Текст книги "Best Worst Mistake"

Автор книги: Lia Riley

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

“CAN I PLEASE go home now? It’s almost three a.m.,” Quinn said to the nurse. “My biggest problem is that I’m exhausted and you’ve sucked me dry with all those needles.”

“Do you have a place to go?”

“Yes. My friend’s house. Boyfriend actually.” When she got to the hospital, she asked Garret to notify Wilder of her whereabouts. He hadn’t been back to see her yet but the nurse had said visitations were restricted to family only.

“Boyfriend?” The nurse looked troubled.

“Wilder Kane.” Saying the words out loud felt a little strange, but it’s what he was for better or worse. In fact, he was a whole heck of a lot more. She wasn’t going steady. He wasn’t a crush. In his grumpy, quiet way he’d stolen her heart and she didn’t ever want it back.

The nurse’s eyes widened. “So you don’t know.”

The warmth ebbed from her chest. “Know what?”

“He was taken to the sheriff’s office. Didn’t anyone call you?”

“My phone was burned in the fire, no one can call me. What happened?”

“Oh my, there was almost a big fight in the emergency waiting room. Sheriff Kane took two men into custody. One was his own brother and the other was the guy who saved you, Garret King.” The nurse paused. “I thought he was your boyfriend, seeing as how you’re so pretty and he’s so handsome. The other one. He’s, well, he’s sort of scary with all those scars and that attitude. Wait, what are you doing? You can’t leave—”

“Says who?” Quinn yanked out her IV and slid from the bed, beelining to her clothes folded on a plastic chair in the corner.

“The doctor hasn’t discharged you.”

“I didn’t suffer a single burn. I might be deaf from the smoke alarm, but it saved my life. The house is the one in trouble.” And all her belongings. She pushed the thought from her mind. Who cared about stuff? Comic book collections and board games meant nothing when Wilder was at the sheriff’s office. What was Sawyer thinking? Obviously Wilder didn’t set the fire. He’d left her house to take his Grandma home after helping her clean up the dinner dishes. She’d taken a mug of rum cider to bed and was playing around on her phone waiting for him to return. Instead, she dozed off and woke to the high-pitched whine of the smoke alarm. When she got to the bedroom door, the knob was hot to the touch.

Rather than opening it and risking flames, she’d climbed out the window. It was one-story so while the snow was cold underfoot it wasn’t tricky. By the time she’d run to the front of the house, the first fire truck was pulling up. Garret King had leapt out, scooping her in his arms as if she were a ragdoll, ignoring her orders to be set down that instant.

While other volunteer firefighters fought the blaze he insisted on staying by her side, riding in the ambulance with her.

While she was grateful for the fire department’s fast response and the fact they did their best to salvage the house, Garret had continued to be too overbearing. As she was taken in to the ER, she’d asked him to get in touch with Wilder as soon as possible, and if he didn’t have his number to contact the sheriff.

She was whisked off before he could answer but she hadn’t expected him to ignore her wishes entirely.

“Miss Quinn.” The nurse sharpened her tone as Quinn yanked off her hospital gown. “I must insist you stay here.”

“There’s been a terrible mistake and I have to help put it right.” Quinn changed into her clothes at the speed of light.

“This isn’t how things are done,” the nurse continued. “If you won’t cooperate I’ll have to fetch the doctor.”

“Do whatever you need to do because I’ll be doing the same.” Quinn tore through the open door and jogged down the hall. What had Wilder and Garret done to get themselves in trouble? And how was she going to help? The hospital was a mile out of town, a long lonely stretch of highway at this time of night. How would she get all the way back to Main Street?

She burst through the emergency room double doors as cries of “Wait! Come back!” rang out behind her.

Edie and Grandma glanced, startled, from two plastic chairs in the corner.

“Told you she’d come,” Grandma said triumphantly, rising to her feet. “That girl has gumption.”

“You can’t leave,” the nurse repeated, coming into the waiting room.

“Do you have keys?” Quinn asked Edie.

“Yes to Archer’s truck. He left with the guys,” Edie replied.

The nurse cleared her throat. “I said—”

“You said your piece and last time I checked it was a free country,” Grandma snapped. “And I know you. You’re Dinah Kane’s little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kane.” The women shrunk back. “Bonnie.”

