Irresistible Stranger (15 page)

So was Lily. She shot out the door, leaving her purse, her papers, everything. Before she could fly down the steps of the veranda, the only sound in her head was a fierce, angry
no.

She knew it was Louella's.

The bed and breakfast was the only other place in town where Lily had been that
hadn't
been targeted. But she thought, no one would do that to darling Louella. To that beautiful old house. Why?
Why?

A car honked—she crossed the street without looking, running like a gazelle, seeing neighbors step outside, crossing arms, worried about what was happening, kids being called to come in from playing. Lily just kept charging ahead.

It wasn't the whole house. It was just one window
where clouds of thick, blustery smoke was starting to rumble out.
Her
window. The room
she
stayed in. Another measure she was to blame for this somehow, involved in this somehow, but if Louella was hurt, she'd never forgive herself.

She could hear the fire truck siren joined by police sirens, but neither rescue vehicle was in sight yet. A new boarder was standing on the front lawn when Lily leaped up the porch steps and slammed inside, calling Louella's name, not seeing her anywhere downstairs.

She took the stairs up two at a time, feeling the buildup of heat, her lungs whining at the choke of smoke. She found Louella in the hall, holding a handkerchief to her nose with one hand, trying to maneuver a heavy, unwieldy fire extinguisher with the other.

“Go!”
Lily yelled at her.

Louella shook her head. “I'm not leaving my house!”

“I'll do it, Louella!” She grabbed the extinguisher, hefted it, pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle full bore. “If you have another extinguisher, get it. Or see if the neighbors have some.”

“I—”

“I won't leave your fire until the firemen get here, I promise, Louella. But you go. Outside. Don't breathe this—” It was way too much talking. Both of them were starting to cough heavily, Louella bent over as she aimed for the stairs.

Lily turned back toward the bedroom, her eyes tearing in the rage of smoke—but she'd found the source. The wastebasket in her room was heaped with rags, reeked
of gasoline. Fire danced up the lace curtains, shooting out the windows in scraps of seared lace and fabric. The white bedspread had caught a hem of fire now.

The extinguisher spewed foam, a white mousse that was almost as stinky as the fire. Lily kept aiming and shooting, her arms aching, screaming from holding the weight of the extinguisher.

“Lily!” Behind her, Louella had brought up another extinguisher. Lily took the fresh one, pulled the pin, let it rip.

“Go! Get out of the building!” she ordered the older woman.

“I am, I am. But the fire trucks. They just got here. So you can leave, too.”

“I will! I will!” Yet she couldn't seem to desert the ship. She hadn't caused this, but she still felt responsible. The things burning up in front of her eyes—her yellow shorts, her cosmetic bag, her white sandals with the cork heels—they were already smoked and soaked and destroyed. But it hurt, sharp as a wound, that it was her stuff, her room that had been targeted.

The heat built. The smell and smoke increasingly choked her. She couldn't seem to get ahead of it. The bed pillow poofed, puffed, then came alive with fire, turning into a shower of sparks. The fire jumped, kept jumping. She put out curtains; then the lace scarf on the bureau sparked fresh. The old wallpaper on the far wall turned wet, shiny, started peeling.

The air seemed alive with moving, burning bits of debris. Clouds and wings of burning ash drifted in the air. Something tiny and sharp fell in her hair.

The burn was sharp and sudden. Instinctively, she dropped the extinguisher, batted at the pain in her head. Fear caught her like the sting of a whip. All these years she'd thought of fire as loss, as grief. Not as…personal. Not as something alive and lashing out. She spun, confused, choking, her palms stinging, her eyes blinded….

“Lily!”

Maybe she heard the fast thump of firemen's boots, the noise of voices. But the only thing she spun around for was the sound of Griff, calling her name. She stumbled.

He caught her with a strong, sure grip. And with all the finesse of a tender lover, tossed a cold, soaking wet towel over her head.

