Page 15 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

Elliot sighed again. The only reason he was here was because his father, who owned the hardware store, called him when he heard Edward shot a man, a fact Edward hadn’t felt the need to pass along. Technically,technically,Elliot could arrest him. He had admitted to shooting a man unprovoked on his lawn, not in the act of breaking into his house, not in the act of holding a weapon on him or making a threat. He’d shot a man in cold blood because he had the audacity to step foot on his property uninvited. It was illegal any way you looked at it. But it was also Montana, where the unwritten law often superseded the written one. Plus he had no victim. The man was either well enough to go somewhere and get treatment or he was so injured he crawled away somewhere to die. Maybe they’d find his corpse in the spring thaw. If so, he’d deal with any charges then. In the meantime, all he could do was check on the one person he knew who might be in danger, the one person unknown enough to show up unannounced in the middle of the night at a neighbor’s house.

He squinted his good eye toward the west and glanced at the falling snow, trying to estimate how much time he had before the roads became too bad to drive for the day. With a nod to Edward, one which left everything unsaid—you shouldn’t have shot an unknown man, this might not be over, I’m going to see what more I can find out—he hopped into his truck and headed away.

He sat in his truck a minute, inspecting the house. It was quiet, but that was to be expected. She was one lone woman. The tracks behind her SUV were fresh but fading, quickly replaced by snow. No curtains ruffled, no lights came on. If he wasn’t parked behind her vehicle, he might believe no one was home.

Eventually he stepped out of the truck and made his way to the door. He expected a lag after he knock, but she opened promptly.Was she waiting on me?

“Elliot,” she said.

“Celeste,” he returned, trying not to be obvious as he peered behind her.

“Is everything okay?”

“A storm’s coming, thought I’d stop in and check on you while I was out this way on a call, see if there was anything you needed.”

“Oh, I was in town this morning working toward that very thing. In fact your dad helped me finance a new wing of his house by loading me up with every possible contraption I might need from his store. Good news, though. I finally figured out what Sterno is.”

He chuckled, which was unusual. He didn’t normally do well with strangers, and especially not women. He found them too fluttery for his tastes. Really, he mostly only liked Missy and his parents and a select handful of family friends. She motioned behind her to the large stack of items on the floor.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.

“No,” she said eagerly and gripped the door. His gaze rested on those fingers. Was she tense or was it his imagination?

“Are you sure?”

Her grip tightened a few beats before she let out a breath and relented. “Actually, yes. I didn’t want to mention it, didn’t want to put you out. But among my list of necessity items was akerosene heater. It turns out I already have one, but it’s massive. I have no idea how to get it upstairs.”

He blinked at her, assessing. Was that really all this was? She needed help and didn’t want to ask for it? “Well, sure,” he agreed, taking a step inside and doffing his hat as soon as she moved aside. He used the motion to make a sweeping glance around. Everything looked like a lone woman lived there, a woman who had recently been to town and had no idea how to decorate. He’d seen military bunkers with more personality, but then he had become spoiled by his mom’s cozy tastes, first in the home where he grew up, and now in the home he shared with Missy.

She led the way to the rickety stairs of the dark basement, walking in front of him. He lingered a step behind her, taking a full look around. Nothing was out of place, nothing was unusual, minus the antiseptic and unused feel of the house.

She flicked on the basement light, a lone bulb that swung ominously back and forth. The stairs shook as they made their descent. They both gripped the banister for balance, and Elliot had to duck when they reached the bottom. She led him to an ancient kerosene heater, a metal one that looked like it fell out of the Korean War.

“I can go backwards up the stairs,” she offered.

Elliot couldn’t help it; he laughed again as he handed her his hat. “It’s fine.” She looked dubious so he bent and lifted the metal contraption, carrying it easily up the stairs. “Where do you want it?” He was glad he didn’t sound winded. The thing actually was particularly heavy. But as long as she didn’t want it on the second floor or dither needlessly, he’d be okay.

“The kitchen,” she said, going ahead of him again.

He deposited the heater in the middle of the oversized farm kitchen. She handed him his hat, staring at the heater.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Do you think this is an okay place for it? I was trying to pick somewhere central.”

“Most people put them in the kitchen or living room. Depends on where you spend the most time.”

She frowned and bit her lip as if uncertain of where she spent the most time. Something about her reminded Elliot of himself right after he came home from the war. Injured and missing an eye, the worst part had been the uncertainty of what to do next, of his place in the world. If not for his family and Missy, he would have fallen to pieces. Who would make certain the same didn’t happen to Celeste?

“Thank you,” she said, motioning toward the heater.

“No problem. Do you know how to light it?”

She opened her mouth, probably to assure him she’d be fine, but hesitated a beat. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Let me save you the trouble. It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Do you have kerosene?”

Now her expression turned wry. “Do you think Minnie would have let me leave town without it?” She left before he could answer and returned a moment later with a full can, peering over Elliot’s shoulder as he crouched, unscrewed the cap on the heater, and poured in the fuel. When that was done, he adjusted the wick, talking out loud as he did so, and then pushed the button to light the heater.

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