Fair Warning
“No.”
“And you?”
“If you’re asking if I’m a Christian, yes, but don’t expect me to burst into song about the everlasting joys of living the spirit-filled life.”
He gave her a look of inquiry, and she shook her head. How could she explain, without getting too maudlin, that she and God weren’t exactly on speaking terms at this time? According to the books on grief written by the experts, she should be past that stage of the process. She’d left those books back in Kansas City. They were useless to her now.
“How was Preston an answer to prayer for you?” she asked, hoping to deflect the attention from herself.
“He and I met a few years ago at a weekend seminar on real estate investment, at Chateau on the Lake here in Branson. I discovered Preston wanted to work with rentals while he learned the business and earned the money that would make it possible for him to invest in his own property. I, on the other hand, needed to invest money immediately and needed a manager for my properties.”
“He worked as an accountant and financial adviser in Springfield for ten years after graduating from SMSU,” Willow said. “Then he got bored.”
“Well, he doesn’t have a problem with that now,” Graham assured her. “In fact, until tonight, I was pretty sure he was having the time of his life.”
“What are your renters going to do about a place to stay?” she asked.
“I’ve already made some calls, and they have rooms at a condominium down on Lake Taneycomo until they can return to their lodge. Preston’s cabin was the only building destroyed.”
“Any idea what caused the fire?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had time to worry about that. I’ve had my hands full with other things. Though the cabin was a few years old, I had it checked out before I purchased it, and it was in good shape structurally.”
“My uncle was a fireman before he retired,” she said. “He told me once that the investigation begins as soon as the first fireman arrives on the scene.”
“What first alerted you and Preston to the fire?”
“I saw a light outside. When I stepped out the back door I smelled something pungent, like turpentine or some kind of fuel. Then I smelled the smoke.” She paused, remembering. “When I reached the front, there were streaks of fire shooting toward the house across the lawn.”
He didn’t pause in his movements, but she felt, rather than saw, his sudden, startled interest. “Streaks?”
She nodded. “I remember thinking at the time about fuses. You know, like to a bomb.”
“Has anyone from the fire department or police department contacted you?”
“Yes, as soon as I arrived here with Preston, there was someone here to talk to me. I told him what I’m telling you.”
“I’ll have a talk with them. For now, you just relax.” After cleansing the site and setting up for sutures, Graham changed into sterile gloves and picked up the syringe filled with anesthetic solution to numb the wound.
He completed a two-layer closure in less than ten minutes.
After wiping the wound one last time with a saline-soaked swab, he invited Willow to examine the finished job. She nodded with admiration. The guy was good.
Graham removed his gloves and excused himself.
Willow laid her head back and closed her eyes in silent, automatic prayer for her brother’s life.
A moment later she heard a quiet footfall and jerked upright, eyes snapping open. A man in the doorway looked slightly familiar. In his mid-thirties, he had curly dark hair, a long face and warm, friendly brown eyes.
“Everyone okay in here?” he asked, taking a step closer to the bed.
“There’s just me, and I’m fine,” she said, frowning at him. Then she placed him. “You’re Rick Fenrow. Apartment Three B, right? Did you know about the fire?”
“Yes, I heard. You’re Preston’s sister, aren’t you?” He had a low tenor voice, with a northern accent.
“That’s right. I didn’t know until tonight that you worked here.”
“I haven’t been here that long. Did you know another tenant, Carl Mackey, works part-time at the hospital, as well? He’s in the pharmacy. The way things are looking tonight, we could have the whole complex here by the time the sun rises.”
“The fire hadn’t spread to the lodge when I left,” she assured him.
“That’s what the fireman told me. It’s a relief, too. Everything I own is in that place.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Orderly. I usually work on the floor, but they were extra busy tonight, so I got called down here.” He looked at the chair that held her pajamas. “Caught you off guard, did it?”
“I’d say.”
Rick held up a hand. “I’ll be right back.” He winked and left the room. Moments later he came back, carrying a set of green scrubs. “These should fit.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And don’t worry about Preston—he’s one tough guy. He’ll get through this just fine.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Engle?”
