Dangerous Legacy (13 page)

“Uh-huh. All the time. She says I’m smart.”

“She’s right.”

“Are you gonna marry her?”

It took Flint a couple of seconds to close his mouth and answer, “Why?” which triggered more giggles.

Mark sobered. “I think she likes you.”

“I like her, too.”

“That’s good, huh?”

Reaching over to pat his son on the knee, he said, “Yes. That’s very good.”

The boy suddenly seemed distracted. Flint had been keeping such a close eye on Maggie’s truck he’d failed to notice a column of smoke in the distance. When Mark pointed, it was clear.

Flint grabbed his phone. Maggie didn’t answer his call, but judging by the way she sped up she’d seen the smoke, too. He alerted the sheriff and fire department, then flipped on his lights and siren.

“Yeah! Can we go real fast, too, like Mama?”

“Maybe not quite that fast,” Flint said, “but we’ll get there. I want you to be safe.”

“I got my seat belt on. See?”

“Yes, but even a seat belt isn’t enough in a bad accident.”

Just when he thought he was having a sensible father-and-son conversation and imparting important knowledge, he heard a giggle. “Why?”

It did occur to Flint to actually explain, but he decided to save that for a later time. Right now his main goal had to be getting to Maggie’s and helping her put out the fire before she got herself hurt trying to be too brave. She would. He knew she would. When the health and safety of a helpless animal was at stake, there was no doubt.

With Mark cheering and the truck bouncing over the potholes in the dirt drive, they drew closer. Thankfully, the smoke wasn’t coming from the house, nor was there much fire out by the barn. That was a better scenario than he’d first expected.

“Okay,” Flint said, skidding to a stop and pulling his keys from the ignition. “You’ll be safe out here. Stay in the truck while I go help your mother. You hear?”

“Wh—” The child apparently noted his stern expression and stopped teasing. He bowed his head instead and said, “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Uh-huh.”

Flint had no choice but to trust him. Hitting the ground running, he pushed the button on his key fob to lock the truck doors, then began to pray as he searched for Maggie.

All he could manage was a heartfelt “Please, Lord,” but he figured, under the circumstances, that was plenty.

THIRTEEN

M
ost of the pile of loose straw was smoldering while flames danced at the edges. Maggie grabbed a hose and began to wet down the bales behind the fire to keep it from spreading.

She heard Flint shout, “Fire department’s coming,” as he wielded a pitchfork to clear a path between the burning straw and her winter hay storage.

“Where’s Mark?” she screeched at him.

“In my truck.”

“Safe?”

“As safe as I could make him.”

“We need Wolfie,” she shouted back before throwing down the hose. “Have you got this?”

“Yeah. Go get the dog. I’ll finish here and then check the rest of the yard.”

In the panic of the moment, she hadn’t thought about anything but quenching the flames. Now that she was on the move, she realized Flint was right. Just because they’d put out one fire didn’t mean the danger was past.

Her house was supposed to be locked up tight, so when she found the rear door ajar it startled her. “Wolfie!”

The big dog crawled out from under the kitchen table and hurried to her, slightly favoring his cut paw.

Instead of entering the house, Maggie led him around to the front looking for the Game and Fish truck. Mark was on his knees, peering out a side window, but he’d stayed put despite the excitement. When he saw Maggie and their dog he scrunched up his face and burst into tears.

She gave the door handle a jerk. Nothing happened. “It’s locked, honey. You’ll have to open it from the inside.”

Mark was still shedding tears, but he shook his head.

“Come on, honey. It’s okay. Open the door.”

Still, the child resisted. Maggie began to scowl. “What’s the matter? Why can’t you open it?”

Mark pointed to where the smoke was dissipating. The truth struck her like a physical blow. He was obeying his father’s orders instead of listening to hers.

Calm down,
she told herself.
Get a grip. It’s not the end of the world.

But it was the end of her total control, she realized sadly. Not only was she going to have to share the raising of Mark, but she was going to have to adjust to having Flint in her life in a big, big way, like it or not. She’d coped alone for so long it had become second nature, yet when it came to defending herself and her child, she had to admit it was comforting to have an ally.

Speaking of whom... Flint was rounding the house, gun drawn, and looking every bit like a commando despite wearing church clothes. When he noticed her standing by his truck, she motioned and he unlocked the doors remotely.

“Did you leave the back door open?” he asked as she helped Mark down.

“No. That’s how I found it. I was really careful after that prowler incident. I know I locked everything before I left this morning.”

“Okay. You stay here so you can talk to the firefighters. I’ll circle around back to make sure nobody lights another fire.”

“The arsonists must be long gone,” Maggie insisted. She reached for his arm to stop him. “Wolfie was hiding under the kitchen table. If a stranger had been in or near the house, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“Suppose it was somebody he knew?” Flint argued. “Maybe cousin Robbie came back.”

