Wildfire (26 page)

A bitter laugh burst out of Jack. “Then you found out what
villains they were.”

The old man regarded him with laughter in his eyes. “No,
then I found Elsie.”

The change in topics left Jack floundering to follow.
“Elsie?”

In reply, Tavistock shrugged with his palms held up. “I
figured if I’d won Elsie, I couldn’t be that lacking. The right woman does
wonders for a man’s confidence.”

Heat invaded Jack’s skin. “Oh.”

“Ya’ know…” Tavistock held up his hands at Jack’s glare.
“Don’t worry. I’m just talkin’ about the old days.”

Jack’s shoulder’s climbed down as he settled into the chair
to listen.

“This town’s always been full of gossips,” Tavistock said.
“Just like they talked about the Callaghans, they talked about anyone else
given half the chance.” He cleared his throat. “Did you ever hear about how
Elsie and I met?”

He laughed at Jack’s sheepish look. “I guess you have. Well,
it’s true.”

The hat landed on the floor again. According to rumors,
Elsie had been a lady of the night when she’d met Tavistock. “True? I always
chalked it up to meanness.” He cleared his throat. “We might be talking about
two different things.”

“I may never have been a Callaghan, but then again given the
stories almost everybody in Paradise Valley might be some part Callaghan.”
Laughter shook his shoulders. “Anyways, I caused my share of trouble.”

Infected by Tavistock’s glee in the story, Jack couldn’t
help grinning back. “What kind of trouble? Wait, I thought your father
introduced the two of you. At least that’s what you said in the paper.”

“So he did! He took me to Miss Hattie’s bordello for my
eighteenth birthday for some manly experience, if you get my drift,” Tavistock
said. “Elsie was my teacher that night.”

“Whoa, too much information there pal.”

“Stop blushing, I’m not giving you any details,” Tavistock
shook his head. “Anyhow, I became a regular and eventually proposed.”

A low whistle escaped Jack. “That must have been
interesting.”

“You can’t imagine the hoopla!” Tavistock wiped at his eyes.
“On one hand was my father, the respectable banker, and on the other hand was
this very stubborn woman. Imagine how pissed they were to find themselves on
the same side.”

“On the same side?”

“Yeah, neither wanted me to go ahead with my crazy idea of
marriage.”

“So, you actually had to work to win her love.”

“Oh no, I’d won her love all right. But at first she said
no.”

“Why?”Jack asked, intrigued despite himself.

Tavistock shook his head. “I came from a prestigious family.
She didn’t. She was worried about all that, her job and her not being good
enough.”

Jack nodded. “Well, there were a lot of differences between
you two,” he said. “Different backgrounds, ages, and marital status. And her,
um, job.”

Tavistock waved his hands dismissively. “Those differences
don’t matter,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t ask to be born into my family but I was.
And she didn’t ask for hard times and a room in the brothel. Those things just
happened. And we certainly had no control over which years we were born in.”

He paused and swallowed. “What really matters is the
feelings,” he said. “If two people feel differently about each other, than
there’s not much to work with. Luckily, Elsie and I loved each other.”

Jack’s thoughts swam as if Tavistock had banged him on the
head with a frying pan. Lynn hadn’t asked to be born a dragon, just as he’d
never asked to be born a Callaghan. God, he’d been a shithead.

He needed to think. He scuttled out of the chair. “I gotta
go.”

“Jack.”

Fighting his need to rush home, Jack turned at the door.

“Ya’ know, you’ve got some of that Callaghan confidence,” he
said. “Now go find that girl and get the rest.”

He left Tavistock cackling in his room. The sly old fox.

Jack’s heart gladdened as he pulled up to the house. Bright,
cheery light blazed from the windows, welcoming him home. Light streamed out
into the night, carving out the nearest trees and shrubs. Moths fluttered and
fawned in that yellow spill. Wait….He’d never leave so many lights on. His
fingers froze on the pickup’s door handle. In fact, he hadn’t.

