by Rita Herron
He struggled to see through the darkness, but couldn’t. Dear God, he was blind again! The room disappeared into black, gray patches that clogged the air in front of him. Then a flash of bright light caught his eye.
No, he wasn’t blind. A thick haze of smoke circled above him. Heat scorched his body. Orange flames swirled from the floor and licked the walls, shooting toward the ceiling.
He jerked upright, realizing in horror he wasn’t dreaming. A raging fire had engulfed the room. And the flames were spiraling all around him.
Chapter Seven
Collin’s lungs ached as they filled with smoke. Panic trapped him momentarily as death called his name. But he fought the fear, his mind spinning for an escape. Three of the four walls blazed around him. The fire gained momentum as it lapped up the antique furnishings and trailed a path around the edges of the upholstered chair and sofa. He had to hurry. The flimsy white curtains caught fire next. Wood crackled and popped. He coughed violently.
Think, man, think. Get down low.
He yanked the pillowcase from the bed, tied it around his face to cover his mouth, wrapped the comforter around him, then rolled from the bed. His heart pounded as he searched for the best escape.
The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see a foot in front of him. Fire hissed, then engulfed the pine armoire. Next, the door erupted into flames. He backed away toward the window. Fire raged all around him, spitting out heat, singeing his hair and body. He had to get out.
He coughed again, the smoke and fumes almost overpowering him as he crawled toward the window. Once he broke the window, the oxygen would feed the fire like gasoline. He would have to go right through it
Jerking the comforter around his head, he stood and ran. Heat clawed at his body. Then he dove through the glass window. The pane shattered, sending shards of glass spraying outward. He yelled out for help as the scorching flames licked his body and he rolled onto the grass.
THE HEAT WAS OPPRESSIVE.
Sydney sat up in bed, soaked in sweat. She stared at the clock as early-morning sunshine peeked through her window. Perspiration trickled down the sides of her face, and she wiped it away with the edge of her sheet. Had her air-conditioning stopped working?
No. She’d turned it off so she could listen for an intruder after that tenable phone call.
Unable to stand the tension any longer, she picked up the phone and dialed the bed-and-breakfast inn. She wanted to talk to Collin. She didn’t know exactly why; she just needed to hear his voice. But the phone gave an odd signal, then the operator broke in and said the line was out of order. Strange.
Feeling even more anxious, she climbed out of bed. She had to see Collin. Her nerves were stretched to the limit, and even though Collin frightened her, he also made her feel more secure. Something she didn’t understand, but something she desperately needed right now.
She dragged on a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt, pulled on her tennis shoes and grabbed her house key, then hurried out the door. A knot of tension wormed into her stomach when she noticed the deserted streets. What if someone wanted to hurt her? What if someone was out here waiting?
I am not going to be frightened all the time. McKenzie was in jail. There weren’t any bogeymen waiting, no ghosts hiding behind the azaleas. Besides, there were a few neighbors out, walking and jogging. She slid into her rental car and locked the door.
Feeling more relaxed as she drove, she even managed to wave as she passed Mrs. Bailey’s. The sweet old lady brought freshly clipped roses to anyone in town who was ill. Real small-town hospitality. Beaufort was the perfect place to raise a family. At least, Sydney had thought so before Doug had been murdered in their bedroom.
A siren wailed in the distance, followed by another, and she frowned, searching the streets for an accident. A fire engine honked its horn and she spotted a thick haze of smoke billowing above the buildings in the heart of town. The fire engine careened down a side street at full speed and an ambulance whizzed by on its tail, tires screeching. Suddenly nervous, she drove faster.
The stream of smoke rose, and her gaze fastened on its source. Bay Street. Her mind raced with possibilities, her pulse jumping in her throat. The florist shop, the bakery, the small grocery, the bed-and-breakfast.
Where Collin was staying.
The threatening phone call played over and over in her head and took on new significance. Only, why would someone want to hurt Collin? To get to her? But how would someone connect the two of them?
