It was enough.
Fifty-Six
Thatcher’s clothes were still damp, but he had no choice except to put them back on. He was moving quietly so not to waken Laurel, who was a damn tempting sight, hair streaming over her pillow, face relaxed in sleep. Her bare shoulder had escaped the covers. He thought of leaning down and kissing it but was afraid she would wake up. She needed her sleep.
Last night, after napping for a while, they’d gone downstairs to the bathroom and bathed together by the glow of a kerosene lamp. She had overcome some of her shyness and had asked delicate questions. His candid answers had made her blush. But not to be outdone by “French tarts,” she’d asked him to coach her on how to please him. It was he who’d wound up in thrall of her ardor. And talent.
They’d fallen asleep, spooning, but he’d awakened an hour later, hard with wanting her again. She purred in permissive response to his hopeful nudges, but when she tried to turn, he reached across her and spread his hand over her middle, holding her in place.
“Ever since that damn rooster attacked, and your bottom bumped up against me…”
Just thinking about that slow, drowsy sex made him want to be coupled with her again. But each of them was facing a challenging day. She would be grieving Davy O’Connor and consoling his brother. Sheriff Amos was expecting him.
He gave her one last, longing look, then slipped out of the bedroom unheard.
* * *
Fred Barker was already in his shop when Thatcher arrived to return his rifle. “Why don’t you keep it?” Barker said. “After what happened last night, I reckon you might need it.”
“You heard about the ambush?”
“Heard the ambush as it happened. Wife and me thought firecrackers were going off. This morning, learned different from the milkman. That O’Connor boy was a hell-raiser. I’d’ve locked my daughter up was he to’ve come anywhere near her. But being gunned down like that…”
Barker shook his head in sorrow. “Somethin’s gotta give around here, Thatcher. Hang on to that Springfield. It’s not like it’s the only rifle I have.”
“Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.” He asked Fred if he could spare Roger to do the stable chores. “Sheriff wanted me to be on hand today.”
Fred spat into the dirt. “He’s gonna need all the men he can get. Do you believe a lightning strike caused that fire?”
“Fire
?”
“Jesus, Thatcher. You ain’t heard about that?”
* * *
The sheriff’s office was more crowded than it had been since the morning the search for Mila Driscoll was organized. Then, Thatcher had only heard the commotion from his jail cell.
This morning, as he entered the building, he had to wedge himself between the interior wall and the throng of men surrounding Bill, who was standing in the center of the large room, fielding dozens of questions even as he issued assignments.
“We don’t know how many confirmed dead yet,” he was saying. “I’m afraid to calculate. Relatives we’ve talked to said that Hiram had called a clan conference. The only acceptable excuses for not attending were that you were being born or dying.
“There could have been dozens inside that house, including women and children. So far, we haven’t come across any survivors. Which leaves us knowing squat about what happened during that meeting.”
Thatcher listened as did everyone else as Bill shared what little he had learned. Hiram’s nearest neighbor, with whom he wasn’t on the best of terms, had heard a “loud bang” the night before.
“He took it for a lightning strike, rolled over and went back to sleep. This morning when he noticed several thin trails of smoke coming from the direction of Hiram’s place, he thought he ought to go check.”
When not a single Johnson appeared on their private road to challenge him for trespassing, the neighbor had become even more apprehensive of what he would find at the dead end.
“He said the house had been incinerated,” Bill told those gathered around him. “Despite the rainstorm last night, parts of it were still smoldering. He drove to the nearest telephone and called me.” Bill stared down at his boots for a moment. “All I can say is, it must’ve been a hell of a blaze. It’s a scene out of hell.”
Bill had left a team of deputies there to keep curiosity seekers away. Even those few Johnsons who hadn’t attended the meeting, but had immediate family members who had, weren’t allowed beyond a certain point.
“I’ve requested a team of state investigators specially trained in arson to come up from Austin. May be tomorrow before they can gather all their gear and make the drive. In the meantime, the rest of you continue investigating the ambush on the O’Connors. You have your duties. Get to them.”
Many shuffled out. Others got on telephones. Bill came over to Thatcher, who said, “Sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”