“Dammit, Colin. I feel like I’m unraveling. And I hate it.” ABOUT THE AUTHOR Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Copyright

“Dammit, Colin. I feel like I’m unraveling. And I hate it.”

Colin had no more suggestions to make. So he went to her and took her in his arms instead.

She stood rigidly in his embrace. It occurred to him that he’d never known a woman as complex as Alex, as difficult to reach. She was fighting so many battles. She had to be exhausted trying to do it all on her own.

“Alex...let somebody help now and then. Maybe even somebody like me.”

“What can you do for me, Colin?” she whispered against his chest. “How can you help me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe just by being around.”

“That’s not the kind of rescue you’re accustomed to. And I keep telling you...I don’t want to be rescued.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Rescuer is the twentieth published book by Ellen James. Ellen won a national short-story contest when she was in high school, and ever since then, wanted to be a writer. She’s certainly succeeded! Ellen’s interesting premises, fresh, charming style and appealing characters have made her popular with readers the world over. Bestselling author Debbie Macomber says, “I love Ellen James’s stories! Her wit sparkles and her full-speed-ahead heroines are sure to capture your heart—as they do mine.”

Ellen lives in New Mexico with her husband, also a writer. They share an interest in wildlife photography and American history.

The Rescuer
Ellen James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

ANOTHER DAY OF SOBRIETY.

Colin McIntyre slid into his usual booth at Maggie’s Diner. Less than a week back in his hometown, and already he’d fallen into the old routine. Sobriety, Idaho, was that kind of town. No wonder he’d left—and no wonder he kept asking himself why he’d returned.

Denise brought his coffee without having to be asked—straight black, no cream, no sugar.

“Pancake special this morning,” she said.

“Fine,” Colin told her.

She walked away, slapping a towel at the crumbs on the next table. Colin drank his coffee and looked out the window. A few summer tourists wandered along the street, pausing now and then at the redbrick storefronts. In the distance rose the mountains of the Idaho Panhandle, blanketed thickly with pine. Admittedly the view was majestic—but the whole time Colin was growing up he’d wanted to get beyond those mountains. He’d been restless. Unfortunately, when he’d finally left town at eighteen, the restlessness had followed him. It followed him still.

Now a woman came along the sidewalk, and stopped to peer up at the diner’s sign. Then she opened the door, entered and glanced around.

She was very pretty, with dark blond hair falling past her shoulders, brown eyes, curves just where they should be. She wore jeans and an elegant business jacket. He liked the combination. It made her look... unpredictable.

Her gaze settled on him, and a mixture of emotions crossed her face. Wariness, reluctance... maybe even resentment? Her hand tightened on her purse and she half turned toward the door, as though to leave. He couldn’t help being intrigued when she turned slowly back and stepped toward him. She seemed about to speak. But then she changed her mind and sat down in the next booth over. Denise drifted out of the kitchen and took her order: tea and the pancake special.

The woman brought a book out of her purse and started to read. Colin sipped his coffee and watched. She was making too much of an effort to appear engrossed, purposely turning one page, then another. At last she glanced up at him. Now her eyebrows drew together, as if something about him puzzled her. She’d captured his curiosity.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, her tone a bit strained.

He could see the book was a mystery—the cover had a stylized dead body sprawled below the tide. She followed the direction of his gaze and selfconsciously slipped the book into her purse once more.

“Don’t worry on my account,” he said. “I like mysteries, too.”

She almost smiled. “I picked it up at the drugstore last night, and I can’t put it down. It’s not how I expected to spend my time in...Sobriety.” She said the name doubtfully.

“A local joke that stuck,” Colin told her. “Story goes that during the silver rush in the 1870s we had thirteen saloons but only one hotel. Kept the miners happy.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “You sound like a native of this town.”

He hadn’t meant to sound that way. He’d moved away from Sobriety all those years ago, and he wasn’t exactly back by choice.

“Let’s just say I grew up here. Care to join me?” he asked.

She seemed to think it over. Finally giving a toocareless shrug, she went and slid into the seat opposite him.

“Colin McIntyre.”

“Alex Robbins.” They shook hands briefly.

Denise brought both orders of pancakes, doing only a slight double take when she saw Colin and the woman sitting together. She did, however, give him a meaningful stare as she put the plates before them. He’d known Denise ever since she was a kid tagging after her brother, one of Colin’s high school friends.

“Thanks, Denise,” he said now.

“Sure thing,” she answered flippantly. She set down a cup of tea, replenished his coffee, gave him another look and went off again.

“Am I missing something?” Alex Robbins wanted to know.

“Not much,” he said. “It’s just that Denise figures she knows everything about me. She probably thinks I’m trying to pick you up.”

“Are you?” Alex asked.

Colin poured blueberry syrup over his pancakes. “I’m out of practice when it comes to picking up women. And, as I recall, I wasn’t very good at it.”

She eyed him consideringly. “You’re being modest, no doubt. Something tells me you don’t have to try very hard when it comes to women.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. But she was right about at least one thing. Since his divorce, he hadn’t tried very hard where women were concerned. Somehow he’d lost the knack for doing all the little things you were supposed to do to attract a woman. Any relationships he’d had could be blamed on happenstance, and they’d all been for the short term. Maybe he was just proving his ex-wife right: he was no good for the long haul.

Alex Robbins started in on her breakfast.

“No syrup?” he asked. “Trust me, it’s good. Maggie’s secret recipe.”

She took the jar of syrup and poured out a cautious amount. “Just who is Maggie?”

“You know, of Maggie’s Diner...Denise’s grandmother, and founder of this place.”

“Do you know everybody in this town?” Alex asked.

“Just about.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “What about you?” he asked. “Vacationing in Sobriety?”

She hesitated, and again he sensed her reluctance. “Actually,” she said at last, “I’m a psychologist. Mr. McIntyre, you’re going to find out sooner or later. The reason I came here was...for you.”

He settled back. “Hmm...I see,” he said gravely. “You’re here for me.” He took another forkful of pancake and a sip of coffee.

Now Alex Robbins seemed impatient.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want from you?”

“No, not really. I figure you’ll tell me soon enough. Besides, right now I’m enjoying my breakfast. I’m also enjoying sitting across the table from a pretty woman. Kind of hate to ruin the moment.”

She glanced at him sharply. “You are trying to pick me up.”

“Is it working?”

They gazed at each other once more. A very subtle, very appealing flush stole over her cheeks.

“Mr. Mclntyre—”

“‘Colin.’”

“Mr. McIntyre, I saw a video of the Bayview rescue. You were quite impressive.”

“What video?” he asked indifferently.

She swirled the tea bag in her cup. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. You must know your rescue of that child made the national news. And so, of course, did you. Not that you were cooperative about giving an interview.”

“Never did care for journalists.” He’d finished his pancakes. Denise promptly appeared and placed a fresh stack in front of him.

“You’re having more?” Alex asked disbelievingly.

“Pancake special is all you can eat,” Denise supplied. “And Colin has a healthy appetite.”

“Thanks, Denise,” Colin said pointedly.

“Oh, you want me to leave.” With a sarcastic little wave, Denise went off to another table.

“Let me guess,” Alex said. “Ex-girlfriend.”

“No. Denise was too smart to ever get involved with me.”

Alex appeared to give this some thought. “Anyway,” she went on in a determined voice, “a colleague of mine recorded you on the news and sent the video to me. She thought you’d be an excellent candidate for a study I’m conducting. I believe she’s right.”

Colin poured more blueberry syrup. “You know,” he said, “someday I’ll have to ask Maggie exactly what’s in this stuff.”

“Mr. Mclntyre—Colin. Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. He liked the way the flush deepened in her cheeks.

“Now, here’s the deal,” she muttered. She leaned toward him, her brown eyes serious, intent. “I’m doing an in-depth study of the Type R male. Rescuers—men who risk their lives for others. And after I saw you on that video... well, the rest is simple. When I called your number in California, your boss told me you were visiting out here—and I got on a plane from Chicago as soon as I could.”

Too bad Alex Robbins wasn’t just a pretty girl in a diner. “So you want me to be a kind of guinea pig,” he said.

“That’s a crude way of putting it. I just want to find out what motivates someone like you, what makes you choose a job where you risk your life for others.”

