Glory Falls

by Janine Rosche

  In his hand, he held a picture of her in her football uniform. His gaze shifted to her as she neared. “I miss this spunky girl. My Blue.” That handsome smile of his was about as welcome in this house as the plague.

  “Not your Blue. In fact, I’ve revoked your right to call me that. I’m Cecelia Walker to you.”

  “Cecelia Lawrence.”

  “Not professionally. And that’s what we are now. Professionals. Coworkers.”

  He winked her way. “Just like on Glory’s set? Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m not as naive as I once was. And I wasn’t in a relationship then, either.”

  “Listen up. I don’t like it, but if he’s what you want, I won’t get in the way. You have my word.”

  “Yeah, your word is as solid as chocolate fondue.” Blue yanked the picture out of his hand and replaced it on the mantel. Throughout the entire house, only one frame still lay facedown. Blue didn’t need to see its photo to know what it displayed. Blue and Ella on her second birthday. Two sets of big blue eyes peering down at matching yellow frosting on the tips of their noses. But Blue was tired of not thinking about her daughter. Even if it hurt. She was a beautiful, joy-filled girl who deserved to be remembered and honored by at least one of her parents. Blue tipped the picture right side up in its rightful place. But the twinge in Blue’s heart couldn’t compare to the effect it had on Hunter. The man winced as if someone had pelted him with a strong right hook, which is exactly what he deserved. The twelve-year-old inside Blue begged her for the opportunity.

  “Why are you here, Hunter?”

  “I want a truce. I dropped out of my next project so I can get fully immersed in my character’s world. I’ll be here, staying at a house Teddy just finished remodeling.”

  Stuart Ashcroft’s place? Isn’t that fitting? One arrogant fool moved out, and another moved in.

  “We aren’t friends. I don’t want to see you. And stay out of Thomas’s way. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t like you.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “There’s no trying about it. Stay away. And take your flowers with you.”

  “Those are yours. Remember the truce?”

  Blue walked over and grabbed the vase of flowers. She stalked to the front door and, in an effort to free her hand to turn the knob, awkwardly tried to balance the heavy floral arrangement against her waist—a task that would have been monumentally easier if she’d been graced with her mother’s curvy hips instead of her father’s straight-as-a-ruler torso.

  Hunter came to her aid, opening the door for her.

  She nodded her thanks, then stepped through the doorway, over to the porch railing, and dumped the vase’s contents. Below, red blooms and stems littered the ground, not disappearing in the snow entirely as she’d imagined in her head. Apparently, she’d need movie magic for this scene to have played out as it should’ve. But she wasn’t the cinematographer. She was the screenwriter, and the message of the action beat was clear. At least to everyone but Hunter. He simply smiled and went back inside.

  What else did she have to do? She flipped through her category of classic movie lines she could borrow. Rhett Butler’s final line of Gone with the Wind would add a nice cinematic effect.

  A moment later, though, Hunter emerged wearing his coat. He descended the steps, then carefully tiptoed off the walkway. He grabbed one stem and flashed a smile up at Blue before making his way back to his car.

  Freezing, Blue returned inside but watched through the windows as Hunter’s car slipped and slid down the driveway. He stopped by the break in the fence, though. His car door swung open, and he exited it only to wedge the rose into the fence right where Thomas could see it.

  Truce, my eye.

  * * *

  * * *

  On the movie screen, Cary Grant’s character waited on the top of the Empire State Building for the love of his life to meet him. In the past, when Blue made him watch these romantic movies, Thomas found himself wishing a good car chase would begin, or maybe an epic battle scene involving elves, hobbits, and orcs. But it was different now.

  As they lay on his couch, Blue’s breathing hitched to match the big moments on-screen. Then she’d squeal into his chest. Soon, their thoughts were no longer on the movie but on each other.

  Per usual, their faithful chaperone warmed their feet and snored. All it would take to wake Molly up was some heavy kissing, and the dog would do her job nudging them annoyingly until they separated. That unique skill of hers might be useful now, but in the future, they’d have a headache on their hands should they marry. The thought sparked a flicker in his chest. When her fingertips began tracing circles on his T-shirt just above his heart, that flame caught a draft and went to at least a three-alarm fire.

  As the kisses lengthened, he poured the depths of his heart into each one. He kissed her the way he should’ve on the driveway after that Seven Minutes in Heaven game, when he’d first held her hand by Glory Falls, as they’d watched the stars on the porch roof, and while dancing at prom. And for good measure, he kissed her the way he’d longed to when she’d stood before him with a wedding invitation in her hand and a plea in her eyes for him to say or do something.

  His dog whined from the far side of the couch, and between breaths, Blue said, “I’m okay, girl. Go back to sleep.”

  Thomas might have snickered if he weren’t so consumed by his desire for this woman in his arms. He’d never allowed himself to feel this much for someone, and while his flesh welcomed it, his soul threatened to sound the alarm.

  But there, in the home he’d rebuilt from the rubble of his parents’ marriage, Thomas ached to give all of himself to Blue and experience all of her in return. Considering the slight moan that purred from the hollow of her throat where his lips touched, she might feel the same way. After he summoned the last morsel of his self-control, he sat up and made the shape of a T with his hands. “Time-out. Blue, I need a time-out.”

