Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  “Shh,” he insisted, pulling her close and burying his nose in her hair. When he rested his palm on her stomach, he felt it, the funny little butterfly-wing-like fluttering under her skin. “Miss Lucy is feeling restless,” he said, fighting off the looming panic and unhappiness as best he could.

  She put her hand on his, threading their fingers together. “When are we gonna break it to your boy that this is a baby sister?”

  “I say we keep it a surprise,” he said, looking up at the slowly turning ceiling fan, unable to stop the overwhelming helpless sensation clawing its way up his spine into his brain.

  “Hey, earth to George,” she whispered, tilting his chin down so he met her gaze. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “I know,” he said, putting his forehead to hers. And they passed another anniversary of the worst day of his life, as they had for the past five years—together, in each other’s arms.

  The End

  About the Author

  Liz Crowe is an Amazon best-selling author of 27 books, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and sports fan. She is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse. Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Unconventional Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).

  Visit her:

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  Hook Me Up

  by Adele Downs

  Cover Art by Crystal Posey

  Editing by Jennifer Blackwell-Yale

  Firemen don't free cats from trees anymore—until a pretty schoolteacher gets trapped on a limb with her kitten and the county's hottest firefighter comes to their rescue.

  “You can’t go wrong with Adele Downs.” ~Will Work for Books

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  ~ Dedication ~

  To Steve, still my hero after all these years.

  Chapter One

  Lexi Wentworth sobbed and swore for getting herself into her dangerous predicament. Her shin throbbed and blood trickled over her knee to her thigh. She worried that her leg was broken, and held back tears of fear and frustration, hoping it wouldn’t be long until someone found her hanging upside down from her apple tree.

  “Naughty Ginger for climbing up here,” she said to her kitten for at least the fifth time, trying again to free her trapped leg and right herself. She hung like a bat from a gnarled limb—wearing sheer lingerie and a thong, of all things. Stupid. Just stupid.

  She’d only cracked the kitchen door open a teensy second after dawn to slip a birthday card for her mother into the mailbox before she got busy with her day and forgot. Just that quick, Ginger skittered past her ankles and bolted through the crack.

  Lexi ran after the tabby to bring her back inside, figuring she could catch her without much fuss. How far could a kitten run up a tree? She found the answer—all the way up—dressed in nothing but a ridiculous lavender nightie and matching butt floss above her fuzzy bedroom slippers, which had since fallen off.

  She thought she could rescue Ginger before her pet climbed too high. Everyone knew the fire department no longer answered cat-in-tree calls, and since apple trees were easy to climb, Lexi figured she could solve the problem herself. But instead of clinging to a low branch, the kitten moved higher whenever Lexi reached for her. Before she knew it, they’d scaled most of the way to the top. When Ginger finally settled on a limb, she’d hissed in fear and trembled with terror.

  Now Lexi was stuck with the cat in the tree—mostly naked, and with little hope of anyone finding her. She swore again and berated the getup her friend had shamed her into buying. If she’d worn her jammies, like she’d done the previous three hundred sixty-four days, she’d have been warmer and less bloodied while hanging upside down from a limb.

  “Help!” she cried out.

  Her skin prickled with chills despite the mild, early May morning. Why she’d let Daniela talk her into this outfit, she’d never know. She and her best friend had spent Friday night at the mall and wandered into a lingerie shop splashing more pink than a toy store aisle. Daniela had helped herself to an armload of satin and lace, and thrust a stack of frothy silk into Lexi’s hands. “Try these.”

  Lexi would have been much more comfortable buying a new t-shirt and pajama bottoms, but Daniela had insisted that “Jammies on the outside lead to cobwebs on the inside.”

  “Sexy lingerie will keep your libido lubed, mi amiga. We don’t want any part of you drying out from lack of…hmmm, spice. Fantasy is good for the soul. And who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

  Daniela waved her fingers beneath the stack of confections she carried. “Go.”

  “When did you get so bossy?” Lexi shot back, knowing she’d give in. Daniela’s seemingly boundless confidence was the tonic that relieved the anxiety disorder plaguing Lexi. Secretly, she knew their yin and yang was the glue that made them friends. “Anyway, my soul is fine, thank you.”

  Daniela gave her a look that made it clear salvation wasn’t the issue. “When was the last time you had a date? Or more to the point—had smokin’ hot sex?”

  Lexi had to think. “Uh… hmmm.” Not since before she’d moved to Pennsylvania from Ohio two years before to teach third grade. She’d met Daniela at West Arbor Elementary School, where she taught second grade in the classroom next door.

  Daniela gave her the evil eye and pointed toward the dressing room. “Exactly.”

  A half-hour later, her friend met her at the checkout counter with enough animal print, feathers, and rhinestones for a dozen dates with her latest lover. Lexi had chosen a single set for herself, which had admittedly turned out to be fun to wear until she’d gotten trapped in the ancient tree outside her kitchen door. Her foray into fantasy dress-up had backfired worse than her neighbor’s rusted Camaro.