The next stretch of time passed in a blur. Griff got her downstairs, set her up with a blanket in the front yard—and a medic. The medic was cute as a button, but it really, really hurt to have her palms cleaned, even though he talked to her nonstop. Jason hung tight to the periphery of her blanket like a scrawny, stubborn watchdog. Neighbors—some faces familiar, some not—clogged up the sidewalks and the yard.

Someone brought lemonade. Someone brought sweet tea. The party atmosphere built, completely at odds with the fire truck and official cars blocking the street. Louella, though, was holding court. Lily caught snatches of her conversation as the older lady poured lemonade and passed out spice cookies.

“See now? What did I tell you? She saved my house, she did. And Susannah'd be the first to tell you that she
was at her house when this all happened. It's primarily Lily's things that were hurt. The child doesn't even have a change of clothes to wear. She's one of ours, has always been one of ours, and look at her now, bless her heart.”

The medic, the one who had gorgeous blue eyes and looked about nine years old, finished putting salve and bandages on her palms and various other places, and then examined the side of her head. Shook his head.

“Not a pretty picture?” she asked.

“It's a gorgeous picture.” Griff seemed to show up from nowhere—for the second time—and looked as covered in soot and dirt as she did. “Hair grows, besides.”

“Uh-oh.” When he came closer, she said quickly, “Don't come near me.”

“Why?”

“I think I smell worse than anything I've smelled in my entire life.”

He grinned. “Beneath all that fire and smoke, it's still you, sugar.”

She remembered that. Remembered how his smooth soft lips had felt against hers. Remembered the sudden quiet of neighbors watching. Smiling. Griff…so
not
smiling.

Later, after talking to Cashner Warden and Herman Conner and Louella and Susannah—who had her purse and papers, thank heavens—Griff took her home. She seemed to need to cough her lungs out several times. Jason was there. He had ideas—like ice cream. Lots of cool, soothing ice cream. He thought she needed to watch a nice, soothing movie, an old one, like
Batman,
or
The Fantastic Four.

But Jason wasn't there when Griff lowered her into a bathtub. He'd started by sealing up her hands in bags with rubber bands, so the water wouldn't touch the burns on her palms. Kneeling behind her, he washed her hair, washed her face, washed her toes, washed everything, slowly, carefully, tenderly. Silently.

“You know what I figured out?” she asked him.

“What?”

“That it's about anger. Setting these fires. It's not about destruction. Even those fires years ago didn't actually destroy that much property. Or specifically aim to hurt a human being. It's all about anger. Someone with a rage that's just out of their control.”

When Griff said nothing—he was spraying water to rinse her hair at the time—she waited until she could open her eyes to look at him. Really look at him.

“I think I'm a little in shock,” she admitted.

“I know you are.”

“I'm afraid I'll have to go shopping tomorrow. I'm down to today's clothes. Which aren't exactly fit for man or beast.” When she couldn't win a smile from him, she said, “In the background, I thought I heard Louella saying that insurance would cover the damage. Completely.”

“There was an insurance agent right there. Won't be a problem.”

“I'll need to borrow a toothbrush until tomorrow.”

“No sweat.”

“And from the way people have been looking at me, I'm afraid I'm definitely going to have to work in a haircut tomorrow, too.”

Again, that same expression in his eyes. What few
words he said were short and curt, even as his hands, his magic hands, lingered as he soaped and rinsed, and finally, let her stand up so he could fold a towel around her.

“Griff.”

He looked up.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” he echoed, his tone tight as a snap. But then he went back to his lazy, laid-back tone. “You're going to take a nap, sugar. Nothing's wrong. Everything's going to be one hundred percent fine.”

“You know this how?”

“Because tomorrow—we're getting to the bottom of this. Whatever sabers we have to rattle. Whatever it takes. You're not going to be hurt again. There aren't going to be any more fires. You can take it to the bank, we're solving this once and for all.”

Lily heard the anger in his voice, and loved it—not that he was worried about her, but that he finally felt free with her, to let out that unsettling anger that so troubled him.

Yet her heart suddenly twisted in a totally unexpected knot. She, too, had had it with fires. She had had it with exhaustion and fear and worry. She thought she'd come to this town of her childhood to find answers.