“He’d never break into my house.” Maggie was certain of it. “Like I’ve said before, Elwood is a bad influence. Robbie’s okay, but...” She gasped. “Wait a minute. We saw Luke and Will in town. They couldn’t have gotten here, started this fire and escaped. We’d have seen them.”

She noted that Flint had stationed himself with his back to her and Mark, becoming a human shield. Sirens in the distance were not nearly as comforting as knowing that this man intended to defend her totally.

Touching his shoulder, Maggie said, “Thank you.”

“I’d normally say, ‘My pleasure,’ but that doesn’t fit this occasion.”

She mustered her courage. “What if Elwood is not the one responsible?”

“Then the sheriff and I will pin it on whoever is guilty.”

“It can’t be Robbie. He would never do anything to harm me.”

Beneath her soft touch she felt his shoulder stiffen. “Who else is there?” He turned.

“I don’t know, unless Abigail’s niece and nephew are still on the warpath. She’s been considering having the house redone and they may not want her to spend the money.”

“It makes no sense to burn it down.”

“Sure it does. No house, no expense. And probably no wild animal sanctuary, either.”

“Do you think they’d stoop to committing actual crimes?”

“They might. Greed is a great incentive.”

“True.”

“So is hatred,” Maggie went on. “Elwood isn’t the only one who might be nurturing that old grudge or be unhappy that you and I have been together so much. We’ve been concentrating on Witherspoons. How about broadening our suspicions to include Crawfords?”

“What?”
The response was so harsh Mark hid behind his mother’s leg and Wolfie growled.

“You heard me.” She stood firm, chin raised. “Just because there aren’t many Crawfords left doesn’t mean they aren’t as angry as Elwood.”

“The only ones left around here are my grandparents. Are you implying that a sweet old woman and a man who can barely remember how to tie his own shoes are out to get you just because of your lineage?” He huffed. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Maggie backed down. “Ira’s that bad? I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, he’s that bad. He also thinks I’m trying to steal his farm from him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I overheard him ranting about it.”

“That’s interesting,” she said, watching the fire engine and a sheriff’s car stop next to her house and Flint hurry toward the men who were getting out.

It was probably for the best that this particular discussion was over. If it had continued, Maggie feared, she might have overstepped and suggested that Ira’s guilty conscience was making him imagine payback in kind for his long-ago sins.

That was half the trouble with holding grudges, she decided. The person who remained angry wasn’t the only one who suffered. Both sides did, as well as those around them who absorbed the rancor. What a waste. There was no telling how many lives had been ruined in the past or might be harmed in the future from Ira Crawford’s betrayal of his friends. Truth to tell, just because some of his and Elwood’s descendants weren’t vocal about their prejudices was no proof they were innocent. Considering the feud in that light greatly increased the suspect pool.

Maggie shivered as those details settled in her heart and mind. A good third of the town was related to one side or the other, which made a lot of her friends and acquaintances persons of interest.

That was scary.

* * *

It was late afternoon before the professionals on scene finished trading “war” stories and went their separate ways. The practice of unwinding after facing a tense situation was common and served to help fire and police alike to decompress. The same kind of kinship had occurred after combat missions. Reminiscing about his time in the service, however, was not something Flint enjoyed. He’d done his duty. As far as he was concerned, that part of his life was over.

He huffed.
Yeah
. Except that while he was away his family had been formed. Without him. If he’d even suspected that he’d be needed at home, he’d never have left.

Although he tended to blame Maggie for refusing to marry him, his decision to go had not been totally her fault. His grandparents’ negative attitudes had also contributed. Looking back, he could see that Ira had already been showing signs of dementia then. Signs he’d managed to hide behind irrational anger and bluster.

Could Maggie’s notion about the Crawfords be right? Flint shook his head decisively.
No
. Shirttail relatives were unconcerned. And Ira? Flint couldn’t wrap his mind around that concept no matter how ill the old man was.

The wildlife compound seemed awfully quiet once the others were gone. Flint kept a close eye on their surroundings as well as staying near Mark. It was satisfying to see how intelligent and inquisitive the boy was and flattering to be the recipient of a long string of questions, usually followed by “Why?”

Maggie was closing the last pen when Flint approached her. “Chores done?”

“For now.” She eyed the darkening sky. “If it snows I may need to add more bedding, but I don’t want to jump the gun.”

“Speaking of guns,” Flint said, smiling slightly, “when do you want your first lesson?”

Her momentary hesitation was expected. So was the deep sigh. “I don’t know. All that running around and worry really tired me out.”

“I know. How about an afternoon snack?” He eyed Mark. “Then Wolfie can watch cartoons with his favorite friend.”