“Well, Bonnie, I suspect you know that Dinah is in the Chicklits and the Lady’s Guild. It would be such a shame for her to be dishonorably discharged.”

Bonnie gasped. “Are you blackmailing me with my mama?”

“Blackmail? Oh. No. That’s got a harsh ring to it, don’t you think?” Grandma affected a sugary sweet tone. “I prefer to call it negotiating. We go now without a fuss and you don’t ruin your dear mama’s fun. She’s a nice lady, if a bit of an airhead.”

Bonnie gasped. “You’re straight from the mafia.”

“There are two things I care about in life.” Grandma held up her forefinger and middle finger. “My tomato patch and my grandsons.”

Quinn gave Bonnie a tight smile. “I’ll come back in tomorrow if I’m feeling out of sorts. Promise.”

Bonnie’s mouth gaped.

“Don’t let the flies in, dearie,” Grandma snapped, leading the charge to the front doors.

Edie grabbed Grandma’s handbag and flashed Quinn a look of quiet concern. “Are you really okay?”

“Course she’s not,” Grandma called over her shoulder. “Her house burned down and Wilder is in the slammer.”

“What happened?” Quinn trotted behind. For her bad hip, Grandma certainly moved fast tonight.

“What happened is that Trixie Higsby is a damn fool, and I’d like to put that Garret King over my knee and give him a proper hiding.”

Edie unlocked the truck door, helping Grandma inside before turning. “In translation, your cousin was notified as next of kin after the fire. She and Garret King accused Wilder of arson, claimed he’s been responsible for the other two house fires and what happened at Haute Coffee. Claimed he had a history of bad behavior and that none of the fires had started before he returned to Brightwater.”

Quinn stiffened. “And do you believe them?”

“Of course not.” Edie smiled gently. “But then Wilder blamed Garret in return and the two of them almost got into a fight. Sawyer and Archer grabbed both of them and left for the sheriff’s office so they can cool down and get to the bottom of everything.”

“That’s exactly where we are going,” Grandma said stiffly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Quinn climbed into the truck and looked over at the older woman beside her on the bench. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grandma’s smile was troubled. “Tonight is a night for ghosts, I’m afraid. Someone better call Annie and tell her to wake up and come down too.”

“Annie?” Edie asked, starting the truck. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Grandma replied. “But Sawyer will need her. I hate to admit being wrong, but those boys all chose the right women. Tonight they are all going to need you like they’ve never needed you before.”

SAWYER SET HIS elbows on his plain wood desk and leaned in. “I’ll ask again and somebody better start talking. What the hell happened back at the hospital, fellows?”

The Brightwater sheriff’s office wasn’t big, a single room, but tonight if someone dropped a pin in one of the two empty holding cells in the back, the clatter would be deafening.

“I have alibis for tonight.” Garret broke the silence at last, folding his arms and glaring at his boots.

Wilder shrugged, keeping his body tilted left, away from the asshole seated on his right like they were two bad kids in the principal’s office. He didn’t have much to contribute. Garret had always been a bully. A big kid who pushed others around. Wilder was a fighter too, but never had Garret’s charm. Or talent for picking on defenseless people. Instead, Wilder would pick on Garret and his crowd, and that dynamic is what almost got him thrown out of high school half a dozen times, not to mention that it had caused the fight that first introduced him to Quinn all those years ago.

Quinn.

Wilder closed his eyes. They’d gotten enough out of Garret to understand that she hadn’t suffered any great injury, but she’d come close, too close, to danger. And this asshole beside him was somehow involved.

A hand clasped his shoulder. “Easy, tiger,” Archer said, pausing from his round-the-room pacing. “I see you tensing up. Sawyer’s a patient man and he’ll wait this out until someone starts talking.”

“I got nothing to say,” Wilder said.

“Maybe not but I do.” Grandma Kane burst through the sheriff’s office door. Wilder turned to see Edie and Quinn hurrying in her wake. His chest relaxed and he could finally take a full breath again. Quinn looked tired, out of sorts, her hair in a messy ponytail and glasses a little cockeyed, but there was no denying she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Wilder started to stand when Sawyer shook his head. “Sit.”

