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    Only Flame and Air: Claire Lance, #2
    Only Flame and Air: Claire Lance, #2
    Only Flame and Air: Claire Lance, #2
    Ebook311 pages5 hours

    Only Flame and Air: Claire Lance, #2

    By Geonn Cannon

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    In the sequel to Tilting at Windmills, Claire Lance continues to run. She winds up in Road Ends, Montana, a small town not far from the Canadian border, where she meets Kelsey Quinn. Initially thrown by Kelsey's extreme likeness to her lost lover, Lance takes a job as Kelsey's ranch hand assuming it will be a nice, quiet way to pass some time. Unfortunately, her spur of the moment decision leads to a tense situation when she discovers Kelsey's partner is the local sheriff. While Lance waits for her new ID to arrive, and tries to keep her head down, she discovers that Kelsey's life may not be as peaceful as it originally appeared.

    LanguageEnglish
    Publishersupposed
    Release dateFeb 5, 2013
    ISBN9781938108235
    Only Flame and Air: Claire Lance, #2
    Author

    Geonn Cannon

    Geonn Cannon was born in a barn and raised to know better than that. He was born and raised in Oklahoma where he's been enslaved by a series of cats, dogs, two birds and one unexpected turtle. He's spent his entire life creating stories but only became serious about it when he realized it was a talent that could impress girls. Learning to write well was easier than learning to juggle, so a career was underway. His high school years were spent writing stories among a small group of friends and reading whatever books he could get his hands on. Geonn was inspired to create the fictional Squire's Isle after a 2004 trip to San Juan Island in Washington State. His first novel set on the island, On the Air, was written almost as a side project to another story he wanted to tell. Reception to the story was so strong that the original story was put on the back burner to deal with the world created in On the Air. His second novel set in the same universe, Gemini, was also very well received and went on to win the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for Best Novel, Dramatic/General Fiction. Geonn was the first male author to receive the honor. While some of his novels haven't focused as heavily on Squire's Isle, the vast majority of Geonn's works take place in the same universe and have connections back to the island and its cast of characters (the exception being the Riley Parra series). In addition to writing more novels based on the inhabitants of Squire's Isle, Geonn hopes to one day move to the real-life equivalent to inspire further stories. Geonn is currently working on a tie-in novel to the television series Stargate SG-1, and a script for a webseries version of Riley Parra.

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    • 4/5
      Thank God there were not a lot of fistfights compare to he other book.
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      Good Book Can't wait to read the next one I recommend this Book

    Book preview

    Only Flame and Air - Geonn Cannon

    Only Flame and Air

    Geonn Cannon

    Smashwords Edition

    Supposed Crimes LLC, Falls Church, Virginia

    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

    All Rights Reserved

    Copyright 2013 Geonn Cannon

    Published in the United States

    ISBN: 978-1-938108-23-5

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Prologue

    Road Ends, Montana

    Five Years Ago

    On her way home from work, Deputy Andrea Tyler stopped by the Food Mart to get the things she needed for dinner. Dinner for one, again. She loaded her basket with a few boxes of Hamburger Helper, some milk, and a six-pack of Mountain Dew and headed up to the cash register. The geriatric clerk who could run circles around most of his teenaged bag boys bagged her things and smiled up at her as she handed over the cash. Big night tonight? Martin asked.

    You know it. Tyler returned his smile and glanced at the front window display over his shoulder. During her patrol, she'd noticed stacks of crates holding bags of apples, some of the stacks rising taller than she was. Now, only one crate and a half dozen bags of apples remained. Her eyebrows shot up. Holy cow. Did people have a sudden craving for homemade cider?

    Hmm? Martin followed her gaze. Oh, that. The ladies auxiliary is having an apple pie contest. You know how they are — always raising money for something or the other. And each one tries to outdo everyone else. Had about a hundred of them old biddies in here today. Prob'ly more coming by later, now that the workday is done.

    Tyler hesitated and then said, Why don't you add a couple bags on my tab.

    Martin nodded and shuffled his way over to the display. Tyler would have offered to get the apples for him, but he resented anyone treating him like an old man. He hauled two bags back to the cash register and added them to her total. You ain't gonna make pies, are ya, Deputy? You're a little young for the aux.

    They're not for me, Tyler said. I thought I'd run some out to Kelsey... uh, Mrs. Quinn. Don't know if she'll make it to town before the ladies auxiliary snatches them all up.

    Martin nodded. Oh, right. She do love her apples. Buys bags and bags of 'em.

