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  “What’s so urgent? You’ve got your car in town.”

  “I need a sweet talker to convince Willow to go home with us tonight. I know she won’t listen to me, but she might listen to both of us.”

  In spite of everything, Graham felt himself smiling. Willow was strong-willed, indeed, if she was able to withstand Ginger’s powerful mothering instinct after everything she’d been through this week.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He disconnected and hurried toward his Dodge.

  Graham made a mental note to call a man he’d met a couple of months ago at a Branson town meeting. The man had been passing out business cards. He was a private investigator. As he’d told Graham, a person never knew when he would need that extra bit of protection.

  For now, Graham would keep this quiet. No one needed to know about it except himself and Larry Bager, P.I.

  Willow paced to the edge of the pavement, her whole body trembling with fury.

  “You’re going to have to calm down, honey,” Ginger said, following in her wake. “All that excess energy’s going to make you sick.”

  “I’m not the one in trouble here, and no one seems to realize that,” she snapped.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told the detective those kids could be in real danger.” She swung around and faced Ginger. “Think about it. Someone has the audacity to set me up, fake a phone call and steal those girls from the apartment. Then he carries them three doors down to an empty apartment—and how did he know it was empty? How did he have a key to both places?—and then he just sits back and waits for the fireworks to begin.”

  “You think it was the arsonist again?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He’s just mocking everyone, Ginger.”

  “What do you think he’ll do next?”

  “Exactly my question. How much further will he take it?”

  The dismay was evident on Ginger’s freckled face. “Of course you’re right, Willow,” she said softly. “I’m sure the police will patrol the area very closely tonight.”

  “That isn’t enough.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose you convinced Detective Rush to place the children in protective custody, did you?”

  “All she said was that I was to stay away from them, per Sandi’s orders, and that they would make sure the girls were safe.”

  What really frightened Willow was that the game this person was playing seemed to be directed toward her. First the arson paraphernalia in her trunk, now the girls. And Detective Rush had received no helpful information from Kansas City, so no clues there. Willow wasn’t surprised.

  A pickup truck with a poor excuse for a muffler blasted past them on the road below, and Willow cringed. How could she know there wasn’t someone lurking in the shadows right here outside the police station, watching her?

  “I need to get back to my room,” she said at last.

  “No way you’re doing that, Willow Traynor,” Ginger said. “Preston would never forgive me if I let you go back to that motel room, in the dark, by yourself, after all that’s happened.”

  “Ginger, it’s after midnight, I’m tired and I just want some sleep.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still staying there when you’ve got so many other options. You could stay with Graham and me. You could stay in one of the condos on the lake. Why do you insist on—”

  “Would you please let up?” Willow snapped, then was immediately contrite. Ginger might be just a tad overbearing, but she had the heart of a true saint.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she told Ginger more gently, “but I’m not putting my tail between my legs and running to your house for cover.”

  “You know that motel door is about as sturdy as paper. You won’t be safe there.”

  “Trust me. I have a cell phone, and I know how to use it. I’ll put a chair against the door. No, wait, for you I’ll put the dresser against the door.”

  “Don’t pull that with me. I do not trust you to call me if you get into trouble. You know what you’re doing? You’re rolling yourself into a tight little ball, like one of those roly-poly bugs, and you won’t allow any friends into your life to help you through the bad stuff.”

  Willow sighed. “You’re calling me a bug?”

  “I’m talking armor. Protective armor. You’ve got it so thick I’m surprised you can hold up the weight.”

  “I’m sorry, Ginger. You’re right. If that unit Sandi and her girls left is still empty, I’d be interested in moving there, in exchange for some work on the rental accounts.”

  “How about something even better?” Ginger said. “Graham’s house is more like a large log cabin. It has five bedrooms with bathrooms, it’s on the lake, close to a wonderful little town, and it’s worth the price of admission.”

  “And that price would be what?”

  “Putting up with Graham and me, of course. And you’ll have to trust that we have your best interests at heart.”

  A red Dodge 4X4 came cruising down the street and parked along the curb in front of them. Graham got out, took one look at Willow’s expression and grimaced. “Have I interrupted a catfight?”

  “Your sister’s just been waiting for you to arrive so she can hog-tie me and dump me into your truck and haul me to Hideaway,” Willow said dryly.

  He glanced at his sister. “Is this true?”

  “You have a problem with that?” Ginger asked.

  “I have a rope in the back. Grab her.”

  It spoke of Willow’s affection for them that their silliness could make her smile at a time like this. “I don’t do well in captivity.”

  “Graham, she’s convinced those children are still in danger,” Ginger said. “The police promised to keep watch on them, and she’s been threatened with a restraining order if she doesn’t stay away from them.”

  “Sounds as if she should stay away from them,” he said.

  “I’m staying away,” Willow said.

  “But you insist on going back to that dreary motel room,” Ginger said.

  “Which means her stubborn streak has become a detriment to her health,” Graham said. “We’ll need to excise it.”

