Spring Fling Kitty: The Hart Family (Have A Hart Book 3)

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Spring Fling Kitty: The Hart Family (Have A Hart Book 3) Page 20

by Rachelle Ayala


  “You’re with me during my off hours. That’s all I expect.” He blew out the candles. “Come, Mrs. Hart, it’s my night off, and we’re together. Let me show you how happily married I am.”

  He pulled her to the futon on the floor and undressed her slowly, and she returned the favor, stroking and appreciating every surface of his body. And when they came together, she lost herself to all thought, words, and description. Love flowed and exploded between them like splashes of paint and bold strokes of color clinging to a single thin line of gray.

  She held onto Connor as her heart quieted and her breathing slowed, comforted, knowing the tiny kitten had done his job and given them the best gift of all.

  Closing her eyes, she let Connor stroke her chin and neck, and she almost purred, or was she dreaming of that little sweet motor? Either way, she heard and felt his furry gray presence.

  As she drifted off, she gave thanks to God for giving her and Connor the love that sealed their hearts together.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Connor shot up out of a deep sleep. The smoke alarms were screaming, and for a second, he thought he was at the firehouse.

  Nadine flailed next to him. “What’s going on?”

  “Get your slippers on and get out of the house.” He pulled her from the futon.

  “But where’s the fire? I don’t smell anything.”

  “Don’t argue.” He dragged her by the arm. He checked the door before opening it, sensing to see if the fire raged just outside.

  It was cool. But something had set off the alarms.

  “Maybe it’s a false alarm. One time a light bulb burned out and set off the smoke alarm,” Nadine grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

  “I want you outside.” He led her down the spiral staircase. The house was dark but the smoke alarms kept blaring. Nothing was seeping through the kitchen, and since their front door was barricaded due to construction, the kitchen door at the back of the house was the only way out. That and the way to the garage.

  “What about my canvases?” Nadine wrestled away from his hand. “The one I’m painting for my mother? Can we check? What about your truck?”

  “Forget it. We evacuate and call 9-1-1.”

  “It could be a malfunctioning alarm,” Nadine argued. “I’d feel better if I could check the garage.”

  What could he say? The construction could have messed up the smoke alarm circuits. “Okay, one quick peek, but let me get the extinguisher and go in front of you. Any sign of trouble, I want you out the back door. No arguing, and no forcing me to drag you out. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir, Fire Chief.” Nadine smirked and saluted him.

  She was too cute, but Connor couldn’t relax until he’d scouted out the entire house and made sure it was indeed a false alarm.

  He was wrong and stupid. He opened the door to the garage without checking, and right then and there, something exploded, throwing him back into Nadine.

  “Yeowww!” A streak of fur flashed by him, but he was too busy unleashing the extinguisher to catch it.

  “Get out, Nadine. Get out.”

  “But the cat. I saw him and I can’t find him.”

  “Open the goddamn back door. He’ll find his way out.” Connor backed off when another explosion shot flames at him. Fire burned his hands and the front of his body. “I can’t put this out. It’s gotten to your solvents. Go. Go. Go.”

  He emptied the extinguisher and grabbed Nadine, not letting her go, despite the excruciating pain all over his body.

  “Oh my God, you’re on fire. Connor!” she screamed and patted at him.

  “We have to move.” He wasn’t even sure if he spoke out loud or not. Barging through a wall of pain, he shoved her out the back door, only barely noticing it was already ajar.

  Together, they spilled out onto the lawn and he rolled on the dewy grass, pain piercing his entire body.

  He heard the sirens and felt the spray of water drenching him, and then, he was rocking in a bed of white, with something hard over his face and the wail of a woman weeping, soaked in the stench of burning flesh.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Nadine wouldn’t leave Connor’s side except when she was forced to step away by the doctors. She couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t even process what was going on.