    Tyler smirked. Her, uh, horses might have something to do with it.

    Martin winked at her. Right. Well, either way, saves her a trip to town. Mighty nice of you. Apples add four bucks.

    Tyler handed over the cash. It'll save Kelsey a trip to town, and give me a chance to go out there and see her. Win—win. She took the bags from Martin, assured him that she could get the groceries out to the car on her own, and loaded them into the backseat of her cruiser.

    When she straightened and looked over the top of the car, she spotted Toby Ralston's truck idling down the street at the gas station. The passenger side taillight was still busted.

    Tyler slapped her palm against the window. Damn it, Toby. Over the past month she'd given him three warnings about that taillight. She understood it took time to get to the auto shop in the city, and she respected the fact that he was short on cash, but she could only be pushed so far.

    She drummed her fingers on the roof of the car, then leaned through the open driver's side window and grabbed her citation book. Her plan was to threaten him with a ticket, which would cost him twice as much as simply replacing the light, and then she'd back down if he promised to get it taken care of in the next couple of days. It was the last thing she could do before actually ticketing him and impounding the truck.

    The gas station was at the far end of the street, the last building before leaving town. As she walked, she practiced what she was going to say, smiling tersely at people she passed. I'm sorry, Toby, but I've given you all the warnings I can. This is it. If you'd just gotten the light taken care of, it would have saved you a lot of money. My hands are tied here. I guess I could pretend I didn't see it tonight, but only if it's fixed in the next two days. Do you understand me? Otherwise... Otherwise what? Another empty threat? No, this was it. One last warning, then the gloves came off. She'd been the Good Cop for too long.

    She peeked into the truck as she passed the driver's side door. A stack of mail was spread on the passenger seat — notices with bright red writing; those were never good. Late notices, last chances before debt collectors were called in. She refused to feel bad. She clenched her teeth and tried to harden her eyes so Toby wouldn't see a friend when she threatened him. The front of the store looked more like the front porch of a home, with a small stack of newspapers on one side of the door and a rocking chair on the other.

    The bell over the door chimed as she stepped inside. A tall candy rack blocked her view of the cash register, but she knew that Toby and Bobby, the clerk, were most likely standing to one side of the counter talking about sports. She slapped the citation book against her palm to let them know she wasn't just another customer. Toby, I've warned you three times about that damn light of yours. I can't—

    The rest of the practiced speech died in her throat when she walked around the corner.

    Toby had the business end of a shotgun aimed at Bobby's chest. Bobby's jaw was tight, his eyes bugged out, but he looked more angry than scared. His hands were flat on the counter in front of him and he was breathing heavily. Toby was the one who looked scared to death. His face was red, beaded with sweat, and his mouth hung open. He was panting like a dog left out in the heat.

    Whoa, now. Tyler kept her voice calm, level, as she tucked the citation book into her belt. She moved her hand to the side, trying to make it look like she was just shifting her weight instead of putting her hand on the butt of her gun. What's going on here, fellows?

    Bobby shook his head but kept his eyes glued on Toby and the gun. Not a thing, Deputy Tyler. Just...Toby here was showing me his granddaddy's shotgun.

    Is that right? Tyler muttered. Well, it's a mighty fine weapon, Toby, but maybe you oughta put it down now.

    Lady has a point, son, Bobby said.

    Toby sniffed. He still hadn't acknowledged Tyler's presence. Tyler's heart pounded as she undid the snap on her holster. She eased the weapon from the leather but held it down by her hip, pointing at the floor. Toby. Toby, look at me, now. His eyes cut toward her, but he kept the gun on Bobby. Don't do anything stupid, you understand? You're just showing Bobby your grandpa's gun. Okay, I buy that. I do. But if you keep the thing pointed at him any longer, I'm gonna start having my doubts. You understand what I'm saying to you?

    I just needed help.

    We're trying to help you, Tyler said.

    No, Toby said.

    He spun on his heel and aimed the gun at Tyler. She reacted in a heartbeat, her own gun up and aimed between Toby's eyes before either of them realized she had moved. Toby's eyes widened but Tyler kept the shock out of her own face. She hoped. She never dreamed she'd have to draw her gun, let alone on someone she knew and, goddamn it, liked. She had a very clear view of Toby's face now — red and sweaty, eyes bugged — the sight of her gun inexplicably trained between his eyebrows.

    Goddamn it, Toby! Bobby growled.

    Toby wailed, I just needed money!

