“What happened is that Trixie Higsby is a damn fool, and I’d like to put that Garret King over my knee and give him a proper hiding.”

Edie unlocked the truck door, helping Grandma inside before turning. “In translation, your cousin was notified as next of kin after the fire. She and Garret King accused Wilder of arson, claimed he’s been responsible for the other two house fires and what happened at Haute Coffee. Claimed he had a history of bad behavior and that none of the fires had started before he returned to Brightwater.”

Quinn stiffened. “And do you believe them?”

“Of course not.” Edie smiled gently. “But then Wilder blamed Garret in return and the two of them almost got into a fight. Sawyer and Archer grabbed both of them and left for the sheriff’s office so they can cool down and get to the bottom of everything.”

“That’s exactly where we are going,” Grandma said stiffly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Quinn climbed into the truck and looked over at the older woman beside her on the bench. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grandma’s smile was troubled. “Tonight is a night for ghosts, I’m afraid. Someone better call Annie and tell her to wake up and come down too.”

“Annie?” Edie asked, starting the truck. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Grandma replied. “But Sawyer will need her. I hate to admit being wrong, but those boys all chose the right women. Tonight they are all going to need you like they’ve never needed you before.”

SAWYER SET HIS elbows on his plain wood desk and leaned in. “I’ll ask again and somebody better start talking. What the hell happened back at the hospital, fellows?”

The Brightwater sheriff’s office wasn’t big, a single room, but tonight if someone dropped a pin in one of the two empty holding cells in the back, the clatter would be deafening.

“I have alibis for tonight.” Garret broke the silence at last, folding his arms and glaring at his boots.

Wilder shrugged, keeping his body tilted left, away from the asshole seated on his right like they were two bad kids in the principal’s office. He didn’t have much to contribute. Garret had always been a bully. A big kid who pushed others around. Wilder was a fighter too, but never had Garret’s charm. Or talent for picking on defenseless people. Instead, Wilder would pick on Garret and his crowd, and that dynamic is what almost got him thrown out of high school half a dozen times, not to mention that it had caused the fight that first introduced him to Quinn all those years ago.

Quinn.

Wilder closed his eyes. They’d gotten enough out of Garret to understand that she hadn’t suffered any great injury, but she’d come close, too close, to danger. And this asshole beside him was somehow involved.

A hand clasped his shoulder. “Easy, tiger,” Archer said, pausing from his round-the-room pacing. “I see you tensing up. Sawyer’s a patient man and he’ll wait this out until someone starts talking.”

“I got nothing to say,” Wilder said.

“Maybe not but I do.” Grandma Kane burst through the sheriff’s office door. Wilder turned to see Edie and Quinn hurrying in her wake. His chest relaxed and he could finally take a full breath again. Quinn looked tired, out of sorts, her hair in a messy ponytail and glasses a little cockeyed, but there was no denying she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Wilder started to stand when Sawyer shook his head. “Sit.”

“Want to try and make me, little brother?” Wilder flew around, all his pent-up frustration directed at his brother who remained calm as usual. Always so goddamn collected and in control.

“Hey, calm down. No need to start anything,” Archer said.

“He can’t help it.” Garret sneered, slamming his feet to the ground. “He’s unhinged.”

“That’s it,” Wilder ground out. Someone was going to feel some pain, and he didn’t care who it was, even if that person was him. Better to bleed than suffer the numb hollow fear gnawing at his gut.

“Boy.” Grandma stepped in, her hand raised in warning. “Don’t let your fist write a check your butt can’t cash.”

Everyone fell silent.

“What does that even mean?” Garret grumbled.

“Means keep your trap shut unless you want me fixing you a knuckle sandwich,” Grandma shot back. “Now I have a few things that need saying.”

The door opened again. “This is a three-ring circus,” Sawyer muttered, scrubbing his jaw.

“Circus?” Atticus stumbled in, his white-blond hair poking out in irregular tufts.

“What are you doing here?” Sawyer asked, straightening.

“Grandma Kane called.” Annie covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn. “She said there was a family emergency and you’d need me.”

Grandma silenced Sawyer’s protestation with a clap of her hands. “Everyone take a seat and shut your pie holes. I have the floor.”

Wilder met her gaze and realized in an awful flash of certainty what she was about to do. “No, don’t, please. You don’t have to . . .”

“For twenty-five years I’ve kept silent,” Grandma said, looking him in the eye, as if willing him to understand. “For a long time, so help me, I believed it was the right thing to do, that forgetting would heal us, but instead, forgive me, I caused hurt, bad hurt, the kind that I’m not sure can ever be undone.”

Wilder didn’t know what to say. Where to look. Her words pounded him, although they didn’t pierce, like he was wearing a bulletproof vest. He was left breathless, aching as if he’d been punched.

“Forgive me.” Grandma’s voice quavered. “Please, forgive me, child.”

Wilder’s gaze blurred as he slammed back in his seat. Grandma was asking for his forgiveness? But that didn’t make sense.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Sawyer said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Grandma said. “You were nothing but a little boy acting like a little boy. Bridger should have known better than to drink too much, fall asleep like that.”

Archer rubbed his temples. “It’s been a hell of a long night. Is it just me or is anyone else confused?”

Annie and Edie both raised their hands. Atticus sat in the corner with his feet hitting the edge of his chair. Boom. Boom. Boom. Wilder focused on that noise, it anchored him, as did the warm brown glow in Quinn’s gaze. She looked at him as if he was a good man. As if she believed in him.

He closed his eyes wanting to commit that expression to memory. No matter how much it hurt in the empty years ahead, he wanted to keep it treasured.

Because he was going to lose her now. Lose her for good.

“It was me who started the fire,” he mumbled.

“I knew it.” Garret punched his fist into his opposite hand. “I told you all.”

Quinn’s mouth opened and shut. “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible.”

“Not the fire tonight,” Grandma snapped.

“The one at Edie’s store?” Archer asked quietly, all trace of his characteristic good humor gone.

“No. None of those,” Grandma continued.

“Then what?” Sawyer tilted back his chair, folding his arms behind his head.

Wilder cleared his throat. “The fire that killed our parents.”

The room fell into utter silence. Atticus stopped tapping his feet.

“Dad had a poker game that night and it kept me awake. After his buddies left, I went downstairs to check on him. He’d drunk too much. He liked to have a good time, he was always the life of a party.” Wilder couldn’t look up. He couldn’t face them while he did what he had to do, tell the story.

Instead, he fixated his gaze on a small hole in the plaster, just above the baseboards. Might be a mouse hole. Too bad he couldn’t shrink down and run away. Instead, he was living out his worst nightmare, but somewhere deep down he understood that this would eventually happen. Someday they’d all know and their fear of him would turn to something far worse.