She said, “No,” but she followed me into the kitchen.
“You sure?” I rummaged in the fridge until I found the foil-wrapped baking pan. “Sophie made peach cobbler. That wouldn’t upset your stomach.”
Hope shook her head.
“Where’s Shoonga?” I asked, just to make conversation.
“Jake took him.”
I dished up a healthy portion for myself and saw her watching the digital clock on the stove. “You don’t have to sit here with me, Hope.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
She didn’t answer for so long I was afraid she wouldn’t.
“I miss him. Everywhere I go in that trailer I see him. Yesterday I tripped over a pair of his stinky old running shoes. Know the ones with grass stains? The shoelaces are completely frayed, they’re too small, and I hated those shoes. Couldn’t make myself touch them, but I can’t make myself toss them in the burning barrel neither.”
Tears poured down her ashen face.
My hands clenched into fists on the table.
“And last night, I woke up about midnight and laid in my bed, listening for him to come home. Waiting for that cheap tin door to slam. Waiting for thumping rap music to turn on. I lay there and lay there and I worried. I worried something happened to him. Then I drifted off again, and when I woke up, I realized something
has
happened, the worst thing I could ever imagine has happened to my boy.”
“Hope—”
“Oh God, why would someone do that to him?” Blindly, she reached for my hands. “Shoot him like a dog? Why? I don’t understand . . .”
Hope cried so hard I was afraid she’d forget to breathe. She squeezed my balled fists like they were lemons. But my bitter tears stayed inside me, acidic as vinegar.
“I can’t go back there. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”
“You can stay here as long as you want. This is your home, too.”
She pulled away and dabbed her eyes with a soggy tissue. “Yeah? But for how much longer?”
A warning screamed in my brain. Her mood could change at the drop of a hat. Rarely was the change for the better. “If you’ve got an opinion on what you think we should do with the ranch, I’d like to hear it.” I emphasized
we
.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
Hope paused and studied me. “I guess when you came back I thought you’d keep things the same, letting Jake or whoever run the ranch until Levi was old enough to take over. Not that it matters now.”
Tick tick.
The pressure valve on my patience was about to blow. “Your opinion matters to me. I don’t know why you don’t understand that.”
“Yeah? Know what I don’t understand?”
Off on another tangent. Big surprise. “What?”
“Why Daddy made you the executor. Why he left you in charge when I’ve always been here. When everybody knows you don’t want nothing to do with this place.”
“You think you could handle all the details?”
Eyes completely dry, she gave me a dull stare. “We’ll never know, will we? Unless something tragic happens to you and the responsibility would fall to me by default.”
At least she had full grasp of the situation. “Dad made that decision, not me. What do you want me to say? I can’t change it.”
She harrumphed.
“You know, I’m tired of pissing around with this. People second-guessing me. Trying to sway me on what I should do.” I angled closer and locked my gaze to hers. “If
you
had to make a decision right now, what would it be?”
Hope didn’t even blink. “Sell it.”
My jaw nearly hit the table.
“Not what you were expecting?”
I shook my head.
“If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I would’ve said keep it. Now I agree with Theo. I need to put all this behind me and move on.”
Move on? Levi’s funeral had been a few days ago. Yeah, Theo was the father of Hope’s baby, but his advice seemed a bit harsh and more than a little selfish. “Has Theo been staying with you?”
“Sometimes. Might sound mean, but since Levi died I don’t care whether he’s around. Most days I wish he wasn’t. That’s part of the reason I’d like to stay here.”
“I’m sure Sophie made up the guest room.”
“But I always sleep in the front bedroom,” she said softly, pleadingly.
It figured she’d want my room; it was the nicest, and she always wanted what I had.
Truthfully, it didn’t really matter where I tossed my pillow since I wasn’t sleeping much these days anyway. However, it’d be a complete bitch to move my guns. But I’d do it. I slapped on a happy face. “No problem. I’ll grab my stuff right after I finish eating.”
The mattress in the guest room sucked. I can take hard beds. I’d rather sleep on the ground than spend the night tossing and turning on softball-sized lumps, so I curled up on the braided wool rug, next to my guns. Exhaustion—emotional and physical—sent me to dreamland almost immediately.
My mind kept returning to the pictures I’d seen, the horrified expressions on those dead boys’ faces. The blood. The damage a full-grown man can inflict on supple young bodies.
