While he’d tried in vain to sleep, all he’d thought about, fantasized about, was Beth Stewart. Beautiful, headstrong, and independent, she’d moved halfway across the country to make a clean break with painful memories and a messy divorce. She was making a new life for her and her daughter in a new town under strained and stressful circumstances. Though she’d been welcomed as part of the Boudreau family, he didn’t feel anything close to familial about the feisty woman who kept him fantasizing about a future which could never be.
When Brody walked into the barn, Douglas sat atop a wooden stool holding a bridle, studying it with the same intensity he did everything else. The worn leather looked tiny within his father’s big, work-roughened hands. His dad looked up when Brody walked in, his face a study of lines and angles, tanned from working outdoors his entire life. Years in the military as an Army Ranger trained and disciplined him into a strong man, one with a compassionate heart and an easy smile. Hands toughened and scarred from construction work, as well as daily life on the ranch, their touch could yield a gentleness belied by his size, or a swat to a backside when deserved.
“Morning, son. Heard you had a tough night.”
“That it was, Dad. Blaze at the Summers’ place. A bad one. Thankfully, we caught it in time before it spread too far.”
“It’s a shame, place lying abandoned. It’s a good piece of property. Any idea what caused it?”
Brody hesitated, not wanting to make any unfounded assumptions, but his father knew the lay of the land when it came to things happening in and around Shiloh Springs. He’d spent most of his adult life here after leaving the military, and was well respected by everyone in their small community. He also had a good head on his shoulders when it came to people. Soft spoken and not given to saying much, when he did offer his opinion, people listened. Douglas sometimes reminded him of a throwback to a different time, when a man’s word meant something. His father was a fair man, one who he trusted implicitly, and knew whatever he told Douglas would be kept between them.
“I don’t have any proof yet, but I think the fire was deliberately set.”
His father stiffened almost imperceptivity, before turning his attention back to the bridle. “You’re thinking arson?”
“The burn pattern outside the barn indicated that possibility. I’ll know more once I can investigate further. I hope I’m wrong, but my gut says otherwise. What I can’t figure out is why. There’s no motive. The place is abandoned, has been for ages. The Summers have had it on the market forever. Who’d want to torch the old barn?”
Douglas laid the bridle down on the ground by his feet and stood. “Ben Summers wants to sell the place, but he’s asking too much. Your momma hasn’t been able to convince the family they’re overpriced. Sometimes sentimental attachments color people’s judgment. Don’t know if they’re hurting for money. I do know it was a hard decision when Sandra took sick, and the doctors told him she needed to be in a warmer climate. Living in Florida ain’t cheap.”
“Part of the investigation will be looking at the owners. It’s routine. With any insurance payout, it almost always focuses on whether or not arson is suspected.”
“I don’t think Ben’s carried insurance on the place for the last couple of years, son. Doubt it, to be honest. Last he told me, if he wasn’t gonna live there, he wasn’t concerned about it falling down. Their son doesn’t want it. He lives in San Antonio and couldn’t care less about running a farm, which is why Ben put it on the market in the first place. Doubt they’ll ever come back to Shiloh Springs.”
“It’s a real shame, because with some hard work and a little money, it could be a beautiful farm again. The barn’s gone now, but the house was far enough away there wasn’t any damage. I imagine for the right price, it would be snatched up in a heartbeat.”
“Your momma’s gotten more than a few nibbles, but Ben’s hardheaded, and don’t want to give the place away for a penny less than what he thinks it’s worth. Stubborn old goat.”
Brody sighed before moving to stand beside his father. He reached out and scratched Tootsie behind the ear. Tootsie had been around almost as long as he’d been living on the ranch, and though she couldn’t do much heavy labor anymore, she was spoiled rotten by all the Boudreaus. She butted her head against his hand when he stopped scratching, and he resumed again with a chuckle. Yep, spoiled rotten.
“Something else bothering you, son?” His father leaned against the stall door, his back against the worn wood, ankles crossed, completely relaxed and in his element.
“Nothing. I mean—it’s not important.”
Douglas straightened to his full height, and caught Brody’s shoulders in his strong grip. “You know you can tell me anything, and it stays right here, between us. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. You can talk to me about anything.”
The tightness in his chest nearly choked him, the emotional support from the man he admired most in the world threatening to bring him to his knees. His father had been a bulwark in his childhood, an example of how a man should live and treat those around him throughout Brody’s teen years, the perfect example of a man who wasn’t afraid to love a woman with all his heart, and not be ashamed or embarrassed about who he was or the choices he made as an adult. If anybody would understand his dilemma, it was Douglas Boudreau.
“I’ve got a problem, Dad.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Brody nodded. “I think I’m falling for Beth Stewart. I know it’s wrong, but—”
“Why’s it wrong?” His father
