by Liza Kendall
“Hey,” said a voice.
Charlie whirled and found Mick standing behind her, a stony look on his face. The cat meowed.
“Jayzus, Charlie, haven’t you got that animal to the vet yet?” he hissed. Mick snatched the cat bundle into his arms without so much as a by-your-leave, cradling the poor thing like a baby, and headed straight through the house and out the door.
It wasn’t possible to feel any lower. Charlie retreated from the Braddocks and crept back into the kitchen. She opened the door again and slunk out to the truck, watching Mick’s SUV speeding away in a cloud of dust.
Why didn’t I just drive the cat to the vet right away? What is wrong with me? Everything was moving in slow motion.
She turned the key. The engine flipped, then nothing. She tried it again, unwilling to scream at it, because someone would come running, and the absolute last thing she was going to do was ask one of the Braddocks for a favor right now.
One more time, and there was nothing to do but pound her fists on the massive old steering wheel. “Grandma,” Charlie whispered in anguish. “How is this Progress?”
She rested her head on the steering wheel and took deep breaths.
Why did families and emotions have to be so messy? So untamable? And how had she, the pleaser, somehow become a villain to so many?
Charlie got out of Progress, shut the door as quietly as she could, and started walking. It was a long walk back to Granddad’s apartment. Without socks, the sneakers rubbed blisters on her heels almost immediately. With each successive step, she winced. She walked and winced, walked and winced. She passed the Lundgrens’ hog farm, the mile marker for the turnout to the cemetery, the Grab n’ Go Grocery, and then the Sweet Dreams Motel.
A couple of miles more, still wincing, she found herself outside the former Nash mansion yet again. She squinted at it. I will rebuild you, Charlie vowed. I will make it happen.
But for now, she kept wincing and walking.
It had been twenty-four hours of crazy highs and lows. She’d taken on and rebuked her family over their treatment of Jake. She’d consummated and then destroyed her relationship with him. She’d accidentally torpedoed the fire department just as Silverlake had its first major blaze in more than a decade and needed its help . . .
How could she ever make it up to Jake?
Then there was the wedding she and Lila and Kristina and Amelie and Maggie had worked so hard to pull off for Will and his Bridezilla. Charlie felt bad not only for Will and Aunt Sadie and Uncle Theo and Felicity’s parents, but for all the guests who’d traveled and were now arriving for no reason, having paid for plane tickets and hotel rooms and rental cars.
She thought wearily of all the waste involved in the canceled wedding. The equipment that had been delivered to the Old Barn’s storage outbuilding and was waiting to be set up: the chairs, the tables, the linens, the much-disputed and dreaded but necessary extra porta-potties for the grounds.
Felicity’s three bridal gowns; the flowers; the cakes; the cases of champagne; the china and crystal; the perfect, elegant hors d’oeuvres being made; the entrées; the side dishes . . . all for nothing. All that energy, all those decisions, all of that money and time and aggravation.
The blister on Charlie’s left heel was bleeding, and one on the toe of her right foot was causing her agony. She began to seriously consider taking off her shoes and walking barefoot along the road—pathetic or not. She had at least a mile to go.
Oh, poor me. At least I’m not fighting a fire that threatens my life, my friends’ lives, and my family business.
Behind her, she heard a vehicle approaching. She almost stuck her thumb out to hitch a ride. She was exhausted and demoralized and not feeling too proud to do it.
An older-model Buick slowed down next to her, and Dottie from the Grab n’ Go Grocery lowered the window, her cheerful orange eyebrows raised. “Charlie? Is that you, hon?”
Charlie produced a lopsided smile. “Hi, Dottie. How are you?”
“I’d say I’m prob’ly better than you right now, seeing as how you look like you’ve been wrastlin’ alligators, not to mention you’re limping and you’ve got blood trickling out the back of your shoe.”
“Car trouble,” was all Charlie could think of to say past the lump in her throat.