Jack flung the door open and flew out of the truck.
Crouching low, he ran under the cover of shadows close to the house. Of course,
all those damn lights would make it impossible to hide for long. He stepped
into the brightness and swung the back door open. As he slipped inside, he
cursed himself for not locking up. Until today, he’d never felt the need to.
Where was Cannon? Usually, the dog greeted him at the door wagging his whole
body in excitement. Goddammit. The intruder had better not have hurt Cannon.
Anger and worry torched the blood in his veins. He strode through the house,
calling and whistling for the dog.

Something between a whimper and a whine answered him from
the kitchen.

Jack broke into a run.

He skidded to a stop right inside the kitchen. Cannon cowered
underneath the kitchen table, low to the ground, face nudged between his front
paws. His tail swished in a halfhearted wave.

What the hell had scared the dog this bad?

Jack grabbed a doggy treat from one of the counter cabinets
and approached the table with soft steps, then crouched down to be closer to
Cannon. Holding the treat out, he called the dog in friendly, happy tones.
“Here, boy. Look what I got you? It’s a treat. A treat! Come on, boy.”

With another whine, Cannon scooted forward on his belly.

Keeping the treat just beyond his reach, Jack was finally
able to draw the dog out. He stood with the dried twist of beef held high.

Barking, Cannon bounded to his feet and lunged for it.

Jack fed him the treat and rubbed Cannon’s shaggy coat with
both hands. Fear dissipated into the air. The dog didn’t seem to be hurt. After
a careful once-over, Jack rewarded Cannon with an extra treat to make up for
whatever fright he’d endured.

Even though his gut said the intruder was long gone, he
locked the back door before checking out the house. He started with the
library.

“Holy Shit.”

Books, papers, knickknacks lay scattered all over the floor.
Someone had attacked the chairs with something sharp. White stuffing and
springs pushed out like entrails. Paintings and animal heads had been pulled
off the walls and thrown willy-nilly.

“Shit. And double shit.”

He waded through the debris to the desk. No notebook.

Like a wild boar, he charged here and there, searching under
different piles, stirring up the mess and reforming it, until at last he stood
in the center of it all, panting to catch his breath.

No notebook.

As an afterthought he went over to the display cabinet. The
scale, the antique gun and all the coins were missing. Gone, all gone.

His heart jumped and jived in his chest as he dashed out of
the room, around the corner and down the hallway to his bedroom. Another mess
greeted him there.

He ran to the bathroom. Wrenching open the lid of the
laundry basket, he pulled out a handful of clothes. A grin spread his lips as
he caught sight of the soiled shirt he’d been wearing earlier. One hand shot to
the left breast pocket and encountered the stiffness of the envelope.

With a half strangled cry, he sat on the edge of the tub.
His fingers trembled as he pulled the yellowed envelope out of the pocket.
Blank on the outside with something inside. Sweat spiked his upper lip as he
flipped it open, and found two pieces of paper. He unfolded the first to reveal
a map of the old Callaghan property. An X marked a location that seemed to be
on one of the hills on land that he still owned. That’s lucky. He squinted at
the map. Or maybe not. His father and grandfather had sold away bits and pieces
of land, but somehow always kept the hill and its surrounding areas in Callaghan
hands.

Curiosity gnawed him and he unfolded the second paper. It
turned out to be a letter to him. From his dad. Tears blurred the writing. Jack
hurriedly swiped at his eyes. He remembered his dad rambling on his deathbed
about family and dragons. He’d been half listening, squeezing his father’s
hand, trying to say goodbye. He’d dismissed his dad’s words as nonsense, a
fragment of something from one of his books. Worse, he’d resented those books.

Taking a deep breath, Jack gazed down at the letter. The
missive was simple.

Dear Son,

I hope you find this letter and the notebook, for this
story and all it reveals belongs to you. Also, to your sister. Though, she is
more like her mother and less a Callaghan. In the ledgers I’ve kept meticulous
accounts of all the lands sold at nominal cost to family. Anybody with a drop
of Callaghan blood. Your grandfather and I tried to make amends for generations
of wrongs. Now you must continue what we started. Almost everything is lost,
but what remains can be found in the cave. It is now yours to protect.

