“Hey.” Randy reached over and wiped the tear off her cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know how it happened. Did we leave something on? Was there some kind of short in the electricity?” Michaela was having a hard time with the fact that her house was dying.
The building that Jonas Powell had first constructed when he’d staked his claim in the 1880s. The home that he’d passed on to his son, Gabriel, who’d passed it on to his son, her grandfather, Nikodemus. The home Grandpa Nick had remodeled and added onto, the same home that her father had brought his wife to, that she had been born in, that home was now a collapsing mass of burning wood. Gone.
“We didn’t leave anything on,” Lewis said.
It took another half-hour for the fire to eat the rest of the walls. The firemen poured more water onto the shell, their focus now on preventing an even bigger fire in the surrounding fields. They were very lucky in that the grass wasn’t nearly as dry as it could have been.
Adam and Jake appeared to be having a conference with one of the Jessops, who led them off for a moment toward the house. A few minutes later, they reappeared and headed toward them. Adam held his cell phone to his ear. He ended his call just before they reached her. Michaela instinctively wiped away her tears.
“How are you doing, Michaela?” Adam asked.
More tears threatened, and her throat tightened. She shrugged. “We’re all safe and unharmed.” She exhaled and grabbed onto that reality with two hands and every instinct to embrace the truth that lived within her. Just that afternoon, she’d been ready and willing to sell this place and go wherever her men wanted to go, hadn’t she?
Michaela didn’t know why she was feeling bereft at this moment. After all, it was just a stupid house.
“We’re all safe,” she said again. It’s not a stupid house. It’s a lifetime, my lifetime. Yes, it was, and she’d grieve. Later. What she’d just said aloud echoed in the night. “And that’s the most important thing.”
“It is the most important thing. And the second most important thing is justice.”
She hadn’t noticed until that moment, because she’d been inside her own head. But now she focused on Adam Kendall and realized the man was deeply, seriously pissed.
“It was arson, wasn’t it?” Lewis asked.
“Grant is pretty sure of it. Stupid schmuck left the fucking gas can behind. It melted some, but we’ll test what’s left of it for fingerprints.
“They’ll be back out in the morning to start the investigation. In the meantime, we’ll keep a crew here, on watch. Also, I’ve asked the DPS—our state police—to pay a visit to Terry Gowan.”
“If that bastard did this…” Randy’s fury-laced words tapered off.
“We’ll find out who did this,” Adam said. “And we will deal with him, to the fullest extent of the law. That’s a promise.”
“In the meantime,” Jake said, “saddle up and follow us. The family’s been busy in the last hour. We have a house ready for you to move into.”
Michaela blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jake’s grin was softer than usual. “A temporary place where the three of you can hang your hats until you re-assess and get your new house built.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Lewis said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It’s what family does,” Jake said.
Family. They were surrounded by family. Right then and there, Michaela thought it was the most amazing feeling in the world.
Chapter Eighteen
Michaela stretched and yawned, her body awakening before her mind, which fought to throw off horrid dream images of flames and smoke and stalking death.
She blinked and remembered. Lewis’s shout awakening her, the smoke in the air, the race for the window. Then panic when her men weren’t joining her but, instead, taking precious time to retrieve the few keepsakes that she’d only so recently discovered—Daniel’s box and the few keepsakes of her mother’s that hadn’t been in her car for Monday’s trip to the drycleaner’s.
Not a horrid dream, but a horrid reality. Her eyes felt irritated, and she remembered more.
She remembered watching as her house surrendered to the fire beast, as the roof caved in and the focus changed to ensuring no grass fires erupted as a result of the burning house.
Then coming here, to this house in Lusty, a place that had miraculously been made ready for them as they’d watched the funeral pyre of the place they’d been. Her place. Their place.
She’d been grateful—of course she had—and had reeked of the smoke. They’d all showered in the enormous master bath and cuddled in the enormous bed, and she’d wept.
More of a wailing than a weeping.
Michaela finally understood the concept of the ugly cry, because, man, she’d had one last night.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
Randy, on her left, snuggled closer. On her right, Lewis moved in and laid his hand across her stomach. Cossetted. Cocooned. Safe.
“Like I need eye drops and a strong cup of coffee. Sorry I cried all over you both last night.”
“You were entitled,” Lewis said. “And we’re not sorry we were there for you. Holding you. That’s what we plan to do for the rest of our lives. Be there for you. And you’ll do the same. That’s what love is.”
“We love you without limits,” Randy said. “We’ll always take care of you—just as you’ll take care of us. We all need that, sweetheart. The world around us can go for a shit—or feel like it. But I know that if I have you, then my world is perfect.”
Michaela gave thanks then and there for a pair of men who loved her unconditionally and, with their words, could remind her of what was most important. She shot from a sense of bereavement to a boundless joy in one heartbeat. The devotion she read in their gazes settled within her. Lifted her. Completed her.
“Yes. I want very much to spend the rest of my life with
