Читать книгу Deadly Silence - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 11

CASEY’S HANDS WERE DAMP as she stood at the door of a white, one-story, ranch-style house with green trim. Flexing her fingers, she couldn’t stop the tension that thrummed through her. Nervously, she smoothed her shoulder-length brown hair. The April morning was sunny with a cobalt-blue sky—a rare event for this time of year, she’d been told by her supervisor, Charley, who had given her two hours off to run over to Matt Sinclaire’s home.

Knocking a couple of times, Casey stood back and waited. In her left hand, she held her beat-up brown leather briefcase that had seen her through her university years. What was Matthew Sinclaire like? And how would Megan receive the photos of Hank, the red-tailed hawk?

The door opened.

Automatically, Casey held her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened as a man in a red T-shirt and jeans appeared. Instantly, her heart began a wild, unfamiliar beat. She looked up into his green eyes and felt consumed by his intent gaze upon her. To say that Matthew Sinclaire was a hunk was understating the obvious. The red T-shirt emblazoned with the words Jackson Hole Fire Department emphasized his broad, deep chest. His shoulders were powerful. He stood relaxed, body at a slight slouch; a man who was comfortable with who he was.

“You must be Ranger Casey Cantrell?” he asked in a deep voice.

Giving a nod, Casey rasped, “Yes, sir, I am. Are you Lieutenant Matthew Sinclaire?” She felt, suddenly, like a teenager in front of this guy. Clearly, Sinclaire was a man’s man, and it triggered something deep and hungering within her. Fingers tightening around the handle of her briefcase, Casey tried to appear just as relaxed as he seemed to be.

“Call me Matt. Come on in. Meggie is waiting for you.” He smiled a little and gestured for her to step into the brightly lit home.

Casey walked past him and into the house. It was near freezing on this April morning and she welcomed the warmth inside. She waited on a red and gray Navajo rug. Megan was standing at the other end of the foyer. The girl was dressed in a pair of dark green corduroy pants, a white blouse with long sleeves, her hair in a pair of cute pigtails. In her arms was Elmo, looking pretty bedraggled from a lot of care over the years. Casey smiled at her. She took off her ranger’s hat, which she hated wearing anyway, and quickly ran her fingers through her flattened hair.

“Hi, Megan. Do you remember me? I’m Casey.”

Megan broke into a welcoming smile and waved shyly at her.

Matt turned after closing the door. He saw Megan’s reaction to the woman ranger. Having a strong reaction to her himself, Matt tried to brush it aside. “I want to thank you for coming over on a Saturday morning, Ranger Cantrell.”

“Call me Casey,” she asked. Looking up at Matt, she felt her heart spring open like a flower in bloom. Sinclaire’s face was oval with a strong chin, broad forehead and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Casey knew he was thirty years old from the gossip she’d gotten down at Quilter’s Haven, where Gwen Garner had filled her in on this handsome firefighter. It was so easy to drown in the dark green of his intent eyes. He seemed to Casey to be an eagle, his pupils huge and black as he studied her, a slight tilt to his head. She was only five foot seven inches tall compared to his six foot two, but she was built with good, strong bone, no wilting lily of a stick-like woman. Still, Casey felt overshadowed by Matt Sinclaire’s powerful presence. There was an unspoken care that radiated from him toward her. Casey could see why this man, when in his firefighter gear, would ooze a sense of protection toward anyone in his safekeeping.

Matt gave her a tentative smile. “My friends call me Matt. Come on in. I’ve got coffee waiting for us in the kitchen.”

“Oh…” Casey murmured, “I was just going to drop these photos off, Mr. Sinc—I mean, Matt. I’m on duty today and Charley gave me some time off to deliver these to Megan. I don’t want to intrude on your weekend.”

“You’re not.” Matt held out his hand. “Give me your jacket, Casey. I know your boss, Charley. We’re good friends. I know he won’t care if you have a cup of coffee or two with me and Meggie.”

