Joselyn scanned the blazing room, scrounging for something to smash the glass. The nightstand was caged by fire on the other side of the bed. Nothing but pillows were within reach.
The corners of her vision curled in like lit paper. Prickles of sensation grew to a quick boil beneath her where she felt her feet sizzle against the smoking planks of the wood floor. Stepping onto the edges of the comforter, she wrapped her arm in the rest and, with more power than she thought she could muster, thrust her elbow through the window.
Yanking free, the glass tore away the fabric and through to her skin. Before she’d gulped even one breath of fresh air, hungry white fire shot toward the new source of oxygen, engulfing her escape.
She stumbled away, the writhing mass of heat bending her equilibrium and pitching the room like a ship being tossed on waves of flames. Wheezing from the chokehold of the smoke, Joselyn pressed the sleep mask over her mouth and collapsed to the floor.
Fiery blades licked at her flesh, each wicked lash leaving the bite of a burn. She pulled her knees in tighter, huddling in a tiny ring of fire, awaiting death. She tried to scream, but the air, charred and lifeless, evaporated before it hit her throat.
Please. Take me now. She didn’t know who she was pleading to, but she closed her burning eyes and envisioned the words as a prayer. If anyone was listening.
Inexplicably, sorrow and resignation gave way to a renewed determination. With strength she knew she didn’t have left, she managed to stand back up and encase herself in the comforter from head to toe. Struggling to hold onto consciousness, she ran blindly through the wall of fire toward the door until she smacked into something hard. Her legs gave out. Arms surrounded her. Weightlessness and relief invaded her body, drenching down to the bleakness in her soul. And without a final thought, poetic or otherwise, she surrendered to the end.
Beep …
The scream of squealing tires on slick pavement …
Beep …
Phantom drifts of burnt rubber and gasoline …
Beep … Beep …
“No.” She whimpered. The sharp, relentless pelt of hail … the cutting cold … the sting on her exposed skin …
Beep … Beep … Beep …
“Run, Joselyn. Do you understand me? Stop crying and run!” The voice a mere wisp of pale smoke in the darkness.
Beep … Beep … Beep … Beep …
“No!”
“She’s tachycardic.”
Is someone there?
“Get me—”
“Wait! It’s slowing down,” another voice interrupted. “It looks like she’s having a nightmare. Miss Whyte. Miss Whyte, wake up.”
The voices jumbled. A cold touch. A quick flash of white in each eye. Her stomach crimped.
“Joselyn, can you hear me?” The voice pleaded.
“Please s-save h-her.” Joselyn’s breath caught on a hiccup. Stiff cotton brushed her cheeks, and antiseptic-scented air pooled in her nostrils. She blinked her eyes open, and the strange beeping noise slowed. “Wha—” She wheezed, the razor sharp air cutting off the word. “Where is … where am …?” Violent coughing shredded the rest.
A blur of blue scrubs and bright lights came into focus before her brain could construct a full question. “Shh. Good morning, Joselyn.” The nurse soothed as if speaking to a traumatized child. “It’s all right. You’re in the hospital, you’re fine. There was a—”
“A fire … I remember.” Splintered pieces of memory cut through her mind. The heat. The pain. The hopelessness. She squeezed her eyes tight—felt tears burn behind her eyelids as she relived the tortured moments before her death.
Only … she wasn’t dead.
She braved a glance down to inspect the damage. All she saw was a long white bandage on her right forearm. That can’t be right.
The nurse touched her shoulder. “Joselyn, dear, you are a living, breathing miracle. When the firefighters got to your home it was engulfed in flames. The young man that found you said your clothes were nearly burned off and every square inch of your house was consumed. Somehow, by the grace of God, there’s not a burn to be found on ya. All you got is a bit of smoke inhalation and sixteen stitches in your arm. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“What?” She croaked. Impossible. She’d felt the fire, remembered the wicked touch of the flames as she’d prepared to die.
