Читать книгу The Rescuer - Ellen James - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

ANOTHER DAY OF SOBRIETY.

Colin McIntyre slid into his usual booth at Maggie’s Diner. Less than a week back in his hometown, and already he’d fallen into the old routine. Sobriety, Idaho, was that kind of town. No wonder he’d left—and no wonder he kept asking himself why he’d returned.

Denise brought his coffee without having to be asked—straight black, no cream, no sugar.

“Pancake special this morning,” she said.

“Fine,” Colin told her.

She walked away, slapping a towel at the crumbs on the next table. Colin drank his coffee and looked out the window. A few summer tourists wandered along the street, pausing now and then at the redbrick storefronts. In the distance rose the mountains of the Idaho Panhandle, blanketed thickly with pine. Admittedly the view was majestic—but the whole time Colin was growing up he’d wanted to get beyond those mountains. He’d been restless. Unfortunately, when he’d finally left town at eighteen, the restlessness had followed him. It followed him still.

Now a woman came along the sidewalk, and stopped to peer up at the diner’s sign. Then she opened the door, entered and glanced around.

She was very pretty, with dark blond hair falling past her shoulders, brown eyes, curves just where they should be. She wore jeans and an elegant business jacket. He liked the combination. It made her look... unpredictable.

Her gaze settled on him, and a mixture of emotions crossed her face. Wariness, reluctance... maybe even resentment? Her hand tightened on her purse and she half turned toward the door, as though to leave. He couldn’t help being intrigued when she turned slowly back and stepped toward him. She seemed about to speak. But then she changed her mind and sat down in the next booth over. Denise drifted out of the kitchen and took her order: tea and the pancake special.

The woman brought a book out of her purse and started to read. Colin sipped his coffee and watched. She was making too much of an effort to appear engrossed, purposely turning one page, then another. At last she glanced up at him. Now her eyebrows drew together, as if something about him puzzled her. She’d captured his curiosity.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, her tone a bit strained.

He could see the book was a mystery—the cover had a stylized dead body sprawled below the tide. She followed the direction of his gaze and selfconsciously slipped the book into her purse once more.

“Don’t worry on my account,” he said. “I like mysteries, too.”

She almost smiled. “I picked it up at the drugstore last night, and I can’t put it down. It’s not how I expected to spend my time in...Sobriety.” She said the name doubtfully.

“A local joke that stuck,” Colin told her. “Story goes that during the silver rush in the 1870s we had thirteen saloons but only one hotel. Kept the miners happy.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “You sound like a native of this town.”

He hadn’t meant to sound that way. He’d moved away from Sobriety all those years ago, and he wasn’t exactly back by choice.

“Let’s just say I grew up here. Care to join me?” he asked.

She seemed to think it over. Finally giving a toocareless shrug, she went and slid into the seat opposite him.

“Colin McIntyre.”

“Alex Robbins.” They shook hands briefly.

Denise brought both orders of pancakes, doing only a slight double take when she saw Colin and the woman sitting together. She did, however, give him a meaningful stare as she put the plates before them. He’d known Denise ever since she was a kid tagging after her brother, one of Colin’s high school friends.

“Thanks, Denise,” he said now.

“Sure thing,” she answered flippantly. She set down a cup of tea, replenished his coffee, gave him another look and went off again.

“Am I missing something?” Alex Robbins wanted to know.

“Not much,” he said. “It’s just that Denise figures she knows everything about me. She probably thinks I’m trying to pick you up.”

“Are you?” Alex asked.

Colin poured blueberry syrup over his pancakes. “I’m out of practice when it comes to picking up women. And, as I recall, I wasn’t very good at it.”

She eyed him consideringly. “You’re being modest, no doubt. Something tells me you don’t have to try very hard when it comes to women.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. But she was right about at least one thing. Since his divorce, he hadn’t tried very hard where women were concerned. Somehow he’d lost the knack for doing all the little things you were supposed to do to attract a woman. Any relationships he’d had could be blamed on happenstance, and they’d all been for the short term. Maybe he was just proving his ex-wife right: he was no good for the long haul.

Alex Robbins started in on her breakfast.

“No syrup?” he asked. “Trust me, it’s good. Maggie’s secret recipe.”

She took the jar of syrup and poured out a cautious amount. “Just who is Maggie?”

“You know, of Maggie’s Diner...Denise’s grandmother, and founder of this place.”

“Do you know everybody in this town?” Alex asked.

