Cassidy Read online

  The potato, onion, and carrot bins stood empty at his left. The fruit bins were just empty. She could hide under the stairs where bundles of burlap bags had been tossed for the upcoming bean harvest. That gave her at most a month to recover, but Jude hoped she’d be gone long before then.

  “Ready to move yet” he asked, his arms still around her.

  “Yes,” she answered hoarsely. Rolling to one side, she slid off of him.

  He scrambled to his feet, fully aware the cellar door still laid wide open and visible to anyone who might be nearby. When she made no effort to stand, he scooped her gently off the floor and angled her beneath the stair joists. Lowering her onto the burlap beneath the steps, his anxiety spiked higher with each second he wasn’t at the fire. The prophet and his Elite would definitely be watching. He had to be seen.

  “Thanks,” she whispered again, shivering as she pulled one bag to her chin.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry these aren’t better accommodations.” Cupping her chin, he traced his thumb near the oblong, oozing sore. “They burned you?”

  She blinked up at him, her brown eyes melting his resolve not to care for her. “Y-yes.”

  “I’ll... I’ll...” he stuttered like the class geek asking the most popular cheerleader to the prom. I’ll what? Return? Put myself at risk again? Lose Judith for good? This quick rescue had turned into something he might not be man enough to finish, but damn it. Cassidy needed him. He made the promise anyway. “I’ll bring something to put on that burn. I’ll be back. I’ll get you out of here.”

  “S’okay. You don’t have to.”

  The need to offer encouragement prevailed. He smoothed his hand along her cheek, relishing the softness. I never should’ve left you. “I will help you. I will. Promise.”

  She looked up at him from her burlap-camouflage, tears brimming, but her lip tight as if she’d rather die than let them fall. This was another class of woman than what he was used to, and he was in awe.

  “You’re very brave,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head. “If I was brave, I wouldn’t have left you.”

  “But you came back. That Greg guy can’t drown me anymore.” Her voice grew squeaky as she ended.

  I suck, damn it. He ignored her kindness. “They’ll be looking for you. Keep quiet and stay hidden. Can you do that?”

  She bobbed her head.

  Just as he lifted the heavy door to shut Cassidy in darkness, he couldn’t help himself. She needed to know she wouldn’t be alone for long if he could help it. “I promise I’ll be back. You can trust me.”

  The quiet affirmation of a strong but fragile woman lifted up from the dark. “I do.”

  Jude made quick work of reacquiring the empty buckets, which he filled with water from the horse trough before he joined the ranks of the fire brigade. He scanned the mob of men and women, looking for the prophet and his goons. Both Lucien and Hank were involved in shouting orders, both seemed to be vying for control instead of doing the dirty work. But Greg?

  Jude couldn’t see him anywhere, and that didn’t set well. The man could be back with Cassidy, doing his worst to her and laying for Jude, too. Nervous anxiety skittered up the back of Jude’s neck. He should have minded his own damned business.

  The fire had spread greedily into the dry field, advancing quickly toward the neighboring bean field. Black and gray smoke billowed overhead, but it was impossible to get control over the rapidly racing flames using simply buckets of water. Even a damned garden hose would have made a difference.

  Jude ran back to the garden and grabbed an armful of shovels from the tool shed. Shouting, he raced to the front of the fire line, knowing he had to be seen by everyone to support his alibi. If he still needed one. “Dig a trench,” he bellowed, waving a shovel as he ran. “Now. Run. Get ahead of the fire. Quick. Before it takes everything!”

  An army of men joined him, working frantically along the dirt road that separated the fields. He hated the fire as much as he appreciated it. It was no longer the friendly thing he’d started. Huge tongues of flames leapt skyward into the black and white smoke. It burned hot and fast and literally blocked the sun. Still, he didn’t regret starting it. A man had to do what a man had to do, and this fire was another means to an end.

  A frission of pride stoked his usually bland, hero-less persona. He’d saved a woman’s life today. That ought to count for something.

