The Russell Twins

“How do you think it started?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s arson,” he said bluntly. “Can’t you smell the gasoline? And I know it’s hard to see the smoke at night like this, but it was black. I’m going to make sure someone is out here in the morning to talk to you about it.”

“Can we, um, look inside?” Faith asked shakily.

Sounding kind, he said, “Why don’t you wait until daylight? Get a good night’s sleep. Didn’t look like that much damage to me.”

“Oh.” Faith nodded, and kept nodding. “Oh, okay.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Charlotte said, and steered her sister toward the house. Behind them, the volunteer firemen were reeling in their hoses and climbing aboard the two trucks. Engines started before the two women reached the house.

In the kitchen, Charlotte said, “I don’t know about you, but I want a drink. Do you have anything?”

“Daddy keeps some bourbon up top of the refrigerator, but I’d settle for tea.” Faith sank into a kitchen chair as if her legs had just failed her. “In a minute. When I can stand up again.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’ll make it.” She thought wistfully about a slug of the bourbon but instead got down two mugs, plopped in tea bags, filled them with water and stuck them in the microwave. One minute later, and the water was hot. Without asking Faith, she added more sugar than she liked to one of the mugs, then carried them both to the table.

“Thank you.” Faith smiled wanly at her. Soot streaked her face, which was paler than it ought to be considering she had a good tan. Her thin nightgown had gotten a blast of water at some point and clung revealingly to her. Below the hem, her feet were filthy.

Charlotte looked down and realized she looked just as awful. Her feet were not only filthy, but one of her toes was also bloody. She had a vague memory of stubbing it. “You know I had three showers today?” she said. “And now I’m going to have to have a fourth?”

“It’s tomorrow now,” her sister pointed out. She stirred her tea, then lifted out the bag. “So this won’t be your fourth shower of today, it’ll be your first shower of tomorrow. No, today.”

Suddenly they were both giggling.

“Oh, Lord,” Faith finally said on a sigh, her hand pressed to her stomach. “I was sound asleep. I never would have woken up. It really is a miracle you happened to go outside.”

Charlotte met her sister’s eyes. “Rory was awfully mad the other day.”

“It could’ve just been a teenager. Why would Rory do something like this? He wants me back. He’d have to know that would blow any chance….”

Charlotte set down her mug hard. “Does he have a chance?”

“No!” Faith glared at her. “How can you even ask me that?”

“You’re the one who just implied …”

“I did not! I was trying to explain how he thinks!”

Charlotte let out a frustrated breath. “When you called, you sounded like he’d been angry lately when he came around. And he was nasty from the minute he walked into the barn day before yesterday.”

“There’s a big difference between …”

God give her patience. “Yes, there is. But if he’s getting angry, it’s because he’s realized he doesn’t have another chance. You thought he’d just go away once he realized that, didn’t you?”

Stricken, Faith finally closed her mouth and nodded, just once.

“But when you were married, he got violent every time he thought he was losing control of you.”

“Yes,” her sister whispered.

“Maybe after he put you in the hospital he was ashamed of himself for a little while. Maybe he thought if he gave you time you’d forgive him eventually. But if he’s finally realized you aren’t going to, do you really think he’s not going to make some … I don’t know, some parting gesture?”

Head bowed, gaze fixed on her tea, Faith looked … broken. “I don’t know. I guess I was more afraid he’d get mad and hit me. This seems so … sneaky.”

“He must know how badly you want to keep the farm going, for Dad’s sake, and because it’s ours.”

She heard herself and thought, Ours? Where had that come from?

Faith looked up, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks dirty. “This would have been one of the worst things he could do to me.”

Charlotte didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

After a moment of silence, Faith said, “There are other possibilities. It could have just been random vandalism. Or … You know how Angie just started a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do …?”

Faith interrupted. “I had a boy who worked for me before Angie. I caught him stealing money from the till and had to fire him.”

Charlotte blinked. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“He claimed it was the first time he stole anything, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Really? You didn’t think he’d learned his lesson and would be grateful and loyal if you kept him on?”

