Bull in a Tea Shop Read online

  "Do you see the fire?" she asked, stumbling into the kitchen, and then she stopped because she'd left her phone in the bedroom.

  "I don't think it's upstairs. I think it's below us."

  "The shop. Damn it." She tried to push past Maddox, back into the bedroom. He caught her.

  "What are you doing? You need to get out."

  "I need to get my phone and call the fire department."

  "You need to get out. Get downstairs. I'll get your phone."

  "But I know exactly where it is." She gave him a little shake, hands gripped onto his arms. "Maddox, there's no time to argue. Go downstairs and find out where the fire is. I'll be down in a minute."

  She knew he wasn't happy, but he let go of her arms and she plunged into the hallway. Her phone was where she always kept it at night, plugged in on her nightstand. "Nine-one-one," she told it, as she started to run back into the hall, then stopped for her slippers, since she was here anyway. Oh, and her wallet—damn it! Maddox was right though, she had to stop grabbing things and get out.

  Stuffing her wallet into a pocket of her robe while giving hurried instructions to the dispatch operator on the phone, she hurried down the back stairs. The back door of the shop stood open and she heard banging sounds coming from inside.

  "Maddox?" she shouted, and then started coughing as she stepped inside. The smoke was much denser inside the shop.

  "It's on the porch," he shouted back. "You have a hose in the garden, right?"

  "Yes, I'll get it."

  She ran to the hose rack and unwound it around the side of the house. "Maddox?" she called, and heard him jump off the porch. His big hands took the hose from hers. "How bad it is?"

  "Bad, but I think we caught it in time. You call for help?"

  "I did," she said, and just then her elderly neighbor's voice shouted across the fence, "Verity? What's happening over there?"

  "Betty! We have a fire over here!"

  "Just a minute, I'll wake up Ed!" the old lady's voice came back.

  There were sirens now. The volunteer fire department was just down the street, so she expected a quick response. But already pounding feet on the sidewalk let her know that more of her neighbors had arrived, and now there were shouts of, "I'll bring the hose around from our garden," and "Ed, hand me that shovel!"

  Verity found herself pushed to the side. Her first reaction was incredible frustration. But she really couldn't do much without getting underfoot. She took a breath of the now somewhat cleaner air. What can I do? She could bring tools, she thought, and hurried back around the side of the house to gather what she had in the garden shed.

  By the time she came back, the fire trucks were drawing up outside in a squeal of sirens. Verity considered going upstairs to rescue some of her things, but instead decided to simply to stay out of the way. Something brushed her shoulder, startling her, and then Maddox's hand slipped into hers. With all the noise and commotion and smoke smells covering up the usual cues she relied on, it was harder to recognize individuals.

  "Is it out?" she asked.

  "Think so. Looks like it's down to the fire department cleaning up the hot spots." His voice was raspy. Her throat ached too, seared raw by the smoke—and by worry and grief for the business she'd spent her adult life building.

  "How bad ..." The question caught in her sore throat before she could quite finish it.

  "Not too much damage," Maddox said, and she felt like she could breathe again. "It looks like they threw a bunch of diesel-soaked rags on the porch. Luckily they're really bad at this. First of all, diesel doesn't burn worth a damn compared to gasoline, and you want to start a fire properly, you'd put 'em under the porch where they're hard to get at, or throw something through the window—"

  "Maddox," she said. Her voice cracked again. "I don't think this is the time."

  "Sorry." It came out very contrite. He put an arm around her.

  "I'm sorry too. Maddox, if we'd slept through it, we might have both been killed."

  "And I'm the one they're after." It came out a growl, like an angry animal noise.

  "Not your fault." She leaned into him. "Just ... hold me for a minute."

  When she felt a little steadier, she went upstairs to make pitchers of iced tea for the thirsty firefighters, neighbors and fire-truck volunteers alike. She broke out all the packages of tea cookies that she had in the store, and Betty and Ed brought over a bunch of plastic lawn furniture from next door to sit on. There was a friendly air of camaraderie among the whole fire-fighting group; it was easy to forget, almost, the reek of smoke in the air and the fact that she was in her bathrobe and it was still the middle of the night.

