Same thing now. Except the sunburn was coming from all sides. And it wasn't cozy and warm, like her parents' hearth. It was absolutely terrifying.
Finally she got her eyes open; the heat made her squint. She was lying on the dirt floor of the shed. The papers in the lockbox were now a small pile of ashes, and the fire had spread to the wall of the shed. Waves of heat radiated from all sides. Flames danced and twisted along the plywood, sending renegade fingers toward neatly stacked garden tools, the workbench, the lawn mower.
Shit. The lawn mower. It had gas in the tank. She'd filled it the last time she was here. She had to get out of this death trap.
She thought about Rollo and all the wildfire stories he'd told. The firefighters always covered their mouths so they didn't get smoke inhalation. And they stayed low to the ground. The air was cleanest next to the earth.
Good thing she loved the earth. And soil. And dirt. Maybe dirt would save her. She pressed her cheek to the floor and filled her lungs with air. The hit of oxygen helped her think more clearly. Don't panic. Panic leads to bad decisions. Stay low. If Rollo and the other hotshots could survive a burnover during a massive wildfire, she could handle one little garden shed, right?
Rollo. She filled her mind with thoughts of him because they calmed her. As if he was guiding her through this. You got this, Bri. Stay low. Stay calm. Try an elbow crawl. Drag yourself out of there.
Military style, she crawled toward the door of the shed. Pain raked across her legs. Had the intruder done something to her legs? She remembered the shards of broken pottery from the teapot she'd dropped. She was probably shredding her skin. Don't worry about that. Just keep going. Before the door catches on fire.
The asshole had left the door halfway open, probably to create a draw so the fire would burn faster. Wasn't it enough to take the papers? Or burn them or whatever he'd done? Why did he want to kill her?
You saw his face.
Of course. She could identify him, so he wanted her to die. Just to spite the murderous bastard, she fixed an image of his face in her mind's eye. If she got out of this, she'd go right to a sketch artist. Mother-effer.
Crawl, crawl. She reached the door and put her hand on it. And yelped. It was blistering hot, and felt like it might spontaneously burst into flames. She pushed it anyway, causing a billow of hot smoke to rush at her face. She ducked and covered her head with her hands. Breathe. Breathe. Nice and calm.
A spark landed on her arm. Oh God.
She swiped at it, felt a burn on her palm. A new smell combined with the smoke and old dirt and mustiness of the shed. A scorched smell, like the time she'd tried to flat iron her hair and ended up burning—
Shit.
Her hair was on fire. Fucking on fire.
She lost it at that point and let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Help! Help me!"
Her raw and scratchy throat could only handle two "helps" before she fell silent, gasping. She buried her nose back in the dirt. If she was going to die, at least she'd be hugging the earth. Surrounded by garden tools. It could be worse.
Of course, there would be no Rollo, and that was maybe the worst of all. She'd never get the chance to tell him how she really felt about him. Not the friend part. The everything part. The heart-and-soul part. The love-him-until-she-died part.
Which might happen sooner than later.
No. Screw this. She wasn't ready to die. Spring planting season was starting soon. Evie's wedding was only a few weeks away. Suzanne's baby was coming next month. And Rollo. Rollo. She had to tell him how she felt, because otherwise the truth would die with her in this fire.
A shout sounded from outside. Footsteps running across the ground. She felt the vibration under her face. She lifted her head one more time, for one last "help."
But maybe she said "Rollo" instead, because there he was, kicking aside the blazing door, ripping it off its hinges, storming into the flames.
Rollo.
All her fear fled, because even though she was surrounded by fire, Rollo was here and he'd take care of her. He had something in his hands—blanket? Jacket?—which he tossed over her. The world went temporarily dark as he wrapped her up like a burrito. Then she was being lifted into the air and hurried past heat and flame.
Safe in his embrace, snuggled against his rock-solid chest, a crazy sense of happiness filled her.
She was with Rollo. All was good.
Then she blacked out.