Faith sprang to her feet. “That’s enough! You don’t know me at all anymore. I will not let you treat me as if there’s anything wrong with believing my husband loved me enough to change.”

Shame flooded Charlotte. She rose, too, facing her sister across the small kitchen table. “You’re right. I’m … really sorry.”

Faith just looked at her, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, footsteps went up the stairs and then Charlotte heard a door shut.

“Why did I say that?” she asked the silent room. The awful thing was, she knew the answer, which made her feel even worse.

CHAPTER THREE

GRAY VAN DUSEN WAS THE first visitor come morning, which somehow did not surprise Charlotte. He was probably kept well informed about any exciting events in West Fork. She imagined him sipping his morning coffee while he perused an e-mail list of every fire and police call made in the previous twenty-four hours.

Faith had slept later than Charlotte. She was standing in the kitchen sipping her coffee and gazing out the window toward the barn when she heard the shower start upstairs. It surprised her, making her realize that she hadn’t heard Faith take a shower last night, either before or after her own. Had her twin really crawled into bed still grubby and covered in soot? Charlotte felt a pang of renewed guilt. If Faith had done something as alien to her nature as that, guess whose fault it was?

It would have been worse if I weren’t here at all, she reminded herself. Then the barn would have burned down.

After recognizing the distinctive shape of Gray’s black Prius, Charlotte decided it wouldn’t be fair to hide out until Faith came downstairs. She’d need coffee and breakfast. Charlotte had already had both.

Resigned but wary, she went out the back door as she had last night and walked toward the barn. Gray had circled it and was staring at the burned portion when she reached him.

He was dressed up today, perhaps for meetings, but had left his suitcoat in the car. He wore gray slacks with a narrow black belt, a white shirt and black dress shoes that weren’t benefiting from the dust. The white shirt emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and from behind she admired the fit of the slacks.

Yeah, right. She’d have been looking at his butt even if he’d worn wrinkled khaki.

“You must have heard about our fire,” she said.

His head turned, his thoughtful gray eyes taking in her cropped chinos and snug-fitting, royal blue T-shirt. She wondered whether he was inventorying her clothing, or admiring the fit. So to speak. His appraisal made warmth rise in her cheeks, which annoyed her.

“Yes.” His expression was grave. “I’m told you were awake, or the barn would have been a goner.”

“It’s August,” she said.

He grunted. “We haven’t had any rain in almost two months. And this barn is an old-timer, isn’t it? Imagine how dry that wood must be.”

They both flicked involuntary glances at the charred side and the gaping hole the fire had burned.

“I hear it was arson,” Gray said.

“So Tim Crawford told us. Do you know Tim?”

He nodded. “Crawford is my informant. How is Faith?”

“Upset.” And I made her more upset. Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know any more to tell you at this point. We haven’t even gone in yet to see how much damage there is. I’m waiting for Faith. We were both tired and slept in.”

“Are you insured?”

“I don’t know. We were still worrying about who set the fire when we went to bed. I thought talking about finances could wait for morning.” She added quickly, “We haven’t told Dad yet, either, needless to say. I hope no one else does.”

He gave her a dry look. “I won’t dash off to the hospital before I go to city hall.”

“I didn’t mean …” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. It just struck me how Dad will fuss if he hears.”

“Can’t say I blame him.” Gray was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m going to worry about you two now.”

“If anybody’s the target, it’s Faith. Not me.”

“But you’re in the middle of things, and I don’t see you as a woman to step aside from a threat.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Am I wrong?” he asked quietly.

Of course he wasn’t. She’d gotten in trouble more than once in her life because of her refusal to back down. But how did he know that about her? It bothered Charlotte that he’d read her so accurately on such short acquaintance.

“There must be other citizens of West Fork you need to worry about.”

His eyes rested warmly on her face. “Ah, but there’s something about you, Charlotte Russell. If I’m thinking about you anyway, I might as well worry a little bit.”

Then don’t think about me, she wanted to say. Please, please don’t.

