Sinister Read Online Free PDF Page B

the second still stood tall, though the stones were black as ebony.
    Ira eased up on the gas and let the Dodge Ram idle as he eyed the ghost of the home he remembered from his childhood. Long before the fire, this place had been abandoned for the newer, more modern ranch house that he still called home.
    Cutting the engine, Ira stared out the windshield as snow crystals tapped the glass. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. Yep, Father Time had left his mark with the lines etched in his face. Once compared to “a young” Clint Eastwood, he felt like he’d aged a hundred years since Rachel’s death. No one had made the Eastwood comparison in a while. His once-red hair was now gray, holding only a hint of its former hue, and when the hell had these crow’s-feet near the corners of his eyes become so prominent? He still had the strong Dillinger jaw, a blessing from his ancestors, and his eyes, mounted over a Roman nose, were as intensely green and sharp as ever.
    Shoving open the driver’s side door, he braced against the snow blast and buttoned his jacket a little tighter before kicking a path through the snow to the back of the building. Snow caked the rusted gate that hung at an angle.
    Inside what had once been the backyard, he glanced to one side where his mother had always tried to plant a vegetable garden. Snow coated the twisted remnants of fruit trees, their discolored branches having been devoid of leaves or fruit for nearly a quarter of a century.
    Covered with snow, the old homestead was pretty as a picture, but the charred ruins still pained Ira. After all these years, he was still mad as hell at Judd. Furious and disappointed and lonesome. Judd had been the closest thing Ira had had to a friend.
    Ira scowled at the remains of the old house, half blaming it for the loss of his younger brother. Blessed with a helluva lot more balls than brains, Judd had sneaked out here and met Mia Collins, when the fire had broken out. Ira, of course, had known that his brother was head over heels for the woman and, truth be told, she had been breathtaking in those days, in that same sensual manner that Pilar Larson possessed, and he’d felt damn guilty ever since. Ira certainly had no room to talk when it came to being a cheater, but he still felt he shoulda put his foot down where Mia was concerned, talked some sense into Judd, reminded him that he had a wife, a son and a daughter. But he hadn’t. He’d tacitly abetted the affair, letting it rage hot and wild, and it had come down in a burst of fire.
    He shivered as his mind flashed to the sirens and the flames. The acrid black smoke that burned his throat and obliterated the stars as it billowed into the sky. Judd and Mia had been locked inside. Mia had escaped, helped out by Ira’s own son, Colt, which had damn near scared the shit out of Ira, watching his son brave those scorching flames to save her.
    Judd hadn’t had a savior. He’d died inside that inferno, and Ira only hoped the smoke got to him before the fire did.
    No one had ever figured out who started that fire. Arson, the fire chief said, but who had set the blaze?
    There’d been talk of a drifter—a firebug—who’d roamed down through most of the Plains States and into Texas. Maybe he’d done it. That would explain the string of fires in Prairie Creek eighteen years ago—blazes that hadn’t hurt anyone, aside from the insurance companies that had to cough up dough to mend the fire damage.
    But Ira had always thought it was the Kincaids. Sheepherders who owned the neighboring parcel of land, the Kincaids had been at war with the Dillingers for as long as Ira could remember. In the past few years the rivalry had boiled down to a relationship of simmering distrust. Grazing rights, water rights, the issues of cattle guards and whether or not to pave roads—any issue was fodder for dispute with the Kincaids. Most recently the Kincaids had thrown up some cabins near government