Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
After the spanking, they’d sat down to lunch with her dad. The tension from earlier hung faintly in the air, but no one brought it up. Asha shifted awkwardly in her seat, her butt still smarting, while Zane and her father carried the conversation with ease.
They talked about the porch repairs, the summer storms, and an old neighbor who’d moved away. Asha listened quietly, darting her gaze between the two men. When her dad glanced her way, she swallowed hard and mumbled an apology for being rude earlier.
Her dad’s lips quirked in a small smile. “We all lose our tempers, sweetheart. It’s what you do after that matters.”
Zane caught her gaze then, his eyes warm but unreadable, and something settled in her chest.
The moment was interrupted when Zane’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, his expression shifting as he read the name on the screen. “It’s Lou,” he said, rising abruptly. His chair scraped against the worn linoleum. “I’ve got to take this.”
Her dad waved him off with a chuckle. “Go on. This old man can hold down the fort.”
Zane leaned down, brushing his lips on Asha’s cheek in a way that made her shiver. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.
For a few moments, she sat statue still before her mind kicked into gear. She rose from the table and cleaned away the remainders of their meal, before telling her dad she was going out for groceries.
Deciding she could use the fresh air to clear her mind, Asha walked the two-mile distance to Main Street.
The small grocery store at the edge of Peaceful doubled as the post office and bookstore, an eclectic combination that somehow worked in this tiny town. A weathered sign above the door proclaimed it Harper’s General Store, a name that had remained unchanged despite three generations of Colette ownership. The bell above the door jingled pleasantly as Asha stepped inside, its cheerful chime welcoming her into the cozy space.
The air was warm, a mingling of scents that felt uniquely Peaceful—ripe apples stacked in crates near the entrance, the faint musk of aging paperbacks, and a hint of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the small stand tucked beside the counter. Mrs. Colette, the town’s ever-busy postmistress, stood behind the counter chatting with a customer while occasionally sneaking pieces of ham to her golden retriever, who lounged contentedly at her feet.
Asha grabbed a basket from the stack near the door and moved into the narrow aisles, her list in hand. Milk, eggs, bread, soap… the essentials. The neatly written items kept her focused, though she let her attention linger briefly on the shelves filled with romance novels. Their colorful spines practically begged to be picked up, and for a moment, she toyed with the idea of indulging herself. But the memory of her neglected Tbr pile on her eReader pulled her back, and she moved on.
She reached for a loaf of bread when the low, resonant hum of a familiar voice caught her off guard.
“Thank you, Mrs. Colette. You always take such good care of me.”
The warmth in the voice might have fooled anyone else, but to Asha, it carried a chill. Her heart stuttered, and her fingers froze on the loaf of sourdough. Like an arthritic ninety-year-old, she turned her head toward the counter and froze as her lizard brain started to fire warnings at her.
Tall and polished, Tate stood with a posture that exuded practiced ease. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, his clothes immaculate, and his smile the picture of sincerity. Even from this distance, his deep, resonant voice carried an undercurrent of authority and charm, the kind that made people instinctively trust him. She knew better.
Her chest tightened, and the air felt too thick to breath. Asha dropped her gaze and darted down the nearest aisle, her basket bumping against the shelves in her haste. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she moved deeper into the store, the canned goods and jars of preserves offering a fragile sense of cover.
“Asha?”
Gina Quinn-Hardin’s familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts. Asha blinked, her heart still pounding, and found the wilderness guide standing a few feet away, a bag of flour in one hand and a curious look in her sharp green eyes.
Gina always seemed to radiate energy and confidence. She ran the lodge and wilderness tours with her husbands, Mark and Stan, managing everything from grueling hikes to charming guests over breakfast. She was dressed for work in cargo pants and a simple T-shirt, her no-nonsense style matched by her military background and her easy smile.
“Oh. Hi.” Asha forced her voice to stay steady.
“Are you okay?” Gina cocked her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Asha shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just… out of breath. The walk here, you know. Too much city life in Columbus.”
Gina frowned but didn’t press. Instead, she glanced at Asha’s half-full basket. “Getting restocked?”
“Yeah, just grabbing a few things for the house.”
“Good call. If you’re around long enough, you should come by the lodge,” Gina offered. “The hiking trails are perfect this time of year. And we’ve got a new batch of guests, which means Stan is in full charm mode.”
Asha chuckled, some of the tension in her chest loosening. “Doesn’t he stay in full charm mode?”
“Pretty much.” Gina grinned, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Between him and Mark keeping the books balanced, I just have to make sure nobody falls off a cliff.”
“That’s quite the setup.”
“It works.” Gina studied Asha for a moment before her expression softened. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little… off.”
Asha hesitated, glancing toward the front of the store. The bell jingled, and relief flooded her as Tate called a goodbye to Mrs. Colette. When the door shut behind him, she exhaled a slow breath.
“Just tired,” she relented. “It’s been a lot, coming back here. And the house, my parents… you know how it is.”
Gina nodded, her expression understanding. “Yeah, I get it. This place can be a lot to handle, even on a good day, but if you ever need a break, come by the lodge. There’s nothing better to clear the mind than a good hike or take a canoe onto the lake.”
Asha managed a smile. “Thanks, Gina. I’ll think about it.”
