I’m not going to make it. The knowledge settled, hard and cold as a rock, in the pit of her stomach.
Even as she looked toward it despairingly, the door burst open and a man, painted orange by the flames, barreled into the hall. The fire behind her roared as if in anger. She felt a blistering burst of heat as, she realized, the rush of fresh oxygen fed the conflagration.
“Lisa!” His voice was so thick it was scarcely recognizable. His eyes fastened on her.
“Scott!” It was a choked cry. She started coughing violently again even as his name left her lips.
He won’t let me die.
Bent low against the smoke, his arm covering his nose and mouth, he ran toward her. Stopping, bracing a hand against the wall, she tried to get to her feet. If she could only run to him, he would help her get away.
But she was too weak. He reached her before she could do more than get into a kneeling position. Snatching her up into his arms, he pivoted with her and started racing back the way he had come. Over his shoulder, she was stunned to see that runners of flames had advanced to within just inches of where she had been. Following in the path of those runners, the fire moved forward steadily. Her eyes widened on the seething wall of flame as it came after them, devouring everything—ceiling, walls, floor—in its path with ravenous fury.
Another couple of minutes and it would have swallowed me.
“Lisa. Put your arms around my neck.” Scott spoke urgently in her ear as they reached the top of the stairs and he slammed the door in the fire’s teeth. Coughing, Lisa used what felt like every last bit of strength and will that remained in her to comply. Held tight against his chest, her arms locked around his neck now, feeling boneless as a rag doll, she buried her face in his shoulder in an effort to escape the smoke that swirled around them as he ran down the stairs with her.
A moment later they burst out the side door and into the night. Lisa felt the rush of cool air against her skin. Lifting her head, blinking because her eyes still stung, she inhaled deeply, thankfully. Immediately she started to cough, but she didn’t even care. The familiar side of the house, the lilac bush beside the door, the swaying lilies, the rounded silhouettes of the towering tulip poplars high above that were blacker even than the starry sky, all confirmed it: They were outside. They had made it. They had survived.
Thank you, God.
It was only then that she realized she was shaking.
“Run around front and tell them she got out safely, would you?” Scott said in a strange hoarse voice, and she realized he wasn’t talking to her. She caught just a glimpse of a long-haired teenage boy she didn’t recognize as, with a nod, he darted off toward the front of the house to do Scott’s bidding.
Scott wasn’t running anymore, he was just walking and carrying her while she stared back at the house in shock. From this position, all she could see were the sharp angles of the roof, the still solid-looking exterior brick wall, the windows that remained, impossibly, she thought, until she remembered he had closed the door at the top of the stairs, a blank, shiny black. And the fire, bright and menacing, flitting along the edge of the roof. It was too terrible to watch, so she quickly averted her eyes. She could feel Scott’s chest heaving against her as he alternately sucked fresh air into his lungs and coughed. Weak and dizzy, she clung to him, tucking her face into the curve between his neck and shoulder, coughing violently herself. Her emotions were in turmoil, but the strongest was relief: She was so profoundly glad to be alive. Trembling in the aftermath of terror, she tried her best to get herself under control. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on stilling the spasms that raced through her muscles. It didn’t help that she had to cough with nearly every other breath. She was just vaguely aware of the low stone wall, the furled umbrella, the table and chairs, the glider, as he reached the little patio at the side of the house. From there she couldn’t see the flames themselves, but the roar and the smell and the orange incandescence that silhouetted the tall chimney at the edge of the roof and lit up the sky left her in no doubt that it wasn’t, as she’d been hoping, as she’d been praying, all a bad dream: Grayson Springs was really burning.
Her heart clutched. Tears started to her eyes. She closed them, holding in the moisture, blocking out the sight. And coughed. And coughed some more.
10
“Christ.” Stopping abruptly, Scott sank down into a chair, one of the wrought-iron ones at the far end of the patio. Shadows closed in around them, wrapping them in solitude. Lisa rested against him in utter despairing exhaustion as, despite her best efforts, a few tears leaked from her eyes. He smelled of smoke. So, she supposed, did she. His skin was faintly damp with sweat, and he was still breathing as though he’d just run a marathon. No doubt his heart still pounded just as hers did, although the frantic beat was slowing now. He felt strong and solid and wonderfully familiar, and she was glad of the comfort of his arms. The shivers that racked her were easing, and she curled more closely against him in an effort to absorb some of his warmth. She felt the glide of his hand as he stroked her hair, which was long and loose because she slept with it that way, and pushed errant strands back away from her face, tucking them behind her ear.
“Lisa, talk to me. Are you hurt?” Scott’s ragged breathing was slowing. His voice was still hoarse, but it was at least recognizable now.
With an effort Lisa shook her head.
“Mother?” The single word was all she could manage. Even that caused her to cough so hard her lungs ached.
“She’s out on the front lawn. Everybody got out. You’re the last. Are you having trouble breathing?”