If I had my way, Rajeem would’ve seen my wet work up close and personal. I didn’t get to use a knife often; consequently, I’d spent way too much time planning how to cut off Rajeem’s dick and balls with one slice. How I’d keep him from bleeding to death before I pried his jaw open and rammed his genitals down his own throat as I watched him choke to death on them.
But circumstances changed, as they did so often in war, and there was no safe way for me to get close to Rajeem. I had to satisfy the parameters of my op with a simple kill shot to the head. I felt cheated, but I finished the job.
I shuffled through the melee on the streets, hunched over, dirty burka dragging through the rubble, my head covered, but my eyes hyper-alert. I was another injured Iraqi woman, running from destruction and certain death at the hands of the Allies. No one bothered me. No one knew I’d strapped my stripped-down rifle to my right leg under my burka. Scary, how women are part of the background. Scary, how realistic the dreams were becoming. I even smelled smoke.
Smoke. I coughed and opened my eyes. Saw the French blue curtains in the guest room billowing against the red sky.
I sat up. I wasn’t in Baghdad or lost in a dream. I was at home. On the ranch. In South Dakota. The sky never looked red like that unless . . .
Something was on fire.
I raced to the window. The chicken coop was engulfed. Orange flames licked the black sky like angry demonic tongues.
Hope.
I dropped to all fours and crept down the quiet hallway toward Hope’s room. No flames crackled, no stifling heat, nothing but a bluish-gray haze filled the space. At her door, cool wood met my palm. The metal handle wasn’t hot, so I pushed inside.
The windows were closed; smoke hadn’t breached the room. My gaze zeroed in on the small white foot dangling off the edge of the bed. “Hope. Wake up.”
No response.
She was still sprawled on her stomach with the towel askew. “There’s a fire. Wake up.”
She didn’t move.
I shook her shoulder. My fingers connected with sticky wetness. I felt a bump on the back of her neck that hadn’t been there earlier.
Cold fear seized me. I pivoted into a fighting stance as my eyes scanned the room. No one jumped out at me. I picked up the receiver from the nightstand and punched in 911. The line was dead. Damn damn damn. And I’d left my cell phone on the coffee table in the living room.
On instinct I flung back the quilt and cradled Hope to my chest. Her weight didn’t register as I hustled from the room. Despite the muscles in my chest being strung rubber-band tight, I inhaled deeply, dashed down the steps and out the front door. Once my bare feet hit concrete, I headed for the gazebo.
Hope didn’t stir as I set her on the ground. I raced back inside the house, grabbed my cell phone, and dialed 911 as I sprinted back outside to keep vigil over my sister.
After dispatch rattled off their initial spiel, I said, “This is Mercy Gunderson. 43007 Gunderson Way. There’s an injured woman here who requires immediate medical attention. At least one structure on the property is on fire . . . No, ma’am . . . I’m outside . . . Yes, ma’am . . . Thank you.”
My cell rang not three seconds later. Jake. I flipped it open. “Mercy! You outta the house?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“By the gazebo. Where are you?”
“On my way.”
Two minutes later Jake came hauling ass around the corner. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. But . . . someone broke in and hurt Hope before they set the fire.”
“What? Hope is here?” He looked at the cell phone clutched in my hand. “Did you call it in?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Stay with her. I have to see if TJ put Queenie and Comet in the stables in the old barn. The north side of the small barn and the grass beside it are on fire, too.”
Shit. Three fires? “Anything else burning?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check and be back.”
Jake seemed startled when I grabbed his forearm. “The horses aren’t worth risking your life.”
“I know, but I ain’t about to let an animal burn to death if I can get ’em out.”
I phoned Sophie and asked her to come help. Hope would need coddling, and I’d be too busy putting out fires to tend her. I circled the outside of the house checking to see if anything had been damaged.
An ugly black stain darkened the white siding beneath the kitchen window, as if someone tried to torch the place but couldn’t get it to ignite, so they moved on to destroy the next thing. Or had they moved inside?
Why hadn’t I heard anything? What had happened to my finely honed powers of observation?
Right. I’d dulled them in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Frustration built. I couldn’t help my sister. I couldn’t stop the buildings from burning down. I couldn’t do anything but stand there helplessly as my life careened out of control.
Do something.
Like what? Get my apron wet in the well and help beat the flames back like the pioneer women had done?
