Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  He moved over beside her and put a tentative hand on her soft hair.

  She raised her head. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, her face blotchy and soaking wet. Her nose was running. She was incredibly beautiful.

  “Shannon, please don’t cry.” His throat tightened, and he had to clear it. “Don’t, please.” He hunkered down, one knee on the floor. “I didn’t mean those things I said. I got scared, see. I thought when I hit you and you went down like that I’d maybe broken some ribs or damaged your spine—”

  Before she could answer, a male voice from right behind him said, “Shannon? You want me to get this guy out of here?”

  John, still down on one knee, turned toward the door. It was the carpenter he’d seen outside, and the two dogs were with him. Cleo was barking like a fool, and Pepsi started growling deep in his throat, then dashed over and bit into John’s pant leg, doing his best to rip the fabric and reach flesh.

  John tried to dislodge the animal without hurting him, and got nipped in the process. He swore under his breath and tried again to shove the dog away. The man was giving him a threatening look from under his billed cap.

  “You gonna hit the dog, too?” he said. “He’s small enough.”

  This was just about enough. John had to raise his voice over the noise of Cleo’s barking. “Look, mister, clear out, okay? And take these damn dogs with you. We’re trying to have a private conversation here.”

  “Yeah? And is that what you were having when you hit her?”

  Speechless, John gaped at him. “It—I—hey, it wasn’t like that,” he managed to stammer.

  The guy took several steps toward him, and John saw that he had a pronounced limp. “Oh, yeah? I just heard you admit that you’d hit her. Look at her face, all bruised up. Ask me, she oughta be calling the cops. What kind of a spineless creep hits a woman and knocks her down, anyhow?”

  John backed up and raised both hands. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got the wrong idea here—”

  “Aaron,” Shannon managed to say through a stuffed nose. “It’s okay, we’re just—”

  Before she could say anything else, the front door burst open and Patrick appeared. He ignored Aaron and John and the dogs and sat down beside his sister, throwing a protective arm around her.

  “Hey, kid, I just heard. Are you okay?”

  Pepsi was on the attack again, gnawing John’s shoelaces, and Cleo was giving out woofs loud enough to make the windows rattle.

  “Shut up, Cleo,” Patrick hollered, and for a moment the dog did. Patrick turned back to Shannon. “Are you hurt? Sean called me. He said there was some kind of shoot-out over at that damn warehouse, and you were there. He said Bernie told him you were knocked out cold. What the hell happened?”

  Aaron was bent over, quieting Cleo. He stood up again. “What happened,” he said heatedly, “is that this dude here hit her. I heard him admit it just now. Said he knocked her down. And far as I can see, she doesn’t want him around. She came running in the house and he followed her in uninvited.”

  “John didn’t mean to hit me,” Shannon said in a muffled tone, but then she started sobbing again.

  Patrick got to his feet and advanced on John, fists balled. “You punched my sister?”

  There was a coffee table between them, but John wasn’t about to back up this time. He didn’t want a fistfight with Patrick, but neither was he going to let Shannon’s brother land one on him over a misunderstanding. He tried to move around the table and almost tripped on Pepsi, still worrying away at his shoelaces.

  “Stop this. Stop it, Patrick.” Shannon sprang up and put herself between Patrick and John. “Let me explain.”

  “Get away from me, kid,” Patrick ordered, trying to push her to one side, but Shannon clung to him. “I checked on you, Forester,” he said. “You’re no fireman. Nobody seems to know who the hell you are—”

  “Listen, Patrick, just listen to me here,” Shannon said, trying to intervene. “I know who he is—”

  “What the hell’s going on in here?”

  Along with everyone else, John turned toward the door. Shannon’s father had just come in. Cleo started barking again.

  “Shannon?” Caleb raised his voice over the noise of the dog. “Are you all right, honey?” He took in Shannon’s swollen eyes and scraped cheek and scowled. “Look at you. Sean called me, said you’d been involved in some shoot-up over at the warehouse. He said you might have a concussion or some such thing.”

  “Yeah, thanks to Forester here,” Patrick snarled. “He punched her out.”

  “He what?” Caleb’s expression turned thunderous.

  “He did no such thing.” It was obvious nobody was listening to Shannon. She turned to John. “Please, please, just go now. Leave. I can’t take any more of this. Please, John?”

  The quaver in her voice and the pleading look she shot him did it.

  John turned, dragging Pepsi, who was attached to his pants again, and headed for the door.

  “Pepsi, enough.” Aaron snapped his fingers at the animal, and miraculously, it let go and settled meekly at his feet.

  John was halfway down the sidewalk when Willow and Donald parked across the street. They were in Donald’s half ton. They got out, and Donald tried to take Willow’s hand, but she jerked it away. They were obviously still arguing as John started the Corvette.

  He was just pulling away from the curb when a red van arrived and Shannon’s mother scrambled out.

  When he was halfway down the block, a fire truck passed him. It didn’t have its sirens on, and he could see through the rearview that it, too, pulled up in front of Shannon’s house. Sean jumped down and went trotting up the sidewalk.

