With a crack, a chunk of roof snapped off and crashed onto the rocks beside us, sending fragments of ash into air, close enough to singe our clothes.
“We have to move him away from here,” I said urgently.
Owen nodded and wedged his hands under Matthew’s shoulders and knees. He heaved, but Matthew didn’t budge. Owen’s ash-smudged face was pale, his breathing rattling and rough.
“Rusty!” I shouted over my shoulder, straining to see Rusty through the smoke billowing out of the door. “Rusty, where are you?”
Grabbing Matthew’s shoulder myself, I tried to help Owen lift him, but I couldn’t stop shaking, and Matthew was much too heavy for me. I sat back on my heels, struggling for breath, while the fire continued to tear the roof apart. We had to get him to safety, but the task seemed impossible.
Then—at last—sirens wailed in the distance. Louder and louder, slicing through the roar of the fire. Blue lights strobed through orange flames. Suddenly, people in uniform were surrounding us, ushering me and Owen away from the house. Two EMTs lifted Matthew onto a stretcher and wheeled him away, towards an ambulance idling behind what had once been the Lodge.
I glanced up at Owen where we stood in the scrub grass. He coughed again, and I opened my mouth to say that he should go to the hospital, too. Then Officer Not-Rhys appeared in the smoke, his expression colder than ever. My heart sank.
“Larsen,” Not-Rhys barked. “What are you doing here?”
Owen tried to speak, but immediately devolved into another coughing fit. He gestured at the ambulance. Not-Rhys just frowned at him.
I glanced from one man to the other, my anxiety at the sight of Not-Rhys fighting with my desire to defend Owen. “Don’t you get it? He got Matthew out of the house. He saved him!”
Not-Rhys turned to me, eyebrows lifting, but he didn’t press it. He gestured for us to give the first responders more room. We joined the small crowd that had gathered on the beach below us: Rusty, Andy, Kaye, Violet, and Alice. They stared at us, but no one spoke.
Slowly, the flames ebbed under the jets from the fire trucks. We could see the left side of the Lodge again: a mass of charred boards and shingles, sloping downwards to the destroyed front porch.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. “I’ve just remembered.”
Everyone looked at me.
“What is it?” Kaye asked, her eyes huge in her pale face.
I pointed to the pile of black rubble that had once been the octagonal gallery. “Suzanna White’s paintings were in that room.”
Owen’s beautiful portrait and that magnificent seascape were both gone forever.
I knew it was silly, because at least Matthew was alive, but losing Suzanna’s paintings made my heart ache. Poor Suzanna White! Dead at twenty-two, and the fragments of her memory gone so soon, so senselessly.
“You did it.”
Violet was glaring at Owen, all traces of her wolfish smile gone.
“You should just admit it,” Violet said. “We might actually respect you if you did.”
Owen crossed his burly, soot-covered arms over his chest and scowled at her. “Fuck you, Violet.”
“You shouldn’t speak to her like that.”
We all turned at the sound of Scott’s voice. He stood to the south of us on the beach, his hair mussed and his expression fierce.
He strode up to the rest of the group and stood protectively next to Violet. She gave him an annoyed look.
“We all know it was you, Larsen,” Scott hissed. “It’s always you. Admit you burned up Suze’s paintings and we can move on with our lives—”
Shockingly fast, Owen seized Scott by his shirt collar and dragged him across the sand, twisting the fabric tighter and tighter. “Do not call her that, you piece of shit. You do not get to call her that.”
Scott pulled at Owen’s fingers, trying to loosen their grip. Dashing between them, Andy grabbed Owen’s shoulder. “Take it easy, both of you. This isn’t helping—”
“Shut up, Andy!” Violet threw her hands in the air. “God, who do you think you are, the United fucking Nations?”
Owen, though, let go of Scott and stepped away from the group, breathing hard and rough with his back to us, his shoulders heaving.
Scott sneered. “You know you did it, Larsen! You won’t be able to get away with it—”
“How could he have set the fire?” I almost choked on the words. “How could Owen have set the fire? He was talking to me. When we saw it go up, we ran over here, and Owen went in and got Matthew. He saved his life. Remember, Kaye? I called you while Owen was inside the house. And Rusty,” I added, turning to Rusty, who looked nervous and exhausted, “before I came over, he was talking to you, right?”
Rusty nodded.
“For a while, right?” I prompted him.
“Half an hour, an hour,” Rusty said.
I turned back to the others. “So how could Owen have set the fire? Seriously, guys, why are you doing this? I’m sure it was an accident—an electrical problem, or something.”
Owen glanced over his shoulder at me, his face oddly lit by the police spotlights staged around the perimeter of the wrecked house.
“He could have planted an explosive or something.” Violet pursed her lips. “You know, with a timer.”
Owen ran his hands through his hair, and without a word he walked away: a lonely figure blending into the darkness on the beach.