“Just about.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “What about you?” he asked. “Vacationing in Sobriety?”

She hesitated, and again he sensed her reluctance. “Actually,” she said at last, “I’m a psychologist. Mr. McIntyre, you’re going to find out sooner or later. The reason I came here was...for you.”

He settled back. “Hmm...I see,” he said gravely. “You’re here for me.” He took another forkful of pancake and a sip of coffee.

Now Alex Robbins seemed impatient.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want from you?”

“No, not really. I figure you’ll tell me soon enough. Besides, right now I’m enjoying my breakfast. I’m also enjoying sitting across the table from a pretty woman. Kind of hate to ruin the moment.”

She glanced at him sharply. “You are trying to pick me up.”

“Is it working?”

They gazed at each other once more. A very subtle, very appealing flush stole over her cheeks.

“Mr. Mclntyre—”

“‘Colin.’”

“Mr. McIntyre, I saw a video of the Bayview rescue. You were quite impressive.”

“What video?” he asked indifferently.

She swirled the tea bag in her cup. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. You must know your rescue of that child made the national news. And so, of course, did you. Not that you were cooperative about giving an interview.”

“Never did care for journalists.” He’d finished his pancakes. Denise promptly appeared and placed a fresh stack in front of him.

“You’re having more?” Alex asked disbelievingly.

“Pancake special is all you can eat,” Denise supplied. “And Colin has a healthy appetite.”

“Thanks, Denise,” Colin said pointedly.

“Oh, you want me to leave.” With a sarcastic little wave, Denise went off to another table.

“Let me guess,” Alex said. “Ex-girlfriend.”

“No. Denise was too smart to ever get involved with me.”

Alex appeared to give this some thought. “Anyway,” she went on in a determined voice, “a colleague of mine recorded you on the news and sent the video to me. She thought you’d be an excellent candidate for a study I’m conducting. I believe she’s right.”

Colin poured more blueberry syrup. “You know,” he said, “someday I’ll have to ask Maggie exactly what’s in this stuff.”

“Mr. Mclntyre—Colin. Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. He liked the way the flush deepened in her cheeks.

“Now, here’s the deal,” she muttered. She leaned toward him, her brown eyes serious, intent. “I’m doing an in-depth study of the Type R male. Rescuers—men who risk their lives for others. And after I saw you on that video... well, the rest is simple. When I called your number in California, your boss told me you were visiting out here—and I got on a plane from Chicago as soon as I could.”

Too bad Alex Robbins wasn’t just a pretty girl in a diner. “So you want me to be a kind of guinea pig,” he said.

“That’s a crude way of putting it. I just want to find out what motivates someone like you, what makes you choose a job where you risk your life for others.”

Maybe he was through with the pancakes after all. He took some bills from his wallet and put them on the table. “My treat,” he said.

“I can pay for my own breakfast,” she objected.

He stood. “Nice talking to you, Alex.”

She stared up at him. “Is this your way of telling me I won’t get anything from you but a free breakfast?”

“I don’t think I’d make a very good guinea pig,” he remarked. “Besides, you’re not sure about it yourself. You don’t want to be here. This whole time you’ve been debating whether or not you even want to talk to me. For a shrink, you’re kinda easy to read, Alex Robbins.”

She looked exasperated. “I’m not giving up,” she said.

“Could be fun, you not giving up.”

She looked more annoyed than ever.

“See you around, Alex,” he said, and then he left the diner.

“HERB—YOU HERE?” Colin’s voice echoed along the mine shaft. His flashlight glimmered across the walls of gray rock, where whitish beads of moisture had formed. In another hundred years or so those beads might evolve into small crystals. Another thousand years after that and the crystals might form the beginnings of stalactites and stalagmites. Life moved slowly underground—very slowly.

“Herb,” Colin called again.

“Hold on...no need to shout.” Colin’s grandfather came trucking along the shaft from the opposite direction, his own flashlight sending a wavering beam through the darkness. “What are you doing down here, Colin? I told you when you were a kid—these tunnels aren’t safe. Heard me say anything different since?”

“If they’re not safe, what are you doing here?” Colin inquired reasonably.

Herb shone his flashlight over the walls. “Difference is, I know this place inside out. I know this mine better than anyone.” A quiet pride had come into his voice.

“Yeah, well...I need to talk to you. Can we get out of here?”

Now Herb shone his flashlight in Colin’s eyes. “Still don’t like it down here, eh?” he asked skeptically. “Even after all these years?”

