicions on her without warning. “We don’t know anything yet. It might be arson, Kirby said. But then, it might be something else like wiring or a faulty furnace. We won’t know until inspectors have time for a full investigation.”

  She looked ill. “Someone wants to stop us. We’re getting too close. That’s what this is about. It has to be.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I know it.” She closed her eyes. “What if I hadn’t taken my laptop with me tonight? I would have lost everything!”

  He remembered her office, all those neatly organized files. Hunter Central. “How much do you estimate you lost?”

  “You saw the information I had. I had one full file cabinet with newspaper clippings and court documents. I’m going to have to start over collecting everything. There is nothing irreplaceable but it’s going to take time for me to duplicate what I had.”

  He had to admit, he was inclined to believe the fire was connected to that threat she had received. If the fire didn’t scare her away from investigating her brother’s case—and from what he knew of Taylor Bradshaw, he knew it wouldn’t—it would at least set her back.

  He couldn’t help wonder how many other twists and turns this case would take before they were done.

  What a surreal experience, standing in the cold night air and watching her life go up in smoke.

  Taylor wasn’t sure how long she and Wyatt and Belle watched the fire crews valiantly fight to save her house. Time seemed distorted—rushing by one moment, then slowing to an excruciating crawl the next.

  They were losing, though. She could see it in the faces of the firefighters, in the way the adrenaline spike they rode in on seemed to give way, first to a grim determination and then to a weary resignation.

  The fire was mostly out—only a few hot spots remained—but through the smoke she at last could begin to see the extent of the damage that had been wrought. Only a few timbers of two skeletal walls remained. Everything else was gone.

  Was this bleak devastation similar to what Hunter had felt after his arrest? She felt as if her entire life—twenty-six years—had just been snatched away from her.

  Her father’s desk, all her lovely books, the few mementos she had of her mother. Everything was gone.

  She couldn’t begin to process the devastating loss. Or how Kate was going to feel when she learned her home and belongings were gone forever, too.

  “Do you and Belle have a place to stay?”

  Wyatt’s voice broke through her grim inventory, and Taylor blew out a long, exhausted breath. What would she have done without Wyatt’s calm, steady presence? Throughout the entire ordeal he had stayed by her side, wiping away the stray tears that mortified her, supporting her during her brief conversations with firefighters, keeping her together when she feared she would shatter.

  She was a mess even with him at her side—without him she knew she would probably be curled up in fetal position on the grass, sobbing her eyes out.

  Still, for a moment she couldn’t think how to answer his question. She could barely focus on enduring the next moment—forget about trying to figure out where she would sleep.

  “My family has a cabin in Little Cottonwood Canyon. A house, really. Hunter lived there, but it’s been empty since his arrest.”

  “You can’t stay up there by yourself.”

  She blinked at his firm tone. “Why not? I’ve been staying here by myself since Kate went to Guatemala.”

  “That was before someone torched your house.”

  “I can’t stay in some impersonal hotel,” she said. “What would I do with Belle?”

  “Come home with me.”

  She stared at him, stunned by the offer.

  “I don’t want you to be alone, Taylor. You shouldn’t have to be. I have more than enough room at my ranch and Belle would have all the space she needs to run. She’ll even have friends—I’ve got a couple border collies that work with the cattle.”

  She opened her mouth to argue that he had done more than enough already, that she couldn’t continue to rely on him, but the words clogged in her throat.

  The thought of being alone, of staying in that big, isolated house in the canyon, filled her with cold dread.

  “I don’t have anything. Clothes, pajamas. Nothing. I don’t even have a leash for Belle.” The staggering reality of all she had lost seemed suddenly too much to endure. Her eyes burned and she fought down a thick sob.

  Wyatt seemed to sense her distress. He pulled her to him again and she let herself lean into his strength.

  “She won’t need a leash on my ranch, and you can wear something of mine tonight,” he said. “I’ll take you shopping for whatever you need tomorrow.”

