Losing Ladd (31 page)

“
It’s burning up the
tree!”

In a roar of anger, Nick pushed up
from Jeremiah’s body and yelled out, “Call the police!” Shrieks of
response were scattered as Nick dialed into the situation. Through
the dim light he saw bodies dash in and out of the screened porch.
Several guests stood by the stone patio downstairs. There was a
hose. They could use it to curb the flames. Nick slung his gaze
uphill. Flames were growing. “Grab the hoses!”

Instinctively Nick grabbed his phone
and called Malcolm. His partner answered the first ring. “What the
hell’s going on?”

“
There’s a fire. Behind
the hotel. Get all staff on hoses,” Nick barked, urgency ramping
his tone. “Call the police. I’ve got Jeremiah.” Ending the call, he
drove his boot into a squirming Jeremiah. “You’re not going
anywhere.”

“
Hell I’m not!” From out
of nowhere, Jeremiah pulled a gun.

Staring down the barrel, Nick jumped
backward.

A gunshot rang out.

Screams sounded from the
hotel.

Jeremiah scrambled to his feet but
Nick sprang for him. Another shot pierced the forest. Nick felt the
metal barrel of a gun slam into the side of his head as they
collided, plunging over a small cliff. Sailing over bushes, they
crashed onto solid ground. The pain to his ribs was sharp.
Mindlessly Nick struck at Jeremiah. Blow after blow, he connected
wherever he could. Above them, guests shrieked in horror as they
witnessed the conflict. Wrestling, branches jabbing, Nick managed
to straddle Jeremiah. Pinning his hands, Nick searched for signs of
his weapon.

Anger twisted Jeremiah’s bloodied face
as he writhed to break free. “Get off me!”

“
Not a chance.” Chest
heaving, Nick stared down at him. The man was garbage. He had no
respect for others, for life or property. He’d taken a shot at him!
Honing in on the pulsing vein in Jeremiah’s sweaty neck, Nick
flipped his hold from hands to throat. Squeezing the last breath
from his lungs would bring immense pleasure. Jeremiah seemed to
understand the same. Fear scored his light brown eyes. He tried to
tear Nick’s hands from his throat.

He didn’t stand a chance. Nick’s grip
was a steel clamp.

“
Nick!”

Malcolm’s voice cut
through the chaos. With unerring accuracy, it locked onto the
vise-grip around Jeremiah’s neck. Riveted by the cold eyes of a
killer, Nick lingered in his desire, the feel of Jeremiah’s bony
throat in his hands. Seconds passed until both men understood the
moment was gone. Nick wouldn’t kill Jeremiah in cold blood. He
wasn’t that animal. Jeremiah’s lips twitched, then turned up in
pleasure. Jeremiah
was
.

Nick shoved Jeremiah’s head into the
ground, nailing it against a rock then pushed up from him with a
kick to the ribs. Jeremiah grabbed his side, crying out in pain.
“It’s over,” Nick muttered. “It’s over.”

Several male staff members were
climbing the hill, aiming a hose high into the air. A few others
manned fire extinguishers but none of it made a dent as flames
fanned the brush, lighting the air to a smoky gold. The scent of
burning wood conjured up images of Delaney and the stables,
snapping Nick back into action. Hauling Jeremiah from the ground,
he dragged him to the hotel and thrust him toward the stone patio.
White beams were flung up tree trunks around him as people
converged on scene with the flashlights. Drawing the gun from his
waistband, Nick handed it to the nearest fellow and clipped, “Watch
him.”

The man didn’t hesitate, as though he
inherently understood Jeremiah was responsible for the fire. Nick
locked gazes with Malcolm. A glow of flame hung between them,
casting solemn expressions in crystal clear clarity. Another fire.
Another blow. Nick vowed it would be the last.

