might be to the exterior of the house, her pantlessness.
She stepped off the squishy grass and onto the paved drive. A siren blerped behind her, and Hope managed to land a jump-whirl move she hadn’t attempted in more than a decade. Pain sang up her legs. Rain ran down her forehead and into her eyes, blurring her vision. But the whirl of blue lights was unmistakable. Exhaling with a whoosh, she sagged against one of the stone pillars marking the entrance to the estate as a patrol car turned into the drive. The officer behind the wheel shone an unspeakably bright spotlight in her direction before lowering his window enough to call to her.
“Ma’am? Can I help you?”
Shielding her eyes from the glare, Hope sighed wearily. “Thank God you stopped.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “Lightning,” she murmured, but the single word was all she could manage. The events of the evening combined with the jet lag she hoped to beat and the mild sleep aid she gulped ‘just in case’ turned her tongue into a slab of cement. She managed a wave in the direction of the house. “A tree came down, but I think lightning hit the house. There was smoke and I smelled burning wires.”
He lowered the light a fraction of an inch. “This is your house, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she answered, impatience and exhaustion giving her one last boost of energy. “Well, my parents’ house. This was their house. They’re deceased now.”
An unexpected wave of grief washed over her. While she had her differences with her parents—about everything—that didn’t mean she didn’t love them. She simply didn’t want to live with them. Or near them. Or anyplace she might possibly find herself under their thumbs once again. Knowing her parents and the extents they’d go to in order to get their way, Europe had seemed like a perfectly reasonable choice all those years ago.
Straightening her shoulders, she squinted at the fresh-faced young police officer, prepared to defend every single one of her life choices if she had to. “I’m staying here while my sister and I settle my mother’s estate.”
He turned away from the window to confer with the officer in the passenger seat. “May I see some identification?”
Incredulous, Hope raised her arms enough to show she wasn’t exactly dressed for full interrogation. “My passport is in the house. Along with my mobile phone, my clothing, and whatever dignity I may have left behind when I crawled out of the house.” She donned her late husband’s most haughty tone and co-opted a smidgen of his stuffy British accent as she pointed to the house. “Would you be a love and go fetch my things for me?”
The boy looked nonplussed. He stared at her long and hard, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Did you say passport?”
The relentless rain chose that moment to abate, leaving an awkward sort-of silence in its wake. Hope shivered and closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer for patience. She was about to open her mouth and spill her entire sad, soggy story to this prepubescent patrolman when her plea for help was answered in the form of a wailing siren. Holding her breath, she waited for the flash of white headlights to go with the blobs of red bouncing off windows and walls. The officers turned to look as the fire engine roared its way to them. Thankfully, this one slowed and approached.
“Officer, do you mind…” She let the words trail off as she gestured to the patrol car blocking the entrance.
“Oh!” The young man switched off the spotlight and clutched the steering wheel.
Hope’s vision cleared enough for her to see him dither for a moment on whether to pull in closer to the house, or reverse out of the drive. The fireman behind the wheel of the idling truck made the choice easier by laying on his horn. Startled by the blare, Hope sprung away from the wall and followed the car and the truck down the drive and into the paved courtyard. One of the uniformed firemen hopped down and jogged toward her while another pulled equipment from the truck.
“Are you the owner, ma’am?”
It took a full second for Hope to process the fact that the firefighter standing in front of her in full gear was a woman. “Yes. Well…yes,” she asserted, figuring there’d be time enough for explanations later. “Lightning struck a tree on the back lawn. Took the power lines out, but a few minutes later…” She paused, her brain clicking into gear as she was about to tell this young woman she believed lightning had struck her property twice.
Coup de foude.
She could still hear John saying the words, his French almost as badly accented as her own.
Almost.
She’d fallen in love with The Right Honourable John Elliot, Lord Ashford, in the middle of a thunderstorm. Trampled his foot, actually. He liked to say they stumbled into love, but the tiny flaws she found in an otherwise nearly flawless man tipped her head over heels. Like his abysmal French and horrible tastes in music. He put orange marmalade on anything that didn’t move. She particularly liked it when he’d spread it all over her.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?” The firefighter placed her gloved hand on Hope’s arm, jerking her back to the present.
“Oh! Yes. Sorry,” she apologized reflexively. “I was in the kitchen watching the storm when lightning hit. I smelled electrical burning, saw some smoke, and ran”—her voice caught on the fib—“right out the front door.”
Hope watched as one of the firefighters jogged around the side of the house. Another stood on the front porch shining a bright flashlight into the darkened house. When prompted, she rattled off her name, phone number—not that the information would do them a bit of good at the moment—connection to the property, and all of the clues they might find inside to back up her story. The first firefighter appeared out of the darkness at the side of the house and gave the woman speaking to Hope a thumbs-up, then trotted toward the door.
The young woman nodded. “Yep. Tree’s down. Looks like a branch took out service to the house.”
“I didn’t smell the burning until after the second strike, though.”
Shrugging, the firefighter glanced at the house as the other two went in. “The power going out helps us. I’m going to let our friends know we’ve got the scene.” The young woman gestured to the police car. “It’s a nasty night out, and emergency services are spread thin.” She grimaced as she looked Hope up and down. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you go inside until they clear the area.” She reached into a compartment and pulled out a sheet made out of shiny silver material. “I know you’re cold, but if you can hang on for a little longer—” She opened the side doors and gestured for Hope to climb in. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be fine.” Hope took the blanket and wrapped the crinkly Mylar around her body. “I can’t get any wetter. Or more humiliated.”
Chapter 2
The house was still standing. Hope’s attention strayed from the female firefighter to the open front door and back again. The young woman gestured broadly as she spoke to the police officers, but she must have gotten her point across fairly quickly because she turned and jogged to the door to join her team inside. A second later, the patrolman rolled his lights and tweaked his siren again. Drenched and walking on shredded feet, Hope moved aside as the jackass performed a perfect three-point turn. He gave her a jaunty salute as he cruised past.
Hope hauled herself onto the lip of the truck and glared
