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

by Rochelle French

  “But I told her to wait for me. I had to go back and get everyone out. She was supposed to wait out here.” Peter was agitated, now also scanning the crowd for Lia.

  “Did you see her leave?” Jack asked, raking his hand through his hair.

  “No, I just pushed her toward the front door, yelled at her to get the hell out. You don’t think—”

  Jack roughly pushed past Peter, shouting over his shoulder, “Yeah, asshole, I think Lia is still in there. I think you left her in a burning building to die.”

  And in the falling snow, he ran to the flames.

  * * *

  In the glowing and flickering room, the fire roared again, triumphant. Lia knew it was alive, out to get her. She had to escape. Somehow, she had to get herself through the burning front doorway.

  She caught a glimpse of something dark piled on the ground—what looked to be something made of fabric. A spark of hope flitted through her. She could use the cloth as a shield for her head and arms. The heavy, full-length velvet dress she wore could provide some protection for her legs.

  It wouldn’t be much, but being partially covered could allow her to race through the doorway without getting burned too badly.

  She inched her way toward the dark piece of fabric. Each step felt like it took a lifetime, each second an hour. A deep groaning above her caught her attention. Instinctively she looked upward, her heart beating wildly. The black iron chandelier hanging in the middle of the room was swaying wildly, having come loose from its wooden support beam. Held now by only its wiring, the chandelier was dropping, swinging erratically on its downward path. Lia twisted and dove backward. She landed on her forearms and chest, barely escaping as the hunk of iron and glass crashed to the ground just feet from where she had landed.

  The fall knocked the wind out of her. She wasted precious seconds fighting for breath, willing her lungs to fill. Pain started to creep through her arms and then turned sharp. Something wet dripped down her arms—she must have landed on glass—her forearms wore ribbons of red that were growing with each pulsing beat of her heart.

  Rage filled her, shooting through every pore like her own internal fire. She wasn’t going to let this beast win. Unsteady legs fought to hold her up. She wasn’t going to let the fire get her—she wasn’t going to be a victim. She grabbed the fabric and sobbed in relief. Jack’s jacket. She shrugged it over her head and shoulders, and then turned to look for the open door.

  Flames filled the wall—the doorframe no longer visible. She’d have to choose the approximate location and go for it, race through the fire. It was a risk. If she had her aim off by even a few inches, she’d slam herself into a burning wall. But it was a gamble she was willing to take. With a steadying breath, Lia pulled Jack’s jacket tight around her face. She took one last look at where she thought the open doorway should be, and ran.

  Jack’s heart pounded so loudly he could hear the reverberations in his head. The door to the bar was open but the doorway was filled with flames. As he ran, he shot a quick glance toward the fire crew. They were carrying the heavy canvas hose down the street to the hydrant at the corner. It would take another minute before they got the hose attached and the water pumping. And if Lia were in the building, that minute could mean the difference between life or death.

  He slid, the wet splotches of snow making the cobblestones slick and treacherous. He steadied himself, just feet before the open flaming doorway. He didn’t have time to slip and crack his head—he had to save Lia. As he studied the doorway, trying to see if there was a pulse to the flames, he saw movement beyond the sheet of fire.

  There. The flames parted enough to show a dark shadow coming toward the doorway. He had seen something move. “Lia!” he yelled. Mere yards from the brick facade, he stopped suddenly when the person he’d seen beyond the flaming doorway came tumbling out of the building, through the sheet of fire. “Lia!”

  She came to a stop and dropped the jacket she’d been holding over her head to the ground. The flames that covered the fabric let off hisses in the newly-fallen snow. She stood before him, her long red dress covered in dark smears, her hair disheveled, and blood streamed down her face and arms. But she was standing. She was alive.

  She worked her mouth, trying to say something. Her body began to tremble and she looked as if she’d collapse. He reached for her and she stumbled into his arms.

