“That’ll cost money,” she pointed out.
“I don’t mind.” The insurance would probably cover it. He had to have somewhere to live until his cabin could be rebuilt. But even if the insurance wouldn’t, he didn’t care about the expense as long as it kept Claire safe.
“I don’t want you to spend money if you don’t have to, especially because of me.”
“Quit worrying about it. If Myles is any closer to making an arrest, maybe we’ll stay,” he said. “If not…we’ll head out. Maybe we’ll go as far as Big Fork.”
She held the hair out of her eyes. “That won’t give us much time in town. It’s already six o’clock.”
“You’re the one who didn’t want to let me out of bed.” He added a wink since it had actually been the other way around. He’d been afraid everything would change once they left the motel, that the unity they’d felt during the past twenty-four hours would suddenly disappear. But it was still there, for now. It made him feel absolutely content and frighteningly unsure at the same time, which was the oddest dichotomy he’d ever experienced. She kept him so off balance. He was pretty sure that was why he tended to fight what she did to him. He’d never liked giving someone else the power to hurt him.
“You’re incorrigible.” She sent him a look of exasperation laced with tenderness. She’d stopped trying to hide her feelings, and he liked that, needed it. This morning when they’d made love she’d told him again how much he meant to her, and it’d enriched the whole experience, made him feel closer to her than he’d ever been to anyone.
He just hoped he could let go of his reservations, his impulse to hold back. He wanted to give her what she gave him. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.
Her lips curved into a cocky smile. “Yes.”
Laughing, he took her hand. He loved her, all right. He might live to regret how much, but she made him whole.
He opened his mouth to tell her that this time things were different between them, that she could trust him, but the diner came up on their right and she distracted him by pointing out the window. “There’s Myles.”
The sheriff had beaten them to the restaurant. Isaac could see him waiting near the door. “Let’s hope he has something to tell us,” he said, and brushed his lips over her knuckles before letting go.
Myles looked tired, as if he’d put in a couple of very long days. Claire felt sorry for him—until Isaac sat next to her and Myles cast him a hooded glance that was just dark enough to convey his disapproval. Although Myles seemed to be making an attempt to separate his personal feelings from his job as the county sheriff—no doubt the reason he kept his opinion to himself except for that one glance—he wasn’t having an easy time of it. Most likely he’d received an earful from Laurel about how terrible it would be if Claire went back to Isaac and agreed with her.
Claire wanted to reassure him, to tell him she sensed something deeper in Isaac than anyone had given him credit for in the past. But she knew that could be wishful thinking, an attempt to deceive herself as well as him—or Myles might take it that way. This wasn’t the time for that discussion, anyway. For the most part, they were all hiding their personal feelings behind a businesslike facade.
The waitress appeared almost immediately to hand them laminated menus and rattle off the specials—meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, with banana cream pie for dessert, for $11.99. Or a cowboy steak with pasta and grilled vegetables for two bucks more.
Everything sounded good to Claire. She was suddenly so hungry she could’ve eaten three meals.
They each ordered a soda. Then she selected the meat loaf and Myles and Isaac ordered off the menu.
“What’d you find at Isaac’s cabin? Anything?” she asked Myles as soon as the waitress walked away.
“The fire started at the back door,” he replied. “And whoever did it definitely used an accelerant. I’m guessing gas, but we won’t have confirmation from that lab for days, maybe a couple of weeks.”
“It was gas. I could smell it,” Isaac said.
Claire settled her napkin in her lap. “What about tire tracks?”
“The firefighters pretty much obliterated any chance we had of recovering that kind of evidence. Whoever did this was either smart or very lucky. No one saw him, he used a common substance as the accelerant, so that it can’t be traced back to him, and he created so much destruction with the fire and with the effort required to put it out that whatever evidence he might’ve left behind has been destroyed.”
“He shot at me,” Isaac said. “Shot the lights, too. What about the shells?”
“We’re looking for them. We’re also sifting through the ashes for the bullets. If we can find even one, we might be able to match it to the gun later.”
Claire slid the salt and pepper shakers behind the napkin dispenser. “Did the Ferellas see anyone come flying past their house?” The Ferellas owned a mobile home on a couple of acres not far from the turnoff to Isaac’s place.
He shook his head. “But Rusty was on duty, doing patrol. Fortunately, he saw the smoke and mobilized the fire department before you called in, which was probably the only reason we were able to put it out before it spread any farther.”
Isaac rested his elbows on the back of the booth. “Shit.”
He’d been hoping for more. So had Claire. “What about Les Weaver?” she asked. “Did you send someone over to see where he was when the fire broke out?”
“Jared Davis is one of my best investigators. He’s originally from L.A., has lots of experience. He visited Weaver first thing this morning. Weaver claims he was home all that night and his wife backed him up.”
“She’s lying,” Isaac said.
“A distinct possibility, but it might be hard to prove. We’re checking with the neighbors to see if they saw him coming or going, but with the three-hour drive he would’ve left before it was unusually late and returned in the morning, especially if he stopped for coffee or breakfast after being up all night. Nothing that would make anyone question what he was doing.”
“So that’s it?” Isaac said. “This is going to end up another big mystery, like what happened to Claire’s mother?”
Myles clearly didn’t appreciate that comment, but his experience showed. He’d talked to other victims over the years, understood their impatience and anger. “Investigations take time, Isaac. I’m going to get this bastard. You have my word on that. And there is—”