“Want to try and make me, little brother?” Wilder flew around, all his pent-up frustration directed at his brother who remained calm as usual. Always so goddamn collected and in control.

“Hey, calm down. No need to start anything,” Archer said.

“He can’t help it.” Garret sneered, slamming his feet to the ground. “He’s unhinged.”

“That’s it,” Wilder ground out. Someone was going to feel some pain, and he didn’t care who it was, even if that person was him. Better to bleed than suffer the numb hollow fear gnawing at his gut.

“Boy.” Grandma stepped in, her hand raised in warning. “Don’t let your fist write a check your butt can’t cash.”

Everyone fell silent.

“What does that even mean?” Garret grumbled.

“Means keep your trap shut unless you want me fixing you a knuckle sandwich,” Grandma shot back. “Now I have a few things that need saying.”

The door opened again. “This is a three-ring circus,” Sawyer muttered, scrubbing his jaw.

“Circus?” Atticus stumbled in, his white-blond hair poking out in irregular tufts.

“What are you doing here?” Sawyer asked, straightening.

“Grandma Kane called.” Annie covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn. “She said there was a family emergency and you’d need me.”

Grandma silenced Sawyer’s protestation with a clap of her hands. “Everyone take a seat and shut your pie holes. I have the floor.”

Wilder met her gaze and realized in an awful flash of certainty what she was about to do. “No, don’t, please. You don’t have to . . .”

“For twenty-five years I’ve kept silent,” Grandma said, looking him in the eye, as if willing him to understand. “For a long time, so help me, I believed it was the right thing to do, that forgetting would heal us, but instead, forgive me, I caused hurt, bad hurt, the kind that I’m not sure can ever be undone.”

Wilder didn’t know what to say. Where to look. Her words pounded him, although they didn’t pierce, like he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He was left breathless, aching as if he’d been punched.

“Forgive me.” Grandma’s voice quavered. “Please, forgive me, child.”

Wilder’s gaze blurred as he slammed back in his seat. Grandma was asking for his forgiveness? But that didn’t make sense.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Sawyer said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Grandma said. “You were nothing but a little boy acting like a little boy. Bridger should have known better than to drink too much, fall asleep like that.”

Archer rubbed his temples. “It’s been a hell of a long night. Is it just me or is anyone else confused?”

Annie and Edie both raised their hands. Atticus sat in the corner with his feet hitting the edge of his chair. Boom. Boom. Boom. Wilder focused on that noise, it anchored him, as did the warm brown glow in Quinn’s gaze. She looked at him as if he was a good man. As if she believed in him.

He closed his eyes wanting to commit that expression to memory. No matter how much it hurt in the empty years ahead, he wanted to keep it treasured.

Because he was going to lose her now. Lose her for good.

“It was me who started the fire,” he mumbled.

“I knew it.” Garret punched his fist into his opposite hand. “I told you all.”

Quinn’s mouth opened and shut. “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible.”

“Not the fire tonight,” Grandma snapped.

“The one at Edie’s store?” Archer asked quietly, all trace of his characteristic good humor gone.

“No. None of those,” Grandma continued.

“Then what?” Sawyer tilted back his chair, folding his arms behind his head.

Wilder cleared his throat. “The fire that killed our parents.”

The room fell into utter silence. Atticus stopped tapping his feet.

“Dad had a poker game that night and it kept me awake. After his buddies left, I went downstairs to check on him. He’d drunk too much. He liked to have a good time, he was always the life of a party.” Wilder couldn’t look up. He couldn’t face them while he did what he had to do, tell the story.

Instead, he fixated his gaze on a small hole in the plaster, just above the baseboards. Might be a mouse hole. Too bad he couldn’t shrink down and run away. Instead, he was living out his worst nightmare, but somewhere deep down he understood that this would eventually happen. Someday they’d all know and their fear of him would turn to something far worse.

Hate.

“Dad was asleep in his chair, snoring a little. I thought about waking him up, didn’t want to leave him there because then he’d get in the doghouse with Mom. But the table was covered with cards and beer bottles. I drank out of one but didn’t like the taste. Someone had left out a pack of cigarettes.