  She grimaced with pain while she tried again to wiggle her left leg free. She’d been careful, but not careful enough, apparently, when she’d reached for Ginger. Her heel had slipped and her body had almost gone into free fall. She’d flailed her arms for balance, and by some miracle or fluke, her leg had gotten wedged above the knee and captured inside a forked limb with a gnarl like an arthritic joint. That gnarl had both saved and condemned her.

  Bark dug into the tender skin behind her thigh and blood rushed to her head, causing waves of dizziness and nausea. Strands of her hair drifted over her cheek to tickle her nose and tease her mouth. Her nightgown hung upside down over her body, baring her pale breasts and abdomen to the birds and early morning sky.

  She tried hoisting herself up by pushing off two lower branches, but succeeded in merely arching her back. The lift offered muscle support and relief from the scratchy bark, until another surge of dizziness struck, and her stomach roiled from the coffee she’d drunk. Fear shot through her at the thought of being sick in her upside-down position, turning her skin clammy. Tendrils of long hair on her cheek began to stick.

  She took deep breaths to clear her head, brushed the hair and the hem of her nightie from her face with one hand, and tucked the garment under her chin. The tabby mewled close by, every hair on her slender body standing straight as a thistle. “Poor kitty,” Lexi murmured. “You’re more frightened than me.”

  To take pressure off her trapped leg and relieve the dizzy spells, Lexi reached for an overhead branch, hoping to gain some leverage. She sighed with relief when the maneuver reduced the pull to her knee and the blood rushing to her head. She blinked against the vertigo threatening to overwhelm her and took several more deep breaths. Calm. She had to stay calm. If she could maintain this posture, she wouldn’t pass out. Maybe a passerby would see her and ge
t her down.

  Breezes blew over her damp skin, sending chills over her flesh. Despite the moderate temperatures, her teeth chattered. She worried she was going into shock. Lexie took a cleansing breath and tamped down her panic. “Help!”

  Ginger hissed and spat at the raw tone of her voice.

  Her relief was short-lived. The branch she held snapped off in her hand and sent her reeling against the tree trunk. The broken branch pierced her trapped thigh, drawing blood, and the back of her head struck the rough bark. “Ow!” Her vision blurred, cleared, and then clouded with tears.

  “Help me,” she sobbed, her voice losing its power as her despair grew.

  The nightie pooled around her neck and Lexie shivered. She might as well give up smoothing the fabric over her breasts, since it would only fall down again. Who would see her, anyway?

  The realization that no one might find her prickled her spine like a blast of cold needles. The half-acre wooded lots in her neighborhood offered a great deal of privacy. Her next-door neighbors routinely left before daybreak for their shifts at the hospital. The couple across the street had gone away for the weekend, and the empty house beside them was for sale. Unless she started screaming at the top of her lungs, and a pedestrian heard her, no one would miss her.

  Anxiety kicked her heart rate into the danger zone, so she tamped it down with a mental pep talk. If she could face energetic third graders every day, and deal with their parents, she could find her way out of this mess. She shouted again. “Please, somebody, help me!”

  No answer. No cars passed, and no footsteps sounded on the sidewalk along the front of her house. Her cell phone lay useless on the kitchen table. Birdsong and the rustle of emerging apple blossoms was her only reply.

  Lexi’s body began to turn cold and tremors rippled through her. Her knee throbbed worse than ever under the gnarl’s iron grip. If her leg was fractured, she’d have to finish the school year on crutches. The thought of maneuvering through crowded hallways and managing a room full of rambunctious eight-year-olds while wearing a cast rushed fresh anxiety through her.

  She blinked away the unwelcome images. “Don’t worry about that now,” she murmured. “Crutches are the least of your problems. Everything will turn out okay.”

  Assuming she got rescued.

  What if no one found her? She struggled against panic and restarted the breathing exercises she’d learned from her therapist after the accident in Cleveland.

  One-two-three-four. Fill the lungs. Exhale. Five-six-seven-eight. Her ragged breaths leveled off while she counted her rhythms.

  She concentrated on bringing her nerves under control, despite the agony in her leg that reverberated to her hip when the muscle spasms started. “Think, Lexi. Think.”

  She remembered the birthday card she’d placed in her mailbox. The little red flag she’d raised on the side would signal the mail carrier. Her spirits rose, until she remembered that George didn’t make rounds through her neighborhood until late afternoon, even on Saturday. There was no way could she stay in this tree for several hours and …

  She didn’t want to finish that thought. The blood from her leg ran more freely now and she worried she would lose consciousness. All hope evaporated that George might arrive in time to save her.

  She tried to reach another branch to ease the strain on her leg, but the fruitless struggle further depleted her energy. Calling out for help was probably a better use of her reserves.

  Just then, Lexi thought she heard the whirr of an engine on the street. A car was passing by. She found her voice and shouted for all she was worth. “Help! Up here! Stop!”

  The car continued along its route. Silence followed. Only the faint sounds of a dog barking could be heard through the stillness.

  Perspiration dotted Lexi’s temples and her heartbeat turned erratic. She resumed the anxiety-reducing techniques she’d been taught and tried to form a plan. Ginger mewled above her.

