But his real fear wasn’t over the diseases in the area. Yes, the principal had died from the effects of a microogranism, but Sheila’s mother had not, and neither had the Hunts. Preston couldn’t help connecting the deaths of Sheila’s mother and Wendy—both of whom worked in the school clinic. He might be stretching it a bit, but he couldn’t shake his worry.
The canoe was almost to the lake’s halfway point—a distance of about six hundred feet—and Blaze waved. As Preston waved back, the cell phone chirped from his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the number. Sheila. At last.
He flipped open the phone, eager to hear her voice, yet determined not to let on how badly he missed her, or how much he worried. “Are you there yet?”
“I’m here.” She sounded tired…and something more.
Sheila Metcalf was an eternally upbeat person who tended to lift the spirits of others—without irritating. Many perky people got on Preston’s nerves, but for as long as he had known Sheila, her presence had soothed him. Their relationship hadn’t always been comfortable, but being in her company was like a good day of fishing on James River.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
The barest of hesitations alerted him further. “It’s been a long drive,” she said. “It’s hot, and I’m tired.”
“What happened?”
“What makes you think—”
“Did you find any sick people?”
“I just got here—how am I supposed to have done that?” The fatigue in her voice had quickly turned to irritation, not a usual response from her.
“Did you have trouble on the road?” he asked.
No reply. Which meant she’d had trouble on the road.
“Did the Jeep break down?” he asked. “I knew you should have taken mine.”
The continued silence disturbed him. He watched as Blaze moored the canoe to the small dock about a hundred feet down the gentle slope of hill from the house.
Lucy and Brittany ran to greet their good friend. Brittany hurled herself into his big, strong arms while Lucy hung back, suddenly shy. Lucy adored Blaze Farmer; she had informed Preston that she was going to marry Blaze when she grew up. Preston had a feeling Lucy might have some competition.
The handsome young college student could have an active social life if he weren’t so busy, completing three years of study in two years, helping out at the boys’ ranch that he called home, working part-time at the hospital for his foster mother, Dr. Cheyenne Gideon, taking care of most of the animals in town—Blaze intended to become Hideaway’s first full-time veterinarian.
Just watching the kid work made Preston tired.
“There was something in the desert.” Sheila’s voice was shaky as it reached Preston over the receiver.
His full attention snapped back to her. “Something like what?”
“It looked like an animal running toward the road, maybe a dog. A German shepherd. I saw it as I drove, and then it just seemed to disappear in a puff of smoke.”
Preston waited, tamping down on his alarm while the thought of rabies crossed his mind. He was losing it.
“It drew too much of my attention,” she said. “Next thing I knew, I was off the road. I heard a pop-thud. I had a blowout from hitting a rock, had to change the tire, but if I hit a dog during all that mess, I’d have surely known it.”
He frowned. “What?”
She sighed. “There was a dog found dead on the side of the road near where I had the blowout, and it seems I’m now being blamed for hitting it. Some kind of school pet, I guess.”
“Why does everybody seem to think you hit this dog?”
“I think it’s because they want to believe it.”
He really didn’t like the sound of her voice. He hadn’t liked this journey from the beginning, but telling her that right now wouldn’t help. “So why are you suddenly doubting yourself?” he asked gently. “You’d have known if you hit a dog. In fact, you’d have jumped to the dog’s aid, tried to resuscitate it and barring that, you’d have hauled the poor creature into your Jeep and taken it for help.”
There was a sigh, and then silence.
“Sheila?”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that. It’s just so…so upsetting to be suddenly accused of this…this awful thing barely minutes after arriving here.”
“Bad omen, huh?”
There was a short silence, then a sniffle.
He really, really didn’t like this. He stood up, ready to pack immediately and fly to Arizona. Sheila always had both feet solidly planted on the ground…and now she was talking about disappearing dogs, and crying because she thought people didn’t like her?
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You’re not sick, are you? Because you don’t sound like yourself.”
“Don’t you start, too.”
“I’m not starting anything, I just think—”
“I’m fine, okay? It’s just that when Canaan and Tanya—she’s one of the students at the school—when they arrived…” Sheila sighed. “Anyway, it wasn’t pretty, and I’m tired, and I know this will all blow over, but I’m not feeling the best about things right now.”
“I could come out—”
“And do what?” Snappy again. “Preston, we’ve already discussed this. I’m doing what I need to do. I’m just running into some…bumps along the way. Literally.”
He wanted to be there, but it would do no good to dwell on his frustration, or on hers. “I understand,” he said instead. And he did understand. “Just keep in mind that I’m only a phone call away.”
“I know.” Voice soft again, she sounded defeated. And frightened. “Thanks. That helps, it really does. I think I’m going to take a short nap. Maybe everything will look better after I’ve rested.”
“You said Canaan York was your friend from childhood.”
“We were the best of friends, and if circumstances hadn’t been as they are, it would have been great to see him.”
Preston had never been jealous before. Of course, he’d never been this in love before, either. “It seems to me that such a close friend would have given you the benefit of the doubt.” Already, he disliked this Canaan York. To be honest, he’d felt a chill toward the guy from the moment Sheila began talking about him in such glowing terms before leaving Missouri. A man had his limits.
“Yes, well, people change,” she said.
Preston could have told her that. In fact, he remembered telling her that very thing, which she hadn’t exactly appreciated at the time.
“Besides, as acting principal, he has to get to the bottom of things, and I was the obvious suspect.”
“He accused you of hitting the dog?” he asked. The jerk.
She groaned. “Let’s say he seems to have some concern about my presence here, and the dog tragedy didn’t help.” Again, the weariness.
“Just remember my thoughts are with you,” Preston said.
She was silent.
“Sheila?”
“Yes, I know, your thoughts are with me, but I think what I need right now is something more powerful than mere thoughts, Preston.”
Her