Relief that her mother and everyone else was safe made her feel almost weightless. She had the strange sensation of floating away, and she opened her eyes in an attempt to combat it. She found herself looking at the strong column of his neck, the dark underside of his chin, his wide chest in the white shirt that was bisected by her arm curving up to his shoulder. He was looking down at her so most of his face was in shadow, but she could see his eyes, see the tightness of his mouth, see that he was frowning at her. This was Scott the responsible, she reminded herself, and she felt some of the terrible tension leave her body as she realized that she could count on him to take care of her and whatever else arose that needed taking care of until she felt like herself again. Even as a teen he’d always been coolly capable, and that hadn’t changed. The hideous vision she’d been harboring of her mother, who was unable to even get out of bed without assistance, being trapped in the flames, receded. But the fire was all too terribly real. . . .
Despite her best efforts, another stray tear or two trickled down her cheeks. Resting heavily against Scott, glad he was there, she took a deep, shuddering breath that once again made her cough violently.
“Damn it, Lisa, answer me. Are you having trouble breathing?”
From the sharpness of his tone, she guessed that she was facing something on the order of CPR within the next few seconds if she didn’t respond.
“I’m okay. It’s just”—cough—“the smoke.”
He coughed himself. “You sure? You’re not burned anywhere?”
His hand smoothed down her back as he spoke. As she felt its gentle slide, she realized what she was wearing: the satiny camisole and matching boxers she’d gone to sleep in. The set was a gleaming silver-gray, with spaghetti straps and a filmy lace insert between her breasts and tiny loose pants that ended just past the tops of her thighs. She was, in short, revealing a great deal of skin. But this was Scott, so it didn’t really matter. Scott was many things, but he wasn’t a pig.
“I don’t think so.” She coughed some more, then sniffed and blinked in an effort to control the tears that still wanted to leak from her eyes.
“Sit up and let me see.” He unhooked her arms from around his neck and set her upright in his lap. Head swimming, she coughed again as their eyes met. Squinting at her through the darkness, he asked abruptly, “Are you crying?”
“No.”
; “Yes, you are. Hell, why shouldn’t you cry? You have every right to.” Lips compressing as if to keep himself from saying more, his gaze swept slowly over her from her hairline to her toes, clearly checking for any sign of injury. “I can’t see squat. Can you move everything?”
“Yes. See?” Lifting her legs one at a time, she wiggled her toes for his delectation as his eyes slid down toward them. “And for your information, I’m not crying. My eyes are watering from the smoke.”
“Oh, is that what it is?”
“Yes.” As another coughing fit hit her, she subsided weakly against his chest. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, settling onto that wide expanse as if it belonged there. His arms came back around her, and for a moment she closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply feel safe.
“You could have been killed.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “That was damned close in there.”
She shivered. “I think you saved my life.”
“I think so, too.”
Glad to find she could, she smiled a little. Typical arrogant Scott, she thought, and opened her eyes. “Way to be modest.”
“Is that a ‘Thank you’? And by the way, modesty is overrated.”
“That’s your opinion. And yes, it’s a ‘Thank you,’ ” she said, and started coughing again.
“You’re welcome. Quit talking. You need to put all your energy into breathing right now.”
Wrapped in his arms again, she sat silently for a moment, taking his advice. Then a muffled crash and a bright flare that could only have been caused by shooting flames from another section of the roof collapsing made her wince.
“Don’t think about it,” he advised. “Just breathe.”
Obediently taking a deep breath, she coughed some more even as her gaze shifted almost unwillingly to the scene they’d left behind. Fire shot up the side of the chimney now. Billows of thick black smoke rolled into the air. At the thought of what she was losing, her bedroom, her clothes and possessions, a whole lifetime’s worth of memories, her insides twisted. More tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Oh, Scott, the house . . .” Her voice broke.
His arms tightened around her. He rocked her against him a little. “It’s going to be all right.”
“Part of the roof collapsed.”
“It’s only a house. Only stone and wood and paint. It can be r ebuilt.”
“I know, but . . .”
“You love it. I know it hurts.”
“What happened?” The soft cry came straight from her heart as she dashed away with impatient fingers the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
“I don’t know.”
She coughed again. “I need to go to my mother.”
“Yeah, you do. She was lying out in the grass in front when I got here. She wasn’t moving, and there was a woman leaning over her— you got a night attendant for her now?—giving her what looked like some kind of first aid.”
“Oh, no!”
She made an abortive movement to get off his lap, but he forestalled her by standing up with her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck automatically as he started walking with her, stepping over the low stone wall, striding toward the front yard. He handled her weight with ease, and she was once again surprised—no, she guessed she really wasn’t—at how strong he was.
“You don’t have to carry me. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I’d feel better if somebody with some medical training told me that.”
She started to reply but broke off to cough again.
“Did you say something?” His voice was dry.
“Seriously, put me down,” she said, a little gruff, as he approached the corner of the house. Once they rounded that, they would be in view of anyone on the front lawn. Being in his arms like this felt good and strange and a whole range of other things that were far too confusing for her to even attempt to sort through right now, when her head was swimming and her lungs ached and she felt absolutely sick with loss. But at the thought of what Robin and Andy would say if they saw them like this, she squirmed a little in protest.
“Scott . . .”
She felt him shrug. “Your call.”
