Chapter 26
twenty-six
“Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.” - Mark Twain
Cole watched firelight flicker over Jocelyn’s face as Natasha introduced her to some of the folks she often ran with. Jocelyn might’ve had an interaction or two from back when she was a local, seeing as most were natives, but he couldn’t be sure if she knew them.
Didn’t matter when twenty years were stacked between then and now.
He kept watch as he absently polished off Jocelyn's plate of her sister's apple crumb cake.
She'd passed it off to him, saying she was too full, though he suspected it was nerves more than anything.
They all seemed friendly enough, but the discussion about two “non-threatening” notes sat heavy in his mind, and everyone deserved his suspicion.
“That’s a right pretty thing you’ve had on your arm this evening.”
Cole cut a glance sideways as Clyde came to stand next to him. “That she is.”
Clyde folded his arms across his chest. “Bonnie Murphy’s girl, ain’t she?”
“Yep.” Cole took the last bite of cake, dropping the plate into a trash can.
“Heard she went up to see old Joe.”
Cole eyed him, though it wasn’t a surprise he’d’ve heard. Small towns and all that. It wasn’t a stretch, either, given that he and Joe were about the same age. Probably ran together at one point.
“What else’ve you been hearin’, Clyde?” Cole asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
Eyes twinkling, Clyde grinned. “Oh, lots of things. Plenty from those folks ridin’ your tail about running that Murphy girl off.”
There was that. “Doing a bang up job of it.”
Clyde gave a raspy chuckle. “That you are, Cole.” He rubbed a hand over his chin, the sound like sandpaper. “Dottie and I are just tickled about the tizzy they got up in about it.”
Cole straightened, pursing his lips as he glanced at Dottie near the dessert table. “Y’all don’t think she ought to get run off?”
Clyde rolled back on his heels. “Heavens, no. We need a little intrigue around here. And the Murphys have always provided that. ‘Sides, it’s good for you.”
Cole slanted a look in Clyde’s direction. “Oh, sure, gettin’ harassed by gossip mongers and my mama’s bookclub is good for me.”
“We all know Jocelyn’s been asking folks questions.” He tipped his head. “Just tryin’ to understand, seems like.”
Cole shrugged, not keen on confirming or denying. “Was a tough thing, what happened.”
“Sure was.” Clyde nodded sagely. “Don’t blame her for the askin’, whether it ruffles feathers or not.”
Ruffling feathers. Was that all it was? The notes didn’t seem to say so.
“Anyway, a man needs to be harassed now and then.” Clyde caught his wife’s eye. Dottie was staring him down with a glint as sharp as it was deadly. “Speaking of bein’ harrassed. I’ve been gone from the voting too long.”
Cole grunted as Clyde moved along back to the table where his wife stomped her foot at him. Maybe more people didn’t mind Jocelyn bein’ back as much as it’d seemed at first, and that sent a measure of relief through him.
Hell if he could explain why he cared so much so fast.
Maybe it was how her hand had fit in his like it belonged there. Or the way she carried that fire in her, sharp and restless. Or maybe it was ‘cause the busted-up parts of her looked a bit like his, like maybe they could fit them together if they angled them just right.
It wasn’t just about her mama’s story or his making wishes, and it damn sure wasn’t for show. He wasn’t fooling anybody—least of all himself. He decided there was no use trying to.
He spotted Jocelyn just as she finished talking to Natasha, leaving her to her friends. She was scanning the crowd, looking for him. He could tell ‘cause the second she caught sight of him, she smiled.
Something tugged at his center like there was a rope looped around his chest and she’d grabbed hold, pulling him in slow, hand over hand.
She didn’t move. Just stood there waiting like she knew he’d come to her. But there was something different in her face. A look he hadn’t seen before. It shot straight through him, sharp and fast, rattling up his spine like a jolt from a live wire.
He was nearly to her, hands halfway out like they had a mind of their own—and from the look in her eyes, she was ready for it, too—when a sound cut through the air, clean and sharp like a blade through ripe fruit.
His hands dropped back as they both turned toward the firehouse. The crowd’s energy vanished like smoke in the wind, sucked clean away by the sudden rush of movement over there.
“A fire?” There was something laced in Jocelyn’s voice, a knowing that chilled him.
He didn’t think. Just slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her in close while he scanned the sky, looking for the telltale orange glow or a smear of black smoke cutting through the night.
“Might be somethin’ else,” he said, but the lack of conviction bled through. Even if the fire crew was called out to every emergency, always tag-teaming with the medical side, that knowing sat in his gut, too.
And then he spotted it. “There.” He nodded east, where a faint glow shimmered low on the horizon—out past where town gave way to fields and trees.
The firetruck screamed to life, siren howling as it peeled off in that direction. It laid on the horn as it barreled out of the square, the sound low and mean.
Jocelyn’s fingers curled into the fabric of Cole’s shirt as voices started to cut through the fog in his head—sharp, urgent. Words like “Joe Murphy’s place” snapped into focus, slicing through the rumble of the crowd, the buzz in his brain.
Jocelyn’s grip tightened as she looked up at him. She’d heard it, too.
“I’ll drive,” Cole said, tugging her toward the Nail so they could cut through the back to get to his truck.
“My car’s closer.” Her voice was too soft, too small. She pulled the keys from her bag and shoved them into his hand without looking up.
He just nodded and jogged with her across the street, keeping a grip on her as something hot and electric cracked through his nerves. Outwardly, he kept steady. Inside, he was all fire and kindling.
Joe’s place wasn’t far past city limits, but it wasn’t exactly easy to find, either.