Kicking off the covers, she bent a leg and pulled her foot into her hand. Nothing but pale unbroken skin. As if all evidence of the fire had been washed away. Her vision blurred, her nose prickled like a pin cushion, and the haze of tears and disbelief made the room swim around her.
A pager sounded, and one of the nurses excused herself.
“You musta had some angels watching out for you, girlie. Well, that, plus that large hunk of hero who rode in like a white knight and rescued you.” The silver-haired nurse with deep laugh lines bracketing her wistful smile sighed dramatically, patting her chest.
White knight? Joselyn’s mind raced back to the last semi-lucid moment she could remember. Powerful arms surrounded her as she collapsed into his embrace. And then, in the split second before she’d surrendered to the darkness, she’d felt relief so deep that it lingered now—stronger than the fear from the fire, more powerful than any emotion she’d ever carried.
“… still in the waiting room.”
She shook her head, blinking away the encroaching tears. “Huh?” Perhaps the potent combination of smoke and fear had brought on a hallucination. “I’m sorry, is my father here?”
“That’s right, someone said you’re Declan Whyte’s daughter.”
Joselyn could only nod her confirmation as the nurse continued. “I’m sorry, dear. That cutie-patootie firefighter got ahold of him, but unfortunately your father is out of town on business. Said he’d be back the day after tomorrow, I think.”
Joselyn hardened her jaw; ground her molars with enough force to shave away enamel. But that only intensified the pain spearing through each temple, so she tried to massage the ache except the heart-rate-finger-clip-thingy jabbed awkwardly against the tender spot on one side. Giving up, she let her head fall back against the hospital bed and closed her eyes to try to hide the hurt, both physical and emotional. “Uhh, you said the firefighter called my dad?” The words scraped like sandpaper.
“Yeah, he seemed to know how to get through to him. You were out cold when you were admitted. We didn’t have the emergency contact information, and your father is one difficult man to get in touch with.”
“You have no idea,” Joselyn mumbled.
“Well, the doctor will be by in a little while to go over a few things. Your call button is here on the bed. Do you need anything before I go?”
It all felt like a bad dream. One she couldn’t fully remember. The slivers of surviving memory only served to revisit her pain and panic yet leave her with more unanswered questions. Was there anything left of her house? Where would she go? How could her dad not be here? Did anyone else know she was here? Did anyone care? How had the fire start—
“Sugar, you okay?”
Joselyn glanced at her name badge. Shelby. She looked like a Shelby. Sort of sweet and southern, with soft, caring eyes. Digging deep, she recited the familiar words. “I’m fine. Thank you, Shelby.”
With a reassuring pat of her hand, Shelby turned to make her way out. She paused by the door, and Joselyn released the breath she’d been holding. I lied. I’m not fine. Please, don’t leave me all alone.
“By the way, your hero is still here. Been waitin’ to see you.”
So not what Joselyn had expected her to say. And as if her body knew something she didn’t, Joselyn’s heart set off at a gallop. A series of escalating beeps exposed the silly flutter zipping through her veins. Shelby cast a knowing smirk at the screen.
Stupid heart-rate monitor!
“Oh, my. This is better than my programs. Shall I send him in?” She raised a puckish eyebrow.
“Umm, y-yeah. I guess th
at’d be okay.” Joselyn cringed. If she couldn’t play it cool with the nurse, how big of a mess was she going to be for the supposedly hot firefighter guy? Hmm … hot firefighter. Such dramatic irony.
Shelby set off in her plotting, and Joselyn tried to calm her fraying nerves. Didn’t the nurse say that when her rescuer got to her all her clothes had burned off?
Great! So he’s already seen me naked! And not like standing or attractively posed—not that it would have occurred that way anyhow; exhibitionist ventures, so not her thing—but slumped and unconscious in his arms. Oy vey!
And any moment now her “Whyte knight,” as he would probably be dubbed, would waltz in to discover her all crusty and scraggly in nothing but a limp, mint green hospital gown.