  “Fat chance,” Ginger said. “I think it’s inherent.”

  “Of course it is, but those things can be—”

  “Would you two stop talking about me as if I weren’t even here?” Willow grumbled.

  Graham folded his arms over his chest and studied Willow with an expression of sympathy. “Stubborn bull-headedness isn’t going to sway us this time, Willow. Imagine what Preston would do to Ginger and me if we allowed anything to happen to you.”

  “So you’re saying you do believe something could happen?” Willow asked.

  “I think it’s likely, especially after what happened to Lucy and Brittany tonight. You seem to be a target for someone.”

  Willow’s rush of relief surprised her. She should be upset about having her fears confirmed, but instead she felt less alone. She wasn’t being overly imaginative. Someone else believed her. Two other people.

  And those people were becoming important to her.

  “Willow, did your husband ever talk to you about his job?” Graham asked.

  “Nothing specific. He couldn’t. He talked in generalities sometimes, but I never knew what kind of case he was working on.”

  “Did he ever bring home reports from work? Anything like that?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I’m just trying to find out if anyone from your husband’s work could be worried that you know something.”

  She shook her head. “Travis never wanted to worry me with details of his job, so even if it hadn’t been against the rules, he wouldn’t have.”

  “Okay, but try to remember anything you can about Travis and his job, anything he might have mentioned in passing, or something he might have let slip. Meanwhile, you can do that in the comfort of a nice lakeside house. Ginger and I both want you to come and stay with us.”

  “She
wants to stay in the condo where Sandi and her girls stayed this week,” Ginger grumbled.

  “Not secure enough,” Graham said.

  Willow smiled. “I think I remember Preston telling me you had an apartment complex in a gated community on Lakeshore Drive.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he also told me there was a vacancy in a furnished unit, which he was hoping to fill, but hadn’t found a renter yet. I’d like to rent that unit, please.”

  Graham and Ginger looked at one another, and if it hadn’t been such a tense evening, Willow would have laughed aloud at their expressions.

  “I know how much you need for deposit and the first month’s rent.” Willow reached into her purse. “I can write you a check now, unless you need me to fill out an application—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Graham said. “I don’t want your check. You can stay there, but you won’t pay.”

  “I thought you only gave free lodging to your property manager.”

  “Good, it’s settled,” Graham said. “It just so happens I need a good property manager while Preston recuperates. Let’s get your things from that room and load them in my SUV. You can follow us to your new apartment. We’ll have ourselves a convoy.” He easily mimicked the stereotypical drawl of a trucker, and Willow smiled.

  For some reason, she felt safe. But she had felt safe before and she’d been wrong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On April 14 Graham had wandered through the house three times, had walked to the dock and back twice, had tried to sit on the deck and enjoy the view of the lake. He couldn’t sit still.

  Not only did he feel at loose ends because it was late Sunday afternoon and he had no place to be—an unusual occurrence in the past few months—but he couldn’t stop thinking about Ginger’s advice last week. Forgive.

  She was right, of course, which irritated him. He wasn’t the kind of person to hold a grudge—or at least he hadn’t been until the divorce. Now he found that the bitterness he carried with him against Dena sometimes threatened to spill over into other relationships. He should never have given her the power to do that.

  Ginger was also right about something else, a fact that had become more apparent to him in the past two weeks as he got to know Willow Traynor better. She was a very appealing woman. He’d noticed it the first day he met her, of course. But now he saw more than just her outward appearance—he felt as if he’d had a few glimpses into her heart. He loved what he saw.

  She had worked tirelessly in the past week to catch up on lodge repairs and book work that had piled up since Preston’s hospitalization. When she wasn’t doing that, she was either visiting Preston or Mrs. Engle, or volunteering her time at the clinic.

  She continued to keep herself just a little apart from the rest of the world—not indulging in the casual banter at the clinic, not hanging around with the other volunteers at the end of the day. Graham had been granted the opportunity to get to know her better when she worked through the lunch hour filing charts and calling patients for follow-up care.

  For the first time in over four years, since he and Dena had first separated, he found himself thinking about a woman. He watched for her to arrive at her scheduled time, and felt his heart leap when she dropped in unexpectedly to help out for an hour or two with the ever-present paperwork.

  Though he told himself that he was silly to respond this way to someone he had known for only two weeks, the logic didn’t seem to matter to his heart.

  It was time for him to deal with the past. He couldn’t continue to harbor resentment toward Dena and move on with his life. For the first time since the divorce, he glimpsed a possibility he didn’t want to pass up.

  He glanced at the clock. At this time of day, Dena would be home from her Sunday-afternoon golf game, if her habits hadn’t drastically changed over the years.

  She answered on the third ring, and she sounded wary—he knew she had caller ID. “Yes…may I help you?”

  “Hi, Dena, it’s Graham.”

  No further greeting, no comment, only silence.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  “That depends on what we’re talking about. Why should I give you a single minute of my time, Graham Vaughn?”