Nearest neighbors were a good half-mile off, tucked behind thick trees that offered privacy most days, but tonight they were a risk.
One strong gust and that fire could jump the line, set the whole ridge ablaze.
Tennessee usually got enough rain to keep wildfire fears at bay, but it wasn’t unheard of.
Jocelyn didn’t say a word the whole ride.
Just sat there stiff as stone, eyes flicking to the speedometer every few seconds—even though he was already riding the edge of too fast. She was so still, he might’ve thought she wasn’t breathing if he couldn’t hear each tight breath scraping through the thick silence between them.
If it was Joe’s place, she’d be thinking it was intentional.
The rest of the town? They’d chalk it up to her drunk of an uncle screwing up again.
Sure, he’d cleaned up lately, but folks around here didn’t trust change until it held steady for a decade or two.
Even then, plenty still clung to the worst version of a person.
Cole didn’t know where he landed on it. Didn’t really matter. Her opinion outweighed his a thousand times over. But he’d been watched for slip ups long enough to know how established opinions could linger.
Jocelyn leaned forward, bracing her hands on the dash as they turned onto Joe’s drive.
The glow was impossible to miss. Hell, he could see it before the car cleared the last bend, like the earth itself had split open and swallowed the place whole.
It didn’t take more than a glance to know there was no saving it.
All they could do now was try to keep the blaze from jumping to the trees.
The truck’s tires slid on loose gravel as Cole slammed to a stop, and Jocelyn hopped out before he’d even put the car in park. He cursed under his breath as she sprinted toward the house. He was still trying to get the keys out of the damn ignition.
He shoved his door open, stomach lurching into his throat until a firefighter jumped forward to catch her, stopping her from getting closer.
It took only a few seconds for him to catch up, and when he did, he nodded at the crewman, sliding an arm around her shoulders to hold her in place.
“Oh my God, Cole.” She jerked forward again, but he held fast.
“You can’t, Jocelyn.”
“But Uncle Joe!” She turned wide eyes to him, flames dancing in the tears gathered there.
It was hell to say what he had to, but she needed to hear it: “If he’s inside, there’s not a damn thing anyone can do for him.”
Her face crumpled at the words, and he ached to carry the weight of her grief, to lug it until the end of time. But he made do with pulling her against him as they watched the crew scramble around the blaze.
There were dozens of yards between where he and Jocelyn stood and the house, but the heat nearly blistered his skin. He knew it was wasted effort to try to get her to move farther away, though. Tears spilled steady, but she searched window to window, looking for some sign of a miracle.
Wouldn’t be too good for anyone if Joe came running out now. If he made it through the first twenty-four hours, he would’ve been in for a mess of torture.
Experiences with burn victims had always haunted Cole’s daddy.
“Jocelyn!”
She stiffened in Cole’s arms then craned her neck to look at the man behind them who’d called her name. As soon as she recognized who was jogging their way, she pushed out of Cole’s arms. Relief hit Cole fast and hard at the sight of Joe Murphy.
The older man glanced toward the house for only a moment before Jocelyn had him in a hug so tight, she might’ve squeezed the air from his lungs.
She released him. “Thank God you’re not inside that…” Jocelyn looked at the house, the flames dancing and distorting in the new tears that brimmed.
Joe shook his head, lips going colorless as he held in a reaction. “Was at the neighbor’s. Heard about my own damn house bein’ on fire ‘cause someone in town decided to call and warn them.”
“Oh, Joe.” She put her hand on his thin arm. “I’m so sorry. All that work.”
He pulled in a long inhale, staring at the old house. “It’s ain’t nothing more than stuff.” He patted her hand, offering a grim smile.
Felt like he was saying it more for himself than her, and it struck Cole that this could derail his sobriety. Might check on him in the coming days, make sure someone had his back.
By Jocelyn’s expression, it was clear she was thinking something similar as she met Cole’s gaze.
A man’s voice cut across the din of crackling wood. “Joe.”
They turned as one, locking onto the firefighter jogging over. He was suited up head to toe. Full gear weighed at least seventy pounds, but he moved like it was nothing.
“Have some questions,” Kyle Lambert said. He was newer to the station, but Cole knew him well enough.
“Sure,” Joe said, following Kyle to the incident commander.
Cole’s daddy had run point on fires before, talked his son through the process when he was a kid and still interested. There’d be questions about others in the home, when Joe’d last been there, hazards inside, and whether he could guess how it had started.
The dazed look on Joe’s face said they wouldn’t be getting their answers tonight.
Jocelyn was tight with nerves beside Cole as she watched, waiting for Joe to head back. He did slowly, shoulders slumping as he walked toward them.
“Uncle Joe, you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“My folks have a guest room,” Cole offered.
Joe rubbed a boney hand over his chin, that sunken look to his face common to decades-long alcoholics. “I got a place. Thanks.”
“Well, let me at least sit with you awhile,” Jocelyn insisted.
“I’ll be alright.” He sent her another of his grim smiles. “You go on. Take Cole up on his folks’ guest room. I’m sorry about the…” He trailed off, gaze going to what was left of his house.
“Oh, Joe,” she whispered, tears in her eyes again.
He smoothed a hand down her arm. “Go on, Jossie. Get you some sleep.”
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she promised, and he nodded before turning back to his pickup parked at an angle right behind her car.
He was gone before the first beams started collapsing, and it was a mercy only she and Cole were the ones watching the place come crashing down instead of him.
“Come on, Darlin’. There’s nothing more we can do.” He put his arm around her shoulders to lead her away.
She didn’t fight him.