“She’s in some pain, but they’ve already called an orthopedist. She’ll be okay.” He patted her foot, then turned and left the room.
Less than thirty seconds later Graham returned to Willow’s treatment room. “Preston’s ready to see you before they take him to surgery.”
Holding her hospital gown with her good arm, she eagerly followed him into the trauma room, where Preston had been prepped for surgery. Blood infused through one of the two IVs in his arms, and a well-taped chest tube protruded from the left side of his chest, ending in an underwater seal device standing on the floor.
Preston’s upper chest and forearms had reddened; his skin was mildly blistered. EKG electrodes, an automatic blood pressure cuff and a fingertip pulse oximetry unit all connected him to a portable monitoring unit, which beeped with steady rhythm.
Willow noted that Preston’s blood pressure was a little low, his heart rate a little fast, but his oxygen saturation was excellent, and the cardiac monitor showed a strong, steady heartbeat.
“You get yourself into more trouble,” she said loudly enough for him to hear over the mechanical noise.
He opened heavy-lidded eyes. “Sis,” he whispered through his oxygen mask. “You okay?”
“Doing great. What’s up with you?”
Preston sighed, closing his eyes as if he were drifting off. But he opened them again. “Seems the CT scan showed I have a fractured liver, and my spleen’s bleeding.” His voice deepened, sounding as rough as gravel churning in a concrete mixer. “They’re taking me straight to surgery.” His eyes closed again. “Not sure how a person fractures a liver.”
“Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” she said.
“Guess they’ll have to put a cast on it, huh?” His voice drifted to silence. A snore punctuated the mechanical sounds of the room.
The nurse came to wheel him to surgery. Willow turned to find Graham stepping up behind her.
“You’re being released,” he said. “But you don’t have anything to wear out of here except your filthy pajamas or that hospital gown.” He gestured to her attire.
“Rick Fenrow brought me a set of scrubs to change into.”
“He’s on duty tonight? Preston was worried when he couldn’t find him at the lodge. There’s a private waiting room where you can relax until we receive word. You look as if you could use some rest.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
“You’re welcome.”
Back in her treatment room, she fingered the soft material of the scrubs and felt a flick of bittersweet memories. Would she ever escape them?
What was she going to do? Everything she had brought with her to Branson had been destroyed in that inferno. Her driver’s license, her credit cards, her checkbook, even her cash were gone. The only thing she owned that had been spared was her car, because it was parked in the carport across the drive. And she didn’t even have her keys.
This was a different kind of nightmare.
Chapter Four
A predawn light touched the western horizon when Graham entered the private room where Willow had been waiting for news about her brother. The lights had been turned off, and only the glow from the hallway and window filtered into the room.
Word had come a few moments earlier that the fire had been contained and the other buildings were out of danger. Now came the tedious duty of cleanup and paperwork. Graham hated paperwork.
He saw Willow lying on the sofa, her breathing soft and even. He hated to wake her. Still, she would want to see Preston.
Graham smiled to himself. He understood the strong bonds of family. His sister was on her way here now. He had high hopes that she could charm Willow, after his gruffness had brought out her iciest response at their first encounter. Though she had thawed considerably once she realized he wasn’t the ogre she’d first deemed him to be, he knew she hadn’t yet warmed completely. Her guard was up. He couldn’t blame her.
For some reason he didn’t want her to be alone right now. In spite of her self-reliance, there was something about her that seemed so…breakable.
Her soft, even breathing stopped for a few moments, then a moan seemed to shake her. Her eyes sprang open. She uttered a cry of such pain that he stiffened, wondering if her arm could be hurting her that badly.
“Willow, it’s okay,” he said.
Her lips parted in obvious alarm. She focused a terrified gaze on him, and he thought she might scream.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “It’s just me, Graham.”
She shot a quick look around the room, then seemed to realize where she was. “What are you doing here?” she croaked, her voice tense and hoarse.