  Family.

  John had taken on a lot of powerful organizations over the years, and he’d almost always won. The O’Shea establishment was way too strong for him to challenge.

  He swallowed against a tightness in his throat. At least he didn’t have to worry about her being alone. He should never have gotten involved with her, he’d known that, but the attraction had been more than he could resist. Now it was time to walk away, but some weak and needy part of him wouldn’t let go.

  Feeling worse than he’d felt in his entire life, John headed for the peace and quiet—the familiarity—of the police station.

  He had work to do. If Odom was conscious, he’d put pressure on him right away, let him know in no uncertain terms what happened to criminals who tried to murder FBI agents. He could play him and Gruber off against each other. John had a hunch they’d give up the names of the other smugglers without too much coaxing. He could probably get through all of that tonight, and then he had no reason to stay on in Courage Bay. He’d pack up his stuff at the motel, drive to L.A., return the Corvette to the rental agency and catch the first flight back to New York in the morning.

  “HE CHECKED OUT?” Shannon stared at the desk clerk. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, and her voice came out reedy and thin. “When? When did he check out?”

  “It must have been sometime during the night.” The clerk punched something into the computer. “Here we go, J. Forester, checkout time 2:00 a.m.”

  It was 9:25. He’d be on a flight to New York by now. So that was that.

  Shannon turned away from the motel desk and walked out into the California sunshine. It was a glorious morning and was going to be a hot day. She didn’t have to go to work. She could go to the beach; she hadn’t been to the beach for weeks. The salt water and sun would help her aching muscles. Or she could drop in on Linda at the hospital. Or she could go home and help Aaron finish the back deck. Just because an affair had ended, there was no reason to curl up and die, right?

  Wrong. The sun seeped into her skin and her teeth began to chatter.

  She’d never felt as cold or alone in her life, and she had only herself to blame. This was what hysterical tears got you. She’d always known crying was a waste of time and effort. If she’d managed to get hold of herself
yesterday, at least she and John could have had a discussion, reached a mutual truce, parted like reasonable adults.

  But no, she’d started bawling and couldn’t stop, and then Aaron got the wrong idea, and her entire family had converged on her, and everything went spiraling out of control. She could have handled either John or her relatives, but the combination did her in.

  After he left, it had seemed to take her forever to explain what had gone on at the warehouse, because she couldn’t stop crying when she got to the part about the woman pointing that gun at John. And because she hardly ever cried, Patrick and her father and Sean—and especially her mother—had all freaked. They’d decided she had a concussion, and they’d hauled her, practically kicking and screaming, off to Emergency.

  There, the damn E.R. doctor had ordered X rays in case she had a hairline fracture, decided she might actually have a minor concussion, and kept her under observation for hours, with her father and Patrick standing guard as if she were some sort of prisoner.

  She’d finally thought to ask if Odom had survived. When the doctor confirmed that he had, Shannon couldn’t figure out whether she felt relieved or disappointed.

  It was four in the morning by the time she got home, and by then she was too exhausted to do anything except crawl into bed.

  This morning, Willow had awakened her at eight with coffee, a freshly baked muffin and the news that she was leaving. She’d decided to drive back to New Jersey with Aaron. They were going as soon as the back deck was completed, probably in two days.

  “I’ll work at the clinic today, getting things in order, and then I’m sure Lisa can find someone else on a moment’s notice. It’s a really good job,” Willow added, for all the world as if she was doing Lisa a favor by walking out. And maybe she was.

  “I feel I should give my marriage one more chance,” Willow had declared with a dramatic sigh. “For Aaron’s sake as much as anything. Being around you and your family has taught me that no matter how old children are, they still need their parents.”

  It was tough, but Shannon held her tongue. She hadn’t been able to resist one question, however. “What about Uncle Donald?”

  Willow hadn’t batted an eyelid. “As I told him last night, we’ve been such good friends. He’s helped me through a very difficult time in my life. But I’m afraid the chemistry just isn’t there. I’m sure there’s a wonderful lady for him somewhere.”

  Uncle Donald had met his match, but Shannon couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She knew firsthand how much it hurt to be dumped. Maybe she should find her uncle, and the two of them could be miserable together.

  But the fact was she had no energy for anything, and she needed a long rest from her relatives. She’d go home and spend the day lying on the couch watching soaps. And with effort, maybe she could keep from crying.

  SHE PULLED IN BEHIND Aaron’s pickup and got out, wondering if her legs would carry her into the house.

  There was no sign of the dogs. Male voices sounded from the backyard. One stood out, and a shiver of recognition made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Slowly, knowing she must be wrong but unable to stop herself from hoping, she walked around the corner.

  Cleo came bounding toward her, barking a welcome. Pepsi stayed beside Aaron, who was measuring a piece of cedar while John held it. He saw Shannon and let go, and the board toppled off the sawhorse. Aaron bent to pick it up, and John started toward her.

  Don’t make a fool of yourself, she warned. He probably just needs a statement from you to complete his investigation.

