FIREBRAND

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "Well, best of luck, Mr. Billings."

  "Tom," Billings said as they shook hands.

  "My money and my credit cards were in my room so I'll have to send you a check to settle what I owe."

  "If you do, I'll tear it up. And I meant what I said last night. I owe you big time. Anything I can do, just give a holler."

  "Sure, I'll do that."

  Since his current plan included wiping Grantley off his mental map, he knew, even if Billings didn't, that the chances of their ever seeing each other again were virtually nonexistent. But he'd learned that the majority of fire victims sought to repay those who had helped in one way or another. It seemed to help put the trauma behind them.

  He and Billings exchanged a few more polite words before he turned to leave. He'd taken only a few careful steps when he spied a charred bit of cloth half-buried in the rubble and bent to pick it up. One sniff and his suspicions were confirmed. The cloth smelled of kerosene.

  Billings narrowed his gaze and touched the cloth with an index finger. "Find something interesting?"

  Judd answered the question with one of his own. "Did you use kerosene lanterns in this place?"

  "Yes, small ones. On the tables. Is that important?"

  "Probably not." Judd handed the cloth to the other man, then brushed bits of ash from his fingers. "Hang on to this, though. Whoever comes around to inspect will want to see it."

  "Are you saying that you suspect arson?"

  "A fire fighter learns to expect just about anything, arson included."

  He looked up to find Billings studying him with a speculative expression that made him uneasy. "I assume you're insured."

  "Yes, of course. The bank insisted on full coverage. Darn premiums nearly ruined me." His thin lips slanted into a sardonic grin. "Until last night, I was mad as hell about it."

  Judd had heard the same refrain with different verses before. "Do you plan to rebuild?"

  Billings shrugged. "Sure, as soon as the insurance company settles. The agent promised to get out here sometime today to give me an appraisal."

  Judd eyed the sagging timbers and treacherous pile of rubble. "I assume the code doesn't require sprinklers in this county."

  "No." Billings's face began to close up. "I wanted to install them, but the cost was prohibitive."

  "Depends on your priorities."

  "Yeah, I know that now." Billings glanced east, toward the heart of the historic city. It was the height of the tourist season and the streets were filled with browsers. "Not to speak ill of the dead, you understand, but Mike Kerrigan assured me that they weren't necessary."

  Judd had trouble hiding his shock. "Too bad you didn't follow your own instincts."

  "Yeah, right." Billings glanced toward the sky, and the morning sun glinted off his glasses.

  "I feel worse about the group of investors who bought the opera house last year. They lost their entire investment. Insurance didn't even begin to equal the money they'd put into it." He kicked viciously at a blackened piece of tin. "The only thing they'll get out of it is a tax loss."

  "Happens that way sometimes," Judd said, thinking about Mike. Somehow it didn't seem fair, a man's life in exchange for a write-off on a tax return.

  A starling landed on the end of one charred rafter and sat surveying the cooling wreckage for something to scavenge.

  Without thinking, Judd grabbed a chunk of melted glass and heaved it at the bird's head. It missed, but only by a fraction, sending the starling speeding into the sky with a frantic flurrying of dingy brown wings.

  "Nice shot," Billings said with the first genuine smile Judd had seen cross his face since he'd arrived.

  "Naw, I was aiming for the rafter," Judd told him, eyeing the sky. Puffy rain clouds were crowding the sun, promising a storm later. "Too bad the rain stopped before the fire got started," he said as the two men moved gingerly toward the sidewalk.

  At the curb, they shook hands again. "I don't suppose you would consider applying for the job," Billings asked suddenly.

  "The job?"

  "As fire chief. The County Board of Supervisors is accepting résumés, and I would give you one hell of a recommendation."

  As Judd stared at the dead-serious look on the other man's face, it occurred to him that it had been a long time since anyone had taken him by surprise so completely.

  "How do you know I'm qualified?"

  Billings shrugged. "I spent twenty years in the marines before I retired and bought the hotel. I know a leader when I see one."