Maybe he was through with the pancakes after all. He took some bills from his wallet and put them on the table. “My treat,” he said.

“I can pay for my own breakfast,” she objected.

He stood. “Nice talking to you, Alex.”

She stared up at him. “Is this your way of telling me I won’t get anything from you but a free breakfast?”

“I don’t think I’d make a very good guinea pig,” he remarked. “Besides, you’re not sure about it yourself. You don’t want to be here. This whole time you’ve been debating whether or not you even want to talk to me. For a shrink, you’re kinda easy to read, Alex Robbins.”

She looked exasperated. “I’m not giving up,” she said.

“Could be fun, you not giving up.”

She looked more annoyed than ever.

“See you around, Alex,” he said, and then he left the diner.

“HERB—YOU HERE?” Colin’s voice echoed along the mine shaft. His flashlight glimmered across the walls of gray rock, where whitish beads of moisture had formed. In another hundred years or so those beads might evolve into small crystals. Another thousand years after that and the crystals might form the beginnings of stalactites and stalagmites. Life moved slowly underground—very slowly.

“Herb,” Colin called again.

“Hold on...no need to shout.” Colin’s grandfather came trucking along the shaft from the opposite direction, his own flashlight sending a wavering beam through the darkness. “What are you doing down here, Colin? I told you when you were a kid—these tunnels aren’t safe. Heard me say anything different since?”

“If they’re not safe, what are you doing here?” Colin inquired reasonably.

Herb shone his flashlight over the walls. “Difference is, I know this place inside out. I know this mine better than anyone.” A quiet pride had come into his voice.

“Yeah, well...I need to talk to you. Can we get out of here?”

Now Herb shone his flashlight in Colin’s eyes. “Still don’t like it down here, eh?” he asked skeptically. “Even after all these years?”

Some things you just didn’t forget. Colin had only been eight the time he’d gotten lost in the mine, but he still remembered: the darkness pressing down on him, the dampness of the sharp rock walls against his frantic fingers, the wavering sound of his own voice echoing back to him. It had taken six hours for his father to find him... six long hours until he was in his dad’s strong arms and felt he could breathe again. That was the most vivid image he’d kept of his father. Knowing that his dad wasn’t afraid. Not of the mine—not of anything. And Perhaps that was when Colin himself had vowed never to be scared of anything again.

“All right, all right,” Herb grumbled now.

He led the way up the slope, and he and Colin emerged onto the side of the mountain. The pungent smell of pine surrounded them. Herb didn’t bother to take off his battered old miner’s hat. It was probably the same one he’d worn as a sixteen-year-old, when he’d first started working underground. But now the mine was played out, abandoned. And Herb was a long way past sixteen. The deep grooves etched into his face reminded Colin of the mine walls, scarred by the years but ever enduring.

Herb looked Colin over. Colin knew that expression. The whole time he’d been growing up he’d had the feeling he was on probation with his grandfather—Herb waiting to see how he turned out before giving the okay. Colin was almost thirty-eight, but he still felt he was waiting for Herb to pass final judgment. It made for a certain restraint between the two of them. Maybe that was why he called the old man “Herb” instead of the more relaxed “Herbie” everyone else had adopted.

“I have a lot to do,” Herb said, going to his truck and rummaging through the rusted toolbox in back.

Colin had been trying to pin his grandfather down these past few days, but somehow Herb always managed to avoid a serious conversation. Maybe now that they were stuck on this mountain together, Herb would have to talk.

“Lillian’s worried about you,” Colin said.

“What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Knock it off, Herb,” Colin said mildly. “I know you and Lillian are seeing each other.”

Herb shrugged. “She’s the one who wants to keep it a secret. She thinks it’d be a big scandal, a fifty-nine-year-old youngster like her having a fling with the seventy-six-year-old mayor of Sobriety.”

Colin knew that Herb didn’t mind mentioning his age because he was still fit enough to scramble through mine tunnels—and obviously still fit enough to have a fling.

“Okay, she wants it to be a secret,” Colin said. “Which means she must have been pretty upset to call me long-distance and spill the beans about being your girlfriend. Not that I have the story straight yet. Lillian’s been a little obscure. Something about you running around town at midnight in a sheet—”

Herb chuckled. “Hell, if you want to know what happened, why don’t you just come right out and ask? Lillian and I were down at the mining museum late one night, having a good time so to speak. When Rose Bradshaw almost walked in on us, I tried to make my escape like a gentleman. Is it my fault Rose caught an eyeful of me in that sheet and started spreading rumors that she’d seen a ghost? Good old Rose. Serves her right for being too vain to wear her bifocals.”

A jay flapped by, making a racket as it landed in a nearby tree. Colin realized the absurdity of the conversation. “Look,” he said, “it’s not that night Lillian’s so worried about. It’s what came after... namely, your half-baked scheme to make people think the museum really is haunted.”

“Nothing half-baked about it,” Herb said selfrighteously. “I planned the whole thing out. Made sure Rose had another sighting of her ghost... spread a few rumors of my own. Town’s getting a kick out of it, and tourism’s already up—exactly what we need. The way I see it, I’m only doing my duty as mayor. I’m supposed to encourage what’s good for business, aren’t I? Well, seems a ghost is good for business.”

The whole thing was ridiculous, but Colin had promised Lillian he’d have this talk with Herb. He couldn’t very well stop now. “Okay, so you’re having a little fun. But if it comes out you’re behind the hoax, you’ll be the town laughingstock, to use Lillian’s term. It’ll ruin your career as mayor.”

“No one’ll find out,” Herb said confidently. “Lillian worries too much. Never thought you did, though. Are you telling me you flew all the way out from California for this?”

It was more complicated than that. Sure, Lillian’s phone call had reminded him he was overdue for a visit to his grandfather. But it had also given Colin an excuse to take some time off work and get out of California for a while. The old restlessness had driven him—a dissatisfaction that came upon him every couple of years or so, telling him it was time for a change...time to raise the stakes, time to push himself and find a challenge more difficult than the last.

“Herb,” Colin said now, “I thought being mayor meant a lot to you. Why mess with it?”

Herb got his stubborn look. “This town needs some stirring up. People like a ghost story. And if it’s good for business, it’s worth the risk. Maybe it’ll even be good for morale. Things just haven’t been that great around here since...” When he fell silent Colin knew Herb probably wasn’t thinking about the town anymore. No doubt he was thinking instead of the son he had lost some twenty-five years ago. Thomas McIntyre...Colin’s father.

Herb gripped the side of the truck bed, staring off into the distance. The sadness and regret in his expression were unmistakable. He was thinking about his son, all right. Thomas, the Vietnam War hero who’d died tragically young in an automobile accident. Colin didn’t think Herb had ever recovered from that loss. Maybe nobody in the family had.

Thomas was the real ghost haunting the McIntyres.

IT COULD HIT ALEX at the most unexpected times.

Take right now, for instance. She was driving along the streets of Sobriety, Idaho, when just ahead she saw a young couple stopped in the middle of the sidewalk—the man speaking earnestly, the woman with her arms crossed, a resistant expression on her face.

They might just as well have been Alex and Jonathan. Only, Alex would have been the one talking so earnestly, Jonathan the one resisting. Their marriage had been like that throughout—Alex playing suitor to her husband’s emotions, trying to draw them out. And Jonathan hoarding his feelings, as if they were some rare coinage and he a collector. Except, all along Alex had believed Jonathan needed to be close to her. If only either of them had known how to make it happen...

The sense of failure was so strong this time that she had to pull over to the curb for a moment. She sat there in her rental car, staring out the windshield. The couple on the sidewalk passed, the woman with her arms still crossed, striding just ahead of the man. Alex’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. A man and a woman out of step. That was how she and Jonathan had been...always out of step.

Now, after eight years of marriage, it was almost over—the divorce almost final. Eight years gone, with nothing left but inadequacy and heartbreak. Alex felt as though there was a soreness inside her that would never heal. She’d loved Jonathan... seemingly desperately at times. And surely he’d loved her. So how was it that they’d both failed so utterly?

Alex laughed humorlessly. The irony was too painful. Dr. Alexandra Robbins, psychologist... mender of other people’s emotional blights, yet totally unable to mend her own. At least she had one consolation—no one was likely to recognize her here in the northern reaches of Idaho. Unlike Chicago. After appearing on a few local talk shows last year, she’d suddenly had complete strangers coming up to her, asking for advice. What would those people say if they knew the disaster of her personal life?

