Impulse (23 page)

44

“
W
hat’s M
s. Prescott doing here?”
Josh asked.

“She just came over to talk about some stuff.”

“School stuff?” The defensive teenage tone was back. In spades. So much for hoping a day away could work miracles.

“Not exactly.”

“It was about me, wasn’t it?”

“We talked about you, some.” Deciding it wasn’t exactly a lie, Will resisted, just barely, shooting a glance down the hall. “How did things go with your grandfather?”

“Okay. We got the stock fed and found a couple breaks in the fence we got fixed.”

“Good for you.” Will’s hearty voice sounded fake to his own ears.

“He’s out in the barn
. Checking the horses.”

“Never has trusted me to make sure they get fed,” Will said. When he’d been Josh’s age, that had pissed him off. Now he just accepted it as his father’s need to
try to control his environment. Which had always been just as hard for a rancher as it was for a cop.

A little silence settled over them.

“I heard on the radio you haven’t caught Erin’s killer.”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“Good. Is it true about her mother?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“From what she said, it’s no great loss. But it’s really weird.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“You think they’re connected? Or random?”

“At this point it’d just be conjecture. But my best guess is, yeah, there’s a connection.”

Another silence.

“So, where is she?” Josh asked.

“Right here.”

Both father and son turned toward the living room doorway as Faith entered the room.

“Hello, Josh.” Her voice was warm. Friendly. Having witnessed her earlier panic, Will was impressed by how quickly she’d managed to garner control. She was an even better actress than he’d thought.

“Hi. You weren’t on the radio when we were driving home.”

“Dr. Hayworth agreed to fill in for me.”

“So you could come over here and talk to my dad?”

“That’s right.”

“And that’s all you were doing, right? Talking?” There was an edge to the boy’s tone Will didn’t like.

“Josh—
”

“I was talking to Faith,” he said.

“Her name’
s Ms. Fletcher,” Will corrected.

“Fletcher?” Josh looked from his father to Faith, then back to Will again.

"It’s a long story.”

“
Yeah, I could tell from how much snow is packed up on the roof of your Explorer. Guess it takes a lot of time to tell a story when you have to keep stopping to fuck.”

“
Josh.” Will’s tone was a razor, slashing sharp. “That's no way to talk to a lady.”

“Well, I can’t see how that’s any problem. Since if you ask me, rolling around in the sack with a guy who’s supposed to be solving the murder of an innocent teenage girl isn’t real ladylike behavior.”

“Dammit, Josh—”

“No, Will.” Faith reached out to touch Josh’s arm. “I understand how you must feel, but—”

“The hell you do!” Hectic red flags waved in his cheeks as he turned bac
k to Will. “That’s the only rea
son you sent me away, isn’t it? So you could screw her without me getting in the way.”

“You’re wrong about that,
s
on,’’ Will said.

Faith cringed at the same
I’
m-in-control-so-you-will-listen-to-me tone he’d use to talk a perp into putting down his weapon. It might work out in the field. But not on a son.

Josh shot them both a look that was pure steel. Faith wondered if he realized how much his father’s son he really was.

“Are you saying you haven’t been fucking tonight?”

“Watch your language,” Will warned.

“You don’t understand,” Faith said, reaching for him again.

“Now there’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Prescott. Or Fletcher. Or whatever the hell your name is!” He jerked away from her light touch. “I’ve had a lot of practice understanding about being in the way. Next time you decide to lie about having sex,
Dad
”
—he heaped scorn on the word—“you might not want to go giving your girlfriend a fuckin’ hickey!”

He stormed away, out into the snow, slamming the door behind him.

“Will!” Faith ran to the door, watching as Josh ran across the snowy field.
“
You have to stop him.”

“He’s not going to go far,” Will assured her. “The keys to his truck are hanging on
a hook in the kitchen. Dad’s
undoubtedly got the ones to his truck with him, and I’ve got the Jeep keys.” Faith heard a jangling when he rattled his pocket. “He needs to be alone right now.”

“That’s the problem, Will. He’s been alone too much.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, now can I?” he asked reasonably. “Meanwhile, the icy air will
cool him down.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Faith.” He drew her into his arms. Rubbed his broad hands up and down her back. “He’ll get over it.”

“Get over what?” Jim Bridger asked as he came into the house, stomping snow off his boots onto the mat just inside the door.

“It’s one of those things where you had to be there,” Will said.

As Jim Bridget’s shrewd blue eyes took in the situation, Faith resisted, just barely, the urge to lift her hand to cover the love bite Will had given her.

“Gotta go unpack,” Jim said. He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Prescott.”

Will started to correct him. “It’s—”

“It was good to see you, too, Mr. Bridger,” Faith said, cutting off Will’s planned correction.

He immediately nodded in silent agreement that perhaps there’d been enough honesty and openness for one evening.

45

T
he wind was back, roaring over the
top of the Rockies like a freight train, barreling into the valley below, bringing with it the season’s first blizzard.

As it rattled the windowpanes and pelted the glass with needlelike snow, Faith stood at the kitchen sink, peeling carrots for the beef stew, thinking what a difference two days could make.

The night the wind had suddenly stopped, she’d been a runaway wife who feared for her life, was living a lie, and was desperately attracted to a man she’d spent months trying to avoid because there was no way she could see how they could ever be together.

