by Kim Redford
As she tugged her top over her head, her thoughts roamed to a cowboy firefighter named Trey. Shirtless, what a hunk. But she had to be practical. He was simply part of the investigation. Maybe even a suspect.
Even so, a smart gal never turned down good barbeque or the chance to ogle eye candy. And she prided herself on having at least a modicum of functioning brain cells.
Chapter 7
Trey drove up to Twin Oaks, parked, and cut his pickup’s rumbling engine. He’d already corralled Kent and Slade, a Steele cousin, into returning Ruby’s truck. He could see it parked beside the barn. His cousins might still be here, so he hoped he’d brought enough barbeque.
He took a deep breath and felt his mouth water at the smell of the grub he’d bought in Old Town. After ranch chores, plus this morning’s firefighting, he was mighty hungry. He glanced around the area, like he always did, looking for trouble. All the firefighters kept an eye out for Ruby and her place since she lived alone. She knew to call one of them if she had a water pipe break or other problem, but sometimes pride got in the way of common sense. At the moment, everything on the property looked mowed, edged, caulked, and painted.
He grabbed the sacks of food and stepped outside. Sun was almost down, so the air was cooler, but not by much. He checked the sky in all directions for traces of smoke. He took a deep breath. No smell of smoke either, now that he’d washed it out of his hair with a shower and changed clothes. After the grass fire, he still felt on edge. That’d been way too close for comfort. If his Christmas angel hadn’t arrived in time, there’d be no barbeque or spring tonight. Volunteers would still be out there trying to put out the prairie, or Dudley’s ranch house, or maybe the Texas Timber Christmas tree farm. The blaze had been headed that way.
A white van was nosed up beside Misty’s SUV. He figured the vehicle belonged to the antique dealers Ruby had mentioned were staying at her place. He gave the vehicle a closer look. A lot of dust clung to the tires and turned the white paint a dingy gray. Odd. The vehicle looked more like it’d been driven on backcountry roads or pasture instead of pavement. Who knew where dealers went to find old stuff?
As he crunched across the dry grass, he thought about his Christmas list. He’d rewritten it with Misty’s name in the number one spot and snow as number two. He’d put the sticky note back under his Frosty the Snowman refrigerator magnet. Maybe like would beget like. He’d even settle for a good gully washer, they needed water so bad. Right now the area was a tinderbox just waiting for a carelessly thrown cigarette butt on Wildcat Road or any back road.
As Trey walked around to the front of the house, a white cat jumped down from Big John’s lower limb and headed at a trot toward him. No doubt Temple could smell the meat, but Trey liked to think the cat liked him and felt safe around him. Cats, dogs, and horses tended to like him. They knew he was a critter-friendly guy. He set the paper bags down on a corner of the brick flower bed, opened one sack, and selected a sliver of beef. Temple leaped up on the brick, blue eyes bright with impatience.
“Don’t ever tell me I didn’t give you a Christmas present.” He set down the meat and picked up the bags.
Temple meowed before he delicately began to eat, particularly meticulous about keeping his bright white fur clean.
“You’re welcome.” Trey patted the cat on his head, received a loud purr in response, and then stepped inside the garden room. “Hey folks, supper’s on!”
When there was no reply, he moved into the living room. Ruby stood with two strangers near the peacock tree. No Misty. He felt a stab of annoyance. Had Kent gone behind his back and taken his Christmas angel out for dinner? If he had, there’d be hell to pay.
Ruby glanced over. “Hey, Trey. Smells good. Come on in. Meet my guests, J.P. and Charlene Gladstone. They’re scouting around for antiques.” She motioned in his direction. “Trey Duval is a local rancher.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He held up the sacks. “Anybody interested in the best piping-hot barbeque in town with curly fries and jack-cheese-stuffed jalapeños? I even got some peach turnover fried pies.”
Ruby rubbed her tummy. “Took you long enough. Is that Lula Mae’s?”