“Well, can I give you a lift, sweet girl?”
“You’re an angel!” Charlie hobbled over and climbed into the car, which smelled of fake pine and baby wipes. She collapsed onto the blue velour seat. “Dottie, thank you so much—I could just kiss you.”
“Don’t even think about it!” Dottie looked alarmed. “My girlfriend would get upset.”
Charlie blinked. “Just a figure of speech.”
“Oh, okay. Just wanted to be clear. So where’re you headed? To your granddad’s place, I’m betting.”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t say one word about the fire. The news would be all over town soon enough. And there was something about Dottie’s carefree demeanor that was like a breath of fresh air.
Dottie hit the gas.
“So, you’re getting off early today?” Charlie asked her.
“Sure am. Going to get my hair done, then get dressed and drive to the city. We’re attending a fancy charity fund-raiser, Libby and I are, at a big hotel. I’m excited. You know I’ve never been to a ball? Sounds so glamorous.” She chuckled. “Ain’t it funny, how many times I’ve said to someone that I’ve had a ball doing something, but . . .”
A ball. Charlie felt a weird tingle of electricity go through her.
What if all the wedding preparations and food and champagne didn’t go to waste? What if she spearheaded a different event . . . one that the entire community bought tickets to, in support of a great cause?
What if Charlie could find a way to make amends to Jake, and Bridezilla’s bomb of a wedding became, say . . . Silverlake’s first annual firemen’s ball?
Charlie looked out the window of Dottie’s car. It was far enough away from the fire to see clear blue sky.
“Dottie, would you mind just dropping me on Main Street?”
“Not at all, honey.”
Charlie smiled. No such thing as a coincidence, Grandma Babe used to say.
She was making Progress after all.
Chapter 27
Jake was wiped out—the back side of the crazy adrenaline rush he’d had while they’d fought the blaze. His own family property had been on fire. The ranch where he and his brothers and little sister had grown up. The place Declan had been killing himself to keep running for years—for all of them.
Amazing how he’d always taken that a little for granted. Because it, and Deck himself, had always been in the background, a safety net if he’d needed one.
It struck him anew how much they all owed their eldest brother. And how much he needed to acknowledge that. Thank him. Tell him he loved him for it.
But Deck didn’t seem to be inhabiting his own body right now. He was staring at the smoking wreckage of the Old Barn, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, but Jake could swear he wasn’t really seeing it. Declan’s mind was miles away, his thoughts somewhere beyond all of them, above in the deep blue Texas sky that slowly absorbed the hellish smoke as if it were all just ephemeral human emotion.
“Declan,” Jake said gently.
No answer.
“Deck. Did you call Everett?”
“What?”
“I asked you if you’ve called Rhett.”
Deck pulled his hands out of his pockets and laced them behind his neck, leaning into them as if they were the only thing holding him upright. “Yeah, I’ve called the majority owner,” he said. “He’s got a right to know.”
Empty. His voice was as empty as his eyes. Vacant.
“Declan, it’s gonna be okay.” Jake took two steps, then three, toward his brother, who didn�
�t move, didn’t even seem to notice.
“Peachy,” Deck said, in that same disinterested tone.
Jake blew out a breath. Stretched out a hand, let it hover like a UFO over his older brother’s shoulder. “Deck . . . it could have been worse.”
Deck produced a short, unamused bark of laughter.
Jake sighed. He brought his UFO hand in for a landing and squeezed Declan’s shoulder.
His brother flinched, but then let Jake’s hand rest there.
Both of them stood without looking at each other, both seeming surprised at the physical contact. When was the last time they’d touched each other? Years ago. After they’d all stood, side by side, as Mama and Pop’s coffins were lowered into the ground?
That in itself seemed heartbreaking.
“Deck.” Jake heard his own voice crack. “Look . . .”
“I’m friggin’ looking.”
“No—what I mean to say is . . . I’m sorry. We . . . all of us . . . me, Ace, Rhett, and Lila . . . we . . .”