  The party atmosphere prevailed until Maddox stood up suddenly, almost upsetting Verity's plastic cup of ice tea. "Look who's here," he said, his voice dropping to that rumbling, growl-like register.

  "Well, look at this. Sheriff Hawkins," Betty said, before Verity could ask who it was. Tires crunched by the curb. "A day late and a dollar short, so help me." The old woman's tone was scathing. No one had suggested calling the police about the fire; they'd all had enough problems with Hawkins that every last one of them knew who was probably responsible.

  The door of the police cruiser slammed and Hawkins' heavy tread crunched on the sidewalk. "Well, that's a terrible thing there, Miss Breslin," he said to Verity. "Terrible thing."

  "Yes," Verity said politely, standing up and keeping a firm grip on her temper. "It is a terrible thing. Do you plan to do anything about investigating it?"

  "Law and order in this town is something I take very seriously," the sheriff said.

  There were a couple of snorts and scoffing sounds from the assembled neighbors. Everyone was feeling bolder already, Verity realized. No one wanted to stand up to the sheriff if they were the only one, but the feeling of unity was beginning to spread.

  "And where were you, Mr. Murphy, when this fire was set?" the sheriff asked, and Verity's indignant anger suddenly had a new source.

  "He was with me!" she snapped.

  "A likely story. A drifter from out of town, hanging around the site of a criminal act of arson? Seems suspicious to me. Come on, son, let's take a ride down to the station."

  There was a sudden scuffling next to her. "No!" Verity cried, reaching out in the sheriff's direction. Hard hands smacked hers away, and there was a meaty sound of a fist striking flesh—she wasn't sure whose—and a gasp and a tiny cheer from somewhere in the crowd.

  "That's assaulting an officer," Hawkins choked out. "You're going in for arson and assault, Murphy, and if you don't come with me this minute, I'm getting every deputy who's on duty tonight and running in this entire crowd for disturbing the peace. And she's coming with you as an accomplice. We'll see how you both like cooling your heels in jail."

  "Maddox, don't!" Verity said, because all sounds of resistance had stopped, and the crowd was dead silent. In that silence, there was a loud clicking sound that she didn't recognize at first, not until she reached out for Maddox and felt the cold steel of handcuffs on his wrists. "Maddox, no! Sheriff, he didn't do it. He was with me. The entire place would have burned if he hadn't helped put it out!"

  "You going in easy, or do I have to take her too?" the sheriff said, his voice low and threatening.

  "It's okay, Verity," Maddox said. "If I'm not here, you won't be in danger. Just let me go with him."

  "Maddox, no!" She clung to him as the sheriff marched him across the sidewalk, trying to hang back and getting halfway dragged. "He tried to kill you once, don't you remember that? Every single one of you needs to know this. Sheriff Hawkins tried to kill this man, and he's going to try to kill him again, and I'm not letting you take him!"

  "Verity, don't." Maddox's hands were cuffed, but he turned his body to hip-check her away from the sheriff. "You're safer without me—"

  "Bullshit!" She almost never cursed, but this was the sort of situation that called for it. "We're in this together!"

  "—And there's nothi
ng you can do if you're locked up next to me," Maddox went on, and his words were like a bucket of ice water dashed over her flaming anger. He was right; out of jail, with her entire network of friends and neighbors plus the internet to lean on, she could get help for him, get him a lawyer, rally the townsfolk.

  None of which would do him any good if Sheriff Hawkins planned to take him out in the desert and shoot him.

  But it wasn't like she could do more to help if she was in danger right along with him.

  "Okay," she said, and her hand trailed off his arm as he was manhandled out of her reach—and, effectively, out of her world, a world that largely stopped at the ends of her fingertips. "You better treat him well, Ted Hawkins, or I'm going to find the biggest, meanest law firm in this corner of the state and unleash them on you."

