Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “Any burns?”

  Clint shook his head. “A few minor ones. Embers getting under clothes on arms and necks.” He looked at the group of farmers slowly walking up to the Zimmer home. “Jacob Zimmer seemed to have been the only one to sustain anything worth worrying about. We put some burn cream on it and dressed it and we’ll check it tomorrow, too.”

  Gage nodded. “Jacob and the others came over and thanked me a few minutes ago. I saw his bandages. Anyone in his family harmed?”

  Emma shook her head. “I took a few minutes to walk up to the house. Anna and the children were shaken up, but otherwise okay.”

  “Fires can be very frightening, but when your home and family are threatened…” Deke paused, swallowing and looking away.

  Libby blinked at the sudden tears that filled her eyes as she turned away from the pain that crossed over his face, knowing he was thinking of Bill. Emma sent her a sympathetic look. She returned it with a very shaky whisper of a smile.

  Clint clamped his free hand on Deke’s shoulder. “True. But everyone is safe tonight. We can be thankful for that.”

  Gage, Bobby and one of the other deputies, Daniel, approached. The seven of them were all that was left of the town’s people. A small group of the farmers still hovered on the edge of the field, talking quietly with Jacob.

  “We’ve turned over every charred pile across the entire burn area. No signs of smoldering embers, Gunslinger,” Gage said, dropping an arm over Bobby’s shoulders and hauling her into his side. “We’re going to head out of here. Got an early morning tomorrow with the football team before court.”

  “Thanks for being here,” Deke said, shaking hands with all three.

  “No problem,” Gage said. “Got your back always.”

  Deke watched them walk to their trucks then turned to Libby with his brows furrowed again. “Where’s your car?”

  “I didn’t bring one. Sean wanted to come out, so I played navigator for him.”

  “Sean?” he asked, sounding oddly aggravated.

  Seriously? Was he jealous? The idea both irritated and thrilled her. It had been a decade since they’d been together. Whatever right he had to be jealous had long passed its expiration date by now. But a little part of her, that part she’d carefully tucked away in her heart, did a little-girl-excited-squeal inside her head.

  “You want a ride back with us?” Emma asked, before Libby could explain why she didn’t have to justify time she spent with any man besides him.

  “She’ll ride with me,” Deke said, without even asking her if it would be okay.

  She started to protest, but the silent plea in his eyes that she ride with him stopped her. With a smile she turned to Emma. “Thanks, but I’ll come back with Deke. He knows where I left my car.”

  Emma and her husband exchanged a quick glance. “Okay, we’ll see you both tomorrow,” she said and the pair headed to their truck.

  When she turned back, Deke had stalked over to his truck and was stripping off his coat. He tossed it into the back of the truck. Still dressed in his turnout pants, boots and suspenders over the shirt he’d had on in the café, he wandered over to the edge of the burned field once more. In the moonlight she could see his silhouette—the ramrod spine, shoulders straight, his hands on his narrow hips.

  She gave a little sigh.

  After all this time, how could he still make her heart yearn for him so deeply?

  * * * * *

  She’ll ride with me.

  Could he have sounded more caveman-ish? Why didn’t he just open his pants and mark her like a dog claiming his territory?

  Deke shook his head slightly. He couldn’t help it. When she’d called the newspaperman by his first name, something had gone off in his head. Like a warning shot. And the caveman had thumped his chest and roared. Mine.

  He’d done his best to stay away for the past ten years. It would be best for both of them if he could let her go permanently, but hearing her say another man’s name so familiarly had reawakened that part of him that had loved her above everything else.

  The ground behind him crunched. Her lemony scent rode over the smoky ashes in front of him, blocking their acrid smell from his senses.

  The caveman relaxed.

  She was here. With him.

  “At least the crops were out of the field.”

  “Yep. Jacob’s preplanning to plow fire breaks in the fields was a godsend.” His eyes fixed on the dark ground in front of them, he didn’t dare look at her. “Kept it from spreading or heading straight for his home.”

  Despite how easily they’d managed to subdue the fire, it was still a bad one. It had been years since he’d had to fight more than a small kitchen blaze in the county. Nothing this big, this potentially dangerous. It slammed home the loss of his friend, not to mention his own fight to get free of the burning rubble, and the months of painful rehab.

  “When I think of what could’ve happened to Anna and the children…”

  Her voice caught and he finally looked at her. Standing to his left, her arms wound around her torso just beneath her breasts, drawing the thin material taut over them. A tremble made her blouse shuffle to the sides. Moonlight shone on her pale face and the tears in her eyes.

  Bill.

  She was thinking about Bill’s death.

  Aw, hell.

  He reached over and pulled her into his arms, feeling another tremble run through her. In an effort to soothe her, he stroked his hands over her back. The effect worked. It not only calmed her, it took the edge off his own raw emotions. He leaned his chin on the top of her head, the softness of her blonde hair cool against his skin.

  How many times had he held her just like this?

  Her arms came around his body, her hands clutching the back of his shirt.

  A sound escaped her, muffled by his chest and shirt.

  Then another.

  A soft sob.

  Aw, hell. She was crying.