She restarted the car and pulled away from the curb. These past few difficult months, one thing alone had kept her going—her research. It had given her an excuse to stay late at the office instead of going home to an empty house. It had kept her thoughts on rescuers... instead of the marriage she hadn’t been able to save.

But then she’d received the video of Colin McIntyre, and suddenly her research was no longer an uncomplicated refuge from the realities of life. Every time she watched that video something disturbing happened to her. She’d see the image of flames burning orange-red on the screen, and her heart would pound uncomfortably. Then the camera would swing down, focusing on Colin’s face...grim, angry, soot-covered. Alex would stare into the clear, startling blue of his eyes, and her heart would pound all the more, an unfamiliar anxiety washing over her.

It didn’t make any sense at all. Why would an image on a television screen affect her that way? Alex had learned that Colin belonged to an elite emergency services team in California, trained in mountain search-and-rescue, helicopter evac, earthquake relief—in short, just about any type of rescue required. She was convinced he’d give her study the spark of life it needed. Yet something warned her to stay away from him. Something dark and confusing, and almost frightening...

“What is it?” she whispered. “What’s wrong with me?”

She hated unanswered questions. Maybe that was why, at this very minute, she was on her way to find Colin McIntyre.

After turning down another street, she parked in front of a quaint old house built of honey-colored stone, with a green-shingle roof that looked like thatch in need of mowing. Alex got out of her car and went up the walk. Learning that Colin’s grandfather lived here hadn’t been all that difficult after Alex discovered the citizens of Sobriety liked to chat about one another. That was why it had been so easy to find Colin at Maggie’s Diner earlier today. Now she climbed the steps of the porch and lifted the old-fashioned brass knocker. After a moment the door swung open, and a shaggy white terrier came shooting out.

“Oh, hell,” said a gravelly voice from inside the house. “Grab him, will you? He knows I want to give him his medicine. Won’t let me near.”

An elderly man appeared at the door, and Alex obligingly scooped up the little dog. It squirmed in her arms but then peered at her curiously.

“Hey, you’re adorable, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“He already knows that,” said the man. “Makes him think he can get away with murder.”

Still cradling the dog, Alex examined the old man, who had shaggy white hair of his own. He was unmistakably Colin’s grandfather—the clear, intense blue eyes were exactly the same. So, too, was the straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

“Bring him along, will you. He answers to Dusty,” said Herb McIntyre, obviously not concemed about other introductions.

Alex followed him down a hall and into a spacious kitchen with porcelain sinks, checkerboard tile and an honest-to-goodness wood-burning stove.

“Sit down,” said Herb.

Alex sat the dog in her lap. Herb approached with a pill in hand. Dusty buried his head stubbornly.

“Maybe you should disguise the pill,” Alex said. “You know, hide it in some food.”

“Tried that,” said Herb. “Too smart—he knows. Just eats around it. Now, think you can hold his mouth open while I pop it in?”

“Well...” Alex began doubtfully.

And just then Colin McIntyre appeared. He was tall, as she’d thought, and seemed to fill the doorway. Right now he was gazing at her with something she could only call disfavor.

“So,” he said. “You and Herb have met.”

“Of course we have,” said the old man. “From the look of her, she’s that pretty psychologist Denise told me about, the one you had breakfast with this morning.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Colin told Alex, “news travels fast in Sobriety.”

She nodded, unable to say anything at the moment.

“Have to get this damn medicine down somehow,” Herb said. “Vet’s orders.”

“Maybe he just needs a little distraction,” Colin suggested.

He pulled up a chair next to Alex. Their knees brushed as he petted the little terrier. Odd that he had such powerfully built hands, yet they could be so gentle...

Dusty was enjoying all the attention, and he relaxed enough for a pink tongue to loll out. Herb popped the pill in, and Colin held the dog’s jaw shut, forcing him to swallow. Now Dusty got an offended look and hopped down from Alex’s lap.

“Done,” said Herb.

A silence descended. Herb glanced from Colin to Alex. “Well,” he said. “Guess you want me out of here. From what Denise says, you two have things to talk about. Come on, boy.” He left the kitchen, the little dog trotting after him.

Alex and Colin were still sitting knee to knee. She pushed her chair back awkwardly.

“Mr. McIntyre—”

“Colin, remember?”

“Right. Colin.” She felt foolish, didn’t know why, and that just made her feel more out of sorts.

He stood, took a mug from the cabinet and set it on the table. Then he opened a tin, pulled out a tea bag and filled a kettle with water. He placed it on a gas oven that looked too modern next to the lumbering wood-burning stove.

“Funny, but you don’t strike me as the domestic type,” she said.

“I can boil water. Don’t expect much else.” He turned his chair around and straddled it, resting his arms along the back.

“You remembered that I drink tea,” she said, feeling more foolish than ever.

“Sometimes I’m observant,” he said. “Take right now, for instance. You’ve tracked me down, Alex Robbins, but you’re still wondering if you even want to talk to me.”

“Of course I want to talk to you,” she said. “Why else would I be here—”

“You tell me,” he said.

She stared into his eyes, and her pulse did something erratic. She reminded herself how important her research was, the one thing giving meaning and shape to her life these days.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about that phone conversation I had with your boss the other day. He said some pretty interesting things... about that apartment fire, for instance. Apparently you were more than a little reckless in the process of rescuing that little boy. So reckless that both you and your partner almost lost your lives.”

She knew she was trying to goad Colin, unsettle him somehow. But all he did was gaze back at her impassively. The kettle whistled and he went to turn off the burner. After splashing some water over the tea bag in Alex’s mug, he sat down again.

“Don’t you wonder about it yourself?” she asked. “Why you need to risk your life.”

“I do my job,” he said. “That’s all.”

Alex shook her head. “It’s never that simple.”

“Guess it’s not,” he said. “Look at you, Alex. You keep saying you want to study me...but what you’d really like to do is catch the next plane back to Chicago and never see me again.”

She stared at him. “What makes you think—”

“Like I said, Alex—I’m observant.” He looked at her speculatively. “Have to admit I’m curious. What’s making you stick around here, doing something you don’t want to do?”

How neatly he’d turned the conversation from himself. Worst of all, how perceptive he was. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to feel this strange unease.

“Might as well drink your tea,” he said.

When she picked up the mug, her fingers trembled just the slightest. She set it back down quickly. What was happening to her?

She didn’t know. But whatever it was, it had something to do with Colin McIntyre. And that scared her most of all.

CHAPTER TWO

IF YOU WERE COMING to northern Idaho by plane, the Silver Lake airport was the closest you could get to Sobriety. Not that the airport was anything to shout about—commuter flights and twin engines were usually all that landed here. The fact that Colin’s fifteen-year-old son was arriving by charter would probably cause a commotion.

Colin stood at the window of the small airport building, staring out at the tarmac. The last time he’d seen his son was a month ago, and as usual the encounter hadn’t gone well. His ex-wife said he was just trying too hard with Sean, trying to make every visit an event. But when you were divorced and you only got to see your kid every so often...you had to make it an event, didn’t you?

Colin had an image of the way things should be when you had a fifteen-year-old son. The teenage years were supposed to be the special years, the best time to be a dad—throwing a football around in the park, hockey games, basketball tickets to the Lakers, fishing trips and backpacking through the Sierras. Trouble was, Sean didn’t seem to like doing any of those things with his father. In fact, he didn’t seem to like his father much at all.

Colin paced restlessly at the window. Sure, he’d put his time in when Sean was young. He’d done his share of diapers and midnight feedings, school plays, parent-teacher conferences. But for a while now Sean had been old enough for the good stuff—those special years. Only, the good stuff didn’t seem to be good enough for Sean. What was wrong with the kid?

Of course, there’d been a new development this past year: Sean’s landing a part on that TV show. It had complicated things big time. His son, the actor. He still couldn’t get used to the idea. In all fairness, he knew his ex-wife couldn’t get used to the idea, either. Beth hadn’t gone looking to make Sean a child star. She’d just been catering a party in L.A., and Sean had been helping her out. One of the guests had turned out to be a producer. He’d been intrigued with Sean, said the boy had potential. Next thing anybody knew, Sean was reading for a part. Next thing after that, he was in a TV series. Fairy tale come true...or nightmare. Because now, according to Beth, Sean was out of control. Beth was fed up with him, and Sean was being shipped out to Idaho for Colin to “set him straight.”