God bless and good luck,

Your father.

Chapter
27

This time he’d savor every word.

The story was told from a dragon’s point of view. A dragon
who had barely escaped the crusades and St. George’s wrath, and made his way to
Ireland, adopted the name Callaghan then moved on to the New World. A dragon
who, in human form, experienced seasickness on a ship journey, survived the
Indian wars and subsistence farming. Luckily, he had been able to bring at
least part of his treasure horde. A dragon who’d taken a Native American woman
as his mate and started the Callaghan dynasty.

He finished reading the story at three a.m. Laying the book
on his belly, Henry folded his hands underneath his head and stared up at the
stained popcorn ceiling. Weariness burned his eyes, but his thoughts ran on
full battery.

An imaginative attempt to glorify the family? Or truth? Most
people would chalk the tale up as fantasy, but he knew better. He knew the
truth of dragons.

All these years, he’d dreamt of the black dragon. Imagined
it breathing, pulsing, fuming inside his body. All his life, he’d heard its
roars and whispers of fire, flame and destruction. Sometimes he’d thought he
was crazy. Most other times, he imagined this beautiful, powerful creature had
somehow been trapped inside his body. Cursed to serve him, and only him,
forever. All this time, he’d considered himself the dragon master.

A giggle escaped into the night. Now it all made sense. The
dragon wasn’t a separate being, but a part of him. Not the dragon master, but
the dragon. If only he’d known this earlier, how much more powerful would he
have been today? Rage sparked inside for all the wasted time. If only his
father had done his duty and claimed him, shared the family secret….

He strode back and forth across the threadbare carpet. His
foot sent an empty beer bottle rolling across the room. The old woman had tried
to tell him. But he’d dismissed her words as more foolish ideas, just like her
ideas about honor and responsibility. He thought she’d been trying to tempt him
to give up his power and follow rules. Rules were for ordinary people. He’d
played along, and then destroyed her.

He grabbed a fistful of hair, tight enough to pinch the skin
on his skull, and closed his eyes enduring the pain as punishment for his own
foolishness. If he’d only listened to the old woman….

No matter. The girl could change. His mind played back
Lynn’s transformation from human to dragon. Beautiful. Powerful. Unreal.

A smile flickered to his face. But, of course, it was real.

At Jim Bob’s he’d acted a fool and fled screaming like a
little girl. He tightened his fist and grimaced at the pain. He’d thought he’d
been prepared. But he hadn’t expected interference from the Callaghan brat, he
hadn’t expected Lynn to rise above the drugs and his control to turn dragon. His
control had never failed before, but something about this godforsaken Paradise
Valley affected him. When she’d started shooting flames, running away had
seemed the safest option.

Henry sighed, dragged his fingers from his hair down his
face. Next time, next time he’d make damn sure to be ready. There’d be no
freaking surprises. Lynn
would be his. And
she would show him how to turn dragon, and come into his Callaghan heritage.

Hah, the old man left him a valuable inheritance after all.
He rubbed his chin. But he wanted more, deserved more. He wanted it all.

Henry strode to the bed and threw himself on it, next to the
notebook. He flipped through the pages until he found the bit about the
dragon’s treasure.

Six thousand pieces of gold and ten thousand drachmas of
silver, a handful of diamonds from India, golden amber and ocean colored
turquoise from Egypt, rubies and emeralds and other precious stones from the
land of Persia.

Treasure
. The word created a frisson of excitement in
his veins. The sound of it echoed and swirled in his mind like motes of gold
dust. Thoughts of it filled his mouth with a golden sweetness, until saliva
leaked from between his lips.

He swallowed as he wiped his chin. Of course, he’d searched
the house and found nothing. But deep in his bones he knew there had to be
treasure. Jack had probably hidden it somewhere.

Henry settled his head back onto the pillow. But what would
make Jack lead him to it?

Fortified with a hearty breakfast, Jack gathered together
some essential items— axe, hacksaw, trash bags, rope, first aid kit, flash
light, protective glasses, pocket knife, bug repellent, cell phone, a flask of
water, a box of crackers, the map. He surveyed the pile. “Come what may, I’m
ready.”

