Deadly Silence

Casey laughed. “Okay.”

Grinning, Katie said, “He’s thirty years old, black hair, green eyes, square face and about six foot two inches in height. He’s been on the fire department eight years, and he’s a lieutenant. Before Bev was murdered, Matt was a pretty outgoing dude. But now—” Katie opened the driver’s-side door “—he’s pretty serious, unreadable and just about as mute as his daughter.”

“Sounds pretty grim,” Casey muttered, frowning.

Katie nodded and frowned. “How do you get over your wife suddenly being torn from you? And on top of that, your child goes mute and is trapped inside her own trauma? Matt can’t fathom what she has endured. No one can.”

“Really bad stuff,” Casey mumbled, frowning. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her brown nylon Forest Service jacket. Her mint-green USFS truck was parked next to Katie’s vehicle.

“Gwen has said repeatedly that Matt needs psychological help, but he’s refused. He’s gummed up tighter than Fort Knox when it comes to his own grief. All we see is his guilt. He just hasn’t been able to open up and let out all that toxic grief,” Katie said. She climbed into her truck. “Maybe, Casey, you’re a ray of sunlight into his dark world. That was smart of you to take those photos.” She grinned and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine growled to life. “Who knows? Maybe those photos will not only help Megan, but Matt, too. Good luck!”

CHAPTER THREE

CASEY’S HANDS WERE DAMP as she stood at the door of a white, one-story, ranch-style house with green trim. Flexing her fingers, she couldn’t stop the tension that thrummed through her. Nervously, she smoothed her shoulder-length brown hair. The April morning was sunny with a cobalt-blue sky—a rare event for this time of year, she’d been told by her supervisor, Charley, who had given her two hours off to run over to Matt Sinclaire’s home.

Knocking a couple of times, Casey stood back and waited. In her left hand, she held her beat-up brown leather briefcase that had seen her through her university years. What was Matthew Sinclaire like? And how would Megan receive the photos of Hank, the red-tailed hawk?

The door opened.

Automatically, Casey held her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened as a man in a red T-shirt and jeans appeared. Instantly, her heart began a wild, unfamiliar beat. She looked up into his green eyes and felt consumed by his intent gaze upon her. To say that Matthew Sinclaire was a hunk was understating the obvious. The red T-shirt emblazoned with the words Jackson Hole Fire Department emphasized his broad, deep chest. His shoulders were powerful. He stood relaxed, body at a slight slouch; a man who was comfortable with who he was.

“You must be Ranger Casey Cantrell?” he asked in a deep voice.

Giving a nod, Casey rasped, “Yes, sir, I am. Are you Lieutenant Matthew Sinclaire?” She felt, suddenly, like a teenager in front of this guy. Clearly, Sinclaire was a man’s man, and it triggered something deep and hungering within her. Fingers tightening around the handle of her briefcase, Casey tried to appear just as relaxed as he seemed to be.

“Call me Matt. Come on in. Meggie is waiting for you.” He smiled a little and gestured for her to step into the brightly lit home.

Casey walked past him and into the house. It was near freezing on this April morning and she welcomed the warmth inside. She waited on a red and gray Navajo rug. Megan was standing at the other end of the foyer. The girl was dressed in a pair of dark green corduroy pants, a white blouse with long sleeves, her hair in a pair of cute pigtails. In her arms was Elmo, looking pretty bedraggled from a lot of care over the years. Casey smiled at her. She took off her ranger’s hat, which she hated wearing anyway, and quickly ran her fingers through her flattened hair.

“Hi, Megan. Do you remember me? I’m Casey.”

Megan broke into a welcoming smile and waved shyly at her.

Matt turned after closing the door. He saw Megan’s reaction to the woman ranger. Having a strong reaction to her himself, Matt tried to brush it aside. “I want to thank you for coming over on a Saturday morning, Ranger Cantrell.”