  He swallowed a hasty retort and willed himself to remain calm—another aspect of his personality that he seemed to lose wherever Dena was concerned. Had it always been that way?

  No, it had not. Once upon a time they had both been happy. Though theirs wasn’t a match made in heaven, they had been compatible, civil.

  “Hello?” It was a one-word command for him to speak, or she would hang up.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m trying to figure out the best way to go about this.” He cleared his throat.

  “Go about what?” There was suspicion in her voice.

  “I need to apologize.”

  There was an unamused snicker. “For what? Don’t tell me after all this time you’re getting ready to come clean about the affairs.”

  This was a study in humiliation. Dena had tried to base her request for divorce on the lie that he’d had numerous affairs during their marriage. Of course, there’d been no proof, but the accusation had still struck bone.

  Humility. Be like Christ and be humble. Again he took a deep breath and called on God’s strength to help him keep his voice gentle. “I never cheated on you, Dena, but I know I let you down. I’m not calling to ask your forgiveness. I’m simply telling you that I’m sorry things worked out the way they did.”

  There was a long, suspicious pause. “Why now, after all this time?” she asked at last. Her voice no longer carried quite the same sharpness.

  “My sister came home from Belarus a few weeks ago, and we’ve had some discussions about the divorce.”

  “Oh, really? Sounds as if you don’t have anything better to talk about. What’s it been, three years? Why don’t you just get on with your life, Graham? I did. I’m happily married with two stepchildren who call me Mom.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. But something in the tenor of her voice, so familiar to him, told him she was forcing the assurance a little too much. She had never wanted children, which had been another point of contention between them. “I just wanted to wish you all the best,” he said at last. “I’m sorry I didn’t do so sooner.”

  Another silence, as if she were trying to read some sarcasm beneath the words. “Are you sick? With some incurable disease?”

  “No incurable disease.”

  “You’re acting strangely.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t worry about you anymore, Graham.”

  Still the nasty little barbs. “Well. Good. Look, I just don’t like to fight, and I’m trying to make amends. I truly do wish you the best. I will pray for your happiness and leave you in peace. Goodbye, Dena.”

  He hung up before she could say more. It was one thing to apologize, but he didn’t feel like wallowing in her verbal barbs today. He felt good about the fact that he’d called her, and relieved that for the first time in three years the conversation hadn’t exploded into a shouting match. He supposed that was the best he could hope for.

  Now for the strength to continue with this act of forgiveness.

  Sunday evening Willow stifled a yawn as she navigated the winding Lakeshore Drive back to Pine Lodge Estates. The moment she’d stepped into the apartment in the gated community last week she had fallen in love with the expansive great room, fireplace, vaulted ceiling, well-equipped kitchen. The master bedroom had a walk-in closet that could have served as another bedroom, and the deck overlooked the woods in back. She’d seen deer twice already. She was in love.

  Ever since moving in, she’d done her best to show Graham her appreciation for his generosity, and in doing so had rediscovered her love for nursing. It wasn’t the IC
U, of course, but volunteering at the clinic for a few hours every day had been fun. She enjoyed the interaction with the patients, and since she kept the hours limited to four a day, at most, the shifts were manageable in spite of her continued insomnia.

  Graham was good to work with. He treated the staff as equals, while deftly directing the clinic operations. He generally kept a positive attitude, no matter the situation.

  Willow had imagined, on more than one occasion last week, that she sensed Graham watching her while she worked. Maybe she was being overly sensitive, since he knew more about her background than most people. Or maybe she was being hopeful.

  She smiled, but the smile dissipated. She was attracted to him. The emotions, the attraction stirring in her ranged from pleasant surprise to guilt to a renewal of grief.

  But still, maybe there was hope for the future.

  She yawned again and readjusted her seat. She knew she shouldn’t drive when she was this tired, but she desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Therefore, she had driven to The Landing to buy melatonin, valerian root, chamomile tea and a CD of soothing music.

  Her recent nightmares had become relentless, robbing her of rest, haunting her during her waking hours. Simple Benadryl no longer helped.

  To further complicate matters, Preston had encountered a setback when his lung collapsed. She was now more worried about him than she had been since the night of the fire, and she had stopped by to make sure he was settled and comfortable for the evening.

  Unfortunately, tonight she hadn’t included the Branson traffic into her plans. She’d missed one of the shortcuts Ginger had shown her, and had been caught in the Highway 76 creep-a-thon as the shows ended. Tonight one of those shortcuts would have saved her thirty minutes of snarl time.

  She forced herself to sit fully upright and take a deep breath. “Hang in there, Willow, not much farther.” She had to break this spell of centerline hypnosis.

  Strange how a person could lie in bed for hours, unable to coax sleep, but once behind the wheel of a car, the brain relaxed and gave up the fight.

  The lake to her left reflected the lights from the Branson Landing, the major hot spot in this part of the state, promising to get hotter still as shops continued to open along the shoreline.