“Working on my bedside manner.” He noticed she’d changed into the scrubs. “It’s the least I could do after harassing you so mercilessly earlier.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Preston?”
“He’s doing fine, recovering in surgical ICU. I’ve been working on my landlord duties. You have a place to stay, as of right now.”
She blinked, then slumped against the overstuffed arm of the sofa. “Can’t believe I fell asleep,” she murmured softly, as if to herself.
“Bad dream?” Graham ventured.
She blinked again, straightened her shoulders and returned her attention to him as she scrambled out of the depths of the overstuffed sofa. “Nothing new about that.” She winced as she accidentally placed her weight on her injured arm.
“I don’t think you need to stay alone right now,” Graham said.
She stood up, and for the first time he noticed she was nearly as tall as his five feet ten inches, maybe an inch or two shorter. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that,” she said.
“I have a suggestion.”
She grew still, silent. Again, that wariness. Was this a natural part of her personality or a result of her husband’s death?
“My sister is staying with me in a house down on the lake near Hideaway,” he said. “It’s a large house, so there’s plenty of room for you. When Preston gets out of the hospital, there will also be room for him to stay while he recuperates.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold—or as if the bad dream continued to terrorize her. “How far do you live from this hospital?” she asked.
“It’s a bit of a drive, but—”
“No. I appreciate your concern, Dr. Vaughn—”
“It’s Graham, remember?”
She reached up with slender fingers and rubbed at her eyes again. At this moment she appeared closer to sixteen than thirty-six. “I prefer to stay close in case Preston needs me. Until I can get a new set of keys for my car, I’ll find a room nearby so I can walk.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Graham said. “I’ve already arranged for someone to make a set of keys for you. Everything’s being taken care of, but I wish you would—”
“I’m sorry, Graham,” she said gently as she edged past him and reached for the door. “It’s so kind of you to offer, but you have plenty to keep you busy. I can take care of myself.”
Without waiting for him to argue, she slipped through the door and let it swing shut behind her.
Willow stood by Preston’s bedside and watched the rise and fall of his chest. His mouth hung slack, and the fan of his long black lashes seemed unsinged. His eyebrows hadn’t fared so well, and a blister framed the left side of his face.
Unwilling to awaken him, she watched in silence. I know better than to ask why, Lord. I know I won’t get an answer. But how about a “when”? As in “When will it stop?”
A film of tears blurred her vision. She sniffed and dashed them away, and when she returned her attention to Preston, his eyes were open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
He reached his right hand out to her. She took it gently, feeling the calloused ridge along the top of his palm from too many hours holding a hammer while working on one of his rental properties.
He looked down at the hand he held in his. “You’re shaking.”
“Do you blame me?” She attempted her usual dry, casual tone with him. It didn’t come out right.
His gaze went to her bandaged forearm. “How bad?”
“Not too.”
“Graham fix you up?”
“How did you know?”
“He told me, dummy.” His teasing grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see it through the oxygen mask. The eyes held only worry, deep worry.
She shrugged. “He’s good.”
He nodded, satisfied, then indicated her apparel with a look. “Did you get a job here?”
She grimaced as she glanced down at the green scrubs. “One of your renters took pity on me and found these for me.” She gestured toward Preston’s upper lip, also visible through the mask. “Your mustache is in awful shape.” It, too, had been singed.
Preston shifted as if he would try to sit up.
“Don’t even think about it,” Willow said, pressing a hand against his shoulder.
“He still around?”
“Who?”
He scowled at her. “Who fixed your arm?”
“I don’t know where he went. Would you just relax and focus on getting well? I’m sure he told you they’ve got the fire under control, and he seems capable of taking care of the renters.”
Preston gave an impatient shake of his head. “I need to talk to him about—”
“You don’t need to do a thing right now, my friend.” A familiar baritone voice came from behind Willow’s left shoulder. “I’ve got a handle on it all, and if I can’t deal with it I know someone who can.”