Some things you just didn’t forget. Colin had only been eight the time he’d gotten lost in the mine, but he still remembered: the darkness pressing down on him, the dampness of the sharp rock walls against his frantic fingers, the wavering sound of his own voice echoing back to him. It had taken six hours for his father to find him... six long hours until he was in his dad’s strong arms and felt he could breathe again. That was the most vivid image he’d kept of his father. Knowing that his dad wasn’t afraid. Not of the mine—not of anything. And Perhaps that was when Colin himself had vowed never to be scared of anything again.

“All right, all right,” Herb grumbled now.

He led the way up the slope, and he and Colin emerged onto the side of the mountain. The pungent smell of pine surrounded them. Herb didn’t bother to take off his battered old miner’s hat. It was probably the same one he’d worn as a sixteen-year-old, when he’d first started working underground. But now the mine was played out, abandoned. And Herb was a long way past sixteen. The deep grooves etched into his face reminded Colin of the mine walls, scarred by the years but ever enduring.

Herb looked Colin over. Colin knew that expression. The whole time he’d been growing up he’d had the feeling he was on probation with his grandfather—Herb waiting to see how he turned out before giving the okay. Colin was almost thirty-eight, but he still felt he was waiting for Herb to pass final judgment. It made for a certain restraint between the two of them. Maybe that was why he called the old man “Herb” instead of the more relaxed “Herbie” everyone else had adopted.

“I have a lot to do,” Herb said, going to his truck and rummaging through the rusted toolbox in back.

Colin had been trying to pin his grandfather down these past few days, but somehow Herb always managed to avoid a serious conversation. Maybe now that they were stuck on this mountain together, Herb would have to talk.

“Lillian’s worried about you,” Colin said.

“What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Knock it off, Herb,” Colin said mildly. “I know you and Lillian are seeing each other.”

Herb shrugged. “She’s the one who wants to keep it a secret. She thinks it’d be a big scandal, a fifty-nine-year-old youngster like her having a fling with the seventy-six-year-old mayor of Sobriety.”

Colin knew that Herb didn’t mind mentioning his age because he was still fit enough to scramble through mine tunnels—and obviously still fit enough to have a fling.

“Okay, she wants it to be a secret,” Colin said. “Which means she must have been pretty upset to call me long-distance and spill the beans about being your girlfriend. Not that I have the story straight yet. Lillian’s been a little obscure. Something about you running around town at midnight in a sheet—”

Herb chuckled. “Hell, if you want to know what happened, why don’t you just come right out and ask? Lillian and I were down at the mining museum late one night, having a good time so to speak. When Rose Bradshaw almost walked in on us, I tried to make my escape like a gentleman. Is it my fault Rose caught an eyeful of me in that sheet and started spreading rumors that she’d seen a ghost? Good old Rose. Serves her right for being too vain to wear her bifocals.”

A jay flapped by, making a racket as it landed in a nearby tree. Colin realized the absurdity of the conversation. “Look,” he said, “it’s not that night Lillian’s so worried about. It’s what came after... namely, your half-baked scheme to make people think the museum really is haunted.”

“Nothing half-baked about it,” Herb said selfrighteously. “I planned the whole thing out. Made sure Rose had another sighting of her ghost... spread a few rumors of my own. Town’s getting a kick out of it, and tourism’s already up—exactly what we need. The way I see it, I’m only doing my duty as mayor. I’m supposed to encourage what’s good for business, aren’t I? Well, seems a ghost is good for business.”

The whole thing was ridiculous, but Colin had promised Lillian he’d have this talk with Herb. He couldn’t very well stop now. “Okay, so you’re having a little fun. But if it comes out you’re behind the hoax, you’ll be the town laughingstock, to use Lillian’s term. It’ll ruin your career as mayor.”

“No one’ll find out,” Herb said confidently. “Lillian worries too much. Never thought you did, though. Are you telling me you flew all the way out from California for this?”

It was more complicated than that. Sure, Lillian’s phone call had reminded him he was overdue for a visit to his grandfather. But it had also given Colin an excuse to take some time off work and get out of California for a while. The old restlessness had driven him—a dissatisfaction that came upon him every couple of years or so, telling him it was time for a change...time to raise the stakes, time to push himself and find a challenge more difficult than the last.

“Herb,” Colin said now, “I thought being mayor meant a lot to you. Why mess with it?”

