Wild Iris Ridge. RaeAnne Thayne
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She raced back and yanked open the cabinets then blessed her great-aunt’s independent, self-reliant mindset. The fire extinguisher was attached right to the inside door.
Lucy yanked it off and quickly scanned the instructions, then stopped long enough to grab a dishcloth out of a drawer to cover her mouth before charging back to the den.
She couldn’t see any flames through the smoke, which further reinforced the idea that a chimney draw issue was to blame. She hoped, anyway. At the same time, she wasn’t completely stupid. If she couldn’t deal with the problem on her own, she would call the fire department.
Coughing, eyes burning from the smoke, she activated the fire extinguisher and sprayed toward the logs.
The fire sizzled and spat at coming into contact with the chemical as the extinguisher did its job.
Okay. Crisis averted.
She hurried and unlatched the window to let some of the smoke out. Just as she turned around, she heard an ominous crackling and a loud, angry roar from overhead.
Her stomach turned over. She had heard that sound once before, in one of the upstairs bedrooms one memorable wintry January day when she was seventeen. This was more than a problem with a poorly drawing flue. This was a chimney fire.
In that previous fire when she was living here, that had been a case of an old bird’s nest falling and igniting. This could be another one or perhaps creosote buildup had ignited.
Whatever the reason, this was a nightmare. Chimney fires burned hot and fierce and could burn through the masonry, the walls. Everything. In addition, flying debris could ignite the roof and take down the entire hundred-twenty-year-old historic mansion.
She couldn’t burn down Iris House. She had nothing else left.
Though she knew it was risky, in one last desperate effort, she aimed the fire extinguisher up the chimney, adrenaline shooting through her as fast and fierce as those flames, until the chemical ran out then she scooped up her purse and raced for the door with her phone in hand, already dialing 911.
Apparently, someone beat her to it. She ran out onto the porch just as a couple of guys in full uniforms were running out of a fire truck parked behind her car, lights flashing. Another engine was just pulling up behind it.
Somebody must have seen the smoke pouring out the window and called it in. Yay for nosy neighbors.
“Is there anybody else inside?” one of the firefighters asked her.
“No. Just me. It’s a chimney fire, centered in the den. Go to the end of the hall, last door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, am I so glad to see you guys,” she called to the third firefighter she encountered as she headed down the steps of the porch.
This one wasn’t in turnout gear, only a coat and helmet that shielded his features in the smoke and the gloomy night. She had only an impression of height and impressive bulk before he spoke in a voice as hard and terrifying as the fire.
“You won’t be so glad to see us when we have you arrested for trespassing, arson and criminal mischief.”
Lucy screwed her eyes shut as recognition flooded through her.
Oh, joy.
She should have known. Brendan Caine. He was probably the reason she hadn’t wanted to call the fire department in the first place. Her subconscious probably had been gearing up for this encounter since she saw that first puff of smoke.
It would have been nice if she could have spent at least an hour or two in Hope’s Crossing before she had to face this man who just happened to despise her. Not the way her luck was going these days, apparently.
She lifted her chin. “How can I be trespassing in my own house, Chief Caine?”
He jerked his head up as if she had lobbed a fireball at him. In the glow from the porch light, she saw his rugged features go slack with shock. “Lucy? What the hell?”
She tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Apparently, having the chimneys cleaned is now at the top of my to-do list.”
“You did this?”
“The furnace wouldn’t kick on so I thought I would warm the place up with a fire”
“The pilot light has been dicey all winter. I’ve been meaning to have somebody in to look at it. I’ve had to relight it a couple times a week.”
Of course. He only lived about four houses down the street—and since Annabelle had been Jessica’s great-aunt, too, Brendan would naturally feel responsible for looking after Iris House.
“I didn’t know how to light it and I was freezing,” she said. “I just figured I would stay warm with a fire tonight and deal with the furnace in the morning.”
“And you never thought to go to a hotel?”
“Why go to a hotel when I happen to own a twenty-room mansion?”
Before he could answer, the two firefighters who had first charged into the house came out. “Chimney fire,” one said. “Looks like some creosote ignited. It’s mostly extinguished but we’ll need to head up to the roof to put out any hot spots.”
She wanted to sit right down on the porch steps and sob with relief—but she would never do that in front of Brendan Caine, of course.
He pulled out a radio and issued instructions in it that were completely beyond her understanding, something about a ladder truck.
“I want my paramedics to take a look at you,” he said to her after he finished.
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
“It wasn’t a request,” he said, his tone hard. “We need to be sure your lungs are okay after breathing all that smoke.”
He spoke to a couple other guys who had just pulled up. “Redmond. Chen. Run vitals on Ms. Drake here. Let me know if you think we need to transport her to the E.R.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need to be checked out, and I certainly don’t need to go to any E.R!”
One of the paramedics, a big, burly bald guy with a mustache and incongruously sweet features gave her an apologetic smile. “It won’t take long, ma’am.”
They led her over to a waiting ambulance. Had Brendan called out every truck in his entire department? For the next ten minutes she sat mortified on a stretcher while they checked everything. Oxygen levels, normal. Blood pressure, slightly high—no big surprise there. Temperature and reflexes, all as they should be.
“Everything checks out,” the bald guy said.
“I told you it would.”
“Sorry, ma’am. We have to follow procedure. The chief can be a stickler about that.”
“Am I free to go?”
“As far as we’re concerned.”
Not knowing what else to do, she retreated to the safety of her car and for the next hour watched as the Hope’s Crossing volunteer fire department scrambled across the various roof levels, climbed up and down ladders and peeked through windows, checking out every inch of Iris House.
Finally, they seemed to be certain the fire was completely out. The ambulance peeled away first then one engine after another until only the first ladder truck and the SUV that said Fire Chief on the side were left.
When Brendan walked onto the porch, speaking into his radio, she finally gathered the courage to climb out of her vehicle and approach him.
The rain had stopped, but the April night was still cold, with a damp wind that seemed to burrow beneath her coat.
He looked surprised to see her again, as if he had just remembered her existence—and probably would have preferred to