One Heart to Win (22 page)

She went back to bed and started counting sheep. She was still tossing and turning a little while later when she heard a voice in the hallway.

“Jenny, did you wait up?”

Oh my God, Hunter wasn’t really knocking on her door in the middle of the night, was he? He had to be seriously intoxicated. She put her pillow over her head until she couldn’t hear him anymore. So he didn’t spend the night with Pearl? That didn’t mean he didn’t bed her though. But so much for hearing him ride in or enter the house. That annoying wind was blocking out all other sounds.

But he was back. She smiled for some reason and suddenly her exhaustion caught up with her. She turned over with a yawn, sure she’d fall asleep now. She didn’t. This was ridiculous. She’d never had such trouble sleeping before. Of course, she’d never experienced such an eventful day before, either. Sensual excitement, that jolt of fear when she saw the gun pointed at Hunter, getting so emotional when she saw her brother Sam, hearing Hunter talk resentfully about his fiancée—her! And listening to Mary Callahan’s version of the tragic story that started the feud and the lies about her father’s being excited to see her. All combined, it was much too much.

She started counting, numbers now instead of sheep, to calm herself. She was only up to ten when she smelled smoke. It had to be Hunter having a cigar before bed. Not very wise of him if he was as drunk as she thought he was. Nor had she known her room was close enough to his for her to smell the smoke wafting from his window to hers.

She got up to close the last window. It had been pointless leaving it open, with no breeze coming in tonight from the east. She’d have to move to a different room tomorrow. There were still a few empty ones upstairs she could pick from, where Hunter’s bedtime habits wouldn’t bother her like this.

She immediately saw the light. It wasn’t bright, but it was definitely illuminating the backyard directly below her room. It
was coming from the kitchen. So was the smell of smoke. Had someone lit the stove again?

Her first thought was that it had to be Andrew trying to surprise her. He was so grateful for the steady job she’d given him that he felt he had to do more than she was asking of him. He would consider baking the bread tonight so it would be ready for her in the morning, a delightful surprise. Was it that close to dawn already? Not according to the sky it wasn’t, and her window did face east so she’d be able to tell, though those thick clouds might extend to that horizon, too. Then she actually
saw
the smoke billowing past her window, far too much for the stove to account for it.

She blanched and ran out of the room, screaming, “Fire!” She raced along the hall and down the stairs. For a split second, every instinct she had urged her to go out the front door to safety. She resisted. She wasn’t even sure if anyone had heard her yell. The fire might not be as bad as the smoke indicated. A simple bucket of water might put it out before it got out of control. If not, she had to go back upstairs to make sure no one was sleeping through this. She nearly cried at the thought.

She pushed open the hallway door to the kitchen. Its having been closed was the only reason no smoke was in the hall yet. She started coughing as soon as she opened it. The room was so full of acrid smoke her eyes stung.

The smoke eliminated even the thinnest sliver of moonlight at the window. It was so thick she couldn’t tell where the fire was. But she looked toward the stove, where she assumed it would be. On top of the stove she saw flames flickering out of a black pot that hadn’t been there when she went to bed. So someone did light up the stove again to cook something, then just left the pot there to catch fire? Who would do something
so dangerous and irresponsible? The flame in the pot was rising higher. She prayed it wouldn’t reach the wall or the ceiling.

She ducked into the bathing room and closed the door to keep the smoke out while she filled a bucket with water. She heard someone else in the kitchen before she opened the door again. She headed straight for the stove, glad that someone had brought a lantern so she could see.

“Hell, don’t do that!” Hunter yelled at her, startling her into dropping the bucket. Water splashed over her feet and halfway up her bare calves.

He was bent over the cupboard and rose with a lid in hand that he slammed over the pot. The flame simply disappeared under it.

Amazed, she asked, “How does that put it out?”

“Smothers it. Learned that from Jakes out at the range camp after a few trees caught fire when we used water to put out a lard fire. If there’s any fat involved, water just splashes the fire around.”

He grabbed her arm as he explained that, dragging her out the back door. More smoke followed them out.

“Are you all right?” Hunter asked as he grasped her chin to examine her face.

She swatted his hand away. “My feet are wet.”

“Then you’re all right.”

He glanced back at the kitchen. Most of the smoke had cleared out with the door left open. When he looked back at her, his eyes didn’t stay on her face, but traveled slowly down her body. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she was wearing only her underclothes.

“You could have grabbed a robe,” he said, his tone suddenly surly.

Blushing, she said defensively, “I thought the house was burning down!”

She noted indignantly that he was a fine one to talk. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, his feet were bare, and without a belt to hold them up his pants were slipping down his hips! But she didn’t point that out as he reentered the kitchen. She followed behind him. There wasn’t any actual damage, just a lot of soot on the walls and a large puddle of water on the floor, thanks to her. It could have been so much worse.

“Go back to bed,” he said as he found a couple of cloths and lifted the hot pot off the stove. After he placed it outside on the flagstone walkway, he said, “We’ll get it cleaned up in the morning.”

As she walked slowly to the door to the hallway, it dawned on her that no one else had come to help. “You’re the only one who heard me yell?”

“I wasn’t asleep yet, and you only yelled once, outside my door, so I doubt my parents heard you at the other end of the hall.” He’d glanced her way when he’d said that. Again, his eyes stayed on her and moved slowly up and down her body before he added, “Scream louder next time.”

Mortified that he kept reminding her of her lack of proper attire with the direction of his gaze, she said, “There better not be a next time. Do I need to put a lock on the kitchen when I leave it?”