  "Yeah, whatever," the sheriff grunted. "Into the car, Murphy."

  "Verity?" Maddox's voice was slightly muffled now. "I love you."

  No man had ever said that to her before. The words struck her with such force that all she could do was stand there, hand upraised and every possible reply dying in her throat. It was only as the cruiser's engine revved and the tires crunched that it really sank in that she hadn't said it back and she might never see him again.

  She stood there in her bathrobe and, for a terrible minute, felt utterly bereft, entirely desolate.

  And then she turned to the people around her, who she knew were still there by their little rustles and an occasional awkward cough.

  "So you all just stood there and let Ted Hawkins take him," she said bitterly.

  A cold, thin hand patted her arm, and Betty said, "Verity, dear, what could we do? He's the sheriff."

  Verity turned away, clenching her fists. "I understand you're afraid," she said. "I'm afraid too. But don't you see? The way they win is by dividing us. Together, we're stronger than they are. And they know that. Keeping us scared and separated is what they count on."

  No one spoke, and she was suddenly very tired. It wasn't fair to blame them. They were just ordinary people trying to live their lives. No one wanted to get on the bad side of people like Hawkins and Ducker. Everyone else had families and jobs to worry about, too.

  It was just that she was so terribly, terribly afraid for Maddox.

  If he doesn't come back, I'm going to find a way to bring both of you down. No matter what.

  There was still an awkward silence around her. Verity carefully tucked away her anger into a deep dark corner of her soul; there would be time for anger later, but now was the time for bridge-building, for reminding these people that they were all on the same side. "If I could get some help carrying the tea cups upstairs and packing up my hose and tools," she said, "I think I have more cookies if anyone wants some."

  She didn't think that it was her imagination that there seemed to be relief in the sudden flurry of activity around her. These were good people, just scared. They wanted to do the right thing; they just didn't want to jeopardize their homes and families by doing it.

  But someone had to be the one to step up. Someone had to set an example for everyone else to follow. Maddox had been that person, and now she knew it was her turn to step forward and do it herself.

  In the morning, she had every intention of paying a visit to the sheriff's department, armed with the phone numbers of the best lawyers she could find.

  And Maddox had better be there, safe and sound, or there would be hell to pay.

  Chapter Eleven: Maddox

  As the sheriff's cruiser pulled away, Maddox twisted around to look back at Verity standing at the curb. She wouldn't be looking after him, of course—there was no reason for her to ... but she was, face turned in his direction, standing small and defiant in front of her fire-scorched business. He lost sight of her only when the cruiser turned the corner. In his last glimpse of her, she was still looking his way.

  "You sure are getting yourself in a heap of trouble for only having been in town for a couple of days," the sheriff said from the front seat.

  "Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Maddox tested his cuffs, wondering if he could use shifter strength to break them. He didn't think so, at least not without hurting his wrists. And he couldn't shift with his arms twisted behind his back like this; it would break his bull's shoulders.

  The sheriff gave a snort, sounding a lot like a bull himself.

  They weren't driving into town, where Maddox would have expected the sheriff's department to be. Instead they were heading out toward the highway. He felt a clutch of something that wasn't precisely fear, more like a kind of tense excitement. "Are you actually gonna take me out in the desert and shoot me, after you arrested me in front of a couple dozen witnesses?"

  The sheriff snorted again. "We're just gonna have a little talk, you and me. Just you and me this time. No interfering busybodies to stop me from doing my job."

  "Yeah, that Ducker guy must be passing you some fat envelopes full of cash to yank you around like he does. Or are you banging his wife, or what?"

  "You can just shut up back there."

  Maddox tested the cuffs again. He felt like the left might be a little looser than the right. All he had to do was get one of them off.

  And maybe get a little of your cooperation this time, he thought at his bull.

  His bull had been a lot more present in his head since he'd met Verity, but there was still the barrier between them that had been there ever since he'd been hurt, the bull's evident reluctance to come out and shift.

