The last time he’d seen that silhouette, the woman had been holding a camera, flashing pictures of a crime scene at a local music theater. Jolene Tucker called herself a photojournalist, and she passed up no opportunity to see her byline in a local paper. She had her finger on every pulse of gossip in the Branson community, but how had she managed to beat the fire engines here?
Though Graham had seen her only from a distance, he’d heard horror stories about the trouble she caused her hapless victims in her weekly gossip column.
Graham switched directions and marched toward her. She had no right to be here. Her presence endangered not only her, but any others who might feel called upon to remove her from harm’s way. What was she doing inside his building?
To his amazement, when the woman caught sight of him through the darkness she gave him a frantic wave and started toward him across the yard. “Sir, are you with the fire department? I could use some help with—”
“Where’s your camera?” he snapped.
She slid to a stop on the grass and stared at him through the smoky murk. “What are you talking about? Why aren’t there more emergency personnel here? There’s no time to—”
“Ms. Tucker, you’ve got some gall coming into a situation like this,” he said without breaking his stride. He reached for her arm. “You’re on private property. My property, and I want you off within the next ten seconds or I’ll give the police a call.”
She took a step backward, evading his grasp. “But you don’t understand. There’s a—”
“I don’t want to hear it. If you want to complain, just write it up in one of your columns.” He led her from the yard. “This place is dangerous, and you need to leave. It’s an insurance risk.”
She jerked away from him. “Insurance? That’s all you’re worried about?” She scrambled back across the dark lawn toward Esther Engle’s front door. “There are still people who need help. Mrs. Engle’s fallen in her apartment and we need a stretcher—”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Engle,” he said, rushing after her. “You hightail it on home for once. Your nose for news doesn’t belong here.” He thrust his thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “Out!”
She gave a long-suffering sigh and did as he told her this time. “You’ll get Mrs. Engle?”
“That’s where I’m headed right now.” He saw Blaze and Dane, Taylor and Nathan running up the hill and commandeered Taylor’s help—Taylor Jackson was a tough Ranger with the heart of a paramedic. Often it seemed necessary to utilize the full range of Taylor’s skills on the field when responding to accidents.
The fire seemed to have limited itself to Preston’s cabin, though it could easily spread to the utility building east of the lodge. Graham prayed it would go no farther. When he’d refurbished the lodge, he’d made sure the building was above code. Now he would see if the additional efforts paid off.
Baffled and incensed by the behavior of the manhandling owner, who seemed to be confusing her with someone he knew, Willow waited until he and another man entered Mrs. Engle’s front door. She stepped gingerly from the gravel to the grass to protect her feet, and rushed toward the small crowd of people who had left the shelter of the gazebo to watch the firemen spraying the flames. Another siren wailed through the trees. An orange-and-white ambulance arrived on the scene, pulling to a stop at the edge of the lot.
Willow waved at the driver and directed the crew toward Mrs. Engle’s apartment when they stepped from the vehicle. Finally more help had arrived.
“Has anyone here seen Preston?” she asked Carl Mackey, who lived in the apartment below Sandi Jameson’s.
The older man pointed toward the shed. “I thought I saw him headed in that direction just before the fire truck arrived. Figured he wanted to move the gasoline tank before it blew with the rest of the building.”
“He didn’t come back out?”
Carl shrugged. “Nope, and we called for him.”
She heard the shouts of the firemen above the snap and pop of the flames and the sizzle of water from the fire hoses. No way would her brother go into that mess. He was brave and strong, but he wasn’t foolish, and he didn’t have a death wish.
Carl stepped to Willow’s side. He wore bright orange flannel pajamas, and his hair stuck up in all directions. “Young lady, you’ve got a nasty wound.” He gestured to the bloodstained towel around Willow’s arm. “Why don’t we get that seen to? I grabbed my car keys on the way out the door, and I can get you to the hospital before—”
“Thanks, Carl, but I’ve got to find Preston.” Willow rushed back across the shadows of the front yard. “Preston!” she called. “Has anyone seen my—”
A strong, firm arm caught her from behind and swung her around. She looked up into the angry face of the same jerk who had yelled at her before.
“You don’t listen well, do you, Jolene?”
She yanked away from him. “Look, bud, you may be the owner of this place, but I’m not Jolene, whoever that might be, and if you don’t get out of my face I’m going to kick you!”
The man’s expression froze, mouth open mid-rant. He blinked at her, looked down at her torn, mud-and-grass-stained pajamas.
“Where’s Preston?” Willow demanded. “Have you seen my brother?”
The expression of dismay on his face was priceless. For a fraction of a second she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Yet another explosion rocked the earth. Willow gasped, then turned instinctively in the direction of the sound, toward the building behind the burning cabin.
“It’s the utility shed!” a fireman shouted. “It’s collapsing.”
“Preston was headed in that direction!” Willow cried as another fire truck rumbled into the ruckus. Oh, dear God, no. Not Preston!
Graham grabbed the panicking woman before she could run across the lawn to the shed, and wasn’t surprised when she fought him. So this was the gentle sister of whom Preston had so often spoken.
“We’ve got to get him out of there!” the frantic woman cried.
“The firemen are doing that.” He gestured toward the two men in fire gear, who were already forcing back the flames and entering the inferno.
Preston’s sister—what was her name…something about a tree…Rowan? No, Willow. That was it. Willow struggled from Graham’s grasp, and as she pulled away a red-and-white towel unwound from her right forearm. Blood gushed from a deep injury in the flesh above her wrist.
“Hold it right there,” Graham said, feeling like an idiot as well as a bully. Why hadn’t he noticed this sooner? “You need medical attention.” He reached for her arm.
She pushed away from him. “I need to see about my brother first. Is everyone evacuated?”
“Mrs. Engle was the only one left. Blaze has her dog.”
Willow’s