  “Are you burned anywhere?” he asked, his voice trembling. When she shook her head, he swept her up, gripping her tightly, as if he’d never let her go.

  “Jack,” her voice came out raspy.

  “Don’t talk, Lia. We need to get you on oxygen.”

  “But…I need to tell you—”

  “Hush, don’t say another word. That’s an order.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head. Whatever it was she had to say, it could wait. Her body needed the oxygen more than she needed to speak. And he needed to apologize for how he’d treated her earlier, let her know how much he regretted not taking control of himself. “I’m sorry, Lia. I lost my temper with you earlier. I hate that I scared you.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “When?” her voice cracked as she spoke the single word.

  “When did I scare you?”

  She nodded at his question.

  “When we were outside and I grabbed you and kissed you. I know I scared you—you looked totally shell-shocked afterwards. I can’t apologize enough. You trusted me to keep you safe and instead I blew it.”

  A few more strides brought them to the ambulance where the EMTs stood waiting with a gurney. “Jack,” Lia whispered.

  “Please don’t talk. Not until we make sure your lungs aren’t damaged too badly.”

  Lia was placed on a gurney and an oxygen mask fixed over her mouth.

  “Wanna ride with her, Jack?” one of the EMTs asked.

  “I’m going with her.”

  Jack was surprised to hear Peter’s voice behind him and more surprised to be shouldered out of the way.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “She’s my date,” Peter said. “I was responsible for her. I’m going with her to the hospital.”

  “Date’s over. Get the hell away,” Jack growled low in his throat. This asshole couldn’t possibly think that after abandoning Lia in a burning building he’d get to ride to the hospital with her.

  “Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do with Lia?”

  Jack worked hard to keep his anger in check. Lia had to get to the hospital and Peter was holding up the EMTs. If Peter didn’t get out of the way, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Date or no date, Peter didn’t have any right to her—he didn’t love Lia. Jack did. And damn it, he wasn’t going to let this punkass Lothario stand in his way one second longer.

  “I’m the guy who loves her, that’s who. And I’m telling you to get the fuck out of my way.”

  “You sure? ’Cause I’m thinking that if you love her so much, why’s she out with another man?”

  Once again, rage filled him. Control, control, control—the words surged into his brain at the same time as the adrenaline hit his system. No babbling brook filled his mind—just an image of Lia. The anger ebbed and faded away.

  But Peter was still standing in front of him, ready to hop into that ambulance with Lia. Jack dropped his shoulders, looked down at the snow-spackled stones underneath their feet, and shook his head. Hell, some things were just worth fighting for. In one smooth motion, he lifted his head, shot his body upright, and with all the energy still built up inside, he slammed his fist into Peter’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.

  “You want to go to the hospital? Looks like now you don’t need an excuse.” Jack nudged Peter’s crumpled body out of the way and crawled into the back of the ambulance, ignoring the EMTs’ low laughter and pats on his back. He only had eyes for Lia.

  Although her hand shook, she gripped his arm and pulled him close. He bent down, nuzzled her head, t
ucked his face down next to her neck, and breathed deep. She smelled of smoke.

  Lia fumbled with the oxygen mask, trying to take it off.

  “Keep it on. Can’t whatever you want to say wait?” Jack tried to readjust the mask over her mouth and nose, but she shook her head and tugged the mask off.

  “No, it can’t wait. I don’t want it to wait,” she whispered, her voice raw and rough. “Jack, I’m sorry for what I said. And I’m sorry for being silent when you told me you love me. I’m—”

  The piercing sound of the siren drowned out what Lia was trying to say. He bent closer, tucked his head next to hers. She needed the oxygen mask, but he knew she wouldn’t put it back on until she had her say.

  “You never scared me,” she continued, her voice raspy but warmth and joy in her eyes. “When you kissed me, I wasn’t scared. That’s not why I couldn’t talk. That kiss was powerful—it pulled something out of me. Something that had been there for a while, I think.” She stopped speaking to cough lightly.