  Her Connor. Her hero was hurt. They’d swept him into the ambulance while she hung onto the stretcher, screaming and weeping. The shrill sirens merged with her cries, and somehow, Connor ended up in the burn unit where they thankfully put him in heavy sedation.

  If she lived a million years, she’d never forget the agony of his moans and the way he writhed and groaned whenever anyone touched him.

  Oh, dear, dear Connor. She sat at his bed the next morning, or was it another day. She’d lost count. She’d been interviewed by police, fire investigators, and of course comforted by Connor’s family and her mother. Nothing could take away the gut-wrenching sense of doom that she was responsible.

  Her heaven on earth, her life itself, her husband was suffering because of her carelessness. Why, why, why had he been burned and not she?

  “Connor, Connor, Connor,” she whispered, unable to stop herself. “I’m so, so sorry. So sorry.”

  The doctors said he was burned over thirty percent of his body. His skin was blistered and raw beyond recognition, and he had to stay in the hospital until the swelling went down and they could determine how deep his injuries were.

  “Deeny,” Connor muttered from under his facial bandages. He could barely speak, and each word had to be excruciating. “It’s not your fault.”

  “How can you say that?” She longed to hold him, but couldn’t touch him. “It’s my paint and solvents that blew up. Maybe I didn’t screw the lids tight enough. Maybe I left one open.”

  Besides, she’d insisted on going back to check on her canvases. And now they were all gone, every last one of her precious paintings. But none if compared to Connor getting hurt. If only she hadn’t wanted to go to the garage.

  As if reading her mind, he grumbled, “I would have checked the garage to see if I could put it out.”

  “No, Connor. You said to go outside and call 9-1-1. I should have listened to you.”

  “I would have checked anyway,” he insisted. His voice was tight with pain. “The back door was unlocked. I think it was ajar, not sure.”

  Every nerve in her heart ached, and there was one question she was dying to ask Connor, but afraid to. “Do you think it means anything? That Greyheart got in from there?”

  “I’m not even sure if he was there, Deeny, or if you thought you saw him.”

  “You heard him, didn’t you?”

  “I heard a lot of things, the alarm being the main thing.” He gritted his teeth.

  “Don’t talk more. I know it hurts you. I’m afraid to touch you.” She was masked and gowned to protect him from infection. “I love you so much. You know that. Will you forgive me?”

  “I told you the back door was unlocked. Someone came into the house.”

  “Shhh … Connor. No more talking.” Nadine made a kissing sound. “The investigators say the fire started in the garage.”

  “I don’t get how it could have spread so fast, unless there was an accelerant.” Connor all but grunted out his words.

  “My solvents, they’re flammable.”

  Connor turned his face away from her. He was pissed. She knew it, and she didn’t blame him. Biting back a sob, she whispered to him, “I will never leave your side, but if you want me to go, I’ll never darken your door again. I’ll see you in the next life.”

  She turned to go. Waves of grief washed over her as she took her last glimpse of the man she’d always love.

  “Stop,” he barked. “If you’re leaving because you can’t stand to be with me, then go, and don’t bother waiting for another life. I don’t believe in that crap.”

  Through sickness and health. Through good times and bad. ’Til death we won’t part.

  “Then I’m
not leaving you, ever.” She returned to his side. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Find the arsonist.” He kept his face to the wall.

  “Come home, baby.” Nadine’s mother cradled her exhausted shoulders as she sat slumped in the waiting room.

  “Where’s home?” Nadine was numb, and she felt like a zombie, not knowing anything except for the visiting hour schedule.

  “Your dad wants us to go back to our apartment. He feels bad about what happened to Connor’s family. He had your brother help me move my furniture back from storage.”

  Weariness drained Nadine so much she couldn’t even be angry. It was too late for any recriminations. The layers of grief and regret weighing over her made it hard for her to breathe. She’d heard the screams coming from the burn ward, the agony of wounds being cleaned on those who lived with the persistent fear of infection and dehydration.