Running up hill, he
pointed toward the porch where several guests had gathered to
watch. “Get those people out of there!” Distant sirens whistled
through the cooling night air, chilling the hair on his
neck.
Please don’t let this reach the
building
.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Felicity stood at the end of Travis’
bed. She gazed at his inert figure, her emotions wrung out like an
old dishrag. She couldn’t get near him. A mask was taped to his
face, tubes secured to his arms. He looked like he’d been hog-tied
in place so he couldn’t jump up and run away. A patient in the next
bed lay mouth agape, his lips dried and cracked. Felicity
shuddered, hugging arms to her body. These were the lucky ones.
From what the nurse said, Travis was lucky to be alive. The bullet
hit an artery. The damage had been severe. Felicity remembered the
blood, remembered being frightened by the enormous soaking into his
shirt.

Her instincts had been correct.
Doctors said the blood loss had almost killed him.

Struggling not to crumble
as doctors and nurses moved around the intensive care unit, she
swallowed over the painful rock in her throat. Travis wasn’t safe
yet. They said the next twenty-four hours would be crucial. It
could go either way. They said she could see him but he wouldn’t
know she was here. Tears surged and her lips quivered.
Please, get better
.
Digging her hands into her bare arms, she willed him to heal. There
was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted him to
know.

She never even thanked him for saving
her mother.

Standing like a heel, a stump, she
stared at him. His parents had been here first. They spent almost
an hour with him doing God knows what. There was nothing to do!
She’d waited for them to leave, counted the seconds but, now,
wondered why. There was nothing they could do. He wasn’t Travis. He
was a body, one more patient lying in intensive care. Pushing
herself closer, she wanted to touch him, hold him. Wanted to
connect.

“
Travis,” she whispered.
“Travis, can you hear me?”

Monitors bleeped. A machine swelled
and hissed. She knew it was foolish, but she wanted him to know she
was here. They’d said her mom could hear her. Deep in a coma, her
mind had still been able to compute her presence. Could
Travis?

Felicity touched her
fingers to his arm, heartened by its warmth. Exhaling a ragged
breath, a well of relief poured into her. “You’re going to be all
right. The doctors say you did great.” A flutter in her chest
betrayed her claim, but he didn’t know. He couldn’t feel the pound
of her heart, the flock of nerves in her breast. Steadying her
voice, she said, “You’re strong and healthy and you’re going to
pull through this. They don’t know it’s because you think you can
do anything.” A nervous laugh erupted as tears spilled free. “They
don’t know how strong-minded you are, how determined. That’s why
you’re going to be okay. That’s why,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Because you have to.
You have
to
, Travis.”

“
Felicity.”

She whirled, startled to see Troy
standing behind her. No hat, no smile, he stood rigid, seemingly
uncaring to anyone who didn’t know him. But she did. Hot, fluid,
his dark eyes were steeped in pain. Troy was hurting.

Felicity went to him quickly. Throwing
herself against him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and
pressed her face in his shoulder. “I don’t know, Troy. I don’t know
if he’s going to be okay.”

Hugging her to him, he hooked his
cheek to hers. “He’s got to be, Felicity. He can’t die.”

Troy’s words gave life to the fear
she’d hidden away deep inside. Die. Death. Surrendering to the
strength and warmth of her closest friend, Felicity let go. She
unlatched the lock on her heart. Released the fear, the doubts.
Tears flowed and she let them. Troy understood. He was the one
person in this world who understood her pain. Friends since
childhood, the three of them had been inseparable. They loved the
same things, lived the same life. Troy was like family. He knew her
heart. Despite his differences with Travis, their bond held strong.
They were brothers. Twins. Troy loved his brother. He loved
her.

Breathing in the scent of
him, the round of his muscle, she cried softly into the dampened
T-shirt, “He won’t leave us, Troy. He
can’t
.”

Cal stood on the threshold of his
parent’s’ home, staring into the impassive gaze of his mother.
Brightly lit lamps reflected in her eyes, light brown eyes that
held no affection. He could smell the roasting scent of chicken
from within, knew he’d called her from supper. Idly, he wondered
after his father. Was he here? Was he waiting for her? Did he
wonder at the interruption?

