Ruined By the Firefighter (Heroes of Whispering Pines #7)

Chapter 1

Laida

I stood in front of the brittle, sliding doors of a barn that I hadn’t set foot in since I was a little girl.

They needed work if I was going to salvage them.

The door frames were barely holding them together, similar to how I felt inside.

I was barely holding it together. That’s how it was in our family, though. Don’t show emotions. Be a tough girl.

My mother taught me that life will kick you, and you must be able to take it and keep pushing through.

If you let anyone see your weaknesses, they’ll use them to hurt you.

What were my weaknesses? Not being considered.

It was exhausting, although part of that was my own fault.

I seemed to let people get away with everything.

Friends, boyfriends, my mother… they all seemed to care more about themselves than me, always making me an afterthought.

I had stayed away from the farm because my mother had insisted.

She wanted me to become a lawyer, not a farmer, but that’ wasn’t what I wanted.

Not only did I not become a lawyer, but I wasted so many years staying away from my grandparents.

It didn’t need to be like that. Especially since my grandparents are the reason I am who I am today.

My grandfather died fourteen years ago, and my grandmother passed a year ago.

Living without my grandpa by her side for another fourteen years seems unimaginable.

Knowing I could’ve been there for her more than I was…

leaves a sick feeling in my stomach if I spend too much time thinking about it.

Even though I wasn’t around much, my grandfather wanted me to have the farm, and my grandmother made sure the will stayed true to his wishes.

Dust and dirt cascaded down as I pulled the doors open, grinding through the rust and gunk that had built up in the tracks over the years.

I coughed and waved the dusty air away from my face as I walked in.

The inside of the barn was just how I had remembered it.

My grandmother loved working in the garden.

The barn was a space she and my grandfather shared.

He painted landscapes, portraits, and whatever else moved him to work his brushes.

His old easel sat on one side of the barn, along with his brushes.

Remnants of paint as dry and hard as cement clung to the bristles, locked in time.

They never got rid of anything. Stacked against one of the half-walls were paintings my grandfather had created.

I started thumbing through them. Most of them were of different landscapes.

Except for one. It was a pencil-shaded portrait on canvas, a little smudged here and there, but I could still make out who it was.

He drew my grandmother kneeling in the garden.

I traced my finger over the drawing, remembering being in the garden with her when I was younger.

She had a rhubarb plant that grew every year, and every year she would show me what parts of it were ready to be picked.

My mouth watered at the memory of the sour taste in every bite.

I wondered if it was still in the backyard.

It was early spring and soon everything would be blooming to life, so I knew I’d find out soon enough.

I set the canvas down against the others for the time being. I’d eventually take them out of there and move them into the house. They needed to be preserved but I wasn’t sure how.

Just then, I heard a vehicle door slam. I wondered, who could that be?

When I turned to find out, I noticed a man was walking up the gravel driveway, getting out of a black truck.

Through his windshield, I could see a light on the dashboard, like the kind you see in undercover police cars.

He was tall and tanned, like he spent his time outdoors, with brown curly hair on top, and built.

His mustache and beard were short and well-kept.

Dressed in jeans, boots, and a flannel with his sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms, I couldn’t stop staring at him.

Despite his attractive appearance, I was startled, so I asked, “Can I help you?” as he closed the distance between us.

“You…” he mumbled. Tilting his head to the side, he eyed me up and down, assessing me.

“Me… what?” I asked.

He cleared his throat and explained, “Sorry, ma’am. I saw you come into the firehouse recently. You dropped off a basket of things.”

The light in his truck suddenly made sense. Nodding, I replied, “Oh, right. Um… is there something I can help you with?”

He’d taken a step forward and said, “No, I just… I come out here periodically and check on things. Just to make sure no one is messing with the farm.”

“You knew my grandmother?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “Well, sure. She was like my little best friend.” With a chuckle he added, “Dara had me doing things around here all the time for her. I sure miss her. Are you her granddaughter?”

The way he spoke about her was touching.

He was almost misty-eyed, and it tugged at my heart.