  She needed everything. Just thinking about all she had to do—the myriad details necessary to rebuild a life—paralyzed her.

  It was foolish to push aside his help, especially when she found the thought of having someone there to help her with the details—even to provide moral support—immensely comforting.

  “All right. Thank you.”

  “Come on. Let’s give Kirby a number where he can reach you, then we’ll get you and Belle out of here.”

  Just this once, she promised herself, she could lean on him.

  She would worry about the danger to her heart later.

  She was going to wring his sneaky neck, Taylor thought the next morning as she faced Wyatt across the sun-splashed Mexican tile of his kitchen work island.

  “Your brother is getting married here? And you didn’t think to mention this to me last night before dragging me up here?”

  To his credit, he looked a little abashed. “Sorry. I guess it slipped my mind.”

  “You’re having two hundred people here tomorrow and it slipped your mind?”

  “You have to admit, I was a little busy, what with learning about police corruption and the death threats and your house burning up and all. It was a pretty full evening.”

  Oh, she was tired. Her eyes were as gritty and red as if she’d dumped a bucket of sand on her head, and her temples throbbed. How much stemmed from the traumatic events of the night before and how much was from her lack of sleep, Taylor couldn’t say.

  She hadn’t been able to get through to Kate in Gualemala until the early hours of the morning. And though the guest room Wyatt showed her to was charming and comfortable, her mind had raced for hours before she had finally dropped into an exhausted sleep.

  Maybe she would be dealing with this better if she wasn’t so tired. “I can’t stay here. Surely you see that. The last thing you need on your hands is a homeless, clothes-less, everything-less waif and her dog. I’ll just open the cabin.”

  “Of course you can stay here. Why not? Lynn—my mother—and Gage’s fiancée, Allie, are handling all the details for the wedding. As best man, all I have to do is take Gage out to try to get him good and sauced tonight, then show up in the monkey suit tomorrow. The rest of my time is free.”

  “I’m a stranger. I don’t even know your family. They won’t want me here at such an important family time!”

  “I want you here and it’s my house. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.”

  Wyatt shrugged, so nonchalant, th
at she wanted to belt him. Could he really be so oblivious? Could he really not see how awkward and out of place she would be?

  Wyatt went on. “Besides, my mother will adore you. She’s always looking for a new cause. She’ll take one look at you and your homeless dog and take to you like a honeybee to a petunia.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear to a wedding.” She heard the purely feminine whine in her voice and despised herself for it. She decided she despised him more when he only laughed and pulled her into his arms for a quick, unexpected hug.

  “Have I mentioned how much I like that outfit you’re wearing?” he murmured, a low note in his voice that sent shivers down her spine.

  She grimaced and looked down at his T-shirt, which skimmed past her knees.

  Her clothes had been ruined by the fire. They were soot-stained and smoky and she couldn’t bear the idea of putting them on again, though she knew she would have to when they went shopping later.

  She stepped away, needing the safety of a little distance from him. “Right. Like I’m going to show up at your older brother’s wedding in a ratty T-shirt.”

  “Hey, I love that shirt.”

  “It shows, McKinnon.”

  He laughed and returned to the scrambled eggs he was stirring. “You won’t have to wear it much longer. Mom and Allie are on their way over with some girlie stuff for you to borrow until we can go shopping.”

  “Right now?” She forgot all about her angst over the next day’s wedding celebrations in the far more immediate trepidation of meeting his family so unexpectedly.

  He nodded. “I called earlier this morning and explained the situation to my mother. She’ll set you up with everything you need and then you and I can escape all the caterers and the decorators and the rest of the wedding craziness by running to Ogden to buy whatever else you need.”

  “Wyatt—” she began, but whatever argument she was trying to form flew out of her head as she heard a car pull up outside, then the excited chatter of high, female voices.

  “That would be the troops.” Wyatt smiled.

  “Already?” Panic spurted through her. “I need some clothes. What will they think if they come in and find me like this?”