  Blue righted herself at his side. She ran her fingertips beneath her lower lip, which had ripened to the same color red that flushed her cheeks. “Me, too.”

  “I don’t want to do this. I mean, I want to do this. Just not yet.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, then trailed his hand to her collarbone. “I know it’s awkward, but I don’t want to mess this up.”

  She nodded. “It’s not awkward. I’m glad you said something.” Her hands smoothed her dress again and again, and the lips he knew too well by now pursed.

  “Did I hurt your feelings?”

  “No. Old sins die hard, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shame you or—”

  “You didn’t. I was the one with the purity ring in high school, remember? Sometimes I wonder if . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if that’s why God took her. Because I broke my promise, my vow to him. She was conceived before marriage, so God took her back.”

  The earthquake that rocked Thomas might as well have split his heart and sent half of it into the Madison River. “Oh, Blue. That’s not why Ella died.”

  “If it wasn’t the river’s fault or the dam’s, maybe it was mine.”

  Thomas caught her first tear with his thumb, and he kissed her temple. “No, no, no. God has more mercy for us than that.”

  “How do you know?”

  With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. “Because I saw this movie once, where an accident took the lives of a town’s children. And this remarkable girl named Glory decided to put on a puppet show to make everyone happy again. And when one of the mourning parents broke into her friend Felix’s barn and destroyed all the puppets in his grief, Glory said this thing I’ll never forget. She said, ‘The brokenness has to go somewhere. Better it go into a doll than live inside that daddy’s heart forever.’”

  Her wide eyes hung on every word he said
.

  “And when we were kids, you told me the story of Jesus, who took all our brokenness with him to the cross so we didn’t have to carry it anymore. You made me act it out, actually. My frog, Fergie, played Judas Iscariot, if I remember correctly.”

  A smile broke through her pain. “And you wouldn’t let her kiss you again.”

  “Eh, I would’ve if you asked twice. But my point is, you cared too much for me to introduce me to a faith that paid us back sin for sin.”

  “And you really believe that?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “Maybe we can remind each other from time to time. And I agree. We’ll wait to take this any further.” She relaxed in his arms, resting her forehead against his.

  He closed his eyes and drank it all in. The scent of her perfume, the sensation of her soft breaths skimming his lips, the tickle of her hair falling across his cheeks. And he was sure. Every smile, every childhood game, and every silly adventure had brought them here. He never wanted to be anywhere else.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A simple fire. That’s all this was supposed to be according to dispatch, but the cheap building materials in this shoddy two-story house had made it far worse than they’d thought. In a crouch, Thomas followed Spencer’s steps closely down the hallway on a search for two children.

  “Are we sure these kids are in here?” Spencer asked.

  “That’s what the neighbor said,” Quinn said through the radio.

  “Is the fire contained in the kitchen?”

  “Not yet. There’s smoke coming out of the roof on the D side.”

  Thomas looked up to the ceiling. “It’s in the attic.”

  “Last room to search,” Spencer told Quinn. “Engine One, second story . . . looks like a bedroom.”

  Engine Three had already searched the home and found no one. The children, like the Henley kids, must be hiding. Thomas pressed his shoulder and hand to the first wall while Spencer swept the room. Just like in the rest of the house, this room was filled with stacks of boxes and junk. Raised by hoarders, Thomas knew houses like this. They were the definition of fire hazards.

  “Is anyone here?” Spencer called out.

  No answer, but the smoke was pouring heavily into the room.

  “Owners just pulled up with children in tow. Search is called off. House is not occupied. Back out now. Structure is showing signs of possible collapse.”

  “Beck, let’s go,” Spencer ordered.

  “Are we sure the kids are out?” Thomas asked.

  “Let’s go. Get on my tail. Two strikes, remember?”

  Spencer retraced his steps, through the doorway. Thomas watched him leave, then took one final look around the room. The heat in the home was hot, and the low visibility was made worse by the sweat stinging his eyes. He turned to leave, but a whimper caught his ear.

  Two strikes. He should follow Spencer, but what if they were wrong? Was it worth losing his job to save one life?

  “Hello? Anyone here?” With his shoulder to the wall, he circled the room, looking high and low in any possible hiding spots. “Call out!”

  “Beck, where are you?” Spencer’s voice scratched through the radio.

  “Thirty seconds,” he said.

  “You don’t have thirty seconds. Get out now!”

  As if on cue, the roof in the hallway collapsed, raining down a heap of burning junk from the attic and blocking the exit. Thomas neared the doorway, but the heat scorched him through his gear.

  “Beck!”

  “Mayday, Mayday. Second story, D side. Fireman trapped.”

  “Ladder Two, get in position. RIT is on its way.”

  The Rapid Intervention Team—deployed to rescue him. Thomas dragged his hands along the walls. No window. The backside of the room was a makeshift closet with piles of shoes and bags, perhaps, and racks of hangered garments. He rummaged through a seemingly endless curtain of clothes. Again, no window.