  He’d never known what to do when she’d cried. Thankfully, that hadn’t been too often. In self-defense, he’d always just held her, which, as it turned out, seemed to be enough for her.

  Who had held her when the news came about Bill?

  Certainly hadn’t been him. He’d been in the burn unit for three months. In isolation for his own protection. No visitors. Alone with his own pain, his own guilt, his own grief.

  “I missed his funeral,” he whispered into her hair. The words seeming to force their way out of him. The pain over it bubbling to the surface. The tears that had filled his eyes slid slowly over his cheeks.

  She nodded against his chest, inhaled. “I know.”

  “He was one of my best friends, my partner, and I couldn’t even be there to bury him. To hold you like this.”

  She pulled back slightly, tilting her head so that he had to move his chin to the side. He stared down into her blue eyes wet from her own tears.

  Bringing her hand up, she cupped his cheek. “You couldn’t be there. You were in the hospital. All alone.”

  And that’s all it took.

  He dropped his head onto her shoulder.

  Sobs wracked his body. His legs wobbled and he would’ve collapsed had she not been strong enough to hold him up.

  The pain so deep, so raw, it was as if Bill had died just yesterday.

  And for him he had.

  A deep wail filled the air around them.

  It was from him.

  “Oh, God, Lib! He burned to death. Died in that fire. I let him.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered. “You didn’t set that fire.”

  “I couldn’t… get to him…” His voice broke on another sob.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” she crooned softly, stroking his face with her hand.

  “No. I tried…to save…couldn’t.” He stopped, swallowing hard, willing his head and heart to focus past the pain. It was time to let go of some of it. “He was…right there.” He reached his hand out as he saw Bill reaching out for hi
m again, their fingers separated by mere inches. “I almost…had him.”

  Another round of sobs hit him. He clutched her tighter as once more Bill slipped away from his grasp, over the side of the burning floor, into the fiery abyss below. His last word, DEKE coming over his radio mic as he went.

  She continued to hold him, crooning more words to him, her hands stroking over his face and back, her warmth penetrating the coldness of his grief—a grief he’d been living with for ten years, unable and unwilling to share it with others. Until now. Until her.

  Slowly, his tears ended. His body weak from the effort of purging itself of the pain. Inhaling and exhaling a few times to help gain control once more, he released his tight hold on her shirt and wiped his nose and face on his shirt sleeve. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said, staring at him with soft sympathy in her face. “You never really got to grieve for him. Not like the rest of us did.”

  That was it. But it was so much more. And when she knew the truth, would she ever look at him with such tenderness? Or would it change to hate?

  He couldn’t go there. Not tonight.

  Coward.

  Yes. He was a coward. He’d faced that truth years ago. He’d hid it from everyone, including Libby.

  “What’s going on in there?” Libby asked, quirking her head to one side to stare at him.

  Damn. She was way too perceptive.

  “Nothing,” he said, and she lifted one brow expressing her doubt in that statement. “No, really. Just amazed how hard that hurt.”

  “It’s bad enough when the loss is fresh, but to hold onto that grief for all these years,” she paused. “I can’t even imagine it.”

  She shivered and he realized the night had gotten a bit chilly, even for late August.

  “I’d best get you back to town,” he said, releasing his hold on her back and taking a step away. His arms feeling emptier now than they had the past ten years. How would he ever be able to leave her alone again?

  CHAPTER NINE

  “That’s it,” Rachel said, locking the front door to the café and turning the closed sign out. “Last customer fed and on his way home happy.”

  Kyle wheeled the bucket and mop out into the center of the floor. He’d already cleaned the dining room and stacked the chairs on the table, leaving a clean path for mopping.

  “That’s my usual job,” Rachel said, stepping forward to take the mop.

  He held up a hand to keep her away as he dropped the mop into the soapy water. “Not tonight. Miss Lorna said I was to stay and help close up or until they got back.” He slopped the mop into the wringer and squeezed the excess water out before dropping it onto the floor in the far-right- hand corner of the room.

  “Ah, my knight in shining armor,” she said with her hand to her chest, delighted when he blushed.

  That was something she’d liked from the moment she’d teased him about looking her over at the same time he was considering the menu. Most guys, you teased them or flirted with them, and they went all I’m-too-cool-for-you douche on you. Not Kyle. Or the guys got out their phones and spent so much time telling everyone how video-star they were, you couldn’t even hold a conversation with them. She was pretty sure Kyle didn’t even own a phone. Of course, since he started working here, they hadn’t had much time to talk, not that he said much anyways.

  “I get the floors,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her with a half-smile. “You get to do receipts.”

  She pressed her lips together and made a face at him. “Thanks. I take back the knight comment. You’re more like Sauron.”

  The rhythm of the mop paused and he stared at her, a blank look on his face. “Who?”

  She blinked. “Sauron,” she repeated, expecting it to make sense this time.

  He shrugged. “Still no clue.”

  He was kidding, right? “From the Lord of the Rings books and movies, you know, super-bad entity bent on destroying the world?”

  “Sorry, never saw them or read the books.” His cheeks were red, this time from embarrassment rather than charming bashfulness.

