Chapter 6
CALEB
I’m trying to ignore the lure of the kitchen window again.
I spent enough time with Vienna today, after all. Breakfast, a trip to the shelter, lunch in town, which I didn’t think I’d enjoy but surprisingly, did, a snowmobile ride around my property, and finally, coffee and cookies back at her cabin before leaving to come back over here.
I can’t think of the last time I spent an entire day with a person. Back in my Raider days, there were stretches when I’d be with my teammates twenty-four-seven, and I didn’t mind it. But that was different.
My teammates were my brothers. We’d argue. We’d give each other shit. There wasn’t anything remotely romantic about it.
Not that my day spent with Vienna was romantic, either. Sure, I bought her lunch. I got her some cookies. But I’d do that for any friend, especially if they were struggling financially.
That’s not why you bought her the cookies, though, was it? a silently smug voice asks. Heart-shaped cookies, no less. Would you buy those for Enzo? For your remaining teammates, if you ever extended the invitation for them to visit you?
Fine, I concede. Maybe not heart-shaped cookies. But they were right there beside the register, and I was already feeling off-balance after spending time in town when I usually avoid it, and I wanted to get Vienna something extra since I could tell she was afraid to ask.
Sure, the smug voice retorts. Blame it on your anxiety. Blame it on your weird hang-up about going into town instead of what it really was. You like her. And you wanted to do something to show it.
Irritated at the direction of my inner dialogue, I huff in irritation as I flop down on the couch. Picking up the remote, I flick on the TV and start searching for something to watch.
This is what I need, I tell myself as I find an episode of Star Trek Voyager that I’ve only seen several times before.
Some alone time. Time to recalibrate. That’s why I’ve been feeling anxious ever since I got back from the cabin.
Not because I can’t stop thinking about Vienna.
It’s because I’m not used to being around people so much.
It’s true I’m feeling much twitchier than normal.
I’m having trouble sitting still, and the paranoia I thought I’d overcome is poking at me again.
The difference from the paranoia of two or three years prior is I’m not imagining foreign enemies tracking me down in rural Vermont.
I’m thinking of all the bad things that could happen to Vienna, instead.
She could hurt her leg while she’s at work, either from overuse or slipping on the wet kitchen floor.
Once Max gets her set up with a loaner—and he will, because I called him first thing this morning to talk to him about it—Vienna might decide to try sleeping in it again. And she could end up freezing to death despite all her precautions.
Or what about Tom from the bakery? Sure, he was polite. But he also looked awfully happy to see Vienna. What if he didn’t just end up in Bliss? What if he found out she was here and came intentionally?
And if he did?
Maybe he really likes her. Maybe he’s been worried. Maybe he wants the best for her, and I’m inventing problems where there aren’t any.
And, fine. Maybe I’m a little jealous.
I shouldn’t be.
I have no right to be.
Vienna isn’t mine.
Dammit, I’m not looking for a woman, aside from the occasional hookup when I head to Burlington for the weekend.
But Vienna’s not a one-night kind of woman. She’s the kind of woman who deserves a man who’ll put her first in everything. A man who’ll make damn sure she’s never alone and struggling ever again.
And that’s not me.
I’m better off alone. Better off handling my nightmares on my own. Better that I don’t risk hurting anyone else I care about because I trusted the wrong person.
Besides, I’m much too old for Vienna. She’s still in her twenties with her whole life ahead of her, while I’m a washed-up vet who had to be medically retired because I couldn’t hack it anymore.
Too itchy to sit still, I get up from the couch and head over to the fireplace. The fire doesn’t need any help, but I grab the poker and jab at the glowing logs, anyway. As one log shifts, sparks erupt. The flames flare higher before subsiding.
I arrange a few smaller branches atop the pile of logs and watch until they catch. Then I close the screen doors and set aside the poker. Rather than sit back down, I just watch the fire until the flames turn into a blur of oranges and blues and reds.
My thoughts shift to Vienna again.
What is she doing right now?
Is she sitting by the fireplace, just like me? Is she watching a movie on the laptop I lent her? Maybe she’s reading one of the books I found stored in boxes in the attic. Or she could be tired from a busy day and already asleep, even though it’s not quite nine.
Or.
Maybe she’s looking at some of the photos she took of Zeus and wishing she could adopt him.
She didn’t come right out and say it, but I could tell from the longing expression on Vienna’s face that she wants to.