“Yep. Chuckwagon Café at its finest.”
“I saw that quaint little place in Old Town and wanted to try it,” Charlene said.
“Now’s your chance.”
“Good food. Good company. Nothing better.” J.P. shook Trey’s hand. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse and chase the rider.”
Trey joined the laughter at the old joke as he eyed the newcomers. Good-looking, put-together city folks. Not quite comfortable here. Charlene was giving him the once-over like she wasn’t real committed to her marriage. Sure raised his hackles. He ought to keep an eye on them since they were sharing the upper floor with Misty and living in Ruby’s home.
He took the three steps up to the kitchen and plopped the sacks on the countertop.
Ruby joined him. “Barbeque still hot?”
“You bet.” He glanced upstairs. “Misty in her room?”
“Nope.”
He frowned as the irritation surged back. “Kent didn’t—”
“Simmer down.” She tugged containers out of the sacks and took a deep breath. “Kent brought my truck by and left.”
“Slade?” He pulled the sack containing two rib dinners toward him.
“Left too.”
“Good.” He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s real good.”
“’Course, Dudley—”
“Dudley! He can’t corral his cats, much less a woman.”
Ruby shook her head. “I was funning you just to see how the wind blew.”
“Blows hot.”
“Want a cold beer to cool off?”
“Yep.”
“Want the location of my newest guest?”
“Yep.”
Ruby leaned in close. “Now take it easy on her. She may not be used to alpha males.”
“What do you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “If the gal’s here on vacation, she’s tired, stressed, and looking for relaxation.”
He grinned, feeling a rush of heat in his belly. “I can handle all that. Easy as peach turnover pie.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She pulled open a drawer and set out flatware.
“No need to run the dishwasher. I picked up those little packages of plastic forks and napkins.”
“Don’t even go there. I have pretty poinsettia Christmas plates for my guests and holiday napkins.”
He held up his hands. “Just trying to help.”
“That’s what I mean.” She leaned closer to whisper. “You can come on strong and not know it.”
He put a hand over his heart. “Ruby, you wound me. I’ve been with a woman or two in my life. They didn’t tell me I stank in that department.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“Okay. If you think a city gal prefers roses to barbeque and beer, I’ll run out and get a couple dozen. Anyway, I owe her for all the help today.”
Ruby sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Get beer out of the fridge, pick up your barbeque, and get those plastic utensils out of my sight.”
“No roses?”
“She’s relaxing out by the spring. Take her food and she’ll probably follow you anywhere.”
“So, you’re saying that like a man, the way to a woman’s—”
“Heart?”
He grinned. “I wasn’t thinking ‘heart,’ but guess it’ll do.”
She shook her head. “Not another word. Get your grub and go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He quickly snagged four beers, rolled off a handful of paper towels, and stuck them in the sack with two rib dinners and plastic forks. As he headed down the steps, he nodded at the Gladstone couple.
“Won’t you be joining us for dinner?” Charlene asked in a suggestive tone, smiling with rosy red lips.
“Not tonight.”
“Another time?”
“Could be.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
He nodded again, wondering at her persistence. He had more important matters on his mind. Misty made a guy want to rush back to her. He stretched out his long legs and was out the door and into the garden room.
He didn’t know why, but it seemed like some women had a way of complicating the simplest things. Come to think of it, maybe all women had that trait.
Chapter 8
Misty sat on the edge of a terra-cotta-tiled pool in the shadow of an open-air gazebo, amazingly and beautifully built of red brick in a Roman bath style. She wished she could have met the man who had designed Twin Oaks, so she could have thanked him for creating such beauty.
She listened to water bubble up from the natural spring and flow into the lower pool where it swirled around her calves. The water’s warm temperature felt perfect to ease tension and relax muscles. She stretched her toes, feeling the pull of muscles in her calves that had been tested by her firefighting that morning. She’d thought about changing into a bathing suit, but she’d opted instead to simply wear a change of capris and knit top with another pair of flip-flops because she didn’t really want to swim.
