Gold in the Fire. Margaret Daley

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      He moved away from the pile of blackened rubble. Darcy followed. When she looked back toward the barn, all she saw was the swirls of fog. The stench of smoke clung to the air.

      “When it’s safe, I’ll bring in my dog. I’ll know more after I can take some samples and check the area out more thoroughly.”

      “Dog?” Her mind refused to grasp the implication of what he was saying.

      “He’ll be able to locate where the fire originated. We’ll pinpoint what the accelerant was. If it matches the other fires, we’ll know we have a serial arsonist on our hands.”

      “Serial arsonist? But why here?”

      Joshua shrugged. “There are countless reasons why someone sets a fire. Most are for some kind of personal gain, but occasionally we find a person who just likes to set fires and watch them burn.”

      Darcy shuddered. Sweetwater was always such a quiet town, not like where she lived now. Even though there were nearly fifteen thousand people in Sweetwater, she still thought of it as a small, close-knit community.

      “If it’s arson, there’ll be a thorough investigation.”

      “Of course.”

      “I’ll be looking into all the reasons why someone would set a fire. That includes personal gain.”

      For a moment her mind went blank. Stunned, she couldn’t think of a reply.

      “Just thought I’d let you know.”

      “Why?”

      “I know your father had a heart attack a few weeks ago. Shamus Flanaghan is a respected member of our community. I don’t think he had anything to do with this, but I still have to check out the possibility.”

      “And you want me to cushion the blow?”

      The corner of his mouth quirked. “Yes, ma—Darcy. I would appreciate it.”

      “So in other words, you want me to help you with your investigation.”

      Joshua plowed his hand through his damp hair. “Well, not exactly. I just don’t want to be responsible for causing your father further grief. But questions will have to be asked—and answered.”

      “Then you can ask me. As of last week, I’m acting as the manager of this farm until my father gets back on his feet.” If she said it enough times, perhaps it would be true.

      “I’ll be back later with my camera and Arnold. I’ll know more after I take a look around.” He put his helmet on. “Good day.”

      Frustration churned in her stomach as she watched the firefighter walk away, the thick fog and smoke swallowing him until all she saw was a gray wall. Another shiver rippled down her spine. What in the world had she gotten herself into? A serial arsonist?

      Normally this was her favorite time of day, when the sun was just peeking over the horizon, the sky lit with color, the birds chirping in the nearby trees. Even when it was foggy, there was a certain appeal to dawn, a mystery waiting to be uncovered. But now there was a real mystery. Who would want to set fires to barns filled with horses?

      A pounding behind her eyes hammered at her temples. Her father raised jumpers and hunters. People from all over the country came to him. His reputation as a breeder had always been paramount to him—at times to the exclusion of even his family.

      Darcy closed her eyes for a few seconds and tried to compose her shattered nerves. There was so much she had to do. She didn’t know where to begin. Finally she decided she had to check on her father first, to make sure he was following his doctor’s orders, before she could even take the time to assimilate this latest news.

      She started up the road that led to the main house, white painted fences on either side of the asphalt. Somewhere out in those fields were some of their prize brood-mares. But the fog that adhered to the ground obscured her view. She would need to make sure all the horses were accounted for—after she saw her father and reassured herself that he was all right.

      She entered the house through the back door. Lizzy Johnson, the petite housekeeper, stood at the stove, shaking her head while she prepared French toast. A strand of gray hair fell forward on her forehead. With a heavy sigh, she brushed it back in place.

      “What’s wrong, Lizzy?”

      “One thing. Shamus. He insists on eating a proper breakfast. He wanted eggs, bacon and toast. He’s getting French toast. I figure that’s better than a plate full of cholesterol-high eggs fried in bacon grease.”

      The frustration in Lizzy’s voice matched her own feelings. Darcy knew how difficult her father could be. He didn’t like change, and the new diet his doctor wanted him on was definitely a change.

      “I’ll have a word with Dad. Is he in his room resting?”

      Lizzy arched a brow. “Resting? No, he’s dressed and ready to go back down to the barn.”

      “But he promised me—” Darcy swallowed the rest of her sentence. It was hopeless. Her father didn’t know how to take it easy or to follow orders. Why had she thought she would be able to help her father recover when he had never slowed down for anything in the past, not even when her mother had died? He’d put in almost a full day of work the day of the funeral.

      “Child, he’s in the dining room drinking his coffee. Praise the Lord, decaf. But it was a battle to get him to drink that instead of regular coffee. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it down at the barn.” Lizzy flipped over the pieces of bread, her gaze clouding. “How bad is it?”

      “Bad. The barn is completely gone. Thankfully no one was hurt, but we lost one mare in foal. The rest of the horses we managed to save. Now I have to handle finding places to stable seventeen mares until we can rebuild the barn.” Darcy thought back to what Joshua Markham had said about a serial arsonist. What if the other barns were in danger?

      “And a father who won’t listen to his doctor’s advice.”

      “Yes, that, too.”

      “Here, I suspect you could use some of this. Just keep it away from your father.” Lizzy passed her a glass pot full of a dark brown brew. “This has lots of caffeine.”

      “Thanks. I can always count on you, Lizzy,” Darcy murmured as she made her way into the dining room.

      Pausing halfway down the long, cherry-wood table that seated twelve, she put the pot on a thick place mat. Then, instead of sitting, she gripped the back of a brocade-covered chair, leaning into it for support.

      Her father glanced up from reading the newspaper. “I thought you were Lizzy with the breakfast she insists I eat. What’s taking her so long? Never mind—I’m sure she’s not hurrying because she doesn’t think I should go down to the barn.”

      “You shouldn’t, Dad. I can take care of everything. Did you rest at all?”

      He frowned. “Rest when one of my barns is burning? What do you think?”

      “When did you come back to the house?”

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