Or he hoped to, soon.
He ticked off his mental checklist as he climbed in the truck. Operation grand gesture was nearly complete. His conversation with Buchanan earlier in the day had also gone unexpectedly well. Not only had Buchanan sold him the cottage for a song, he’d apologized for interfering in Josh’s efforts to do his job, and committed his full support moving forward. Josh suspected public opinion more than sincere regret inspired the mayor’s about-face, but he had a deed in his pocket and a promise of no future interference, so he walked away satisfied. The only thing left to do? Call Melody, ask her to meet him at the cottage, and convince her they were on the same page.
To that end, he pulled out his phone to call her, and saw she’d sent a text while he’d been in his meeting with Warren. Can we talk?
Good sign. He started the truck and noted the time on the dashboard clock. Nearly six. She’d be finishing up her afternoon at work, trying to get the last patients out the door. He texted her. Yes. Meet me later?
She texted back quickly. When and where?
He smiled and tapped the digital keypad. If traffic wasn’t awful, he could make it back in a couple hours, and he could be on the porch of the cottage, sliding the ring on Melody’s finger as the sun set over the trees. Afterward, he could take her around to the overlook in back, spread a blanket under the stars, and christen their new home. 8:30. Your favorite place. Then he put the phone aside and started driving.
The traffic gods took his side, and he made it to Bluelick with time to spare. He parked in the cul-de-sac to leave the driveway open for Melody. With the ring tucked into the pocket of his jeans, he grabbed a blanket from the back of the Yukon and walked to the house.
A glance at his watch told him he still had about fifteen minutes to kill. Since he’d bought the place as is, he decided to use the time to see what he’d gotten himself into. The front door was locked and the windows boarded up. After stowing the blanket in the backyard and climbing the back porch to find the door there locked as well, he checked a side door. Basement access, he guessed, based on the location, and locked like the other doors, but weather had invaded the wood frame, and the lock had some give due to dry rot. Awesome.
One shoulder slam and the door gave way. The dank basement smell greeted him first, followed by a sticky net of spider webs. The waning light and boarded-up windows wouldn’t allow him to conduct much of an inspection. He thought briefly about fetching the flashlight he kept in his truck, but decided not to bother. A quick run-through was all he wanted, just to get a sense of the basic layout and how rustic the place was after all this time. He had no intention of crawling into the attic or under the stairs and disturbing whatever wildlife currently called those spaces home. The open basement door offered enough light to make out the stairs leading to the first level.
The stairs led to a laundry area that smelled almost as moldy as the basement. The small room opened to a kitchen in need of a gut renovation. Off the kitchen was a nice-sized dining room. Front room with a big fireplace, foyer, small study or den, powder room, and an extra room he imagined would make an ideal playroom.
Four tiny bedrooms and a bathroom made up the upper level. If they took a wall down and gave up a bedroom, they could get a decent master with an attached bathroom. Luckily, the dank smell didn’t permeate upstairs. Actually, up here it smelled like…smoke.
He ran into the hall. The dim light trickling in from the haphazardly boarded windows didn’t help matters, but he saw a gray haze rising from the floor below. Had Melody come in while he’d been roaming around up here and, what? Tried to light a fire in the fireplace, or flicked a light switch and set off a spark in the ancient electrical system?
“Bluelick?” He hurried downstairs and into thicker smoke than he anticipated. Hot, stifling, and disorienting. His heart stalled at the thought of her wandering around in the mess, looking for him. “Melody,” he called again, inhaling a lungful of smoke in the process. He fought off a wave of dizziness, crouched lower to get under the smoke, and pulled his shirt up to screen his nose and mouth. Without gear, that was as fireproof as he could get. He started a sweep of the first floor.
…
Ninety degrees in the shade and some fool is burning leaves. The thought flitted through Melody’s mind, and then disappeared when she spotted Josh’s Yukon parked in the cul-de-sac. Her pulse raced. After days without him, the sight of his vehicle alone was enough to send her heart into overdrive. Anticipation and nerves added an extra boost. His choice of meeting spot had sent her thoughts careering in a thousand different directions. Was he simply looking for a private place to talk that might constitute neutral territory, as opposed to her house or his? Was he trying to soften her up, or let her down easy, or what? Only one way to find out.
She pulled into the gravel driveway and immediately stomped on the brake to avoid rear-ending the silver pickup truck parked there. Who else had Josh asked to this meeting? And jeez, what was burning? She put her purse on her shoulder and wiped her damp palms on the gauzy skirt of her pink sundress. Then she turned to the cottage, partially in view behind the overgrown oaks, and the answer to her last question stared her in the face. Flames engulfed the entire front porch.
Adrenaline took charge of her system and sent her up the drive and around the side of the house. The heels of her sandals sank into the grass. She kicked them off and kept running. When she rounded the house and saw flames licking their way up the back porch, too, she screamed his name. Her eyes scanned the yard as she ran, but he was nowhere to be found.
Her purse bounced against her side. Without stopping, she dug for her phone. When it tumbled into her hand, she pulled it out and called him…and reached his voicemail. Dammit. She disconnected and called the firehouse.