  What is your problem, anyway? Maddox thought at his inner animal. Do you hate me that much, or what? You better get over it, 'cause I think if you don't, we're both getting a bullet in the head.

  I don't hate you, his bull answered. I'm ... ashamed.

  You're what?

  The answer came reluctantly, from the deepest part of his soul. All our lives we've relied on my strength. But when you really needed me, it wasn't enough.

  What the hell, you dumbass ox? That's what it's been all this time? We had a building collapse on us and then we had to fight a bunch of giant stone statues come to life. Of course we weren't going to win. We held 'em off long enough for Darius and his lady to get away. That's all we had to do.

  His bull hesitated; he could feel that it was thinking about what to say but couldn't decide. He'd never felt this kind of uncertainty from his animal. Usually it knew exactly what it wanted, charging into things exactly like the bull it was.

  Except ... it had been this way ever since he'd been hurt, hadn't it? He had mistaken its hesitation for anger, because that was the feeling he was mainly used to from that part of his soul. His bull was his fierce side, his confidence, his willingness to throw himself into a fight.

  And then they'd been wounded—he'd been wounded, body and soul. His body had never recovered fully. Even now, his hip ached, a sharp reminder that without his cane (or even with it), he wasn't going to be able to outrun Hawkins in the desert night.

  Was it any surprise that his soul hadn't recovered either?

  His first instinct was to get angry at himself. But he'd gone through that during his recovery, nursing a bottomless frustration with his body's weakness. It had only pushed him and his bull farther apart.

  Instead he tried to think what he might say to Verity or to Bailey, if they were upset and feeling inadequate and hurt. He wouldn't want to yell at them, but he also wouldn't want to soothe them with pretty, meaningless lies. And lying to yourself never ended well, anyway.

  Listen, we went through a really bad thing, he thought to that wounded corner of his soul. We're never going to be the same as we were before. But that's okay. We don't think Verity's weak or a bad person because she can't see, right?

  A surge of appalled rage came from his bull at the very idea. Verity was beautiful and perfect and strong and capable and—

  Yeah, I get it, I agree. So let's ease up on ourselves a little bit, too. We aren't perfect, and we aren't quite what we used to be. But we did our best, getting
here.

  We lost a fight, his bull grumbled. We lost THE fight, the biggest fight of our lives.

  Yeah, I know. But for awhile there, we really gave those monsters a fight, didn't we? We kicked some stony ass.

  His bull huffed in satisfaction, and the memories dropped into his head: not the ones he'd dwelled on for all these months, the crunch of his shattered hip and the agony of trying to walk on a broken leg—but, instead, the satisfying impact of his hooves meeting stony flesh, the glee of watching those fierce stone constructs scatter in front of his charge.

  We gave 'em a good fight, his bull agreed.

  Yeah, we did. So you want to come out here and help me give this puffed-up bully a run for his money too?

  Wordless agreement came from that fierce corner of his soul, along with a swell of confidence. And Maddox grinned quietly to himself in the dark backseat.

  They were a ways out of town now, with nothing on either side of the patrol cruiser except endless darkness. They'd left the highway behind, and the seat jolted under him as they navigated over rocks and washouts.

  Yeah, Maddox thought. "Talk" or not, you didn't take someone way out in the desert like this for good reasons.

  The sheriff stopped the car and opened the driver's door, leaving the engine running. Maddox twisted his wrist in the left-hand cuff, scraping the skin until he felt the stickiness of blood. The pain barely registered. It didn't matter; he was settling into that calm, tense, slightly high state that came before a fight.

  The sheriff wrenched open the back door. "Get out."

  Maddox obeyed.

  It hadn't felt cold in town, but out here in the desert, there was a sharp chill in the air. They were down in some kind of gully. The cruiser's headlights lit up tangled snarls of dead-looking brush and a plain of ancient water-washed rocks, jagged and dark and dry, stretching out to the edge of the pool of light.