Midnight Sun (Sinclair Sisters) (24 page)

“I should have had it fixed,” Charity said, trying not to look at Call, afraid he would see how much she had missed him.

Call took off his hiking boots and socks, preparing to go into the water to examine the damage to the bridge. “I know it looked ready to fall down any minute, but ol’ Mose had it all reinforced just a couple of years ago.” Walking past her, he went down the bank and sloshed into the creek, pausing where the wood had broken apart, examining first one side and then the other.

“Come here and look at this, Charity.”

She was wearing khaki shorts like his, the kind with all the pockets, her legs lightly tanned from working in the long hours of sun. She did as he had—removed her tennis shoes and socks and waded into the creek, which was still darned cold even with the hot July weather. “What is it?”

“This is where it broke. See how it splintered?”

“I see it.”

“Look how smooth the wood is right here.”

She reached down and studied the broken edge of the wood, felt a small, uneasy shiver. “It looks like someone cut it.”

“Exactly. It’s rough and uneven where it splintered, smooth where it was sawed. Someone cut it partway through. Eventually it was bound to collapse—and it did.”

A little streak of fear slid through her. “You don’t think this has anything to do with—”

“No. Even if the bridge had gone down all the way, this time of year, there wasn’t much danger of anyone getting hurt.” He took her hand and helped her climb back up the bank to the road where her Ford was parked.

“A couple of days ago, the engine on your dredge went out. Today the bridge went down.” He looked up the hill toward the north side of the property. “I think someone wants to teach you a lesson.”

Charity’s gaze followed his and she knew in an instant who had cut the bridge. “Buck.”

“That’d be my guess. He was furious the day you fired him. I guess he wants to pay you back … or maybe show you how much you need him to help you run the Lily Rose.” Call started walking toward his Jeep. “I think I’ll have another little talk with your former employee.”

Charity fell in beside him. “I’m going with you.”

He looked down at her and she thought he was going to argue. Instead, he nodded. “Let me unhook the winch and we’ll go have our little chat.”

Toby stood next to Maude and Jenny as the Jeep rolled up the hill in a cloud of dust. “Since we can’t get Charity’s car back to the cabin, why don’t we drive it over to Call’s, at least get it off the road. We can have something cold to drink while we’re waiting for them to get back.”

“You two go on,” Maude said. “I’ll just take myself on home. Can’t get my truck ’cross the creek till the bridge is fixed, and the walk’ll do me good.”

“You sure, Grama?”

“Go on with Toby. Charity give us the afternoon off. Might as well make some use of it.”

Toby could have kissed her. He had asked Jenny to go into town with him Friday night, but she had refused, and he had ended up waiting for Call to get home from Seattle and going in the following morning. It was obvious Jenny still felt shy around him, though he thought she was beginning to like him.

She sure looked pretty today, with her light brown curls all windblown and her cheeks glowing from the sun. He tried to keep his eyes on her face. Her tank top had gotten wet in the river and he could see the outline of her breasts and the hard little points of her nipples.

“You think Buck Johnson sawed down the bridge?” she asked as he helped her into the front seat of the Explorer, careful not to look at anything he shouldn’t.

“He’s the kind of guy who would.” Toby slammed the door, rounded the car to the driver’s side, got in and cranked the engine.

“He seems like a mean one,” Jenny said. “I knew someone like that once.”

Toby flicked her a glance as he drove the Explorer down the dirt road and turned onto the sturdy metal bridge Call had constructed in front of his house.

“Who was he?” Toby parked on a pad beside the garage and turned off the engine.

“A boy I used to date.”

When she didn’t say more, he helped her out of the car and took hold of her hand. “What was his name … the guy you used to date?”

Jenny stared down at her hiking books. She had really small feet. “Gerald Rollins. Everyone called him Jazz.” She looked up at him. “I thought he was really cool at first. He was four years older than me … so mature, I thought. He wore lots of leather and he smoked. I thought I was cool, too, just because he was interested in someone like me.”

He tightened his hold on her hand. “Any guy with half a brain would be interested in you, Jenny. Don’t you know that?”

They didn’t go inside the house, but skirted the buildings and went out in the back. There was a cedar deck out there and a rocky little feeder stream that ran across the yard and drained into the creek. They sat down on the wooden swing and Toby began to gently rock it.

“Why’d you break up with him?” he asked, somehow knowing the guy she was talking about was involved in the sadness that seemed to haunt her.