Yet the irony hurt worse than any burn. If, by any chance, she and Griff did find the answers, her reasons for being in Pecan Valley disappeared.

She had no more reason to be with Griff.

No reason to stay.

L
ily woke up in a first-class grump, starting with the note on her pillow. Griff unwillingly had to return Jason to his mother, at least temporarily, and then he was headed for the sheriff's.

He wanted her to rest and sit tight.

Right.

One look in the mirror sent her jogging for a phone. Her singed hair looked like something out of a horror movie. No matter what she wanted to do with her day, she was stuck getting a few chores out of the way first. As often as she'd ranted about getting a haircut since she got here, now she had no choice but to call Mary Belle. The sheriff's daughter promised her she'd clear the schedule for ll:30—leaving Lily enough time to run through a few stores on Main Street.

Temporarily, she had nothing to wear but a shirt and
shorts from Griff, which no amount of makeshift belting was going to pass for acceptable clothes. She had her purse, so at least she had a brush and lip gloss—and her phone. She'd barely headed out the door before getting the first barrage of calls from her sisters.

“I'll send you money. Get all the clothes you need,” Cate started with. “And buy a first-class ticket to me. I don't care what it costs. You either get out of that town, or I'm flying there to get you myself.”

Sophie's call was more of the same, just in a softer tone.

The truth was, Lily hungered to see both her sisters. And she could hardly stay in Pecan Valley much longer. Once, her answers had seemed terribly important to her—but not as important as a whole town burning up because of her. Leaving needed to be her priority. It was just…leaving town also meant leaving Griff.

How a woman could fall so fast, so hard, so irrevocably, she couldn't fathom. For her whole life, it had been so, so easy to stay untangled. She'd never risked loss—at least the kind of loss where the hurt might never really heal.

Damn it. How was she supposed to forget Griff?

Most stores on Main Street opened at ten. It took almost that long to pull herself together, between her bandaged hands and edgy mood. Clouds were bunching and punching overhead, threatening rain, adding humidity to an already gasping temperature. She hit the drugstore first, picked up the obvious toiletries, like deodorant and toothpaste and cosmetics, then stashed those in her car.

There were several clothing stores and boutiques on
Main Street. She didn't have a clue what they offered. She just wanted to pick up enough basics to wear for a few days. So she started with the first one—Jane's Boutique, the sign said. Opening the door set off a tinkling bell, and almost immediately she panicked.

It wasn't a day to be fussy, but the manikins were decked out in bows and prints and polka dots. She almost headed straight back out, but the thirtyish brunette behind the cash register spotted her and immediately approached with a smile. “You have to be Lily Campbell. I see those hurt hands, you poor thing. The whole town's buzzing with how you helped saved Louella's house and Louella…come in, come in. I'll help you. I can see you can't do much with those hands. I'll bet they hurt like the devil?”

They did. Everything seemed to hurt like the devil—but it did help, coming in town today, being greeted everywhere, so far, with smiles instead of suspicion. Jane didn't do much talking, but behind her pretty eyes was a shrewd saleswoman. Packages on the counter added up. No bows, no doodads. A white lace bra, a navy satin one. Matching underwear. A sundress in pale blues. A breezy skirt and cami that could go to dinner, or just about anywhere else. A coral top, cream shorts—those she decided to wear, with Jane's help.

The shop had earrings, bangles, shoes, bags, all the “stuff” to put it altogether. Lily didn't intend to buy so much—if she was flying home, she just didn't need that much from here. But Jane seemed to sort through the fussy stuff and come through with exactly what Lily liked, and it all added up. When she headed back out,
her arms were heaped with packages, and naturally, by then it was pouring. She only had minutes to stash the clothes in her rental car and dash through the rain to the hair salon.

To her surprise, the only body in Mary Belle's was Mary Belle—who appeared to be pacing in front of the storefront windows when Lily ran in. “I told everyone to take a two-hour lunch break,” she greeted her with. “Give us some time to chat. And I didn't want anyone handling you but me.”