“Call me Casey,” she asked. Looking up at Matt, she felt her heart spring open like a flower in bloom. Sinclaire’s face was oval with a strong chin, broad forehead and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Casey knew he was thirty years old from the gossip she’d gotten down at Quilter’s Haven, where Gwen Garner had filled her in on this handsome firefighter. It was so easy to drown in the dark green of his intent eyes. He seemed to Casey to be an eagle, his pupils huge and black as he studied her, a slight tilt to his head. She was only five foot seven inches tall compared to his six foot two, but she was built with good, strong bone, no wilting lily of a stick-like woman. Still, Casey felt overshadowed by Matt Sinclaire’s powerful presence. There was an unspoken care that radiated from him toward her. Casey could see why this man, when in his firefighter gear, would ooze a sense of protection toward anyone in his safekeeping.

Matt gave her a tentative smile. “My friends call me Matt. Come on in. I’ve got coffee waiting for us in the kitchen.”

“Oh…” Casey murmured, “I was just going to drop these photos off, Mr. Sinc—I mean, Matt. I’m on duty today and Charley gave me some time off to deliver these to Megan. I don’t want to intrude on your weekend.”

“You’re not.” Matt held out his hand. “Give me your jacket, Casey. I know your boss, Charley. We’re good friends. I know he won’t care if you have a cup of coffee or two with me and Meggie.”

Hesitantly, Casey slid out of her warm brown nylon jacket and handed it to him. She saw Megan watching her, her eyes shining as much as they had in class five days earlier. “I’ve brought the photos of Megan holding Susie,” she offered. Dressed in her ranger uniform—a tan long-sleeved blouse and dark green trousers—Casey felt very unfeminine. She watched Sinclaire move. He possessed a cougar’s grace, bred from being an athlete. Casey knew firefighters lifted weights and jogged daily to stay in tip-top shape for the demands of their dangerous job. Still, she had to tear her gaze from his powerful back and narrow hips as he hung her coat up on a wooden peg next to the door. She gulped, and her mouth went dry. What kind of reaction was she having around this stranger?

“Come on in,” Matt invited her warmly, reaching down to take his daughter’s small hand that was swallowed up in his.

Quickly looking around, Casey saw a huge wood-stove in one corner with flames dancing behind the glass window. The red-and-yellow cedar floor was waxed and gleaming. There were Navajo rugs here and there. The room was painted a pale yellow; the drapes at the main window were brown with red flowers and green vines woven into the fabric. To her, this was a man’s home. There were no photos or pictures up on the walls. There were no green, living plants anywhere, either. It felt like a shell to Casey, not exactly alive or nurturing. She wondered if their home had exuded more of a woman’s touch when Bev was alive.

Following father and daughter into the kitchen, Casey saw Megan sit in a chair with Elmo in her lap. Her father had given her a glass of orange juice. “I feel badly for interrupting your breakfast,” Casey murmured, standing uncertainly in the doorway. The kitchen was white with blue curtains over the window. The smell of frying bacon filled the air.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt murmured. “Just take a seat opposite Meggie here at the kitchen table. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No…I don’t eat breakfast.” Not anymore, at least. Casey saw him frown and then saw the question in his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t ask it. Gripping the wooden chair, Casey pulled it out and sat down. “But if you have a cup of black coffee, that would be fine,” she added.

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. He saw sudden fear come to Casey’s huge, very readable gray eyes. “Sure,” he murmured, going to the counter and pulling down a mug. The last thing he’d expected was a beautiful woman in a ranger’s uniform to be at his door this morning. Oh, Matt knew Charley was sending someone down who had attended Megan’s class last Monday, but he’d had no idea Casey was so stunning. Out of habit, he looked at her left hand. She had long, beautiful fingers, her fingernails blunt-cut and without polish. No ring on her left hand. Of course, nowadays, there usually wasn’t any surefire way to tell if a woman was hitched or not.

Pouring the coffee, Matt found his body responding fiercely to her as a woman. What was this all about? He’d felt numbed from the inside out since Bev’s murder. In fact, he had plenty of opportunity to meet the women of Jackson Hole on a regular basis, but none of them had stirred him. Until Casey Cantrell had shown up at his door just now. He took the mug and set it down in front of her. She had soft sable bangs across her broad brow, her hair shot through with reddish and gold strands beneath the kitchen light. Although she had straight hair, it was softly curled around her proud shoulders. “There you go,” he murmured. Turning, he had to pay attention to the bacon frying in a skillet on the gas stove.

