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“Not if I buy it.”
Her father snorted, reached behind him and, as the hay stirred and dust motes swirled, extracted the bottle again. “I already told you what I thought of that fool notion—I’m not goin’ to waste my breath again.” He opened the bottle and took a long swallow.
“Stop it,” she whispered harshly. “You just said you’re getting along with Denver. Don’t blow it with this!” She grabbed for the bottle again, grazing it. Spinning crazily out of Curtis’s hands, the flask dropped onto the floor, crashing into a thousand pieces and spraying alcohol on the dry hay and old floorboards.
Tessa couldn’t move. She stared at the glittering glass and pooling liquid and her stomach turned over. This is how it could have happened! Carelessly spilled alcohol, a dropped match that was still smoldering, combustible hay . . . Oh God! She remembered the horrid black smoke, the crackling flames, her desperate, haunting fear for Denver’s life and her father’s body being dragged from the inferno.
“You see anyone else in there?”
“I—I don’t know,” he mumbled, still coughing.
The paramedic glanced at the fire chief. “He wouldn’t know. He’s three sheets to the wind.”
Tessa stood frozen, scared. The smell of alcohol and smoke had clung to her father that day and she hadn’t cared. She had just been thankful that he was alive.
Now, as she saw the amber drops staining the floor, she said angrily, “Let’s clean this up before Denver sees it.”
“Too late.” Denver’s voice rang through the barn.
Tessa jumped and her father flinched.
Standing in the open door, his dark eyebrows drawn into an angry black line, Denver glared at the pitiful scene in front of him. “Accident?” he mocked.
“You could say that,” Tessa said. She was shaking inside, her stomach quivering. Please God, not Dad, she silently prayed. He couldn’t have been responsible for the fire!
“It’s my fault,” her father cut in, before realizing the irony in his words.
“Is it?” Denver’s eyes narrowed o
n the old man and his jaw slid to one side. Every muscle in his body tensed. The back of his neck was flaming, his teeth clenched tight. “Go home and sleep it off,” he advised slowly. “I’ll take care of this mess.”
Curtis hesitated.
“Have Mitch drive you,” Tessa said softly, her insides wrenching. Was it possible? Could her father really have started the fire accidentally and lied about it to everyone? Everything she’d believed in had somehow crashed with that bottle shattering against the floor.
His arthritic shoulders stiff with pride, Curtis stood and walked tightly to the door. Denver moved enough to let him pass, but the coiled tension in his every muscle was as condemning as a public flogging.
“Don’t you ever speak to my father like that again!” Tessa hissed, once Curtis was out of earshot.
“Open your eyes, Tessa, the man has a problem.”
“Don’t we all?” she snapped back, seeing him flinch a little. She found some towels and a broom and began cleaning up the spilled whiskey. Denver reached for a whisk broom.
“I can handle this,” Tessa said coldly. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Not at the moment, no.” His eyes held hers for a second. Filled with accusations, they drilled deep. Tessa swallowed with difficulty.
“You can’t keep covering for him, Tessa.”
“I’m not covering for anyone!” Fury caused her heart to pound. She swiped at the floor with a towel and sucked in a swift breath when her fingers scraped over an invisible shard. “Damn.” The prick was small but deep, and blood dripped from her hand.
“Let me take a look at that,” Denver insisted, wrapping firm arms over her wrist.
“I’m fine. Just leave me alone!” She tried to yank back her hand, but his fingers were an unbending manacle.
“Hold it up,” he commanded, reaching with his free hand into his pocket for a clean handkerchief.
“It’s no big deal—”