Rory told us that it’s likely Zeus was abandoned, and that he’ll probably end up going up for adoption soon.
But without a permanent home, there’s no way Vienna can adopt Zeus, as much as she wants to.
I’m about to go back to the couch, but something draws me to the kitchen. Not the window. I’ve looked out it enough. But I could grab a beer. Chips. One of the chocolate chip cookies I got from Delectable Delights.
Once I enter the kitchen, I head to the fridge to get a beer. Then it’s over to the cabinet, where the cookies are stored. From there, it’s a quick trip to the sink to grab a few paper towels—as a guy living on his own, I don’t mess around with actual napkins.
As I’m tearing off a piece of paper towel, my gaze drifts to the kitchen window.
Not because I’m actively checking on Vienna. No. The window is right there. It would be odd not to look out it.
So I move in front of the kitchen sink and I look out the window, expecting the glow of lights through the cabin windows and wisps of smoke spiraling into the moonlit sky.
Except.
That’s not what I see at all.
Thick clouds of smoke are billowing from the chimney.
A violent, angry light flickers behind the windows.
My heart stops.
The cabin is on fire.
The cabin’s on fire, and I don’t know if Vienna’s trapped inside it.
“Fuck!” Fear clutches my chest. I drop the beer bottle into the sink, barely aware of the shattering glass. Flinging the cookie and paper towel aside, I race from the kitchen and through the living room.
All I can think about is getting to Vienna.
My boots are already on and I’m about to fling open the front door when it hits me.
Call 911. I need to call 911. Even if the cabin can’t be saved, Vienna might be hurt, need the paramedics—
“Fuck!”
I spin on my heel and sprint back across the living room. Snatching up my phone from the coffee table, I glance at the screen just long enough to dial 9-1-1. Then I’m moving again, racing for the door, barely-contained panic urging me faster.
Thank fuck, I shoveled a path directly from my house to the cabin before I went over to see Vienna this morning. Why not, I asked myself before I did it. But even then, I think, deep down, I knew why.
Not that I’d be running over there in a mad dash to save her from a fire.
Deep down, I knew I wanted to make it easier to see her.
But shoveled path or not, the quarter mile to cover feels like ten times more. As I close the distance, each footstep somehow slower than the last, the smoke billowing from the chimney grows darker and the flames behind the windows, brighter.
I don’t spare the dispatcher extra words. I just bark, “My guest house is on fire. Two-forty Sweet Valley Road. Possible victim—” My voice catches. “There might be someone inside. A woman. I’m going in after her.”
The dispatcher tells me not to. She says it’s not safe. She says I should stand back and wait for the firetrucks to arrive.
No fucking way. Not if Vienna’s in there.
Ending the call, I shove the phone back into my pocket. Then I put on an extra burst of speed as I race towards the cabin.
By the time I get there, the flames are licking the at front windows.
I glance around the exterior of the cabin and shout, “Vienna! Vienna! Are you out here?”
There’s no answer. Not that I expected one.
No. In my gut, I know she’s inside.
Pulling my sleeve over my hand to protect it, I grab the handle of the front door and try to open it. The heat from the metal singes my fingers, even through the fabric.
The damn door doesn’t open.
“Damn it!” I curse. “Damn it!”
Because of course she put on the deadbolt, as any woman staying in a cabin by herself would.
But she didn’t unlock it from the inside. Which means… Fuck. She couldn’t reach it. Or she was already unconscious from the—
Barely heard above the sound of the flames, glass shatters.
From the heat? Or something else?
The windows in the front of the cabin are intact. There are more in the back, but no door to get inside that way.
What do I do?
Go around the back to see if Vienna’s trying to climb out a window? Or go in through the front, since I’m already here?
For a moment, my brain stalls. I can’t decide. The repercussions if I’m wrong are too overwhelming.
Then I shake myself out of it. I was a Marine Raider, for fuck’s sake. I faced things just as dangerous as this. And if I don’t get my ass moving right now, it won’t matter which decision I make, because it’ll be too late.
And what’s a critical element whenever heading into battle? Always have an escape route.
Since opening the door the traditional way is out, I kick it with all my strength instead. The door is made of sturdy wood, and it’s unlikely I can break it. But the hinges…
I keep kicking, slamming the heel of my boot into the door as hard as I can.
With each blow, I beg silently, Please. Please. Please.
And on the fourth blow, the door crashes open.