by Renee Ryan
Keeping his voice calm, CJ asked Bo for a quick moment of his time. As though sensing trouble, the other man hopped to his feet and moved away from the blanket.
“What’s happened?” He’d lowered his voice to keep his words from drifting back to Molly and the girls.
With cold precision, CJ told the rancher to look to the north. Bo’s stance went instantly rigid.
“Fire,” the man snarled. “Looks like it’s coming from—” he squinted “—the Carson ranch.”
“Edmund is alerting John Carson as we speak.”
“What do you need from me?” Bo asked.
“Gather every willing and able-bodied man you can muster, then meet at the edge of town.”
“You got it.” Bo muttered a hasty goodbye to Molly and the girls, then left without another word.
Eyes wide, Molly gathered the girls in close and stared up at CJ in silence. A dozen questions swam in her gaze. She voiced none of them. Appreciating her calm, he asked her to watch the girls for the rest of the afternoon.
She sucked in a tight breath, glanced down at the twins, then back up at CJ. “Is everything all right?”
Since it was her family’s home under siege, she deserved the truth. “There’s a problem on your parents’ ranch.”
Her head reflexively whipped to the north. Her gaze fastened on the spiraling smoke. “Oh, no.”
Her voice held considerable alarm. To her credit, she contained her terror. The only sign of her fear showed in her pinched expression. But then she lifted her chin and promised to keep the girls with her.
Word of the fire spread. Chaos would have ensued had Bo Stillwater not taken charge. He organized people into groups, dispatching half of them to gather buckets and various other supplies they would need to fight the fire, then sent others to find ways to transport the items out to the Rolling Hills ranch.
Confident the rancher, a natural leader, had the situation in hand, CJ headed out to the Carson ranch with well over a dozen sturdy, capable men. Even though they pushed their horses hard, it took them another ten minutes to make the trip from Little Horn.
The noise hit him first, an earsplitting sound that sent a thick blanket of tension over the riders.
Dread immediately pounced, digging deeper when CJ saw the source of the deafening noise. The far right corner of the big white barn was on fire. Thick, menacing flames stabbed toward the sky in vicious red-and-gold columns. Some of the larger flames curled backward, licking at the wooden structure with greedy tongues.
Smoke rolled, pluming upward, rising, rising. It stung CJ’s lungs, the stench seared his nose, and the whirling dance of flames burned his eyes. Ash floated in the sky like dingy snowflakes.
The fire was burning too hot, too fast.
John Carson and his sons rode up on the fire engine with the blacksmith and livery owner. Edmund and the sheriff followed on their horses. John Carson’s expression was filled with bewilderment. And fury.
CJ pulled his horse to a halt and reached for a calm he didn’t feel. The heat already touched his face and hands. He could hear the screams of frightened horses from the main corral.
“Get those animals out of the pens or they’ll kick one another to death,” John Carson told his sons.
The boys, with the help of several others, went to release the animals.
CJ strode to the fire engine and Molly’s father, and shouted over the roaring flames, “What’s inside the barn?”
“Hay, oats, cereals, tack. And—” Carson’s face went deadly white “—horses.”
A wild, high-pitched animal scream followed the grim comment.
Jaws tight, the two men took off toward the barn, their footsteps pelting the ground. The heat was oppressive, intensified by the mid-June sun beating down from the sky.
CJ sucked rancid air into his lungs and reached for the barn doors with his gloved hands. “We’ll rescue as many as possible.”
Heads down, they got to work saving the animals.
Chapter Fourteen
Molly arrived at her parents’ ranch to the roar of fire, the screams of panicked animals and the shouting of men. Her father and CJ seemed to be in charge, issuing orders, organizing manpower and working side by side. Their calm in the midst of chaos created a well-oiled firefighting machine.
Edmund McKay was in control of the animals. He and Hank Snowden, along with Molly’s brothers and the Carson ranch hands, led wild-eyed, panicky horses away from the fire toward an open field. As each animal ran off, screaming in terror, Molly wondered how many would return and how many would never come home again.
The barn was under siege, nearly half of it engulfed in flames. Tears and smoke burned her eyes. Oddly drawn to the blistering sight, she stepped forward.
Her mother caught her wrist. “We have to stay together,” she murmured, hooking an arm around Molly’s waist, “and try to keep out of the way.”
Daisy and Lula May stood nearby, each holding one of the twins’ hands. Anna and Sarah were silent, their eyes wide and frightened.
No longer willing to be held by the other women, the girls moved closer to Molly. Wanting to ease their fear, she slipped away from her mother and reached out to them. They immediately came to her and clutched their tiny fingers around hers.
“Make it stop,” Sarah whispered. “Please, Miss Molly, make it stop.”