She rounded the other side now and spotted the open basement door. At the same time, her phone clicked and a voice said, “Bluelick Fire Department.”
“This is Melody Merritt. There’s a fire. Come quickly. I think Josh is inside.”
“Where are you?”
She didn’t know the freaking address. “The cottage. The white cottage on Overlook Road. Hurry—”
“Melody!” This voice came from behind her. She whipped around to find Rusty running up.
That was fast, was her first hysterical thought, and then she dropped everything and latched onto Rusty’s shirt. “He’s inside. Josh is in there.” Belatedly she realized Rusty wasn’t suited up, and his eyes were red and full of panic.
“Nobody was supposed to be inside.”
She dropped her hands. “What?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she shook her head. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except Josh. She ran into the house.
…
Goddammit, Bluelick, where are you? He couldn’t see a fucking thing. Smoke burned his eyes, forcing him to crawl along the baseboards to keep his bearings. He didn’t know the layout well, hadn’t planned a backup exit route, didn’t have a sense of where the fire originated or the path of the burn, but he refused to leave until he was sure she wasn’t inside, which meant completing the sweep.
When he reached what he estimated to be the laundry room, he heard her screaming his name. For one horrified, disoriented moment he though the sound came from the smoke-filled rooms behind him, but then he realized it came from below. He crawled toward the basement and saw her come through the door. Competing waves of relief and alarm flooded him, even as he tried to shout, “Get back.” The words came out in a debilitating fit of coughs. Before he recovered, her arms were around him. His head spun, but he forced himself to his feet, and kept his watering eyes on her as she half led, half dragged him to the basement stairs.
Midway down the stairs another set of arms caught him, and a frame much bigger and sturdier than Melody’s supported him. A heartbeat later they cleared the basement door and fresh, oxygen-rich air hit his face. He dragged it into his lungs.
Somebody stumbled—probably him—and the
next thing he knew he was kneeling in the grass and Melody was right there with him, crying, babbling, squeezing him so tight she threatened the supply of hard-earned air to his tortured lungs. He wrapped an arm around her, buried his face in her hair, and let her have at him. Sirens screamed in the distance.
Melody switched from hugging him to running her hands all over him, from his head, down his neck, over his chest and back…anywhere she could reach…while sobbing, “Are you hurt? Oh, God, please don’t be hurt. I love you. I want to spend my life with you, and I don’t care where. Just please be okay.”
The sirens got louder. He moved his mouth to her ear. “Bluelick…don’t cry.” Three measly words tore his throat up like razors, but he sucked in a deep breath and kept talking. “Marry me.” He dug the ring out of his pocket and shoved it her way. Not exactly the sunset proposal he’d planned, but he wanted to assure her he felt the same way, and speech was a problem at the moment.
The effort backfired because she cried harder. She closed his hand around the ring and said, “Shush. Just tell me you’re okay. We can talk about the rest later.”
Stubborn woman. Around him he sensed movement. People running, shouting—the sound of hoses on full blast and the hiss of water hitting fire. “No. Now.” His bloodshot eyes made things difficult, but he took her hand and put the ring on her finger. Possibly the wrong finger, but he didn’t care. He wanted the damn thing on her hand. Then he took the deed out of his back pocket and gave the document to her. “This is our…future. Bought it for you…for us.” He spread his hand over her stomach. “All of us.”
A deputy came over carrying Melody’s purse and shoes, oxygen, and two bottles of water. Josh waved the oxygen away, got to his feet, and accepted the water. The first sip was heaven on his throat. “I’m okay.”
The younger man nodded. “Glad to hear that, Chief. The sheriff’s on his way. He wants to take your statement, personally, because there’s more than one case involved, but Rusty’s already confessed to setting this fire, as well as the one at the high school, and the Dumpsters, and Buchanan’s barn. The way he figured things, he was due for the chief’s slot, and if he could make you look bad, make himself look like a hero, and cause enough friction between you and Buchanan, you’d move on or get fired, and he’d advance. So he set the fires, and was always sure to be quick to the scene so he could have a hand in putting them out…maybe question your instincts while he was at it. But your instincts turned out to be dead-on, so that part blew up on him.”
Josh downed more water and then nodded, since the deputy seemed to want a response. Satisfied, the man continued. “Rusty chose the first two targets to cause trouble with Buchanan, but went for the high school when he realized you suspected Justin as the arsonist. The cottage became tonight’s target because he heard you’d bought the property. He hoped burning your house down would be the final insult, but says he didn’t know you were inside when he lit it up. I don’t think he intended to jeopardize your life.”
“He helped get me out.”
Now it was the deputy’s turn to nod. “Least he could do, though from what he said, Ms. Merritt here gets the save.” He looked at the cottage, where the team doused the smoldering structure. “Wish we could say the same for your house, but after tonight, I’m afraid it needs a bit of work.”
Josh shrugged. “It already needed work. Saves Longfoot some demo.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it. Sheriff will be here soon.” With that, the deputy took the oxygen and headed for the truck.
Josh turned to Melody. “Surprise.”