As she relaxed in the peaceful setting, she listened to the sound of trickling water and wind in the pines. Even the heat of the day had cooled to a comfortable level that evening. She sighed in contentment.
Dramatic arches enclosed a large gathering area along with the spring and pool. Black wrought-iron outdoor furniture sported plush aqua cushions for comfort. An open fire pit nestled between two luxurious lounge chairs. The black barrel smoker looked big enough to handle food for a large group. She could easily imagine enjoying a party out here, smelling hamburgers and hot dogs sizzling on the grill and listening to the splashes and giggles of kids in the pool.
She glanced upward. White fairy lights illuminated the gazebo ceiling above, adding a soothing touch to the twilight. A gentle breeze carried the scent of pine from the rows of green trees not far away. An owl hooted, an eerie sound followed by the whoosh of wings as the bird flew deeper into the pine forest. After such a surprisingly strenuous day, Misty relaxed deeper into the serenity of the moment, letting her cares melt away.
She could almost imagine a positive Christmas. Peace. Here in this beautiful, restful place. Goodwill. Here with kind, generous people.
Instantly, those thoughts bought back the old horror of Christmas when she was so young. Her body tightened with anxiety, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She felt choked by thick smoke. She coughed, trying to ease the constriction, but she could hardly catch her breath. She panted, taking short, shallow breaths as she felt her heart rev up hard and fast. She heard her painful gasps grow louder than the sound of the spring. She called on her safe words, mentally repeating, “Be here now. Safe and sound. Be here now.”
Too much. That was her current problem. Too much Christmas. Too much fire. Too much emotion. She always walked a fine line, not allowing herself to have too much of anything. She couldn’t afford to get too tired, too hungry, too cold, too hot, too happy, too sad. All things in moderation kept her stable.
But Wildcat Bluff, Trey Duval, and the fire had pushed Christmas into bright neon, flashing on and off in her mind. She’d started to feel too much, and obviously she couldn’t afford to do it. She took deep, calming breaths. She mustn’t think about Christmas, not here, not now. Not ever.
Normally, all the stability tricks she’d learned in recovery worked to ease her panic attacks. But not now. She gasped harder, feeling her chest contract as if a band squeezed tighter and tighter. Anxiety became fear. What if she needed medical help? How far away was a hospital or doctors? And even worse, what if she appeared weak in front of these capable people when she wanted them to view her as she truly was, strong and capable?
Somehow, she had to overcome this rare panic episode. She wasn’t willing to do it with mind-numbing drugs. She’d done the zombie routine for one week and vowed never again. She looked outward to try and relax her mind, but night had fallen. The stately pines now appeared dark and dangerous. Anything could lurk in their shadows. A carpet of fallen pine needles was particularly susceptible to fire, and the ground was covered in dry grass and fallen leaves. Everything combustible. Fortunately, if worse came to worst, she could leap into the pool and be surrounded by water. Yet flames could turn the spring into a boiling cauldron.
She desperately needed to get back to the house and into her bathroom for her inhaler. She’d be safe. She’d have a chance to recover, to do her deep-breathing exercises and yoga positions with no one the wiser. But she felt frozen, unable to move in any direction. She gasped harder as she watched for the telltale sign of yellow-orange flames to flare up among the trees to signal an out-of-control fire.
If she stayed here, she could give an early warning of fire. If she stayed here, she wouldn’t be seen in distress. If she stayed here, she might overcome her anxiety by sheer force of will.
But she couldn’t stay here. She had to move and help herself. There was no one else to lend assistance, even if she’d wanted it.
Still gasping for breath, she pulled one foot out of the water and swiveled toward the house. A tall, dark shape stepped into the gazebo. Shocked, she slid backward and hit the water, sending waves cascading over the tile floor. Now her panic came from water, not fire, as it closed over her head. She came gasping to the surface, drenched from head to toe, as she found solid footing on the bottom of the pool.