It was bad enough that she had already caught herself thinking about him more than she should. Gray stirred something in her that wasn’t simple attraction, which she could handle. No, this was more like … what she felt every time she looked at her sister, Charlotte realized in dismay. A kind of fear, as if, like Faith, he could breach her inner guard.

Which was ridiculous. She was making too much of this. She couldn’t afford to get involved with a guy locally, that’s all. She’d steer clear of Gray for that reason, not let herself imagine … something more significant.

He’d been watching her closely, his expression grave. Now he said, in a low voice that felt like a caress, “Charlotte …”

They both heard another car pulling in, and the slam of the house screen door at nearly the same moment. Gray didn’t finish whatever he’d intended to say and Charlotte, her pulse having leapt, told herself she was glad. Their gazes touched one more time; he’d wiped all the intensity from his expression, leaving his face impassive.

“Faith,” he said, nodding, as Charlotte’s sister neared. And then, “Wheeler.”

Charlotte looked to see a man coming toward them. Recognizing the traditional blue uniform of the West Fork department she realized he was a police officer, not a fire marshal.

Faith looked better than Charlotte felt; she’d resumed her usual mask of serenity, though it couldn’t possibly be genuine this morning. Her still damp hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she seemed to have taken the time to apply some makeup. She greeted the mayor with a friendly smile and murmured, “Sorry I slept in, Char,” before also facing the policeman.

He was at least Gray’s height, perhaps an inch or two taller, and equally broad-shouldered. Charlotte guessed him to be a little older than Gray, perhaps pushing forty. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed and saturnine, and all the sexier for a face that looked … lived in. No, more than that: battered, with a long-since-healed scar that stretched from one cheek to his temple.

He had been staring at Faith. Charlotte saw the moment when color delicately tinted her sister’s face and her eyes shied from his. Apparently recognizing that he’d made her uncomfortable, he inclined his head at her before looking at Charlotte.

He blinked, glanced again at Faith, then back at her.

“Yes, we’re twins,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “So I see. Sorry if I gaped. Ah … I’m Chief Wheeler. Ben Wheeler. I wanted to talk to you about last night’s fire.”

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte agreed. “Do you mind if we take a quick look inside the barn first?”

“Of course not.”

Gray accompanied the police chief and the two women inside, although Charlotte saw him steal a look at his watch first. She remembered him saying that he felt as if he was trying to hold down two full-time jobs, and this visit didn’t fall under the definition of either. City officials concerned themselves with zoning and taxes, streets and traffic, not minor instances of crime.

This was the third time he’d stopped by in four days. His persistence caused a flutter of panic in her chest. She had been trying to convince herself that he wasn’t coming back because of her, but now she couldn’t.

Ah, but there’s something about you, Charlotte Russell.

Determined to ignore him, she stuck with Faith as they walked into the barn. But—damn it—all the determination in the world didn’t seem to do any good. With every cell in her body, she felt him right behind her.

They could see immediately how lucky they’d been. The fire had been set in the nursery area, and just inside had been garden art and wrought-iron trellises that were designed to withstand water, at least. A rack of gardening gloves had burned and melted, and the herbal wreaths hung on the batten-board walls had been consumed, but that was the extent of the loss.

Faith turned to Charlotte with a glowing smile and gave her a big hug. “Not that much water got in! Oh, thank goodness! I was so afraid to find out.”

Charlotte hugged her back. Her own relief surprised her. “It could have been way worse,” she agreed. “Though we’ll have to find someone to replace that stretch of barn wall, unless you’re a better carpenter than I am.”

Backing away, Faith grimaced. “I can do some things, but probably not that. I’ll have to think about who to call.” She stopped and turned to the police chief. “Gosh, you probably have to ask us questions, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said apologetically.

“I need to run,” Gray said. “Uh … were you insured, Faith?”

The strain showed on her face for the first time this morning. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to talk to Dad and dig out the paperwork. I know we haven’t insured the retail inventory, but Dad must have had some coverage on the structure as a working farm.”

“Very likely,” he said. “Give me a call. I might know someone who can do the work.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Gray.”

His gaze flicked to Charlotte. “Will you walk me out?”