30
Rollo felt the very moment when Brianna passed out in his arms. She went limp, her legs swinging as he ran with her to his SUV. In the distance, he heard the sirens of the Jupiter Point fire department. Turner’s house was burning, too. How the hell had the fire gotten from the shed to the house? It wasn’t even windy.
When he reached his vehicle, he laid her out gently on the backseat. He lifted the edge of the old plaid jacket he'd wrapped around her and gave her a quick visual check. Part of her hair was blackened, and a burn festered on her scalp. She had no black around her lips, which would indicate smoke inhalation. He checked her pulse. Fast but even. She was fine. His precious Brianna would be fine.
His hands shook as he remembered the horror of spotting her bright hair just inside a shed entirely engulfed in flames. Never, ever, EVER, did he want to feel such stark terror again. If he'd arrived even a minute later—even thirty seconds later—what would have happened? He rubbed the back of his sooty hand across his eyes to chase the image away.
Brianna's eyes fluttered open. They were bloodshot and teary. She blinked a few times then focused on him. "Rollo," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Smoke really did a number on your vocal cords. "You came for me."
He couldn't answer because so much emotion welled up in his heart. He nodded. He grabbed a bottle of water from his cup holder and held it to her lips. Her eyes half-closing, she took a long swallow. She watched him as she drank, as if she was enjoying him as much as the water.
"There was a man," she said after he withdrew the bottle. "He set the fire. We have to find Old Man Turner."
"Fire department's on its way. I'll let them know."
So that was how the fire had spread. Rollo tamped down his fury. An arsonist had nearly killed Brianna? That fucker better pay, whoever he was.
Just then a ladder truck from the JPFD came cruising into Turner's yard.
"Hang on," Rollo told her. He jogged over to the crew captain and filled him in on what Brianna had told him.
"Have you seen anyone else around?"
"No, just Bri, and I pulled her out of that shed. But Melvin Turner's an odd duck. He could be hiding out somewhere. He has dementia."
The captain gave a signal to the guys on the hose and they hauled it toward the house. The shed was a total loss, but the house could still be saved. "Your girl okay? Need a medic?"
"No, I'll take her in to the clinic. She's in good shape."
When he got back to the SUV, Brianna was sitting up and feeling the charred spot on her head. "Wow, my hair's gone. Am I bald?"
He chuckled and wrapped her back in the jacket. "Nope. Still as beautiful as ever."
She reached up and cupped his face while he still hovered over her. "Thank you, Rollo. You saved my life." Tears shimmered in her bloodshot eyes. "Even before you showed up, you saved me. This is going to sound crazy, but I was thinking about the burnover and how you survived. It helped me stay calm. Otherwise I would have done something stupid like stand up and run into the flames."
He shuddered. "God forbid. That's my job. Only crazy assholes like me are supposed to do that shit."
She stroked his cheek, running her hand across the new growth of his beard. "Are you telling me I'm in love with a crazy asshole?"
He froze, searching her face. Did she mean it? Was Brianna really in love with him? Despite everything…his family…his past?
She smiled tenderly at him. "Need me to repeat that? I love you, Rollo. I was so afraid I'd die before I got a chance to tell you, and now that you're here, I
'm telling you. It doesn't mean you have to feel the same way, or say anything, really. I know nothing else has changed. You're still you and I'm still me. The prince and the peasant girl." Another smile flitted across her soot-streaked face. "I just have to say it. That's all."
"Brianna," he breathed. Tidal waves of happiness crashed through him. She loved him! Brianna—his sweet, fiery, beautiful, honest, real, awkward, loyal, generous, kindhearted girl—loved him. And she was right here. Alive. Nothing else mattered compared to that.
He pulled his hand away from her face and turned her body so she faced the door. After extracting his upper body from the interior, he straightened to his full height.
Then he dropped to his knees.
