Facing the Fire Read online

  A huge part of that had most likely been pregnancy hormones—and lack of sleep; Violet had been teething like crazy—but most of it had been pure homesickness and fear.

  Uncle Phil had just held her and rocked her, like he had after her parents’ funeral.

  Now she was home. She had her family again. And she had a purpose.

  A plan. A genuine, authentic Maggie-Faces-the-World plan.

  “I think I’m going to go to bed a little early tonight,” she said, as he backed out of Violet’s room and pulled her door closed. “Travel zapped me.”

  He had the monitor in his hand. She almost took it from him—she’d been Violet’s nanny for a reason, after all.

  But she wasn’t the nanny any longer. Violet wasn’t hers to take care of. Not any longer.

  That was going to take some seriously getting used to.

  Clint wasn’t getting up early to go in to the WHP post seventy miles away each day, either.

  Not according to what he’d told her on the plane. Clint claimed he was just a rancher now.

  “I was hoping we could talk for a bit.”

  Now nothing felt simple at all.

  He’d painted the entire exterior. A pretty gray that paired well with the new red metal roof.

  It had a white front porch now. With a swing.

  Just like she’d suggested to him once during a casual conversation as they’d eaten dinner during the heat of a summer night. Spaghetti. It had been Violet’s first exposure to pasta.

  A soft smile touched her lips as she remembered laughing with him at the mess the baby had made.

  The entire inside of the house had been updated, too. Changes he hadn’t wanted to make because of the cost back then. There was a new dishwasher. New flooring throughout. Painted drywall instead of the outdated, horribly printed paneling from the 1980s that had smelled faintly of cigarette smoke when she’d gotten too close.

  She was so glad that was gone. That dark paneling had made the house seem small and sad at times. Almost gloomy.

  New furniture was everywhere—wipeable furniture. Very welcoming, and perfect for a family with small children.

  It looked like an entirely different place. It was going to take her time to get used to it. It was beautiful and welcoming.

  And completely foreign. Surreal.

  “It looks nice in here. I thought you weren’t going to do much inside? Not until the barns were finished.” He’d had dreams of specialty cattle. He’d discussed it with her once.

  “I didn’t want you to come back to that run-down shack you left. You deserve a home you can be proud of. I...and this is better for the babies. A home where they can grow up safe.”

  “Clint...you do know that I’m not staying here permanently.” It was best to go forth as she meant to go on. Get the confrontation out of the way now, so she could go forward tomorrow. “I need you to understand that.”

  It was better for expectations that way. Less likely to cause hurt.

  To either of them.

  “I’m going to do my damnedest to change your mind.”

  Then he was there. Right in front of her. His hands went to her once-waist, and he was pulling her into his arms. Holding her tight. Like he would never let her go.

  Those strong arms of his wrapped around her like he meant it. Like she mattered.

  Just like that.

  Every feeling she’d had for the man came rushing right back. His scent surrounded her, she could feel his heart pounding against her, even with the baby bump between them. He felt perfect.

  Terrifying.

  She squeaked. “What are you doing?”

  He had only touched her twice—before that Fateful Night, as she’d thought about it privately—like this. Strong arms that she almost swore had gotten harder, stronger, tightened around her. “I’m so damned glad your back.”

  To her surprise he buried his face in the hair she’d left down. His shoulders shuddered. Her hands went around those shoulders instinctively. “Clint?”

  “I am not going to lose you now, Maggie. You might as well just get used to the idea. I was too stupid and too much of a coward to realize what I had before. But I’ve had five months to realize what a fool I’ve been. I’ve missed you every moment you’ve been gone. I’m not letting you go. I’ll take your two weeks—and trade them for a lifetime. You’d better get ready.”

  He covered her lips with his own.

  Maggie did the second-stupidest thing she’d ever done with this man.

  She kissed him right back.

  Because no matter what her New-Maggie-plan said, being in his arms somehow felt right.

  Like she was finally exactly where she belonged.

  She was in serious trouble now.

  9

  The five months she'd been in Texas had changed Maggie.

  Made her see him for the jackass he was.

  Clint knew that as he held her. Kissed her.

  She was kissing him back, but the sweetly shy response she’d given him months ago had been replaced by something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

  He pulled away as the dog pushed his way between them. The mutt adored Maggie. He’d grieved for weeks after she’d left.

  So had Clint. The woman was the center of their world, after all.

  "Mag...I...can't you give me a second chance?" There was nothing he wanted more in the world than the woman in front of him. He didn't have a clue how to convince her to fall in love with him again. "I...was stupid that next morning."

  "The only thing that has truly changed between now and then is...this." Her hand went to her stomach. He felt the proof of their baby pressed against him for the first time. "Why lie about it? I know you down to your toes. You feel obligation and responsibility and like you're doing the right thing here. But I am not the same woman I was back then. I know myself better now than I ever did then. I had weekly counseling in Texas at a women's charity. It helped me deal with what happened with the shooting and some other things—and it helped me put what happened between us into perspective. Once upon a time, we would have automatically gotten married for the baby. Made the best of things. But we don't have to do that now. Contrary to what my brothers all think—it’s not 1926 here."