She sighed, pulled the child against her. “The men are doing everything they can.”
She shouldn’t have brought the girls to the ranch; she knew that now. At the time, she hadn’t realized the fire would be so out of control.
None of them had known.
With a shaky hand pressed to her heart, Helen Carson blinked tear-filled eyes. “This is terrible.”
Cast in the light of the fire, her mother’s face was red and splotchy. Lines that hadn’t been there this morning were now etched around her eyes and mouth.
Molly gave her a sympathetic grimace.
The barn was already half consumed in flames and smoke. Molly wanted to weep right along with her mother. Something built by her family, something that had been standing her entire life, was crumbling right before her eyes.
The majority of the flames had yet to be extinguished. If the wind shifted it could carry sparks to the main house. The thought horrified Molly. The idea of her childhood home burning was far worse than the fire itself.
From a safe distance, she focused on the men fighting to save her home—CJ, her father, Edmund McKay, Hank Snowden and so many others. Each of them tall, well-built and muscular, so capable that her fears lessened. A bit.
CJ was in the midst of it all, barking orders, manning the pump on the fire engine. Something squeezed in Molly’s heart when she noted the backdrop of the smoke and flames behind him. He could be hurt.
She stuffed down her panic with a hard swallow and lifted up a prayer for all the men’s safety. So many had come to fight the fire on her family’s behalf, working together to save the Carson home.
Women had come, too. Lula May took charge of them, putting most to work in the kitchen. She even attempted to coax Molly’s mother to join the efforts inside the house.
“The men will need to be fed,” Lula May reasoned.
Helen Carson balked at this, agreeing only after Daisy, Molly and the twins promised to go inside with her.
As they made their way toward the house, CJ called out to Molly and trotted over. His face was blackened with soot. His eyes were already bloodshot, made worse by his constant blinking.
“We’re going to be at this a long time,” he said, rubbing his dirty hands over his equally dirty face. “Probably all night.”
Molly touched his filthy sleeve. “What can I do to help?”
“Take the children home. I’ve asked Hank Snowden to e
scort you.”
“No, Unca Corny.” Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist and clung. “Don’t send us away.”
“I need you to go home. Where it’s safe.” He pried the child’s hands away, then crouched until his red-rimmed eyes were level with hers. “It’s already been a long day and—”
Both girls started crying.
CJ gave Molly a helpless look. She was torn. She wanted the girls far away from the danger, but she couldn’t bear not being at the ranch. What if she left and something terrible happened in her absence? What if her father was injured, or her brothers, or...or CJ?
As if experiencing a similar fear, both girls catapulted themselves at him. “Please don’t send us away,” Anna whispered.
Frustration showed on his face as he pried them gently away from him. He attempted to use reason, with no success.
“I’ll get them inside the house and keep them out of harm’s way,” Molly offered. “If the danger gets too much I’ll take them to the Triple-T.”
He rose, turned to pace and, splaying tense fingers through his hair, gave a short nod. “That’ll be fine.” He leaned over the twins. “Go inside the house with Miss Molly, quickly now.”
“We don’t have to go home?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. But it’s dangerous out here. Promise me you won’t come out unless I say it’s all right to do so.”
“We promise.”
He pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads, gave Molly a grateful, weary smile, then went back to helping squelch the fire.
People who weren’t a part of the fight eventually left for their own homes, with the promise to assist in any way they could in the coming days.
Helen Carson thanked each of them personally. Her gratitude was sincere. Yet Molly wondered if her mother would take her friends up on their offers. Accepting help wasn’t the Carson way, mainly because they’d never been in a situation that required charity. They’d always been the ones providing the assistance.
What would they do now that they were in need?
The Bible taught that giving was better than receiving.But sometimes bad things happened. Surely, accepting a helping hand, and doing so with graciousness, was as virtuous as giving.
Under the circumstances, it was time the Carson family learned how to receive.
* * *
The fire continued to burn. It was loud and hot, and CJ could see sparks flying in every direction. He felt the oppressive heat on his face and arms, like sitting on the sun.
The flames were winning.
Frustrated, impatient and aware of the growing danger to the other buildings if they didn’t get the flames doused soon, he shouted for the men now working the fire engine to pump faster.
The battle was far from over. CJ opened his mouth to issue an order to work quicker, faster, with more efficiency. He never got the words out. Something hit his back, hard.
Instinctively, he spun away from the impact.
The pain didn’t register at first, then...
He felt a searing sensation rip through his shoulders and down his spine. He barely had time to register that he’d been hit by a burning piece of wood before John Carson threw a blanket over him and tackled him to the ground.
CJ landed hard, gaining a mouthful of dirt.
Spitting, nearly gagging, he braced against the pain shooting through him. He couldn’t actual feel his skin burning. Was that a good thing?
