Wyoming Cowboy Marine. Nicole Helm
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I...”
The quizzical look he gave her made her stomach churn almost as much as the nauseating smell of smoke. He was bent over and struggling to breathe, his hands on his knees, and she didn’t know how to do what he asked.
He took the phone back and poked his fingers against the screen. It seemed to do what he wanted and he stood to his full height, holding the phone to his ear.
“Uncontained fire,” he said in that military voice, commanding even with the hoarseness from smoke inhalation. “I don’t have an address, but I can explain somewhat where we are.” He gave pretty clear directions in that strained voice, not coughing until he’d hung up the phone.
“You don’t know how to use a phone,” he said.
“We don’t...believe in phones.” Which wasn’t true exactly, but it seemed less embarrassing than saying she wasn’t allowed to use them. She was a grown woman, and as much as she didn’t understand that world out there, she’d seen enough in that police precinct to know women used phones and likely did whatever they wanted.
That was the danger in it, after all.
“I’m going to call Laurel.” He coughed again, and it still sounded awful even if his breathing had eased somewhat. “We’ll wait for the fire department.” He surveyed the fire charring and melting her home of the past nearly twenty years into nothing. Provisions, money, equipment. Everything she’d ever owned, everything she’d ever known. Gone.
It was a large clearing, and the conditions weren’t dry, the ground a muddy wet from the spring thaw, but Hilly knew enough to know a fire like this could get out of control anyway. Her home might not be all that went up.
She only realized she was shaking when Cam took her by the arm. His hand was big and gentle. Even though his grip was firm it was very careful.
The shaking intensified, like she’d been shoved into icy water. Her teeth were even chattering and suddenly she did feel cold. Cold and sick.
“Sit.”
She looked up at him helplessly, but he nudged her leg until it buckled a little. She didn’t fall exactly, because he was holding on to her arm. It was almost as if he had the strength to simply lower her to the ground like that.
“Sit. Breathe. It’s okay to feel off. You’re in shock.”
“Shock,” she repeated. Free whined and crawled into her lap, muddy and shaking a little herself. There was some kind of relief in that, and she leaned into Free’s truly awful-smelling fur and did what Cam told her to do. She sat. She breathed. All the while he talked into his phone in low, raspy tones. She didn’t even try to make out the words.
She should try to hear. She had to protect herself. Protect Dad.
But her house was on fire. Their life was on fire and Dad was missing and all that was left were the clothes on her back and Free. She’d even left Dad’s weapons in there. He’d be so mad. So mad.
“Hey.” Cam was crouching at eye level, sympathy softening his features so much he almost didn’t look dangerous. He almost didn’t look like a stranger. For a blinding second she could almost believe he was a friend.
Don’t be stupid, Hilly.
“It would help a lot if I knew your name.”
She shook her head, and had to close her eyes against the flash of anger in his. But he didn’t lash out. He didn’t yell and he didn’t hurt her. He rose. “Can you walk?”
She swallowed and dared to look up at him. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a serious, determined expression on his face. Whatever anger or irritation had been there was gone now.
“I can walk,” she managed. She nudged Free off her lap and got to her feet. He wrapped his hand around her arm again when she swayed.
It was strange. Her arm tingled like there was something chemical in the contact, but her shirt was long-sleeved so they weren’t touching skin to skin.
Skin to skin. How...odd.
Once she was steady, he let her go and began to make his way through the trees in a slow circle around the house that still blazed and smoked. “We’ll see if we can see anything. A clue as to who did this. We might get some footprints. The fire department should be here soon, and once we’ve talked to them and know we won’t be interrupted we’ll listen to what I recorded.”
“Do you really think your phone picked up any—”
He stopped on a dime near the front of the house, so quickly she almost ran into his back. He frowned at the now-familiar sight of burning building, and that was when Hilly saw it.
Spray-painted haphazardly in the muddy grass of the front yard was one word.
Confess.
She could practically feel Cam’s suspicion sliding over her and weighing her down. But she had nothing to confess. She’d committed no crimes. She’d barely ever left this cabin or clearing since she’d moved here when she was a little girl. Whatever this was, it wasn’t anything to do with her.
“I don’t have anything to confess. I can’t even think of one possible thing.”
“You’re not the only one who lives here, though.”
“You think this is for my father?” But, of course it had to be. She wanted to believe it was a mistake, but... Dad had disappeared. Someone wanted him to confess. “It has to be a mistake.”
She hated the pitying expression on Cameron’s face. He thought she was stupid. She wasn’t. She knew it could only be about Dad. But it didn’t mean it had to be right about Dad. And it didn’t mean she had to...
“It’s fine. Believe whatever you want. Don’t tell me your name or his name. That’s your choice. I can’t help you the way I’d like, but it’s your choice.”
Help you.
No one ever wanted to help her. She existed to help Dad, not the other way around. But Dad was gone. Home was gone. And this man wanted to help her, or at least said he did.
“My name’s Hilly,” she whispered.
“Hilly.” He searched her face, and she knew she’d regret this at some point. Dad’s words would turn out to be right. You couldn’t trust anyone, and strangers would only hurt you.
But, God, she didn’t know what else to do right now. She had to trust Cam’s kind eyes. This man who knew what to do in a crisis. “My name is Hilly Adams.”
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