C.J. Carmichael - Promise from a Cowboy

Savannah returned to her investigation, trailing the light over the charred boards that led up from the corner and spread out along both the north and east walls of the barn. A good section of both had been severely burned, though the fire had never reached as high as the loft area above them.

“I wonder if Sheriff Smith had an arson team out here to investigate. There was no mention of it in the file.” She examined the blackened boards more closely. “You’d think lightning would strike at the roofline, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”

“When did you find out a man died here?” Savannah asked him.

“Not until the day after the fire.”

“That’s what Hunter said, too.”

He could see the skepticism in her gaze and he glanced away. He was remembering the morning after the fire, when his father had come into the cattle barn to give him the news about the death.

B.J. had been shocked. And afraid. He’d started to tell his dad the truth then, but Bob Lambert had shaken his head. “Don’t talk, son. I’ve been over this with the sheriff and we’ve agreed there was no way you or Hunter could have realized that guy was in the loft. Unfortunately, that poor vagrant was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Later, the medical examiner had confirmed that death had been caused by smoke inhalation. A crazy-high blood alcohol level explained why the unidentified young man hadn’t woken when the fire started.

Despite the “official story” there had been rumors. Most of them centered around Hunter Moody, who everyone agreed had always been a shady sort—just like his father.

B.J. couldn’t do much about the rumors. But he’d kept his promise to his father and remained mum about that night, never telling anyone that Hunter had been up in the loft and must have seen the vagrant.

He could have put all the blame on Hunter, but he hadn’t. He’d protected the other guy out of a sense of responsibility. He should have figured out Hunter was up to something and stopped him.

He’d kept quiet for Savannah’s sake. She had enough problems with her family. He hadn’t wanted to add another.

“You’re still not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

Mind reader. “Better ask your brother.”

She made a sound of frustration, then gave up on him and resumed her inspection of the barn. “I’d like to get a look at that loft,” she said.

He glanced up. Light was coming through gaps in the wood. “It’s probably not safe.”

“Just a quick once-over.”

“I’ll go.” He leaned some of his weight on the ladder, which was on the opposite side of the barn from where the fire had started. It didn’t feel very solid.

“Let me try it,” Savannah said. “I’m lighter.”

He gave her a “get serious” look, then, despite his better judgment, put a foot on the second rung. Half expecting the lumber to crack apart under his boot, he took another step, and another.

Anxiously Savannah gripped the bottom of the ladder. “Be careful, B.J.”

He grinned. “How many times have I heard you say that?” Glancing down, he thought he could see her smile in return. He was just about at the top now. He reached one hand from the ladder to the floor of the loft, and was about to take the final step up when he heard a loud crack and his left foot fell through rotten wood.

“B.J.!”

He grasped desperately with his free hand, managing to secure a two-hand hold on the loft, while the rest of his body swung free as the ladder disintegrated beneath him.

“Hang on, B.J.!”

“Believe me, I am.” He grunted as he worked at shifting his body weight up to the loft. “You okay down there?” He hoped she hadn’t been struck by any of the falling wood.

“I’m fine. Try swinging your legs. If you get some momentum...”

She’d no sooner said the words than he was putting them into action. And the extra momentum did help. He grunted again, pushed hard and finally was able to drag his body up to the second level.

“Look out. I’m tossing you the flashlight,” she called. He heard a thud a few feet to his right.

“Don’t stand, in case the wood is rotten up there,” Savannah added.

“Roger that.” He crawled toward the torch and, once he had it securely in hand, switched on the light and played it against the far wall. Slowly he surveyed the space, but saw nothing except a few bales of moldering hay and a pile of blankets in the far corner.

“Any signs of fire up there?”

He studied the rafters and roof for several minutes before admitting, “No. I can see where the guy died, though. There’s still a pile of blankets in the corner.”

Savannah hesitated. “I don’t imagine there can be any physical evidence worth salvaging at this point. But want to take a closer look?”

He did and was already crawling toward the corner. When he arrived, he carefully set down the torch, then picked up first one blanket, then the other. He saw nothing, but heard the clink of something metal falling to the wooden surface.

Savannah heard it, too. “What was that?”

He flashed light over the area. Something gold sparkled. “It’s some kind of coin. Should I leave it here? Or take it?”

Savannah didn’t answer for a long time. Then in a quiet voice she said, “Take it.”

He slipped the coin in his pocket. Once he’d satisfied himself that there was nothing else he hadn’t noticed, he started crawling toward the bales.

“There are some old hay bales up here. Stand back while I toss them down. They’ll probably break apart when they fall, then after you mound up the hay, I’ll jump.”

“I’ve been wondering how you were going to get down.”

“No problem,” he said, mostly out of bravado. He was looking at a fifteen-foot drop and these bales were the small, square kind.

“Okay. I’m out of the way.”

“Here they come, then.” He heaved one, then the other, over the edge. As he’d predicted, the old twine broke apart on impact and the hay spilled free onto the dirt floor.

Savannah lost no time in piling the hay into the softest landing pad possible. “I wish we had more.”

“And I wish that damn ladder hadn’t broken,” he mumbled. He’d better not break an ankle with this fool maneuver. Hobbling around in a cast wasn’t his idea of how to spend the summer months.

He sat down, letting his legs dangle over the open side of the loft. Savannah was standing back, watching.

“This is crazy,” she said. “Why don’t you wait while I drive to my place? I can be back with a proper steel ladder in under an hour.”

He didn’t fancy hanging around this loft like a damsel in distress for five more minutes, let alone an hour.

“Incoming,” he called out. Then he let the rest of his body follow his feet off the edge of the loft.

* * *

B.J. ROLLED AS HE HIT the hay pile and ended up a few feet from the tips of Savannah’s boots.

Her heart had taken a leap of its own when he’d jumped, but she managed to sound cool. “You look good down there.”

He levered his body up with his strong arms, then hopped to his feet. “Don’t push your luck, woman.”

For a moment he stood his ground, too close for comfort, making her aware of how much stronger and tougher he’d grown in the years since he’d left Coffee Creek.

Of course, she was stronger and tougher, too, but mostly in ways that couldn’t be seen.

“You all right?” she asked, trying to switch her focus from her feelings—which were ridiculously fragile right now—to his well-being.

He took a few tentative steps. “Seem to be.” He handed her the flashlight, which she hadn’t even noticed he was still carrying. Then he dug the coin out of his pocket. “What do you make of this?”