Chapter 2
Cassidy
My eyes opened groggily, my bedroom ceiling barely visible above me. For a moment, I just lay there, blinking, trying to figure out what had pulled me from sleep.
That’s when the acrid scent of a campfire hit my nose.
But that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t using my fireplace or my wood stove. Not until they were repaired. I was strictly on gas heat.
As I woke up more, I shook my head to clear some of the drowsiness of sleep and looked around.
Then I saw it. Light under my bedroom door. And fog.
What the hell? I almost felt like I was still dreaming because that didn’t make any sense.
I blinked to clear my eyes.
Smoke curled under my bedroom door, gray wisps catching the faint moonlight from my window. A bright orange light illuminated it from behind. A light that didn’t belong.
I sat up so fast my head spun. My heart hammered in my chest as I threw back the covers, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. The smoke was thicker now, seeping in faster, and I could hear something. A crackling sound. Distant but growing. Like wood blazing in a fireplace.
That’s when the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
The house was on fire!
Panic clawed up my throat. I stumbled toward the door, then stopped myself.
Don’t open doors in a fire. That was the rule, right? Feel for heat first.
I pressed my palm against the wood. It didn’t feel warm, but I was still scared to open it.
The window. I had to get out through the window.
I spun around, my nightgown flying behind me as I lurched toward the outside wall of my bedroom where the window sat. The smoke was getting thicker, starting to burn my eyes.
That’s when the window exploded inward.
I screamed, throwing my arms up as glass shattered across the floor. Through the smoke and the chaos I could see that it was a man, wild-eyed and breathing hard, his bare chest heaving as he climbed through the broken frame.
He was thick with muscle, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just a pair of pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips.
No shoes either, and when my gaze dropped to his feet, I saw blood. His soles were torn up, ragged and raw, leaving dark smears on my bedroom floor.
Instinct took over. I grabbed the lamp from my nightstand and swung.
“Get away from me!”
He caught my wrist before the lamp connected.
“Stop. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled out, his voice as uncivilized as his appearance.
“Let go of me!” I thrashed against him, terror making me wild, but his grip was too firm.
He’d set the fire. He had to have set the fire. Why else would he be here? Why else would he come crashing through my window?
His voice was rough and strained with exertion. “There’s no time for this. We have to go. Now.”
Before I could fight him again, he grabbed the quilt from my bed and wrapped it around me, bundling me up like a child. Then he lifted me. Just scooped me up against his chest like I weighed nothing, as if my big butt was no burden at all.
I opened my mouth to scream again, but then we were moving. He carried me to the window, tucked me against him, and climbed out into the night.
The cold hit me first. Sharp spring air, still carrying winter’s bite, cut through the thin fabric of my nightgown where the quilt didn’t cover. He set me down on the grass a safe distance from the house, and I stumbled, my legs shaking too hard to hold me.
Then I turned around.
And I watched my house burn.
Flames crawled up the back wall by the kitchen, devouring the old wood siding like it was kindling. Smoke poured from the kitchen windows, thick and black against the star-scattered sky. The fire crackled and roared, a living thing eating everything I had left.
My grandmother’s farmhouse… my fresh start.
Gone.
A sob tore out of my throat. I pressed my hand to my mouth, but I couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of me. Tears streamed down my face, hot against my cold cheeks. The night air bit at my bare arms and my barer legs, everywhere the quilt didn’t reach.
The man who’d carried me out was already moving. He ran to the side of the house, and I heard the squeak of a spigot turning. Then water. He’d found the garden hose.
I watched him work, too stunned to do anything but stand there and shake.
He moved with purpose and competence, aiming the weak stream of water at the base of the flames. His bare back flexed with effort, muscles shifting under skin that gleamed with sweat despite the cold.
He was methodical and focused. Like he’d done this before.
Who is he? Where had he come from?
The questions circled my sleep-addled brain, but I couldn’t hold on to them. Couldn’t hold on to anything except the sight of my house burning and this stranger fighting to save what was left of it.
Minutes passed, and somewhere in that stretch of time I dropped the quilt without noticing, my attention completely on this stranger who’d crashed into my life.
The flames began to die, beaten back by water and determination. The fire didn’t go out completely, but it stopped spreading.
And he didn’t stop until every flame was out. I just stood there watching him work, muscles flashing in the moonlight.
Smoke curled into the air as he snuffed the last of the fire. Finally, once he was confident the fire was completely out, he dropped the hose and walked back to me.
I got my first real look at him then. His face was all hard angles and shadows. I could make out a strong jaw was covered by a thick, unruly beard.
Below that face, I was greeted with broad shoulders, a thick chest, and arms that looked like they could conquer anything.
He was handsome. Devastatingly handsome, in a rough, wild way that made something flutter behind my breast despite everything.
But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop staring at him as he stood there, chest heaving.
This man had saved my life. I mean, I may have been able to get out of the house on my own.
I’d never know. But he’d forced me into action while I was still too dazed to react.
And without him, my whole house would have burned down.
From what I could see, the damage was contained to just my kitchen.
I was in shock, hardly able to register the loss of my home. All I could focus on was him.
“Who are you?” My voice came out cracked, barely a whisper. “How did you… where did you come from?”
He was breathing hard, struggling to get enough air. When he spoke, the words came out between gasps.
“We’re… sort of neighbors.”
I blinked at him. “Neighbors?” There were no neighbors out here. That was the whole point. I’d moved to the middle of nowhere specifically because there was no one around.
He pointed up. “I live up the mountain.”
“Oh.” He must be the light I’d seen high up on the mountain late at night.
He shifted his weight, wincing as his torn feet pressed into the ground. His eyes darted to the smoldering house, then back to me. Something flickered across his face. Discomfort, maybe. Or uncertainty.
“You can’t stay here tonight,” he grunted.
I hugged myself, feeling the cold nature of the world. Would I have to move back home to Abeline?
Would I have to see them again?
Hating the weakness in my own voice, I whispered, “I don’t have anywhere to go.”