Willow turned and looked at Graham Vaughn, struck afresh by his solid, friendly appearance. He had that “smile with your eyes” trick down perfectly. There was a warmth in his expression that would, of course, serve to encourage his patients to trust him.
In spite of what she’d said to him earlier this morning, he did have a good bedside manner, and he did engender trust. Willow knew she tended to be a little grumpy when stressed, and she was working on that.
“Willow, there’s someone I want you to meet as soon as you finish visiting with Preston,” Graham said.
“Someone like who?” she asked.
“Someone who can take you shopping for some necessary items until you receive the keys to your car,” Graham said. “You’ll also want some cash, and the claims adjuster will have that to us later this morning. I’ve got surgery today, but my sister can—”
“His sister can speak for herself.” A new voice spoke from the doorway.
Willow turned to encounter a fresh, smiling, freckled face. The woman, possibly in her late forties, had short, graying red hair the color of antiqued copper. She wore blue jeans and a chambray shirt that suggested she might have been working outside when she received the call from her brother and hadn’t taken the time to change.
“I’m Ginger Carpenter,” the woman said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.
Willow took the hand, appreciating the firm grip. “Willow Traynor. I take it you’re the sister Graham mentioned?”
“Guilty as charged. Graham offered me the opportunity to help someone else spend money. That’s like a dream come true for me. We need to get you fixed up with some clothes, a place to stay until we can find something more permanent, and we’ve got some money to spend, courtesy of my brother’s bank account until the checks arrive later.”
“But I don’t—”
“Insurance money,” Ginger said. “I’ve turned shopping on a shoestring into an art form. You’d be surprised at the bargains I’ve learned to dig up in the Branson shops in the past few weeks. I could open your world to a new way of shopping.”
Willow gave her borrowed scrubs another perusal. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of pairs of jeans.”
Ginger patted her own well-endowed fanny. “Honey, I’d give you some of mine, but you’d float around in them. Let’s go paint the town green, okay? Looks like Preston’s in great hands.” To Willow’s surprise, Ginger leaned over the bed and gave Preston a quick, sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Loan Willow to me for a few hours, okay?”
Preston nodded. “You’ve got her. I’ll take a nap.”
Graham couldn’t help observing Preston’s watchful silence as Ginger cajoled Willow from the room. It was a foregone conclusion, at least to Graham, that no one but Ginger could have pulled off this feat. Willow tended to skitter away from people like a half-wild kitten. The woman was intriguing.
At this point, so was her brother. What was up with these two? Yes, they had been through quite an ordeal tonight, but Graham had noticed Preston’s body language when he’d spoken of Willow recently. He was worried about her. Preston didn’t worry about much, so when something concerned him, Graham homed in on it like a beacon.
With a final glance over her shoulder at Preston, Willow disappeared down the hallway with Ginger.
“I need your help,” Preston said quietly the moment the women were out of earshot.
Graham returned his attention to his friend. “You’ve got it, you know that. Don’t worry about a thing. Ginger can help with the renters until—”
Preston gave an impatient wave. “Not that. We can deal with the renters later. I’ve kept an off-site set of computer records for months now, so that’s no problem.” His voice grew raspy, and he raised his hand to his throat. “I need help with Willow.”
Graham reached for a couple of ice chips and gave them to Preston. “Sorry I can’t do any better than that, but you can’t have anything else so soon after surgery. Why don’t you stop trying to talk? You inhaled a lot of smoke, and you need to rest your voice.”
Preston took the chips, coughed, shook his head. “I need you to know some things about Willow.”
“You mean you haven’t already told me everything there is to tell?” He had heard Preston talk about his sister for several months. Obviously Preston cared a great deal about her.
“I haven’t told you everything,” Preston said quietly. “She’s afraid, Graham.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. It’s complicated.” Preston placed the small ice chips in his mouth.
Graham pulled a chair over to the bed and slumped into it. Last night had been a hard one, and it didn’t look as if he’d be getting much rest before his first patient today. “Tell me.”
Preston closed his eyes. “Just remember, in my drugged state I may tell you more than Willow would approve of. Don’t let this get back to her.”
