Chapter 22 #2
Browne smiled faintly. “She would like that answer.” He stood between the two of us. “I’ll see to the insurance and filings. You can expect some paperwork by Monday.”
When he left, it all felt lighter somehow. The smell of smoke lingered, along with wet wood and clean snow.
Milly pulled the blanket tighter around herself and stared toward the north pasture. “Winter’s here.”
“We’re ready,” I said, tightening my hold on her shoulder.
Snowflakes fell in large flakes, calm and soundless.
I thought of that other night again, the desert covered with ash, me standing where fire had ended everything. Tonight was different. I wasn’t watching something die. I was alive again.
Milly’s fingers tightened on my knee.
Tomorrow we’d face the paperwork, the cleanup, the insurance, the questions. Tonight, all I needed was her hand to remind me I’d come out of the fire carrying her, and along with it, my heart.
Palmer stood by his car. “Fire’s out. You two get some sleep.” He tipped his hat to Milly, then glared at me. “If that arm blisters, ER. No cowboy stuff.”
“No promises,” I said.
“Promises,” Milly countered, and the sheriff left muttering about sensible women.
By the time Palmer rolled off and Browne’s taillights vanished down the lane, the north field wore a thin, pale veil, a ghost of what once was.
Milly’s hand was still in mine. We stood on the porch a little longer. The goats muttered in the paddock, Inspector flicked his tail, and the horses were quiet. I squeezed Milly’s fingers and felt the squeeze back.
“Come on. Let’s go inside,” I said when her teeth started to chatter. “Heat, tea, and real air.”
She didn’t argue, just nodded.
The entry smelled like wood polish, wood smoke, and over-steeped peppermint tea. Someone had turned on the small flameless candle, a brave little light making its stand against the dark.
“Here.” I pulled out a chair. “Sit.” Her hair was still damp. I tucked a stray strand behind her ear, leaving a fingertip track through the soot.
“You need to rest,” she said.
“Already resting,” I lied. She gave me a disbelieving look.
I soaked a dish towel in hot water and wrung it out. “Hands.”
She lifted them, palms up. The rope had left red bracelets on her wrists. I laid the warm cloth over them and watched her eyes soften.
“This is sweet,” she murmured.
“I’m certified in kitchen-towel therapy. I thought you knew.” I winked. “Stay still.”
When the towel cooled, I replaced it and spread ointment over the raw skin, a technique I’d mastered over years of practice.
“Better?”
“Better,” she said, her tired eyes blinking longer each time.
“Come on. Time for a shower before you fall asleep at the table. Then we’ll turn in for the night,” I said finally. “Just a short, warm shower.” When her eyes widened in fear, I backpedaled. “You won’t be alone tonight. I’ll sit out here and make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay,” she said, surprising me. “But then you.”
“Copy that,” I said, and she smiled faintly.
While she showered, I sat on the hallway floor, back to the bathroom door, placing myself between danger and the person I love. Steam crept under the frame.
When the bathroom quieted, I took my turn. Hot water scalded away the smoke, but some part of it always stays as proof of the journey.
When I got out, Milly had stolen one of my old hoodies and was wearing thick, fuzzy socks. Her hair was braided, damp tendrils trailing her face.
We migrated to the couch, Inspector reclaiming his throne on the armrest. Milly tucked under my arm. Snow came softly, like breath, outside. Milly was wrapped in a comforter that Penny had hand-sewn by the looks of it, and I was wrapped in a blanket from the cupboard.
I built a blanket tent around us. The mantel clock clicked like a heartbeat.
“Tell me something true,” she whispered, our old game.
I hesitated, then gave her the truth that had been pacing the back of my skull for years. “I left the service because of a fire. Not bullets. Fire.”
She didn’t flinch. Just listened.
“There was a crash,” I said. “Our pilot was trapped. I thought I had another minute. I didn’t. After that, I couldn’t breathe. Tonight, I went back in because I love you.”
Her eyes softened. She just nodded.
“You’re easy to talk to,” I said.
“That’s because I collect stories like recipes,” she murmured. “Filed under How Austin Became Braver Than Fire.”
I laughed quietly. “You have the strangest filing system.”
“And the best one,” she said.
We dozed for a while, the snow piling against the windows. My phone buzzed. Reaper’s name flashed.
“Your sheriff’s solid,” he said. “DA’s got everything. Got Arnie on the spoof call. It’s airtight.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You breathing?”
“Yeah.” I looked down at Milly sleeping softly in my arms. “For the first time in a long while.”
He grunted approval and hung up.
By late morning, the field was ghost-white, along with the rest of the ranch. Palmer came back with paperwork and took our statements.
Milly found Penny’s scorched weathervane half-buried in the snow. “We’ll clean it,” she said. “Hang it in the clinic. For luck.”
“In the spring,” she said, steady and certain, “we start rebuilding. But for now, Penny’s clinic is still the plan.”
I stepped closer. “Together,” I said.
Her smile lifted and stayed. “Together.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me. She didn’t linger, but it was cute and sweet. Just like her.