It seemed an eternity before she crossed the town square. She drew in a deep breath, afraid to round the corner, knowing in her gut the source of the burning inferno. Orange and yellow flames lit the sky, thick smoke hurling like a funnel cloud above the city. As she parked, pandemonium surrounded her. Sirens screeched. People shouted. A scream that made her blood run cold pierced the air.
Panic grasped her in a choke hold. She covered her mouth with her hand, fighting the stench of the smoke. God, don’t let anyone be trapped inside, she prayed.
Collin? Where was he? Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, had they escaped? Clenching her hands into fists, she searched the crowd of people in the street. She thought she heard someone mention arson, then she spotted the Davenports.
They stood huddled in blankets, staring wide-eyed and shocked at the ball of fire destroying their home. But they were alive.
Sydney watched as firefighters dragged hoses and sprayed water onto the leaping flames. Others shouted into the house, yelling to see if anyone was trapped inside. Paramedics stood ready. A rescue worker carried a small child from the back of the burning building. A young woman with dark hair raced toward the girl, arms outstretched, sobbing. Sydney’s breath caught, then she heaved a sigh of relief when the tiny girl raised her head and hugged her mother. Her throat thick with emotions, Sydney hurried forward, twisting her hands anxiously. Where was Collin?
The roof suddenly collapsed with a thunderous crash. Mrs. Davenport broke into sobs and sagged into her husband’s arms. Firemen shouted orders, trying to contain the blaze, and the roar of fire and crackling wood escalated to an almost deafening pitch. Sydney’s heart stilled when the paramedics emerged from the back of the inn carrying a stretcher.
“We need oxygen!” a paramedic shouted.
“Clear the way!” a fireman yelled.
Sydney raced toward the ambulance, oblivious to the heat radiating from the blaze, her eyes riveted to the dark-haired man on the stretcher. Fear clutched at her chest when she recognized him. Collin.
COLLIN STRUGGLED to breathe in the air from the oxygen mask. The paramedic ordered him to lie still, then shouted something about smoke inhalation. A roar of noise and confusion surrounded him, reminding him of his brush with death. But he was alive, and at the moment that was all that mattered.
He saw a flash of orange and red, and he shuddered, remembering the burning inferno he’d awakened to. He squinted through the smoke-filled air and focused on a woman staring at him. No mask, no hat. Porcelain skin, sable hair, rosy lips. Blue eyes filled with terror.
“Collin, it’s me, Sydney.” He felt his hand being lifted and realized she’d picked it up and was nestling it between her own. “Are you all right?”
He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t force out any words, and the effort only made him cough.
“We’ll take him to the hospital for observation,” the paramedic told Sydney. She nodded. Collin wanted to touch her, to let her know he was okay. But exhaustion pulled at his limbs, and he had to struggle to even keep his eyes open.
“It’s okay, sir, we’re taking you to the county hospital,” the rescue worker said, patting his arm.
Collin’s eyelids closed. He was being lifted and carried somewhere. He forced his eyes open and saw Sydney walking beside him, felt himself being jostled, then lost sight of her again.
Where had she gone? He strained to find her, listened for her voice, thought he heard her whisper, “I’m sorry.” Then a feather-light kiss br
ushed his forehead.
Her face filled his vision again and he tried to smile. Her lips were pinched, her face troubled and anxious-looking. Don’t worry, he tried to say, but the words got lost in his raw throat and the oxygen mask, and he wasn’t sure she saw his efforts. Then he lost her again as the paramedics hoisted him into the back of an ambulance.
SYDNEY’S STOMACH clenched as the ambulance drove away, carrying Collin to the hospital. Thank God he was alive. And from what the paramedic had told her, everyone else was safe, too.
Why should she care so much about Collin Cash? she wondered, startled to find moisture in her eyes. She’d wanted to go to the hospital with him; she’d even kissed his forehead, but the driver had asked if she was family and she’d had to say no. She had no connection to the man, other than the fact he had her husband’s eyes. And she didn’t feel like sharing that bit of information just yet.