Now, although there were still some barriers to overcome—such as Will capturing the man who’d murdered Erin Gallagher and her mother—and Josh coming to terms with hers and Will’s relationship, things were definitely looking up.

She’d always regret having inadvertently hurt Sal. The ironic thing was that she’d actually married him
partly to make up for having disappointed him in the first place.

When he’d shown up at the hotel to tell her he’d captured her stalker, she’d been relieved. Grateful. So much so she’d even tried to make love with him. The only problem was that part of how she’d survived all those years was to separate sex from emotion. By holding back, she’d given Sal the impression that her lack of response had been his fault. That somehow he’d lacked the ability to satisfy her.

Which was partly why, when he’d proposed, she’d accepted.

Which, of course, she thought, as she poured herself a glass of the cabernet sauvignon she’d opened earlier so it could breathe, had turned out to be a huge mistake.

But she and Sal had moved past that. Amazingly, Faith thought they might actually someday be able to be
friends.

And now she had Will. Who not only made her feel secure and happy, and cared for and independent all at the same time, but could make her fly.

“And that,” she said, lifting her glass to her reflection in the night-darkened window, “is something to celebrate.”

She wasn’t sure where she and Will were going. But she did know that they were going there together. And that was all that mattered.

She heard the whine of a snowmobile engine and
was momentarily blinded by the lights. A man wearing a black snowmobile suit climbed off the sled.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out as the doorbell rang. Wondering why Will hadn’t driven the SUV, she pulled the white chef’s apron over her head, checked her reflection in the glass again, and with her foolish heart skipping like a schoolgirl’s with her first crush, went to open the front door. But not without pulling the curtain aside.

The male standing on her porch was a surprise. But not an unpleasant surprise.

She flung open the door. “Hey, Josh.” Although she’d been expecting his father, her lips curved into a smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Half-afraid he’d change his mind, she took his arm and practically dragged him into the house. “Tell me you’ll stay for supper!
I’m making stew. It’s my first try. Usually I just nuke some frozen dinner in the microwave, but
R
ayanne, down at the market, assured me stew is as easy as pie.
Of course, the problem with that analogy is that I’ve no
idea how to bake a pie, but…
”

She stopped. Drew in a breath. “I’m babbling.”

“Yeah. You seem to be.” He’d taken off the thick jacket and insulated pants and hung them on the hooks beside the door. Stomped the snow off his boots.

He looked so like his father, with that hint of amusement dancing in his heavily hooded eyes. Oh, his might be blue, like his grandfather’s, while his father’s were that deep obsidian, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. Women were going to go crazy over this one, she thought.

“Just a little,” he qualified.

“I’m nervous.” She rubbed her suddenly moist hands on the front of her brown corduroy slacks.

“Yeah, me, too.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He dragged his hand through his hair in a gesture she recognized all too well. “I owe you a huge apology. I acted like a jerk.”

“You were upset. It’s understandable. And you’re right, your father didn’t send you away solely to fix fences. He wanted to keep you away from the press until he had the murderer behind bars. Not because you were a suspect, but because he loves you. He might not have fully figured out how to say it, yet, but he does.”

“I thought he wanted to get away from Savannah because he’d been shot. But my grandfather says he moved here for me.”

“He did.” She had a feeling it was the first time an adult had sacrificed anything for the teenager. “Come into the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll pour you some wine.”

“I’m not twenty-one.”

“Well, of course you’re not.” She reconsidered. “But you’re very mature for your age. And it is just wine, after all. Not hard liquor. Children in Europe drink it with dinner.”

“This is Wyoming,” he pointed out. “And my dad’s a cop.” The grin was back. In his eyes and on his chiseled
lips. Oh, yes, Faith thought. He was definitely his father’s son. “Mr. Law and Order.”

“Don’t I know that.” Her sigh ruffled her bangs. “Maybe I’d better get you a Coke.”

“That sounds good. Especially since I’m not real big on wine. Now if you happened to have a beer—”

“Your father’s a cop,” she reminded him.

“Who undoubtedly drank beer himself back in the olden days when he was a kid.”

“Why don’t we stick with Coke for now and let him decide when he gets here?”

“Works for me,” he said easily. He followed her into the kitchen. “This is a nice place, Faith. Uh, Ms. Prescott. I guess I mean, Ms. Fletcher.”
He looked understandably confused. “I don’t get it.”

“It's a complicated story. And something we need to talk about.” She took a bot
tl
e of Coke from the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, poured it into a tall glass with ice, and handed it to him.

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Would you go down into the basement and get some wood for the stove, just in case the electricity goes out in the storm?
I was meaning to, but I got home from town later than I planned, and this stew took more tim
e than Rayanne told me it would.
” For a time she had been worried that she wouldn’t get it finished before she had to leave for the KWIND studios.

“Okay.” He put the glass on the counter and opened the kitchen door leading to the stairs.

Faith checked the detailed instructions the market owner had written down for her. “Okay. ‘Peel three Idaho potatoes,’ ” she read aloud. “Piece of cake.” Which she didn’t know how to make, either.

She’d just finished chopping the third potato when she realized he’d been down in the basement a long time.

“Josh?” she called down to him. “Is everything all right?”

He appeared in the doorway, his face as white as milk. “I’m sorry, Ms. Prescott.”

“It’s Ms.—” She broke off the correction as she viewed the man standing behind him.

A frisson of icy fear skimmed up her spine when she viewed the gleaming silver blade pressed against Josh’s throat.