And of course, that was when Deck’s phone rang. He muttered a curse, then slid it out of his back pocket. “Yeah,” he said into it abruptly.
“Declan, it’s Rhett. What’s going on? You said there was an emergency?” The voice on the phone was loud enough to be audible to Jake, and a little distracted.
Jake stood by, frustrated but mute.
Please don’t be a jerk to Declan. Not today. Not now.
Declan cleared his throat, taking his time as he either was trying to decide what to say or else trying not to sound emotional. “It’s going to take a little longer to pay back the loan than I said, and I apologize for that.”
Jake grimaced and kicked the ground.
“Is that right?” Everett asked, a new edge to his voice. Oblivious, as usual.
“There’s been a fire on the property,” Deck said. “We’ve got some scorched acreage, and the Old Barn . . .” The elbow holding up the cell phone drooped, and suddenly Declan looked a hundred years old, staring again at years of his work, gone.
A string of curse words was audible, and Jake’s anger got the best of him. How dare Everett get pissed about his money when Deck was in this kind of pain? Jake ripped the phone out of Declan’s hand; his older brother gave it up without a fight, didn’t seem to care.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” Everett said, his clipped voice not so disinterested anymore. Not when money was concerned.
“You absolute piece of sh—” Jake started to say.
“Hang up the damn phone and let me call you on video,” Everett roared. The screen went black as the call dropped.
Declan just stared at the boys on the team doing wrap-up duty. Tommy was all business now, soaking the ground where thin streaks of smoke still bled from the earth. Grady, looking even more massive suited up in full gear, was testing the stability of some of the walls. The others were smaller figures in the background, circling the perimeter, everybody on task.
Jake found himself choked up, not just because of the Braddocks’ personal loss, but because he was so damned proud of all of them. His crew.
Too bad Kingston Nash isn’t here to see all this. To see the boys still pouring heart, body, and soul into this town after putting in so much already to fight this fire.
Everett’s video call chimed.
Jake had a mind to ignore the request. But on the third chime, he answered it, taken aback and stunned by the visual. Rhett looked like a stranger. Like a fancy city stranger, somebody Charlie might know from her life in Dallas.
A wave of fresh sorrow ripped through Jake as the two brothers looked at each other for the first time in years.
“What the hell happened? Show me,” Everett said, cutting to the chase. “Use the camera and show me.”
Jake didn’t say a word. He turned the phone so the camera pointed to the scorched, smoking mess before them.
There was a pause. Jake thought maybe Everett was making calculations in his head.
But then Everett’s voice, not entirely hiding a well-buried Texas drawl said, “Not the barn, moron. Show me Deck. And where the hell is Lila?”
Jake hadn’t talked to his brother in a long, long time, so he couldn’t be sure, but Rhett sounded a little panicked. And for some reason, that made Jake smile. He pointed the camera at Declan, keeping that vigil of his with his mind a mile away. Then he muttered, “Yours truly,” and body-scanned himself, rolling his eyes when he got up to his own face. “Lila’s safe. She’s up at the main house. She’s pretty broken up about it all, though. Obviously.”
“Thank God you’re all safe. Now, what happened?”
“It’s . . . complicated. But in a nutshell, we had a bride who just had to have her own way. She brought lanterns out here in violation of everything we told her.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Yeah.” Jake looked back over at Declan, who had yet to emerge from what was beginning to look like either shock or despair. “Hey, listen, there’s a lot of stuff to deal with here. I gotta go.”
Rhett nodded and sat back, giving Jake a bigger view of the man and his office. Jake took in the starched white shirt and the cuff links, the perfect hair. His brother picked up a crystal and gold baseball-shaped paperweight and tossed it pensively in the palm of his hand. “The insurance paperwork is going to be ugly.”
“Yeah, well, somebody’ll take care of it,” Jake said. “Somebody always does.” Declan.