There was no explaining the sudden bout of self-consciousness. She didn’t even know the guy. Yes, she was lonely, but she wasn’t desperate. So it didn’t matter what she looked like, she assured herself. It didn’t even matter what he looked like. He was her hero. She owed him her deepest gratitude. And even though Shelby’s high praise of his appearance chimed back through Joselyn’s ears, what intrigued her were the feelings her rescuer had stirred when he’d held her. Had he felt it too? Was that why he’d stayed? More likely he’d recognized her and was looking for a reward.
Calm down, Joss. You survived a fire. You can do this.
A gentle knock put an end to her internal pep talk. Aiming to soothe the raspy sound of her newly acquired smoker’s lung, she cleared her throat. “Come in.” Sadly, a guttural cough spewed forth, turning her voice box into something akin to a trash compactor. Lovely.
The doorway was set back and wasn’t well lit, but she saw wide shoulders tapering to a strong, trim waist, and a value pack of thick muscles all wrapped around well over six feet of hard man.
“Hey, Joss.” The nickname floating on the waves of that deeply resonant voice felt like a warm, callused hand grazing her skin. The room might be a little chilly, but it was the familiar caress of that rumbly baritone that gave her goose bumps.
Joselyn yanked the heart-rate monitor from her finger to silence the wild, runaway beeping and prayed she was wrong as she waited for him to step out of the shadow.
Chapter 3
Finn Carson
“Uhh … are you all right?” Based on her rigid posture and frozen slack-jawed expression, he wasn’t who she’d been expecting. He stepped closer to the bed and bent over to make sure she was still breathing.
Okay, Finn. Be nice. She’s just been through a trauma.
She gave an exaggerated blink. “You’re the one who saw me nak—I mean, rescued me?”
He straightened, shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Guilty.”
A lock of silky black hair slipped from behind her ear, swaying for a moment like a pendulum measuring the awkward pause. Even more gratifying than catching Joselyn Whyte off her guard—and her high horse—was the remarkable shade of red filling her creamy cheeks.
Well, whaddya know, she might not be a cold-blooded reptile after all.
Traumatized woman. He forced himself back on point. “Yeah. I was working last night, and I … found you.” Finn’s fingers skimmed the fine fluted edge of a spare poker chip in the pocket of the clothes Ryker had brought up. He’d lost last night’s game, but in light of the miraculous rescue, he supposed it might be his lucky chip.
Her eyes remained wide and unblinking. “You were the one I ran into, the one who held me?”
Held her? More like carried her down a flight of crumbling stairs. Was it really so hard to believe that he could be her hero?
“Uh, yeah, Joss. It was me. Look, are you feeling okay? Because I can call a nurse back in here. You seem a little confused.”
And maybe it wasn’t the first time. When she’d woken in the ambulance, she’d reached out for him, grasping not only his hand but holding his eyes in hers with a vulnerability that dismantled the wall of animosity they’d built between each other over the years. Without uttering a word she’d communicated that she needed him. So he stayed. Her eyes had been a little bit glazed and wild, but he’d been sure she’d recognized him. And why wouldn’t she? They saw each other often enough—unavoidable seeing as how this snobby little nightmare was best friends with his sister, Sadie.
But now, seeing the shock steal back the warm blush from her fair skin, returning it to that cold and flawless finely dusted snow, he knew she’d been delirious. And if nothing else, her unquestionable awareness of their mutual disdain told Finn that while she may have lapsed for a moment in the ambulance, her memory hadn’t suffered any long-term effects.
Pity. She looked a lot prettier without the scowl.
“I’m fine.” She sniffed. “So do you know if there’s anything left of my house?” From all the passion in her tone, you’d think she was talking about losing a penny on the street.
“I haven’t been back to the scene since last night. But I heard everything burned up. I’m really sorry.”
The slender line of her jaw tensed, and something in her eyes dimmed. “The nurse said you got in touch with my father.” Her tone fell flat, indifferent.
Did this girl not possess an ounce of feeling?
“Yeah. He said he would be home in a couple of days. Told me to have you call when you were awake.”
“Is that why you’re here? He bribed you to stay?”
