Trusting The One (Meadowview Heat 2; The Meadowview Series 2)

by Rochelle French

  Lia didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at him, her mouth slack, her eyes wide. Why wasn’t she saying anything to the fact he’d just bared his heart and soul to her? Hell, he realized, he’d scared the shit out of her. Why the fuck had he grabbed her like that?

  “Hey, Lia, there you are,” Peter boomed out. “C’mon, we’re headed to the Goldpan. You want to join us, Jack? That is, after you’re done kissing my date?”

  The crowd laughed. Jack let go of Lia. She simply stood there, her eyes glued to some point in the horizon, not saying anything.

  “Lia?” He spoke her name. Still she didn’t respond. He backed away.

  Peter nudged him. “Don’t forget your jacket, dude.”

  “Keep it,” he said to Lia harshly. The hell with it.

  He’d gone back on his word—he’d lost control of his temper with her. He’d frightened her with how viciously he’d claimed that kiss. In kissing her like that, he’d been no better than her fuckhead dead husband. No way was she going to fall for him now. He’d had his shot and blown it.

  He turned and stormed off, swiping at what had to be a melted snowflake on his cheek.

  Lia wanted to cry. She wanted to go home. She wanted a bubble bath. She wanted to talk to Sadie or Chessie. She wanted to be anywhere but here, in the Goldpan Pub, surrounded by happy drunks while she felt like pond scum. Tomorrow she’d call Jack and apologize for standing there like a mannequin, not saying anything as he poured his heart out. Tomorrow she’d tell him what she’d come to realize as she watched him walk away, surrounded by angry snow. Tomorrow she’d tell him she loved him as he loved her. But she still had to endure tonight.

  “Drink…drink…drink…” The crowd chanted, cheering on a reveler with his head underneath a beer bong. Someone next to her kept flicking his lighter off and on—even with the sign saying No Smoking directly behind him. The scent of pot wafted through the room—college kids in the back smoking a joint, probably. Good God, she wanted to get out of here. Where was Peter? He’d promised to walk her home after one last martini. But that had been a half hour ago.

  “Sexy, there you are!”

  She groaned. Somewhere between arriving at the Firemen’s Ball and coming to the Goldpan, Peter had decided to nickname her Sexy. “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  “My panties are fine,” she gritted out. “I want to go home.”

  “One more dance and we’re outta here. Sound good?”

  “Now!”

  “Okay, now. I get it. I’ll walk you home.” He placed her hand on his arm and started leading her through the crowd. Halfway to the front door he stopped, sniffed.

  “Smell that?” he asked.

  She could feel his body stiffen underneath her hand. “Smell what?”

  “Smoke.” When she gasped, he covered her mouth with his hand. “Don’t say anything. This crowd is drunk—if there is a fire, I don’t want anyone to panic. You get out of here and wait for me outside. Don’t go anywhere, just get the hell out.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He swept his gaze across the room, then stopped and stared at the back corner. She followed his gaze and gasped. Smoke was curling along the ceiling near the back wall.

  “I have to get these people out of here before anyone gets hurt. Get out, Lia. Get out now. Promise me. Promise me, now!”

  Oh, God, this was serious. And Peter—party-boy Peter—was trying to save her. “I promise!”

  Peter shoved her in the direction of the front door, then turned and pushed his way through the crowd as he headed toward the back of the room.

  She was inching forward when she heard someone call out, “I smell smoke!” Someone else screamed. Peter was right—she needed to get out before panic set in.

  Behind her, she heard the word, “Fire!” and then felt the crowd pressing against her. A large man blocked her escape, oblivious as she tried to edge her way past. “Excuse me,” she said. The man took a step backward, shoving her as someone else pushed forward. Lia stumbled. “Excuse me!” This time she shouted. But the crowd was too large, too loud, too drunk to hear.

  The word “fire” spread, and before Lia realized what had happened, the crowd was panicking, with people pushing against one another, yelling and screaming. The scent of smoke, light just moments ago, now hung heavy and thick. The man behind her stumbled and grabbed her arm, probably trying to break his fall.