I studied the emotion in his expression before finally replying, “I am. Thank you for looking out for her. I appreciate that. You don’t have to stay and do anything else.

I think I got it from here.” It was blunt, but I just wanted to be alone to live in my memories and enjoy being alone at the farm.

He nodded and said, “Sure thing, but is it okay if I keep working on the doors?”

“The doors?”

He smiled again. “To the barn. I started working on them yesterday. They’re in rough shape and they get stuck.

I’m sure you figured that out when you tried to pull them open.

I’ve been digging old gunk out from the tracks, cleaning the rust off the wheels, and taking measurements for the boards and frame whenever I get a chance to come out here.

It could be done in about a week if you don’t mind. ”

“A week?”

“Yes, ma’am. What did you say your name was?”

I scowled at him. “I didn’t, but I’m Laida Sayavong. And you are?”

“Jesse. Jesse Harrington. I’m a firefighter in town.”

I thought, So, he’s too nice, likes to save lives, and he runs into burning buildings. Got it. “Okay. Well, thanks for fixing the barn doors. I appreciate it. I’ll stay out of your way, but I’ll be moving around here as I work on cleaning things up.”

He pulled a pair of gloves out of his back pocket, slapped them into his hand, and said, “Sure thing. If you need help with anything, just yell for me.”

“Will do.”

I nodded and turned toward the house. The barn doors were overwhelming and there were so many other repairs to inventory.

I didn’t have it in me to babysit someone.

The slanted porch caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks.

The house needed more work than I ever realized or was prepared for.

The birds sang while I stood there, inspecting a house that used to be a second home to me, and feeling like it was all too much to take on.

It felt less like a home, and more like a burden. My eyes were getting warm and teary.

I was startled by a voice asking me, “Are you okay, Laida?”

In my trance, I’d forgotten that my new pal, Jesse, was right behind me.

Shaking my head, I let my thoughts spew out of me.

“This used to be my home. Now it’s just a house with a slanted porch, an overgrown farm, and a barn that’s falling apart.

Who knows what I haven’t noticed inside the house yet.

It doesn’t seem like the same place I once knew, at all. ”

Jessie frowned, then grinned and said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.” I squinted at him, confused. He rolled his eyes and took off toward the backyard. “Just come on.”

Reluctantly, I followed him. When I went through the back gate, it was like stepping back in time.

Nothing had changed. The brick patio that my grandfather had laid by hand, all by himself, was still there.

I could feel the emotions catching in my throat and I tried to keep the tears pushed back.

When I looked up, Jesse was way ahead of me.

“Wait!” I ran to catch up to him. “Where are we going?” He didn’t say anything and kept walking.

We reached the furthest part of the back yard, where my grandmother dumped her kitchen scraps for composting.

I watched as Jesse knelt down to move brush away from something.

“Kneel here,” he said. As he gently moved more brush away, he said, “This is still the place you once knew, Laida. It’s still your home. ”

I wanted to burst into tears but held back. The old rhubarb plant was still there, too, red stalks and all. “How did you know? She told you?”

“She always told me stories about you. This was one of them.”

Wiping away the tears that had finally spilled over, I said, “I should’ve visited more.”

“Don’t do that. It doesn’t serve anyone to go backwards. This is your home, though, Laida. I did all I could to help her keep up with it, but it needs work. That’s all. Especially since it’s been sitting vacant for almost a year.” All I could do was nod at him. “I’ll help you though,” he offered.

Sitting there reminded me of when I was younger.

Those days in the garden with my gram, when the weather was perfect, the birds were chirping, and the wind was blowing.

The place felt like home again, and I wanted to hold onto that feeling forever.

That’s what Jesse was offering me, even if he didn’t know it.

He was a stranger to me, but he somehow seemed like my only friend in the world, and the only one left that knew my grandparents.

It couldn’t hurt anything to try, and at least I wouldn’t feel so alone. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

He stood and offered his hand to me. There was a flutter in my stomach as I placed my hand in his and he helped me up. “Thank you, Jesse.”