  He placed the mask over her face, kept his gaze attached to hers as she drew in breaths of clean oxygen. “Lia…” he whispered, stroking her cheek.

  She smiled, fully connected with him. She messed with the mask, and then held it away again. “I love you, too, Jack.”

  Something surged through him, like how the anger would surge through him and fill him up. Only this sensation was different—almost as if he were being filled with helium. He gave a short laugh. Love. Yeah, this was love.

  “And Jack?”

  “Shh…you shouldn’t be talking.”

  “Just one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t let the fire take me. I fought back. I wasn’t a victim.”

  He took the mask from her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. You’re right, Lia, he thought, you weren’t a victim. And he knew she never would be one again.

  * * *

  Lia stayed in the hospital overnight and most of the next day. The day she was to be released, Jack had come to get her only to find her room filled with loved ones, each clamoring for her attention. He’d wanted her to come home with him, but had to compete with Ethan and Sadie, his sister Chessie, and his parents, all of who wanted to take care of her as she recuperated. It had taken some work, but he’d persevered and Lia had ended up staying at his house for the last few days.

  Although, he mentally grumbled, the two of them hadn’t had much privacy.

  Between his mother bringing over homemade chicken soup, his sister bringing over muffins and a deck of playing cards, and Sadie bringing over imported caviar, French chocolates, and a manicurist and hair stylist, he hadn’t been able to spend any time alone with Lia. Except at night, when she lay next to him, tucked in tight, her chest rising and falling with each breath, completely at peace—and completely asleep.

  That night when they’d reached the hospital, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be greeted by a police escort. With a felony conviction for battery, he could have been thrown back in the slammer for decking Peter. But no police were about the hospital, and he had been able to stay with Lia as they checked out her lungs and stitched her wounds. Joan, one of the EMTs, stopped by Lia’s room to tell him that they’d convinced Peter that it was in his best interest if everyone conveniently forgot that Jack’s fist had met his face.

  Remmie whined at his feet, bringing his attention back. “Sorry boy,” he muttered. He’d forgotten to feed the dog. Remmie sat, scratched behind one ear, and then looked at Jack, a hopeful and expectant expression on his face as Jack scooped kibble into a bowl. The dog’s tail went crazy when Jack placed the meal on the ground in front of him.

  “You’re lucky that you’ve been neutered,” he said as he patted the dog on the head, earning him an additional tail wag.

  “Now why would anyone ever be lucky to be neutered?”

  He was startled by the sound of Lia’s voice behind him.

  “Um…” He wasn’t sure how to answer her question. She’d been living in his house for days, sleeping next to him each night, and still they hadn’t touched one another. He thought he was going to burst from need, but wasn’t about to ask an invalid to put out.

  “Seriously, Jack, why’s the dog lucky to have been snip-snipped?”

  Earlier he’d drawn a hot bubble bath for Lia. Now she was wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, toweling dry her beautiful black hair. It was shorter now. Some had been burned in the fire, and the hairstylist Sadie had brought over had cut it to touch her shoulders.

  “Jack?”

  He knew she wouldn’t let it go. He dropped his gaze to stare at his bare feet. “Because he doesn’t have lustful urges to make mad passionate love to the currently wounded woman who makes his world go around.”

  Lia took a few steps forward. “How lustful are these urges, then?”

  “Um…” He looked back up. God, she was beautiful. And so, so sexy. But also still injured. She had thirty stitches on one forearm and twenty on the other. Thankfully, her head wound, although it had bled profusely, had only needed eight stitches.

  “Lia, I don’t think you want to know.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong, Jack. I do so want to know.” She glided forward to stand a few feet in front of him. Her eyes were shiny and her pupils wide. With bandaged hands, she reached for the sash around her waist, untied the square knot, and pulled the robe open to expose her very naked form underneath.

  Heat shot straight to Jack’s crotch. “Oh, good God,” he breathed, and then stepped backward. Right onto Remmie’s tail.