Graham shook off his drowsiness. “What’s going on?”
Willow stepped into the hospital parking lot behind Ginger and immediately spotted a sign that advertised lodging.
“Are there several hotels or motels near here?”
“Are you kidding?” Ginger gave a snort that was barely ladylike. “Honey, you’ve got hundreds of rooms within walking distance, depending on how fast you walk and what kind of shape you’re in.” The freckled redhead gave Willow an appraising look over the top of her glasses, then nodded with satisfaction. “From the looks of it, you could walk a few miles to get here if need be, but Graham was hoping you’d stay with us at the house, and I’d love—”
“He didn’t tell you that I’m planning to stay near the hospital to be with Preston as much as possible?” Willow asked.
“He did mention that, but since Graham drives into town every day you could easily come in with him.”
“I like to be able to come and go in my own car. Graham says you live in Hideaway.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s a long way to Hideaway from here.” Willow wasn’t in the mood to move in with complete strangers, even if those strangers seemed trustworthy.
She’d trusted before—trusted that as long as she and Travis were doing God’s will, they would not have to worry about enduring any of the shocking tragedies that so often took people by surprise. She now felt foolish for holding that irrational belief.
“As the crow flies, Hideaway isn’t terribly far from here,” Ginger said.
“I’m not a crow.”
“The drive isn’t that bad. You could get to the hospital from Hideaway in forty minutes—thirty if you catch the traffic right. Believe me, you’d be more than welcome to stay with us.”
The woman was a bit pushy. Willow slowed her steps and fixed Ginger with a look. “You need to understand that I won’t be doing that. While I appreciate the offer, my answer is no. Please don’t argue with me.” With some people it was necessary to establish her boundaries in the beginning. If they didn’t like it, they could move on and rescue someone else.
To her surprise, Ginger chuckled. “Well, I see you’re a lady who knows her own mind. Good. But as my brother reminds me often enough, I’m a nag. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Now let’s enjoy the morning.”
Willow caught sight of a motel marquee down the street that announced vacancies. “I think I’ll see if I can get a room over there. At least for a while.” She refused to think of the multiple reasons she should accept Ginger’s offer.
As she’d told Graham and the fireman that had interviewed her earlier, those streaks of flame she’d seen rushing toward the house—like fuses racing to a bomb—had definitely raised her suspicions and already found their way into her nightmare.
Those weren’t just naturally occurring phenomena. They had a direction, an object of attack. She had seen headlights in the forest beyond the apartment complex. Someone else had been out there. She didn’t need any further investigation to tell her that much.
She didn’t want to be alone right now, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to move in with strangers. The fireman had informed her that there had been two other fires last night, and theirs had most likely been a random attack. As soon as they found the perpetrator, all would be settled.
Too bad she couldn’t convince herself of that. She wasn’t up to being logical this early in the morning with so little sleep after barely escaping with her life.
But she was a grown woman, able to take care of herself. She didn’t need keepers.
She would go shopping with Ginger, enjoy the female company and buy some things she desperately needed. Then she would rent a room and settle in.
Graham listened to Preston’s worries with growing concern. “Willow’s husband was murdered?”
Preston shifted in his bed and took another ice chip. “He was killed in the line of duty during a drug raid, but Willow isn’t convinced his death had anything to do with the drug raid.”
“What does she think happened?”
“She’s convinced of some kind of conspiracy, either within the department or from an old enemy from another case. The trajectory of the bullet was wrong, and the bullet didn’t match any of the firearms confiscated after the raid.”
“I’m sure there was an investigation, right?” Graham asked.
“Of course. No other shooter was found. It was decided that one of the perpetrators must have gotten away. End of case. But Willow can’t accept it. Ever since Travis’s death, she hasn’t been herself.”
Graham could tell the poor guy was miserable, but his heightened concern for Willow kept him vigilant even now, with the aftereffects of the surgery. “You’re saying she still has some major emotional issues connected to her husband’s death?”