“While we go out in the yard to shoot. Great idea. I have apples in the fridge and cookies in the cupboard.”

“Not to worry,” Flint said, smiling. “When I picked up the pizza I bought dessert. It’s out in my truck.”

Maggie rolled her eyes while Mark jumped up and down and cheered. “Don’t tell me. You got those sticky, frosted dough things that are a nutritional disaster.”

“Yup. We can talk about healthy food another day. Right now it’s empty calorie time.”

“You’re spoiling us.”

His smile grew to a face-splitting grin. “I hope so.”

Although she led the way into the kitchen, he could tell she wasn’t enthusiastic. Was she sorry she’d asked him to stay? Was she afraid of shooting? If she was truly as weary as she was acting, perhaps it would be best to postpone her lesson.

“Mark and I will wash up while you go get our dessert,” Maggie told him. “Coffee, too?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Flint started through the house heading for the front door. He and the sheriff had both checked all the rooms, but that wasn’t enough to generate calm. Or peace. And if he felt uneasy in that old house, how must Maggie feel, particularly at night when she was alone?

Not exactly alone,
he added, stepping up the pace to get back to her ASAP. She had the dog to help keep watch and a boy—his boy—to keep safe. The burden of being a single parent must be immense. No wonder she seemed uptight much of the time.

Something about his truck seemed off. Flint frowned as he reached to open the door. Once inside, he could tell what was wrong when he moved aside his notebook and the pen rolled away.

He circled the vehicle with the box of sticky bread in his hands. Two of his tires had been flattened. Closer inspection showed no damage, and he hoped a simple airing-up would fix the problem.

Flint jogged back to the house and ducked in the door, slamming it behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He’d hoped to hide his anxiety. He’d failed. One look at Maggie and he knew she had sensed a problem. “Flat tires on my truck,” he said. “Unless you have an air compressor, I’m going to need to call a tow truck.”

“No. Sorry. What happened to them?”

“Looks like a vandal let the air out on the side opposite the house, where we couldn’t see him doing it,” Flint said. He set the confection box in the center of the kitchen table.

Maggie was frowning as she brought their drinks and placed a glass of milk in front of her son. “That’s illogical.”

“Why?” Realizing who he sounded like, he winked at the child.

“Because. If somebody wants to get rid of you, why would they try to make you stay?” She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t mess with your own tires, did you?”

“And strand myself? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay. I had to ask.”

“No, you didn’t.” He willed her to understand that his motives were pure. “You and I need to make a pact to be nothing but truthful with each other. There’s already been too much held back, too much misunderstanding. That ends right now.” He offered his hand. “Agreed?”

Hesitating, Maggie stared at his hand for what seemed like hours before she reached for it and said, “Agreed.”

Flint had meant to merely shake on their mutual promise, but the moment his hand touched Maggie’s, all previous notions fled like a startled covey of quail.

Their gazes met. Held. Flint tried to read her thoughts and found himself drowning in waves of emotion. She began to tremble. He covered their clasped hands with his other, drawing on the warmth of her delicate fingers and yearning to wrap her in a long embrace.

Do it,
his heart urged.
Just do it
.
Did he dare? Was it too soon, or would
any
time be wrong? Flint knew Maggie loved their son and had once loved him, or so she’d said. If he was going to honor their pledge, perhaps now was the time to begin airing the truth.

What
was
the truth? he asked himself. Did he love her the same way he used to? No. They had both changed too much over time. So, was that a problem? Perhaps. And what about her feelings? If she was still struggling to forgive him, despite her mother’s confession about destroying his letters, was she ready to discuss possibilities for a shared future? Sharing parental responsibility was one thing. Recommitting to each other was decidedly different.

“Mama?” Mark whined. “I’m hungry.”

That was enough to break into Flint’s spinning, soaring thoughts and bring him back down to earth. He released his hold just as Maggie jerked her hand away.

“Me, too, honey,” she said, fussing with a napkin before tucking it into the neck of Mark’s shirt. “You still have your Sunday clothes on and I don’t want you to get them all sticky.”

“Aw, Mama.”

Flint had to smile. His son was not merely a typical boy; he was the kind of kid who looked so cute while misbehaving that it was going to be hard to discipline him properly. “Don’t argue with your mother,” Flint said, trying to keep a straight face despite Mark’s pout. “She’s boss.”

“Uh-uh. I’m the man of the house.”

A fleeting glance at Maggie told him she’d put that idea in the boy’s head. “Men are a bit taller and older,” Flint said to him gently. “Kind of like me. When you get as big as I am, then you can be the man of the house.” Lack of verbal contradiction from Maggie gave him the courage to add, “In the meantime, I’ll help. Okay?”

Mark had time for only “Okay” before he stuck the sticky bread in his mouth and began to chew.