  After completing another set of relaxation exercises, the cobwebs in her mind cleared, and she remembered the study she’d read in college about people’s responses to perceived danger. The article claimed that people were more likely to ignore cries for help from a stranger than react to threats to their personal safety.

  That gave her an idea.

  Lexi took the deepest breath she could manage. “Fire!” she shouted. Homeowners always worried about fire spreading through their neighborhood, especially one as thickly wooded as hers.

  “Fire!” she yelled again. “Call the fire department!”

  Lexi screamed the words until her strength gave out. Maybe someone, somewhere, had heard her warning. She’d even be grateful to see Stan, her creepy Camaro-driving neighbor down the block, if he’d get her out of this jam. She shuddered at the thought of him touching her to help her down, and ogling her breasts in the process, but even Stan’s touch couldn’t be a fate worse than death.

  She bolstered her failing strength and hollered again. “Fire!”

  Ginger yowled at the outbursts from her spot on a branch and Lexi’s tears of hopelessness began to fall. Chills swept over her body and she shivered all the way to her bones. The wisps of fabric she wore weren’t designed for warmth.

  When she’d bought this nightie, she’d been kidding herself to believe she’d find love again. She’d thought she had a future with Adam, but he’d abandoned her, and the damage he’d done to her psyche had been worse than the wreckage from the crash. Maybe she should stop hoping for more and get used to being unloved and unwanted.

  An inappropriate fit of giggles let her know her system was shutting down.

  A breeze kicked up and she thought longingly of the cotton jammies hanging on the back of her bedroom door with her cozy flannel robe. If she’d been wearing them, instead of letting herself be bullied into buying lavender fluff, she’d be covered, at least.

  A patina of sweat covered her skin and she shivered more violently than before.

  More ominous reasons for her chills brought whimpers of fear from her throat. Untreated shock rarely brought a happy ending. She glanced right, and then left, searching for another branch that would offer support. If she could raise her head to reduce the dizziness and the flow of blood to her brain, she might find a way out of this mess.

  She scanned the area around her, though her vision blurred. She blinked, and then blinked again, bringing her eyes back into focus, and tried once more to find a handhold that would offer support.

  There. To her right, a slim branch, barely thicker than a reed, wobbled with each gentle breeze. The new growth had sprouted a few apple buds, and since it was supple, might offer her lift. If she could raise her head and shoulders from time to time, she might not lose consciousness. The tiny branch would also ease the strain on her leg and back.

  Lexi reached out, and finessed the branch into her hand, by fluttering her fingers until she was able to grip the end. She held on, and then tested its strength by pulling gently, adding tension until she could lift her head and shoulders. Instant relief brought a fresh bout of vertigo, but deep breaths chased the dizzy spell away.

  Lexi let out a holler. “Fire!”

  Ginger spit from her place on a limb. Though Lexi’s leg throbbed and her neck ached with the effort to raise her head and remain conscious, she spoke encouraging words to soothe her kitten.

  “Someone will come, Ginger. We have to believe that help will arrive.”

  Chapter Two

  “I’d give my right nut for a hot cup of coffee and breakfast,” Knox Townsend said. He and his partner, Marcus Jackson, unfastened their helmets and face masks and loaded them into the truck. Their fire-retardant hoods came off next. “Then I want a shower and about ten hours sleep.” It would be an hour—at least—before he could take those small comforts.

  Knox groaned as he climbed into the cab of Engine Number Six on weary legs and started the engine. Soot streaked his face, making him look like a blue-eyed raccoon i
n the rearview mirror, and ash stuck to his turnout coat, pants, and boots like paint splatter. They’d pulled another all-nighter in a neighboring community where an arsonist had torched a second row of houses. It had taken ladders from four adjacent towns to put the fires out.

  Knox shook his head. “At least we have beds to go home to. It’s a shame about all those families.”

  Marcus buckled his seatbelt, riding shotgun. “When the FBI catches the bastard, I want to kick his ass before they haul him away.” He emphasized his point with a terse nod of his dark head.

  “Get in line.” Knox turned right at the next intersection and headed south. Their station sat smack in the middle of orchard and farm country in southeastern Pennsylvania. The trees were just beginning to bud, and in another month blossoms would decorate every neighborhood in town.

  The sight of his hometown in the distance eased the tension in his neck and the kinks in his shoulders. The tightness in his back and thigh muscles began to relax. Knox had never lived anywhere else and couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave West Arbor. A wife, a few kids, and a promotion to lieutenant—or even captain someday—would make life here just about perfect.

  A call from dispatch crackled through the radio as the truck entered the town limits. Marcus picked it up. “Go, dispatch.”

  “Possible house fire on McIntosh Lane. The tracker shows your truck two blocks away. Please respond.”

  “Possible fire?” Marcus replied. He exchanged a puzzled look with Knox.

  “We haven’t been able to confirm, since we only got one call, but you need to check it out. No siren. The captain is on his way with a crew in another truck.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “None available,” Sheila, their veteran dispatcher, replied.

  “We’ll find it.”

  “Report back.”

  “Roger that, dispatch.”

  He turned toward the side window and craned his neck. “There’s no smoke anywhere.”