It would have been worse if I weren’t here at all, she reminded herself. Then the barn would have burned down.
After recognizing the distinctive shape of Gray’s black Prius, Charlotte decided it wouldn’t be fair to hide out until Faith came downstairs. She’d need coffee and breakfast. Charlotte had already had both.
Resigned but wary, she went out the back door as she had last night and walked toward the barn. Gray had circled it and was staring at the burned portion when she reached him.
He was dressed up today, perhaps for meetings, but had left his suitcoat in the car. He wore gray slacks with a narrow black belt, a white shirt and black dress shoes that weren’t benefiting from the dust. The white shirt emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and from behind she admired the fit of the slacks.
Yeah, right. She’d have been looking at his butt even if he’d worn wrinkled khaki.
“You must have heard about our fire,” she said.
His head turned, his thoughtful gray eyes taking in her cropped chinos and snug-fitting, royal blue T-shirt. She wondered whether he was inventorying her clothing, or admiring the fit. So to speak. His appraisal made warmth rise in her cheeks, which annoyed her.
“Yes.” His expression was grave. “I’m told you were awake, or the barn would have been a goner.”
“It’s August,” she said.
He grunted. “We haven’t had any rain in almost two months. And this barn is an old-timer, isn’t it? Imagine how dry that wood must be.”
They both flicked involuntary glances at the charred side and the gaping hole the fire had burned.
“I hear it was arson,” Gray said.
“So Tim Crawford told us. Do you know Tim?”
He nodded. “Crawford is my informant. How is Faith?”
“Upset.” And I made her more upset. Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know any more to tell you at this point. We haven’t even gone in yet to see how much damage there is. I’m waiting for Faith. We were both tired and slept in.”
“Are you insured?”
“I don’t know. We were still worrying about who set the fire when we went to bed. I thought talking about finances could wait for morning.” She added quickly, “We haven’t told Dad yet, either, needless to say. I hope no one else does.”
He gave her a dry look. “I won’t dash off to the hospital before I go to city hall.”
“I didn’t mean …” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. It just struck me how Dad will fuss if he hears.”
“Can’t say I blame him.” Gray was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m going to worry about you two now.”
“If anybody’s the target, it’s Faith. Not me.”
“But you’re in the middle of things, and I don’t see you as a woman to step aside from a threat.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Am I wrong?” he asked quietly.
Of course he wasn’t. She’d gotten in trouble more than once in her life because of her refusal to back down. But how did he know that about her? It bothered Charlotte that he’d read her so accurately on such short acquaintance.
“There must be other citizens of West Fork you need to worry about.”
His eyes rested warmly on her face. “Ah, but there’s something about you, Charlotte Russell. If I’m thinking about you anyway, I might as well worry a little bit.”
Then don’t think about me, she wanted to say. Please, please don’t.
It was bad enough that she had already caught herself thinking about him more than she should. Gray stirred something in her that wasn’t simple attraction, which she could handle. No, this was more like … what she felt every time she looked at her sister, Charlotte realized in dismay. A kind of fear, as if, like Faith, he could breach her inner guard.
Which was ridiculous. She was making too much of this. She couldn’t afford to get involved with a guy locally, that’s all. She’d steer clear of Gray for that reason, not let herself imagine … something more significant.
He’d been watching her closely, his expression grave. Now he said, in a low voice that felt like a caress, “Charlotte …”
They both heard another car pulling in, and the slam of the house screen door at nearly the same moment. Gray didn’t finish whatever he’d intended to say and Charlotte, her pulse having leapt, told herself she was glad. Their gazes touched one more time; he’d wiped all the intensity from his expression, leaving his face impassive.
“Faith,” he said, nodding, as Charlotte’s sister neared. And then, “Wheeler.”
Charlotte looked to see a man coming toward them. Recognizing the traditional blue uniform of the West Fork department she realized he was a police officer, not a fire marshal.
Faith looked better than Charlotte felt; she’d resumed her usual mask of serenity, though it couldn’t possibly be genuine this morning. Her still damp hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she seemed to have taken the time to apply some makeup. She greeted the mayor with a friendly smile and murmured, “Sorry I slept in, Char,” before also facing the policeman.
He was at least Gray’s height, perhaps an inch or two taller, and equally broad-shouldered. Charlotte guessed him to be a little older than Gray, perhaps pushing forty. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed and saturnine, and all the sexier for a face that looked … lived in. No, more than that: battered, with a long-since-healed scar that stretched from one cheek to his temple.
He had been staring at Faith. Charlotte saw the moment when color delicately tinted her sister’s face and her eyes shied from his. Apparently recognizing that he’d made her uncomfortable, he inclined his head at her before looking at Charlotte.
He blinked, glanced again at Faith, then back at her.
“Yes, we’re twins,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “So I see. Sorry if I gaped. Ah … I’m Chief Wheeler. Ben Wheeler. I wanted to talk to you about last night’s fire.”
“Yes, of course,” Charlotte agreed. “Do you mind if we take a quick look inside the barn first?”
“Of course not.”
Gray accompanied the police chief and the two women inside, although Charlotte saw him steal a look at his watch first. She remembered him saying that he felt as if he was trying to hold down two full-time jobs, and this visit didn’t fall under the definition of either. City officials concerned themselves with zoning and taxes, streets and traffic, not minor instances of crime.
This was the third time he’d stopped by in four days. His persistence caused a flutter of panic in her chest. She had been trying to convince herself that he wasn’t coming back because of her, but now she couldn’t.
Ah, but there’s something about you, Charlotte Russell.
Determined to ignore him, she stuck with Faith as they walked into the barn. But—damn it—all the determination in the world didn’t seem to do any good. With every cell in her body, she felt him right behind her.
They could see immediately how lucky they’d been. The fire had been set in the nursery area, and just inside had been garden art and wrought-iron trellises that were designed to withstand water, at least. A rack of gardening gloves had burned and melted, and the herbal wreaths hung on the