having grown into her good looks, Mallory was a big-city girl now—a successful news writer for the Channel Six News, no less. Logan had heard Deputy Myers bragging about how his little girl had gone from being an intern to becoming the youngest journalist, at the age of twenty-three, for the prestigious Portland news show. And hadn’t she been dating someone of influence, too? Clear signs she was out of their league.
As Logan walked, he considered his own limited history with Mallory. She’d been a year behind him in school, but he’d always thought she seemed like a sweet girl. Very pretty, with her shiny dark hair and big brown eyes. And smart, too. She was in his history class and outshone most of the seniors. Maybe that’s why she’d caught his eye during his last year of high school. And during the following summer, when she coached his kid sister’s lacrosse team, Logan went out of his way to be friendly to her every time he picked up Selma. But Mallory just blew him off. And Logan wasn’t used to having a girl treat him like that. Eventually he’d just given up. It wasn’t meant to be.
Ironically, he’d probably had his longest conversation with her tonight—after he’d tackled her. Maybe he needed to change his routine—some guys knocked ’em over with their charm, he could just knock them down. He chuckled as he kicked into a smoldering pile of dirt, pausing to give it some turns with his shovel. Not that he’d been looking for girlfriends much this past year. Getting appointed to chief had seemed to put the kibosh on his personal life.
But something about Mallory had really caught him off guard tonight. And it wasn’t just because he felt guilty for knocking her down. No, there was something in her eyes that suggested all was not well. Something in her demeanor had reeled him in. So much so that he felt like stepping up to protect her. But protect her from what? The fire would be out before long, and he didn’t really think her troubles were related to that anyway. At least, he hoped they weren’t. Surely she wasn’t an arsonist, as Winnie had suggested, here to sabotage her parents in their absence. That was just plain dumb. And yet he had to admit that Mallory’s responses to his questions about the fire had sounded a bit like doubletalk. That wasn’t good.
But it did give him a legitimate excuse to resume his conversation with her. After all, it was his job to collect information related to the fire, and his gut feeling had been that she was holding out on him. Something was troubling her. Unless he was mistaken, it was something pretty serious. And before he left this place, he wanted to get to the bottom of it.
As she took a quick shower—the first one she’d had since Kestra’s murder—she couldn’t keep her mind from replaying the events of the past few days. Would she always be haunted by fear? Mallory hurried to redress in the same work outfit she’d worn the past two days. It was what she used to call one of her “grown-up” ensembles, part of a limited wardrobe her mother had helped her to acquire when she’d gotten hired as an intern for the Channel Six News. “Dress for the job you want,” Mom had wisely advised. Mallory had done so...and she’d eventually landed a fantastic job...but where had it gotten her?
She frowned at her pathetic reflection. A worn-out looking brunette in a rumpled linen suit and a pale green blouse that was anything but fresh. As she pinned her still-damp hair into a messy bun, she wondered why she’d told Mom to donate her old clothes to the resell shop last spring. Did she really think she’d never need her small-town wardrobe again? Plaid shirts and denim jackets were suddenly appealing. Comfortable and practical and much better than a bright orange jumpsuit. Not that she’d done anything criminal, although everyone seemed determined to pin something on her. Even when she’d told Detective Doyle she wanted to go home, she’d been warned not to leave the state.
Curious about the state of the fire, she went back outside to check. Although it was barely five, the western horizon was gray with morning light—and she still hadn’t slept a wink. And felt pretty sure she couldn’t sleep now. Or ever. A dozen or so firefighters were still at work and although there were various chimneys of smoldering smoke, no flames were visible. Mallory sat down in a front porch wicker rocker, staring down at a large metal pot of pale pink geraniums and trying to remember a time when life had been good. But nothing came to her. All she felt was a bone-deep sort of numbness.
She considered calling her dad. Chances were they’d reached Iowa by now—unless they were still on their way. But she had a feeling that if she heard his voice she would fall apart—and he would turn around and come back home again. Of course, that’s what she wanted...but she knew it was selfish. Her parents rarely took real vacations, rarely traveled anywhere outside of the state. And as soon as they found out about all of this...first Kestra...then this fire...well, she knew that would be the end of their big trip.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Logan McDaniel strolling purposefully toward her. To her surprise, her spirits lifted ever so slightly as she watched him approach. It was as if his mere presence breathed a spark of life back into her. Or maybe it was hope. Whatever the case, she was grateful.
It was interesting to see him by the light of day. Still as tall as she remembered from high school, he appeared a little more filled out now. Dressed in his firefighter gear, he looked ruggedly handsome, and his long slow stride suggested a steady sort of confidence. This man was comfortable in his own skin. While a part of her admired this trait, another part of her was disturbed by it. It was this same quality that had first drawn her to Brock and a frightened little voice inside her head warned her to watch out.
“It’s a hundred percent contained,” Logan announced as he came up to the porch. Leaning against a post he peered down at her. “It should be completely out in a couple of hours.”
“That’s great news.” She forced an uneasy smile. “Thanks.”
“Just doing my job.” He gave her a handsome grin, revealing even white teeth. “You clean up nicely.”
“Thanks.” She slowly stood, folding her arms in front of her.
“Are you okay?” he asked with a slight frown.
She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. Okay? That was not how she would describe anything related to her life right now. Definitely Not Okay.
“I don’t mean to intrude, Mallory, but you seem uneasy or upset, like something’s bothering you. Need to talk?”
She felt a part of her softening. Why shouldn’t she trust him? And yet...best to play it safe until she knew she could trust him. She sighed. “Well, witnessing your parents’ home...about to go up in flames...that’s a bit disturbing, don’t you think?” She frowned then glanced away to avoid his eyes.
“Sure. It’s understandable that you’d be upset over the fire.”
“Plus I’m a little sleep deprived.” She leaned back, wondering how much longer she could hold it together. His expression was so genuine...so sympathetic...it made her feel as if she was about to crack.
“I’m sure it’s been a rough night for you.”
“Try a rough couple days.” She spoke sharply, then instantly regretted it. Besides not wanting to divulge too much, it wasn’t as though it was his fault that her life was a train wreck.
His brows arched, and she could see the wheels turning in his head, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve been, well, going through some stuff. Hard stuff. I came here to be with my parents—but I totally forgot they were going
