Chapter 5
FIVE
POWELL
By the time I got to the station, the scent of hay still clung to me like Esmerelda had claimed me as family.
Which, to be fair, she kind of had. I owed her a molasses treat.
Maybe two. The little menace kept nudging my shoulder during the planning meeting like she was personally invested in Jess Donnegan liking me again.
Not that Jess had liked me before.
But today had been… different.
She’d rolled her eyes at me only about half the usual amount.
She’d laughed—a single startled, begrudging puff of a laugh, but still.
And she’d let herself be charmed by Esmerelda, just a little, even if she’d tried to hide it.
Which proved she wasn’t immune. Because no one was immune to the little stinker’s cuteness.
I’d spent the whole drive back to town replaying that moment she’d asked “Why Donkey?” like she was granting me temporary access to her curiosity. I didn’t get many cracks in her armor. That one had seemed like a gift.
Moose wandered past me in the bay, sipping the station coffee like it wasn’t basically caffeinated mud. “You’ve got a face,” he announced.
“I have many faces,” I said.
“This one? This one is ‘soft idiot thinking about a girl.’”
I shoved him with my shoulder. “Meeting was fine.”
“That’s not the face you make when things go ‘fine.’ That’s the face you make when someone hands you a puppy and tells you it loves you.”
I was saved from answering by the sharp klaxon of the alarm.
“Station One, respond: smoke investigation, possible structure fire. Location: Main Street. Caller reports smoke coming from Pour Decisions.”
I didn’t hear anything after Pour Decisions.
My heart stopped and then restarted too fast, adrenaline shooting straight into my bloodstream. Though I wasn’t even on duty, I grabbed my gear without conscious thought. My hands knew the motions even as my brain went into a cold, focused freefall.
Pour Decisions.
Jess.
She’d said she was going back to prep for tomorrow. She always prepped late. She’d rushed out of the barn like she had a schedule to beat, muttering about syrups and cold brew and restocking. And I’d let her walk away with that broken latch still sticking every time someone touched it.
Dispatch crackled again as we piled into the engine.
“Update: visible smoke from vent. Caller cannot confirm occupant exited. Repeat—unknown if occupied.”
Moose sat across from me, face suddenly sober. “She’s probably not inside.”
“She’s always inside at this time of night.” My voice was too tight.
Meatball took a corner fast enough to send every loose object in the cab sliding. Sirens wailed over us, drowning out the hammering in my chest. The ride from the station to Main Street wasn’t long, but tonight it stretched like someone was pulling the seconds apart with pliers.
“Hey.” Moose leaned forward so I could hear him over the wind and the sirens. “Breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Not like a human, you’re not.”
I tried. Oxygen felt thin and stretched, barely enough.
The second we turned onto Main, all the air got punched out of me.
Pour Decisions sat at the curb exactly where it always did, but now smoke billowed from the Airstream’s roof vent in a thick gray ribbon. Flickers of dull orange flashed inside like the truck had swallowed a lantern and was trying to cough it back up.
A small crowd had gathered at a distance, people huddled near the shops, pointing, shouting. The air already tasted acrid—burned plastic or wiring.
Meatball barely had us stopped before we jumped out.
“Anyone inside?” I called, sprinting toward the truck.
Felicity Harmon from Bloomsday Flower Shop lifted trembling fingers toward her mouth. “Jess is still in there!”
Everything inside me sharpened.
Moose was already hauling gear toward me. Captain MacAvoy barked orders behind us as he pulled the line.
“Approach from the side—watch the vent!” he shouted.
I headed straight for the side door—the one with the temperamental latch. The one I’d begged her to fix just days ago.
It sat closed, smoke seeping from a narrow gap. I grabbed the handle and yanked. It moved an inch and jammed.
“Motherf—” I cut myself off and slammed my boot against the base. The door rattled but held stubbornly, a metal middle finger.
“Bar!” I snapped, holding out a hand.
Moose slapped the pry bar into it. I wedged it under the latch and heaved. My shoulder burned with the effort, gear digging into my ribs. Smoke poured through the widening crack.