  The smoke was so thick, the light from his helmet barely cut through. He was operating blind. After stumbling over a stack of boxes, he got to the fourth wall. Up and down, he slid his hands. Still, nothing. He was back to the doorway out to the blocked hall. Above him, the ceiling crackled. If this house was anything like his childhood home, the attic floor would be holding a lot of weight. If he didn’t get out soon . . .

  “Spence, I can’t get out. God help me. I can’t get out.”

  “Get to the window,” his captain’s voice said over the radio.

  “I can’t find it.”

  Thomas scrambled a circle around the room a second time. There had to be a way. But if there wasn’t . . . His foot kicked something, and the object whimpered. He lifted it, only to discover a doll, its plastic face tacky from the heat. What was likely meant to be a giggle had warped into a mewing, and Thomas tossed it aside. He’d risked not only his career but his life for a baby doll.

  Blue’s face burned itself into his mind. How would she hear the news? Lord, please let Spencer call Cassie or Robbie first. It’d be better to come from one of them. She’d have someone to hold her—something he’d never do again.

  “I’m gonna breach the exterior wall.” Thomas gripped the ax and lifted it from his belt. He returned to what should be the exterior wall and swung the ax. It plunged through the clothing and sank into drywall. After wrenching it free, he swung again and again. Still, no moonlight from outside broke through. His foot caught on the bed, and he fell to the ground. Would they find him here, lying in the same heap of trash he was born into? How would this affect the movie and Blue’s career? Maybe his death would help springboard her to the top. Back to Hollywood. Back to Hunter. Thomas would be a man she once knew. But would she ever know how he felt about her? Or would that die here in the flames with him tonight?

  “Spence, tell Blue that—”

  “Stand back,” Spencer called.

  The smashing of glass burst past the fire’s roar. Seconds later, a flashlight’s beam flickered between swinging garments. Thomas scrambled toward it.

  Today was not his day to die. With the help of Ladder One’s captain, Thomas climbed through the window and down the ladder. Before his feet settled on the top of the truck, Thomas spied Spencer down below, holding up three gloved fingers.

  * * *

  * * *

  The tapping sound persisted until Molly’s growl reverberated through Blue’s chest. She propped herself up on her elbow and checked the time on her alarm clock. 3:12 a.m.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Someone was at her window. It could only be . . .

  “Thomas?” she said loud enough for Molly to perk up. Blue hurried to the window and pushed the curtain out of the way. Sure as the night is long, Thomas was there, separated by the glass. She quickly hoisted open the window to let him in.

  Thomas followed the chill night air inside and quickly turned to close its entrance.

  Blue took the moment to appraise herself. An old West Yellowstone High T-shirt and itty-bitty shorts. Not her most modest attire, for sure. Yet Thomas didn’t even seem to notice. Rather, he crushed her in an embrace. Molly crawled off the bed and sniffed at his pants. His typical clean, woodsy scent had been replaced by sweat, smoke, and ash. Still, he clung to her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work until eight?”

  “Spencer sent me home early.”

  “Why?”

  “Three strikes.”

  “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  Thomas didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go. His heat burned through her clothes.

  “Come sit down,” she whispered, leading his Walking Dead–esque form to her bed. She pulled the chain on her bedside lamp. “Why did you come to my window?”

  He looked worse for wear. His face was heat scorched and smudged with smoke, and his dark hair was starche
d with sweat like a movie’s handsome superhero’s after battle, but not a battle he’d won. “I didn’t want to wake your parents.”

  “They left for Germany yesterday. Now tell me what happened?”

  A solemnity swallowed his eyes. “There was a fire, and I got trapped. I didn’t think I’d make it.”

  “Oh, Thomas. You did. You’re still here.”

  “I almost wasn’t.” Tears billowed above his lower lashes. “All I could think about was you, and how you still don’t know what you mean to me.”

  Blue placed a kiss deep against his lips. He melted into her, and she held him up. “Words aren’t necessary. I know, Thomas.”

  “Tonight, that wasn’t enough.” He swallowed hard. “I’m not good at these things, so I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “In relationships, when are people supposed to start saying I love you?”

  She slipped her hand up to his neck where a day and night’s worth of scruff teased her. “When they feel it, I guess.”

  “My family . . . they never said that. And if I’m honest, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around the concept.”

  “Okay. Well, how do you know what happiness feels like?”

  Thomas’s warm eyes searched her room. “I know happiness because of how it felt when you’d return to Montana each summer.”

  She smiled. “And sadness?”

  “Because of how it felt when you went away every August. Or how it felt to leave you on the dance floor at prom. That’s the thing. I know anger because of how it felt when that Rothdale football player tackled you. I know joy from when you make me laugh. I know pride because of how my heart nearly burst as I watched your words come to life on the big screen. I know sorrow because when we visited Ella’s grave, that same heart felt like it had been shot with a thousand arrows. Every emotion I’ve ever known has been defined by the times you’ve made me experience it.”

  Although words amassed on her tongue, Blue buttoned her lips. It was his turn to speak.