“Do you need me to come?” Rhett mumbled at the baseball.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Jake said.
“Do you need me to come home?” Rhett asked, this time making eye contact with Jake.
Jake went still. “Do you want to come home?”
A squeaky sound came over the line, and Rhett sat up straight, his gaze moving to whoever had just walked into his office.
“You’ve got a meeting,” Jake said. “I’ll let you go.”
“I’m sorry,” Rhett said. “I’m . . .” He exhaled in a whoosh.
Jake just shrugged. “I’m sure Deck will be in touch when it’s time to talk money.”
It might have been his imagination, but Everett seemed to stiffen at that.
“Tell Declan, uh . . .” Rhett looked off camera for a moment, like he was trying to pull himself together a little bit. “Yeah, well, we’ll be in touch. Later, Jake.”
“Bye.”
They clicked off, and Jake stared at the dead screen. “I’ll call Ace in a few. Okay, Deck?” he said. “Declan! I said I’ll call Ace in a few.”
“That’s fine. Whatever you think, Jake,” Declan said, still in that weird, disembodied tone.
Jake nodded, slapped Declan’s phone into his palm, and went to join his team.
What did he think? Jake thought he might want to fall to his knees. Jake thought he might want to shake his fists at the heavens. But as he rejoined the men of Silverlake Fire and Rescue, still giving it everything they had, he knew he wasn’t going to do any of those things.
He was going to work alongside them until there was nothing left he could give.
* * *
Jake had just gotten cleaned up at the main house and was about to collapse in front of the fireplace, maybe with a double Scotch, when his cell phone rang.
Mercy Hospital? Hmm. Maybe they had a new physical therapy patient for him. Since he’d soon have no paycheck, he should collect a few more clients.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jake. It’s Mia here at Mercy.”
“Mia. How are you? This is a surprise.”
“Well, of course we’ve all heard about the fire. Are you guys okay? Is the Old Barn okay? Were you able to save—”
“Everyone’s fine. As far as fires go, this one wasn’t the worst. The back wall’s a loss, and so is the interior, but most of the roof
is salvageable.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that . . . And Deck? Lila?”
“Everybody’s okay. They’re a little shaken up, is all.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Mia was quiet for a moment. “Listen . . . there’s another reason I called. I can’t reach Charlie, and Kingston Nash is being discharged, as he requested, just in time for the wedding—not that anyone’s sure where that’s going to be now.”
“Good question. I’m sure Lila’s losing her mind trying to figure that out, along with the bride.” Jake couldn’t even say Felicity’s name. He was still trying to bend his mind around her recklessness and stubbornness. How she could have dragged lanterns out there in direct disregard of his orders—
“I know you’ve had a big day already, but I don’t suppose you’d be able to take Kingston home?”
It took Jake a moment to register her words.
Seriously? Jake almost laughed. Almost. Evidently since the fire had taken precedence, the news of the town council meeting had not yet reached the hospital’s normally busy grapevine. God really did have a sense of humor.
“Because I tried King’s daughter Sadie, too,” Mia said, “and Dave Nash—since I know they’re in town for the wedding, but everyone’s phone is going straight to voicemail. They’re probably all in a powwow over the wedding.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they are.” Jake almost told Mia to find someone else. But he was feeling just ornery enough to take this on. To make the old man look him in the eyes—and better yet, make him dependent on him—knowing that he was responsible for Jake’s unemployment. Turnabout was fair play.
“I’d be thrilled to take Kingston home,” Jake said calmly. “I’ll be right there.”
“Great! Thank you. We need the bed for another patient.”
“On my way.”
Jake drove to Mercy and walked inside the building with a detached amusement that he couldn’t explain. He was going to repay Kingston’s crotchety ill will with kindness and good cheer.
It wasn’t about feeling superior to him in any way. It was about not giving in to the old man’s negative energy. That’s what it was: positive orneriness. Yeah, he liked that term. He was exercising PO.