  Another one of the solitary souls in the cult, Tucker Chase, joined him, both men shoveling as fast as they could to create a fire line the flames couldn’t jump. Like Jude, Tucker kept a low profile. He didn’t speak as he applied muscle and brawn to the dirt flying over his shoulder and into the fire that flowed toward them like a scorched ocean of orange on black.

  Tucker shoveled faster. Jude matched his efforts. He hadn’t noticed before, but this guy was big-shouldered with muscular biceps. When his shovel bit the earth, it threw hefty mouthfuls aside. His shirt stretched its buttons, and didn’t stay tucked into his pants. Sweat dripped off his face and neck from the steady exertion, but not once did he hesitate or slow down.

  Jude kept watch on the running flames now licking at his boot heels. This fire couldn’t get anymore out of control. He headed in one direction while Tucker battled in the opposite direction. Jude didn’t look up again until his elbow collided with Greg’s arm. At least, he wasn’t in the cellar.

  “Uh, sorry.”

  “No problem. Good job, Brother Clark,” Greg muttered, his face smudged with sweat and soot as he worked. “Were you a fireman before you accepted the gospel?”

  “No. Just don’t like fire.”

  “Me neither.”

  Jude attacked another furrow. He dug faster and threw dirt farther, wishing this particular henchman would work someplace else. Having one of Cain’s buddies out amongst the flock should have been a good thing. It wasn’t. Not all snakes crawled on their bellies. Greg wasn’t firefighting as much as he was chumming for clues that might indict a man. That he could act like he cared enough to pitch in and help after what he’d just done to Cassidy, made Jude want to use his shovel for something besides fire control. A grave came to mind.

  “I saw...” Greg paused to stomp his boot to his shovel, groaning loudly as if it were difficult.

  Jude’s heart thudded to a screeching halt. He gripped his shovel handle hard, willing to use it as a weapon if needed. You saw what?

  “I saw…” Greg blew out a breath, “…an apartment fire once. Helped the firemen put it out.”

  Jude kept his mouth shut. He refused to banter with a man he didn’t trust.

  “Praise the Lord I just happened to be there at the right time,” Greg exclaimed with his usual religious rhetoric, grunting as he dug another shovelful. “It was a lucky day for Jerusha. Don’t know what the fire department would have done without me.”

  Curiosity spiked Jude’s eyebrow, but he held his tongue. Luck nothing. Greg had probably started Jerusha’s apartment fire in order to convert her. That was how the Elite worked. There was no sacrifice too small, as long as it came at another’s expense. Jerusha must have had money back then. No doubt the prophet owned it all now.

  Greg tossed several quick and light loads of dirt into the air, panting with each one. “Yes, that’s when she finally knew she could trust me.”

  Jude surpassed Greg’s slower pace, hoping to leave him behind.

  Greg stuck to Jude’s side, damn it. “She surely knew the Lord saved her that day. God bless her.”

  Jude grunted, feigning interest when his mind was back in the root cellar and the nearly drowned woman hiding beneath the burlap, the one with the third-degree burn on her chin because of a noble jerk like Greg. Already planning how to get water and food to Cassidy, he put his back into his work. Blisters on his palms, he was used to. The fire, he could deal with. He just couldn’t take the chance of anyone finding or hurting Cassidy again.

  Good men didn’t bully women or children, damn it. It just wasn’t do
ne.

  He paused to catch his breath and take stock of the near catastrophe he’d created. The burned field could’ve passed for Hades the way smoke hung over it and the ash-filled spirals curliqued heavenward. As many men as women helped at the trench line and the bucket brigade, and slowly but surely, the fire line held. No flames jumped the breach.

  He leaned against his shovel handle and watched the final orange tongues lap against the fire line only to die. Thankfully, the blustery warm Santa Ana winds Southern California was known for didn’t stray this far north, or this little fire could have been a real monster.

  The last flame down the row finally succumbed beneath Tucker’s hefty shovelful. Jude wiped the sweat and grime out of his eyes and off his brow, finally able to relax.