He packed most everything into a backpack. The axe he
decided to carry —handy to hack through brush, enemies, and, possibly, dragons.
In case there was more than just Lynn. He dressed in a long sleeved shirt and
thick jeans, then donned his fire suit. Next, he jammed his feet into hiking
boots, shouldered the backpack, and slid his hands into heavy gloves. As a
finishing touch, he slipped on the protective glasses and slammed his hat —the
fire helmet seemed a bit of overkill— on his head.

With a sigh, he stomped toward the door and made the mistake
of glancing into the hallway mirror. Sheesh, he looked like a cross between
Indiana Jones and an alien. Any dragon he came across would be too busy
laughing its tail off to give chase. According to Jen, Lynn happened to be out
of town. Small blessings.

Shaking his head, he stepped outside and climbed into his
truck. Within moments, the engine rumbled to life. Jack headed for Fire
Mountain.

After a fifteen minute bumpy ride, he stood at the foot of
the craggy hill and stared toward the top. Somewhere up there was a hidden
cave. What was in the cave? A man-eating monster? Treasure?

Whatever. Grasping the axe handle tighter, he began to
climb.

Loose gravel skittered beneath his boots, rolling this way
and that. He used the axe like a pole for extra leverage as he worked around
boulders and pushed through thickets of overgrown scrub and cacti. From time to
time, he hacked at particularly tough patches, careful not to create large
noticeable gaps. Obviously his ancestors had wanted this place hidden for a
reason. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt and discover the reason before
telling the whole world.

While the thick fire suit protected him from the wicked
cacti needles and rough branches, it was like an oven around his body. Sweat
rolled down his face, and back, making the clothes stick to his skin. The suit
was slow cooking him to death. Jack stumbled more and more often.

He missed his footing and lurched backwards, starting a
small avalanche of debris. His arms flailed in front of him, his fingers
wrapped around a gnarled cedar branch. For a moment, he remained at a hundred
and thirty-five degree angle, swaying on the heels of his boot. “Freaking
hell!”

If he’d rolled down the hillside and broken his neck, no one
would have a clue. Maybe he should call his sister so she would at least know
where to look for his body. The thought of Annie worrying killed that idea. No
other option, but to survive.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and onward.
His gaze locked on the ground ahead, every step measured.

Once he reached more level ground, he stood panting a few
moments, enjoying the feel of firm dirt under his feet. Then continued his
journey.

At the halfway point, he stopped and leaned against a large
rock. Taking off his hat, he swiped at the sweat on his brow and gazed again at
the top. It still seemed far away, out of reach. Whatever was up there better
be worth the trouble.

His throat ached, protesting the lack of moisture. Jack
lumbered out of the pack and snagged the flask. He fumbled with the top,
finally unscrewed it, and tipped back his head. Cool, wonderful water ran down
his throat, his skin. He splashed some of it on his face and head. Then,
grinning like a wet fool, he just sat there on the rock like it was the
comfiest recliner. Somewhere a mourning dove cooed.

Life was good. He didn’t need the treasure. He didn’t need
any more riches because financially, he had enough. What he needed was another
type of treasure. Lynn. And she was not at the top of the hill. He almost
started back down, but he remembered his father’s words that whatever was up
there was his to protect. Well, he wouldn’t fail his dad this time.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself straight and started
climbing again.

Almost to the top, Jack noticed an outcrop of rock that
resembled the head of a dragon frozen in mid-roar. He chuckled. Everything
reminded him of dragons. Yet something about the rock caught his attention and
ignited his intuition. He pulled out the map from his backpack and looked it
over. Bingo! Using the axe, he hacked his way through the thorny underbrush,
and found a dark opening hidden beneath the ledge.

Someone had tried to fill the hole in with rocks and
crumbling mortar. He attacked the plug with his axe, tapping at the stone with
the back of the head. By the time he’d dismantled the barrier, the banana suit
and hat lay discarded in a heap.