“Pfff, no.” Finn replied a little too quickly, soothing the twinge of his conscience. He’d refused Declan Whyte’s unscrupulous offer, but the whole conversation had made his skin crawl. “Not everyone can be bought. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Back in high school Finn aptly nicknamed Joselyn “Snow Whyte” because while most girls he knew were emotional schizophrenics, Joss always wore a cold and stony armor— impenetrable by any mere mortal born without a silver spoon and stones of steel.
After speaking with Declan Whyte he could see the apple clearly hadn’t fallen far from the elitist tree.
“Where’s Sadie?” Joselyn asked.
“I haven’t called her yet. I wanted to know what was going on before I put everyone in a frenzy.” That was only part of the reason he hadn’t contacted his sister, but Joss would learn about the rest soon enough.
“I, uh, I guess I should thank you.”
“I guess you should.” Oops.
Her violently beautiful eyes narrowed, another scowl twisted the softness from her pale pink lips. “Why, thank you, Finn. You’re my hero.”
They always seemed to bring out the worst in each other. It was an ongoing war, and as they say, old habits die hard. He released a slow, smug grin, maintaining his role. “Glad you’re finally seeing things clearly.”
“It’s amazing there’s enough space for your ego in this room. Be careful with that big head as you leave; it might not fit through the door.” Her raised eyebrows issued a silent challenge.
He took the bait. “Did they say PMS was a side effect of your condition, or is it just my unmatched hotness that awakens your estrogen from its deep freeze?” Oh, boy. Too far.
Their eyes locked, and venom sizzled between them. But draped in a hospital gown, smudges of burned embers staining Joss’s porcelain skin, tubes attached to her arms, his steam dissipated. And wonder of wonders, her she-devil ferocity seemed to melt away too, leaving him strangely suspended in the exotic violet-blue of her eyes. The hue so complex and mesmerizing he felt ensnared in the riddle of the silvery blue striations, thinking he’d simply imagined the mirage of lilac that sparked brightest when those eyes were firing at him. Finn tried to swallow, but the starchy hospital air lodged in his larynx like dry toast.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the nurse a mere second before she bustled through with a vase overflowing with white blooms. “Joselyn, is everything all right?”
Joselyn’s eyes flitted away in a daze. “Huh?”
“Oh, psshh. You must have leaned on your call button by mistake. Oops, and the clip fell
off your finger. But these flowers came for you, so I guess it wasn’t a wasted trip.”
As she placed the extravagant arrangement on the table, Finn snapped out of his stupor and backed away from the bed, tugging at the muscles in his neck strained from either the rescue or from sleeping propped up in the waiting room. Perhaps both.
“Don’t let me interrupt you two.” She shot an indiscrete wink at Joselyn before the door clicked softly behind her.
Several excruciating beats of silence passed while he perused the speckled pattern of the floor; the nurse’s suggestive comment lingering like a stink no one would claim.
“Hey, Finn?” Joselyn’s tone was achingly fragile. Surprising. And though he didn’t often care for what spewed from her smart mouth, the husky quality of her voice pulled his strings with a distinctive and regrettably appealing tug.
He willed himself to look at her, and something in the tired depths of her eyes unraveled his resistance. He’d always been a sucker for the weak and wounded.
Seconds lapsed, her mouth opened and closed, pursed to one side before she bit the edge of her bottom lip. “As much as I love fighting with you, do you think maybe we could put our swords away for one day?”
It was as much emotion as he’d ever seen from the ice princess, and she still wasn’t giving him much. “I suppose.”
She unburdened a sigh and leaned her head back. The stress that was palpable only moments before started wicking away from her tensely folded body until she looked almost soft and pliant, but not quite.
Taking the moment to observe her, a coiling sensation churned in the pit of his stomach. In uncharted waters, the air, untainted from their usual sarcastic bickering, seemed much too intimate, exposing. Before he could stop them, the teasing words rolled off his tongue. “Did you say that you love fighting with me?” The question itself was benign, but combined with the tone and the suggestive wag of his eyebrows he was begging for a lashing.
From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two Page 2
