“I can breathe good, but not when there was all the smoke. It was really smoky. My arm hurts a little.” Sean, clearly over the drama, dropped to the curb, where an ant was making its slow way down a crack.
On Main Street, the volunteer firefighters had arrived and begun to work at the fire from the other side. Hunter had told her once that a fire scene was like a well-choreographed dance. Everyone knew their part and when they all did it right, it was a beautiful thing. She couldn’t see it.
She couldn’t see anything. Where were they? They should have Betsie out by now.
A police cruiser came wailing to a stop on the street, blocking the small side street from people who wanted a closer look. Her sister, Keira, bailed from the car, a determined look on her pixie face, not quite panic, but close. “Fiona?”
“It’s okay. We’re fine. Betsie’s still inside. They’re trying to get her out.”
“I’ll be here if you need anything.” Keira drew in a deep breath and gave Fiona a quick, fierce hug. She ran toward Main to block off the area, keeping it clear for emergency vehicles.
“So it was really smoky?” Liam unbuttoned his turnout coat so he could sit beside Sean on the curb. He turned up Sean’s face. “How close were you to the fire, bud?”
Fiona didn’t want to hear this, yet every nerve ending seemed focused on Sean’s answer, the hustle and bustle of the fire scene fading into the background.
“Really close, just like you when you fight fires. Just like my dad did.”
“You were brave, too, just like your dad.” Hunter walked up behind them, and when she turned, his eyes were on hers, over Sean’s head. He looked so good to her, calm and competent. Safe.
“Betsie?” Fiona’s voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat. “Is she—”
“We got her. Medics are working on her.” He rubbed a hand through sun-shot brown hair and soot rained down. “The chief’s commanding the scene. Everything’s under control.”
He knew she would want to know the bottom line. Everything under control. She took a deep breath, thankful she was able, and said a silent prayer for Betsie.
Liam pulled a penlight out of one of his many pockets. “All right, Sean, open up and let me see those shiny teeth.”
Sean giggled and looked at Hunter. “I don’t have any in the front.”
“I know, ace. Come on, now. Let Liam have a look at your tonsils. He wants to make sure you’re okay.”
Sean obediently opened his mouth. One of the dangers of a hot fire was breathing in the smoke, not from lack of oxygen—it was obvious Sean was thinking straight—but from the danger of swelling.
“Okay, Fiona, I think his throat looks good for now. They’ll check him again in the E.R. just to be sure.” Liam took a look at the cut on Sean’s arm. “I’ll patch this up with some gauze, but I think it’s going to need S-T-I-T-C-H-E-S.”
Sean flicked accusatory blue eyes up to meet his cousin Liam’s. “I can spell. I’m in the first grade.”
Fiona laughed and ruffled Sean’s black curly hair. Thank God he was okay. He was still her little spunky, funny boy. “It’ll be fine. You’ll have a war wound to share at show-and-tell tomorrow.”
One of the paramedics rolled the gurney toward the ambulance. Betsie was buckled on it. Danny walked alongside, carrying an IV bag as the other paramedic breathed for Betsie with a bag valve mask—she’d inhaled so much more smoke than Sean. And she’d been so brave, getting him out.
Could Fiona survive if fire took another person that she loved? She watched as Danny helped load the gurney and slammed the door of the ambulance with her friend inside. All around her people were in motion. Firefighters tried to stop the flames from spreading. Cops directed traffic around the scene. Emergency medical personnel treated minor casualties.
She spun around. “I have to get Sean to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive you. I’m off duty all day.” Hunter dug in his pocket for keys.
Fiona pulled away, shook her head. “I need some time.” They’d been friends since childhood. He knew her, better than most of her family, probably. He would understand why she needed to get away from this.
She took Sean’s hand and started for her car, making it about three steps before she remembered that her keys were in the storeroom at The Reading Nook. She took a deep calming breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth—in her opinion the one good thing she’d learned in labor and delivery class. She turned back around.
Hunter’s slow smile spread across his face, showing that one dent in his left cheek. He held out his keys to her. “Take mine.”
Sometimes he knew her so well she wanted to punch him. Instead, she snatched his keys and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks.”
“No problem. But hey, didn’t you tell me yesterday you were prepping for Garden Club? I can stick around if you want and we’ll trade back tonight.”
Garden Club. She’d completely forgotten it. She chewed the corner of her lip. “I owe you already. If you have to deal with Garden Club I’ll owe you dinner.”
“Especially if Mrs. Davenport shows up. She always brings lemon squares and I hate lemon squares.”
Fiona laughed, for real this time, and lifted her son into her arms—grateful, so grateful—to be standing here with him in the sun. Her eyes locked with Hunter’s. “This…just brings back so many memories, you know?”
“Yeah.” He did, if anyone did. He was the one who’d been there for her in the days after Jimmy died. He was the one who’d continued to come by, when even her family thought she should be beyond it. He grieved for Jimmy, too.
She put Sean in and buckled him in. “I thought when the fires stopped after Jimmy died that it was over. Now we’ve had two in two weeks.”
“We’ve had other call outs in the past two years. What makes you think these are different?”
She shrugged. “A feeling, I guess? We’ve had brush fires, fires started by faulty heaters. A fire from a cigarette left in the bed. Not this kind.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Did you get your hands on incident reports, Fiona Cobb?”
“My uncle is the fire chief. My dad is the police chief. This kind of stuff is Sunday dinner conversation. Come on, it’s not that hard.” She walked around the front of his truck.
He walked to the near side and stood opposite her. “I don’t know if this fire’s different. But I promise you, I’ll find out.”
She nodded, her throat tightening, threatening to close up on her. But she managed a small smile for his sake.
If the arsonist was back, Hunter was going to be right in the line of fire.
* * *
Hunter walked Mrs. Davenport to the
