He leaned back into the comfort of the couch, stretching his legs out on the coffee table as he flipped through channels. Over a hundred channels and nothing on. Tonight was one of those rare evenings when he found himself alone at the house. Coralee was playing bridge with her lady friends and Scarlett had to work late at the restaurant, hosting a private dinner for a group of executives in town for a retreat. The secretary who made the travel arrangements for the group saw the blog post and booked the venue last minute. Of course Scarlett happily accommodated them for the exposure it would bring. Rigby was starting to get a little restless. When he wasn’t spending time with Scarlett or working on the landscaping, there wasn’t a whole lot to do in Clementine. Twenty minutes later, he was getting up to get a snack when a flash of light caught his attention. He flinched, not believing what he was seeing.
Scarlett’s house was on fire!
Thick smoke billowed from the roof and the orange flames of the fire were what caught his attention. His first thought was one of relief that Scarlett was at work. Then another thought struck him, shooting terror into his heart. Mr. Foster was most likely in the house. Pausing only long enough to slip on his tennis shoes, Rigby ran outside. Concerned neighbors were gathered, talking furiously amongst themselves and pointing at the house.
“Has anyone called the fire department?” Rigby yelled.
“Yes, they’re on their way,” Sadie Lynn said.
“Has anyone seen Mr. Foster?”
Sadie Lynn’s eyes widened, her face tight with fear as she clutched her neck. “I think he’s still inside.”
Rigby jerked when he heard glass shatter, and a ball of fire shot out of the kitchen window. Then a loud pop rent the air sounding like a shot gun the instant before the back section of the roof caved in. He heard the shocked murmurs from onlookers as instinct took over, and he raced up the front steps.
“You can’t go in there,” someone yelled.
The front door was locked. He stepped back and kicked it in. When the door opened, an acrid smoke poured out. Rigby pulled his t-shirt over his nose as he rushed in, his eyes burning. Luckily, the front section of the house wasn’t on fire. “Mr. Foster,” he yelled. “Douglas!” He coughed, expelling smoke from his lungs as he made his way from room to room, shielding his face. “Douglas!” he screamed. “Are you in here?” The fire was in the back. Rigby coughed, trying to stay low to avoid the smoke. If Douglas was in the kitchen where the fire was raging, there might be little hope for him. He opened the door to Douglas’s bedroom and saw him on the floor by the bed. He rushed over, shaking him.
“Douglas!”
Douglas jerked and coughed, but his eyes remained closed. He was unconscious.
“We’ve gotta get you out of here.”
Exerting all his strength, he picked Douglas up and heaved him over his shoulders, trying to balance the dead weight as he made his way through the house. Rigby had made it down the hall and to the living room when a wave of dizziness overtook him. He stumbled, dropping Douglas on the floor where he hit with a thud and groaned. Rigby doubled over, a coughing fit overtaking him. He lifted his shirt to his mouth, trying to get a good breath. The fire was now pushing through the hall, the heat feeling like an inferno on his back as buckets of sweat dripped from his head. Smoke was billowing around him, stinging his eyes and making it hard to see. His lungs were desperate for fresh air, and he had the eerie impression the very jaws of hell were gaping open to clutch him. He had to be strong to save Mr. Foster and himself. Heavenly Father, please help me, he prayed. The answer came immediately as a burst of strength pulsed through him. All he needed was one final push to get them out the door. He heard the screeching sound of sirens as he picked Douglas back up. This time carrying him like a baby as he half ran, half stumbled through the living room and out the front door. He managed to carry Douglas down the front steps and to the yard where he collapsed, drawing in a ragged breath. Rigby saw the firemen moving toward them, almost like a dream, then everything faded.
The dinner party was going well. Scarlett couldn’t get over how much business had picked up over the past few weeks, and she owed most of the success to Rigby and his pie stunt. Who would’ve thought that paying ten thousand dollars for a pie would give the restaurant so much publicity. Of course, the fact that Rocket Breeland, the superstar quarterback was the one who paid the money made all the difference.
Every day with Rigby was a gift, and Scarlett didn’t want to think about him leaving. As much as she wanted to go with Rigby to Tampa, she couldn’t leave the restaurant. But she might be able to work out something with Harper, get her to oversee the restaurant two or three days each week so Scarlett could go to Tampa. Once the football season was over, Rigby could live in Clementine until he had to start his offseason training activities in the spring. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Scarlett couldn’t think of another solution.
“Look at you,” Harper said, giving her a sly look. “I don’t think your feet have touched the ground since you and Rigby got back together. At this rate, you’re gonna sprout wings and fly right out of here.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Harper winked. “I’m happy for you, sugar. You deserve this.” She cocked her head, studying Scarlett. “So, have you figured out what you’re gonna do when Rigby goes back to Tampa?”
Scarlett let out a long sigh. “Not completely, but I have a few ideas.”
“Any of those ideas involve me, by chance?”