It was short-lived. Cal was here with
a purpose. Fiddling with the ends of the envelope in his hand, he
found it painful to look into his momma’s eyes and not see an
invitation to come in, or the love he’d grown up with, known all
his life. Love, happiness. It was all he wanted, really. Hers. His.
It wasn’t his fault that life dealt her a cruel blow putting
Susannah Ladd in Daddy’s life before her, his wife, the mother of
his children. It wasn’t Cal’s fault his parents shared a painful
past. But it was his purpose to ease her pain.

Her grief, he’d realized. After
sharing the letters with Annie, Cal had come to realize what was
truly eating at his mother after all these years. His wife had
explained it as simple as a man could understand. Women live for
love. They give it, nurture it, create new life because of it. For
a woman love was the purest form of communication. It sustained
them, strengthened them. It was their currency, Cal realized, but
Annie explained it went further. Love was the mortar between the
bricks. It built the home, provided the shelter. It was the gravity
that kept a family grounded, the dreams that kept the clouds
floating and the sun shining. If Victoria felt her love had been
weakened, damaged, her world would feel like it was crumbling
beneath her.

It was a hefty burden, but one he
assumed came with the package of living.

“
What do you want?”
Unwilling to welcome him inside, Victoria Foster held the door
half-closed, her elegantly-dressed figure a mere slice of view
between door edge and frame.

“
I have something for
you,” he replied softly.

“
You’ve already
demonstrated your disdain for this family. What would I want from
you now?”

“
It’s not from me.” Cal
offered up the letter he’d been holding. “It’s from
Daddy.”

Startled, she looked down at the aged
yellow envelope in his hands, but suspicion instantly bucked the
surprise from her gaze. “What is that? Is this some kind of ruse
he’s playing on your behalf?”

Cal shook his head, tamping back a
swell of sadness. “He doesn’t know I’m giving it to you.” In fact,
his daddy might be angry about him sharing the letters with Momma,
but something had to give and Cal decided it had to be the
past.

Victoria took the envelope, a sudden
interest taking over. “What’s in it?”

Cal didn’t say a word. She tore open
the flap and he watched silently as she read, his heart pitching as
her expression changed. He noticed a slight tremor in her hand when
she looked at him. The color had drained from her face. “Where did
you get this?”

“
In the attic.”

“
I don’t
understand...”

“
What’s there to
understand? He loves you, Momma. He loves you.
You
.”

Hazel eyes glistened in the lamplight.
Soft and vulnerable, they were the pillows of love he’d known from
his childhood. Questions flowed freely but not a single one did she
voice. His mother was too proud.

Cal straightened, pulled his collar
snug around his neck. His job was done. If she didn’t want to
listen, if she wanted to overlook the facts because her heart had
been injured, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. This was
about her and Daddy. This was their life, their struggle. While it
might affect the entire family, they were the ones holding the
reins. He turned to go.

“
Wait.” His mother reached
out for him. “Don’t go.”

Pausing, hope funneled into him as his
mother held his gaze.

“
You said your father
doesn’t know...”

“
He doesn’t know I found
the letter. He doesn’t know I’m sharing it with you.” There was no
need to reveal the others. They’d only cause harm.

Her mouth broke into a nervous smile.
Embarrassed. “So you know about Susannah.”

“
I only know of her, the
rumors, but I believe she’s the reason you’re taking up for Jack
against Delaney.”

The accusation buckled his mother’s
stately image of poise and grace. It found its home, made her look
small and petty, because it was true. Cal had pegged her like a
bull’s eye in her heart. While Cal hated to knock her down, he
hoped the truth would serve to pick her up again.

Watching her glance down at the
letter, he suspected a confession hovered on her lips. Meeting his
gaze directly, she said, “I’m not a perfect person,
Cal.”

“
None of us are,
Momma.”

“
I have my
faults.”