The latch screamed like tortured metal before finally snapping loose. The door swung outward, vomiting a rolling wave of hot gray smoke.
Thick, suffocating heat wrapped around me as I ducked inside.
The truck was longer on the outside. Inside it felt like a coffin.
The air shimmered with heat, the stainless steel walls throwing back my flashlight in jagged, distorted beams. The espresso machine hissed angrily against a glow coming from behind the prep counter—something electrical, definitely.
Maybe a relay popping, or a wire gone bad.
“Jess!” The smoke instantly swallowed my yell.
I swept along the narrow aisle, checking under every counter, every corner. The smoke stung even through the respirator; my eyes watered, heat prickling my neck under my collar.
Something small and tan caught my beam—a boot.
Her boot.
I crawled closer, breath strangling in my chest even with the mask feeding me air. Jess was curled on her side near the back, half hidden behind the stainless prep station, one hand raised like she’d tried to cover her mouth. Her foot was trapped under the edge of the warped counter.
“Jesus, Jess,” I whispered, dropping hard to my knees beside her.
I touched two fingers to the side of her neck.
Pulse. Fast, too fast—but there.
Alive.
I blew out a breath and eased her into a sitting position enough to get leverage. The metal trapping her foot wouldn’t budge at first. I braced my shoulder against the counter and pushed until something bent with a dull metallic groan.
Her foot came free.
“Got her!” I yelled toward the door.
My flashlight bounced wildly as I gathered her into my arms. She slumped against me, head against my shoulder, hair catching on my gear as I carried her toward the open door.
I stumbled only once when the floor lurched from a swelling pocket of heat behind me.
Cold air slapped my face as I emerged onto the sidewalk.
“Clear!” I shouted, and Moose was already there, grabbing the med kit.
We set her down several yards from the truck, far enough to avoid the worst of the smoke. Her breathing came in short, shallow pulls—too quick, too thin.
Her lashes trembled.
Her lips parted.
A weak sound escaped her throat—a cough, a gasp, something in between.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, brushing soot from her cheek with the back of my glove. “I’m right here.”
Moose pressed the portable O2 mask into my hand. “Here.”
I secured it over her mouth and nose. The hiss of oxygen filled the tense air.
Color came back slowly—first to her lips, then her cheeks. Not fully, not comfortably, but enough that the tightness in my chest eased a fraction.
She coughed again, a painful sound that tore at me.
Her eyes flickered open and found mine.
Her brows pinched as she pulled in another shallow breath through the mask. She winced, instinctively trying to lift her hand toward her face, but I caught it gently.
“Easy,” I said. “Just breathe.”
Someone behind us shouted instructions. Water hissed as the team hit the main flame inside the truck. The twinkle lights decorating the awning sagged in melted loops, dripping plastic. Smoke curled dark and angry above the roof vent.
Jess’s fingers curled weakly into the fabric of my glove.
That tiny, unconscious hold hit harder than anything else tonight.
Behind us, the truck groaned as part of the vent collapsed inward. Water slammed into it, steam rising in thick clouds. The odor was sharp and bitter—burned insulation, ruined coffee grounds, melted plastic.
Her livelihood. Her pride. Everything she’d built.
Her eyes drifted shut again, not unconscious, just exhausted. Soot streaked her cheek in a messy line. A bit of melted garland hung from the truck door like a deflated party streamer.
I stayed kneeling beside her, her hand still wrapped in mine, oxygen mask hissing softly.
She was breathing.
She was breathing.
She was breathing.
And her truck… was gone.
I didn’t realize my breath had broken until Moose laid a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“She’s okay,” he said quietly.
I nodded without looking away from her. “Yeah. But her business…”
He grimaced. No reply necessary. We both knew exactly how bad the damage was.
Jess coughed again, softer this time, and my grip tightened around her hand.
I wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. The thought of what could have happened was enough to hollow me out.
But she was here. Safe and alive.
And I planned to keep her that way.