“Thank you,” Casey murmured. She smiled across the pine table. “How are you this morning, Megan?”

Megan shrugged shyly, smiled and gripped Elmo tightly to her chest. She took a sip of her orange juice.

Matt twisted a look over his shoulder. “Did Mrs. Harrington fill you in on my daughter?” he asked, trepidation in his voice. It was always painful to speak about Megan in the third person. Guilt wound through Matt as it always did when a stranger came into their lives. He would have to tell the story of Megan’s muteness all over again, and he dreaded it.

“Yes, she did.” Seeing the anxiety in Matt’s face, Casey also read guilt in his narrowing green eyes. Trying to put herself in his shoes was impossible but she saw he loved his daughter with a fierce protectiveness that made her heart open to him even more. This man was clearly a modern-day warrior. Oh, he might not wear chain mail, carry a sword on his hip or have a war horse nearby, but Casey clearly felt his protectiveness toward his daughter.

Casey added, “She told me everything,” as a hint to Matt to relax. He wouldn’t have to say anything in front of Megan. Relief instantly came to his features.

“Oh…good…good.” Matt turned back to finish frying the bacon. Clearing his throat, he said, “Charley said you’d just been assigned to the Teton’s station. Where were you before that?”

Suddenly, Casey felt as though she was on a hot plate. “Uh…I just graduated. This is my first assignment.”

“Oh? Where did you graduate from?”

“I received a degree in wildlife biology from Colorado State University.” She felt like running. Casey wanted no one to know of her horrific past. She gripped the mug of coffee in both hands and tried to sound as if she didn’t want to speak on the topic anymore.

“I see,” Matt murmured. He lifted the bacon out of the skillet and transferred it to a plate covered in paper towel to soak up the extra grease. “I graduated from there, too,” he said, walking over to the table to put the bacon near his plate. “I took my firefighting courses there.” He looked into her eyes. They were fraught with fear. Why fear? Was she afraid of him? Matt figured because she was new to the forest service, Casey was probably worried she might say the wrong thing. Turning, he went back to the counter and cracked four eggs into the skillet.

“Are you from Colorado?” Casey asked. She’d seen the curiosity in his eyes and didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. The best defense was a good offense. If Casey wanted her past to remain buried and unavailable to anyone, she needed to ask the questions instead.

“No,” Matt murmured, adding salt and pepper to the eggs now frying in the skillet. “I was born here in Jackson Hole. I went there for my training.”

“Did you always want to be a firefighter?”

Nodding, Matt said, “Yes, my father was one. He was the fire chief here for twenty years before he had a heart attack and died at a fire scene.”

Grimacing, Casey murmured, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry….”

“You didn’t,” Matt soothed. He turned and gave her a slight smile meant to reassure her. “You’re new to Jackson Hole. We’re a pretty interesting town. If you haven’t been over to Quilter’s Haven and talked with Gwen Garner, then you probably don’t know all the stuff there is to know about all of us.” He chuckled.

“I met Gwen,” Casey admitted softly. She couldn’t stop looking at the firefighter. He was tall, sinewy, the muscles thick and hard in his upper arms. There was dark hair sprinkled across his lower arms. And she’d seen that hair peeking out above the T-shirt he wore, too. His hair was cut military-short and there was no wasted motion about Matt Sinclaire.

Laughing a little, Matt said, “Then you’ll know all the stories about the residents. Do you sew or quilt?” He lifted the eggs out and put them on a plate. Turning off the gas stove, he removed the skillet and set it aside. Scooping up the blue-and-white plates, he walked to the long, rectangular table and sat down at the end of it. On his left was Megan and on his right, beautiful Casey Cantrell. He gave his daughter a plate and put one down in front of himself. Going to the fridge, he poured Meggie a glass of milk and came over and set it down in front of her.

“Sure you don’t want breakfast?” he asked, sitting down. Opening up his dark green linen napkin, Matt spread it across his lap. He leaned over and helped Meggie arrange the large napkin across her small lap.

“No…no, thank you.”