  But in trying to save himself, he dragged Lia down. She was on the floor, surrounded by legs and feet. A woman in high heels stepped on her. She felt the kick of a man’s boot against her ribs. If she didn’t move soon, she’d be trampled. She tried to stand up but didn’t have enough room to get upright. The old, familiar feeling of panic surged through her, sending a metallic taste to her mouth while squeezing her windpipe tight. She had to get out of there.

  She peered to the side. The bar was only a few feet away. Maybe she could tuck herself in the space under the bar where the barstools stood until the crowd cleared out, and then follow them outside.

  As if she were in a riptide, she wormed her way forward on her belly, going with the current of people desperate to exit the burning building, and then curled up, pill-bug style when she reached the nook underneath the bar. The smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils. She was aware of a loud, crashing noise, and then a splitting pain in the back of her head. For a moment, the thought flitted across her mind that her headache was back…

  And then there was nothing.

  * * *

  Jack was about a mile out of town, driving toward home, when the call came in for all volunteer firefighters to report to a commercial fire. At first, he tuned the message out. He wasn’t on call, and therefore didn’t have to respond. It was when the dispatcher spoke the words “the Goldpan” that he brought his focus back to the sputtering radio: the Goldpan was burning. His gut wrenched.

  Lia was at the Goldpan.

  With grim determination, he whipped the steering wheel hard to the right, making the tires of his one-ton pickup squeal. He punched the accelerator and shot forward, maneuvering his way around the curves, back down the mountain.

  Back to Lia.

  Jack grabbed the communication device and pressed “talk.” He wouldn’t be able to reach the chief, but the dispatcher would be at her desk. He could check in with her to see if she knew any more details about the fire. Specifically, if a certain patron named Lia Sawyer was safe. It seemed an eternity before Gail responded.

  “It’s Jack. I got the call and I’m on my way. What’s the status?”

  The connection buzzed, spat. He swore. What had she said? Gail’s voice intermittently cut through the buzz. “…the Goldpan…crowd…all patrons out. The sprinklers malfunctioned…”

  Shit! He’d taken a back road shortcut, hoping to get to town sooner, but the road had dipped into a valley and his contact with Gail was now severed. What had she said? Was everyone really out? If the sprinklers had malfunctioned, that meant the building would go up fast and probably burn to the ground. If anyone had been left behind, they’d be facing an inferno.

  He fiddled with the control knob on the radio, but still only got static. Thankfully, he only had about one half mile left before he reached town. It should just be a few more minutes until he reached the pub—and Lia.

  The truck fishtailed and his heart responded by pumping harder. He didn’t have time to mess up driving on the old mining road. It had been graveled a few years ago, but there were still potholes that could throw an axle. While his truck could get through the light snowfall on the ground, it could also slide off the road if he hit a patch of ice hidden underneath the snow. Jack gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel tightly in both hands, giving the road his full concentration.

  Well, almost his full concentration. His mind kept leaping back to Lia, to how roughly he’d kissed her. He’d allowed his anger to rear its ugly
head and had kissed her with fury. He couldn’t leave things like that. He had to make things right between them.

  He pressed his lips into a thin line, feeling the pressure in his jaw as it clenched tighter. He’d make sure Lia was safe. As he eased the pickup around the final bend in the road and entered Meadowview, his eye caught the glow of the fire. Emotion pierced him like an arrow. She had to be okay—Lia had to be okay. Even if the sprinkler system had malfunctioned, there were two emergency exits, and she was there with a firefighter, for Christ’s sake.

  He maneuvered his truck down the snow-laden streets until he couldn’t get closer to the Goldpan. He shoved the truck into park, rammed the emergency brake on, yanked the key out of the ignition, and grabbed his fireman’s jacket from the back seat. It would take less than five seconds for him to get out of the truck and run to the fire. To Lia.