  Everything would still hit the fan when Cassidy’s escape was discovered. The prophet and his Elite would go after the traitor who’d cut her belts, but for this one golden moment, Jude felt like a man again. The damsel in distress was safe, and the fire was out. He lifted a thankful prayer up to the pale, northern California sky and praised the Lord indeed. The real Lord.

  Under the drifting white smoke, the group of disheveled firefighters ambled passed the barn and into the yard. Greg hurried to the prophet’s side. Good riddance.

  Jude stuck his shovel blade in the ground as he walked, using it as a walking stick. A sudden breeze swirled up across the fields, wafting the dust and cinders into the sir with the smoke. Watching it swirl upward instead of watching where he was going, he stepped on Tucker Chase’s boot.

  “Sorry,” Jude mumbled. “Didn’t see you.”

  Tucker didn’t answer, but Jude noticed he matched him step for step. Jude let the uncomfortable silence linger between them. The biggest disease in this so-called church was the distrust among its members. Too many turned on others to gain favor with their prophet, or worse, with Hank or Greg. No one was who he or she appeared to be. Jude surely wasn’t.

  They’d almost reached the yard when Tucker stumbled into his side. Jude looked up, not sure if the man was drunk, sick, or just plain stupid.

  Intelligent blue eyes flickered over his face. “Watch your back,” Tucker muttered under his breath. He took one more step alongside Jude before he turned and headed toward the horse trough where Cain stood gathering his flock.

  Jude followed. What was that supposed to mean?

  “Brothers and sisters, your attention.” Cain held his soot-covered hands up for attention. “Please. Silence.”

  Everyone moved to their prophet’s command. Jude stepped up front, needing to make certain that he was seen. That’s all this was about. Alibi. Looking good. All that crap.

  “We have a problem.” Lucien extended his arms toward Jude, one imperious brow lifted. “Brother Clark. Please step forward. Come. Join me.”

  Damn. That’s me. I’m Brother Clark. It was never a good thing to be singled out by the prophet, especially after that covert warning from Tucker. Jude’s panic button flashed a bright red warning light in his head. With a quick glance, he scanned the end of the granary. The root cellar stood wide open. A man leaned over the edge, peering down the stairs. Someone had found Cassidy.

  Jude sucked it up and stepped forward with his shovel, but then Cain made it worse. He grasped Jude by the hand and pulled him to stand at his side.

  “Brother Clark. Would you care to tell us what you’ve done?” Cain asked confidentially.

  Jude kept his eyes on the dirt at his feet, not willing to give anything away. Not yet. Not until he had to. He didn’t regret saving Cassidy. He only wished he’d found his daughter before he’d risked his life—that he had the chance to tell Judith he loved her one last time. His lungs filled with regret.

  Cain’s grip turned into a stranglehold Jude couldn’t escape. He took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. What else could they possibly do to him? Censure him? Who cared? He had a little girl to find and save. Let the world shun him. They could all go to hell.

  The gathering quieted. All eyes were on him, and Jude wished the earth would swallow him up and spit him back out in Florida with Judith safely at his side. Only the meadowlark on the fence post interrupted the prolonged silence with a bright, cheery whistle, while all the members of the cult waited to hear Jude’s latest sin. Waited to watch him receive his just due, and maybe die for helping another. He swallowed hard.

  “Brother Clark,” Cain said in a strong, clear voice, digging his fingernails into Jude’s shoulder muscle as he paused for effect, “is too humble. I’m here to tell you that today, he saved our noble cult with his humble actions.”

  I what? Jude jerked his head up at Cain, shocked. His mouth dropped open, but Cain didn’t see it. The man was on a roll. Jude was just a prop and Cain the ultimate actor.

  “Brothers and sisters, we have in our midst a genuine hero.” Cain raised his free hand in a mighty salute. “We shall convene to the chapel to absolve Brother Clark of his previous sin. From this day forth, you shall ignore the mark of the crescent moon. We welcome him as a full convert. Praise be to Brother Clark.”

  “Praise be to Brother Clark!” the congregation shouted.

  Jude blew out a soft breath of relief. Maybe no one had discovered Cassidy was missing after all. Maybe he really was a hero? Okay, no. Not him. But at least, he wasn’t the scum of the church at the moment at the moment. He had a little more breathing room to find Judith.

