Judgement By Fire (30 page)

Stephen began
to raise the gun, his face devoid of anger but filled with an apostolic
purpose. He was delivering a just punishment to the guilty. Rage and fear
pulsed through Jon and tinged his vision red as he threw himself upwards and
forwards. Stephen muttered an oath as he fell backwards and the gun went
clattering down onto the stones.

There was nothing
in Jon’s mind now but the need to end this, to kill this man who threatened
everything he held dear. Scooping up a huge rock, he raised it in both hands
above his fallen cousin.

*
* *

Moments
earlier, Lauren had felt her heart momentarily stop.  Now it sent great
pounding waves of icy fear through her body as she watched the tall man in the
snow-streaked rocky clearing below raise a heavy boulder over his felled
opponent. The man next to Lauren pressed her shoulder, his eyes pleading for
silence, but Lauren couldn’t hold back any longer.

            As she scrambled to
her feet, a shower of pebbles rattled down the hillside. A cry tore from her
throat, “Jon! No!  For God’s sake, stop!”

            The tall blond man
below looked up. Their eyes locked. In that instant of distraction, he failed
to see his adversary’s raking fingers seek out and then scoop up the
wicked-looking revolver. He saw nothing at all but her face.

Then a
thunderous explosion filled his ears, his eyes closed reflexively and the
boulder dropped as the earth rocked around him.

Time was playing
tricks on her again. Its flow had slowed in the blazing cottage as she
struggled to free herself;  then it had raced too fast to that moment on the
edge of the incline when she’d seen the man she loved about to kill his own
cousin. Finally it had stopped entirely when that gunshot had echoed through
the trees.

Now, lying in
Jon’s arms on the guestroom bed at his farmhouse, Lauren was plagued by
memories of the moment when she thought a bullet from Stephen’s gun had ended
Jon’s life. Questions pounded her brain: Would Jon really have brought that
boulder down on his cousin’s head, killing him? Would Stephen have actually
shot Jon, in that moment of distraction? If she had not distracted him, would
Jon have been able to wrest the gun from Stephen, preventing the deranged man
from killing himself?

Even though she
knew Jon would never have forgiven himself if he had killed Stephen, would he
ever be able to forgive her for that interference which may have stolen his
chance to save Stephen?

 Fat tears
rolled down her cheeks, stinging the cuts which were a relic of Stephen’s
assault, and sobs began to rack her.

Jon’s arms
tightened around her, but even the gentle kiss he dropped on her cheek could
not still her fears.

“It’s reaction,
love, don’t worry. Just let it all out. You’ve been through an awful ordeal.” Jon
held her, his own heart breaking as he listened to her sobs.

*
* *

The thought that
he had put her through so much, that his blind loyalty to family had led him to
miss all the warning signs and put the woman he loved in jeopardy, would haunt
him for the rest of his life.

Gentle, ethical
Lauren had seen him in a rage so murderous it must have changed her view of
him. He’d never know if he would actually have killed or seriously injured
Stephen; he only knew that in that moment, he wanted his cousin dead.  What
kind of man did that make him?

Certainly not
one who deserved the love of a woman like Lauren. He pulled her sleeping form
close to him, wanting to savor every moment, because he knew this would be the
last time they would lie together.

Somehow he fell
asleep, to awake from a nightmare where he watched helplessly again as Stephen
placed the snub nose of the gun inside his own mouth, raised his other hand in
a grim salute, and pulled the trigger. The slow motion horror of the dream
memory sent him clawing his way back to consciousness to find the dawn was
already painting glorious pink streaks across the glittering brightness of an
early Ontario morning.

Lauren, awakened
by his sleep-drugged struggles, was clinging to him, her lips seeking his, her
hands softly caressing him. She held him to her and kissed him slowly, deeply,
a kiss full of longing and need and love. Jon groaned, every fiber of his being
wanting to love her. God, how he’d like to give in to her sweet temptation, to
taste the sweetness of her lips, to bury himself in her beauty and hope for
forgetfulness!

It took his last
ounce of willpower to pull away, and in that moment he felt his heart was
broken.

Gently, he moved
her hands from him and slid from the bed.

“Jon?” her
question was sleepy and puzzled.

“No, Lauren. I
can’t.”

He stood staring
out at the growing dawn and heard her move in the bed behind him.

Lauren spoke
softly, her voice puzzled. “It’s all right, Jon—we’ve both been through so
much—just come back to bed and hold me.”

“No.” She didn’t
understand; how could she?  He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

*
* *

 Lauren watched
as he stood in front of the window, his back to her, and she shuddered as she
flashed back to the time the last puzzle pieces had begun to fall into place as
she had seen Stephen’s back view, lit against her own living room window.

            But Jon didn’t notice
her shiver or the remembered horror that flashed across her face. Instead,
refusing to look at her, he said in a tight voice, “I’m of no use to you,
Lauren. I can’t love you.”

            Shocked and
frightened to her core, she gasped and began to rise from the bed. Then common
sense got the better of her, and she said quietly, “Jon, it’s only natural that
there should be difficulties, after all that happened yesterday.”

            “No, Lauren. I mean I
can’t love you. But you’re right—everything that happened yesterday did make me
see that.” The coldness in his voice made her shiver again. She pulled on his
discarded shirt, breathing in the scent of him. Tentatively, she went to stand
behind him and slid her arms around him.

            He moved away and her
breath caught in her throat. Feeling unable to breath now, Lauren wanted to
clap her hands over her ears to prevent herself ever knowing the words that he
was about to say.

            “It’s over, Lauren.
Over. Whatever we had, it’s gone. Be grateful for that.”