  "I have a job." A damn desk job, if the doctors and the brass they'd brainwashed had their way.

  "You also have the look of a man who's searching for something more. Maybe that something is here in Grantley."

  "Once, maybe, but I know now that I was only kidding myself."

  Billings's jaw set in a stubborn line. "C'mon, I'll buy you lunch and we'll talk about it."

  Judd was about to refuse with as much civility as he could summon when a fifties-vintage Chevy convertible just driving by suddenly braked sharply and then backed up until it was parallel to the curb.

  Judd knew the car. It had been Pat's pride and joy.

  Sure enough, the door opened and Darcy hopped out. She wore tailored gray slacks and a bright green shimmery shirt. The dress she'd had on last night had been green, too.

  Not just green, Judd. Emerald green, like Scarlett always wore. Don't you have any romance in your soul at all?

  Billings brightened, clearly glad to see her. "Hi, Darcy."

  "Good morning. How's your mom?"

  "Ornery as ever." Billings grinned, then instantly seemed to catch himself. "Sorry about your Uncle Mike."

  "I … thank you. And thank you for the donation to the Fireman's Benevolent Society in his memory."

  "We're going to miss him. I was just telling Judd here how much." Darcy caught the weighted look Tom shot Judd before returning his gaze to her.

  "What brings you to town so early? Not just to view the dismal remains, I suspect, although just about everyone else in town has been by."

  "Actually, I was heading home from the county building when I saw the two of you, and I wanted a word with Judd before he left."

  Judd saw that she was smiling, but her eyes held a nervousness she couldn't completely hide. He found that nervousness unsettling, maybe because it made her too much like the sixteen-year-old innocent smiling up at him with stars in her eyes.

  Billings glanced quickly from one to the other. "Do you two know each other?"

  Judd caught the quick tightening of her mouth before she found the smile again. "We grew up together." Her gaze darted to his. "Didn't we?"

  "Yeah. Darcy's father caught me stealing tools from his barn when I was fourteen and gave me a choice. Come live with him and behave myself, or spend some time as a guest of the state in reform school. I didn't much care for the idea of prison, so I took Pat up on his offer. Six years later I repaid him by setting his barn on fire. He died saving my life. I left the day after his funeral and I haven't been back since."

  Billings blinked, then blinked again. "I … see."

  Judd held his gaze steady on the other man's. "Yeah, I thought you would."

  With a curt nod that included Darcy, as well, Judd turned to leave, but Darcy stepped in front of him. "I just heard … about Lucy Billings, I mean. It's all over town how you saved her life."

  "Surprised?"

  The sarcastic edge to his voice hurt, even though she deserved it. "Before you go, I, uh, want to apologize for the way I acted last night."

  "Why?"

  "Because last night I didn't know that you were a fireman."

  "And that makes a difference?"

  Darcy felt a sharp pain in her palms and realized that she was fisting her hands so tightly the nails were digging into flesh.

  "Yes."

  "I'm no hero, Darcy. Just a guy doing his job."

  "You're deathly afraid of fires. Sean-O told me."

  H
is mouth twisted, etching deeper lines into his lean cheeks. His brows tore together in a black scowl.

  "Puts a whole different spin on things, doesn't it, Red?"

  "Yes," she whispered through a suddenly constricted throat. "More than you can possibly imagine."

  Agony flared in his eyes before he controlled it the way he seemed to control everything in his life. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other."

  Two strides and he would have been safely past her. If she hadn't stepped closer, if she hadn't lifted both hands to his face, stretched to tiptoe and kissed him.

  Judd had taken his share of body slams over the years and even a few blindside smashes, but nothing, nothing, had rocked him back like that swift soft brush of her lips over his.

  He palmed her wrists and tore her hands away from his face.

  "Why?" His voice was suddenly gravelly, forcing him to swallow before he could demand harshly, "Why the hell did you do that?"

  "Because I owed you a public apology. And maybe because you looked like you needed it."

  Before he could respond, she gave Tom a bear hug, murmured something about visiting his mother before she headed back to the ranch, then ran back to the car.