An ambulance ripped up the driveway, ending my mental breakdown. Two pumper trucks; two sheriff’s cars, sirens wailing; six pickups and assorted SUVs followed. Not gawkers, volunteer firemen. Vehicles were abandoned, shouts exchanged as the fireproof suits went on.
I flagged down the ambulance crew. “She’s over here.”
The male EMT was Geneva’s brother, Rome. “Is it Sophie?”
“No. It’s Hope. I don’t know when, or how, but someone hit her in the neck and I know I shouldn’t have moved her in case it’s a head injury, but I couldn’t tell if the house was on fire, too, and I couldn’t just leave her—”
“You did fine, Mercy. We’ll take it from here.”
I put my lips to his ear. “She’s pregnant.”
“Good to know.” When I didn’t budge, Rome peered in my eyes. “Take a deep breath. Do I need to treat you for shock?”
Was it that obvious? “No.”
“Good. See if the firefighters need anything. I’ll find you as soon as I’m done with Hope. See? She’s already stirring.”
I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
As I skirted the concrete birdbath, I heard boards collapsing and a
whoosh
of air. I saw a shower of red and orange sparks soaring into the dark sky. Guess I wouldn’t have to worry about painting the chicken coop.
A few firefighters were in the pasture attempting to keep the grass fire from spreading. One guy stood sentinel by the propane tank. Others were hosing down the flames licking up the side of the barn.
Damn. There was a gas tank on the far side of the other smaller barn. Jake and the ranch hands used it to fill ATVs, chainsaws, and yard equipment. Jake had been dealing with the horses; he probably hadn’t talked to the firemen.
I glanced at the wooden structure. Yellow flames shot into the air, then sparks fell to the ground like gigantic lemon drops. One tiny flare and the blast radius might be enough to ignite the dry grass on this side of the barn. Then the haystacks, the cars, the farm and fire equipment, and the house were in danger of catching fire.
Run.
Instead of running away, I sprinted across the yard, yelling for the chief. Pebbles tore my feet. A chunk of logging chain embedded in the dirt by the old hand water pump tripped me, and I took the brunt of the fall on my knees, rather than twist my ankle again.
I looked up.
Fire danced across the shake shingles. An ember broke free and landed directly on top of the rusted metal gas container. Followed by two more. And two more after that.
Too late.
My heart stopped. I didn’t stick around to watch it explode. I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell, screaming my fool head off.
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I heard
whump whump whump BOOM.
Bright light flashed behind me; a blast of heat followed. Something solid hit me, slamming my body into the earth.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move.
Shouts, footsteps, the whine of mechanical equipment drifted around me. Couldn’t anyone see I was dying?
An eternity passed before I realized the unnamed entity shielding me was warm and panting like a dog. The object shifted. Rough hands frantically pushed at my tangled hair. Warm, moist lips grazed my ear.
“Come on, Mercy. Talk to me. Yell at me. Do something.”
I opened my eyes and stared into Dawson’s soot-covered face, inches from mine.
“You okay?”
I sort of nodded.
“Ah hell, I knocked the wind out of you, didn’t I?”
I nodded again.
“I shouldn’t have hit you that hard. But I heard you yelling and saw how close you were to the tank and I just—”
“Overreacted,” I choked out.
He didn’t crack a smile. “Better safe than sorry.”
“I guess.” I wiggled. His jeans scratched the front of my bare legs, gravel dug into the back of my thighs. “You’re crushing me.”
“Sorry.” Dawson scrambled off and held a hand out to help me up.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He frowned and tipped my chin up, his eyes searched my face. “Have the EMTs check you out.”
“Why?” I didn’t give a damn how bad I looked.
“To make sure you didn’t scorch your lungs. Or I didn’t break your ribs.”
“Oh.”
The tip of his shaking finger gently traced my cheek. “There’s a bloody scratch here, too. If it gets infected, it’ll scar.” He plucked debris from my unbound hair, letting it fall between us like confetti. His other wrist rested on my collarbone and his palm circled my neck as his thumb caressed my jawline.
“Mercy?” Rome’s voice broke the moment. “Can I see you for a second?”
“Umm. Ah. Sure. I’ll be right there.”
Dawson gave me an unreadable look before he stepped back and rejoined the firefighters.
Something had just happened. But I’ll be damned if I knew what.