She hesitated, even though a part of her was glad that he’d asked. “Uh … sure,” she finally said. Perhaps he wanted to tell her something out of Faith’s hearing.

“Wheeler,” he said with a nod. “Faith.”

As they stepped out into the sunlight, he asked, “This place paying its way?”

Surprised at his choice of topic, Charlotte admitted, “I don’t think so.” She offered a twisted smile. “I have a suspicion you won’t have to keep fussing about the traffic issue.”

“Are you going to be able to make a difference?”

“With the farm? Heck, no! I can help take care of Dad, and maybe defend Faith from Rory, but the closest thing to retail experience I have was my part-time job at Tastee’s. Is there something we can do to draw more people, bring in more money? I can’t think of anything.”

His nod was unsurprised. “I suppose you’re wishing you were back in front of a computer.”

She opened her mouth to agree and realized it would be a lie. She did like her work, but she hadn’t missed it since arriving home. “Well, I’m not cut out to be a farmer or run a country store,” she said instead, which wasn’t a lie.

“Charlotte—” Gray stopped and looked past her, and she turned to see the police chief and her sister walking out of the barn to join them.

“Still here?” Wheeler said, faintly mocking.

Gray made a sound in his throat that Charlotte couldn’t interpret and said, “I’m going.” His eyes meeting hers again, he said quietly, “Take care, okay?”

“I will,” she agreed, her own voice low, as if this promise was private. The idea quickened her pulse, but he was turning away, getting into his car.

A moment later, he’d backed out and driven off.

She was pathetic enough to want to watch until his Prius was out of sight. Instead, she faced the police chief and, somewhat hastily, suggested, “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen? We could at least sit down and have a cup of coffee.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he agreed, in a deep, quiet voice.

She was less sure inviting him in had been a good idea when she realized how he seemed to shrink the farmhouse kitchen by his mere presence. Faith lost all animation once the three of them sat down and he began to ask questions.

He concentrated on Charlotte, once Faith told him she hadn’t heard or seen a thing until her sister yelled up the stairs to her.

“Did it cross your mind as you ran over to the barn that the arsonist might still be there watching?” he asked, those dark eyes steady on her face.

A chill crept up her spine, raising goose bumps as it went. “I … didn’t even think about it being arson,” she said. “Not until the firefighter told us. I did notice the smell of gasoline, but not until the fire truck had already pulled in, so I thought …” She trailed off with the unpleasant realization that someone could have been watching. There had been moonlight, yes, but he could have stood in the shadow of the garage or one of the smaller outbuildings and smiled at the sight of his fire leaping toward the barn roof. Had he been angry when he saw her and then Faith, or had he enjoyed their desperate fight to save the old barn?

Faith looked horrified, too.

“Oh, Char,” she whispered.

Charlotte reached out a hand to her. “It might not have been Rory.”

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d clasped hands like this. Of course their hands were identical, with long, slender fingers. A few days ago, hers would have been paler, her nails manicured and polished. But now, she was already starting to tan, and a bandage wrapped one finger burned when she stirred the jam. Both of them had acquired scratches thanks to the berry vines.

Charlotte gave her sister’s hand a squeeze and then let it go.

The police chief was waiting politely, his dark eyes taking in more, she suspected, than she or her sister would have liked.

“Rory?” he inquired.

Faith bit her lip and gazed at the tabletop as if the pattern of the blue gingham cloth fascinated her. “My ex-husband. Um … Rory Hardesty.”

He had taken out a small notebook when he first sat down, and now carefully wrote down the name. “I take it the divorce wasn’t amicable?”

Faith’s hair swung when she shook her head.

He watched her for a moment, then raised his brows at Char.

“The divorce was final a year ago,” she explained. “He was … abusive.” Faith didn’t react in any way, so she continued, “He’s been coming around lately.”

“How often?”

“Once or twice a week,” Faith said softly.

The intense, dark gaze turned back to Charlotte.

“Faith thinks he has been drunk a few of the times. He clearly wants her back. Sometimes he’s cajoling, sometimes he’s angry. Rory was angry a lot.”