  “Let us give thanks for the day Brother Clark joined our congregation. Praise be to the truth that reveals all,” Cain declared, his palms lifted over the crowd.

  “And to the prophet who sets us free,” the congregation chanted automatically.

  “Praise be to life.”

  “And praise to our almighty prophet, the giver of life.”

  Jude walked in step with Cain. If this wasn’t a charade, and if he really was in the prophet’s good graces, this was a most extraordinary day after all. Weird, but extraordinary.

  Chapter Four

  “There are spiders down there, Chloe.”

  “I like spiders.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Saffron, you’re such a sissy.”

  “Am not,” Saffron answered, her voice tight and squeaky. “I got bit by a big spider one time, and my whole arm swelled up. It hurt.”

  “Sister Jerusha says spiders are our friends,” Chloe said. “She says God made them for a good purpose, just like he made us for the blessing.”

  Cassidy listened as only one set of feet tread lightly down the stairs.

  “Hurry it up,” a gruff man’s voice called from above. “If the prophet sees you stealing a bag for your dolls, he’ll whup your bottom.”

  For some reason, that only made Chloe giggle. “Then don’t let him see me, Brother Derrick. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me. Prophet Cain likes us girls. I know he does. Sister Jerusha says so.”

  Cassidy couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the girl’s naïveté. If you only knew.

  “We’re missing his meeting, and...” Cassidy couldn’t make out the rest of Brother Derrick’s admonition. Just as well. She strained to quiet her breathing, hoping Chloe would grab the nearest bag and leave.

  “Hurry it up, Chloe,” Saffron whined. “You’re gonna get us in trouble. We’re supposed to be over with the prophet right now. Something important’s going on. They’re going into the chapel and we’re missing it.”

  “I’m coming,” Chloe muttered. “Just a sec.”

  Cassidy saw her then, a pretty teenage girl with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail and a sunbonnet perched on her head.

  That silly head covering was another of the prophet’s mandates. All women, young or old, had to keep their heads covered at all times, even indoors. The bonnets’ wide brims kept the sun from damaging fair skin with freckles and sunburn. It also kept little girls’ and older women’s eyes focused on the task set before them instead of socializing. Cain didn’t allow idle chatter, gossip, friendship, or cama
raderie. A woman’s place was to serve, work, and bear children. Nothing more.

  Chloe stopped within inches of Cassidy. Just get your bag and go. Please.

  “You got it yet?” Brother Derrick asked.

  “Almost. I need to pick the perfect bag that’s so, so—” Chloe gasped. She’d pulled the burlap from Cassidy’s face, her gray eyes scanning the strange woman she’d just uncovered.

  Cassidy put a finger to her lips, hoping Chloe wouldn’t scream for help.

  Oddly, she didn’t. Instead, she took another step forward, her eyes bright and curious. “Who are you? Why are you hiding down here?”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Cassidy whispered.

  “I won’t,” Chloe answered, quietly, glancing over her shoulder, “I promise.”

  This young woman had to be Jude’s daughter. She had his gray eyes. The same gentle brows. The same elegant nose. “What’s your name?”

  “It used to be Judith, but I’m to be blessed on my next birthday, so the prophet has given me a new name. Now I’m called Chloe. Just Chloe.”

  “You’re Judith Cannon?” Cassidy asked to be sure.

  “Yes.” Judith peered more intently at Cassidy. “Do I know you?”

  Cassidy bit back the truth. She needed to be sure before she trusted this young woman. Judith didn’t need false hope, and Jude didn’t need incriminating evidence piled against him, not in this crazy cult where children were encouraged to turn on their parents. “You don’t need to be blessed, Judith.”

  A frown furrowed those gentle brows. “But it’s my right. Sister Jerusha said so.”

  Cassidy groaned. The blessing wasn’t a right, it was a crime, but how to explain it to a child brought up inside this insane cult and indoctrinated day in and day out? For that matter, did Judith understand what really took place during the blessing?