Then again, he had saved her life—not once, but twice. How could she not care a little bit about him? At least enough to not want him to die.
Furious with herself for being so emotional, she brushed away the tears, then glanced up to see Sergeant Raeburn studying her. He was standing beside his police car, one arm draped over the door, his radio in his beefy hand as if he was waiting for something to come over the air. Their gazes caught and he nodded, the kind of curt nod a Southern man gave when he wanted a woman to know he’d seen her, the kind of unfriendly nod that tortured her nerves and made her suspicious about his thoughts. Surely he didn’t think she had something to do with the fire.
One of the firemen approached him, and Raeburn angled his face away from her. Knowing there was nothing else she could do and unable to push Collin from her mind, she turned and hurried to her car, automatically driving toward the hospital.
An uneasy feeling mushroomed in her stomach. Another incident had destroyed the peace of her small town. And if last night’s phone call hadn’t been a prank, if the fire had been arson, if someone had wanted to hurt Collin because of her...
Minutes later she rushed from her car into the emergency room. “Please, can you tell me if Mr. Cash is okay?”
An elderly woman smiled sympathetically. “Honey, they’re examining him. Are you his wife?”
“No, a friend. But I have to know if he’s all right.”
The woman patted her hand. “I’ll check on him, dear. Yon sit down and try to relax.”
The clock on the yellowed wall ticked by at a snail’s pace. Sydney paced the room, twisting her hands together. The smell of antiseptic and alcohol permeated the air, making her feel nauseated. If he hadn’t been hurt seriously, wouldn’t they tell her? What if he’d been burned? What if the smoke had damaged his eyes? What if he’d gone blind again? That would be awful for him.
Soft-soled shoes padded into the room and the nurse gestured for her to follow. “He’s being put in the intensive care unit for a while. But he’s stable.”
“Can I see him?”
“We’re not supposed to let anyone but family go in there.”
“I don’t know if he has any family,” Sydney explained. “I’m the only person he knows here in Beaufort.”
The nurse studied her for a long minute, her hazel eyes sparkling with understanding. “Okay, dear, but just for five minutes. The gentleman needs his rest.”
Sydney swiped at a tear she didn’t know had surfaced, then followed the nurse down a long corridor toward the ICU. When she reached the unit, she thanked the woman and slipped into the room, swallowing her nerves as she stared at the tubes and oxygen attached to Collin.
Except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t move. His skin was pale, strands of his hair singed, tousled in disarray against the stark white pillowcase. His bare arm lay on top of the sheet, a hospital gown covering his chest. His face and arms had been cleaned, but his skin was covered in bruises, scratches and small red patches where he’d been burned.
He could have died, she thought in horror. She slowly, tentatively reached out and took his hand in hers. She rubbed her fingers over his knuckles, stroking the soft dark hairs on the top of his hand. “I’m sorry, Collin. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes flickered open briefly and his gaze locked with hers. She couldn’t read his emotions. Then she felt him squeeze her fingers and realized he was trying to reassure her. Fatigue lines fanned beside his eyes, and he coughed, letting the oxygen mask feed him air. Her chest ached with emotions she didn’t understand, and she leaned over and brushed a kiss on his forehead again. The nurse motioned it was time for her to leave. She slowly brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers, wondering what she would have done if he had died.
“OH, MY GOD, did you hear about the fire?” Kelly met Sydney on the sidewalk in front of her house, almost hysterical.
“It was awful.” Sydney climbed the steps to Kelly’s front porch and reached for Megan, her heart warming when the baby batted her chubby hand against her cheek. “The whole place burned to the ground, Kel. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You mean you were there?”
“Yeah, I woke up early and couldn’t sleep, so I went for a drive, then saw the smoke.” Megan curled her tiny fingers around Sydney’s, and Sydney kissed Megan’s soft curls, her heart gripped with emotion.
“I heard about it on the radio,” Kelly said, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. “I couldn’t believe it.”
“I feel so sorry for the Davenports.” Sydney settled into the porch rocker with the baby. “They lost everything.”
