make little progress in fixing her appearance but she couldn’t spend the night without doing something. She’d hoped for a quick in and out in the ER, but due to continued low oxygen levels, the doctor opted to keep her overnight as a precaution.
With stiff fingers, she scrubbed her face. The pore-clogging soot not removed by the nurse’s antiseptic clung to her skin. No matter the amount of scrubbing, the steaming hot cloth wouldn’t wipe away emotional trauma. As if she knew what to wipe away first. She had so many layers.
Did she start with the memory of finding Jessie trapped in the barn and nearly losing her own life? Or the sappy way she’d reacted to Ryan? How about the fact that the fire wasn’t an accident? Or her father’s possible role in this disaster?
She leaned closer to the mirror and gently dabbed around sutured lacerations on her cheek.
Had her father really done this to her? As a teen he’d ignored her, blamed her for suggesting a ride in the country, and then distracting him while driving so he let the car slip off the shoulder and crash into a tree killing her mother on impact.
But was he so cruel that he could hire a man to commit arson in an attempt to scare her away? And if he did, how was she going to prove it? No one in town would entertain the thought that the good doctor Thomas Blackburn moonlighted as a criminal.
“Mia, you in there?” a male voice, deep and vaguely familiar, called from her room. “I need to talk to you.”
She hated anyone to see her in this condition, but his urgent tone moved her to respond. “Be out in a minute.”
She draped the cloth on the sink and finger combed her hair. Yuck. It would take several shampoos to eliminate the stench and caked-in ashes. She replaced the oxygen cannula in her nose and on the way out, freed the plastic tube stuck under the IV cart.
Standing by the door, her visitor wore a khaki police uniform and kneaded his shoulder with narrow fingers. He studied her, taking in every detail as she eased into the room. His presence was intimidating, drawing the air from the room.
Eyes fixed on her, he offered a stiff smile. “Don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for saving our little Jessie.”
His Jessie?
Mia checked his eyes. Oh, yeah. He was a Morgan. Even without the uniform, she’d know this was Ryan’s brother Russ.
The tallest of the Morgan brothers, he was more powerfully built than she’d remembered. Coppery hair had grayed at the temples, but retained a bit of the Morgan curl at the nape. His eyes were clouded, maybe in reaction to nearly losing his niece.
Trauma Mia knew all too well. Fire sizzling all around and no rescue in sight. She suppressed a shiver. “I don’t need any thanks for helping Jessie. I’m just glad I came along when I did.”
“How about we sit?” He gestured at the pair of gray vinyl chairs by the window and issued a full smile, broadening an already wide jaw. The lines circling his eyes and folds along his nose—likely from the stress of a career in law enforcement—fell away, and the teenager she used to know bloomed in front of her.
Not that seeing the teen who tormented her was a good thing. Still, she needed to know what he wanted with her.
Lifting her oxygen lifeline over the bed, she navigated the tank toward the chair and sat.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you around here.” He perched a booted foot on the wooden edge of the other chair. “With the way you shot out of here after high school, I’m surprised you came back. Guess it’s hard to turn down the money you’ll get when you sell Pinetree.”
Did he think she’d react to his cutting tone? Or his assumption that she’d sell Pinetree at the end of the year to capitalize on the valuable lakefront property? Snap judgments were common around here. Just another reason she’d stayed away. Still, she wouldn’t correct them. She knew in her heart she’d returned to Pinetree out of respect for her uncle’s last wishes. That was all that mattered.
“If you’re trying to bait me like you used to, Russ, I’m not biting.”
“I’m here to take your statement about the fire. Nothing more.”
“Sounded more like you were interested in passing judgment on me. Something you were so good at doing in high school.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Mia.” His sharp glare drilled into her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s in the past.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one wronged.”
His eyes creased, and he ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Look—I’ll admit I was hard on you back then. I should have been more understanding, what with the loss of your mom and all. But when you and Ryan started dating and his grades took a nosedive, I had to make you see what you were doing to him.”
“And you thought going behind my back and trying to break us up instead of talking to me was the right way to do that?”
He shrugged. “Might’ve used the wrong method, but I had the right motive.”
“As David’s friend I expected more from you. You knew how much losing our mother changed our lives.” She sent him a penetrating stare.
“All I can say in my defense is at the time I thought you were totally out of control. Figured you’d soon be breaking the law.” He sighed. “I couldn’t let you take Ryan down with you.”
Mia could appreciate Russ’s concern for his brother, but he had worried in vain. Ryan pushed her out of his life the day she learned of his unfaithfulness. “As it turns out, that wasn’t a problem, was it?”
Russ cleared his throat. “What say we put all of this behind us and get on with your statement?”
His offer to make amends was out of character for the guy she had known, but he could have changed. He could be one of the good guys now. She nodded, putting aside their past differences in honor of his profession.
He pulled out a notepad and pen. “Okay, so I need you to tell me exactly what happened today.”
She didn’t want to recount the fire. The searing flames. Suffocating smoke. Terrifying emotions. But she had to comply. She launched into the story, skipping the warning at the post office and replaying the rescue of Jessie with concise comments devoid of the emotions still tumbling through her body.
“I’m sure by now you’ve heard Jessie saw a man start the fire.” Mental exhaustion over telling the story made her tone fall off at the end.
“So,” he leaned closer, his eyes filled with interest, “now that you’ve had time to think about the fire, do you have any ideas about who would want to do this?”
Ideas? Like her father was probably behind it? A fact she wasn’t ready to share. “Not really.”
“Not really, or no?”
She wasn’t ready to tell him everything. She shrugged and tried to veil her eyes so he didn’t notice her evasiveness. She’d had years of practice in subterfuge with her father, but that had been so long ago she’d forgotten how to do it.
Russ