Herb got his stubborn look. “This town needs some stirring up. People like a ghost story. And if it’s good for business, it’s worth the risk. Maybe it’ll even be good for morale. Things just haven’t been that great around here since...” When he fell silent Colin knew Herb probably wasn’t thinking about the town anymore. No doubt he was thinking instead of the son he had lost some twenty-five years ago. Thomas McIntyre...Colin’s father.

Herb gripped the side of the truck bed, staring off into the distance. The sadness and regret in his expression were unmistakable. He was thinking about his son, all right. Thomas, the Vietnam War hero who’d died tragically young in an automobile accident. Colin didn’t think Herb had ever recovered from that loss. Maybe nobody in the family had.

Thomas was the real ghost haunting the McIntyres.

IT COULD HIT ALEX at the most unexpected times.

Take right now, for instance. She was driving along the streets of Sobriety, Idaho, when just ahead she saw a young couple stopped in the middle of the sidewalk—the man speaking earnestly, the woman with her arms crossed, a resistant expression on her face.

They might just as well have been Alex and Jonathan. Only, Alex would have been the one talking so earnestly, Jonathan the one resisting. Their marriage had been like that throughout—Alex playing suitor to her husband’s emotions, trying to draw them out. And Jonathan hoarding his feelings, as if they were some rare coinage and he a collector. Except, all along Alex had believed Jonathan needed to be close to her. If only either of them had known how to make it happen...

The sense of failure was so strong this time that she had to pull over to the curb for a moment. She sat there in her rental car, staring out the windshield. The couple on the sidewalk passed, the woman with her arms still crossed, striding just ahead of the man. Alex’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. A man and a woman out of step. That was how she and Jonathan had been...always out of step.

Now, after eight years of marriage, it was almost over—the divorce almost final. Eight years gone, with nothing left but inadequacy and heartbreak. Alex felt as though there was a soreness inside her that would never heal. She’d loved Jonathan... seemingly desperately at times. And surely he’d loved her. So how was it that they’d both failed so utterly?

Alex laughed humorlessly. The irony was too painful. Dr. Alexandra Robbins, psychologist... mender of other people’s emotional blights, yet totally unable to mend her own. At least she had one consolation—no one was likely to recognize her here in the northern reaches of Idaho. Unlike Chicago. After appearing on a few local talk shows last year, she’d suddenly had complete strangers coming up to her, asking for advice. What would those people say if they knew the disaster of her personal life?

She restarted the car and pulled away from the curb. These past few difficult months, one thing alone had kept her going—her research. It had given her an excuse to stay late at the office instead of going home to an empty house. It had kept her thoughts on rescuers... instead of the marriage she hadn’t been able to save.

But then she’d received the video of Colin McIntyre, and suddenly her research was no longer an uncomplicated refuge from the realities of life. Every time she watched that video something disturbing happened to her. She’d see the image of flames burning orange-red on the screen, and her heart would pound uncomfortably. Then the camera would swing down, focusing on Colin’s face...grim, angry, soot-covered. Alex would stare into the clear, startling blue of his eyes, and her heart would pound all the more, an unfamiliar anxiety washing over her.

It didn’t make any sense at all. Why would an image on a television screen affect her that way? Alex had learned that Colin belonged to an elite emergency services team in California, trained in mountain search-and-rescue, helicopter evac, earthquake relief—in short, just about any type of rescue required. She was convinced he’d give her study the spark of life it needed. Yet something warned her to stay away from him. Something dark and confusing, and almost frightening...

“What is it?” she whispered. “What’s wrong with me?”

She hated unanswered questions. Maybe that was why, at this very minute, she was on her way to find Colin McIntyre.

After turning down another street, she parked in front of a quaint old house built of honey-colored stone, with a green-shingle roof that looked like thatch in need of mowing. Alex got out of her car and went up the walk. Learning that Colin’s grandfather lived here hadn’t been all that difficult after Alex discovered the citizens of Sobriety liked to chat about one another. That was why it had been so easy to find Colin at Maggie’s Diner earlier today. Now she climbed the steps of the porch and lifted the old-fashioned brass knocker. After a moment the door swung open, and a shaggy white terrier came shooting out.

“Oh, hell,” said a gravelly voice from inside the house. “Grab him, will you? He knows I want to give him his medicine. Won’t let me near.”

An elderly man appeared at the door, and Alex obligingly scooped up the little dog. It squirmed in her arms but then peered at her curiously.

