After You Were Gone

by Alexis Harrington

  All she had to put on besides her smoky clothes was one of Mitchell’s athletic shirts. Fortunately, it was so long it fell to midthigh on her, but she was still conscious of its scanty coverage.

  This was a bare-bones room with nothing that even remotely approached basic hotel standards. The drapes and bedspread had a drab look of the 1990s, and the towels were thin. The carpet had seen the traffic of countless footsteps, stains, spills, and vacuum cleaners, and the orange ceramic bedside lamp had a plastic-and-paper shade. But it was tidy in here, and the paint was fairly new. And as a compensating bonus, the shower didn’t skimp on water or pressure.

  “Feel better?” Mitchell was propped up against the pillows on the queen-size bed, waiting for his turn in the shower. They had both been tense and quiet since arriving here, while everything that had happened soaked in.

  “A little,” she said. Despite the dreary surroundings and the horror of the night’s events, she realized she felt safe here with Mitchell. But there was a hollow ache in her that throbbed whenever she pictured Bickham’s standing helpless while flames licked its beams and poured out of the dark, eyeless windows on the second floor, dragging it toward an unexpected death. She couldn’t get the image out of her head. It was as if the building had possessed a thriving spirit of its own. “It hurts. A lot.”

  “The damage to your store?”

  She nodded, feeling her chin starting to tremble again. “I was so proud of how it turned out after we fixed it up. It looked so sweet, and I was doing good business, too. But from the beginning, I had nothing but trouble.” She snagged a tissue from the dispenser mounted on the bathroom wall.

  “Darcy’s in custody,” he said.

  “Really? Did you call the police?”

  “Yep. Jimmy Ortiz, their detective, told me they caught him practically red-handed. No pun intended. He smelled like gasoline and had two more firebombs in the Escort. He was with Cherry at her apartment, but I don’t think they’ve charged her.” He tossed aside the newspaper he’d been reading. “Ortiz sounded pumped to capture another Tucker, even if it wasn’t me.”

  She froze in the bathroom doorway. “Two more firebombs. What if his next stop was going to be the farm?”

  He hitched his brows, and his expression grew pensive. “I thought of that. It sounds like he was on a rampage. If he hadn’t stopped at Cherry’s, or the cops hadn’t found him when they did, he might have done just that.” He slanted her an appreciative look. “I like your nightie. But after we find something for you to wear tomorrow, we’ll have to go by the station to give them a statement. I put your pj’s in the washer outside in the breezeway, but there are burn holes in them. You’ll definitely need something else.” He patted the mattress, inviting her over. “Come on, Juli, rest your weary self.”

  She came to the edge of the bed and sat down next to him. “Thank you, Mitchell—for everything.” She glanced down at his hands and arms, at the old burn scars from what seemed like a lifetime ago, and traced light, gentle fingers over them. She also noticed a couple of new burns on one arm. “Oh God, no. I hope you didn’t get hurt tonight, sweetie.”

  He looked up at her, seeming surprised by her endearment, and his furrowed expression softened, like a clenched fist opening into a welcoming hand. For an instant he closed his eyes; then he drew in a deep breath. “No. I’m good.”

  She leaned closer and took him into her arms, pressing his forehead to her collarbone. “When we had dinner at Paisano’s, I said that I appreciated the gesture of your apology. Forgiveness, though—I just wasn’t ready for that.” She rested her chin against his temple. “You have that from me now. I owe you that, and more. You’ve been a good friend to me, probably the best I ever had.”

  He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “Julianne”—his throat sounded constricted and he cleared it—“you don’t know how much that means to me. Even when I was royally pissed off at you all those years ago, it was because I loved you so much and I knew I had let you down. Well, and I hated losing you to any man.” He looked her straight on. “I learned something a couple of days ago that I want to tell you about. It has to do with the night the barn burned down.”

  Julianne smiled, but she felt her stomach flip again. “But we’ve decided that we’re starting over. No looking back anymore—right?”