  "We wouldn't be marrying just for the baby. There wouldn't be a baby if there wasn't something between us." He had never been the kind of man to know what to say. Especially when it mattered the most.

  Nothing had mattered more than this moment. Damn it.

  Maggie was about to slip away. "You thought you were in love with me before."

  "I did. But I didn't know what love really was back then. Not between a man and a woman; not really. I've seen it now. And I'm not settling for anything less."

  She put one hand over his chest. Her fingers scorched him. His heart rate sped up and he knew she could feel it. Blue eyes stared into his. His were light blue, hers a darker blue—the baby would probably get those Tyler blue eyes, too.

  "You don't love me, Clint. You just feel…responsible. Duty-bound, or something archaic like that. And I... just can't settle for being an afterthought. We'll do what we have to for the baby, and we'll move on. I'm asking...for you to respect that. Just leave me alone."

  She turned and walked past him, taking every bit of hope he had felt before with her.

  Clint waited until the door shut behind her, then slammed his fist into the antique walnut that his great-grandfather had carved himself. Maggie didn't love him any longer.

  And it was his own damned fault.

  Those five months in Texas was one thing—they hadn't been in either of their control. Not truly. They both knew that.

  It was the two months before that day Clint was paying for now.

  10

  Clive Gunderson looked absolutely horrible. Nothing Jasper Grady, mayor of the small town of Masterson, Wyoming, hadn't expected.

  Clive had lost everything and would spend the rest of his life in prison—the worst
in the state of Wyoming. Everyone said grief had made Clive do what he had done; Jasper didn't believe that.

  There had always been something a bit broken in Clive. The loss of his younger son Jay had just enhanced that. Turned Clive into what he was now.

  Broken, mean, and hateful.

  It would resurface ever so often. Clive used to take it out on the deputies who'd worked for him. Jasper had been one of those deputies a lifetime ago. But he and Clive—they'd had loyalty between them back then.

  It had been forged in the darkness one night, alongside a lonely highway. With a woman who’d had no business being out there that night.

  Jasper would never forget what she’d looked like. What had happened to her. What the photos had shown him all those years ago.

  What he had seen. Done. Maybe his crime was one of silence, but it was still nothing he would ever be proud of.

  “Jasper, what the hell you doing here?" Clive rasped. He had always smoked like a chimney, and the years were now showing that.

  The years, and the hell the man had gone through. Most of it at his own hands.

  Karma had paid Clive back in spades. Jasper felt conflicted about that.

  You reap what you sow—well, Jasper had sowed some foul seeds of his own. He was terrified those seeds would grow into poison that would ruin everything he had worked for since.

  "I came to check on you." Jasper looked around the visitor's lobby. Looked at the difference between him and the men that populated the few tables. Scraggly, scruffy. Dead-eyed and wasted lives.

  He wore a suit that cost a cool four figures—on clearance.

  He hadn't ever been able to bring himself to buy at full-price. Leftovers from when he had grown up with plywood floors beneath his feet, and milk crate furniture instead of tables.

  But for his children—they had the best his money could provide. He'd given them the life they'd deserved.

  He would always be proud of that. More, he would be proud that they’d taken what he’d given them and made something more of themselves. He’d taught them well.

  His children had good lives. And he was so damned proud of that.

  "What the hell for?" Clive shot him a look out of watery, dead eyes. "Am I your latest charity case or something, Grady?"

  Clive's hands shook; he had aged considerably since the last time Jasper had seen him. His hair hadn't been combed—probably in days. He looked…a mess.

  Hardly capable of concocting a blackmail scheme like Jasper was facing. It wasn’t Clive who had been tormenting Jasper for months. He would bet money on that now.

  Disappointment and rage filled him. He’d been convinced it was Clive. Downright sure. All the evidence he’d amassed over the last two months had pointed straight to Clive.

  That it wasn’t…Jasper’s gut clenched. He was back at almost square one.

  Now…Someone else was out there doing this to him. And Jasper had no clue who. He hated this, hated not being in control. No doubt the bastard blackmailing him knew it, too. It was someone Jasper knew; he just hadn’t figured out who it was yet. But he would.

  “So why you here?”

  "You look horrible."

  "I look like shit. Say it. Or does that go against your wholesome church-going image now?"

  "I'm trying to be polite, but if you want the honest truth, take better care of yourself in here. It'll only help your case." He knew what Clive had done—the slightly older man wasn't about to get out of prison.

  He would get a good twenty years for nearly killing Phil Tyler’s girl alongside Wreck Curve Road. The trial was over—Clive had done the sensible thing and pled guilty, finally—but as far as Jasper knew, they still had sentencing to be delivered.

  "Nothing can help my case."

  Jasper had to admit, Clive was right about that. What he had done to that Tyler girl was unforgivable. "The things you did to that girl—you had to know there would be consequences. Hell, if you had done that to one of my girls I’d have not even blinked before I killed you myself."

  "Hell, I knew that. I just wanted to know what about her and her sister caught my son's attention so much. I needed the answers. I wasn’t really thinking clearly at the time. My boy...he didn't deserve to go that way. My attorney says that might work in my favor, what happened to Jay, and all."

