Joan arched a brow. “That’s very optimistic.”
Ann shrugged as she set a platter of blueberry pancakes in the center of the table. “I see the sunny side of life.”
Joan topped off her coffee cup. “Can I borrow your car today? I’d like to visit an old friend in town.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Ann asked.
“Very,” Joan said.
“Who’s the friend?” Nate asked.
“You don’t know him,” Joan said.
“I might. Who?” he insisted.
“Never mind,” Ann said. “And yes, you can take Mom’s car. It’s in the garage.”
“Great.”
The front doorbell rang, and Ann sighed as if she was a little relieved to have this boy party end.
“The cavalry,” Joan said.
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Joan was anxious to get into town. Elijah had been out of prison only forty-eight hours, and he would still be getting his bearings. In her experience, suspects were more likely to make unintentional, telling comments when they were off balance.
The front door opened, and she heard Ann’s light tone mingle with the deep timbre of a man’s voice. For a split second, she thought it might have been Clarke, but as she listened closer, she heard a very familiar voice. Her nerves tightened like an archer’s bow. Gideon. They had not seen each other in more than a decade, and though his voice was deeper, there was no mistaking it.
A tremor radiated from her tightening belly, shimmying up her back and over her scalp. Her fingers grew unsteady, forcing her to set the half-empty mug on the counter. Most days she could convince herself he was part of her past. But right now, with him so close, she wasn’t sure how she felt.
Stepping out the back door was an option, but that would make her look weak, and if anything, she was strong. Fireproof, as a paramedic had said years ago.
Squaring her shoulders, Joan came around the corner and into the foyer. Gideon held a familiar black Stetson from his cowboying days in his hand and was smiling as he spoke to Ann. Immediately, she was struck by how tired he looked. Fatigue was part of being a cop. She’d surely pulled her share of all-nighters when she was working a case. But seeing him worn down troubled her more than she would have imagined.
She had a scant second to look Gideon over. Even with the bulky police jacket, she could see that his body remained lean. The once ink-black hair had touches of gray at the temples. She’d hoped he might have grown fat or bald, but he still looked great. She felt her face flush.
She’d pretended that her feelings for him had died when she’d left Montana years ago. But those feelings had never died. They had just curled up into a tight ball and waited for a bit of sunshine and water so they could spring back to life like a bitterroot blossom.
“Gideon.” Joan had mastered the art of a clear, crisp voice, because no one respected a cop who sounded like Minnie Mouse.
His gaze, still on Ann, froze. She could not blame the guy. If he had stepped into O’Toole’s last week, she might have done the same.
“I was about to tell you,” Ann said. “Joan flew in last night. Did you know she’s a homicide detective in Philadelphia?”
“I did.” Gideon shifted his full attention to her. To his credit, he produced a subtle, almost pleasant smile. “Joan.”
He had always been careful with public displays of affection. They both had agreed in college that PDAs were beneath them. But given that it was taking every bit of her to keep her body from melting, she hoped her presence had jostled his apple cart a little.
She held out her hand. “Good to see you.”
He took her hand, squeezing gently and slightly frowning as her rough scars brushed his skin. His gaze wavered, suggesting he was taken aback. Good. They could all stand on shaky ground together. “Likewise.”
Kyle ran up to his father. “You smell like smoke.”
“There was a fire in town last night,” he said, dropping his gaze to his son.
“What burned down?” Nate asked.
“A beauty shop.” Gideon’s voice sounded almost conversational, as if he did not want to alarm the boys.
“Can we go see it?” Kyle asked.
“No.”
“I want to see it,” Nate said.
“Me too,” Kyle piped in.
“Maybe in a few days,” Gideon said. “Right now, it’s still not safe.”
Joan shifted to cop mode. “Do you know how it burned down?”
“We do not,” he said.
“Nate said Clarke had a call last night,” Ann said.
“That was the one. He was there most of the night.”
“Boys, finish your breakfast,” Ann said. “We’ll go out for a ride in the back range once you’re finished.”
“Can I ride Whiskey?” Kyle asked.
Ann looked to Gideon, who nodded.
“He’s a strong rider,” Gideon said with pride. “Whiskey will be fine.”
As the boys scurried back toward the kitchen, Joan moved closer to Gideon, more drawn by curiosity over the fire in town than she was cautious of old emotions tangled up with guilt. The scent of smoke clinging to him stopped her a couple of feet away. “Have you spoken to Elijah? Where there’s smoke, there’s often an arsonist.”
He rubbed the brim of his hat, already worn in several spots. “We haven’t proven arson yet.”
“Just so you know, I came to town to see Elijah,” Joan said. “I thought he might act again, but never this fast.”
“We don’t know if it’s him yet,” Gideon said.
“Are you defending him?” Ann’s anger hardened her tone.
“No. I just follow the facts. And right now, I have a fire with undetermined origins.”
“Where was Elijah at the time of the fire?” Joan asked.
“He has an alibi,” Gideon said.
“I’ll bet,” Joan said.
The thunder of the boys’ footsteps in the kitchen rumbled through the house and made glasses in an antique cabinet rattle.
“I better go check on that,” Ann said.
Ann turned and was calling out the boys’ names before her foot landed on the first