  “Yeah, but this is important. And it changes a lot of things.”

  Would this night never end? They’d had more than enough to deal with in the past twenty-four hours. “Mitchell, I can’t take more bad news.”

  “This is great news.”

  Still apprehensive, she agreed. “Well, okay.”

  He kept her hand in his. “James told me that Darcy set the barn fire. Not me.”

  She stared at him. “You—he—Darcy killed Wes? James said that?”

  “Yes, he said it, and yes, Darcy really did kill him, with willful intent. He knew Wes was in there before he lit it.”

  She tried to pull her hand away. It was almost like hearing it again for the first time. “Why?” she mourned, horrified. “It’s so brutal! So—so heartless! What grudge did he have against Wes? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going to try to explain it.” He sighed. “It’s hard to think this about a family member, but I think he just wanted to kill someone. It’s as if he has no soul. Wes was a ready-made opportunity.”

  Over the next few minutes, Julianne sat transfixed, both appalled and relieved to hear his story.

  “You’re sure James is telling you the truth?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I am.” His voice dropped, and his eyes reflected his own sense of betrayal and loss at the discovery. “I can’t think of one reason why he’d lie. He doesn’t have the same evil heart that Darcy and Earl do. Besides, it took a lot of courage for him to tell me to my face that I went to prison for nothing.”

  “Oh God.” She looked at their joined hands. “How could Darcy be so cruel? He let Wes burn to death in there, then stood back and let you take the blame when he knew you were innocent.” She paused, then added, “So you didn’t really need my forgiveness.”

  “Of course I did. It was my bad idea to come to your place to begin with. If I hadn’t thought of it, maybe Wes would still be around and all our lives would have turned out differently.” He thought about it for a moment and frowned slightly. “But then—you’d still be married to him.”

  Her brows knitted, too.

  “Anyway I’m grateful to have it because you gave it to me even when you thought I was guilty. I didn’t tell you until now because I wasn’t fit company for anyone for a couple of days after I found out.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “Mitchell, I’m so sorry. For everything. For the seven years you lost, for being stubborn and not listening to you—”

  “Juli, honey, don’t. This is all Darcy’s doing. I’m just glad that James decided to speak up. And that he told me what he thought Darcy was planning to do tonight.”

  She pulled the towel off her hair and lay down beside him on the ugly bedspread. “You’re my true hero, you know?”

  He made some self-deprecating noise. “I don’t know . . . I just did what anyone . . . I had to . . . um . . .”

  She laughed a little, amused by his embarrassment. “I don’t think you can deny that you saved my life. There’s no getting around it.”

  He hauled her into his arms. “I don’t know what I would have done if things had gone differently. I saw that fire explode from down the street and I just started running.” Rolling her over on her back, he covered her with his body, solid and warm, and rained soft kisses over her face. “I’m glad I was there. I’m on my knees, thanking God that I was there.” His kiss traveled to her mouth. “If I’d lost you . . . if I’d lost you . . . ,” he murmured against her lips, then took them. The kiss deepened, and the scent of hospitality shampoo gave way to the smell of charred wood. The fundamental instinct to survive and fierce urgency drove their actions. Julianne tugged at Mitchell’s belt buckl
e and almost succeeded in getting it open when his hand swept up the inside of her thigh and reached for the slick tenderness beneath her shirt. For an instant, the surprise, the thrill, stilled her hands, and she lay on the mattress with one knee drawn up, unable to do more than surrender to his ministrations.

  She wiggled around in the long shirt, and its neckline pulled lower, releasing one breast. He captured the nipple in his mouth and tugged slightly, sending a current pulsing low and hot through her belly.

  “No one will ever take you from me again,” he promised, ripping open his fly buttons and stripping off his jeans. “Not in this life. You’re mine.” He pushed up the hem of the shirt and plunged himself into her. “And I’m yours.”

