17. Arizona
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Arizona
Smoke rips through my throat before I even register the shouting. I’m already running toward the equipment yard as people spill out of the bunkhouse, the barn, and the house, all racing toward the trailer that’s burning hard enough to turn the night orange.
Flames burst through every window, racing across the roof while black smoke coils into the sky, and the heat hits me long before I reach the others, forcing tears into my eyes.
Red stands beside the water tank directing everyone with the kind of authority nobody thinks to question, ranch hands scramble for buckets and hoses, Willy flaps both arms at anybody getting too close while inventing enough profanity to make a sailor blush, and Emmett has water flowing through a hose before I’ve even worked out where he connected it.
“Keep back!” Red yells.
The warning disappears beneath the scramble of boots and shouted replies, and I throw myself into the middle of it anyway.
A bucket appears in my hands before I ask for one. I fill it at the trough, step into the chain between the tank and the trailer, and fall into the pace everyone else has already found.
Buckets pass from one person to the next so quickly my arms barely finish one throw before another arrives, and every splash of water vanishes behind a blast of steam that does little more than make the fire hiss.
“We’re losing it!” somebody shouts.
“Keep feeding it water!” another calls. “Don’t let it reach the tank!”
I wipe sweat and smoke from my eyes with my sleeve, grab another bucket, and hurry forward.
“Arizona!” I look over to see Emmett weaving through the line, his gaze fixed squarely on me. “Move back.”
“I’m busy.”
“I can see that.”
“Then stop distracting me.”
His mouth flattens into a line that tells me he’s losing patience. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I shoulder past him with another bucket before he can argue again.
The explosion hits without warning.
One of the trailer’s tires blows apart with a crack that shakes the ground beneath my boots. Everybody flinches, a few people stumble backward, and Willy throws his hat into the dirt.
“Well, that’s one way to announce you’ve had enough!”
I barely have time to smile before part of the roof gives way.
A burning beam crashes onto the ground and skids straight toward me. I leap aside, catching myself against the trailer to stop from falling, and pain tears across my palm once my skin touches blistering metal.
“Damn it.”
I snatch my hand away, staring at the angry red burn spreading across my skin, but the line keeps moving and instinct has me reaching for another bucket before I’ve finished swearing.
A hand closes around my wrist and holds firm.
I tug once. It doesn’t budge.
“I’m fine.”
Emmett turns my hand over as though I haven’t spoken at all, and the muscles in his jaw tighten when he sees the blisters beginning to rise. “You call this fine?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I believe you.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “I still don’t want you making it worse.”
“I’m helping.”
“You were helping.”
“I still can.”
“You can help by giving your hand a chance to stay attached.”
Despite the pain, I snort. “That feels dramatic.”
“I’ve got a kid. Drama’s my native language.” He raises his head. “Red!”
“What now?” Red shouts without turning around.
“I’m taking Arizona inside.”
Red finally glances our way, notices my hand, then looks toward Sadie standing on the porch wrapped in a blanket with soot streaking her face.
“I’ve got Sadie,” he says. “Go deal with your patient.”
“Patient?” I mutter.
Emmett slips the bucket from my other hand before I can protest, keeps hold of my wrist, and steers me away from the fire while another section of the trailer caves in behind us, sending sparks racing upward.
I twist around, ready to head straight back, but he steps in front of me before I make it two strides.
“If you’re thinking about running back over there, save us both the trouble and tell me now.”
“I was only—”
“Nope.”
I throw my hands in the air in frustration. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I’ve developed a talent for predicting trouble.”
I fold my arms, then remember one of them hurts. “You’ll throw your back out if you try carrying me.”
He smiles. “I’ve hauled hay bales heavier than you.”
“That almost sounded charming.”
“I’ll work on my delivery.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
He smirks. “I was beginning to think the smoke had scared your sense of humor clean off.”
Fire engines sweep through the front gate with sirens echoing across the valley, and flashing lights flicker over the ranch as we make our way toward the house.
Smoke clings to our clothes when we step through the mudroom, and Emmett guides me into the kitchen before pulling out a chair. “Sit.”
“You’ve become awfully bossy.”
“I’ve earned it.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve argued with every instruction I’ve given you.”
He disappears down the hallway, returning a minute later with a first-aid kit tucked beneath one arm, a towel over his shoulder, and a bowl of cool water balanced in one hand.
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re prepared.”
“I live with Sadie. If I waited until after an injury to look for supplies, she’d probably fix me herself with glue and optimism.”
“I almost want to see that.”
“You really don’t.” He sets everything on the table before crouching in front of me, bringing himself to my eye level as though he doesn’t want me feeling cornered. “This’ll sting.”
“I’ve survived Willy’s cooking.”
He eases my hand into the cool water, and the burning lessens enough that I finally unclench my jaw. “Better?”
“I hate how effective you are.”
“I’ll treasure that compliment.”