  “Shannon.” He stopped two feet away, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from touching him. She centered her gaze on the half-finished deck to avoid looking at him. But she could smell him, the sun on his shirt, the scent of his aftershave.

  “Hi, John.” Good. Really cool, O’Shea. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on a plane heading for New York.” Doofus. Now he knows you checked on him. Keep talking, distract him. “Where’s your Corvette? I didn’t see it out front.”

  “I returned it to the rental place.”

  “In L.A.? So how did you get back here?” Stick to the trivial stuff.

  “Taxi. I had to come back. I forgot something.”

  She was right. He just needed her version of the warehouse thing.

  “How’d the investigation go?”

  “About like I figured it would. Odom wants clemency in exchange for giving up his buddies. He swears it was Gruber who set the warehouse fire. She’s singing a different tune, insisting it was all Odom. They both coughed up the same names, and their accomplices will be in custody by tonight.”

  “So I guess you need me to sign a statement or swear out a deposition or something?” She was tough; she could handle this. She managed to look up at him, and the intensity in his bloodshot brown eyes made her catch her breath.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I came back because I didn’t tell you thanks for saving my life yesterday.”

  “Oh. That. Well.” It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. At least he wasn’t hollering at her anymore for being there in the first place. “I probably never thanked you for saving Salvage and me, either.”

  “Yeah, I got to thinking about that. There’s an old Chinese proverb that says if you save someone’s life, that life is your responsibility forever after.”

  “Wow.” This was one strange conversation. She was having problems keeping up. Maybe that concussion had been more serious than she realized. “I guess that puts a whole new twist on rescue work, huh?”

  He nodded, but he didn’t smile the way she’d thought he might. “I saved your life, and then you saved mine, which means we’re responsible for one another forever, right? So I decided the only solution was for you to marry me.”

  “Marry you?” Shannon gaped at him. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and all she seemed able to do was repeat it. “Marry you?”

  “Yeah.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I know it sounds like a crazy idea. We come from different backgrounds, we live at opposite ends of the country and there’s all sorts of problems. Like my mother, she’s a biggie. You’d have to put up with her. And then there’s your family. I’m not really good at families. And your brother Patrick isn’t a big fan of mine.”

  She was shaking her head. “No, I mean he understands now. I explained to all of them about you, who you were, what happened yesterday.” John wasn’t really listening, she could tell. As usual, he had some sort of agenda, and he was doggedly making his way through it.

  “And then there’s the whole issue of babies. I’m not really sure whether I want babies. They’re so—small.”

  Babies? She was starting to get annoyed here. He hadn’t kissed her or anything, and now he was on to babies? “Let me get this straight, Forester. McManus. Sebastian.” Lordy, she could barely get his name straight. “You’re trying to talk me out of this before I even give you an answer? So why ask in the first place?”

  She heard him swallow hard. He looked a little green around the edges.

  “Because—because I love you.”

  The simplicity of his words took her breath away.

  “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t care where—here, New York, wherever. As long as we’re together.”

  She was marginally aware of Pepsi sneaking up on them, growling deep in his throat, but then John reached for her and pulled her close, and everything went out of her head. His mouth felt so good, hot and arousing and familiar. She kissed him back hard, startled when he jerked away.

  “Ouch. Damn.” He hopped on one foot, trying to dislodge Pepsi, who was attached to his right ankle.

  “Pepsi.” Shannon bent down and tugged at him, and the cursed animal nipped her hand.

  From somewhere nearby, Aaron said in a quiet voice, “Pepsi. Come here.”

  The dog let go and scampered off.

  Shannon sighed and moved in for a replay of the kiss, but
John caught her shoulders and held her away.

  “Are you going to give me an answer or not?” He was starting to look annoyed, and she could feel the tension in his arms. “You’ve never said you loved me. Although why I’d take your word for anything is beyond me.”

  “What were the questions again?” Damn, she was starting to enjoy herself.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you love me? Will—you—marry—me?” When she still didn’t say anything, he started to look a little uncertain. “My mother’s not really that bad. When she’s sober, she can be a lot of fun. And you do have Pepsi. I’d take my mother any old day over that miserable dog.”

  She wasn’t going to have Pepsi much longer. She’d decided a minute ago she was giving him to Aaron. They actually liked each other. But she didn’t tell John that. Let him sweat a little.

  “I’ll take you to Tortola on our honeymoon. You’ll like it there.”

  Bribery, no less. This was getting better and better. “Tortola? Where the heck is Tortola?”

  “In the Virgin Islands.” His hands tightened on her shoulders and he gave her a little shake. “Shannon, stop changing the subject. Are you going to marry me, or do I have to arm wrestle you first?”

  “Nope, that’s not a good way to start a relationship, because I’d win. And for the rest of our lives, you’d go around telling people I trapped you.”

  He thought that over for a second.

  “So you do love me. And you will marry me.” His voice shook with emotion. “Say it, O’Shea. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I do. I will. Yes.”

  He started to smile a little, but she saw the tears in his eyes, and she understood for the first time how terribly vulnerable he was. He needed honesty from her. It was time to stop teasing and tell him the absolute truth. It took great courage, but she did it.