After Asha paid for her groceries and exchanged polite words with Mrs. Colette, she stepped outside. Gina followed, chatting happily about the lodge and offering a few suggestions for hiking trails. They paused near the bench just outside, where Gina adjusted her shopping bag, and Asha shifted her own load.
The sharp voice cut through the pleasant hum of Main Street. “No, Dad, I told you I don’t want that. Why can’t you just listen?”
Asha glanced toward the sound. Near the corner of the building, just past the storefront’s last window, stood a boy of about thirteen, his striking resemblance to Tate MacCready stopping her cold. The sharp tilt of his jaw, the dark hair combed back with precision, even the faint arch of his brow mirrored the man who now stood beside him.
“That’s Elliot,” Gina murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “MacCready’s son. Spitting image, huh?”
Elliot’s arms were crossed tightly as he glared up at his father, his face locked in defiance. MacCready, for his part, maintained a patient smile, speaking in the same measured tones Asha remembered all too well. Whatever he was saying seemed to bounce off the boy like rain on stone.
Zane rested his elbows on the worn desk in the station’s briefing room, staring at the scattered papers spread before him. His hand still tingled faintly from the spanking he’d delivered earlier, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the image of Asha—her vulnerability, her fire, and the way she’d looked at him when he’d told her he loved her.
She hadn’t said much during lunch, her apology to her dad quiet but sincere, but there was something about her demeanor—something guarded—that stuck with him like a burr under his skin.
He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. There wasn’t time to dwell on it now. The town had bigger problems, and Lou Santana wasn’t the type to sugarcoat bad news.
Lou entered the room, his expression as serious as ever. The police chief was a tall, broad man with a face carved by years of dealing with Peaceful’s unique blend of small-town charm and chaos. He dropped a folder onto the table and settled into the chair across from Zane.
“Dumpster fire at the high school last week, teacher’s car up in flames this week,” Lou began without preamble. “And that wildfire three weeks ago? Officially ruled arson. We’ve got ourselves a serial firebug, Zane.”
Zane leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. “Any leads?”
Lou shook his head, his frustration evident. “Nothing concrete. No witnesses, no clear motive. Just a lot of pissed-off residents and a fire department stretched too thin.”
Zane nodded grimly. The wildfire alone had taxed his crew to their limits, but the smaller, more targeted fires were even more troubling. Whoever was behind this wasn’t merely reckless but deliberate.
“Do you think it’s the same person?” Zane asked.
Lou shrugged, flipping open the folder to reveal photos of the charred remains of the teacher’s hybrid car. “Hard to say. The M.O. is all over the place—wildfire, dumpster, vehicle—but it feels connected. And whoever it is, they’re getting bolder.”
Zane studied the photos, turning over the possibilities. The high school fire had been bad enough—scorching the side of the building and causing panic among the staff. But targeting someone’s personal property? That took it to a whole new level.
“Tate MacCready,” Lou said, tapping the photo of the burned car. “Good guy. Well liked in town. Can’t think of a reason anyone would have it out for him.”
Zane’s frown deepened as the name clicked. “MacCready. He was my class mentor in high school.”
Lou raised an eyebrow. “Was he? I’d already left Peaceful for the military when he started teaching here. Came back a couple of years later, and he was already a big deal at the school.”
Zane nodded with a flicker of fondness. “He’s the one who encouraged me to apply for the firefighter position. Everyone else kept telling me to go to college, but MacCready? He didn’t push me in that direction. He knew it wasn’t my thing.”
Lou chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like a good read on you. You and me both. Books and me get along fine when they’re manuals or practical stuff, but I’d rather be out there doing the work. My military years taught me that.”
“You’ve always been a man of action.” A smile tugged at Zane’s lips. “Deputy, then police chief—it suits you.”
Lou gave a modest shrug but didn’t mask the pride in his expression. “It does. I’ll leave the heavy reading and endless studying to Maddy and her brothers. They’ve got the patience for that kind of thing. Me? I learn from doing.”
Zane smirked. “How is Maddy, by the way? Still keeping you on your toes?”
Lou’s grin widened, a flicker of warmth brightening his eyes. “Madly in love with that woman, every single day. She’s as feisty as ever, running the clinic, making sure the entire town stays healthy—and me, too, for that matter. Don’t know how I got so lucky. Back to the matter at hand, we need more manpower.” Lou tapped his index finger on the file. “Between tourist season and these fires, I’m running on fumes. And I know your department isn’t in much better shape.”
“No, we’re not,” Zane admitted. “The wildfire drained our resources, and half my crew’s out sick with a stomach bug. I had to pull a double shift myself just to cover the basics.”
Lou grimaced. “Think we should call in some outside help? State fire marshal, maybe?”
Zane considered it, his pride warring with practicality. Peaceful was a tight-knit town, and they prided themselves on handling their own problems. But this was getting out of hand.
“Yeah,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe. But first we might ask the teacher some questions, since he works at the high school and his car went up in flames.”
“It’s a stretch, but maybe someone’s got it in for him.”
Zane’s brows knitted. “It doesn’t add up. He’s not the kind of guy who’d make enemies. But if there’s even a chance, we need to find out.”
Lou nodded. “Let’s arrange an interview. I’ll call him in, see what he has to say. If we’re still stuck after talking to him, we call in the marshalls.”