Hesitantly, Casey slid out of her warm brown nylon jacket and handed it to him. She saw Megan watching her, her eyes shining as much as they had in class five days earlier. “I’ve brought the photos of Megan holding Susie,” she offered. Dressed in her ranger uniform—a tan long-sleeved blouse and dark green trousers—Casey felt very unfeminine. She watched Sinclaire move. He possessed a cougar’s grace, bred from being an athlete. Casey knew firefighters lifted weights and jogged daily to stay in tip-top shape for the demands of their dangerous job. Still, she had to tear her gaze from his powerful back and narrow hips as he hung her coat up on a wooden peg next to the door. She gulped, and her mouth went dry. What kind of reaction was she having around this stranger?

“Come on in,” Matt invited her warmly, reaching down to take his daughter’s small hand that was swallowed up in his.

Quickly looking around, Casey saw a huge wood-stove in one corner with flames dancing behind the glass window. The red-and-yellow cedar floor was waxed and gleaming. There were Navajo rugs here and there. The room was painted a pale yellow; the drapes at the main window were brown with red flowers and green vines woven into the fabric. To her, this was a man’s home. There were no photos or pictures up on the walls. There were no green, living plants anywhere, either. It felt like a shell to Casey, not exactly alive or nurturing. She wondered if their home had exuded more of a woman’s touch when Bev was alive.

Following father and daughter into the kitchen, Casey saw Megan sit in a chair with Elmo in her lap. Her father had given her a glass of orange juice. “I feel badly for interrupting your breakfast,” Casey murmured, standing uncertainly in the doorway. The kitchen was white with blue curtains over the window. The smell of frying bacon filled the air.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt murmured. “Just take a seat opposite Meggie here at the kitchen table. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No…I don’t eat breakfast.” Not anymore, at least. Casey saw him frown and then saw the question in his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t ask it. Gripping the wooden chair, Casey pulled it out and sat down. “But if you have a cup of black coffee, that would be fine,” she added.

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. He saw sudden fear come to Casey’s huge, very readable gray eyes. “Sure,” he murmured, going to the counter and pulling down a mug. The last thing he’d expected was a beautiful woman in a ranger’s uniform to be at his door this morning. Oh, Matt knew Charley was sending someone down who had attended Megan’s class last Monday, but he’d had no idea Casey was so stunning. Out of habit, he looked at her left hand. She had long, beautiful fingers, her fingernails blunt-cut and without polish. No ring on her left hand. Of course, nowadays, there usually wasn’t any surefire way to tell if a woman was hitched or not.

Pouring the coffee, Matt found his body responding fiercely to her as a woman. What was this all about? He’d felt numbed from the inside out since Bev’s murder. In fact, he had plenty of opportunity to meet the women of Jackson Hole on a regular basis, but none of them had stirred him. Until Casey Cantrell had shown up at his door just now. He took the mug and set it down in front of her. She had soft sable bangs across her broad brow, her hair shot through with reddish and gold strands beneath the kitchen light. Although she had straight hair, it was softly curled around her proud shoulders. “There you go,” he murmured. Turning, he had to pay attention to the bacon frying in a skillet on the gas stove.

“Thank you,” Casey murmured. She smiled across the pine table. “How are you this morning, Megan?”

Megan shrugged shyly, smiled and gripped Elmo tightly to her chest. She took a sip of her orange juice.

Matt twisted a look over his shoulder. “Did Mrs. Harrington fill you in on my daughter?” he asked, trepidation in his voice. It was always painful to speak about Megan in the third person. Guilt wound through Matt as it always did when a stranger came into their lives. He would have to tell the story of Megan’s muteness all over again, and he dreaded it.

“Yes, she did.” Seeing the anxiety in Matt’s face, Casey also read guilt in his narrowing green eyes. Trying to put herself in his shoes was impossible but she saw he loved his daughter with a fierce protectiveness that made her heart open to him even more. This man was clearly a modern-day warrior. Oh, he might not wear chain mail, carry a sword on his hip or have a war horse nearby, but Casey clearly felt his protectiveness toward his daughter.

Casey added, “She told me everything,” as a hint to Matt to relax. He wouldn’t have to say anything in front of Megan. Relief instantly came to his features.