A speck appeared in the sky, grew larger, and soon his son’s charter came in for a landing. Colin watched from the window a moment longer, then realized he should be out there with a greeting. He was halfway across the tarmac when he saw Sean emerge from the plane. Taller, it seemed, than a month ago, and a little on the lanky side. The dark glasses he had on gave him a too-sophisticated look.

Colin raised his hand. Scan didn’t wave back. Instead he went down the steps and, without another glance in Colin’s direction, disappeared into a limousine waiting a short distance off. Then the limo drove away.

At first Colin thought it was just a misunderstanding. He even began to jog after the car. But then he realized what a damn fool he must look like, sprinting across the tarmac and waving his arms at a rapidly vanishing limousine. This was no misunderstanding. Sean had, for all intents and purposes, ditched him.

A few moments later Colin was in his Jeep. His son had a good start on him, and by the time he reached the highway he could barely see the limo way up the road. At least it was headed toward Sobriety. Colin pressed on the gas. Eventually he was right on the limo’s tail. He couldn’t see inside it, though, the windows were that tinted. What did he think he was going to do next—start honking, force the limo off the road? And then give his son a big welcome hug?

He followed the limo all the way into Sobriety, staring at the tinted glass that wouldn’t let him see in. And he couldn’t help noting that the dark barrier between his son and him symbolized their relationship precisely.

Question was...how did he get Sean to open up to him?

IT WAS ALEX’S SECOND visit to Herbie McIntyre’s house. As she used the old-fashioned brass knocker, she half expected to see Dusty the terrier come bouncing out. Instead, when the door opened, she was confronted by a teenage boy. He looked familiar, and no wonder. He was so much a younger version of Colin—the same dark hair, same intent blue eyes, maybe the same stubborn demeanor.

“Hi,” the boy said with interest.

“You’re late, Alex.”

Colin appeared behind the boy, and Alex was struck by the fact that the two were even dressed alike—khaki shorts and a Dodgers T-shirt for the man, faded cutoffs and a Packers T-shirt for the boy.

“Thought maybe you’d decided not to come,” Colin said quickly.

“Actually I’m right on time,” she told him, not seeing the need for that brief amusement in Colin’s eyes. Colin hadn’t argued about her coming over today, but he still hadn’t agreed to be her “guinea pig.”

“This is my son, Sean,” he said. “Sean—Dr. Alex Robbins.”

The boy gave Colin a disgusted glance and wandered back inside the house. Colin gazed after him with a slight frown. It seemed that the McIntyre males were at odds.

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Alex said.

“Unfortunately Sean doesn’t appear to know it, either,” Colin said dryly.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Do you have kids, Alex?”

“No,” she said, “but I do know a thing or two about them—”

“It wasn’t an accusation.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “More like a rhetorical question.”

“Could we just get started? I don’t think you’ll find our session too painful.”

“So now it’s a session,” he said, his tone ironic.

He led the way to a living room that was comfortably cluttered—a newspaper scattered on the coffee table, books with well-used bindings stacked on the shelves, a colorful rag rug with a dog bone tossed in the middle. What drew Alex, though, were the family photos tucked here and there. She drifted to the mantel and examined a picture of a much-younger Herb, his arm around a woman with soft, wavy hair. Another photo showed Colin with a strikingly beautiful brunette and a little boy who had to be Sean. Still another photograph, this one taking pride of place in the very center of the mantel, showed a cocky young man in an air force uniform. Again, the McIntyre genes were unmistakable.

Colin came to stand beside her, nodding at the first picture. “Herb and my grandmother. They got divorced a long time ago, but they’ve managed to remain friends. She’s the only person who can give him as much hell as he deserves.”

Alex moved on to the next photo. “Your wife?”

“Ex. Don’t know why Herb’s hanging on to that one.”

He didn’t sound disturbed, just indifferent. Alex studied the family grouping in the photograph: the little boy in front, about five years old, holding a toy airplane, oblivious to the camera, Colin with his arm draped casually around the shoulders of the beautiful brunette. She was turned toward him, laughing as if they were in the middle of an intimate conversation.

“Were you happy?” Alex asked. “I don’t mean the kind of happy that people put on for the camera. I just mean...were you happy?”

He remained impassive. “Is this part of being a guinea pig?”

She lifted her shoulders. “The personal life of the Type R man—believe me, that’s worth a couple of chapters in itself. But right now...I’m asking off the record.”

He gazed at the photo. “We were happy for a while, I think. At least, that’s my version. Maybe Beth would tell you different. She’d probably say I was a pain in the neck because I was always on the verge of breaking my neck.”

“Your boss was right, then,” Alex murmured. “You are reckless.”

He gave her a sardonic glance. “That’s not the only thing that drove Beth crazy. She was very good at living in the moment, taking one day at a time. I’m always pushing ahead. Always searching for something new...something different in my life.” He frowned. “Problem is, living in the moment has its drawbacks, too. If both of us had looked ahead more with Sean, we might have stopped this damned career of his before it even started.”

“Sean has a career?” Alex asked, intrigued by these glimpses into Colin’s life.

“Ever heard of Arrested Development?”

Alex nodded. “Vaguely. Television show, right?”

“I suppose,” he said gruffly. “It’s a sitcom about a police detective raising his two nephews. Sean plays the oldest kid.”

“No wonder he’s so familiar. I thought it was just the resemblance to you...but I’ve seen his face before. A couple of magazine interviews, maybe.”

“Too many,” Colin muttered. “All the publicity’s gotten out of hand. Everything’s gotten out of hand—Sean included.”

Alex picked up the photo, examined it again, then set it down.

“Sometimes,” Colin said, “I tell myself that if Beth and I were still together, Sean would be a whole lot better off.”

Alex heard the regret weighting his voice. “Hey,” she said, “it’s not like divorce is so uncommon. Seems to be happening to everybody.”

He studied her some more, and she found herself saying the rest of it. “My papers should be in the mail any day.” She tried to sound flippant but didn’t succeed. She was grateful when Colin didn’t attempt to be sympathetic.

“Married how long?” he asked.

“Eight years, if you count our anniversary last month. Not that I’m counting.” She wished she’d never brought up the subject of divorce—hers or anyone else’s. And she wished Colin McIntyre wouldn’t stand and stare at her with that quizzical expression.

“When the marriage turns bad,” he said at last, “it’s hard not to blame yourself.”

She glanced away. “Oh, I’m not that noble. I blame him plenty, too.” She went to sit on the sofa, then reached into her tote bag, drew out her tape recorder and set it on the coffee table. “We’ve gotten off track and we haven’t even started.”

“What is it we’re starting, Alex?” he asked gravely.

“Face it,” she said. “You’re curious. You want to know what it’s like to be a...guinea pig.”

He managed just a hint of a smile as he sat down in the armchair across from her. His attitude was clear: he gave her research so little credence he didn’t really care what she did next. Against her will, her gaze traveled over him. He looked ruggedly masculine in those shorts and T-shirt, his feet bare. Alex suddenly felt fussy and overdressed in her business suit.

She pulled a binder from her tote bag and flipped it open to the questionnaire she’d revised again and again. She started the tape recorder, then glanced at Colin.

“Will this bother you? Having their words on tape makes some people uncomfortable.”

“Not me,” he said.

She had the feeling that not much bothered Colin McIntyre. Of course, you couldn’t afford to be bothered by much when you risked your life for a living.

“Now,” she said, “the first thing I’d like to discuss—”

“Why rescuers?” he asked.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He settled back in his chair, looking completely at ease. “I’m just wondering why you decided to study so-called rescuers.”

She tapped a pencil against her questionnaire. “Well...if you must know, I’ve often asked myself the same question. It’s something that’s compelled me for a long time now. I don’t know why exactly.” When she realized how inadequate that sounded, she went on quickly. “I just kept wondering about people who put themselves on the line for others. You could say they do it out of altruism or heroism, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. I’ve found that a particular personality is drawn to rescue work. I’ve studied both men and women, of course, but I’ve chosen to focus on the Type R male—”

“You keep acting like I’m supposed to fit some kind of type,” Colin said.