It was a kindly thing to say—but somehow Lily felt a sudden shiver. Of course, she was damp at the edges from her run through the rain, and the salon was more than cool. The shop looked like its owner. No soothing décor for Mary Belle; she'd opted for bright slashes of orange and yellow, seats in shiny purple.

“I don't need much. Just a trim,” Lily said immediately.

“You need way more than a trim, honey. That fire sure singed you on one side, didn't it? But don't you worry. You'll look like a new woman before I'm through with you.”

Again, Lily felt a frisson of unease. It was stupid. The mix of air-conditioning and intense humidity were creating the chill, nothing else.

She followed the other woman to the back, where Mary Belle wrapped her in a wild polka-dot cape and motioned her to the hair washing chair.

“You're going to love this,” she informed Lily. Which was the truth. It was impossible not to love the scalp
rub, the massage of warm water and fragrant shampoo products.

“I love this place,” Mary Belle said conversationally, yet there was the oddest tone in her voice. Regret? Sadness? “I built the shop from scratch, all on my own. Was never much of a student in high school. Not one of those college-bound types of girls. I always attracted the boys, of course, with my looks. But all they ever did was break my heart, and leave me pregnant with the bills for divorce. This place…this was all mine. I never let a man's name get on it. If it were my choice, I'd never let a man through the door.”

Lily's eyes were closed as Mary Belle rinsed out the shampoo, then massaged in conditioner with expert hands.

“It's a wonderful place,” Lily said, for lack of anything better to comment.

“It'll kill me to lose it.”

Lily assumed she'd misheard her. The comment made no sense—but the water was running, the conditioner being rinsed out, then a towel plopped on her head and the seat raised.

“Now for the trim,” Mary Belle said. “And I do promise. You're going to get the trim of your life.”

Fear dried Lily's throat. It was the stress, she told herself. She wasn't thinking clearly. Even if somehow she found out the arsonist from all those years ago, even if that same female arsonist was the one who caused her parents' fire, it wasn't going to be someone who'd openly talked to her from the day she arrived in Pecan Valley.
It wasn't going to be the sheriff's daughter. How crazy was that?

Mary Belle pumped the chair higher, then tied the long plastic cape tighter around Lily's neck. The scissors suddenly gleamed inches from her eyes.

“I saw your picture in the yearbook,” Lily blurted out.

“Yeah? I was quite a looker, wasn't I?”

“You still are,” Lily assured her.

“There's no point trying to be nice now, honey. It's too late. I knew when you got into town that it could all come crashing down if I wasn't absolutely careful. But I swear, you are the
dumbest
woman. You could have left after the first fire. After the second. But no, you had to keep digging and digging and digging.”

Snip, snip, snip. Lily saw the snips of hair fall. Then hanks of it. About the same second she froze up with panic, she realized that Mary Belle hadn't just tied the cape around her—but around the chair as well. She could move her legs. She could move her bandaged hands under the cape. But she couldn't get out of the chair.

“Don't be squirming around now. I don't want these scissors to slip accidentally. Don't worry. I'll make you look good. You're going to be last customer, and I want your hair cut to look just right.”

“Mary Belle—”

“The place will go up fast. Losing this place is going to kill me, like I said. But by the time the firemen get here, I'll be out in the street, screaming for help, and you'll be the only one inside. They'll think you set yet another fire, Lily. And that this one finally got you, too.
I never wanted it to be this way, I swear,” she said sadly. “But something I want you to know…”

“What?” Lily had stopped breathing. Her gaze tracked the movement of the scissors, her mind racing, trying to find a way out. Trying to think of a way out.

“Your parents, they were never supposed to die. I felt terrible about that. No one was ever supposed to get hurt, not physically—whoa there, bless your heart. That was silly, your trying to move. You're not going anywhere.”

The tip of the scissors nicked Lily's neck, right at the throat. A thin crimson line shone in the mirror.

“We're not done with this haircut,” Mary Belle told her. “And believe me, you don't want me to rush.” She turned the chair, so Lily had a view of the products on the counter. “See there?”