"Brianna Gallagher, I love you completely. Every bit of you, inside and out. You're in every beat of my heart. You're a light in my soul. I love you and I need you and I want you. No one but you. When I saw you on the ground in the shed, with fire all around you…my heart just about stopped. I want— I need— Brianna, will you marry me?"
She jumped as if he'd shocked her with something. "What?"
He thought back over what he'd said. Granted, it wasn't the most articulate proposal ever. It was spontaneous and right off the top of his head. But was it that shocking? "I love you and I want to marry you."
"No. You can't. I mean, you can love me. I'm glad you love me. I love you too, I think I mentioned that. But Rollo, no. You can't marry me."
His jaw flexed. A pebble pressed into his knee. His stomach dropped like a roller coaster. "See, I think I can. I mean, if you want to. I already told my mother that you're the only woman I'll marry."
She drew in a shocked gasp. "Oh no. No. She's not going to like that. She despises me. I totally embarrassed her in New York. She told me she'd never accept me."
Rollo gave up on the kneeling part of the proposal and rose to his feet. "Let's go somewhere else and talk about this."
"Well, okay, but there's no point. I'm still me. That's never going to change, Rollo."
"I don't want you to change! Damn it." He braced one hand against the frame of his SUV and gazed down at her with a tender scowl. "I want you exactly as you are. Why is that so hard to understand?"
"Because…" Ducking her head, she twisted her hands in her lap. "You know why, Rollington Wareham the Third."
He watched her wring her hands and noticed that her nails were bloody and dirt was ground into her palms. God, he was an asshole. She should be in the clinic by now, and he was trying to browbeat a "yes" out of her.
"Later," he said softly. "We'll talk about it later." He closed the back seat door, then went around to the driver's side and slid into his seat.
Neither of them said anything else as they drove away from Old Man Turner's place. It seemed ridiculous to him. When two people loved each other, they ought to get married. Why did it matter where his ancestors came from or how much money was in his bank account?
Then a light bulb went off in his head. The solution to everything.
"No, Rollo. You're not thinking straight. You're upset because you nearly saw me burn to death." Brianna winced, since that sounded more brutal than she'd planned. "You know what I mean."
"I do, but you're wrong." That set, determined, steel-eyed look on Rollo's face hadn't shifted. The entire drive to the clinic, she'd watched the muscles flex in his jaw, his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. At the clinic, he'd insisted on carrying her through the door like a child. She didn't mind any of that. It felt good and honestly, her legs were so wobbly she didn't know if she could have walked under her own power.
But now she was back home in her own bed and he was talking about ruining his life.
"You can't just resign from your family. It doesn't work that way."
"No, but I can sign over my trust funds. Tell them to take my name off everything. Hand over all my assets, except the ones I earned myself. The house might have to go." He shrugged. "Sorry about the koi pond. You put a lot of work into it."
That made her laugh, even though laughing scratched her already painful throat. For sure, humans weren't designed to be immersed in flame. "Don't care about the koi. But what about all the other charities you support?"
"Brent can be an ass, but he isn't a bad guy. I'll help all the various groups make their case to my brother and he'll decide. It would reflect badly on the Wareham name if he pulled our support, so I think they're probably safe. The main reason I never considered this before was because of Dougie. But he doesn't need my money. He'll probably be richer than me. Sean will take me back on the crew, no question, but hotshots aren't exactly millionaires, even with the overtime."
"Well, if it comes to that, I can help support you, Rollington Wareham the Third." She widened her eyes innocently. "I actually do pretty well for myself in the gardening biz."
He grinned broadly, light filling his blue eyes. "So is that a yes? You're already putting together the family budget?"
She felt heat rise in her face. She wanted Rollo in her life. And she didn't care about his money. But there was another huge factor to consider. "No, Rollo. It's not a yes. Because there's something you're not considering."
"What?"
"Your family doesn't want me. I know how important family is. You don't want to hurt them. And marrying me—" She dropped her face into her hands. "There's a YouTube video you should probably see."
He put his hands to her wrists and gently drew them away. "I've seen it. It was adorable. No one could watch that video and not love you with every bone in his body. At least, no one named Rollington Wareham the Third."