  The sensation of being filled, completed, made her gasp, and she arched her back to press closer to him. Clinging to him desperately, she wound her fingers in his hair. “Always,” she swore. They moved in perfect sync, and she felt pulled closer and closer to a knife-edge of the night, where only lovers went and time stopped.

  She knew he forced himself to delay his own release while she tumbled over waves of intense spasms. He whispered to her with his voice and his body, urging her on while she moaned his name.

  “Mitchell,” she begged, “please—come to me. I’m ready for you—give yourself to me, now.”

  “You can have it all. My soul and my love,” he muttered. “They already belong to you.” He wrapped one arm under her and plunged home to her again and yet again, surrendering his whole self. They were one now, as they’d never been before.

  They lay locked together and silent for a few moments, waiting for their hearts to slow.

  Julianne grew groggy with the sleep that was about to claim her, and she heard Mitchell’s breathing smooth out and deepen. Shifting a bit, she stirred the bedding when she moved, and a whiff of campfire blew back on them.

  “Okay, let me up,” he said, awake now. He disentangled himself from her embrace. “I’d better get that shower. I don’t want to fall asleep with that burned smell on me.” He stood, showing her a fascinating rear view of a man, naked except for the white T-shirt he wore.

  She lay back against her pillow, admiring his long-muscled legs and backside.

  “Oh, and tomorrow while you’re buying stuff to get you through the next few days, you might want to think about something to wear to the courthouse when we get married.”

  Married! Wide awake again, Julianne sat up and pulled him down to the bed again by the back of his shirt. He landed with a screeching bounce forced out of the tired mattress. “Oh really. Did I miss it the first time you asked, or is this a backhanded proposal?”

  His face flushed. “Sorry. That was pretty clumsy.”

  “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

  He took her hand. “You deserve so much more than I can give you right now. But if you’re my wife, I’ll make sure that you’re never short of my love, respect, or honor. I’ll keep you safe and defend you against anyone.” He glanced around the room. “We are not going to live like this, I hope you know. This is just for a few nights. But no matter where we are, if we’re together, we’ll be home.”

  Swamped with emotion, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Mitchell . . . I love you so much,” she whispered.

  “What do you say, Julianne? Will you marry me?”

  She stared at him. She’d never heard him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her something so heartfelt. A year ago, she couldn’t have imagined she would be at this point and with this man. She had rejoiced when he was sent to prison. Now, knowing the whole truth and remembering how she had treated him when they first met again, she felt a wave of remorse. “Yes, I will. Mitchell—I’m so glad you came back to Gila Rock.” She sighed. “I wish things had been different from the start, all those years ago.”

  “No looking back, remember?” he said, and kissed her.

  She nodded and kissed him again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Detective Jimmy Ortiz stared at Julianne and Mitchell across his desk in the tiny, cramped office at county sheriff headquarters. Mostly he bore down on Mitchell, like a pit viper trying to outstare its prey. Mitchell was determined to remain unruffled by the scrutiny—he knew his healing face still looked as if he’d been in a bar fight—but he sensed Julianne becoming annoyed. She wasn’t accustomed to treatment like this.

  He was.

  The smell of hours-old, burned coffee, microwaved frozen entrees, cologne, and painted cinder block created a familiar but depressing atmosphere. The one bright spot was a dusty green plant in the corner, which he realized was artificial.

  “You keep turning up as my special guest, Tucker.”

  “The party isn’t for me this time, Detective.”

  The short, stocky man frowned at him. Mitchell stayed cool.

  “I didn’t hear about a scuffle at Lupe’s, so I assume you got those panda eyes from somewhere else.”

  “Excuse me, Detective Ortiz,” Julianne cut in, “I’d appreciate your help. We’ve both given our statements. Do you have any information to offer about this whole thing?”

  He dragged his gaze away from Mitchell and focused on her. His manners improved. “Ma’am, we know who set fire to your establishment.”

  “Yes, I know that, too. Has Darcy told you anything, such as a reason for his actions?”