  “I guess it’s better than being homeless,” Nadine said in response to her dad’s offer. “I screwed up big time. I ruined everyone’s lives. I can’t believe the Harts don’t hate me. They probably do.”

  “They love you, and I love you.” Her mother tugged her hand until she stood. “Come on, let’s get you into the shower, and then I’ll treat you to ice cream.”

  “How can I eat a treat when Connor’s in there suffering?”

  Her legs felt like chopsticks and she wobbled like a baby giraffe.

  “Ramen noodles.”

  Nadine shook her head. “It’s not fair.”

  “Spicy hotpot.”

  “Can’t, Mom.”

  “Banh mi sandwiches. Spicy pork and roast duck.”

  Nadine’s mouth watered despite the dull nausea in her belly. “I wanted Connor to taste those sandwiches, but now with his experience, I bet he’ll never want spicy food again.”

  “He will, when he heals.” Her mother led her like she was a little girl. “He loves you. You do know that.”

  “He wants me to find the arsonist. He says the back door was unlocked.” Nadine hadn’t slept for who knew how long. She knew she was babbling. “Mommy, how do I find the arsonist?”

  “Did you speak to the investigator? Maybe you should call him back.” Her mother caressed her arm. “But first, take a shower, a nap, and get some food in your stomach.”

  “What if someone started the fire? What if it wasn’t my fault?” She ran into a wall and collapsed to the floor.

  A pair of strong arms lifted her and placed her on a sofa. It was Brian, Connor’s brother-in-law. Why did he seem to be around all the time, shadowing her? Or maybe she was being paranoid. He was most likely on his way to visit Connor.

  “It’s not your fault, you know,” Brian repeated what everyone was insisting. “Connor doesn’t blame you. No one does. Connor’s parents want to invite you and your mother over to dinner. They’re staying with me and Cait. We want you two to join us.”

  “Maybe later, after she gets some rest,” Nadine’s mother said. “I’m so sorry for what happened.”

  “So am I.” Brian let Nadine lean on him. “We’re family, and anything you and your mother need, we’re here for you.”

  “I don’t think I could face them. I burned down their house.” Nadine covered her face. “I ruined their son.”

  There was nothing anyone could say to convince her she wasn’t at fault. If Connor had never met her, he wouldn’t be lying in the burn unit suffering unimaginable horrors. If Greyheart had never climbed up that tree, the Harts would still have their house.

  “I’ll help get her to your place,” Brian said to her mother. He picked up Nadine like she was a fallen leaf, and Nadine wept, knowing she didn’t deserve to be part of this wonderful family of firefighters.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Every day was the same for Connor. Stuck in the hospital. Pain a constant companion and every movement unbearable. He couldn’t complain though. Only his front side was burned. At least he could lie in the bed, turn on his side and sit up.

  He never knew he had so many nerves, each one overly sensitive, like millions of barbed hooks piercing and twisting without rest.

  They had him on sedatives and pain meds which helped when the nurses came to change his dressings, but even muted, the pain made itself known.

  Even worse was the rage in his heart at the arsonist. No one believed him. They insisted he’d left the door unlocked or that he was trying to assuage the guilt of his wife. But he knew Nadine. She was meticulous about her art supplies. Heck, she’d probably spent all that time while he was cooking reorganizing everything. The disposal containers were brand new and had self-closing lids. There was no way the fire could have started from the few rags she had.

  Except she believed she was guilty, and her whining was getting on his nerves. So much that he wished she wouldn’t visit, that she’d forget about him and go her merry way. Having her near was more unbearable than the burns.

  Dutifully, she came every day and insisted on helping the nurses. She was unskilled and clumsy and slowed the professionals down. He could tell they were only putting up with her because she was his wife, and they expected her to do the wound care once he was released from the hospital.

  He’d rather let her off the hook. She was a happy woman before she met him. A dreamer, a free-spirit, one who climbed trees and ran wherever the wind took her. Now, she was stuck in the same cage he was—the burn unit, living around the schedule of cleaning, bandaging, and enduring agony.