She might have imagined the way his expression hardened, but she didn’t think so.

“Our dad was injured recently when the tractor overturned. He’s still in the hospital. I’m just here for a visit, to help out until he’s on his feet again. My first day home, Tuesday, Rory came by and mistook me for Faith. He harangued me for looking like a slut. Apparently he doesn’t appreciate multiple piercings.” She fingered one of her ears. “Perhaps fortunately, Gray walked in right then and Rory stormed out. I’m afraid this fire is exactly the kind of thing he’d do.” She paused. “Faith doesn’t agree.”

Her sister raised her head. “Rory’s never done anything criminal.”

“Putting you in the hospital wasn’t a crime?” Charlotte asked.

“Well … not in the same way.” She turned a look of appeal on Chief Wheeler. “It’s just that I think there are likelier possibilities. Gosh, this could have just been garden-variety vandalism, couldn’t it?”

His voice sounded gentle, considering its deep, rough tenor. “Yes. That’s a good possibility. Especially if you’ve annoyed any teenagers lately.”

Almost eagerly, Faith explained about the boy she’d fired just a few weeks back. When she got to the point of giving his name, though, the eagerness had dwindled. “Sean. Sean Coffey. The thing is, I really think he’s basically a nice kid. He’s on the football team, and his dad is a teacher. Not at my school, at Roosevelt Elementary. And I did catch Sean red-handed. He couldn’t complain that I was being unfair.”

“You didn’t report him to the police.”

She shook her head. “It was only twenty dollars. And yes, I know it probably wasn’t the first time he’d taken money, but it might have been, mightn’t it? I hated the idea of being responsible for him having a juvenile record.”

“Did you tell his parents?” This wasn’t quite a question—tinged as it was with resignation, the police chief already knew the answer.

“No.”

His mouth twisted. “Well, just because he got lucky doesn’t mean this kid isn’t resentful. This strikes me as something a teenager would do. Impulsive and mean-spirited.”

Rory, Charlotte thought, was also impulsive and mean-spirited. She had a suspicion his emotional maturity had stuck somewhere in the midteenage years. But she’d said enough last night and didn’t want to further upset Faith.

Wheeler glanced at Charlotte. “This Hardesty. Does he live in West Fork?”

Faith had gone back to examining the tablecloth. “Yes.”

“Anyone else you can think of?”

Both sisters shook their heads. Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure Faith would have noticed if someone hated her with a passion.

“All right.” Chief Wheeler closed the notebook and pocketed it, swallowed the last of his coffee and pushed back the chair. “I’ll be talking to neighbors in case anyone saw anything, and to Hardesty and Coffey both. I’ll let you know what I learn.”

Faith and Charlotte both rose to their feet, too. There was something rather intimidating about Ben Wheeler when he towered over them.

Faith looked flustered, and Charlotte remembered her sister hadn’t yet had breakfast. “It’s almost ten,” she said. “I’ll walk Chief Wheeler out and open up shop. You need something to eat.”

“Thank you.” Faith sounded genuinely grateful. “I’ll hurry.”

After assuring her sister that she could manage for half an hour, Charlotte allowed Chief Wheeler to open the back door for her.

The day was already too hot, as far as she was concerned. She had begun to miss the fogs that rolled in from the Pacific Ocean on hot San Francisco days.

As they walked toward the barn, Charlotte said, “So what did we do to deserve the police chief’s personal attention?”

He appeared to be amused. “Gray called me. He considered your fire a priority.”

Oh.

After a moment, Charlotte said, “Faith doesn’t want to think Rory is a danger, but he gave me the serious creeps.”

“So I gathered.” He glanced down at her. “Will you call the next time he shows up?”

“I will. I told him he wasn’t welcome on our land. I doubt Faith would call 9-1-1, though, just because he stopped by. She’s delusional where he’s concerned.” Blunt, she thought, but true.

They were nearly to the barn before Wheeler spoke again. “Does she still feel some attachment for him?”

Charlotte frowned. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just her nature to expect the best of anyone.” She made a face. “We may look alike, but that’s as far as our resemblance goes.”