She laughed. “I am surprised.” Then her expression sobered. “I’m also sorry. I shouldn’t have run away and shut you out when you said you wanted to move back to Cincinnati. I was afraid to compromise, because…well…for a lot of stupid reasons. Anyway,” she rushed on before he could apologize for creating a situation she wanted to run from. “I brought something with me tonight, too.” She crouched and retrieved a small rectangular cardboard box from her purse, then stood and handed it to him. He took the lid off and stared down at the “Get Lucky at Boone’s” magnet he’d given her on their first date.
“I did get lucky at Boone’s. Luckier than I ever would have guessed when I wheeled my cart over and propositioned you. I found the man of my dreams. When you gave this to me, I stuck it on my fridge, but it turns out this sucker can stick to any metal surface, because of the magnet. From here on out, think of me like a magnet where you’re concerned. No matter where you go, I’ll stick. I promise.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I shouldn’t have accepted Warren’s offer without discussing it with you. If I had talked it over with you first, I might have realized I didn’t even want the damn job.” He tightened his arms and pulled her close.
She scrunched her brow. “Why is that?”
He pulled her close and lowered his head until their lips brushed.
“Bluelick, I have all the action I can handle right here. With you.”
Epilogue
Melody steered her car into the newly laid gravel driveway and parked in front of the cottage. She would have taken a moment to appreciate the freshly painted white shingles and budding magnolias in the yard, but too many pounds of baby weight stressed her bladder. She hefted her purse onto her shoulder, grabbed her shopping bag, and ran into the house—to the extent a nine-months-pregnant woman could run.
Her purse and bag hit the freshly planked floors in the entryway, and she beelined to the powder room tucked under the stairs. The smell of paint and floor varnish stung her nose. She shut the door, dragged her oversize underwear down, and thanked God for the sturdy porcelain fixture Tyler’s crew had installed mere days ago.
When she finished, she noticed the Post-it stuck to wall directly in front of her. Josh’s handwriting stared back at her. It read, “Backyard. Soon as you’re done.”
Well, damn. She rubbed her distended abdomen as the pressure that had been bothering her all afternoon took an encore. She hated to be predictable. Then again, she just might qualify as the most unpredictable thing on earth. Nine months pregnant, two false labors, mean as a hornet’s nest, and ready to explode at any second. To top it all off, she was horny as hell. And the man with the magic tongue wanted her to come to the yard. She washed her hands quickly and headed to the newly installed French doors just off the kitchen.
She stepped out onto the deck and stopped short. Josh stood in the middle of the yard, twisting a screwdriver into the joint of an elaborate cedar play set.
“Oh, my lands…” She trundled down the deck steps and approached the structure. “What have you done?”
He straightened and grinned at her. “You mentioned a swing.”
Swing? There was a net ladder, a twisty slide, a playhouse, a hammock, and two swings, including a baby swing. “Josh, put the screwdriver down and relax.” She laid a hand across her straining abdomen and rode out another wave of pressure. “He won’t be able to take advantage of any of this for many, many months.”
“She,” he corrected, and continued driving the final screw home.
“He or she won’t be ready for this right away.”
He finished the task and tossed the screwdriver onto the ground. “We could try it out first. His eyes glinted and he walked to the hammock. “It can handle up to three hundred pounds. I calculate if you lean your weight into it, and I come up behind you…”
A complicated mess of desire and affection stormed through her. He’d installed a swing set, for God’s sake. “This is really”—oh God, more pressure—“what you want?”
He walked to her, wrapped his arms around her enormous frame, and kissed her as if she weren’t big as a hippo and prickly as a hedgehog. “Bluelick, this is exactly what I want. The white cottage, the swing set, the small town, this baby, and you. What else can I do to prove it to you?”
She had a couple ideas, involving the hammock, but before she could mention one, a band tightened around her belly. Th
is time it was for real, and a gasp served as her reply as she doubled over.
His hands were supporting her before she could catch her breath and tell him she was okay.
“Contraction?” His eyes were dark and fixed on hers.
“Yes.” She gulped in air, got on top of the wave, and smiled at him. “I think Baby Bradley is finally ready to make an appearance.”
“Okay. No problem. Stay calm.” He let go of her, started one off way, then the other, and then danced in place for a moment. “Where’s your bag?”
“It’s in your truck.” For some reason, the abject terror in his eyes calmed her. This man was trained to handle emergencies, but the birth of his child left him floundering.
“Right.” He took her hand and dragged her around the house like a tugboat with an ungainly load.
“Josh,” she called out. She tried again because he didn’t seem to hear her. When they reached the passenger side of his truck, she dug in her heels. “Josh!”
“What?” He spun to face her and grasped her arms, but his eyes jittered to his watch. He was ready to time her.
There were so many things she wanted to say. Don’t worry. I’ve got this. It’s going to be fine. And she knew, from the bottom of her soul, every word was true, but what came out of her mouth was, “I love you.”
He looked up, focused on her, and smiled. “I love you, too, Bluelick.” He splayed his hand over her big belly. “I love you, I love us, and I can’t wait to meet the newest member of our family.” Then he lowered his head and kissed her. Reverently. Passionately. Everything in between.
Light Her Fire Page 21