Chapter 6
Six
The phone rang just as Lydia was wiping down the kitchen counter for the third time, trying to keep her hands busy, trying not to think about how comfortable she’d felt in Ethan’s arms or how his eyes had looked when she’d pulled back to stare at him.
Warm and confused. The same as her, she was sure.
Ethan answered it in the living room, his voice a low murmur she couldn’t quite make out. Then he appeared in the kitchen doorway, the phone in his hand.
“It’s for you,” he said. “Sheriff’s office.”
Lydia’s stomach dropped. She took the phone with trembling hands, suddenly aware that she needed to get herself a replacement cellphone. Being unreachable, dependent on Ethan’s phone, on his generosity. It made her feel even more vulnerable than she already was.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Harper? This is Deputy Morris. We met at the hospital the other night.” The voice was professional, polite. “We need you to come down to the station this morning. Would nine-thirty work for you?”
“I … yes. Of course.” Lydia’s heart was hammering. “Can I ask what this is about?”
A pause.
“The fire marshal’s preliminary report came back. There are some things we need to discuss with you. In person.”
The line went dead before Lydia could ask anything else.
She stood frozen in Ethan’s kitchen, the phone still pressed to her ear, her mind racing. Fire marshal’s report. Things to discuss. In person. Nothing about those words sounded good. Nothing in Deputy Morris’s voice suggested this was a routine follow-up.
“Mommy?” Rosie tugged on her sleeve, her small face upturned. “Can I have cereal?”
Lydia blinked, trying to pull herself back to the present. “What, baby?”
“Cereal. I’m still hungry.” Rosie pointed at the cabinet above the stove. “That one. Eli said you keep it there.”
“Right. Yes. Cereal.” Lydia handed the phone back to Ethan without meeting his eyes and turned to the cabinet. Her hand reached for the handle, but she couldn’t seem to pull it open. She just stood there, staring at the white-painted wood, her mind miles away.
The fire marshal’s report. What could they have found? What would make them call her down to the station instead of just telling her over the phone?
Unless—
No. No, Tom couldn’t have found them. She’d been so careful. No one but her mother knew about the inheritance. He couldn’t have tracked them across state lines. He was drunk most of the time anyway, barely functional. How could he have?—
But who else would want to hurt her? Who else would set her house on fire with her children inside?
“Lydia?”
Ethan’s voice, gentle and concerned. She realized she was still standing there, staring at the cabinet, her hand frozen on the handle. How long had she been like this? A minute? Five?
“Sorry,” she said, forcing herself to open the cabinet and pull out the cereal box. Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped it. “Just … thinking.”
“What did they want?” Ethan asked. He was leaning against the counter now, his arms crossed, watching her with those hazel eyes that saw too much.
“They want me to come to the station. Nine-thirty.” Lydia poured cereal into a bowl for Rosie, added milk, and set it on the table. The movements were automatic, muscle memory from a thousand mornings. “The fire marshal’s report came back. They want to discuss it.”
She could hear how flat her voice sounded. Like all the warmth and life had been sucked out of her.
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
Lydia’s throat tightened. She wanted to say yes.
Wanted to lean on him, let him be strong for her, let herself be weak for just a little while.
But she’d learned the hard way that depending on a man, any man, was dangerous.
That’s how it started with Tom. Little things.
Little dependencies. Until one day she’d looked up and realized she couldn’t leave because she did not have the money or resources to take care of her children on her own.
Until she had been forced to do so, and had found a way to make it work.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, still not looking at him. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” Ethan’s voice was patient. “But you don’t have to handle it alone. Let me help.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undid her. Lydia gripped the edge of the counter, willing herself not to cry. Not now. Not in front of the kids.
“What about Eli and Rosie?” she asked. “I can’t bring them to the sheriff’s station.”
“My neighbor, Mrs. Figgs. She’s retired, loves kids, and is always asking if I need anything.” Ethan pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her. She’ll watch them. It’ll be fine.”
And just like that, it was decided. Because Ethan made it sound so simple, so easy, like it was no trouble at all to rearrange his morning to help a stranger he’d known for less than two days.