Kelly sank onto the porch step in front of her and blew into her coffee. “That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt, Syd? The radio didn’t give a lot of details.”
Sydney patted Megan’s back, smiling when Megan cooed and kicked her legs up and down. “The Davenports made it out okay. And there was another family staying there. They had a little girl.”
Kelly gasped. “Was she okay?”
Sydney tucked Megan’s feet into the blanket, gently rocking her back and forth. “The firemen saved her. But the mother was a mess. She was crying and hugging her daughter.” Tears gathered again. “It was awful.”
Kelly wiped her own eyes and put her coffee down, then held out her arms for Meg. “I know what you mean. I couldn’t stand it if anything ever happened to Megan.” A fierce frown touched her face. Then the frown disappeared and Kelly stroked the baby’s soft cap of curds. “I’d do anything for Meg, Sydney. One day when you have a little one of your own, you’ll understand.”
“I’m sure I will,” Sydney said gently. Single motherhood had been hard on Kelly. She never talked about Megan’s father, but Sydney knew he’d hurt her terribly. And she knew how much Kelly loved Megan. “Megan’s lucky to have a mom like you, Kel.”
Kelly cradled Megan and Sydney thought she saw fresh tears in Kelly’s eyes, but Kelly blinked them away. “So no one else was in the B-and-B?”
Sydney folded her arms across her middle, feeling empty without Megan in her arms. “Collin had a room there, too.”
“The man from Charleston?”
“Yes. The paramedics took him to the hospital. He’s in the ICU for observation, but they said he’d be all right.”
Kelly frowned. “Poor guy. What a rotten vacation.”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t surprise me if he went back to Charleston now.”
“I wouldn’t blame him, either,” Kelly added sympathetically.
Sydney shrugged, wondering why the idea of Collin leaving bothered her so much. He was just a man. Another man who might break her heart if she got involved with him. And he had Doug’s eyes.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the rocker, fear pressing her chest as the image of his pale, bruised face floated through her mind. It shouldn’t have hurt so much to see him like that.
Maybe she was already too involved.
“You WERE LUCKY,” the doctor told Collin the next morning as he checked his eyes. “You suffered smoke inhalation, but
your eyes look good, and you didn’t sustain any serious burns.”
Collin gripped the hospital sheets, relieved but tired of all the prodding from the well-meaning nurses and doctors. Tired of hospitals in general. He’d had his fill the past year, and today wasn’t helping matters.
“Was anyone else hurt in the fire?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Dr. Cramer shook his head. “Nope, thank the Lord for that. Although I thought we might have to treat Mrs. Davenport for shock.”
Collin grimaced. “It was pretty bad all right.” He sat up, ignoring the elderly man’s raised brows. “I’m okay, Doc. I’d really like to leave the hospital.”
“I’m not sure you’re in any condition to drive,” Dr. Cramer said.
“I’ll drive him.”
Sydney appeared in the doorway, looking worried and incredibly beautiful in a white cotton blouse and bright floral skirt. Just the medicine he needed.
Cramer stared first at Collin, then at Sydney. “You two can discuss it while I finish up this paperwork. You’ll need more antirejection drops before you leave. And I’ll send in a specialist to look at your eyes.” He indicated Collin’s chart and left the room.
“Are you really up to leaving?” Sydney asked, cautiously moving into the room.
“I don’t like hospitals,” Collin said. He tried to sit up, but the sheet fell away from his shoulders and he realized he was wearing only boxers. Too exhausted to care, he laid his head back, hating his weakness.
Sydney twisted her hands in front of her. “You look better. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Something softened inside him at her quivering voice. Without thinking, he reached out, motioning for her to move closer. “I’m okay. See.” He patted his bare chest, aware her eyes were riveted to the dark hair tapering down the middle and veeing into his shorts. “No real burns,” he said, his own voice low. “Some scrapes. Hair’s a little singed, but I got out in time.”
Sydney paused beside his bed. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on that stretcher. And the fire, it was... terrible.”