Chapter 10
Kaye rubbed her eyes. “Want another coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I glanced at the clock, again, for the hundredth time. 3:30, thank God. My shift at the Widow’s Walk ended at four. We’d gone to bed last night at around six in the morning, after talking briefly to the police and having—as Andy had called it—a dawn-cap. My Sunday brunch shift, which was normally quite pleasant, had never been so wretched.
“Hey, Miranda, you can take that coffee to-go if you want.” Andy paused mid-stride as he marched through the kitchen.
“Really?”
“Yeah, go on.” He smiled at me. “It was a rough night. And Erin will be here in a minute.”
“You never let me leave early.” Kaye stuck her tongue out at him.
“I like Miranda better than you,” he teased, with a wink that made Kaye blush.
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t stay mad at the two of them, even though they hadn’t stood up for Owen. Everyone had been on edge, not to mention a few drinks in. Violet was obviously intense, and Scott…well, he was never very fun to be around, especially when he was drinking.
I didn’t know why Violet and Scott had decided to pick on Owen, but I recognized scapegoating when I saw it, and I didn’t want any part of it, especially after seeing first-hand how heroic he had been. He had to feel like everyone in town hated him. Maybe Violet and Scott did hate him—maybe there was old, bad blood there—but I didn’t. I should at least tell him that much.
Back at home, I showered and put on a long, cream-colored dress and a necklace made of beaten silver and red coral. I grabbed my leather jacket and headed out the door before I could think too much about what I was doing.
A moment later, I pulled into Owen’s driveway and sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel. I was crazy for coming here. He didn’t care about my opinion of him. Did he?
I thought of standing with him on the dark beach, before the fire, when he’d asked me why I’d flinched.
I had to at least see if he was home.
I got out of my car and walked hesitantly up his walkway. When I knocked on the screen door, it made a spine-rattling metallic clang.
The wooden interior door opened, and Owen frowned down at me through the screen, his jaw clenched tight. He was in his usual flannel button-down and jeans. He must not have shaved this morning. His blond stubble made him look even more like a Viking than usual.
“I…um…just wanted to talk,” I stammered, while my stomach did anxious backflips. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” he said, although his
frown deepened. “Come in.”
He opened the screen door for me, and I stepped into his kitchen. A pot simmered on the stove, sending delicious aromas of beef and beer wafting through the kitchen. I glanced around, half-expecting to see Jenny or some other woman here, but it was just us.
He went to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen and leaned against it, still frowning dispassionately at me. He was as far away from me as he could get without actually leaving the room.
I exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t know where to start.”
Owen said nothing, just took a swig of beer. I recognized the label—it was one of the local craft brews that the Widow’s Walk sold. One of my favorites.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever wondered why I came to Fall Island,” I said, my heart hammering. “Your mum has guessed it, I think,” I added, with a twinge of shame. “I left Connecticut because my ex beat me.”
At this, his eyebrows shot up, and he straightened up from the counter.
“Actually…” My eyes fluttered closed. “That’s not quite right. I mean, he did…do that…but I made up my mind to leave after he canceled the airline tickets I’d gotten to visit my dad in England over Christmas. And then he called my dad and told him I didn’t want to visit because I wanted to help him with his law school exams instead.” I paused, taking another breath, tamping down my anger while tears stung my eyes. “My dad was sick for a long time. I worry about him constantly, and I don’t get to see him much, so…I was upset. They were nonrefundable tickets, too. That part really bothers me, for some reason.”
A week after he’d cancelled the tickets, he’d taken my debit card away, too, telling me I didn’t need to have my own. Anything I needed, I could get from him. I gave a trembling, mirthless laugh, swiping a hand through my hair.
“The thing is,” I said, “it’s only been a few months, and I still have nightmares… I just didn’t want you to think that I flinched like that last night because I don’t like you. I do. Like you.”
He still hadn’t said anything, and I worried that I had misinterpreted how hurt he was, or that he was interested at all. My cheeks burning, I shrugged my purse higher up on my shoulder. “Anyway…I’ll go now. I just…wanted to tell you that.”
I fumbled for the screen door.
“Miranda.”
At the sound of his voice, an electric current raced down my back.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Really?”
“Really.” He smiled. “You like beef stew?”
“I like everything with red meat in it.”
“My kind of woman.”
He got me a beer, and we sat across from each other at the kitchen table. I twined my fingers together.
“Thank you for telling me that,” he said. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I shrugged.
“I kind of thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d scared you off.”
“Yeah?”
“A lot of people are afraid of me.”
“Because you’re enormous?” I said, without thinking.
He laughed. “You think I’m enormous?”
“Have you seen yourself?” I was smiling, too.
“I know I’m tall, but I didn’t think I was some kind of giant.”
“Well, you are.”
“Maybe you’re just tiny. Ever thought of that?”
“I’m average height,” I said indignantly. “I’m hardly a waif, either.”
He grinned. “Definitely not a waif.”
I looked away, blushing again. “So…why did you break up with Jenny?” I blurted out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I almost kissed you last week, and that wouldn’t have been fair to her.”
“Oh,” I squeaked. “Okay.”