“Misty!” Trey dropped the sack he carried on a table and knelt beside her. “Are you having an asthma attack?”
Horrified and embarrassed, she shook her head, water dribbling down her cheeks, unable to speak. She felt her knit shirt cling like a second skin, revealing everything. She tried to pull it away from her bra, realized the water offered better cover, and ducked down, still wheezing.
“Let me get you out of here and to the house.”
She backed away. The water now covered her shoulders. She only needed a little longer to regain control. Trey was bringing back all her earlier emotions. He loomed so big and strong, so powerful and confident, so ridiculously handsome, while she was drenched, with her hair and makeup ruined, that she felt her heart beat even faster. She was no longer sure if she was reacting to the past or to the present. He made her want to be brave, strong, beautiful, not tingling all over with emotions best kept suppressed so that she could breathe.
“It’s okay.” He sank down to sit on his boot heels by the edge of the pool. “I’m an EMT. All our volunteer firefighters are trained as emergency medical technicians or paramedics.”
She wanted to scream that she wasn’t a medical emergency. She just needed a moment to catch her breath. But she couldn’t get the words out. She held up a hand, shaking her dripping head.
“I can call an ambulance. My cell is in my truck since I’m not on duty, but I can run up to the house and use Ruby’s phone.” He was on one knee now, thigh muscles tensed as if he was ready to jump into action in an instant.
“No!” She dragged air into her lungs. “Please, give me a moment.”
“Panic attack?” he asked in a gentle, quiet, calm voice.
She simply nodded, hating to admit what felt like a weakness. Yet she saw no censure in his gaze. Only concern.
“Still damn serious. I could hear you struggling for breath back up the path.” He leaned toward her. “Scared the hell out of me. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. And neither would anybody else.”
“Not your fault,” she whispered. For some reason, her breath came a little easier.
“We need our Christmas angel.”
&n
bsp; She rolled her eyes. Just what she didn’t want to hear. She couldn’t seem to get away from angels in this town.
“Do you have an inhaler in your room?”
She nodded, pulling a deeper breath into her lungs. She felt a little better. Maybe her symptoms were receding as quickly as they’d come.
“I’ll get it.”
“No!” She felt her chest tighten again. “Dark. Alone.” She reached out to him, feeling unreasoning fear begin to take root again. “Smoke.”
“Smoke?” He went down on both knees to clasp her hand. “Okay. I understand. I won’t leave you.”
She moved closer to him, coming up out of the water a bit, never mind her wet clothes. She covered her mouth with the palm of one hand, as if to silence her harsh breath or reassure her body, while she held on to him with the other. Somehow he comforted her. Maybe that was one of the important things that firefighters learned to do, along with putting out flames. Often there were victims. Too often innocent people never made it out of fires alive. She shivered hard all over.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Focus on my voice. You’re safe. No fires are anywhere near here. You’re safe.”
She nodded as she felt her breath come easier and her heart rate slow down. He was right. She knew it, but she still needed to hear it, particularly from a firefighter.
“You sound better.”
“Yes.” She took a deeper breath, feeling strength and clarity start to return so that she felt more normal.
“I’m going to let go of your hand, but I’m not leaving you.” He sat down on the edge of the pool, jerked off his socks and boots, tossed them aside, and put his feet in the water. “Come here.”
She wanted the comfort of his arms, but if she gave in to her weakness now, how did she go forward when she was alone again?
“Misty, I understand. We’ve all had moments when we needed somebody to be there for us. It’s okay to reach out for help.” He dropped his hands to his knees. “Please don’t be afraid of me. I got you into this situation, so it’s my fault. But if you hadn’t been there when and where you were, we’d have lost a lot.” He took a deep breath. “Come here, Christmas angel.”