She chuckled. “I was gonna talk to you about this later, but since you brought it up. I’m thinking that maybe I could spend a portion of the week in Tampa and let you oversee the restaurant. If it keeps going like it is, money will no longer be a limitation. I can pay you more.”
Harper’s lips formed a bright smile. “That sounds great.” She paused stroking her chin, a crafty look in her eyes. “Or, you could just hire me to manage the restaurant full-time, so you won’t have to go back-and-forth as often.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can do that.”
Harper’s face fell. “What? You don’t trust me?”
“No … I mean, yes. Of course, I trust you. I love the restaurant, and need to have a hand in it.”
“You still can. You just don’t have to be here every single day. Have you given anymore thought to franchising? The blogger, Beverly Blanche seemed pretty confident she could put you in touch with the right people.”
“Yeah, a little. But that seems premature when we’ve only just now gotten this location off the ground and running. And we have no guarantee business will continue to go well.”
“I think you should consider it. I was doing a little research and there’s a town—a suburb of Tampa called Dunedin. It reminds me a lot of Clementine, and there’s a touristy destination nearby called Honeymoon Island that would bring in a lot of traffic. We’d have to travel there to know for sure, but it seems like a good possibility. I can hold down the fort here, and you can manage that from Tampa.”
Scarlett laughed, surprised. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” She was coming to learn that Harper had a great head for business. “First of all, I haven’t even talked to the investors Beverly mentioned. And second, we don’t know if anyone would be interested in buying a franchise, especially in a specific location.”
“Okay, then you open the restaurant.”
Her eyes rounded. “With what capital?”
“Hello,” she chimed. “You’re dating a rich football player. I’m sure he’s good for the money.”
She shook her head, her lips drawing into a firm line. “No way. I could never ask Rigby to give me money.”
“You wouldn’t be asking him to give you money. You’d be asking him to invest in your business. And if he won’t do it, I’m sure there are any number of banks who will.”
“I’ll think about it. Geez. You’re so pushy,” she quipped, a smile breaking over her face. A few weeks ago, she was worried about how she w
as going to keep the doors open, and now they were talking about expansion. Great things were happening. Her phone rang. She frowned. “It’s Sadie Lynn Armstrong.”
Harper pulled a face. “I wonder what she wants.”
“Hello …” Scarlett’s heart dropped as she gasped. “Oh, no.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she ended the call. “My house is on fire,” she squeaked.
Harper’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is your grandpa okay?”
“Yes, thanks to Rigby. He went into the house and saved him. According to Sadie Lynn, Chuck Wolfley a volunteer fireman said that if Rigby hadn’t gone in when he did …” Her voice broke. “Grandpa would’ve died of smoke inhalation. Rigby saved his life.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yeah, they’re taking Grandpa to the hospital in Daphne to make sure his lungs are okay. Rigby’s doing well.”
“Your house?”
Any response Scarlett could formulate got snuffed out in a sob. “I’ve gotta go,” she said, reaching for her purse and car keys.
14
Rigby stood when Scarlett came rushing into the waiting room of the hospital, her cheeks streaked with tears. When she saw Rigby, she fell into his arms.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
He nodded, coughing through his emotion. It had been a crazy night. Just as the volunteer fire department showed up on the scene, Rigby blacked out for a couple of seconds, then came to. They checked his vitals and deemed him okay. This took place at the same time they put an oxygen mask over Douglas’s face and took him away in an ambulance. Coralee came home a few minutes later and saw all the commotion. She insisted Rigby take her to the hospital to see Douglas. It wasn’t until he saw the anguished look on Coralee’s face that he realized how much she cared about Douglas. Rigby was all too happy to take Coralee to the hospital because he wanted to check on Douglas too. He’d called Scarlett the first chance he got and learned she was on her way.
“How is he?” Scarlett said.
The stricken look on her face pricked him. “The doctor says he’s going to be okay. His chest was rattling earlier, and he was disoriented, but he seems to be responding well to the oxygen.”
She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Thank goodness you were there.”
He nodded. “I was watching TV and got up to get something to eat when I saw the flames.” He hesitated, dreading telling her the rest.
“What?”
“On the way out of the house, the smoke got to be too much. I stumbled and dropped Mr. Foster.”
She gasped, winding her hand around her purse strap. “Is he okay?”
He swallowed hard. “His shinbone has a hairline fracture.” Seeing Scarlett go teary-eyed made Rigby want to cry. “I’m sorry. I was trying to save him.”
“You did save him. Chuck Wolfley said Grandpa would’ve been dead by the time they got there.” She put a hand on his arm. “You risked your life for him.” A grateful smile touched her lips. “You saved him.” She paused, frowning. “How did the fire start?”
“Your grandpa was frying something on the stove. The consensus is that the grease spilled over and caught fire. He’d stepped out of the room to use the restroom. When he returned, the kitchen was engulfed in flames and smoke was pouring out. He went to his bedroom to get his cell phone to call 911, but passed out before he got the chance.”