“I opened up the pack and inside were two . . . and a book of matches. I’d seen Dad strike a match before but never tried for myself. The first one didn’t light, but the second did. I watched the flame until it burned my fingers and then shook it out. The next one I dropped and it sparked a fire. They’d been keeping score on the table and there were crumpled sheets of paper everywhere. I tried to wake up Dad but he didn’t budge. The flames covered the table, bigger and bigger, and I didn’t know what to do. I ran to the kitchen and got a cup of water, but the splash didn’t do a thing.

“That’s when I went upstairs and got Mom. She was fast asleep and didn’t wake easily. Said I was having a nightmare and to go back to bed. I kept shaking her and finally she got angry and yelled at me. But by then the smoke was already coming up the stairs. She got to your room,” he told his brothers. “Pulled Archer out of bed and told Sawyer he’d have to walk. Both of you were sleepwalking and started throwing temper tantrums. When we got to the stairs, there were flames closing in but still room to get out the front door. Mom shepherded us outside a safe distance from the house. Asked me to hold both your hands, then she went back for Dad.

“I begged her not to go. Not to leave us. But she said Dad was in there. She said everything would be okay. She promised. And I believed her. She always kept her word.

“It was an old house. The fire must have gotten inside the walls. Everything destabilized fast. I didn’t know it then. I was just a kid. You two were crying and I was just staring at that door, willing them to come back. To be safe.

“Finally the door swung open and I knew everything would be okay. I might be in trouble forever but everything would be fine.

“That’s when the roof collapsed. Through the open door came Mom’s scream. It . . . it didn’t last long, only a few seconds, but I’ve never been able to get the sound out of my head.”

And then he could say no more. Only bury his head in his hands.

“Oh, Wilder,” Quinn said.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sawyer asked after a moment.

“No one knew the cause of the blaze,” Grandma said. “The official ruling was that my son must have fallen asleep smoking. Wilder confessed everything to me that night but I told him never to speak of it. I hoped he’d forget in time.”

“I never could.” Wilder choked. “I can still see it like I was there.”

“It was wrong of me not to let you talk it out,” Grandma said. “But that’s not the way I was raised. It’s not what I know. Feelings weren’t things you shared; they are things you keep out of sight. A private matter.”

“I killed our parents,” Wilder said. “I killed our parents and hated myself. Eventually I had to leave Brightwater. The guilt got too much to bear. I figured, out of sight, out of mind. You’d all forget about me in time. What good could I bring you? I’d torn from your life the two people you loved the best in the world.”

“Stop talking like that. Stop it right now.” Grandma crossed the room and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You were six years old and had an accident. I didn’t know what to do and made the wrong choice. Once you got bigger, I realized that you wanted to fight the world to get people to react and punish you. And what did I do? I came down harder. Threatened you. Told you I’d ship you off to military school. And then you did leave and I realized what a damn fool I’d been. I’ve lived with that regret for a long time, Wilder, and I will live with it for as many years are left to me.

“What your father did was stupid, leaving cigarettes and matches out. Drinking too much when he had three little boys. He loved you all but he had a reckless streak a mile wide.”

“I’m sorry.” Wilder looked around the room. “I’m sorry I never manned up and told you. I could barely speak the words to myself.”

There was the sound of a chair sliding back. Sawyer walked toward him, his boots loud against the floor. His brother pulled off his hat and threw it down on his desk.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Throw a punch, I can take it,” Wilder said. “Do what you need to do. I owe you a lot more than that.”

Annie rushed forward and Sawyer held up a hand. “I don’t want to hit you.” He rubbed his stomach for a moment. “Shit. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you.”

“No. That’s not it. Wilder, I don’t blame you. You were just a kid, the same age as Atticus.”

All eyes turned to the little boy who had taken out a Matchbox car and was pushing it along the bench lost in his imaginary Formula 1 race.

“It hurts to know that’s what’s been eating at your insides for so long.”

“You don’t . . . hate me?” Wilder couldn’t believe that he didn’t see anger in Sawyer’s face, only sadness.

“Hell no,” Archer said. “And you either, Grandma. What happened to our family was a tragedy, but Wilder was too young to understand what he was doing and, Grandma, you handled the situation how you thought best. In hindsight it was a mistake, but you acted out of love for Wilder. You hoped he’d forget and move on.”