  Rounding the corner, he could see a throng of people, mostly partygoers, milling about. The fire truck blared its horn as it eased down the narrow, one-lane cobblestone lane in front of the Goldpan, closely followed by the ambulance. He’d arrived with the cavalry. He looked closely, but couldn’t find Lia in the crowd.

  Where the hell was she?

  * * *

  Heat. The feeling of melting, unbearable heat woke Lia, although not to complete consciousness. She tried to suck in a breath and coughed, choking on thick smoke. Her eyes edged open, allowing her to see flames and smoke. For a moment, her mind began to go fuzzy again only to be brought to sudden awareness—she was in the Goldpan, surrounded by fire. Panic hit, wrenching a scream from her throat, the sound lost in the crackle, hiss, and roar of the flames.

  She struggled for breath, trying to piece together what was happening. She remembered arguing with Peter, trying to get him to take her home, and then the smell of smoke. Peter had pushed her toward the door and ordered her to leave. But the crowd had panicked and she’d been knocked down and trampled. She tried to remember what had happened next, but thinking made her head hurt. Something about crawling to the space underneath the heavy oak bar and tucking herself away until the room emptied enough for her to escape unharmed. Yes, that’s what she’d done. She remembered curling up in a ball, then nothing else.

  Her head ached. She put a palm to her forehead and felt something sticky. Blood. She must have been hit on the head and knocked out. She stared at the dark red smear on her hand, trying to shove her mind into gear. The bar was burning. The overhead sprinklers obviously weren’t working. With its pine paneling, the place was a tinderbox. She had to escape.

  She inched her way out from under the bar, careful to avoid touching the tall metal stools on either side. She tried to look for the other partygoers, but standing brought waves of dizziness and nausea. She bent over, hands on knees, and vomited several times until she tasted bile. Shuddering, she raised herself up only to be hit by the heat and smoke, more intense higher up than it had been nearer to the floor. Willing her legs to stay strong and her body to remain upright, she stood. When she stared around the room, she was shocked to realize she was alone.

  Alone in a burning building.

  From her position, she could see the back door, the closest exit, was blocked by flames. The front door, thirty feet away, was her only remaining way of escape. The smoke shifted, and for a brief moment, she could see the front door ahead of her was open. Beyond the doorway, she could see people milling about—but she could only see fellow partygoers, no firemen. She must not have been unconscious for long if the fire department hadn’t yet arrived.

  The sound of the bar-length mirror shattering behind her triggered another surge of fear. Bile rose in her mouth. She nearly retched again, and brought a shuddery hand to her mouth.

  The smoke shifted, blocking her view of the open doorway, cutting off her view to safety. Her body shook—she needed that connection, needed to know safety was only a few yards away. She tried to calm her mind—a Meadowview firefighter would come through that door in seconds and she’d be saved. There was no need to panic. Maybe she should crouch back down in her hidey-hole under the bar and wait for them to come to her rescue. She only had to let them know she was there, in the burning building.

  “I’m over here!” she called out, but the thick smoke had scratched her throat and little sound came out.

  She kept her eyes glued in the general direction of the doorway, but still, no one appeared. Seconds passed while she stood frozen in indecision, and then the fire changed its character, roared to life. She whirled around, shocked to see a snapping, racing line of fire on the walls. Someone had decorated the bar with a homemade pine bough garland, cheerful swags connecting each wall and meeting in the front of the room to surround the front door with fragrant green needles and red bows. It had been a lovely touch, making the large room seem so warm and welcoming when she’d first arrived. But the garland had dried out and the fire had found it. Now flames were licking the walls, running smoothly along the pine garland, encircling the room, and finally covering the open doorway with flames.

  Where just seconds before there had been an exit, a portal to the outside world, now there was an entire wall of flames.

  She was trapped.

  Once again, her mind went blank, terror threatening to rob her of reason. She fought the oncoming sense of oblivion, willed herself to stay aware and coherent. She didn’t want to die.