Jenny looked down at her hands. They were dainty, just like her feet. “He beat me up.”

Toby stiffened, stopped moving the swing.

“It happened more than once,” Jenny said softly. “Every time it did, Jazz would say he was sorry, that he loved me so much he couldn’t live without me. He begged me to forgive him and like a fool, I did. If it hadn’t been for my dad …” She broke off, shook her head.

Toby’s arm rested on the back of the swing and he settled it around her shoulders, easing her against him.

“Not all guys are like that, Jenny. I’d never hurt you. I’d never do anything to make you unhappy.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think you would ever hurt anyone, Toby.”

Her hair smelled like sunshine. He nuzzled his nose in the downy-soft curls, inhaled the clean fragrance. “Is that the reason you came up here?”

Tension crept into her shoulders. “One of the reasons.”

She slowly eased away from him and he didn’t try to stop her. He could see she had said all she would and he didn’t want to scare her away.

“Still want that soft drink?” he asked.

Jenny smiled. “I’d love one.”

Toby got up to get it though he didn’t really want to leave. He glanced at Jenny one last time, saw her sitting there stiffly, the swing unmoving. Her smile was gone and the sadness was back in her face.

Call drove up in Buck’s front yard, stirring up dust as he slammed on the brake. He and Charity both climbed out of the Jeep and he led her to the door. The house was a simple, wood-frame structure painted gray with peeling white trim. What had once been flowerboxes sitting neatly beneath the windows were now overgrown with weeds. When Betty Johnson lived there, the place had probably looked a lot better.

Call pounded on the door but no one answered.

He hammered away again and heard the sound of Buck’s heavy footfalls coming toward them across the living room floor. Dressed in a frayed white undershirt and a pair of dirty coveralls, Buck pulled open the door.

His busy dark eyebrows slammed together. “What do you want?”

Call’s jaw hardened. “I think you know what I want. It seems Ms. Sinclair has been having some problems. I thought you understood what would happen to you if you gave her any kind of trouble.”

Buck’s barrel chest swelled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kinky brown hair on his back and shoulders curled around the straps of his undershirt.

“So you aren’t the one who put sand in the engine of the dredge? You didn’t go over there while she was out of town and cut the supports on her bridge?”

Buck’s jaw went slack. He looked stunned. “No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t do none of those things.”

Call felt Charity’s presence beside him. She stared past Buck into the darkness inside the house. “Where’s Tyler?”

Buck’s eyes darted over her head. “Ty’s … Ty’s gone into town.”

Call’s thoughts mirrored Charity’s. “But he’s staying here now. He’s out here for the summer. He was here this weekend while Charity was away.”

Buck edged backward as if he wanted to run inside and slam the door. “My boy wouldn’t do those things, neither.”

“Who’re you trying to kid, Buck? Your boy’s got a mean streak wider than the one you’ve got.”

“You’re wrong. He’s a good boy, Ty is.”

“Yeah, well, that good boy of yours is about to be carted off to jail.” Gripping Charity’s arm, Call turned and started walking.

“Wait a minute!” Buck called after them. “You can’t do that.”

Call stopped and turned. “Someone’s stirring up trouble on the Lily Rose. Ty’s been in this kind of trouble before, and since Ms. Sinclair fired you—his father—the week before, he’s got a motive. You think the Mounties aren’t going to know exactly who’s behind this?”

Buck’s glance flicked for an instant toward the living room and Call realized the kid must be inside.

“Listen … Hear me out. Tyler’s already on probation for some problems he had down in Whitehorse. You bring in the Mounties, they’ll put him in prison.”

“He should have thought of that before he destroyed the bridge.” Call tossed a glance at Charity and they started walking away.

“What if he makes it right? What if he fixes the bridge?”

“Not good enough,” Call said. “Not this time.”

“Okay, okay.” Buck turned around and spoke into the darkened living room. “You better come out here, son.”

There was some low, grumbling conversation, and a few minutes later, Tyler Johnson appeared in the doorway.

“All right, all right. Look, it was a joke, okay? A couple of my buddies came out for the weekend and we got a little drunk. We thought it would be funny.”

Beside him, Charity’s back went rigid. “I’m sure it was hilarious—to you and your friends. It wasn’t a bit funny to Call, who had to spend his time winching my car out of the creek.”

“Okay—so I’ll pay you back.”

“How?” Call asked.

“I told you, I got friends. I’ll borrow the money from them.”