  “No. So far, he says he’s innocent. GRFD is still investigating the exact cause—after all, we want to make sure we’ve got every t crossed and i dotted for a solid lock on the case. I think we recovered enough evidence to go on last night, but we’re also holding him on an outstanding assault warrant from Culberson County.”

  Brows rose. Mitchell didn’t know about that one, although it was no surprise.

  “He claims someone else is responsible for the fire.” Ortiz pushed his chair back, flipped through his notes. “Someone named Cade Lindgren, and he says Lindgren conspired with Cherry Claxton. I think you filed a complaint about him recently?”

  “Cade? And—and Cherry?” Julianne looked poleaxed. Mitchell was not as shocked, not about Lindgren at any rate. But Cherry, wow. He knew she could be a bitch, but he hadn’t realized the depth of her vindictive scheming. Anyway, they didn’t even know if it was true. Yet.

  “Obviously, we’re going to question her to find out just how much she knows.”

  “You said last night that they found my brother at her place with firebombs in his car, that he smelled like gasoline,” Mitchell reminded him.

  Ortiz lightened up a bit with the attitude. “Yeah, it’s strong evidence. Plus, we have James Tucker’s statement.”

  “You haven’t found Lindgren?” Mitchell asked. They should have, he thought. From what he could tell about the man, Cade Lindgren was probably sitting at home with his mom and dad, watching old reruns of Matlock and waiting for the police to show up. Then again, he might be hiding out somewhere.

  “No. His parents swear up and down they don’t know where he is, and we sent a car by the Boyce place two or three times to see if he was staying there.”

  “Nothing?” Juli asked, a nervous little catch in her voice. “I haven’t had a chance to get the locks changed. He told me he parks behind a bunch of creosote bushes down the road from my driveway.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get him. We put out a BOLO on him.”

  Juli sent a quizzical glance at Mitchell.

  “Be on the lookout,” he translated.

  “Did my brother James give you a statement?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yeah, we’re following up on that, too.” Ortiz looked vaguely disappointed. He probably couldn’t bear the idea the Mitchell was innocent.

  Julianne tightened her grip on the tissue wadded up in her hand and tried to keep from losing her temper. She just wanted to get out of here. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Then I’ll wait to hear from you, Detective. If you’ll excuse me, there are a lot of problems that need my attention.”


  “We’ll be in touch,” Ortiz confirmed, then cast a final, sour look at Mitchell.

  Mitchell flashed her a concerned look and stood, too. He put a hand under her elbow and guided her back to the main door.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, casually subtle as she paced around the institution-green hallway.

  “I’m so angry I was afraid I might slap that man. If someone in this building had taken me seriously from the beginning, I might not be in this position.” Her thongs clapped against the linoleum tile floor, emphasizing her indignation. “Now he’s telling me they’ll get it all sorted out. I don’t know if I believe it. And they should have been able to find Cade. That shouldn’t be hard. He’s probably in Cuervo Blanco, running the counter at the family store.” She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Let’s just go. I have to buy more clothes and I don’t know what-all.”

  Mitchell had gone out this morning to get her a T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and flip-flops at Dot’s Fashion Corral so she could leave the motel room. Otherwise, she felt like someone with no history, no home, no anything.

  When they’d stopped to look at Bickham’s in the daylight, the sight was so devastating she’d had to bite her lip, hard, to keep from dissolving into hysterical sobbing. Initial figures from Gila Rock Fire Department estimated the damage to the structure at about 35 percent. Not a complete disaster—mostly the front of the building—but bad enough. A fire investigator had still been poking around in the ruins. He’d allowed her to get her purse from the back office, but for the time being, that was all. There was no way to tell how much smoke and water damage had been done to the rest of the building and its contents.

  She’d called her insurance rep again. There had been an awkward moment of silence before he responded to her latest news to tell her that she was probably covered for this with money to spare. But it wouldn’t surprise her at all to receive a cancellation in the mail. The insurance company must see her as a dismal liability.