    Tyler didn't waver. Put the gun down now, Toby, she said calmly. I'm afraid you're under arrest for—Bobby, no! She'd caught the motion out of the corner of her eye — Bobby moving to the far end of the counter where his shotgun was stashed.

    Toby spun the gun toward Bobby. Stay put! he screamed. Don't come any— Tyler took a step forward and Toby turned the gun back to her. No! he shouted. The double barrel of the gun was aimed dead between Tyler's eyes when Toby pulled the trigger.

    The world went silent, until Tyler's ears filled with the click of the shotgun misfiring.

    Everyone froze. Toby's eyes snapped open wider, his arms went limp, and he dropped the gun ever so slightly as he looked at the barrel. Tyler was the first to recover. Keeping the gun in her right hand trained on Toby, she reached out with her left and grabbed the shotgun by the barrel. It slipped easily from Toby's limp fingers and she lowered it carefully to the counter.

    Crisis averted, she was suddenly aware of the sweat blooming underneath her uniform shirt. Furious now, she centered her gun on his chest. "Get on your knees. Get down on your knees now, Toby."

    He held his hands out, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head. By the time Tyler holstered her weapon, Toby was sobbing. She took her handcuffs from her belt, ignoring the heat she felt in her face, and stilled her shaking hands long enough to secure the cuffs on his wrists. Toby was muttering under his breath, I was dead broke. Dead broke.

    Shut the fuck up, Tyler said. Her head was swimming. She could still hear that hollow click in her ears, could still see the barrel twitch in anticipation of murder. She reached up and squeezed the button on her microphone. Dispatch, I need Sheriff Stevens.

    You got me, the sheriff said a few seconds later. What do you need, Andy?

    I got someone in custody at the gas station. I'm going to need a car as soon as possible to take him in.

    All right. I'm on my way.

    I'll be here.

    She released the button and looked back at the counter. Bobby had picked up Toby's shotgun and was examining it. This thing's gotta be from the Civil War. That's probably why it misfired, he said.

    Tyler nodded. She didn't trust herself with words.

    She hauled Toby to his feet, took a handkerchief from her pocket and used it to take the shotgun from Bobby. He handed it over eagerly and she told him the sheriff would take his statement. She led Toby outside and dumped him into the rocking chair. Sit still and be quiet.

    All the fight drained out of him, he simply slumped awkwardly in the chair, his hands still behind him and his chin ducked down to his chest. I'm sorry, Deputy Tyler, he finally said. I didn't...I didn't mean...

    I said to be quiet, Tyler said. Just shut up. Nowhere near ready to feel pity for the man who had tried to kill her moments ago, she looked down at him and hooked her thumbs in her belt. It was then that she realized her hands were trembling. She clenched them around the belt until her knuckles turned white and her breathing was normal again. She leaned against the gas pumps to wait, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

    A few minutes later, the sheriff's car pulled up with lights flashing but no siren. Sheriff Daniel Stevens parked by the gas pumps and climbed out in no particular hurry. He was a tall man, and wide, but not fat. The right word was sturdy, Tyler had decided long ago, and he had the kind eyes of a preacher. His receding hair was brown, sprinkled with gray at the temples, and laugh lines marked his eyes and lips. He tugged at his uniform shirt as he rounded the back of the car, and did a doubletake when he saw who Tyler had handcuffed. Hell, Andy, what's he done?

    She picked up the gun and handed it to Stevens. He put this in my face and pulled the trigger.

    Stevens stared at her for a shocked moment, then closed his mouth, his brow furrowed. His blue preacher's eyes became ice cold as he turned his attention to Toby. He grabbed the front of Toby's shirt and yanked him out of the rocking chair. He half-dragged him across the parking lot, opened the back door and practically flung him inside. Get in the goddamn car. Get! He planted a boot in the seat of Toby's pants and shoved. Toby sprawled into the back seat and Stevens slammed the door on him.

    He walked back to Tyler and looked in her eyes for a long moment before he spoke. You okay?

    Fine. Tyler nodded, shrugged. Gun misfired. I'm fine.

    Stevens continued to look at her for a long moment before he seemed to believe her. All right. You need to talk, you know where to find me.

    She nodded. Uh, Bobby. Inside. He needs someone to take his statement.

    I'll do that. You're off-duty. Head home, take a breather, and come in late tomorrow. Y'hear?

    Yeah. Uh huh.

    Stevens scrutinized her for a moment, then said, I'm going to talk to Bobby now, get it out of the way.

    What about Toby?