“Let’s see...the Type R male. Arrogant, selfassured, thinks he’s invincible, doesn’t trust anybody but himself. Any of that sound familiar?”

Colin nodded. “Always wanted to be the kind who’d break the mold.”

“That’s another characteristic of the Type R man,” Alex said. She scanned her questionnaire. “Now, first off—”

“The guy you married. Was he a Type R?”

She stared at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just curious,” he said.

This interview wasn’t going exactly the way Alex had planned. “No, Jonathan is not a rescuer. He’s a lawyer, and a corporate one at that.”

Colin looked reflective. “Thought maybe you had a personal interest in the subject.”

“Right,” she said sarcastically. “Like maybe I only date firemen.”

Somehow she had to get this discussion back on Colin. Once more she reached into her tote bag; this time she brought out a videotape.

“How much stuff have you got in there?” he asked.

“This is all that’ll be necessary. Can we play it?”

He didn’t seem overjoyed at the prospect, but he popped the tape into a VCR across the room and turned on the TV. A few seconds later an image of fire and smoke flared on the screen.

Alex stiffened, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. She knew what to expect——every time she watched this video, she felt an uneasiness she couldn’t explain.

Now it was starting all over again. A news anchor was talking about the small brushfire that had set an apartment complex ablaze...then the camera was panning the building itself, several stories high, smoke billowing from the windows, flames burning orange-red...

Alex felt as though a vise had clamped itself around her. The panic was worse this time—much worse. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Easy, she told herself, but the word made no sense. Nothing made sense at this moment.

The camera swung down and centered on Colin’s face—grim, soot-covered, eyes a cold, startling blue. And the vise tightened around Alex.

She stood, scarcely knowing she had. All she wanted to do was run away, escape the fear that engulfed her. The image of Colin’s face froze on the screen. Then Colin himself came to her. He took her hands in his.

“What is it, Alex?” he asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t answer him. All she could do was stand there, gripping his hands as if only he could save her.

But how could he save her from anything, when he was the one who frightened her?

FAMILY DINNER at the McIntyre house. Lots of good food and conversation. Amendment: lots of good food—tonight Herb had broiled some steaks and served them with crusty rolls, mashed potatoes and green beans—no conversation. The three McIntyres sat around the dining room table, no sound but the clink of forks against plates. Colin told himself you couldn’t have everything.

At last Herb, pointing his fork at Sean, spoke. “You’re next.”

“Say what?” Sean muttered, slouching in his chair, a long-suffering expression on his face.

“Tomorrow night you make dinner,” Herb told him. “And then your dad’s in charge night after that. We rotate.”

“Like I cook,” Sean said.

“You’ll learn or you’ll go hungry,” Herb retorted. “I guess on that television show of yours everything’s catered. But we don’t cater here.”

Sean mumbled something.

“Sean,” Colin said, “if you have something to say to your great-grandfather, say it. Otherwise...”

“I can handle him myself,” Herb said testily. “And I sure as hell don’t need anyone calling me a great-grandpa. Herb will do nicely.”

Maybe no conversation was the better choice. Sean hadn’t seen his great-grandfather—correction, Herb—since he was ten. The intervening five years hadn’t contributed to family togetherness, it seemed.

Sean mumbled something else.

“Speak up,” ordered Herb.

Sean glared at him. “I can’t cook.”

“First lesson is tomorrow.”

“Hell,” said Sean.

“That’s enough,” said Colin.

“I told you,” grumbled Herb, “I can handle him myself. Kid, you really like people waiting on you all the time? That’s what you want?”

Sean looked beleaguered. “I work.”

“Not real work,” said Herb.

“Yeah, right,” said Sean in a long-suffering tone. “Too bad I’m not slaving in a mine.”

“Damn right.” Herb pointed his fork again. “You find out what you’re really made of when you haven’t seen daylight for twelve hours, and you’ve got a drill hammering in your ears, and the muck is clogging your nose and your eyes, and you’ve just found out you’re pulling a double shift.”

“Your family owned the mine,” Sean said. “You didn’t have to work in it.”

“I wanted to work,” said Herb. “I was glad to work. No catering for me.”

“Hell, I work—”

“Not according to your mom,” said Herb. “According to her, lately you do everything but. Out late with a bunch of jerks.”

“They’re my friends—”

“Some friends, according to your mom.”

“When the hell does she talk to you—”

“Take it easy, both of you,” said Colin. “Sean, clean up your language and speak to your great—speak to Herb with a little respect. And Herb... give Sean a break. He does have a job. Maybe it’s not the kind of work you’re used to—but it’s work.”

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” Sean said caustically.

Colin studied his son. The boy had a belligerent attitude, but there was also a strain to his features, and an unhappiness the boy couldn’t quite disguise. You shouldn’t look like that at fifteen. Colin wondered what was going on with his son—and acknowledged he’d better find out soon.

“You know, Sean,” he said, “you can kick back a little here. This is supposed to be a vacation for all three of us.”

“Right,” said Sean in a low voice. “Just the three of us. Sure.”

“Sean,” Colin said, “whatever trouble you’re having, it might do you good to talk about it.”

“Who says I’m having trouble?”

“Your mother, for one,” Colin said. “Not that she’d need to—it’s pretty obvious something’s bothering you. I’m a good listener, believe it or not. Herb’s a good listener, too, even though he’d like you to think otherwise.”

“I’ll listen to anything that makes sense,” Herb said gruffly, tossing Dusty, who sat at his feet, a bit of crusty roll.

“I didn’t want to come here,” Sean said.

“You think that’s a surprise?” Herb asked. “All you’ve done since you got here is mope. Maybe we don’t have enough fans asking for your autograph.”

Sean stood up. For just a second he wore an expression of pure misery. But then it was gone, replaced by the belligerence. “Hell,” he said to the room at large, and made his exit.

Colin and Herb watched him go. “You could let up on him a little,” Colin said.

Herb snorted. “Think your method’s any better? One minute you’re disciplining him, the next you’re making excuses for him. I’m just trying to rile him, get him to open up. Something’s bugging him big time, and he needs to let it out.”

Colin could agree on the last point. He just didn’t agree with Herb’s way of doing things. Of course, his way wasn’t proving any better.

He didn’t know how to get through to his own son.

CHAPTER THREE

MAIN STREET IN SOBRIETY, Idaho, consisted of several blocks of ornate, redbrick buildings, facing each other like proper Victorian ladies and gentlemen in an old-fashioned line dance. Alex wandered along, stopping occasionally to gaze through store windows at any number of knickknacks. She knew that when you were a tourist you took leave of your senses and bought silly refrigerator magnets, gaudy teacups and cheap sweatshirts. Of course, Alex wasn’t in Sobriety as a tourist, and so far she’d managed to restrain herself.

“Hey, Dr. Alex.”

The voice came from behind her, deep and easy. Colin’s voice. She turned around and faced him with at least the appearance of calm.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you, Colin. Our appointment isn’t for two hours.”

“Appointment... that’s such an official-sounding word. How about we make it a date, instead?”

She saw the humor in his eyes and knew she ought to say something repressive. But all she could do was stand there gazing at him, in the middle of the sidewalk. Today he wore jeans and a blue-gray polo shirt. He looked dangerously handsome.

Alex still felt humiliated over what had happened yesterday, the way she’d lost control and panicked at that video. Worst of all was knowing that Colin had seen her reaction. She’d been trying to prove how strong she was, how in control... and she’d proved just the opposite.

“Had a busy day?” he asked now.

“Yes,” she lied. She’d wanted to keep away from him until this evening. A little time alone, she’d told herself. Surely that was all she needed. But almost twenty-four hours had gone by since she’d last seen him and she still felt the same mixture of fascination and foreboding.

She started walking again, Colin keeping pace beside her. “I’ve had a very interesting day, in fact,” she said. “I’ve learned that the big news in Sobriety is the ghost at the mining museum, but you have to be there at midnight to have any hope of seeing it.”

Colin looked disgruntled. “Who’s spreading the ghost stories?”

“Let’s see...the lady at the drugstore.” Alex didn’t mention that she’d bought another mystery there. “And the man at the gas station. Oh, yes, and Denise at Maggie’s Diner. She was the first person who told me about it. Apparently the ghost is a miner who died in a cave-in back in 1902.”