“Oh…good…good.” Matt turned back to finish frying the bacon. Clearing his throat, he said, “Charley said you’d just been assigned to the Teton’s station. Where were you before that?”

Suddenly, Casey felt as though she was on a hot plate. “Uh…I just graduated. This is my first assignment.”

“Oh? Where did you graduate from?”

“I received a degree in wildlife biology from Colorado State University.” She felt like running. Casey wanted no one to know of her horrific past. She gripped the mug of coffee in both hands and tried to sound as if she didn’t want to speak on the topic anymore.

“I see,” Matt murmured. He lifted the bacon out of the skillet and transferred it to a plate covered in paper towel to soak up the extra grease. “I graduated from there, too,” he said, walking over to the table to put the bacon near his plate. “I took my firefighting courses there.” He looked into her eyes. They were fraught with fear. Why fear? Was she afraid of him? Matt figured because she was new to the forest service, Casey was probably worried she might say the wrong thing. Turning, he went back to the counter and cracked four eggs into the skillet.

“Are you from Colorado?” Casey asked. She’d seen the curiosity in his eyes and didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. The best defense was a good offense. If Casey wanted her past to remain buried and unavailable to anyone, she needed to ask the questions instead.

“No,” Matt murmured, adding salt and pepper to the eggs now frying in the skillet. “I was born here in Jackson Hole. I went there for my training.”

“Did you always want to be a firefighter?”

Nodding, Matt said, “Yes, my father was one. He was the fire chief here for twenty years before he had a heart attack and died at a fire scene.”

Grimacing, Casey murmured, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry….”

“You didn’t,” Matt soothed. He turned and gave her a slight smile meant to reassure her. “You’re new to Jackson Hole. We’re a pretty interesting town. If you haven’t been over to Quilter’s Haven and talked with Gwen Garner, then you probably don’t know all the stuff there is to know about all of us.” He chuckled.

“I met Gwen,” Casey admitted softly. She couldn’t stop looking at the firefighter. He was tall, sinewy, the muscles thick and hard in his upper arms. There was dark hair sprinkled across his lower arms. And she’d seen that hair peeking out above the T-shirt he wore, too. His hair was cut military-short and there was no wasted motion about Matt Sinclaire.

Laughing a little, Matt said, “Then you’ll know all the stories about the residents. Do you sew or quilt?” He lifted the eggs out and put them on a plate. Turning off the gas stove, he removed the skillet and set it aside. Scooping up the blue-and-white plates, he walked to the long, rectangular table and sat down at the end of it. On his left was Megan and on his right, beautiful Casey Cantrell. He gave his daughter a plate and put one down in front of himself. Going to the fridge, he poured Meggie a glass of milk and came over and set it down in front of her.

“Sure you don’t want breakfast?” he asked, sitting down. Opening up his dark green linen napkin, Matt spread it across his lap. He leaned over and helped Meggie arrange the large napkin across her small lap.

“No…no, thank you.”

Shaking his head, he murmured, “I could not move without a big breakfast.” He smiled over at his daughter. “Hey, you’re chowing down today, Meggie. Must be hungry, huh?”

His daughter vigorously dipped her head, her little pigtails moving back and forth across her small shoulders. She relished the scrambled eggs and bacon. Matt had put apricot jam across her toasted spelt bread earlier, and Meggie was dividing her attention between the toast and her bacon right now.

Casey grinned. “Megan looks like she did the day Katie Bergstrom brought the raptor program to Mrs. Harrington’s class.”

Matt ate his eggs and bacon. Between bites he said, “I’ve never seen Megan that excited before.”

“Her teacher noticed that, too,” Casey said, knowing full well Megan probably understood every word they spoke.

“Mrs. Harrington said you had a minor in Education?”

Raising her brows, Casey realized everything was passed around. She’d have to be very careful in the future. “Yes.”

“Did you, at some point,” Matt asked, “want to be a teacher instead of a forest ranger?”