    Let the bastard wait. Stevens stomped past her into the store and Tyler stared at Toby in the backseat of the cruiser. He was leaning forward, his head against the back of the driver's seat, shoulders wracked with sobs. She refused to feel sorry for him, former friend or not.

    She walked away from the store, this time ignoring the greetings of people she passed on the street. Drawn by the flashing lights outside the gas station, a few of them wanted to know what had happened, but she couldn't begin to explain to them. Tyler got back into her car and sat behind the wheel for a long time, waiting until her mind stopped racing so she was confident she could focus on driving. She glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure the road was clear, and her eye caught on the red mesh bags of apples she had bought just before the madness began.

    She stared at a bag, hypnotized by it and what it meant. She again heard the click of the gun and knew how damned close she had come to dying. A shudder raced through her and she had to grip the wheel to stop it. She exhaled, backed out of the spot, and aimed the car out of town instead of toward her small house just south of Main Street. About a mile out, where no one from town would be able to see her, she pulled the car off the road.

    The tires chewed up the soft dirt of the shoulder, kicked up gravel, and she ended up canted at a forty-five degree angle. She looked at the skewed horizon and decided that was about right; her world was skewed now. She was alive. If Toby had grabbed a newer gun, or if the gun had been better taken care of, she'd be dead. The line between living and dying was just that narrow. Click. She shuddered violently, the car shaking around her, and she covered her face with both hands.

    When she dropped her hands, ten minutes had passed. Her heart had slowed back to normal; her hands didn't shake when she gripped the wheel. She choked down the bile in her throat and steadied her nerves, took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. She kept it in a tight braid when she was on duty, but now she tore at the ties with her fingernails until the strands came loose. She finger-combed it so she wouldn't look like Albert Einstein's long lost daughter, undid the top button of her uniform blouse, and re-started the car's engine.

    She pulled back onto the road and continued her drive out of town. Kelsey Quinn's ranch was a good ten miles out, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. She had one relatively new neighbor, but he was far enough away that his ranch might as well have been in Idaho. As usual, the front gate was open, so Tyler drove directly onto the dirt road that led to Kelsey's house. The road rounded a thick stand of trees in a gentle curve, the trees keeping the house invisible to casual passers-by.

    The second gate, the one closest to the house, was closed. Tyler parked in front of it and stared at the way her headlights colored the iron bars. She knew she should get out, open the gate and drive up to the house, but now that she was actually there she had lost the courage. The sun was starting to set and she could see dim lamplight burning in the living room window. Someone passed by the window, casting a shadow on the curtain, and Tyler thought about the lamps.

    The house was wired for electricity, but Kelsey preferred the light of lamps or lanterns. To save on her energy bills, she only turned on the overheads between nine and bedtime. It was just one of the small character quirks that Tyler loved about Kelsey, like the way she talked to the horses and the way she sang along under her breath when the radio was on, even when she didn't know the words.

    Tyler didn't realize how long she'd been sitting there until she looked up and saw the front door was open. Kelsey was standing at the steps, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the car.

    Jesus. Tyler felt like a teenager caught staring at the house where her crush lived. She shook her head and got out of the cruiser. She walked to the gate, unlatched it and pushed it open in a wide circle. Instead of driving up to the house, she left the gate open and walked up the gravel driveway to the front porch. It gave her more time to think about what she was going to say, and more time to admire Kelsey.

    Kelsey's dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a green and blue robe that was long enough to brush the tops of her bare feet. Her face was pale and shiny, evidence she had just washed off what little make-up she wore, and the robe indicated she had been on her way to bed despite the early hour. She uncrossed her arms. I don't like police officers sitting out on my property like they have bad news, Kelsey said, not unkindly. Not since Jesse.

    Oh, shit. Tyler hadn't even thought about the night Kelsey's husband had died. I'm sorry. I was just...caught up in my thoughts.

    Kelsey smiled. Well, I've been known to get caught in that trap myself. We didn't have a date, did we?

    Uh, no. Tyler looked down and smiled. Since Jesse's death, Tyler had been coming out to the ranch infrequently to lend a hand on days off, but more often than not she ended up being a shoulder for Kelsey to cry on, a sounding board for her wandering thoughts. No, we didn't have plans.

    Kelsey seemed to hear something in Tyler's voice, a meaning that went deeper than her words, and frowned. Andrea? What is it? What's wrong?

    Tyler opened her mouth to speak, but was surprised to hear a sob instead. The reality of what had happened — and the fact Kelsey could look through her so damn easily — struck a chord. She closed her eyes when her tears started to build.

