yourself?”
“I don’t think so.” A twinge of pain in his right ankle belied his statement, but he ignored it as they finally made it safely to the ground. He didn’t bother to release her hand as he led her toward the back garden gate. “Come on. I know a shortcut.”
They cut through the alley to the next street, where they merged with the stream of people rushing toward the fire. The whistling and popping of fireworks had faded away, leaving only shouts and confused murmurs to fill the night air. The pain in his ankle continued to build until it slowed his steps enough for Isabelle to notice. She latched on to his arm with her free hand as they wound through the crowd. “You’re limping.”
“I’m fine.” That wasn’t entirely true, but at the moment he didn’t care. They were getting close to the corner where he lived. Too close. He ignored Jeff Bridger, the local deputy, who was trying to keep everyone back, and pushed to the very front of the crowd. His stomach dropped all the way to boots then rose to his throat. He swallowed hard even as a groan filled his chest.
Isabelle’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Is it your leg?”
“No, that’s my house.”
He heard Isabelle’s gasp as she took in the sight for herself. Meanwhile, he could do nothing but stare at the bright orange flames that engulfed the entire front half of the structure. Plumes of smoke drifted upward to mingle with the night sky. Fanned by a gusting wind, the fire sent sparks spiraling toward the house next-door to his. The sight was enough to set him in motion. He stepped forward to speak with the deputy. “Jeff, have my neighbors been accounted for?”
“Yes, and they said you were at the masquerade.” Jeff must not have attended for he was dressed in his normal cowboy garb complete with a badge on his chest. “The sheriff was looking for you, though. I reckon he wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Suddenly, a musketeer and a man in a Renaissance costume broke free of the crowd. Deputy Bridger called out a warning to anyone who might try to follow them. Ignoring it completely, Rhett went after them, drawn by the urgency in their gestures. They stopped to speak to another musketeer who’d been dousing a pile of leftover fireworks. Rhett could only maintain his running stride for a few seconds before the pain in his ankle forced his steps to slow to a walk. That gave him time to recognize the voice of his best friend, Quinn Tucker, despite the man’s Renaissance costume. “There’s no time to argue. I’m going in.”
“I’m the sheriff of this town,” Sean O’Brien declared. “It’s my responsibility to keep everyone safe. I’m going, and that’s final.”
Rhett finally made it to the outskirts of their small circle. “How can y’all be arguing at a time like this? No one should be going anywhere until we put that fire out.”
The three men turned to stare at him with shock and relief plainly written across their faces. Quinn stepped forward to pull him into a bear hug. Rhett thumped him on his back more in an effort to knock some sense into him than anything. Having had enough of the display, Rhett stepped away only to have Lawson, the third man from the argument, slap him on the shoulder. “We were arguing about who would have the privilege of saving your hide.”
“My hide is fine, but I do appreciate your concern.”
Sean blew out a heavy breath of relief then nodded beneath his jaunty wide-brimmed hat. “We were afraid you might be trapped inside the house since you’d told Lawson and Ellie that you were going home early.”
“Oh.” Rhett glanced back in search of Isabelle, but she’d been swallowed by the crowd. “I meant to, but I got a little distracted.”
“Good thing, too.” Quinn crossed his arms and nodded toward the fire. They all turned to follow Quinn’s gaze in time to see the front of the house collapse in on itself. Rhett braced himself for the wave of despair that was sure to hit. Instead, he only felt the numbness of shock. That was probably for the best. Right now, his focus needed to be on others. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“My pa would know.” Lawson scanned the crowd, presumably for his adoptive father, Doc Williams. “I’m sure he’s here somewhere. I think I’ll scout around to see if I can find him or someone who might need him.”
“My house is a lost cause. Our focus should be on keeping the fire from spreading.”
Sean nodded, already backing away. “I’ll get some men to help me soak down the houses beside yours.”
Rhett glanced around for some way to be of use. “Come on, Quinn. Even if we can’t save the house, we need to keep the fire under control. Let’s join the bucket brigade.”
Quinn stopped him after only a handful of steps. “You’re limping. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”
“I twisted my ankle on the way down the fire escape. That’s all.”
“Fire escape?”
“Yeah, I was on the roof with...”
Suddenly realizing the facts might sound a little less than respectable, he decided to stop talking. Apparently, the decision came a second too late for the confusion in his friend’s gaze had turned to speculation. “With a distraction? A female distraction perhaps?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Quinn lifted a brow. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
How could he when he hadn’t even had time to sort through it himself? He shifted his focus back to the fire. “There isn’t the time for that, Quinn. We need to find some way to help out.”
“What you need to do is sit down. I’ll find Doc. Meanwhile, you should resign yourself to staying with me and Helen for a while.”
“Staying with...?” He blinked, realizing he had no place to sleep tonight. “Y’all don’t have to do that. I can stay at the hotel.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t stay at your place long-term, anyway. Y’all are practically newlyweds. Besides, I’ve got a business to run in town. I need to be close to it.”
Quinn gave him a doubtful look. “Depending on what Doc says, you may not be running anything for a while. Now, will you go sit down?”
“No. I told you I’ll be fine.” Rhett did his best to minimize his limp as he walked to the bucket brigade. He didn’t want to sit down until the fire was under control, and he knew no one else’s house was in danger. He might be starting the New Year with nothing more than a pirate costume and a harmonica, but that didn’t mean anyone else should have to lose their home.
Knowing he’d be too slow to do much good at the front of the line, where men raced back and forth to the fire, he stood near the back and helped pass buckets down the line. It wasn’t something that took a lot of thought, so his mind strayed back to those few minutes when he was alone on the hotel roof with Isabelle. It had been beyond perfect. He hadn’t stammered or stuttered once as far as he could remember. He’d kissed her, though. He remembered that—vividly.
Had his prayers finally been answered, then? Had God taken away his impediment around women? What other explanation could there be for what had happened with Isabelle?
He