  “How are you feeling today?” his regular nurse asked with that grave cheeriness every medical professional was infected with. “Ready for potty time?”

  He hated that they spoke to him as if he were either a mental dullard or a four-year-old.

  “Not yet.” Connor glared at his wife. She stood behind the nurses, gowned, masked, and gloved, but her eyes were large and hollow as if she hadn’t slept forever. “Not with her around.”

  Nadine was startled at the harshness of his voice. She blinked, looking like she was about to burst into tears—which was another thing he found annoying. How long was this woman going to carry on about him being burned?

  This happened. It was part of his job. Some of his men had been burned much worse. Take Larry, for example—a year in the burn unit with third degree burns. But the way Nadine acted, this was a disaster beyond Armageddon.

  “Miss, the patient requests you to leave,” the nurse said in a superior and slightly smug tone. It was the way professionals spoke to bumbling amateurs they barely tolerated.

  “Connor, I want to help you.” Nadine reached for him, but she didn’t touch his bandaged hand.

  The plain truth? He didn’t want her to see him use the bedpan or struggle to the toilet. It would traumatize her to see the raw blisters and the screaming red flesh over his groin area. The doctors were cautiously optimistic, but every bodily function was painful, especially pissing through injured flesh.

  He hoped like heck he wouldn’t require skin grafts on his penis or end up with painful scars that would inhibit his sexual function. This was not something a blushing bride should be confronted with.

  “Please, honey, can you go?” He hated the tightness across his chest. He hated that he was grouchy and short-tempered with her. He hated killing the living spark from her beautiful eyes.

  “It’s better if you let him have his way,” the nurse said. “He’s in a lot of pain and he doesn’t want you to suffer.”

  “I’m his wife. I’ll be caring for him when he’s released,” Nadine argued.

  “You will, but right now, he doesn’t want you here.” The nurse remained firm.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Connor turned his eyes toward the wall, not able to bear hurting her feelings. “It’s going to be a long haul, and I know you’ll help me through it.”

  “I want to help now.” Nadine leaned over him. “I’m your wife. Please, Connor. Don’t push me away.”

  Connor gritted his teeth. Every day, he was discovering new things about his wife, li
ke how stubborn and persistent she was. “Later. When I’m better.”

  “I think you should leave.” The nurse stood her ground. “Connor will let you know when he’s comfortable with your help.”

  Without another comment, Nadine turned toward the door and pushed her way out without looking back.

  This was no way for them to have a healthy marriage, but what could he do? He’d promised her that love would always be enough for them.

  Was it enough for her?

  They’d both believed it, but maybe their entire love was based on empty words and fleeting images. An overblown fantasy.

  He closed his eyes as the nurses removed the bandages. No matter how careful they were, he hurt—outside and in. Bathed in sweat and disinfectant, he pinned all his pain on the one recurring image sweeping his mind.

  Fire, forever burning, torturous, and never quenching, consuming his wildwood flower, the sweet petals of her blossoms, curling up crisp and black, turning her love into soot blown away by the wind.

  That evening, Nadine skipped visitor hours for the first time since Connor was burned. He’d made it clear he hated her for causing his situation, although he was too much of a gentleman to come right out and say it.

  The nurses agreed with him. She could tell. They resented her presence. Maybe the truth was, once he was released from the hospital, he’d want nothing to do with her.

  “Why are we going to the Harts for dinner?” Nadine picked at the frayed ladders on her holey jeans as the bus jostled through Golden Gate Park. Cait and Brian had a house north of the park, and Connor’s parents were staying with them.

  “You know it’s time,” her mother said. “Connor drove you away so you can get a life without living twenty-four seven at the burn unit.”

  “Seems like all I’ve been doing is making a nuisance of myself. The nurses hate me, too.”

  “I’m sure they don’t. Maybe when he’s closer to being released, you can go back and learn how to care for his wounds.”

 

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