Lydia finally turned to look at him, and the concern in his eyes made her want to weep. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” He held her gaze for a moment, and something passed between them. Something warm and complicated that Lydia didn’t have the courage to examine. Then he looked away and pulled up a contact on his phone. “Let me call Mrs. Figgs.”
* * *
The sheriff’s office was less intimidating, more mundane, with Ethan at her side. His calm presence made her feel like everything would be fine. It was just a low brick building with American flags out front and a parking lot half-full of official vehicles, and she was just running an errand.
Lydia’s hands were clenched in her lap as Ethan pulled into a space near the entrance.
She’d changed into the one decent outfit she’d packed in the luggage Ethan had retrieved from the barn.
Dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater that wasn’t too wrinkled.
She’d pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail, but she had no makeup left.
Trying to look put-together. Trying to look like she had her life under control.
It was all a lie, and she suspected everyone could see right through it.
“Ready?” Ethan asked gently.
No. She wasn’t ready. Would never be ready for whatever was waiting inside that building. But she nodded anyway and got out of the truck.
The deputy at the front desk looked up when they walked in, and his face split into a grin when he saw Ethan. “Cole! Didn’t expect to see you here. Day off, right?”
“Yeah.” Ethan’s hand rested briefly on the small of Lydia’s back. A gentle, steadying touch that sent warmth spreading through her despite everything. “I’m here with Ms. Harper.”
The deputy’s eyes shifted to Lydia, and his grin widened. “Ah. So this is the famous Ms. Harper. We’ve heard a lot about you.” He winked at Ethan. “She your girlfriend, Cole?”
Lydia felt her face flame. “No!” The word came out too loud, too fast, and she immediately wished she could take it back. “No, we’re not … he’s just … I’m staying at his house temporarily. Because of the fire. That’s all.”
She could feel Ethan standing very still beside her, but she refused to look at him.
Didn’t know what she’d see there, relief or disappointment, and she was angry at herself for even wanting to know.
He was being kind. That was all. He’d offered her shelter because he was a good person, not because he was interested in a destitute, damaged woman with two kids and an ex-husband who might be trying to kill her.
“Right. Sorry.” The deputy had the grace to look embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to assume. Sheriff Wyatt is expecting you. Conference room at the end of the hall.”
Lydia nodded, not trusting her voice, and started walking. Ethan fell into step beside her, his presence solid and reassuring even though her cheeks were still burning.
The conference room was small and windowless, with a long table and uncomfortable chairs that reminded Lydia of every principal’s office.
And every humiliating moment where she’d had to file for a divorce and explain to a judge why she had to have custody of the kids, all the while cringing that she’d let it get so bad.
Sheriff Wyatt was already there, along with Deputy Morris and a third man who looked like he was attached to the fire department. Older, maybe sixty, with the weathered look of someone who’d spent decades investigating fires.
“Ms. Harper. Thank you for coming.” Wyatt stood and gestured to a chair. “This is Fire Marshal Frank Davidson. He’s been leading the investigation into your house fire.”
Lydia sat, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Ethan took the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the solid presence that said you’re not alone.
“I’ll get right to it,” Davidson said, opening a folder on the table.
“Our preliminary investigation shows clear signs of arson. Multiple points of origin, accelerant used, likely gasoline, poured throughout the first floor. This wasn’t an accident, Ms. Harper.
Someone deliberately set your house on fire. ”
The words hit her like a physical blow. She’d known. Some part of her had known since that phone call, but hearing it confirmed, hearing it said out loud in this sterile room with these serious faces, made it real in a way that terror and suspicion couldn’t.
“There’s more,” Wyatt said gently. “The doctors say the injury to your head isn’t consistent with a fall. The contusion pattern suggests you were struck. You were hit, Ms. Harper. Someone knocked you unconscious.”
Lydia’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The fluorescent lights seemed to dim, and she could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Hit. Someone had hit her. Had knocked her out and left her to die in the flames with her children.
Not just arson. Murder. Attempted murder of her and her babies.
“Ms. Harper?” Deputy Morris’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right? Do you need some water?”
“I’m fine,” Lydia heard herself say, even though she was anything but fine. Her hands were shaking in her lap, and she felt Ethan’s hand cover hers. Warm, steady, grounding her.