His insight into her was startling. Ever since the trauma she’d endured, Casey had to keep herself hidden from prying eyes. This man, however, seemed to have X-ray vision. Or maybe he could read people’s minds? Moving uncomfortably in the chair, Casey said, “Yes, at one time I wanted to teach first- and second-graders.”

“You love children.”

The statement was filled with curiosity. Casey avoided his momentary burning gaze. Looking down at the mug she had gripped between her hands, she said, “Yes, I love kids….”

Nodding, Matt said, “Megan seemed to really take to you. Her teacher noticed that, too.”

“All I did was stand near her,” Casey protested. And yet, Megan’s blue eyes were always filled with warmth for Casey.

Nodding, Matt quickly finished off his breakfast. “I’d like to speak to you more about that later,” he said, getting up. Picking up his plate and flatware, he carried them over to the sink.

“Of course,” Casey said, fully aware that Matt wanted to talk to her when Megan wasn’t around. “I’d love to give Megan the photos. Are we at a point where I can do that? Charley’s given me two hours off.”

“Right, I know you’re on a deadline,” Matt said, coming back to the table. He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. His hand was huge in comparison to the child, and Casey found herself wondering what it would be like to have Matt’s hand on her shoulder. The thought was so foreign, so shocking to Casey that she nearly choked on a sip of coffee.

“All done?” Matt asked Megan.

Nodding, Megan held up her emptied plate to her father. She picked up her glass of milk and sipped from it.

Casey’s heart gave a twinge. What would it be like never to hear your child’s voice again? Only grunts, sighs and unintelligible sounds? If it hurt Matt, he didn’t show it. He quickly cleaned the table so that it shone beneath the lamp above it. Casey pulled open her briefcase and withdrew the photos after he’d sat down.

Megan laughed as Casey handed her the four photos. She had made colored eight-by-tens. The joy in the little girl’s eyes made Casey smile. Megan reverently touched them with her fingers, awe in her expression. She would make sounds and hold each of them up for her father to see.

Casey was shocked when Megan scooted out of her chair, left Elmo in it and ran around the table. The little girl threw her arms around Casey’s waist and buried her head against her breasts.

Caught off guard, Casey automatically closed her arms around Megan. She felt the strength of Megan’s thin arms around her. She was surprisingly strong. Leaning down, Casey whispered her name, pressed a kiss to her soft blond hair and gently squeezed her. When she gazed in Matt’s direction, she saw the stunned look on his face. Unsure what his reaction meant, Casey gently untwined Megan’s arms and looked down at her. Megan was crying. Rasping sounds were escaping her contorted mouth.

Heart twisting, Casey whispered, “Come here…” to Megan and brought her back into her arms. Megan instantly crushed herself against Casey, head buried against her. As Megan clung to her, she behaved like a child who was drowning and grasping for a life raft. Casey’s instincts took over. She absorbed the child’s neediness, her hunger to be nurtured and simply cradled. Mind spinning, Casey wondered if Matt had a relationship with another woman who could provide Megan with some maternal care. Obviously, Megan needed to be held by a woman. And probably any woman would do. Gently running her hand across Megan’s flyaway hair, she smoothed the strands down across her head. Rocking her gently, Casey simply allowed the child to stay as long as she wanted in her arms.

Five minutes later, Megan withdrew. Her cheeks were a fiery red and her eyes danced with excitement as she ran around the table, grabbed the photos and then brought them back to Casey. “What is this?” she asked Megan, hoping that she would talk.

Megan made more guttural sounds, like a puppy that was yelping and happy as she waved the photos in front of Casey’s face.

“I think,” Matt said, his voice sounding strangled, “Meggie wants you to help her draw them.” He gave Casey a look that pleaded with her to stay a bit longer.

Casey read his look. “Sure, no problem. Does Megan have crayons and paper in her bedroom?”

Swallowing hard, Matt nodded. His mouth flattened and he tried to hide his shock over Megan clinging to Casey. She’d never done that before. “Yeah…come on,” he said, scraping the chair back and standing.