She stared at him in astonishment. He'd seen it. He knew why she'd run from New York with her tail between her legs. And he still loved her. Still wanted her.
His blue-gray gaze held so much softness, such deep and total acceptance, that she wanted to cry. The air between them seemed to thicken like honey. A smile touched the firm curve of his lips, which were partially covered by his new beard. His wide, wide shoulders hunched protectively over her, as if to fend off any threat, fire or family or otherwise.
"Now when you say 'bone,'" she whispered. "What exactly do you mean?"
Awareness sparked in his eyes. His smile broadened. "I'm open to any interpretation."
The palms of her hands tingled.
"But I need you to know a few things first. I need you to know that when I do this," he kissed her neck, where the pulse fluttered under her skin, "I'm kissing the woman I love."
She sighed as liquid desire spread throughout her body.
"When I do this," he whispered, unzipping her hoodie to reveal the ribbed tank she wore underneath. "I'm undressing the woman I want to marry." He touched one nipple through the fabric, causing it to stiffen into a dark point. "The woman I want to be my bride. My wife."
Her breath came fast, chest rising and falling. "You're crazy, Rollo," she whispered back. "You should find someone who can be what you need. Someone who can handle those parties and those obligations and those people."
"You are what I need," he said firmly. "Even when I thought I wanted someone else, the only time I felt right was when I was with you. But Bri…"
He pressed a hand to her lower belly, a warm weight sparking bright streaks of sensation just a little lower down.
"I have the feeling that I'm not the problem here. My family's not the problem. What's going on, really? You said you loved me."
"I do! I love you so much!" She leaned her forehead against his chest and put her hands under his sweater, basking in his heat and the sculpted curves of his torso. If she could touch him like this forever, she'd be perfectly happy. "But can't you understand? I'm not the kind of person who can play a part or fake it till you make it. I just…don't want to let you down."
"You couldn't. It's impossible. Because all I want," he lifted her chin with his finger, "is for you to be you. And to love me. That's it."
"Really?" She scrunched her face in doubt. Those two things couldn't be easier. Sh
e didn't know how to be anything but herself. And as for loving him? She couldn't stop that—and she'd tried. "That's all?"
"Well, if you could touch my dick right now, that would be a bonus. Because it's about ready to burst out of my jeans."
Joy bloomed in her heart, as extravagant as a pink peony. She slid her fingers past his waistband down to the hot organ that jumped at her touch. She felt Rollo release a long breath, as if he'd been holding it forever waiting for her answer.
And she hadn't even answered. Her heart wanted to say yes, in a flash. But there was still the Wareham factor hanging over everything. She needed to be sure she wouldn't be doing Rollo more harm than good by saying yes.
"I do love you," she murmured as she enclosed his shaft in her fist. "I want to make you happy, Rollo, so happy. The way you make me."
"You never have to worry about that. No one's ever made me this happy." He nuzzled her neck, his breathing picking up speed. He unzipped his pants and pushed them down his legs. When he'd kicked them aside, he came back to her, tall and broad and strong and fully aroused. He plucked the blanket off her body. She was wearing nothing but pink panties and bandages on her knees from where the teapot shards had cut her. His eyes darkened at the reminder of her wounds.
"It's fine, big guy. Just don't ask me to get on hands and knees. I mean, not now, anyway." She gave him a saucy wink, and that was it.
"Was that a wink? You're asking for it now, wench. Aren't you?"
"Oh yes. I'm not just asking for it. I'm telling you. Get on over here with your bad self."
He settled his big body onto the bed, dragged her panties off of her, and nudged her legs apart. He bent his head between them and offered her a long, luxurious, wet licking that made her nerve endings shriek with pleasure. She dug her fingers into his hair and babbled like a madwoman. She had no idea what came out of her mouth, but whatever it was, Rollo seemed to like it.
Into the Flames (Jupiter Point Book 3) Page 21