“I’ll tell you what …” Call gave him a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “You and your
buddies
go down to the Lily Rose and fix that bridge. You’ve got a week to get it done. If it isn’t finished by then, we’re calling the authorities and you and your friends can deal with them instead of me.”

“Wait a minute!”

“And you’ll also work enough to pay the cost of fixing that engine. Take it or leave it.”

Tyler clamped down on his jaw.

Buck stuck a thumb beneath the strap of his undershirt and began to slide it between his thick fingers. “You’d better do it, boy.”

Ty glared at Call, then dragged in a breath and slowly nodded. “All right, dammit. I’ll fix the goddamn bridge.”

“And you’ll watch your language in front of Ms. Sinclair.”

Tyler ground his teeth.

“You start in the morning. Be there at seven and don’t be late.” Call settled a hand at Charity’s waist, wishing he could pop the little smart ass a good one.
That’s what you get,
he thought,
when you let your children run wild.
If ever there was a kid who needed a good, old-fashioned licking, it was Tyler Johnson.

He glanced down at Charity, walking silently beside him. Her blond hair fell like a golden curtain around her slender shoulders and her waist felt small and curvy beneath his hand. He wished he wasn’t so damned glad to see her.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he said, hoping he had put an end to her troubles.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks for helping.”

“I don’t trust that kid. For that matter, I don’t trust either one of them.”

“Neither do I.”

“Ty’s really pissed off. He might do something even more idiotic than cutting down your bridge. Maybe I’d better spend the night.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was going to say them. The truth was, he wanted to stay. He wanted to sleep with her, wanted to wake up with her. He had missed making love to her and he didn’t even mind Mose’s too-short iron bed if Charity was in it. He hated feeling that way, but he did.

She was looking up at him, smiling so brightly his chest began to feel tight.

“I think that might be a good idea,” she said, and he wondered if she had missed him, too. “I’ll fix dinner if you bring over a bottle of wine.”

He relaxed, found himself smiling back at her. Charity had made that easy to do when it used to be so hard. “Deal.”

By a little after six, he was back at her cabin, sitting at the table in the kitchen while she worked at making them supper. She was wearing shorts and he admired her long, shapely legs, nicely tanned now, maybe a little more sleekly muscled from her hours of hard work. He wanted to run his hands over her delectable little body, along the inside of her thighs, right up under the hem of her shorts. He knew what he would find there, knew the softness, the dampness that would surface when he touched her, and his shaft went achingly hard.

He wanted her, dammit, wanted to forget about supper and make love to her, but it didn’t seem fair to Charity, not when he’d gone out of his way to avoid her all week.

He had never been so physically attracted to a woman, never felt the constant edge of desire she aroused in him, but he wasn’t going to allow that attraction to become any more than that.

He reminded himself he had nothing to worry about, that Charity would be leaving in a few more months and that would be the end of the affair.

It should have consoled him.

It didn’t.

They drank a bottle of wine and ate the pork chops she fried in an old iron skillet on the woodstove, along with a can of string beans. Not exactly the Georgian Room, Charity thought, but the food was filling and it actually tasted pretty good.

All through the meal, Call watched her and she wondered if he were wishing supper was over as much as she was. Whenever they were together, her sex drive kicked in big time. She had certainly never hungered for Jeremy the way she did Call. Maybe it was breathing all this clean, invigorating Klondike air.

Whatever it was, as soon as the dishes were cleared, washed, and dried, Call led her into the living room and kissed her and she melted into his arms. She didn’t resist when he carried her into the bedroom, stripped away her clothes and his own, and settled her in the middle of Mose’s old iron bed.

They made love greedily the first time, then again more slowly. The sex was great as always. Perhaps that was the lure that kept Call coming back.

Charity hoped it was more than that. And yet, even if his interest went beyond mere physical attraction, she wasn’t sure what it would mean to either one of them. She tried not to worry about leaving, or whether Call would run from his feelings again in the morning. She tried not to think of anything but the feel of his arms around her as she drifted off to sleep.

The night hours slid past. Her slumber was deep and drugging, a dense sort of blackness that engulfed her, sucking her into some fathomless, dark netherworld unlike any she could remember. No dreams interfered. Call didn’t use his marvelous skills to arouse her in the middle of the night. Even the creaking of the old log house didn’t reach her.