Colin looked positively pained.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t like ghost stories?”

“Depends on the ghost,” he said. “So, Alex...you haven’t told me whether you’re going out with me tonight.”

“Colin,” she said firmly, “I didn’t come all the way to Idaho so we could date.”

As they walked, he took her hand in his. “Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect. Like dating.”

“You’re just trying to get out of being part of my study,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

Right now she wasn’t sure of anything. Except that holding hands with the most attractive man she’d ever known was definitely not a good idea.

“Colin,” she said. “I’m not officially divorced yet.”

He twined his fingers through hers. “Okay, we won’t call it a date. We’ll just go out to dinner.”

At last she had the fortitude to pull away. “You know, if you cooperated a little,” she told him, “we could actually make some progress. The sooner that happens, the sooner you’ll be rid of me.”

Colin took her hand again and brought her to a stop. “What makes you think I want to get rid of you, Alex?”

She looked into his eyes and saw the humor still there. But she saw something else, something that sent a treacherous warmth all through her. When at last she wrenched her gaze from him, it did no good. Now she saw a reflection of her and Colin in a shop window. Saw the way she was leaning toward him just a bit, as if he were a magnet drawing her. She knew body language, and she knew what her body was saying now.

She pulled away from him a second time, taking a step back. “Colin, I’m not going on a date with you. Not only am I still a married woman, but I’m a researcher. It isn’t exactly ethical for a researcher to get involved with her...subject. Whether you like it or not, I am researching you.”

“Even researchers have to eat dinner,” he said. “Besides, I have a confession. Tonight my grandfather’s giving Sean a cooking lesson and I’d just as soon steer clear.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Playing hooky?”

He appeared serious for once. “You could say that. I’ve spent the past few days trying to get through to Sean, and I’m further away than when I started. No matter what I say, he thinks it sucks. So here I am...taking a break from my own son.”

Alex gazed at Colin, and this time what she saw was a perplexed father looking for answers. That got to her more than anything.

“So, what time is this dinner thing of ours?” she wanted to know.

ALEX WONDERED IF SHE’D ever seen anything so beautiful. She’d run into Colin in downtown Sobriety less than an hour ago, but already he’d whisked her away for their “dinner.” They were now driving in his Jeep up one of Idaho’s deep green, pine-forested mountains. Far below, Silver Lake shone molten in the setting sun.

“Breathtaking,” Alex murmured.

“Sometimes I forget what it’s like up here,” Colin said, “and I let too much time go by without coming back.”

She glanced at him. “You look like someone who belongs in these mountains,” she said. “They’re ominous and gorgeous all at once.”

“Ominous...and gorgeous,” he said in a doubtful tone. “Is that what you think of me?”

She regretted her choice of words. She did think he was gorgeous, but there’d been no reason to say so.

“I wish you’d tell me where we’re going,” she said.

“Don’t you like surprises, Alex? Me, I can’t stand previews. I prefer the unexpected.” He took the winding road expertly, driving a little on the fast side but always in control.

“You really are the Type R male,” she told him.

“Lord, not that again.”

“That’s what I’m here for, remember? The Type R usually knows just how far he can go. He pushes a situation right to the edge but knows when to draw back. Of course,” she said reflectively, “according to your boss, you don’t always know.”

“Alex, we’re on a date, remember?”

“No date,” she said. “Just dinner.”

He downshifted for a curve in the road, and then the Jeep surged forward again. The road took them to the very top of the mountain.

Colin turned into a gravel parking lot and came to a stop in front of a large log building. He frowned. “What the heck...?”

“Something unexpected?” Alex asked.

“I’ll say. There used to be a fancy restaurant here. The kind of place you’d bring a date to when you wanted to impress her.”

They got out of the Jeep and approached the rustic building. Rock music blasted from within, and a sign over the door read simply, The Pub.

“Give me a break,” Colin said.

Alex hooked her arm through his. “Lighten up. We’re welcoming surprises...remember?”

“What has you in such a good mood?” he grumbled.

“Finding out that the Type R man is like the rest of us. Now and then he likes things to be predictable, too.”

Colin looked disgruntled, but they went inside. The air was murky; the decor consisted of roughhewn tables and chairs, a jukebox and a cramped bar. The place was crowded with people who appeared to have an average age of twenty-one.

Alex led the way to one of the few empty tables by the window, and she and Colin sat across from each other. The music from the loudspeakers blared right above them.

Colin got up and went to the jukebox. He dropped in a few coins, punched a few buttons. The loudspeaker cut out as the jukebox took over. Early 1960s rock replaced the 1990s variety.

Colin sat down again and picked up the menu in front of him. “The roast beef sandwich doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m starving,” Alex pronounced. “I’ll eat anything.”

Surprisingly the food turned out to be delicious. The sandwiches were on thick, crusty bread and came with crisp onion rings and fresh alfalfa sprouts. The beer was imported and served in frosty glasses.

Colin settled back in his seat. “Want to tell me about it?” he asked.

“About what?” she murmured idly.

“About what happened yesterday at my grandfather’s house. About what had you so scared.”

“You really know how to ruin a good mood,” she complained. “I suppose you brought me up here just so you could grill me about—”

“Hey, I’m not the shrink here. But I can tell when somebody’s bothered about something.” He frowned. “Take my son, for instance. I know he’s unhappy. Not that I know why—since he isn’t exactly forthcoming. Then again, neither are you, Alex.”

She stared down at the table, running her fingers across the rough surface. She could pretend nothing was wrong or she could tell the truth. Unfortunately she didn’t really know what the truth was.

“Colin,” she said reluctantly at last. “I wish I understood it myself. Ever since I first saw that video...I’ve had a reaction that I can’t explain. There’s something about that fire, and something about you. Something disturbing, maybe even frightening.” She waved a hand in frustration. “But when I try to figure out what it is...it’s like fighting my way through fog. I can’t see anything. All I have are feelings, and murky ones at that. You and I never even met until I came to Sobriety. So what is it about you and that video that makes me so uneasy?”

Colin looked thoughtful. “If a patient came to you with this, what would you do?”

She sighed. “I’d try to find out if the uneasiness was linked to something in the patient’s past. But, Colin—that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve been looking into my past and searching for some connection. I just don’t see any! I’ve had such an ordinary, uneventful life.”

“Nobody’s life is really uneventful,” he remarked. “I don’t need a shrink to tell me that.”

She gave him an exasperated glance. “Here are the facts. I grew up in Montana. My father died of heart disease when I was six years old. My mother had a difficult time afterward, but she managed to raise me single-handedly. When I was eighteen, I went off to Chicago for college. I got my degree, went to graduate school, got married...and now the divorce. That’s it. I know your next question, of course. Could I be repressing some memory that gets triggered by that damn video, by you. Well, anything’s possible, I suppose. But like I’ve said, my life has been ordinary. There’s absolutely nothing in my background to indicate hidden traumas or such.”

Colin drank his beer. “What would you tell a patient who said something like that?”

The man truly was aggravating. “Oh, all right. I’d say that even the most innocent-looking life can hold secrets...but, dammit, that doesn’t mean my life has secrets.”

He didn’t answer, just gazed at her steadily. It was worse than if he’d tried to argue with her. Fortunately, her dessert arrived just then, giving her something else to focus on. Unfortunately by now she was too keyed up to enjoy the piece of peach pie as she ought.

Now she felt a sadness inside that was becoming all too familiar. She stared out the window, hoping Colin wouldn’t notice.

“You might as well talk about it,” he said.

“Just that divorce is rotten.”

“Even more rotten than a marriage gone bad?” he asked.

She ate a bite of peach pie. “The waste of it is what I hate most,” she said. “You try so hard to build something, to make it work. All those years...and then it’s over. All for nothing.”

“Sort of like an investment that didn’t pan out,” Colin suggested.

Alex shook her head. “That sounds too cold and logical. Marriage and divorce aren’t like that. They’re messy and irrational...Colin, don’t you wish sometimes you could just start over? Erase your mistakes as if they’d never happened?”

“Sure,” he admitted. “Maybe, if I could go back, I’d realize Beth and I weren’t suited for each other. Except Sean came out of the marriage. Maybe that means it wasn’t such a mistake.”