He shook his head. “No, you just need to make sure the stove top is cold or at least don’t leave anything on it, not even the coffeepot.”

She was about to say it had been cold
and
empty when she retired for the night, but she thought of Andrew again. If he had carelessly caused this fire, he would lose his job, so until
she found out if he was responsible, she’d rather not mention that the stove had been refueled after she’d gone to bed. It probably had been Andrew, just a careless accident. She’d have to shoulder the blame instead. Apparently, Hunter already thought it was her fault.

He followed her out to the hall. “Good thing I came home tonight. If you had used that water, the walls would’ve caught fire.”

She shuddered at the thought, but it also reminded her of those hours she’d spent sleepless tonight—and why. He’d fallen into step beside her. She suddenly leaned a little closer to sniff him for evidence of where he’d been. He wouldn’t notice.

He did! “What? Do I smell like smoke?”

Tight-lipped, she said, “I was seeing if you smelled like Pearl.”

He burst out laughing. “Jealous, Jenny? I spent the night playing poker. Won, too.”

She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. As she walked away from him a little too quickly, her wet, bare feet nearly slipped on the smooth wooden floor.

He grabbed her arm to prevent it. “You need me to carry you upstairs?”

Detecting concern in his voice, she thought he was serious, so she simply said, “No.”

“Be happy to.”

That wasn’t serious. The humor was back in his voice. If she glanced back, she knew exactly where she’d find his eyes, too. Where they shouldn’t be.

“No! And get your eyes off me.”

“Hell no.”

His laughter followed her up the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

T
HE KITCHEN WAS FILLED
with Callahans when Tiffany came downstairs the next morning. Andrew was there, too, and he didn’t look at all guilty when he met her glance and smiled in greeting. The Callahan brothers and Andrew were washing the soot off the walls while Zachary sat at the table supervising. They were nearly done and were even joshing around. Cole threw a wet rag at John and was laughing as she walked into the room.

Hunter noticed her immediately. “Coffee’s hot.” His light-blue eyes lingered on her, slowly sweeping down the length of her cream morning dress and back up. The grin that followed said clearly that he was remembering her scanty attire from the night before.

She managed not to blush. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen to let him find her in her lacy chemise and drawers.

The younger men greeted her. Zachary didn’t. As he stood up to leave, he put on his wide-brimmed hat that he’d been holding. His nod in her direction was rather curt. “Accidents
happen, but this one could have been very serious. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, Miss Fleming.”

He blamed
her
? She waited for someone else to take responsibility, but no one did. Yet she knew the stove had been down to embers behind its iron grate last night, the surface no longer warm to the touch. She knew that since she’d wiped the stove down before retiring. Yet someone had restarted the fire after everyone else had gone to bed.

“It wasn’t me, Mr. Callahan,” Tiffany said stiffly. “I wiped down a cold
and
empty stove before I turned out the lanterns and went up to bed.”

“Then who would have been in the kitchen in the middle of the night?” Zachary asked.

All the Callahans were suddenly looking at Andrew.

The boy blanched. “I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I love it here! After Miss Fleming and I finished making the bread dough, I spent the evening in the bunkhouse with Mr. Jakes. You can ask him. He called me a new audience. Talked my ears off a good part of the night, he had so many stories to tell. He was still at it when the first of the cowboys wandered in.”

“That would have been Billy, who rode back with me,” Hunter remarked.

Zachary said to Andrew, “His first name is Jakes, and we aren’t blaming you, boy. If someone wanted to burn us down, they’d just throw a lit torch through a window. It’s summer and we keep most of them open at night. So why bother to make it look like an accident?”

He addressed that question to Tiffany, evidently still believing she was responsible.

But Hunter answered, “Because whoever set the fire wanted it to look like an accident, not arson. Most of us were in town
last night, including the hired hands, so chances were no one would discover there was a fire in a deserted part of the house in time to put it out before it burned out of control. And in case one of us did get to it in time, it could be chalked up to carelessness in the kitchen. And you know who might want to do this without getting blamed for it.”

Tiffany’s eyes flared wide. Oh, good grief, they weren’t really going to accuse her family of this, were they?

But John confirmed that they were. “A Warren,” he said, looking quite angry.

Tiffany groaned to herself, aware that this could get out of hand real quick. “Have your neighbors ever tried to burn your house down before? In all these years?”

“No, they’re more straightforward than that,” Zachary answered. “And after it rained at dawn, we aren’t going to have any tracks to follow. So I’ll pay Frank Warren a visit. If he wants the shooting to start again right before the wedding—”

“Then there won’t be a wedding,” Hunter finished the thought.

“Maybe a funeral instead,” John growled.

Tiffany was horrified to see how angry they all looked now, even Zachary. Desperately she offered an alternative: “It could have been one or both of the two men Hunter fought with yesterday.”

Zachary stared at his son. “When were you going to get around to mentioning you were in a fight?”

Hunter shrugged. “It was nothing, just a couple out-of-work miners blaming me for their woes.”

“Ah, so you failed to mention it because their woes are my fault, not yours. What happened?”

Hunter simply said, “They lost.”

Zachary snorted. Tiffany stared in disbelief at Hunter. Really? That was all he was going to say about that altercation? What about the shooter? And no one was taking into consideration her view of who might have set the fire?

“We’re going with you, Pa,” John said. Hunter and Cole nodded.

Zachary looked grim. His eyes moved from Hunter to John, and finally to Cole. “Okay, boys, let’s go.”

Tiffany stared in disbelief as they all filed out the back door. “Wait! Don’t do anything rash. You don’t know that the Warrens did this!”