Mutely, Lily looked. The counter of products hadn't caught her attention before, but there was nothing she wouldn't expect to see in a hair salon. But now she realized that Mary Belle had set up an altar. The hair sprays and potions, the nail polishes and nail polish removers, all had their tops opened, and were arranged prettily with a candle in the center.

Only one other item was included in the display. A hairdryer. A plain old, standard salon hairdryer—except that the back had been removed, revealing the naked heating coils.

Mary Belle smoothly plugged in the hairdryer, at the same time she spun around and competently, swiftly, wrapped adhesive tape round and round Lily, the cape trapping her arms and upper torso. “It'll be a little while before those coils heat up. We're not done with the
haircut. And I need a few more minutes to brace myself before losing my shop. This is the one thing I valued in the world besides my daughters and my daddy. So don't be feeling sorry for yourself, because I'm gonna lose a lot here, too. If you'd just never come back, this never would have happened. It's your fault. Everything's your fault.”

As if they were discussing the weather, Mary Belle looked at her haircut creation in the mirror, from one angle and then another. “I believe we'll go just a little shorter on the left side, don't you think?”

All Lily could think was,
Griff.
The one man she definitely wanted to love and live for, not die for.

The coils on the bald hair dryer started to glow….

 

When Griff dropped into the creaking office chair in Sheriff Conner's office, he stretched out his long legs, calm as a spring breeze. “We need to have a little discussion,” he said lazily, and accepted the mug of battery-acid strength coffee that Herman Conner pushed toward him.

“Now, Griff. There's no point in your getting mad over that boy.”

“I'm not mad. I never get mad,” Griff assured him. He realized Conner thought he was unhappy about Jason being returned to his mother's house. And he was. But the dominating headlines in his mind were the images of Lily's soot-stained cheeks and shocked eyes after yesterday's fire.

At three in the morning, he'd still been pacing the
floor, checking on her every five minutes, leaping up every time she coughed.

And since he hadn't gotten a lick of sleep, he'd put all the information they'd gathered on the Campbell fire in his head. It was like watching puzzle pieces interlock. They knew someone had committed three or more acts of arson twenty years ago. That that someone was likely a girl. That that someone had gotten away with her crimes—and the only reason Lily's appearance in town had started a rash of arson fires was if the guilty person then was the guilty person now.

If there was another way to put it together, Griff didn't know how. What he'd realized, in the wee hours of the morning, was that someone else had all the puzzle pieces he and Lily had. Maybe more.

And that someone was the sheriff.

“Here's the thing.” Conner poured himself a second mug, pulled out a drawer, propped his boot on it. “You and I know the score on kids like Jason. You're too realistic to think there's ever some magic answer for a troubled kid.”

“I don't. But if Jason's father wasn't a relative of the judge, you know damn well he'd be in prison, instead of getting a free ride out of jail every few months.”

“True. But that's one of the things you can't change. So you either eat yourself up about it, or you do what you can do.” Conner tipped back his chair. “I don't know if you're aware of this, but I had five kids of my own. Two of them nearly cost my sanity. That's how I know. All you can do is what you can do, Griff.”

Griff suddenly rubbed an itch at the back of his neck. “Which two kids? What happened?”

The sheriff sighed. “I had twins. Twin girls. And when Mary Ann died in an accident, I thought my wife would sink under the weight of it. She just couldn't recover. I had a hard enough time myself. Nothing shook us out of that grief until we finally noticed that Mary Belle…well, let's just say, she was barreling down the wrong path.”

“How so?” Griff asked lazily.

The sheriff's eyes shifted away from him. “What I think now is that losing her sister, her twin, just rocked Mary Belle's foundation to the core. It's like she was trying to believe she didn't care about losing her sister, about herself, about anything. She turned into this wild girl, out of control every which way.”

“I take it she partied quite a bit?”

Conner took another pull on the coffee. “To say the least of it.” He sighed again. “I blame myself for not paying attention. We were too wrapped up in our own grief to see it. She was wildly in love with a new boy about every month. It's not as if a high school boy is going to say no when something's offered free.”