  Jasper kept his thoughts on that to himself. He had seen the files himself—what the Tyler girl said Clive had done to her for years was beyond damning. He'd nearly killed Perci Tyler, alongside the same stretch of highway where the girl's own mother had died in a horrible accident. That had been particularly cruel.

  People had been talking about that for weeks.

  Clive's son Jay had died trying to kill the girl's twin sister.

  Bad blood.

  Everyone said the Gundersons were nothing but bad blood now.

  Jasper didn’t envy Clint Gunderson, the older boy, trying to build a life in Masterson County. If he was Clint, he would have already sold everything and moved far away from this little hellhole time had forgotten. For some reason, the boy had chosen to stay.

  "We need to talk about that day, Clive. I need to know what you did with that box. The evidence box. You know the one I’m talking about.” One box, eighteen inches by 30. Thick cardboard.

  Containing enough damning evidence to ruin everything Jasper Calloway Grady had worked for his entire life. To destroy everything.

  "It's at my place. One of’em, anyway. Always has been. Thought about burning it a thousand times. But just figured why go to the trouble? Ain’t nobody cared about that truck stop ho anymore."

  "Clint's girlfriend and the baby are back. Saw them drive through town last evening. They stopped at the gas station. Saw her in his truck myself."

  "Where did they go? I didn't know he had a girlfriend." There was a spark of interest in Clive's eyes now. Finally. "How's my grandbaby? Who is the girlfriend? She from around here?"

  "I haven't actually seen the baby. And the girlfriend is a Tyler girl. Martin Tyler's younger sister, from the looks of her."

  Clive nodded, finally a spark of interest in his eyes. "I've met that one, I think. Quiet girl. Pretty and sweet. Those brothers of hers are nothing but trouble, though. Bad seeds, the lot of them. Busted them all at one time or another. Troublemakers. Clint doesn't need that. He’d best be moving on to another girl."

  Jasper did snort at that. He had met the Tyler brothers in question—and found nothing objectionable. Not that he’d want one of them for his own daughters, considering how hard-headed those boys could be, but they were hard workers, at least. Seemed intelligent enough, too. He’d hired the older one himself to do some repair work to the deck on the back of his house just this past summer. "I'm sure he'll do just fine. Where did you put that box?"

  Jasper didn’t have much time. This had to look like a casual visit. Nothing more.

  He knew exactly how recognizable he was here now.

  The Mayor of Masterson would stand out.

  "In the back office. I think. It might have been in that footlocker I buried a few years back. When I was drunk. Can’t really remember. May have even been at my house in town. Last I heard Clint sold that house, and took all my shit to the barn at his place. I suppose it could be in there, too. Hell, that was what? Twenty, twenty-five years ago? How am I supposed to remember? Had the date on the box. That was it. And initials. Made it look like every other evidence box. Just like the others, so it would fit right in and be forgotten about."

  Irritation set in. Jasper forced himself to sit back and look calm. He knew he was on camera right now—and knew he would be recognized. He had to behave himself now.

  "Where exactly did you bury it? How did you bury it? Was it in something? If it is in the barn, what would it look like?”

  Clive shot him a smile. "I didn’t bury the damned evidence, not all of it. Not the damned scarf, anyway. Just the footlocker. Tried to tell you that last time. I wrapped that disk of photos in that bloody scarf and s
hoved it in the damned wall in the old ranch where the in-laws lived. Knew no one would check my old in-laws’ place—they were already gone by then and it was left to Clint, but he was living in Cheyenne at the time. What the hell is the boy doing now?”

  “What wall?”

  “In the study, I think. But might have been the dining room. Both had junk shoved in every corner and the same damned paneling. In-laws were damned hoarders. There was a hole behind a picture of Clint and Jay as babies. Shoved everything right into the paneling. Probably turned into mouse bait by now.”

  Jasper didn't give a damn. All he wanted was to see it was fully destroyed. Otherwise, he’d spend the rest of his life wondering. Worrying.

  He had to find them.

  So he could live the rest of his life in peace.

  And this damned blackmailer would move on and leave him alone.

  Or…Jasper would find him and stop him the hard way.

  He was prepared to do whatever was necessary. No one would threaten his children. No one.

  He was a father first—and a father was supposed to protect his children. No matter what.

  11

  His hand was bruised. Clint stared at the ugly blue and purple flesh over his knuckles two mornings after he’d brought his family home as he boiled water on the stove for Violet's oatmeal.

  It felt both awkward and beautiful to have the opportunity to fix breakfast for his daughter again.

  Maggie had been his housekeeper, but she'd always gone back to her brothers' ranch on the weekends, leaving him with his daughter. And she'd retreat to her room each weeknight at around eight, after she put Violet down for the evening. Especially after that night.

  They'd taken turns getting up with the baby when needed. Clint had always been careful not to overwhelm Maggie; he hadn't wanted to lose her like he had the three housekeepers he’d had before.

  First because he'd been desperate—he'd needed someone he could trust to take care of Violet. After that, it had been because he had cared about her. Been fascinated by her.