  The dog yelped, Lia laughed, and Jack swore.

  “Take me to bed, you gorgeous man, before you hurt anything else in this house,” she teased.

  “But Lia, that’s what I’m afraid of.” He swallowed. “You’re injured—I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Lia eased up to him, leaned her frame against his, and slowly slid her hands up to place her palms over his heart. “You can never hurt me. I needed some time to heal, and you gave me that. Like you did before, when I was healing from my marriage. You are gentle, kind, and good.”

  “But I decked Peter. Hell, Lia, I’ve been to prison because of my anger issues.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t see it that way. You’ve hit what, three people in your life?”

  He nodded.

  “Once was when Hunter Thorne told everyone Liz was a slut, right? You went ballistic in defending her honor. And when you found my father beating on me, you stopped him. He went after you—I saw him. The cops didn’t care, though, because you’d already been to juvie because of the fight with Hunter and you were so strong you’d gotten my father to the ground. And then when you punched Peter, well, in your mind, he’d put me at risk. Plus, he was standing in the way between you and the woman you loved. Do I have all that right?”

  He clasped her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. He couldn’t see where she was going with all this. What she had to say made him sound like a monster, not someone gentle, good, and kind. “Yes, you got it all right,” he acquiesced.

  She laughed then, a light and airy and tinkling sound. “Jack, don’t you see what all those times have in common?”

  Yeah, his blinding rage. The very thing he’d been to therapy about. The anger inside him that ate away at him and made him dangerous. The reason he had the word “felon” around his neck like a chain.

  “Sweetheart, every single time you fought someone, you did so because they were hurting a woman. You aren’t a violent man. You’re just a protector.”

  It took a moment for Lia’s words to percolate in his mind. For him to mull them over, taste them, see if they fit. Was his anger, his rage, only triggered when a woman was being hurt in some way? Couldn’t be. He recalled getting pissed in his truck on the way home after Lia had asked him for sex lessons. She hadn’t been vulnerable then, and he’d still gone off in his head. Except…that night he’d been upset with what she’d asked of him, but he’d been more angry at
learning how badly Vance had treated her. He’d been angry at the past, not the present.

  Could it be that Lia was right?

  “You’re not a violent man, Jack, no matter what the law told you. Just the opposite, in fact. You’re a hero. You’re my hero. I trust you with my life.”

  Jack smiled, finally believing her. No, he wasn’t completely calm when under fire. And yes, he’d always have a temper. But he trusted her as she trusted him. He believed her. And finally accepted that he deserved her, after all.

  Lia entwined her fingers with his, took a step backward, and beckoned to his—no, their bedroom. It was all he needed.

  * * *

  Later, snuggled in bed, Lia remembered what she’d come out into the living room to say. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for indulging the favor I asked of you,” she said, tracing a line in his palm with a newly manicured fingernail.

  “You don’t ever have to thank me,” Jack said. “I got something out of the sex lessons, too. I got you, didn’t I?”

  Lia nodded. Her stomach caught. He loved her, she knew that. And he’d insisted she come stay with him after the fire. But what would he say to her next request?

  “It’s just that, well, I want to ask another favor of you.”

  He nipped her earlobe, and said, “Ask away.”

  Could she? Could she actually ask this question? She hesitated. Her heart was beating like crazy. Now that she’d opened the door, she wasn’t sure she was ready to walk through.

  “But before you do, I’d like to ask a favor of you,” Jack said. He shifted in bed to reach into his nightstand drawer.

  Her racing heart slowed down. Relief. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night to ask.

  “Okay…” Her voice sounded small, even to her.

  Jack leaned on an elbow, his face close to hers. He dropped a small, black, velvet-covered box on her chest, right between her breasts. Using his thumb, he flicked the box open to reveal a ring—a round diamond surrounded by red rubies. Snow and fire.

  “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me to give to the woman I loved with all my heart.”