Stopping, keeping an arm around her waist for support, he let her slide to her feet. The thick, clipped grass felt cool and soft beneath her soles. The soft night air caressed her bare legs and arms. Her knees were wobbly, and for a moment she thought they weren’t going to support her. If he hadn’t been holding on to her, she would have staggered. He steadied her, and she leaned gratefully against him.
“You need to see a—”
The wail of approaching sirens made him break off and caused her to lift her head.
“Oh my God, they took so long.” Inhaling, she coughed, but at least it wasn’t as deep and wrenching as her cough had been before. The smell, the hideous burning smell, was growing stronger, and she didn’t like to think what that meant.
“Too damned long.” The grimness of his tone said what he forbore to add: If she’d had to wait for them to rescue her, she wouldn’t have made it out.
The sirens were almost loud enough now to drown out the roar of the fire. They sounded close, and she wondered if the trucks had arrived. There was no way to know, because it was impossible to see the driveway from where they stood.
“This way. Hurry.”
The faint cry caused them both to look toward it. A teenage boy—Lisa was almost sure that it was the same one Scott had sent off with news of her rescue when they had first emerged from the house—burst into view around the corner of the house and dashed toward them, or rather, toward the side door, gesturing for someone behind him to follow. That someone turned out to be a man in a dark uniform who ran around the corner after him, carrying a satchel-type bag of some kind in one hand. Clearly a fire truck, or an ambulance, or something of that nature, had finally reached them. Lisa thought the man must be a paramedic.
“Chase, over here,” Scott called, waving, and the kid changed course. “My nephew,” he added in an aside for her ears alone. Lisa had known, vaguely, that his brother had married years ago and had a kid, but this was the first time she had ever seen him. Behind Chase, the man following changed course as well. Feeling two new sets of male eyes on her, Lisa was suddenly uncomfortably conscious of her state of undress.
“I need a robe,” she said, more to herself than to Scott.
“This guy’s an EMT,” Chase announced as he arrived breathlessly in front of them. His eyes slid over her, widened, then quickly averted to Scott’s face. “When you didn’t show up out front, I thought she might need one.”
“Good call,” Scott said.
“Somebody hurt here?” Sounding faintly breathless, the EMT reached them and stopped, looking from one to the other. In the dark it was hard to be sure, but she thought he was about her age. She suddenly found her skimpy night attire extremely embarrassing, and was glad of the shadows that helped hide her.
“No,” Lisa answered, pulling away from Scott and suppressing a cough as at the same time Scott said, “Check her out for smoke i nhalation.”
“Let me give you a listen.” The EMT reached into his bag.
“I don’t have time. I have to get to my mother.” That was a firm negative, uttered as she started moving away. Her throat was raw, her lungs hurt, and she was a little dizzy, a little unsteady on her feet, but none of it mattered. She would have run to the front yard if she could have, but unfortunately, running seemed to be beyond her for the moment. But she could walk determinedly.
“They can check her out at the hospital,” she heard the EMT say, presumably to Scott, and realized that they, plus his nephew, were right behind her. “But in my opinion, if she can walk and talk like that, there’s no serious damage.”
Rounding the corner of the house, Lisa immediately spotted the emergency vehicles: three fire trucks and two ambulances, sirens screaming, their stroboscopic lights sending bright red flashes of color through the night. A dozen or so firefighters
in full gear swarmed toward the house. More emergency workers gathered around the figures on the lawn. They were small at this distance, but there was no mistaking who and what they were: her mother lying on her back in the grass with Robin and Andy and Lynn around her. A stretcher lay on the ground beside her, and even as Lisa watched, her heart suddenly in her throat, her mother was lifted onto it. The stretcher was then lifted, and Lisa realized that it was headed toward the ambulance.
“Wait!” she cried, then broke into a stumbling run. Scott was immediately beside her, grabbing her arm to provide support, running with her as he helped her stay on her feet. Robin, who was following the stretcher with the others, looked back at her cry. Lisa waved. Robin said something to the others, but no one slowed. Lisa managed to catch up just as the stretcher was being loaded into the vehicle. By the bright light inside the ambulance, she could see that her mother was deathly pale, her skin waxy-looking, her lips parted, her jaw slack. Strapped to the stretcher, she was covered to the armpits by a white sheet. The top few inches of her blue sleeveless nightgown were just visible above it. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be unconscious—or worse.
Fear clogged Lisa’s throat. Her hands clenched. Her heart thudded painfully.
“Mother!”
Martha didn’t respond in any way. Unable to get inside the ambulance because the paramedics who were still transferring her from the stretcher to the gurney were in the way, Lisa cast a frantic look around and encountered Andy’s anguished eyes.
“What happened to her? Did she get trapped in the fire?”
“There was no fire where we were, just a little smoke. We got her out fine. Then she just . . . passed out,” Andy said. He was wearing a matched set of blue cotton pajamas. Beside him, Robin, looking equally distraught, wore a knee-length flowered nightgown. Only Lynn, in her white nurse’s uniform, looked calm.
“Maybe the shock of it.” Robin wrung her hands. “She saw where the fire was. She said your name and then . . .”
“She started shaking.” Andy sounded shaky himself. “Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and . . . that was it.”
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