  And didn’t she feel like a real ass.

  Play it cool, like it’s no big deal.

  She put a smile on her face as she opened the cash register and removed the final till for the night—she and Mom always emptied it several times a day, especially on busy ones like today. “So you’re sending me off to do horrible office chores, just like an evil king torturing the fair maiden.”

  That brought a light back to his grey eyes, if not that whisper of a smile she’d kinda gotten to like seeing the past few days.

  He pointed the mop toward her. “Hie thee off to the dungeon, fair maiden, and finish the receipts.”

  Laughing at his command and that he’d joined her in good-natured role-play, she clutched the tray of money to her hip, laying the back of one hand to her forehead. “I don’t think I can take the torture.”

  “You must or there will be a worse fate for you.”

  She stuck her chin up in the air and with a toss of her ponytail retreated to the office. His deep laughter followed her into the room.

  Inside the office, she locked the door as her mother had always insisted she do while handling money. Seated at the table, she counted out the bills, recounted them for a second and a third time, finally slowly writing the numbers on the paper ledger Mom insisted she keep. She counted the money a fourth time, then checked that number against the ones she’d written down, one column at a time, just like her tutor had taught her.

  Crap. She’d written the figure wrong, again. She’d mixed up the five and the three. Of course that made her question her counting, so she set about counting the bills and change for a fifth time. Yep, she’d put the three where the five should be and vice-versa.

  Dang dyslexia. Numbers just seemed to jump around at will and at the stupidest times. It’s why she hated math class and math in general.

  Also why Mom insisted she work in the office and on the books. The more she did, the easier it was for her to find and correct her own mistakes. At least she didn’t have the same problem with letters and words like some people.

  Next, she counted out the minimum that her mother always started the morning’s business with and refilled the till tray. After that she opened the safe, set the tray inside and deposited the remainder of the money into the Tuesday money pouch. Mom would make her bi-weekly trip on Thursday to the bank to deposit it. Payday was on Friday, so she’d want to have the week’s money in early so the staff’s paychecks, including Rachel’s, would be available for cashing the next day. Cash tips were kept by the waitresses at the end of their shifts. Tips written on credit card transactions were put into a special account, and Mom always divided them up between all the staff, Pete and Kyle included, on their paychecks.

  Now that the money was secured, Rachel opened the door to work on the computer part of her job. She’d heard Kyle moving the mop bucket around the front dining room while the door was closed. He’d moved into the kitchen just behind the dining room and across from the office. She swiveled in the chair to watch him scrub the big, flat-top grill to Pete’s demanding specifications. For a man who was so laid back about his own appearance, Pete had surprised both her and Mom when he’d started working for them and kept his kitchen in tip-top, military shape, grousing that cleanliness and organization couldn’t be overlooked in a kitchen.

  Watching Kyle lean into the scrub brush he was using to slosh soapy water over the large gill, she realized Pete’s instructions had made an impression on him. Seemed he took every aspect of his new job very seriously. In fact, it was as if he was afraid that if he missed one step or had one dish out of place someone might take the job away from him.

  She smiled when she thought about the conversation her mom had with her just before she and Pete had left for the fire.

  “Rachel, there’s only one customer left,” she said, nodding at old man Russell, seated at h
is usual counter spot eating his nightly slice of pie. “I was going to take the new boy with me out to the fire with supplies, but he got so pale when we heard there was a fire, I’m thinking it might not be such a good idea.”

  “I know,” she said. “He must have a real fear of fires to get that upset about seeing the fire trucks fly past.”

  “Well, that settles it.” Mom nodded her head the way she did whenever she came to what she considered a done deal. “I’m leaving you and Kyle here to close up. You feel comfortable staying with the boy? If not, I’ll have Pete stay, too.”

  She’d glanced at Kyle, who was bussing the last table of all the dishes the family of six had left behind. “I know we haven’t known him long, but I trust him, Mom.”

  Her mother had smiled and said, “I do, too. You keep your phone in your pocket, in case there’s any trouble, okay?”

  She’d agreed, and with that, Mom had scooted Pete out to the van and they’d left.

  A deep rhythmic sound pulled her out of her reverie.

  Singing?

  Listening closer, she realized Kyle was doing the bass part to one of the old do-wop songs Mom kept stored in the old-fashioned jukebox. Turning back to the computer, she started entering the figures from the credit card receipts, joining her own alto harmony to the song. Mom might keep the old-time-diner feel out where the customers could enjoy it, but her business inside the office was very twenty-first century. She like to tell Rachel, “Manage your money or you’ll be trying to figure how to manage without it.”

  Rachel smiled as she entered the nightly figures into the spreadsheets, using her finger on the screen to check each figure one number at a time to be sure they were correct. The town council and local bank might not know it, but Lorna Doone had invested in several of the small, lucrative business that had popped up in town in the past few years. Usually the owners were former employees of the café. Twylla over at the Dye Right, Becky Hodges, owner of the Quilt Shop, Trudy Fisher at the Broadway Boutique dress shop, as well as Joe at Murphy’s Antique Mall on the edge of town all owed their startup success to her mother’s belief in helping her neighbors.