He stared down into a man-sized hole in the dry earth and
caliche. No answers floated up. He could make out some details in the dim
interior. The passage stretched downward like a long throat waiting to swallow.

Blinking, Jack looked up into the clear blue sky. The sun
was already rolling toward the horizon. He pushed his glove top out of the way
and glanced at his watch. Four in the afternoon. His stomach growled in hunger
reminded of the lateness of the day.

His gaze returned to the inky blackness of the hole. Forget
dragons, what about the native West Texas frights like scorpions, rattlesnakes,
and spiders? He stumbled back. He could return the next day and finish the
exploration. Then he glanced down at his truck parked way below. Or not. Jack trudged
to his backpack and found the flashlight and the rope. Good thing he’d brought
along a good bit. He tied the rope around the nearest large boulder, double
knotted it, and tied the other end around his waist. Then, clutching the lit
flashlight in one hand, he lowered himself into the opening.

He rappelled down, using the dirt walls of the shaft to
steady himself, past crooked roots sticking out of the earth and striations of
rocks. Dust rained down on his head, slipped under his clothes. The grittiness
made his skin itch like mad. Jack grasped the rope tighter and tried to ignore
all distractions.

Finally his boots touched ground. He looked up, the hole
framed a circle of West Texas sky. A desperate longing, for light and fresh
air, tore through his lungs and almost sent him scrabbling back up. Swallowing
the panic, Jack let go and untied the rope from his waist.

So, he stood in a dirt tube. An old mine shaft or well? Whatever,
he was stuck at the end of the road. Now what?

The ground seemed to slope. Nosing around with his boots,
Jack discovered another opening at the base. He pressed his back into a wall
and lowered himself, letting his feet slide along the tilt. He’d have to lie
down on his back to get through. Momentum carried him off and bounced him into
another tunnel. He wiggled and slid forward. Gravel and rock dug through his
clothes into his skin. He ignored their sharp bite as well as the growing sense
of doom. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Would he make it out alive?

Just as he’d decided to throw himself an all-out pity party,
the new tunnel widened. Jack curled into a sitting position, then struggled
upright. He dusted himself off as best as he could and looked around at his
surroundings. He stood in a cave, which opened to other caves in different
directions. Stalagmites and stalactites formed luxurious solid drapes and
twisting spires, frozen butterflies and gothic icicles.

He turned off the flashlight. The cave and its fantastic
architecture glowed with a soft luminescence. The quiet trickling of water
reached his ears. Tightening his hold on the metal barrel of the flashlight,
Jack followed the sound. He stopped at every turn to scrape out an X on the
wall to his right. The thought of defacing the natural caverns didn’t settle
well with him, but the idea of being lost underground seemed a tad more
disturbing.

After many twists and turns, he emerged into a larger cave,
rounded with a great pool of water at its center. Water ran off a high ledge
and down a wall into the pool, which narrowed at the opposite end and meandered
out a smaller tunnel. A cobweb of light danced on the smooth, green surface.

Jack tipped back his head and studied the dome. A million
little perforations let in light. Cracks among the rocks outside? Tension
tightened his neck. How fragile were the walls? Could he be buried alive in the
next moment?

He glanced back at the tranquil pool. The light swooped and
peaked in a definite pattern. Not natural, someone had put in a lot of thought
and work to create just the right effect. Breathing easier, Jack walked around
the perimeter of the pool, careful to stay near the wall where it was dry and
less slippery. The moisture in the air made it a damp seventy degrees or so. He
sniffed. The musty smell was gone too.

The path curved and as he rounded the bend, he saw another
cave opening. At the far end, he could just decipher something large and
ghostly white. Jack flicked on the flashlight.

Bones. Bones bleached white by time formed a hulking
skeleton, half-buried in a drift of scales. Shimmering scales, twins to the one
in the library. Silence hovered in the air as possibilities multiplied within
his mind. Jack stepped closer, reached out a hand and ran his palm over one
smooth surface. He angled himself and pushed between two of the ribs. It felt
like standing inside a giant bird cage. His heart ached, seeing the truth at
last.