Casey followed suit. Megan wouldn’t leave her side. Taking the child’s hand, Megan pulled her down a hall and into her bedroom behind her father. Megan’s room was painted a soft pink with ruffled white curtains embroidered with red strawberries. It was a beautiful room that had been painted and decorated with a great deal of care and thought. Matt was standing by the desk getting the crayons out of the drawer for Megan.

Megan dragged Casey over to the desk. She released her hand and sat down, grabbing a black crayon. Matt laid the paper in front of her. Megan then set the pictures next to the paper and rapidly began to draw. As she did, she made excited yelps of happiness.

Casey’s brows rose. She stood inches away from Matt. He looked grave. His mouth was thinned and flexed, as if holding back words or emotions that he couldn’t express right now. Casey could feel the heat of his masculine body and the scent of pine around him. Was it an aftershave lotion he wore? The shampoo he used on his hair? She couldn’t be sure. Dizzied by his nearness, Casey couldn’t move because Megan wanted her at her side.

“Look at that,” Casey whispered, leaning down, her hand resting lightly on Megan’s shoulder. “You’re a wonderful artist!” And indeed, she was. Drawing the barn owl came easily to Megan. She missed nothing, the crayons scattered as she worked feverishly to get the right color of eyes, the tan and creamy feathers on the owl and her bright yellow legs. Looking up at Matt, Casey said, “Wow, your daughter is a real artist. This is amazing!”

Matt took a step back. His gut knotted. Guilt soared through him along with unparalleled joy. Nodding, he didn’t dare try to speak. Swallowing the lump of tears stuck in his throat, he finally managed to say, “Let’s leave Megan alone. She loves to draw. I think she’ll be in here for at least an hour. She’ll draw each of those photos for you. Would you like another cup of coffee?” Matt was desperate to talk with Casey. She had to realize what had just taken place. It was a miracle he’d never dared hoped for. A miracle.

Getting the hint, Casey said, “Yes, I’d love another cup.” Turning to Megan, she patted the child’s shoulder. “You’re doing wonderfully, Megan. Why not draw each photo? I know your dad would love to see them when you’re done. If you need us, we’ll be out in the kitchen.”

Megan was focused on her work. There were no sounds, no recognition, and Casey quietly left the room and followed Matt to the kitchen. There, she found him scowling, a mixture of emotions clearly written on his face. He was leaning against the sink, hands on either side, staring darkly in her direction as she emerged from the hall.

Heart speeding up, Casey walked over to the counter and stood in front of him. She saw he was in a quandary, his mouth working to hold back something, either words or feelings. “Tell me, has Megan ever done this before?”

Matt shook his head. He saw the intelligence burning in Casey’s gray eyes. Hell, if he could, he’d run into her arms just to be held, too. His daughter could do it, but he couldn’t. He whispered, “I guess there’s something special about you, Casey. Megan needed you. I’ve never seen her do this to any other woman.” He didn’t mention there weren’t that many other women who came here. “We go to church every Sunday and there are plenty of opportunities for Megan to run to any woman if she wanted to be embraced and held. But she never has. Not until now…”

He searched Casey’s upturned face. She was beautiful in an arresting way. Her face was broad, oval and she had high cheekbones. He saw a scar on her left temple and realized her nose had been broken. It was no longer straight, but had a bump at the top of it. Her brows reminded him of a bird on the wing. Lashes, dark and thick, framed her glorious gray eyes that reminded him of diamonds softly sparkling.

“I see,” Casey said. She retrieved her coffee cup and filled it. Sitting down at the table, Casey said, “Do you think something good is happening here? Maybe the raptor program broke something loose in Megan? I don’t know her. What do you feel?”

Matt remained leaning against the sink. The coolness of the granite counter calmed him to a degree. His heart was racing. His mind churned. “For whatever reason,” he rasped, keeping his voice purposely low so it wouldn’t carry to Megan’s opened door at the end of the hall, “Megan has finally bonded with someone. Every shrink I took her to said that before she would speak, she’d have to form a bond with another woman. They said at some point, she’d reach out and find a substitute mother. I guess that’s you, Casey….”