pilot light has been dicey all winter. I’ve been meaning to have somebody in to look at it. I’ve had to relight it a couple times a week.”
Of course. He only lived about four houses down the street—and since Annabelle had been Jessica’s great-aunt, too, Brendan would naturally feel responsible for looking after Iris House.
“I didn’t know how to light it and I was freezing,” she said. “I just figured I would stay warm with a fire tonight and deal with the furnace in the morning.”
“And you never thought to go to a hotel?”
“Why go to a hotel when I happen to own a twenty-room mansion?”
Before he could answer, the two firefighters who had first charged into the house came out. “Chimney fire,” one said. “Looks like some creosote ignited. It’s mostly extinguished but we’ll need to head up to the roof to put out any hot spots.”
She wanted to sit right down on the porch steps and sob with relief—but she would never do that in front of Brendan Caine, of course.
He pulled out a radio and issued instructions in it that were completely beyond her understanding, something about a ladder truck.
“I want my paramedics to take a look at you,” he said to her after he finished.
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
“It wasn’t a request,” he said, his tone hard. “We need to be sure your lungs are okay after breathing all that smoke.”
He spoke to a couple other guys who had just pulled up. “Redmond. Chen. Run vitals on Ms. Drake here. Let me know if you think we need to transport her to the E.R.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need to be checked out, and I certainly don’t need to go to any E.R!”
One of the paramedics, a big, burly bald guy with a mustache and incongruously sweet features gave her an apologetic smile. “It won’t take long, ma’am.”
They led her over to a waiting ambulance. Had Brendan called out every truck in his entire department? For the next ten minutes she sat mortified on a stretcher while they checked everything. Oxygen levels, normal. Blood pressure, slightly high—no big surprise there. Temperature and reflexes, all as they should be.
“Everything checks out,” the bald guy said.
“I told you it would.”
“Sorry, ma’am. We have to follow procedure. The chief can be a stickler about that.”
“Am I free to go?”
“As far as we’re concerned.”
Not knowing what else to do, she retreated to the safety of her car and for the next hour watched as the Hope’s Crossing volunteer fire department scrambled across the various roof levels, climbed up and down ladders and peeked through windows, checking out every inch of Iris House.
Finally, they seemed to be certain the fire was completely out. The ambulance peeled away first then one engine after another until only the first ladder truck and the SUV that said Fire Chief on the side were left.
When Brendan walked onto the porch, speaking into his radio, she finally gathered the courage to climb out of her vehicle and approach him.
The rain had stopped, but the April night was still cold, with a damp wind that seemed to burrow beneath her coat.
He looked surprised to see her again, as if he had just remembered her existence—and probably would have preferred to forget it.
“I guess you’re okay or the paramedics would have taken you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine. Just like I told you. What are the damages to the house?”
“Too soon to say. You’ve got smoke damage, definitely, though it seems to be isolated to the TV room. We’ve got the windows open, airing things out.”
“That’s a relief.”
“It could have been a lot worse.”
She shivered as all the nightmare images that had been parading through her mind seemed to march a little faster. “I really do appreciate everyone. Please tell your department thank you for me. I’m sorry to call them out of their beds in the middle of the night.”
“It’s part of the job,” he said, his tone dismissive. He tilted his head. “Now, you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here? Why didn’t you tell anyone you were coming?”
She shrugged. She couldn’t tell him everything, the personal and professional humiliation she had left behind. “Spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t end up fried to a crisp.”
What would have happened if the creosote hadn’t ignited so quickly? If it had smoldered for an hour or so, until she was sound asleep just a few feet away from the fire? She would have died of smoke inhalation first and then been fried to a crisp.
Cold panic dripped down her spine, but she clamped down on the nerves before they could flood her completely.
“I know.”
He gave her one of those dark looks that could mean anything. “You can’t stay here tonight. You understand that, right? We need to make sure the house is safe tonight, with no lingering hot spots. You’ll have to find a hotel.”
If she had only done that in the first place, they wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
“I can do that,” she said.
Of course, he didn’t invite her to stay at his house. They didn’t have that kind of amicable relationship, despite the fact that she was godmother to his children or that his late wife had been not only her cousin but her dearest friend in the world.
“I still can’t quite wrap my head around you showing up in the middle of the night like this. You should have let me know you were coming. I could have made sure the pilot light was turned on for you, and none of this would have happened.”
She was tempted to remind him caustically that she didn’t need his permission to visit her own house. He might be watching over it, but she had been Annabelle’s only surviving heir.
Iris House should have been Jessica’s. She had adored the place, and she and Annabelle had always talked about turning it into a bed and breakfast one day after the children were grown, with Jess running the day-to-day details.
But Annabelle and Jess were both gone. Lucy was the only one left, the sole owner of this rambling old Victorian mining mansion she had never wanted in a town she had once been so eager to leave. Since her own dreams had just burned up hotter than any creosote fire, she had decided to borrow Jessica’s for a while.
“Like I said, spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t think things through.”
“How very unlike you,” he said, his voice dry enough to make