  Faces flashed before her eyes—her brother, Jack, Chessie, and Sadie—she had to see them, had to get out of there. Had to live. Had to fight. Think about the baby, she told herself, of her niece or nephew growing inside Sadie. Think about the Sanctuary, about all those women and children who needed her, who would need her. Think about Jack—

  A sob choked her. Jack. He had to know how she felt, how she regretted what she’d said to him. How she regretted not responding when he’d bared his soul to her. He had to know how much she loved him.

  She loved him.

  She wasn’t going to die without telling Jack what was true in her heart. But how could she get out now that the fire was so intense? Although it had only been moments since she’d regained consciousness, the fire had accelerated, intensified, and now flames surrounded her on three sides and both exits were blocked. Unless the firefighters entered the building soon, she’d be trapped.

  A memory brushed through her mind—Jack had once told her she would never be a victim again. She had strength—she’d seen it in his eyes. The memory of his words and his belief in her sent a surge of adrenaline through her body, making her spine straighten and her legs strengthen beneath her. The adrenaline triggered determination. Jack had been right: she was not a victim of abuse any more. And tonight, she wouldn’t become a victim of this fire.

  “Jack.” It took her a fraction of a second to realize she’d spoken his name aloud. She had to get back to Jack.

  Escaping through the back wasn’t an option. The fire had started there and was burning intensely, with the pine paneling of the walls and ceiling now fully engaged. There also was the danger of backdraft; if she pulled the back door open, the fire could suck oxygen into the room, engulfing her in flames.

  She knew the front doorway was open—before the pine garland had engulfed the doorframe, she’d been able to see people just beyond it. Now, however, the doorway was indistinguishable, an opening somewhere underneath the red sheet of dancing flames.

  She had to escape.

  But to get out, she’d have to walk through fire.

  * * *

  Jack heard the chief’s voice calling him from the fire truck. Jogging cautiously, careful not to slide in the newly- fallen snow, he made his way through the crowd to the chief, still scanning the crowd for Lia.

  “Need me, Chief?”

  “Nah, we pretty much got it covered. The place is surrounded by brick; this fire doesn’t have anywhere to spread. The gas main’s been turned off so there’s no chance of explosion. We’re just gonna let ’er burn up the interior for a bit, then go in and snuff out anything remainin
g.”

  “Everybody got out?” Jack craned his neck. He still hadn’t seen Lia.

  “Yep, at least, we think so. Crowd shoved its way through that doorway in just a couple of minutes, long before the fire was much of a danger. As far as everyone can tell, no one was in there when the place really took off. I’m sending a couple of guys in with the hose as soon as it gets hooked up just to be sure, but everyone seems to be accounted for.”

  There. Jack spotted Peter, helping a limping young man over to the ambulance. He still couldn’t see Lia, but she’d been with Peter, so she had to be nearby. As much as he detested talking to the man, he had to find out where Lia was. He had to know she was all right.

  A large woman, most likely drunk, stumbled in front of him and grabbed him to steady herself. Her weight slamming straight into him almost knocked him down. He helped her regain her footing in the slippery snow and turned his attention back to the ambulance and Peter.

  Who was nowhere to be found. An odd combination of fear and anger swept over Jack. He needed Peter to tell him where Lia was. Where the hell had the jerk taken off to? This time he didn’t care if he slid in the snow and fell flat on his ass—he ran straight to the ambulance.

  When Peter reappeared around the corner of the vehicle, Jack looked past him, searching for some sign of Lia.

  “Where is she?” he shouted as he grabbed Peter by the front of his black suede jacket.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” Peter answered angrily, pulling away.

  “Where’s Lia? She was with you and I can’t see her in the crowd.” Jack felt desperation closing in. “Where the hell’s Lia?”

  Peter stared at him for a moment. Suddenly his mouth grew slack as his eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean you can’t find her? She should be here. When I smelled smoke and the crowd started panicking, I pushed her toward the front door.”

  “I don’t see her. I’ve been looking through this crowd and she’s not here.”