raced about without any true direction futilely attempting to fight the flames. A lesser man might have panicked along with them, but Ren’s instincts for command took over.
Ren grabbed the first man who ran past him. ‘You, get a bucket brigade going.’ He shoved the man towards the rain barrel and started funnelling people that direction, calling orders. ‘Take a bucket, get in line, a single-file line. We have to contain the fire, we can’t let it spread to other buildings.’ That would be disastrous.
Ren turned to Emma, but she was already gone, issuing orders of her own. He scanned the crowd, catching sight of her dark hair and light-coloured dress as she set people to the task of gathering the livestock away from the flames. Clearly, there was no need to worry about her. She had things well in hand on her end. He just needed to see to his. Ren shrugged out of his coat and positioned himself at the front of the bucket brigade, placing himself closest to the flames.
Reach and throw, reach and throw. Ren settled into the rhythm of firefighting.
* * *
After a solid half hour of dousing, his shoulders ached and his back hurt from the repeated effort of lifting heavy buckets, but they were gaining on the flames.
Confident the line could handle the remainder, Ren stepped aside and looked for Emma. He found her in the centre of the farmyard talking with a large, muscled African and another man dressed in tall boots and riding clothes, holding the reins of his horse. He was obviously a new arrival, having missed all the ‘fun’ of fighting the fire. His clothes were clean and lacked the soot Emma had acquired. Even from here, Ren could see Emma’s gown wouldn’t survive the afternoon. At a distance, too, he could tell this wasn’t a friendly conversation on Emma’s part. Emma waved her hand and shook her head almost vehemently at something the man said. Whoever he was, he was not welcome.
Ren strode towards the little group not so much for Emma’s protection—she’d given every indication she could handle herself today and in fact preferred to work alone—as he did for his. Anyone who was a threat to Emma might very well be a threat to Sugarland. At the moment that was recommendation enough to intervene. Ren didn’t hesitate to insert himself into the conversation. ‘Do we know what happened?’ he asked, his question directed towards Emma. Up close, she was a worried mess. Her hem had torn in places and a seam at the side had ripped, the white of her chemise playing peekaboo. Her hair fell loose over one shoulder. She looked both dirty and delicious at once, a concept his body seemed to find very arousing in the aftermath. All of his unspent adrenaline needed to find an alternate outlet.
The big African spoke. ‘Dunno. One minute we were working and the next, there was a bang.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘The shed just went up. There was no warning, no time.’ He shook his head.
‘The building was a chicken coop.’ Emma explained to Ren, filling him in. ‘Some of the chickens were outside, but we likely lost at least twelve.’
Ren nodded. It could have been worse. As fires and damages went, this was minor; Just chickens and a shed. The loss would be an inconvenience, but they would recover from it. It could have been the hay, the cows, the food staples, human lives even. Fires were dangerous to a farm’s prosperity.
The business of the fire satisfied for the moment, Ren turned his attention to the newcomer. Ren stuck out his hand when it became apparent Emma wasn’t going to make introductions. ‘I’m Ren Dryden, Merrimore’s cousin.’
The stranger shook his hand, smiling. He was a strong man, tall, probably in his early forties. ‘I’m Sir Arthur Gridley, your neighbour to the south. It looks like you’ve come just in time.’ He gave Emma a sideways glance of friendly condescension that perhaps explained her reluctance to make introductions.
‘Our Emma’s had a struggle of it since Merrimore passed away. It has been one thing after the other for the poor girl. She’s had quite the run of bad luck: a sick horse the other day, the broken wagon wheel last week, trouble with the equipment at the mill. We’ve all tried to pitch in, but Emma’s stubborn and won’t take a bit of help.’
Emma’s mouth hardened into a grim line. Ren wondered what she disliked most, being talked about as if she weren’t here or having her weaknesses exposed to an outsider. Or maybe, on second consideration, it was Gridley she was most opposed to.
The man seemed nice enough, certainly eager to be neighbourly but Ren noticed Emma had stepped closer to him during the exchange. Closer to himself or away from Gridley? Perhaps there was more there than met the eye. He’d have to follow that up later. Right now he had an explosion to solve. ‘I’m going to walk through the ruins and see if I can’t unearth any signs of what might have started the fire. I’d welcome any assistance.’ He’d let Gridley prove himself. After all, Emma didn’t much like him at the moment either. She might have an aversion to men in general or just to men who posed a threat to her authority.
Ren moved towards the remains of the chicken coop, Gridley on one side, Emma on the other. ‘Look for anything that might have triggered an explosion: a wire, a fuse, a match. I don’t think the fire had time to get too hot, clues have likely survived.’
He’d meant the instructions for Gridley, but Emma moved forward, ready to brave the ashes. Ren stuck out an arm, barring the way. ‘Not you, Miss Ward. What’s left of your slippers won’t last. Hot or not, any residual ash could burn right through those flimsy soles. I need you to talk to people, they know you. Perhaps someone might remember some strange activity around the coop before the explosion.’
She shot him an angry glare. He wasn’t scoring any points in his favour with this latest directive, but she went. Did she go out of acquiescence to his request or as a chance to be away from Gridley? His curiosity would liked to have seen what she’d have done if Gridley hadn’t been there.
Digging through the rubble was more difficult than expected. Ren had thought it would be fairly easy to determine the cause of the fire—after all, the coop hadn’t been that big to begin with once the smoke had cleared and there wasn’t that much debris.
Ren pushed back his hair with a dirty, sweaty hand and looked around him. They were nearly done and nothing had shown up. Gridley waved at him a few feet away and strode over.
‘I think I’ve found something,’ he called out loudly enough to draw attention. He held up a small bundle of grey cloth. The people working near him gasped and moved out of the away with anxious steps. Out of the corner of his eye, Ren saw Emma hurry towards him.
Ren took the item from Arthur Gridley and turned it over in study. ‘What is it? It looks like a child’s doll.’ A poorly made one. It was nothing more than cloth sewn into a crude resemblance of a human form.
Gridley and Emma exchanged glances laced with challenge. Emma’s voice conveyed a quiet anger when she spoke. ‘It’s obeah magic. This is a bad-luck charm.’ She shot an accusing glare at Gridley.
Gridley blew out a breath, sounding genuinely aggrieved. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. It’s the last thing you need.’ He stepped forward to put a consoling hand on Emma’s arm. This time Ren didn’t imagine her response. She moved out of reach, stepping on the toes of his boots as she backed up. Gridley’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, opting instead to pretend he didn’t notice the slight.
‘This doll didn’t start the fire,’ Ren put in, drawing them away from whatever private war waged between them. He fingered the doll. Something wasn’t right, but his mind couldn’t grasp it.
Gridley gave a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not sure it matters what started the fire. I’m not even