“Anyway,” he said, shrugging, “Jenny was not as interested in being with me as she was in fixing me. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah…but what is there about you to fix?”
He shot me an incredulous look. “A man could get a big head talking to you.”
“I’m not normally this nice.”
“Now that I don’t believe.”
“I did wonder why you were with her,” I admitted. “She didn’t seem like much fun.”
“She’s a good person. Not like your ex. But yeah…she has her share of problems.”
He stood up and went to check the stew. Fragrant steam spiraled through the kitchen.
“This is probably done, if you’re hungry already. I know it’s early,” he added apologetically. “I eat early because I get up so early.”
“Eating sounds great to me. What time do you get up?”
“Depending on the job I have to do, four or five.”
“Jesus.”
Chuckling, he ladled stew into two bowls. He placed a bowl down in front of me, along with silverware and a slice of French bread. I stared at it.
“Something wrong?”
“I can’t remember the last time a man made me dinner. I started cooking for my dad and me when I was just a kid.”
“I like to cook.” Owen sat down across from me and dipped a bit of bread in his stew. “I like making things, I guess.”
I took my first bite of stew and found it to be even more delicious than I’d expected. “You have your own business, building arbors and such, right? Do you like it?”
“I like being my own boss,” he said. “I never intended to do it forever.”
“What would you do instead?”
“Don’t know. Sometimes I think about opening up an instrument shop.”
“That’s a great idea!” It wasn’t hard to imagine a little shop in the center of town, with row after row of violins and other instruments, just like the ones in his workshop.
His smile turned wry. “It’s not very practical.”
“Neither is what I want to do.”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“I want to teach art,” I explained. “But I never went to college. Yesterday Kaye was giving me a pep talk about how it’s not too late to go back to school, and I…really want to believe her.”
He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. “Would be nice. I never went, either, but I would’ve liked to.”
“For what?”
“Once, it would’ve been music,” he said. “Music performance. But now I’d focus more on finance and management. Running a business is hard, and a store would be even harder.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.”
“For years,” he replied. “I love working with instruments. Making new ones, repairing old ones. I sell some of mine already, but…” He shrugged. “I’d like to do more than that, I guess.”
I asked him about his cello, and we chatted a bit about his progress while we ate second helpings of stew.
Afterwards, Owen cleared up, gruffly refusing my offer of help. I lingered awkwardly next to the table for a moment, trying not to stare at the muscles in his back moving while he stacked dishes in the sink. Before I could get any more ideas in my head, I stood up and slid my leather jacket on over my long dress.
“I should get going. Thank you so much for dinner.”
He dried his hands on a dishtowel and came to stand beside me at the door. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Surprise shivered through me. “Work at three, but otherwise nothing,” I told him, trying not to sound as eager as I felt.
“I know this will be hard to believe, but apparently my mom has a new puppy. I thought maybe you’d like to meet him.”
“So…she has seven dogs now?”
“Supposedly she isn’t keeping this one, but she always says that.”
I laughed. “Well, sure, I’d love to see him.”
“Meet me here first?” He propped one arm up against the doorframe, his bicep flexing. His dark eyes fell to my jacket, and, very lightly, he drew the si
des of his fingers along the soft wool collar, an inch from the high, cream-white neckline of my dress. “You look like a fallen angel in this.” His voice, low and rough, made me light-headed.
“I…um… Thank you.”
I had one hand on the door, but I couldn’t stop staring at him long enough to actually leave.
I tore myself away and pushed the door open. “Good night.”
“Night, Miranda.”
The next morning, I pulled on a silk halter-top, jeans, and my high-heeled boots. That felt too plain, so I added about a dozen bangles, all in different colors. They shone and clinked together, and I felt, more than ever, like myself.
“Where are you off to this early?” Kaye asked, when I came downstairs. She was lying on the couch, with a book of famous photographs propped up on her chest.
“Claire’s. She’s got a new dog.”
“Another one?” Kaye laughed. “Oh, man.”
“Yup. So I’m going to go meet him.”
“It’s cute how she has adopted you.”
“Hmm,” I said, not thrilled with the idea of adoption in this particular context.
When I pulled into Owen’s driveway, he was sitting on his front stoop with his forearms resting on his knees, wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt that hugged his shoulders. He smiled up at me. “You look beautiful.”
I flushed. “Hello to you, too.”
“I thought we might walk there, since it’s so nice out.” He stood up and brushed off his jeans. “Unless you’d rather drive?”
I smiled. “A walk sounds nice.”
“Can you walk in those boots?”
“Of course,” I said indignantly.
“Oh, right—you’re the girl who went hiking in high heels.”
“For your information, they were wedges. Much more stable. Also, that was supposed to be an easy trail. I didn’t know it was going to be a mountain.”
“That was not a mountain, it was a rock,” Owen said patiently. “I’ll take you to see a real mountain if you want, but you’ll have to wear something sensible.”
“What if we started out by just looking at a mountain…maybe from someplace flat?”
“We can do that.” He smiled sidelong at me. “How about the beach? That’s pretty flat.”
Set Me Free Page 7