She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. “I’m going to go see him now. You wanna go with me?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Your grandfather’s not too happy with me right now because I dropped him.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “That’s absurd! You saved his life.”
“Yeah, I guess no good deed goes unpunished.” He couldn’t keep the hurt from sounding in his voice. “Coralee’s in there trying to reason with him.” What was it going to take for Mr. Foster to accept him? Saving his life should count for something.
Scarlett’s eyes sparked as she straightened to her full height. “He owes you his life, and he needs to show some gratitude.”
A wave of tenderness rushed over Rigby. He appreciated how Scarlett was so quick to jump to his defense. And because she did, he could give Mr. Foster some latitude. “Your grandfather’s old. He’s probably embarrassed about the fire and trying to cover it up with gruffness.”
“That’s unacceptable,” she countered.
“Go easy on him. He’s been through a lot today.” It had been brutal on Rigby and he was a lot younger. He could only imagine how tough this must be for Mr. Foster. The back section of the house was destroyed and the rest had severe smoke and water damage. Rigby could tell Scarlett hadn’t yet processed all that she’d lost—her childhood home and most of her possessions.
Her jaw started working, and she looked like she might say more but finally nodded in agreement. She looked him in the eye. “I want you to know how much I appreciate you saving him.” Her brows furrowed. “Despite the fact that he’s being a stubborn mule.” She touched his cheek. “I love you.”
Emotion clogged his throat. Earlier today when the smoke had nearly overtaken him, his entire life had flashed before his eyes, and all he could think about was being with Scarlett. He was grateful his prayer had been answered so swiftly and he was able to save Mr. Foster. Not only for the old man’s sake but also for Scarlett. “I love you too.” He looked, then looked again when he saw Vernie walking toward them.
Vernie focused on Scarlett, ignoring Rigby. “Hey, I got here as quickly as I could.”
It was shocking how fast that one comment jolted Rigby. “You invited Vernie?”
Scarlett flashed an apologetic smile. “He called me on the way over and asked to help. I figured it would put Grandpa at ease to see his own doctor.”
“And friend,” Vernie asserted.
“Of course,” Scarlett said smoothly, “that too.”
“Where is he?” Vernie said.
“Room 202. I was just going there myself. Come on, I’ll show you.” Scarlett got a few steps away, then stopped and turned back around. “Aren’t you coming?”
Rigby hesitated. He’d gone into Mr. Foster’s room earlier. That’s when the old man accused him of dropping him on purpose. He didn’t want a repeat of that experience, but neither did he like Scarlett and Vernie going off together. His shoulders were aching, and he had a dull headache, probably from the smoke. What he really wanted was to go home and get some sleep, but he needed to be here for Scarlett. She probably didn’t even know where she was going to sleep tonight. The answer to that was simple. She could stay at his house.
Scarlett gave him a funny look. “Are you okay? You spaced out there for a minute.”
Seeing the quiet amusement on Vernie’s face emboldened him as he smiled. “I’m good. Just a little tired. And sure, I’ll come along.” There was no way he was going to give Vernie the slightest opportunity to make a move on Scarlett, and if Mr. Foster didn’t like him being in the room. Well, he’d just have to get over it.
As Scarlett looked at what was left of her home, a sob built in the center of her chest and spread outward like poison, causing shakes to tremble through her body.
Rigby reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded, unable to contain the tears flowing down her cheeks. They’d come from the hospital to here. The doctor on call and Vernon both agreed it would be best to keep her grandpa overnight to monitor his breathing. All the way back from the hospital, Scarlett tried to prepare herself for what she would see when they arrived, but couldn’t have fathomed it would be this traumatic. She and Rigby were in his Porsche, parked alongside the curb. Seeing the ruin in the dark from a distance, was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like in the cold light of day. This couldn’t be real, her mind argued. She’d wake up and realize it was only a bad dream. The back section of the house was reduced to a pile of rubble, and the front was a burned-out hu
ll, swollen with water. Yellow police tape was wrapped around the entire exterior to keep out intruders. She didn’t know how she was going to force herself to step foot in the place to see what, if anything, could be salvaged. But it would have to be done. Her chest constricted making it hard to breathe as a wave of panic hit her.
Rigby shot her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”
She gulped, trying to take in breaths as dizziness wafted over her.
He rubbed her arm, his voice calm. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Concentrate on the breathing, and block out everything else.”
She did as instructed and after a few minutes, felt a little better. “I just can’t believe everything is gone.” Her voice caught. “My laptop, clothes, photographs.” She leaned forward in her seat, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as she tried to get a handle on the black despair swirling around her.
Rigby rubbed circles over her back. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”
She gulped, then swallowed, letting out ragged gasps. Rigby put his arms around her, pulling her close. She buried her head in his shoulder, a dam bursting loose. She cried until the tears were spent, her eyes feeling big and sore. Rigby’s shirt was soaked from her tears. She let out a half-laugh, feeling embarrassed as she pulled back. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
The Perfect Catch (Last Play Romance (A Bachelor Billionaire Companion) Book 9) Page 14