“Kids make a difference,” Alex said, and she couldn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice. “When you’re getting divorced, people tell you to be grateful you don’t have children. But if Jonathan and I had had a family...” She trailed off, not wanting to say the rest.

Colin, however, wouldn’t let the subject go. “I take it you wanted kids, and he didn’t.”

“No,” she said with an odd calm. “It was the other way around. He wanted children. He thought it would save the marriage. When he was feeling good, he could make it sound so wonderful...how it would be once we had a family. But I kept saying no. You see, Jonathan was becoming so moody and angry with me... why would he be any different with a child?” She stopped. She feared that if she said anything more, all the sorrow and pain and regret inside her would come tumbling out. And Colin, sitting there contemplatively, would see it all.

But then, to her relief, he was the one who broke the moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Only a short time later, they were in the Jeep again, headlights penetrating the deep Idaho night. They drove along the mountain summit and eventually turned onto a steep dirt road. The Jeep bounced along, then came to a halt in front of a wooden fence.

“I give up,” Colin said wryly. “This used to be Make-out Lane. Now there’s a No Trespassing sign.”

“Everything changes, I guess.”

“Funny, the whole time I was growing up I couldn’t wait to get out of Idaho. All I wanted was something different—something more exciting. But in the back of my mind, seems I wanted everything here to stay the same.”

She could understand that. You needed a constant in your life, something you could count on somehow. “Colin...relax. I think we’re having a good time almost in spite of ourselves. And maybe things haven’t changed all that much. You’re up here with a girl....”

“Not just any girl.” He turned toward her.

The bucket seats of the Jeep made things awkward, but Alex found herself leaning into the curve of his arm. She stayed like that for what seemed a long moment, and it felt good...too good. Until now, she’d been able to control the way Colin made her feel. She’d managed to dismiss any stirrings of attraction, any hints of desire. But with his arm around her like this, she could no longer dismiss the craving she felt.

His fingers brushed over her cheek in a slow caress...and then another caress. She remained motionless, almost breathless, as his touch awakened all her senses. At last he tilted her face toward his.

“Colin,” she whispered. He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, he brought his lips to hers.

This was no tentative first kiss, no tepid exploration. It was raw need, powerful and overwhelming. Alex felt as if she had been swept off the mountaintop. She clung to Colin, and molded herself closer to him, and opened her mouth willingly to him.

But all the while she knew what a mistake it was.

SOBRIETY’S SMALL MINING museum hardly seemed a place to be haunted. Tucked away on one of the side streets off Main, it housed a modest collection of pickaxes, shovels, water canteens, rusty pocketknives and other paraphernalia left behind by long-ago miners. It had a friendly, unimposing, somewhat dusty atmosphere. Colin figured that any self-respecting ghost would pick a more evocative locale—one of the town’s old saloons, for example. If Herb wanted to stage more hauntings, he should consider that. Then again, Colin didn’t intend to put any ideas in his grandfather’s head.

He pushed open the door of the museum and went inside. Lillian Prescott, his grandfather’s fifty-nine-year-old girlfriend, glanced up from behind the souvenir counter.

“Colin, I’m so glad you’re here.” She went to the door, put up the Closed sign and came back again. Lillian had an air of mystery about her, which Colin suspected she deliberately cultivated. Rumor had it that when she’d gone away to college back in the late fifties, she’d had a couple of affairs and become, in Sobriety terms, a woman of the world. That she’d returned home eventually and settled down hadn’t quelled the rumors any. Every six months or so when she went off to Boise for a couple of days without telling anyone why, people liked to speculate that she was going to rendezvous with her married lover. Lillian fueled the speculation by saying nothing at all. For all Colin knew, Herb had some serious competition in Boise.

“Colin,” she said now in a distressed tone, “you have to stop your grandfather. I just found out he’s planning to bring a parapsychologist to town—a ghost expert.”

“He’s really getting into the spirit of this thing,” Colin remarked. “No pun intended.”

Lillian gave him a withering glance. “You’re not taking this seriously enough. I mean, he’s actually advertising to get someone out here. He says somebody trying to verify the town haunting will increase its authenticity.” She groaned and sank onto the stool behind the counter. “Forgive me for telling you this, Colin, but your grandfather is nuts.”

“That’s some way to talk about your significant other.”

Lillian’s expression became guarded. “Please don’t get in the habit of saying that. I took you into my confidence only as a last resort.”

“Why not just admit to the world that you’re seeing Herb?” Colin asked. “What’s so bad about it?”

“Nothing,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “I just don’t think the entire town needs to know about my personal life. What I do is my own business.”

“Do you think people would care—”

“In this town they’d care, all right,” she said. “Folks don’t have enough to do, so they sit around talking about one another...and I refuse to be anybody’s topic of conversation.”

Colin figured something else was at stake here, but Lillian was already changing the subject.

“You and I have more important things to discuss,” she said. “Such as what will happen when the town finds out Herbie is bringing in an expert to document his bogus ghost.”

It was an interesting twist, Colin had to admit. “Okay, I’ll try talking to him again. But you know what my chances are.”

Now Lillian looked worried. “Somebody’s got to stop him before it’s too late. He’ll ruin everything—his reputation, his political career...”

Colin didn’t think being mayor of Sobriety qualified as a political career, but he didn’t want to tamper with Lillian’s illusions.

“What’s he doing it for?” she went on. “All this nonsense about a ghost being good for the town—I don’t buy that for a second.”

“Maybe he just wants to prove he can shake up the place,” Colin said. “Nobody else has tried that in a long time.”

“Nobody but your father. All those years ago... he was a bit wild, Colin, but so talented. So full of life and energy and charm. The way everyone used to turn out for those high school basketball games just because your dad was playing.”

Colin had long since grown accustomed to how people in Sobriety spoke of his father. They always had some story about Thomas McIntyre...high school basketball star, war hero, town golden boy. But none of the stories ever seemed quite real to Colin. They were too much the stuff of legend, too easily recounted, as if people had forgotten about the flesh-and-blood Thomas behind the glorious achievements. Colin had been ten when his father died, old enough to have memories of his own, yet he’d heard the stories so many times they’d taken over.

Lillian was rearranging the pieces of quartz and silver ore on display behind the glass counter. “Something’s just occurred to me,” she said.

“What we really need is a psychologist—not a parapsychologist. What about that shrink of yours, Colin? Is she trustworthy?”

Colin observed Lillian dourly. “Who says I have a shrink?”

“For crying out loud,” Lillian said, “have you forgotten what this town is like? Everyone knows you took her out to dinner last night. Ben Morris saw you at The Pub, and you know what a gossip he is. Why else do you figure I have to work so hard to keep my life private?”

Colin thought about last evening with Alex. He’d been thinking about it a lot...how it had felt to hold her in his arms those few moments. He’d wanted to go on holding her, but for her that hadn’t been an option. He’d never known anyone who tried so hard to stay in control. The soon-to-be ex-husband must have really damaged her somehow. Or maybe something else was to blame.

“Colin,” said Lillian, “I’m just asking if this Dr. Alex Robbins is discreet.”

“She’s not about to go gossiping with Ben Morris.”

“You don’t need to tell her any details about me, Colin. Just ask her to talk to your grandpa. Ask her to set him straight about this ghost nonsense.”

“Psychologists aren’t like auto mechanics,” Colin said. “They can’t just schedule an appointment to fix somebody’s transmission.”

“Well, we’d better do something, or we’ll have a parapsychologist on our hands. Is that what you want?”

He didn’t know what he wanted, it seemed. In the past, when he’d started to feel the old restlessness, he’d simply moved on, changed his life. But now things were more complicated. He had a grandfather who wasn’t getting any younger. And he had a son who’d grown up too quickly. Colin couldn’t just walk away from all that.

CHAPTER FOUR

THAT EVENING, ALEX SHOWED up at the McIntyre house with a sackful of groceries. She was breathless, and her cheeks were becomingly flushed again. As she shifted the bag from one arm to another, she gazed at Colin almost defensively.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve gone too far,” she said. “But when you called and invited me over for dinner... then said it was your turn to cook so you were sending out for pizza...well, I couldn’t resist taking matters into my own hands.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, appreciating the sight of her. She was wearing something sleeveless, her blond hair falling over her shoulders.