    Kelsey stepped off the porch and went to her. They embraced and Kelsey whispered something unintelligible against Tyler's shoulder. When they pulled apart, Kelsey kept her hands on Tyler's shoulders as if to anchor her to the ground. She looked Tyler over, as if she expected to find a wound she hadn't seen. What happened? Are you all right?

    Tyler's voice was a whisper. A man tried to shoot me.

    Are you okay? The question was simple, asked innocently, but there was a quaver in her voice and her eyes widened slightly.

    His gun misfired, Tyler said. But...the gun was in my face. He pulled the trigger. It was...it was so close. It was the closest I've ever come.

    Kelsey stepped back. Come inside. I'll make you some tea.

    Kelsey, wait. Wait. She gripped Kelsey's hand and squeezed. I want...I came out here to tell you something.

    What?

    I have feelings for you. I'm in love with you. And I swore I'd never say anything or do anything about it, but today when that gun...I thought about you...

    Once the dam was broken, she couldn't stop the words. They came out in a flood until her voice cracked and then went dead. Her throat closed and she had to look away. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. I just had to tell you. I couldn't bear...you not knowing.

    Kelsey stood stock-still, her hand still tight on Tyler's. Finally she opened her mouth and stammered, You're...in love with me?

    Since I started coming out here all the time, I got to know you. I got to see the real you. And, yeah, I fell in love. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry.

    Kelsey stepped back and lowered herself to the top step of her porch. She crossed her arms over her knees and looked up at Tyler. Tyler remained where she was, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked down at her shoes and scuffed the dirt of Kelsey's lawn. Finally she said, Oh. Yeah. I got some apples for you, too. For the horses. From the grocery store. They're in the backseat of the cruiser.

    The corner of Kelsey's mouth twisted up in a grin. Apples, huh?

    Tyler smiled. Yeah. A bushel, I think. Or whatever they call a couple of bags.

    Kelsey's smile widened and she smoothed the robe over her thighs. She chuckled, then laughed, and then threw her head back and laughed harder. She held a hand out to Tyler. Help me up, goddamn it. Let's talk about this inside.

    Tyler took Kelsey's hand and pulled her up. Do you want me to get the apples?

    Forget about the apples, Kelsey said gently, keeping her hand in Tyler's as they went into the house.

    Chapter One

    Denison, Colorado

    Present Day

    The lower branches of the evergreen tree had been cut away, leaving a comfortable sitting area in the shade near the trunk. A wrought-iron bench, covered with a green awning to protect it from bird droppings, was situated on the bed of fallen needles. That corner of the yard had looked like something out of a fairy tale to Claire Lance, from the time she was a little girl playing soldier with her friends from school.

    She sat on the bench, her feet planted apart and her hands resting lightly on her knees. A mockingbird alighted on the birdbath across the yard, dipped its head, looked around the yard and then flew off with in a flash of gray and white. Being on the run for over a year had changed Lance's view of the backyard. Instead of an idyllic piece of suburbia, she saw the tall fence that closed her in. She knew she had no weapons, and that her escape plan was risky at best, but she was utterly calm despite all of that. There were few places on earth where she felt safe these days, but this yard was one of them.

    To her right, hidden by foliage, was a wooden fence that separated the yard from the parking lot of a supermarket. Ahead of her, the backyard exploded in color and life. Flowers in every color, white and purple predominant, dotted the bushes and trees. Hummingbirds darted from one flower to another, following a handful of fat bumblebees on their journey to pollinate other yards across the countryside. Claire watched it all, silent and motionless as she waited.

    Finally the back door of the house swung open and an older woman stepped out into the sun. She wore khaki trousers, a wide-brimmed hat pushed low over her eyes, and a flowing white blouse with flowers on it. Thick work gloves covered her hands, and she carried a red metal toolbox filled with gardening implements. The woman was tall and slender, her gray hair bound in a tight braid that trailed down the center of her back. She pulled the inside door of the house shut and let the screen door slam behind her as she started across the lawn.

    The bushes were ringed by a row of wooden stumps, and the woman set her tools down on top of one. She hummed a few bars of a song, brushed her hands together as she surveyed the work that lay ahead for her, and glanced toward the bench. Lance was hidden by the late afternoon shadows, so the woman's eyes passed over her at first. They snapped back immediately and focused on Lance for a long minute. The woman didn't say a word, didn't react visibly at all. Instead, she turned away and walked back to the house. She continued to hum, the picture of composure as she disappeared inside.

    Lance waited.

    When the woman returned, she had a

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