  "Something tells me I walked into a pitched battle," Billings muttered as the two men watched her roar away in a cloud of blue exhaust. "Or was that the final skirmish?"

  "Damned if I know," Judd muttered, then scowled when Billings chuckled.

  The fire alarm shrilled once, sending a different alarm humming through Judd like a charge before he thought to look at his watch. It was the noon whistle, something else that hadn't changed.

  "What day is it?" he asked.

  "Friday, why?"

  "Does Groler's Drugstore still serve triple hamburgers for lunch on Fridays?"

  "Sure does."

  "C'mon, I'll buy, and you can tell me more about this job offer you keep throwing my way."

  The greasy meal lay heavy in Judd's stomach as he pushed away his empty plate to make room to rest his forearms on the marble counter.

  "See the window there?" he asked with a nod toward the front of the store. "The one with the fancy gold letters?"

  Billings nodded. "What about it?"

  "I threw a brick through it one night. Smashed the damn thing into about a million pieces."

  "Any particular reason?"

  Judd chuckled. "Yeah, I was mad as hell because old man Groler caught me stealing aspirin and turned me over to my old man for one of his canings."

  Billings spooned a bite of ice cream into his mouth, then wiped his lips with his napkin before asking calmly, "Why steal aspirin, for God's sake?"

  Judd rubbed his temple with his fingers before he realized what he was doing and lowered his hand. "It was for my mother. She was having one of her headaches."

  "Migraine?"

  Judd shrugged. "My old man was a backwoods preacher from the old school. He didn't believe in doctors or medicine. Whatever was wrong, God would fix—if you came up with a good enough prayer, that is. Mom never did quite manage the right one. Nearly went crazy from the pain. Behind his back, she used to beg me to help her."

  Billings tried to contain his surprise, but it showed nevertheless. "Your old man sounds like some kind of nut case."

  "He didn't think so."

  "What about your mother?"

  Judd shrugged. "My father was a driven man with little tolerance for anyone who didn't share his narrow view of right and wrong. She tried, but I think she … just gave up."

  "What about you? Did he try the same thing with you?"

  "Every time I crossed one of his imaginary lines into evil, he demanded repentance, so I made sure he found out just how unrepentant I was. By the time I was twelve I had a reputation that not even he could explain to his congregation. So when I'd just turned fourteen, he packed up his Bible, gave away Mom's furniture and left town. Alone."

  "And your mother?"

  Judd watched the cute teenage girl behind the counter bantering with a gangling teenage boy with peach fuzz where his beard would be someday. His mother had been cute once. He'd seen the pictures before his old man had burned them.

  "She died when I was still a kid. Drowned in the North Umpqua."

  A freak accident during a wild spring storm, his father had told him when he'd come home from school that day. Turner Calhoun hadn't even called him out of school to kiss his mother goodbye before turning her over to the undertaker. By the time he'd made it to the mortuary, they'd already turned her into some kind of wax dummy.

  "I had worked up a good hate for the man before he took off, and when he was gone, I was damn glad. There was no one to tell me what to do, no one to force rules down my throat. I did just fine, or so I kept telling the do-gooders who were determined to save me from hell."

  "Do-gooders like Darcy's dad?"

  Judd reached for his coffee, took a sip, then grimaced. While he'd been talking, it had gotten stone-cold. He drank it down anyway, then shoved aside the cup. As he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the old-fashioned soda fountain.

  He'd been told more than once that he had an attitude problem. The few women he'd allowed to get close had claimed to find it sexy. Others called him a cold S.O.B. to his face. Worse behind his back. Everything they said was deserved. He was tough and usually distant with people he didn't know very well—even when he'd been a scared kid.

  He'd worked so hard at being tough for so long that he'd scared off most folks who might have been genuinely caring. And by the time he'd figured out just how lonely it could be hiding behind a scowl and a boulder-size chip on his shoulder, he had forgotten how to act any other way.