In fact, nothing would have penetrated the heavy dark haze of her sleep if it hadn’t been for Kodiak’s sharp, unrelenting barking. She didn’t hear it at first, lying there so deeply asleep, but eventually the piercing little yelps began to reach her.

Charity stirred, tried to open her eyes, found it nearly impossible. It felt as if lead weights were attached to her lids and ground glass scraped against her eyeballs.

Kodiak kept barking and Charity forced her eyes slowly open. They instantly filled with tears and her lungs began to burn. Her head swam and it took a moment to realize the room was full of smoke.

“Call! Call, wake up!” Her throat felt scratchy. She moistened her lips, dragged herself up on the bed, and started coughing. Through the open door to the living room, she could see the lick of bright, red-orange flames eating through the ceiling, and pure terror jolted her into action.

“Call!” She gripped his bare shoulder and shook him, coughing, fighting to breathe, her eyes watering, scratchy with grit and soot. “Call! The house is on fire!” He was as deeply asleep as she had been and it seemed to take forever for his eyes to crack open.

“The house is on fire!” She started coughing and wheezing. “We have to get out of here!”

He started moving then, saw the flames, started coughing, too. Reaching out, he gently squeezed her hand. “Grab something to put on and let’s go.” He picked up the jeans he had worn to supper and Charity grabbed the tee shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and socks that she’d had on.

Call opened the window, lifted Kodiak out, boosted Charity out, then climbed out himself. They ran a safe distance from the cabin, their eyes still streaming tears, before they stopped and hastily pulled on their clothes.

They finished just as Toby came racing up the path carrying a portable pump and a length of fire hose.

Call turned his attention to her. “You have any fire equipment?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Oh, God, I should have thought of it.” Her hands were trembling. Kodiak had stopped barking, but his small body pressed nervously against her leg. She ran a trembling hand through his fur, thinking what would have happened if the puppy hadn’t awakened them.

Call reached for the pump Toby carried and he quickly handed it over. “I’ll start the pump,” Call said. “Go see what you can find in the workshop.” Toby raced off in that direction while Call carried the pump down the bank and plunged the apparatus into the creek.

A good-sized stream of water hit the house a few minutes later. Toby returned with a couple of fire extinguishers, and quickly set to work outside the cabin.

“Dammit, we need more water if we’re going to put this out.”

“How about the dredge?” Charity suggested, trying to suppress the sick feeling inside her. “Can’t we use it somehow?”

“We could if we had an adapter of some kind.”

She shook her head. “Not … not that I know of.”

The flames were rising and Charity kept thinking of all the work she and Maude had done on the cabin, of Mose and how much the place had meant to him. Fresh tears burned and she clamped down on her jaw, determined not to cry.

Call kept spraying the house, but it was obvious they were losing the battle. The last person she expected to see running down the path from the north end of the property was Buck Johnson.

He and Tyler were carrying the same kind of pump and fire hose Toby had brought and a couple more fire extinguishers. Buck plunged the pump into the stream and fired it up and water shot up on the burning porch. Ty moved toward the wall outside the kitchen next to Toby and started spraying foam around the windows.

In a corner of her mind, she had believed that maybe Ty had started the fire, but now she wondered. The cabin was old and things like that happened. As the blaze continued to burn and the men kept working, Charity sloshed into the water next to Call to help hold the pump, and little by little the flames began to weaken and come under control.

Over the hill to the east, the sun was coming up though technically it was still night, and she could see the smoldering remains more clearly. It seemed like a miracle that any of the cabin remained, but part of the living room still stood, the big rock fireplace, and part of the bedroom and bathroom.

Her throat closed up at the ghostly sight it made. Wet, smoke-blackened, and tired to the bone, Charity sloshed out of the creek, sank down on the ground, buried her head in her hands, and started to weep.

Exhausted and covered with soot, Call slogged out of the water. A little way farther down the stream, Buck Johnson hauled his fire gear out of the creek.

As Call dumped his equipment onto the bank, he could hear Charity weeping and it made his stomach churn. He needed to go to her but first there was something he had to do.

Jaw set, he started walking. “What the hell is going on, Buck?”

Buck looked up from where he knelt, repacking his gear. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Johnson. Odds are, either you or Tyler started that fire. Why the hell did you come down to help put it out?”

Buck’s thick eyebrows drew into a frown. “We didn’t have nothing to do with this. Both of us were sleeping. Ty got up to go to the john and he saw the flames.”

Call pinned him with a disbelieving glare.