watching fire eat through dry, native pine cabinets in the kitchen, Samantha gave the emergency operator the address. The house was more than a hundred years old, perfect kindling.
Samantha closed her eyes briefly, imagining the disappointment on her parents’ faces. Retired teachers, they’d gone to a remote country in Africa to run a school. But the house was her mother’s pride and joy, having been in her family for generations.
Coughing from the smoke, Samantha unlocked the front door for the firemen. She tried to reach the rear door in the kitchen, but the heat of the fire pressed her back.
The smoke made its way into the living room and more alarms shrieked. Her coughing intensified. She tried covering her mouth with her hands, but it didn’t do much good.
A siren split the air as the fire engine screeched to a stop in front of the house. The door burst open and volunteer firemen rushed inside. She pointed toward the hall. “It’s in the kitchen, in the back of the house,” she gulped out between coughs.
“Anywhere else?” one man asked.
“No….” She continued coughing, then managed to speak. “At least I don’t think so.”
Another man grasped the handles of her wheelchair, pushing her toward the porch as soon as the last fireman cleared the doorway. He had to lift the chair over the threshold. Outside in the fresh air, Samantha continued coughing. In between, she took deep breaths to clear her lungs.
Long hoses were uncoiled, then hooked up to the fire hydrant three houses down. Some of the men carried dispensers of foam fire retardant as well. Neighbors opened their doors and windows to see what was going on.
A paramedic rushed to her side, checking for injuries.
Samantha touched her hot cheeks. “I’m not hurt. Just scorched a little of my hair.”
The paramedic scanned her beneath the illumination of his flashlight, then reached for an oxygen mask. “Just want to be sure.”
She brushed back the singed ends of her bangs. “I’m fine.”
“You really need to get a threshold ramp in case you have to get out alone. It’s an easy adaptation.” The tall, muscular fireman who had wheeled her outside pulled off his mask and frowned, critically studying the front of the house. “You don’t have a porch ramp either.”
“Bret?” Samantha stared at the handsome man. They’d known each other since high school. And had loved each other enough to become engaged. The pain of their breakup had kept them apart for the last eight years.
He stared back, clearly startled when he recognized her.
“It’s been…what?” Samantha swallowed the unexpected rush of emotions. “Since graduation?” Their days at Texas A&M seemed a lifetime ago. Strange the pain didn’t.
Bret pushed back his helmet, revealing dark hair. His equally dark eyes hardened and she wondered if he was feeling the same rush of memories, the unexpected flare of attraction. “Samantha Shaw. Didn’t expect it to be you. Thought your parents must have rented out the place.” He glanced down at the chair. “Accident?”
“Yeah.” It was still hard to talk about, impossible to accept.
His surprise didn’t fade. “So, what are you doing in Rosewood?”
“Can’t a person come home for awhile?”
“You haven’t been real big on doing that.”
She craned her neck, looking back at the house, trying not to think about the shock of seeing Bret.
The paramedic placed the oxygen mask over her face.
When she could speak, Samantha looked again at Bret. “Do you think there’ll be much damage?”
“If it’s confined to the kitchen, probably not.” Bret’s voice was as hard as his eyes. “Once it’s clear, you can go inside for a quick look.”
Her relief disappeared. “More than a quick look. I’m living here now.”
“Can’t do that, Sam. Not tonight. Could be a live ember left we didn’t catch. It’s too dangerous. You have to wait ’til it’s completely cold.”
Overpowered by the now familiar sense of claustrophobia and panic, she could barely speak. Not that it mattered. Surrounding neighbors who had poured out of their houses, dressed in pajamas and robes, crowded around, offering sympathy and help.
“I appreciate your concern, but it looks worse than it is.” Polite but firm, Samantha declined their offers, knowing she couldn’t let them in on her secret or her life.
Albert and Ethel Carruthers, the older couple who lived next door, were slow but determined as they closed in.
“Samantha!” Mrs. Carruthers clucked in worry, unfolding a crocheted afghan she’d carried with her, then smoothing it over Sam’s lap. “Whatever happened?”
They were two of the very few people in Rosewood who knew she was home. Because her parents had entrusted them to watch over the house, Samantha had been forced to tell the Carrutherses that she was back, especially since she’d needed their help to get inside. “Just a tiny grease fire.” She tried to ignore Bret’s startled expression, certain he was wondering why she was covering up the truth. “Nothing to worry about.”
“But Samantha can’t go back in tonight,” Bret told them. He disregarded the warning in her eyes, instead talking directly to the older couple. “Could she stay at your place? Don’t want her toasted by a flare-up.”
“Well, of course she can!” Ethel Carruthers patted Samantha’s shoulder. “It’s difficult enough to be on your own, but when there’s a catastrophe—”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Samantha interrupted.
“Even so. What are neighbors for?”
Possibly to squeal on me. If my parents find out…
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Bret was saying. “Want to see how much damage there is.”
As he walked away, Albert Carruthers stared after him, then back at Samantha. “I thought it was just a small fire.”
Emotionally, Samantha felt as though she’d just run a hundred miles. The irony made her even wearier. She hated fibbing to these people—she’d known them literally her entire life. “You know how firemen are extra cautious. I don’t see why I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Ethel had moved on to her mother-hen mode. “We keep the guest room set up all the time. Never know when one of the grands or great-grands will stop over.”
Samantha softened at the longing in the older woman’s voice. Her grandchildren were grown and Ethel missed them.
“Maybe we should call your parents,” Ethel mused.
“No!”
Ethel’s eyes widened and Samantha tried to