  "At the time I thought the man was the world's biggest sucker. Instead, I ended up damn near worshiping him."

  He slipped off the stool and fished his wallet from his back pocket. "About applying for the chief's job…"

  "Yeah?"

  "Where do I send my résumé?"

  "Send it to the chairman of the County Board of Supervisors."

  "Who's that?"

  "Me."

  Billings's grin had Cheshire cat written all over it as he extended his hand. "Welcome home, Chief."

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "I can't help it, Sean-O. I'm worried about her."

  Bridget added cream to her tea and stirred. For the past week, since Judd Calhoun had officially been sworn in as chief of the Grantley County Fire Department, the town had done little else but buzz about his return.

  Those who had known him as a boy and a teenager were outraged that he'd had the nerve to show his face on the streets after what he'd done.

  Others, newcomers mainly, were pleased and impressed that a community as small as Grantley had attracted a former battalion chief from San Francisco to the chief's office.

  Everyone had an opinion. Everyone but Darcy, who refused to discuss Judd's appointment with anyone, including those closest to her.

  Across the table, Sean-O slapped a black six on a red seven. It was a few minutes to midnight, and the two old friends were sharing a snack before Bridget locked up and Sean-O headed down the lane to the cottage he'd built with his own hands thirty years ago.

  "The girl is tougher than she looks, Bridgie."

  "Red five," Bridget suggested absently before taking a sip of the steaming tea. "She hasn't been sleeping well. Three nights in a row I've come down to find her sitting on the porch swing staring at the river."

  Sean-O glanced up, his eyebrows wiggling as he considered Bridget's words. "She loved the boy. And I think, for all his dark moods, he loved her, too."

  "Then you're more of an old fool than folks take you for, Sean O'Casey."

  Sean-O played out a string, then looked up. "He was at her wedding, did you know that?"

  "Who?"

  "Judd. I saw him with my own eyes, standing there at the back with a wild look about him, like he was hurting so bad he couldn't ke
ep it all inside the way he usually did."

  Bridget snorted. "You were half-drunk by the time the priest started the wedding vows. It's a wonder you weren't seeing Patrick and all the saints in church, too."

  "I know what I saw, sure enough. A man doesn't forget that kind of suffering in another man's face."

  "Suffering, bah. Judd Calhoun is as black-hearted as they come. What that sweet girl ever saw in him, I'll never know, but I do know she's not about to let him close enough to break her heart again."

  Sean-O gave up and gathered up the cards. "I wouldn't be riskin' the family fortune on that," he said, taking longer than usual to get all his bones lined up.

  Bridget stared at him, her teacup halting halfway to her mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I saw his face the night of the wake. If it wasn't his heart I was seeing in those black-as-sin eyes when he was looking at her, I'll take the pledge."

  "Hold him, Bets!" Darcy shouted to her daughter as she ran for the hose. "Don't let go, whatever you do."

  The puppy was part Saint Bernard and part husky and only half-grown, yet he already vastly outweighed the pint-size redhead struggling to hang on to his collar. In spite of his size, however, he'd come in second best in a dispute with a skunk.

  "Ugh, he smells awful!" six-year-old Betsy complained as she tucked her nose against her shoulder, trying to block out the smell of skunk.

  "Stop it, Bear," Darcy scolded when she returned with the hose and turned the spray directly on the struggling pup. "You're only making it worse."

  The puppy jerked against the hold on his collar, whining piteously.

  "Hush, you big baby," Darcy muttered, laughing in spite of her annoyance. "This is your own fault."

  The back door slammed and Betsy's twin, Angel, came running pell-mell across the yard, a small lavender bottle clutched tightly in one grubby fist.

  "I couldn't find the pet stuff so I got the shampoo from your bathroom instead," she shouted when she was closer.

  "Oh, no! Not my Jasmine Secret." Her one remaining self-indulgence, wasted on a mutt with a passion for harassing skunks. This afternoon was definitely going downhill fast.

  "Pour it on his head," she told Angel. "Not too much. Careful! Don't let it get in his eyes!"