The flush in her cheeks deepened. “Kissing you was a big mistake,” she muttered. “So if you’re thinking about last night, please stop.”

“I’m thinking about right now.”

“Dammit, Colin. Just...don’t.”

He took the groceries from her but remained on the porch. “Are you here to give me a cooking lesson?”

“Not exactly. I’m hardly the domestic type myself. But a family dinner calls for something.”

Lettuce was poking out of the bag, and he caught the pleasing aroma of ripened tomatoes. When he went to the grocery store, he usually confined himself to microwavable selections.

“Too bad we have to make it a family dinner,” he said.

She gave him a keen glance. “We already tried the one-on-one thing, and it didn’t work out.”

“I thought it worked out fine.”

She stared at him, her eyes a very deep brown. “I know you don’t take me seriously, Colin, but you could at least try.” She gazed at him a moment longer. Then she took the grocery bag back from him and strode into the house.

Colin followed her down the hall to the kitchen. The material of her dress swirled invitingly against her legs as she walked and her hair rippled gold. She appeared soft and feminine, but he sensed an implacable core. She gave the impression that she’d been taking care of herself for a very long while and she didn’t want any help with the job.

When she reached the kitchen, she started removing items from the bag and placing them on the counter. the lettuce and tomatoes, two packages of whole wheat hamburger buns, a jar of pickles, a jar of relish, a bottle of ketchup, some mustard.

“Guess you didn’t trust us to have any condiments,” he said.

She produced a carton of ice cream and placed it in the freezer. “Got any pans?”

He had to rummage in a few cupboards before he found them.

Alex shook her head. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

“Hey, it’s my grandfather’s house, not mine.”

She handed him a can of peas and pearl onions. “Think you can manage that?”

Colin got busy with the opener. He found that he liked spending time with Alex in a kitchen. She didn’t seem to need useless conversation. A companionable silence settled between them as he opened a few more cans and dinner began to cook on the stove.

Herb poked his nose into the room. “Hello, Dr. Alex.”

“Hello, Mr. McIntyre.”

“No need to be so formal,” he said gruffly,

“considering my grandson’s finagled you into doing his work tonight.”

She smiled. “Mind if I call you ‘Herbie’?”

“A lot of folks do.” He peered at a pan sizzling on the stove. “Those hamburgers?” he asked doubtfully.

“Veggie burgers.”

“Veggie burgers?” he repeated. “Serves Colin right—he’s strictly a meat-and-potatoes man.” Chuckling, Herb disappeared.

“Don’t listen to him,” Colin said. “He’s the one who thinks you can’t have a meal without steak.”

“You wish we were having real hamburgers, don’t you?”

Those veggie things did look kind of odd, but he wasn’t about to say so. Now Sean appeared, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“Hi,” Alex said casually. “Mind doing the salad?”

He hesitated, but then he came over to the counter and confronted the lettuce. After a moment he started tearing off big pieces and tossed them into a bowl. Alex didn’t comment, just went on about her business. Colin realized she was handling everything just right. She wasn’t making a big deal about Sean helping out, wasn’t telling him how to do things differently, wasn’t paying much attention at all. Colin himself probably wouldn’t have been able to resist setting the kid straight.

A short time later the four of them sat down together. Make that five for dinner, if you included Dusty. Except this time the little terrier abandoned Herb and waited at attention next to Alex’s feet. The others seemed to be at attention, too. Sean didn’t slouch quite so much in his chair; Herb didn’t use his silverware to point. The food looked all right: ravioli in tomato sauce, two different kinds of vegetables, the haphazard salad Sean had made. And, of course, the veggie burgers.

The conversation was actually civil. Maybe Sean didn’t contribute much, but Herb and Alex had plenty to talk about: her practice in Chicago, his days in the mine. It took Colin a while to realize that he was almost as silent as his son. Apparently he didn’t have much to contribute, either.

Alex brought out the ice cream for dessert—double chocolate chunk fudge—and the four of them polished it off in no time. Afterward they removed to the living room, Dusty trotting behind. Sean hunched in an armchair, looking supremely bored. Colin noted, however, that he didn’t make a quick exit the way he did most evenings.

Just as before, Alex gravitated to the photographs scattered around the room. No doubt she was trying to discern the family background of the Type R male. She picked up a photo of Colin’s parents.

Herb came over to her. “My son, Thomas, and his wife, Jessie. Guess Colin’s told you all about Thomas.”

“No,” Alex said. “Actually he hasn’t.”

Herb glanced at Colin disapprovingly. “Thomas fought in Vietnam. Pilot, decorated for bravery. Irony was that he made it through all that...and then he died in a car crash. He was only thirty years old.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Herb nodded. Even now, over twenty-five years since his son’s death, the pain was etched into his face. “Worst moment of my life,” he said in a low voice. “Worst moment for all of us. I’ve never stopped wishing him back.”

The phrases were timeworn, but they always gave Herb comfort. Some people refused to speak about their dead loved ones. Not Herb. He talked about Thomas as if somehow, someday, the words would conjure his son back.

Now he took the photograph from Alex and examined it as if he hadn’t already seen it countless times. “Jessie...Colin’s mom. Nice girl—even if she was a little meek for somebody like Thomas. Surprised us all, though. After he died, she remarried.”

Colin had to restrain himself from speaking. Herb made it sound like she’d run out three weeks after the funeral and got herself hitched. She hadn’t remarried until five years later.

“Can’t understand why she picked somebody like Mack Pearson. No comparison to Thomas,” Herb said.

Colin couldn’t let his grandfather get away with any more. “Nothing wrong with Mack.”

Herb was about to argue, but Alex intervened. “Does your mom still live in Sobriety?” she asked Colin.

“No. I left town when I was eighteen. She and Mack left the year after that. They settled in Tacoma.”

“Pearson sells cars,” Herb said disparagingly.

He didn’t mention that Mack owned the dealership. And he never seemed to realize that his own son might have ended up doing something as ordinary as selling cars...if he’d lived. Thomas was forever frozen in time as someone young and bright and courageous. An image impossible to dim.

Alex moved around the room. She picked up another photo, got Herb on the more neutral subject of his ex-wife. She was handling the McIntyre men very adeptly, it seemed. Even Sean was still there, hunched in his chair. Maybe he was no more animated than a stump, but his presence made for a refreshing change.

So why didn’t inviting Alex for a McIntyre family dinner seem like such a good idea after all?

ALEX SLEPT FITFULLY that night. Every few hours or so, she awoke feeling groggy and out of sorts. She couldn’t say why she felt so restless. She’d actually enjoyed her evening. Having Colin’s grandfather and son around had lessened her awareness of Colin. Hadn’t eliminated it—she’d still been uncomfortably aware of his gaze upon her—but with his family there, he hadn’t been able to flirt with her shamelessly the way he usually did.

At last Alex fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. And then she dreamed. Flames surged up around her, eerily orange-red. Not the flames she’d seen on the video screen—no, flames right here in the room. They trapped her, licking at the edges of the bed. She couldn’t move. The smoke choked her lungs, and she had to gasp for air. She was frightened. So very frightened. She began to weep.

She woke up with a start, her skin clammy, her pulse racing. The dream had been so real that she glanced around wildly, half expecting to see fire engulfing her. But there was only darkness and the cool nighttime air coming through the open window. Alex pressed a hand to her face. The tears she’d wept in the dream had felt real, too, but her cheeks were dry. It had only been a dream.

“A nightmare,” Alex whispered. She reached over and switched on the lamp. She’d stayed at this small bed-and-breakfast only a few days, yet already the room’s details were comfortingly familiar: the wicker dressing table with the ruffled skirt, the pine whatnot cabinet, wallpaper in a pattern of violet sprigs. The decor was too consciously quaint for Alex’s taste, but right now she welcomed the cozy frilliness that surrounded her.

She realized that she was shivering. Slipping into her robe, she went to the window and shut it. Then she did something she often advised her patients to do. She took her notepad, flipped to a blank page and began jotting down everything she could remember about the nightmare. Her fingers trembled alarmingly, but she pushed on. At last she set aside the notepad, pulled up the blanket and eased her head back against the pillow. She did something else she recommended to her patients: took some deep, slow breaths. Then she turned off the light, closed her eyes and ordered herself back to sleep.

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