Grandma nodded, stiffly. “My heart wasn’t as tender as it should have been. But know this, I loved you boys with every ounce of strength in this skinny body.”

“And we love you, Grandma.” Archer slung his arm around her narrow shoulders and pecked her cheek. Sawyer did the same. Then they both looked at Wilder.

“I heard you and your grandma fighting,” Garret said. All heads swiveled to him; Wilder had forgotten he was even there.

“After our fight at the fair, my mom sent me to apologize to you. I heard you and your grandma arguing in the barn. You said, ‘You know I burned the house down and killed my parents. I did that. Me.’ ”

Grandma shook her head. “It was the only time we ever spoke of it.”

“I thought you were a killer, man,” Garret said. “When you came back into town covered in burns, I was suspicious. Then the fires started.”

“Sawyer said you were almost always first on the scene,” Wilder said.

“That’s true, but there aren’t many of us on the Brightwater force. It’s not hard to be the first responder.”

Wilder raked a hand through his hair. “If it wasn’t you setting the fires, and it wasn’t me, then who the fuck was it?”

Sawyer shook his head. “I’ll call ATF tomorrow morning and light one hell of a fire under their ass, pardon the pun. We can’t have some sort of nut job running around town setting fires.”

“Guys, PG language, please,” Annie said, reaching out to take Sawyer’s hand and nodding at Atticus.

Wilder rubbed his chin. “I still think it’s someone associated with the fire department.”

Garret shook his head. “Besides me, every other guy is a family man. What would be the motive?”

“To be a hero.” Wilder leaned back with a frown. “Or make one of you the hero.”

Quinn stepped forward. “What about Lenny?”

“What about Lenny?” Garret scoffed, wrinkling his brow. “He might be a joker, but he’s also a friend. Plus no way does he have it in him.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Wilder glanced over at Quinn with dawning awareness. “You’re a genius.”

She winked. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You’re modest.”

“Are you serious? Lenny?” Garret glanced between them as if they’d each sprouted an extra head and announced an intention to take up tap-dancing. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Think about it. He was your lap dog all through high school,” Wilder said. “Always idolized you. What better way to set up a hero than to make him someone the whole town can get behind?”

“You might be on to something,” Annie replied slowly, turning to Sawyer. “He was the one who contacted the paper and suggested that I do that story on Garret.”

“Does he happen to drive a Honda Civic by any chance?” Quinn asked, remembering the car that scared her recently in the A Novel Experience parking lot.

“That’s his mom’s car,” Garret replied. “He still lives at home. But I’m telling you, he’s harmless, not our guy.”

Wilder folded his arms. “Go to his house and I’ll bet you’ll find everything you need. I might have been wrong thinking Garret was the culprit, but Lenny fits the bill. He wanted to make his buddy a hero so he could bask in the limelight.”

“A hypothesis does not a search warrant make,” Sawyer said. “I say we all get on home and in the morning I’ll look into everything.”

“Remember the milk jugs?” Wilder pushed.

Garret jerked. “What about milk jugs?”

Wilder studied him. “That’s what started the fires. Gasoline was poured into milk jugs as an accelerant and a cotton sock was used as a wick each time to light it.”

“We never found a milk jug,” Garret said.

“You didn’t look, or rather, didn’t know what to look out for. We had a few arsonist situations on and off in Montana over the years and one’s method of choice was the milk jug.”

“Lenny is allergic to dairy,” Garret muttered, “but I saw him buying two gallons last week. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“Think you can keep your trap shut, not alert him that he’s a suspect?” Sawyer said with a layer of menace.

“Sure thing, Sheriff. But are you sure about Lenny?” Garret shook his head. “This guy makes more sense.” He jutted a thumb at Wilder.

“This guy isn’t sitting in the hot seat for one second longer,” Quinn said, reaching out a hand. “He’s coming home with me.”

Wilder blinked at her hand. She still wanted him? “Home?”

Shit. That was a hell of a thing to say.

“Your home,” she clarified.

Grandma nodded. “I knew I liked this one.”

Wilder glanced down at Quinn’s beautiful, trusting gaze and knew what he felt was a good deal more than like.