His thumb stays beneath my wrist as he supports it without squeezing too tightly, as though he doesn’t want to risk hurting me any more than I already am.
The touch catches me off guard because I can’t remember the last time anyone treated me with that kind of care, like my pain matters enough to handle gently.
I meet his gaze. “You’ve done this a lot.”
He nods. “Ranch life helps, but Sadie deserves most of the credit.”
“Accident prone?”
“Creative.”
I laugh. “That’s a dangerous answer.”
“The week before school started she convinced herself she’d invented a faster way to climb a fence.”
“I’m guessing she hadn’t.”
“She reached the top, but forgot she’d also need a faster way down.” He finishes the bandage and turns my hand over, checking every finger before giving a satisfied nod. “Can you move them?”
I flex my hand. “It pulls a little.”
“That’s normal.”
Outside, the shouting has faded into the background, replaced by the distant hiss of water meeting hot metal, while the kitchen feels almost untouched by the fire except for the smoke clinging to our clothes.
Emmett studies my bandaged hand, then rubs the back of his neck. “I scared myself out there.” I lift my eyes to his. “I figured you were about to charge straight into that trailer.”
“I wasn’t. I was trying to help.” I look down. “I couldn’t stand there doing nothing.”
“I noticed.” He leans against the cabinet, giving me room while he folds his arms. “That’s who you are. If somebody’s hurting, you head their way.”
I shrug. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“I’m not arguing with your heart.” His smile softens. “I’m arguing with your survival instincts. You would’ve kept hauling buckets with a burned hand if I hadn’t stopped you.”
“I probably would’ve.”
“I know.” He says it with the weary acceptance of a man who’s already replayed the whole scene in his head. “So who usually patches you up?”
I glance down at the clean white bandage around my hand and run my thumb over it. “I’ve been patching myself up for years.” I try to smile. “Nobody’s usually around to do it for me.”
He waits, giving me every chance to leave it there.
Instead, I hear myself keep talking. “It gets easier when you don’t stay anywhere long enough for people to worry.” He doesn’t interrupt. “If you leave before anybody gets attached, nobody expects you to come back.”
His brow furrows. “Does that actually make leaving easier?”
“It makes it simpler.”
He studies me for a while before shaking his head. “I don’t buy it.”
“No?”
“I’ve watched you with Sadie.” I look up. “You’ve only been here a handful of days, and she’d probably chain you to the porch if she thought it’d keep you around.”
I laugh. “She might.”
“You’ll miss her.”
“I will.”
“So leaving still hurts.” His gaze never leaves mine. “You’ve just had more practice pretending it doesn’t.”
I don’t have an answer ready this time.
I look down at the clean white bandage wrapped around my hand while Emmett stays crouched in front of me, still watching for any sign that the burn’s bothering me more than I’m letting on.
I rub my thumb along the edge of the bandage after Emmett lets go of my hand, wishing I had another joke ready because jokes have always been easier than the truth.
“I’ve made a habit of leaving before anybody has much reason to miss me,” I admit.
“That sounds like a lonely way to live.”
I rest my elbows on the table. “I play a town for a few nights, learn people’s names, promise I’ll come back one day, then another booking comes along and I keep driving. After a while, everybody gets used to it.”
“You included?”
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “Maybe.”
Emmett holds my gaze, then reaches up and brushes his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a streak of soot I’d forgotten was there.
His hand never leaves my face, and I find myself leaning into the touch before I even realize I’m doing it.
“You missed a bit,” he says, smiling.
“I was hoping it’d become part of the look.”
He chuckles, his eyes drifting over my face like he’s checking for an injury he hasn’t found yet. “I’ve been worried sick since that beam came down.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t think you did.”
The smile slips from my face.
He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “When I saw you out there…” His thumb traces lightly along my cheekbone before settling beneath my jaw. “All I could think about was getting to you.”
My heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze. Nobody says things like that to me.
Nobody means them.
His hand stays against my skin while I search his face, and the kitchen suddenly feels much smaller than it did a minute ago.
Smoke still clings to his shirt, his hair’s a mess from hauling hoses across the yard, and there’s soot streaked across one side of his neck, yet all I can think about is how carefully he’s looked after me ever since he pulled me away from the fire.
“You really do worry too much,” I say, although the words come out softer than I intend.
“I probably do.” He smiles again. “I’ve got five years of practice.”
I laugh, and his expression warms enough to make my chest tighten.
My eyes drift to his mouth before I can stop them.
When I look back up, he’s already watching me, and the careful distance he’s kept all evening collapses.
I close the distance.
His mouth meets mine and I stop thinking entirely. He kisses me like he’s been holding it back for hours, and the same hands that wrapped my burn so gently now grip my jaw like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
I grab a fistful of his shirt.
He makes a low sound and pulls me closer. I feel the edge of the cabinet against my back and his heartbeat against my palm, and the heat of it has nothing to do with anything burning outside.