“Hey, you’re adorable, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“He already knows that,” said the man. “Makes him think he can get away with murder.”

Still cradling the dog, Alex examined the old man, who had shaggy white hair of his own. He was unmistakably Colin’s grandfather—the clear, intense blue eyes were exactly the same. So, too, was the straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

“Bring him along, will you. He answers to Dusty,” said Herb McIntyre, obviously not concemed about other introductions.

Alex followed him down a hall and into a spacious kitchen with porcelain sinks, checkerboard tile and an honest-to-goodness wood-burning stove.

“Sit down,” said Herb.

Alex sat the dog in her lap. Herb approached with a pill in hand. Dusty buried his head stubbornly.

“Maybe you should disguise the pill,” Alex said. “You know, hide it in some food.”

“Tried that,” said Herb. “Too smart—he knows. Just eats around it. Now, think you can hold his mouth open while I pop it in?”

“Well...” Alex began doubtfully.

And just then Colin McIntyre appeared. He was tall, as she’d thought, and seemed to fill the doorway. Right now he was gazing at her with something she could only call disfavor.

“So,” he said. “You and Herb have met.”

“Of course we have,” said the old man. “From the look of her, she’s that pretty psychologist Denise told me about, the one you had breakfast with this morning.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Colin told Alex, “news travels fast in Sobriety.”

She nodded, unable to say anything at the moment.

“Have to get this damn medicine down somehow,” Herb said. “Vet’s orders.”

“Maybe he just needs a little distraction,” Colin suggested.

He pulled up a chair next to Alex. Their knees brushed as he petted the little terrier. Odd that he had such powerfully built hands, yet they could be so gentle...

Dusty was enjoying all the attention, and he relaxed enough for a pink tongue to loll out. Herb popped the pill in, and Colin held the dog’s jaw shut, forcing him to swallow. Now Dusty got an offended look and hopped down from Alex’s lap.

“Done,” said Herb.

A silence descended. Herb glanced from Colin to Alex. “Well,” he said. “Guess you want me out of here. From what Denise says, you two have things to talk about. Come on, boy.” He left the kitchen, the little dog trotting after him.

Alex and Colin were still sitting knee to knee. She pushed her chair back awkwardly.

“Mr. McIntyre—”

“Colin, remember?”

“Right. Colin.” She felt foolish, didn’t know why, and that just made her feel more out of sorts.

He stood, took a mug from the cabinet and set it on the table. Then he opened a tin, pulled out a tea bag and filled a kettle with water. He placed it on a gas oven that looked too modern next to the lumbering wood-burning stove.

“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the domestic type,” she said.

“I can boil water. Don’t expect much else.” He turned his chair around and straddled it, resting his arms along the back.

“You remembered that I drink tea,” she said, feeling more foolish than ever.

“Sometimes I’m observant,” he said. “Take right now, for instance. You’ve tracked me down, Alex Robbins, but you’re still wondering if you even want to talk to me.”

“Of course I want to talk to you,” she said. “Why else would I be here—”

“You tell me,” he said.

She stared into his eyes, and her pulse did something erratic. She reminded herself how important her research was, the one thing giving meaning and shape to her life these days.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about that phone conversation I had with your boss the other day. He said some pretty interesting things... about that apartment fire, for instance. Apparently you were more than a little reckless in the process of rescuing that little boy. So reckless that both you and your partner almost lost your lives.”

She knew she was trying to goad Colin, unsettle him somehow. But all he did was gaze back at her impassively. The kettle whistled and he went to turn off the burner. After splashing some water over the tea bag in Alex’s mug, he sat down again.

“Don’t you wonder about it yourself?” she asked. “Why you need to risk your life.”

“I do my job,” he said. “That’s all.”

Alex shook her head. “It’s never that simple.”

“Guess it’s not,” he said. “Look at you, Alex. You keep saying you want to study me...but what you’d really like to do is catch the next plane back to Chicago and never see me again.”

She stared at him. “What makes you think—”

“Like I said, Alex—I’m observant.” He looked at her speculatively. “Have to admit I’m curious. What’s making you stick around here, doing something you don’t want to do?”

How neatly he’d turned the conversation from himself. Worst of all, how perceptive he was. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to feel this strange unease.

“Might as well drink your tea,” he said.

When she picked up the mug, her fingers trembled just the slightest. She set it back down quickly. What was happening to her?

She didn’t know. But whatever it was, it had something to do with Colin McIntyre. And that scared her most of all.