            “Jon, I love you…”

            “Then be glad it’s
ending now. I can’t love you. Stephen got one thing right.  I’ve destroyed
everyone who has ever loved me. Don’t you see that? My mother left me, and my
father….I did everything I could to hurt him, and when he needed me, I was off
playing soldiers in some misbegotten desert war. Stephen,” he almost gagged
over the word, hatred, and pain warring together within him. “My cousin, we
grew up together. And I didn’t have a clue what was going on inside him. Didn’t
see his hurt, his pain, his hatred.”

            Lauren swallowed
hard, trying to hold down the pain that swelled in her breast. She wanted to
hold him, soothe him, but his rigid back and harsh words held her back.

“You weren’t
responsible for what Stephen did…” she began, trying to find the words she
needed to say.

He cut across
her thoughts.

“I should have
seen what was happening. I would have seen if I’d been more human and less
involved in the business. The same thing happened to my father. The company was
everything and it didn’t matter who got hurt, or who needed him when he wasn’t
there.

“What happened
to you was my fault. I was too blind, too preoccupied, to see what was going on
under my nose. It was only the grace of God that you weren’t killed in that
cottage.” Then, without even glancing at her, he was gone.

            Lauren collapsed back
on the bed, tears running down her face as she replayed over and over each and
every word he’d spoken and the impact of each shook her like a blow.

*
* *

Mary knocked
gently at her door, bringing in a small breakfast tray and the news that the
police were waiting downstairs to take her statement. Although Lauren tried to
hide the fact that she’d been crying, she knew Mary looked with pity on her
tear stained, swollen face.

The older woman
was obviously aware of what had transpired between her and Jon. With a
sorrowful look, she told Lauren, “Mr. Rush said to tell you he’ll be away for
the next few days.”

She was grateful
for the woman’s compassion, but they both knew they were helpless in the face
of Jon’s determination.

So, before going
down to see the police, Lauren had telephoned Paul and Lucy.

“Could you come
and pick me up?” she’d asked, and Lucy’s sensitive ears had picked up the
desperate emotions in her friend’s voice.

Without asking
any questions, she’d told Lauren they would drive out to Jon’s farm immediately
and take her home to West River and Haverford Castle.

*
* *

A detective from
Toronto was in the large, bright sitting room. He and a uniformed colleague
from West River had been sipping coffee and enjoying some of Mary’s homemade
raisin oatmeal cookies when Lauren finally entered the room. She’d hoped to see
Chief Ohmer’s familiar face, but the two officers treated her with kindness and
courtesy as they took her through the events of the past few days

 “We may need to
talk to you again, but this all seems very straightforward,” The Toronto
detective said. He was an older man with sad eyes and a ‘seen-it-all-before’
expression .

“I’m glad you
think so,” Lauren had told him, fingering the bandages that swathed her
painful, swollen wrists and fingers. 

The man’s eyes
rested on her bandaged hands. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?” he asked. “What
does the doctor say about your hands?”

Lauren shrugged.
A short week ago, painting had been her reason for living. Now it barely seemed
important whether she would ever paint again.

“The doctors said
to wait until the swelling goes down before I try to pick up a paint brush, but
that the worst damage seems to be the external burns and should heal. There
doesn’t seem to be any nerve damage.” 

*
* *

When they had
left, she returned to her bedroom. She knew Jon was still in the house. She
could feel him as if her heart had grown an extra sense that quivered at his
nearness. Yet he’d told Mary a lie to pass on to her. Anger penetrated her
hurt. If he really didn’t want to see her, then fine.

She’d managed
her life well enough before she met Jon Rush; she’d do just fine again. But she
didn’t believe her own lies.

She heard a car racking
gravel along the driveway, and then Mary Wilson opened the front door to
visitors. Even the familiar voices of Paul and Lucy Howard didn’t rouse her to
gather her things and join them. Her heart screamed at her to stay, to try to
see Jon, to reason with him, to force him to talk things out.

But she knew he
was never going to forgive her. It was an irony that she, who had been so
afraid of Jon Rush taking over her life, had effectively undermined his own
self-determination. In trying to stop him defending himself, she’d taken away his
control over his own actions. She’d interfered in something she didn’t
understand—the relationship between two cousins who looked so alike and were so
different—and it had almost cost Jon his life. Even the fact that Stephen had
chosen to put a bullet in his own head would forever cast a shadow between her
and the man she loved. She had interfered. Now she had to pay the price.

Finally, she
steeled herself to pick up the few items she had with her.  Last night a nurse
had gently cleaned her face and hands, and Lauren had managed to clumsily clean
her own teeth before falling into bed with Jon, clad in one of his oversized
shirts.

She desperately
wanted to shower, but the bandages had to be kept dry and the thought of
struggling to wash herself with bulkily bandaged hands encased in plastic bags
was too exhausting. Instead she shrugged into the black wool jacket and pants
that Mary had had cleaned and then stored from Lauren’s previous visit.

With her
sprained shoulder supported in a sling, even brushing her short auburn hair was
too great a challenge. It didn’t really matter how she looked, anyway.

Nothing mattered
anymore.

*
* *

Jon watched from
an upstairs window as Lauren walked stiffly to Paul Howard’s car, the older man
and his wife gently supporting her, Mary bringing up the rear with a small bag.
It amazed him that, after all she’d endured, face pale where it wasn’t swollen
from the cuts and bruises his cousin had inflicted, she still looked so radiant
to him. He’d hurt her desperately, yet she walked out of his life with her head
held high.

Not even the
ordeal of yesterday, or its aftermath including having to face the police alone
this morning, could dim that bright spirit.
This was all for the best,
Jon decided, standing at his high vantage point and watching the scene below.
Her
pride and her courage would help her through this loss, too, and eventually she
would find another man to give her wonderful, generous love to.