Santa Assignment. Delores Fossen
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news. But the bad news was there were foot-high orange-red flames on the dresser tucked into the corner, and the flames weren’t staying put, either. They were quickly eating their way toward the draping lace curtains on a nearby window.
“Grab a fire extinguisher or some water,” he yelled back to Ashley. “And call the fire department.”
Sheltering his face from the blaze, he latched onto the curtains and ripped them down from the thick brass rod. Best not to give the fire any more fuel. It already had enough with what was left of the array of dried flowers, scented candles and pictures on the dresser.
Brayden stripped a quilt from the bed and beat down the flames. No easy task. Some scattered. There were sparks and sputters. And the black coiling smoke. It was suffocating, but he choked back a cough and kept working.
He soon realized just how lucky they’d been. It could have been worse. Much worse. If the fire had gotten just a few more minutes of a head start, they would have had an inferno on their hands, and the whole place might have gone up in flames.
“I have the extinguisher,” he heard her say.
She began to spray the white foam on the small smoldering spots that had ignited around the base of the dresser and the rug on the side of the bed. Brayden continued to put out the heart of the blaze by pounding it with the quilt.
The picture frames shattered against the wall. The melting candles sputtered. He stomped on the partially burned dried flowers that he raked to the floor.
One of the embers from the dried flowers flew out and landed on his pant leg. He reached down to brush it off, just as one of the flames erupted back into a blaze. The spark singed his hand, and he quickly drew it back, trying to maneuver the quilt so he could smother the fire.
“Brayden!” Ashley called out. From the alarm in her voice, she must have noticed his clothes on fire. She turned the extinguisher in his direction and hosed him down.
It worked.
But Brayden didn’t take the time to thank her. He returned to the tiny embers still left around the dresser and kept battling them until finally all that was left was the smoke and the damage. Minor damage at that. Yes, indeed, they’d been lucky.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He glanced down at the small red mark on his left hand. There’d be a blister but no real damage. “I’m fine.”
She obviously didn’t take his word for it. Ashley grabbed him by the wrist and checked it herself. Her touch was warm. Surprisingly gentle. Too gentle. And the examination put them too close. Practically body to body. It didn’t help when her arm brushed his.
Brayden tugged his hand away and stepped back. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, wondering why that insistence felt as if it had a double meaning.
And why it felt like a lie.
“Should I call the fire department and tell them not to come?” Ashley asked, doing her own share of stepping back from him.
“No. They’re probably already on the way, and they can make sure all the flames are fully out.” For good measure, Brayden took the fire extinguisher and gave the whole area a good soaking.
Ashley went to the window, unhooked the lock and threw it open. The icy air blasted through the room, which was exactly what they needed because it helped thin the smoke almost immediately. It also shook off any lingering effects from her too-gentle touch.
“I don’t understand how this happened,” she said in between gulps of breath. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Probably from the cold, but Brayden figured part of it was a reaction to the near disaster.
Adrenaline was certainly pumping through him. As if he needed more. He’d been functioning on adrenaline and caffeine for days now.
He kept the fire extinguisher ready in case a secondary blaze reignited, and he examined the dresser. Even though he’d knocked off the items that had been on it, he could see the residue that had pooled on the veneer finish. It looked like melted wax.
“Did you leave a candle burning?” he asked.
“No.” Muffling a cough and still rubbing her arms, Ashley walked closer. “I mean, I use candles a lot, but I didn’t light one today.”
He stooped down and used the nozzle of the extinguisher to sort through the still-warm rubble. “You’re positive? Because it looks as if one burned down and managed to catch those dried flowers on fire.”
When Ashley didn’t answer, Brayden looked up at her. It seemed as if she was about to say something. But then she changed her mind. Instead, she shook her head and angled her eyes in another direction. “It’s possible. I guess.”
He stood up and checked Ashley’s recently reangled blue eyes. Nothing like Dana’s pale hazel ones. In fact, for sisters, they had few physical attributes in common.
Which helped this visit considerably.
It would have been much harder if she’d reminded him of his late wife.
“What’s this about?” Brayden demanded. In the distance, he could hear sirens. A welcome sound, except for the fact that he didn’t want their arrival to give Ashley an excuse not to answer.
“What do you mean?” Ashley grabbed a fringed throw from the foot of the bed, slung it around her shoulders and went back to the window. She stared out, once again diverting her gaze.
Oh, man.
That couldn’t be a good sign.
“It’s possible. I guess?” he said, repeating her own vague explanation. “Maybe I’ve been a cop too long, but that just set off the BS meter in my head.”
“You’re right.” And that’s all Ashley said for several seconds. Before she bent down and picked up a damaged picture frame from the floor. She fastened her gaze to it. “You’ve been a cop too long. Eleven years, huh?”
“Twelve. But if you think asking me that totally irrelevant question will distract me, think again.” He went closer, caught her arm and turned her around to face him. “In fact, that’s twice today you’ve set off that BS meter, and the first time was when you asked me the question—so you found out, huh? What’d you mean by that, Ashley?”
“You don’t have a BS meter.” She slung off his grip with far more force than required. “You have a blasted tape recorder. And if you must know, I meant nothing by it. I was simply surprised that’d you found me, that’s all.”
That BS meter went nuts.
Brayden would have called her on that lie if she hadn’t turned the picture frame around. Even though the glass was shattered and smeared with soot, he could still see that it contained a photograph of his son. Not a recent shot but one taken when Colton was just a couple of months old. When his son was still healthy.
Ashley had him cradled in her arms.
“I want to see him,” she whispered, drawing the photograph to her chest. “I want to go to San Antonio.”
Outside, the sirens howled, coming closer. But it wasn’t the sirens that captured Brayden’s attention. It was the woman holding the image of his son, and his future, in her hands. If this was her own version of a distraction so she wouldn’t have to answer his questions, it was working.
Brayden felt a tight fist close around his heart.
It wasn’t the yes he’d prayed for. But then, it wasn’t a no either.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t go back, ever,” Ashley continued. “Not because I don’t love Colton. I do. But going back…well, it could create some problems. I’m talking huge problems.”
“I know. But I’m not asking you to leave behind what you have here. We could work that out. And the baby wouldn’t be your responsibility. It’d—”
“It’s