After a series of hard pats, Molly’s father pulled away, taking the blanket with him.
“You’re good.” Relief tinged John Carson’s voice as he helped CJ to his feet, giving his shoulder a fatherly squeeze. After a thorough study, he added, “Your clothing is a bit singed, but the flames didn’t reach to your skin.”
CJ rolled his shoulders, winced. He might not have been burned, but pain sliced through him. He predicted considerable bruising in the coming days.
“Those quick reflexes saved you, son.”
Son. It had been a long time since CJ had heard that word directed at him, even longer since he’d been on the receiving end of genuine fatherly concern. He’d become the adult in his home at such a young age he could hardly remember what it felt like to be cared for as a son.
The backs of his eyes stung. He blamed the uncomfortable sensation on the smoke.
John Carson eyed him thoughtfully, then gave him another pat on the shoulder. “If you’re done lazing about,” he said gruffly, “let’s get back to work.”
CJ bit back a smile, liking Molly’s father even more. “Right behind you.”
They were halfway to the fire engine when CJ heard his name being shouted in a frantic female voice. He looked over his shoulder and saw Molly rushing toward him.
“CJ!” she yelled again, louder and with more fervor. She nearly stumbled, but righted herself midstride and kept coming toward him. Toward the fire.
“Molly. Stay back.” He shot out a restraining hand, uncaring that his voice held a note of censure. No time for gentleness.
Proving she had a stubborn streak, she continued forward, eyes glued to him, seemingly uncaring of the danger. He usually admired her determination. Not so today. Today, it terrified him.
By the stormy look on her face he figured she’d witnessed the accident. Knowing her penchant for taking care of others, she wouldn’t leave the area until she was satisfied he’d escaped injury.
He took her gently by the arm and led her back the way she’d come, away from the blaze. He wasn’t sure where he was taking her, just knew he had to put distance between her and the dangerous flames and flying debris.
Setting a fast, steady pace, he hustled her in the direction of the house.
“Molly. I appreciate your concern. But you can’t be out here right now.” Conflicting emotions moved through him. He didn’t know if he was angry or scared or some combination of both. “I need you to get back in the house.”
“You certainly enjoy giving orders.”
“Here’s another one. Don’t come outside again until I say it’s safe.”
The stubborn woman held firm. “You’re out here.”
“Inside, Molly. Now.” Out of patience, he directed her to the back door. “I’m not playing around.”
“Neither am I.” Making a face at him, she broke free of his hold and started walking quickly. Away from the house, but also—praise God—away from the fire.
Where was she going?
CJ found himself following her against his better judgment. She stopped at a spot along the side of the house, away from prying eyes.
What was the woman up to now?
She spun around and glared at him. “I was so afraid for you.”
The truth of her words was there in her glittering, angry eyes, and in her carefully modulated voice. She was worried. For him. Any other time he would be pleased with this discovery.
Right now, he felt only a rush of impatience. He had one goal: get the stubborn woman inside the house. “I’m fine, Molly.”
“Fine? Fine?” Her gaze drifted over him. “You were on fire.”
“Only a little.”
“Why do you have to be such a...a man?”
For the span of a heartbeat he absorbed the joy of the moment. Molly cared about him, really cared. His safety mattered to her. As he stared into her beautiful face, he felt his pulse roar to life.
Standing here, just the two of them, he felt happy, exposed and utterly defenseless. He didn’t know what to do with the sensations running through him. He wanted to smile. To shout with glee.
To pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Dropping his head, he pressed his lips together and tried to think pure thoughts. He needed to get back to the fire, not wrap Molly in his embrace.
His feet refused to cooperate. His breathing quickened.
This sudden, vivid awareness of her concerned him. There was a growing tenderness in his heart he’d never felt before, a willingness to give of himself, to sacrifice all, for this woman.
Molly whispered his name.
He dragged in a hard breath.
“CJ,” she said again. “Are you truly unharmed?”
“Yes.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
The woman was killing him. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his head and locked his eyes with hers.
* * *
Caught in CJ’s stare, Molly felt the impact of his intensity like a fist to the stomach. There was something far too serious about him at this moment. The bond between them seemed to be growing stronger every day.
Remembering what she’d seen from the kitchen window, her lungs burned with fresh terror. The piece of debris engulfed in flames breaking away from the barn and flying toward him, hitting him in the back, his shirt igniting. Her father tackling him to the ground.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“I’m sure.”
“You aren’t just saying that to get me to go back inside the house?”
“No.”
CJ never spoke more words than necessary, and right now, more than ever, his penchant for brevity drove her mad.
Unwilling to take him at his word, she circled him slowly, studying every inch of his clothing, from collar to boots, front to back. His pants were black, his shirt singed, but the fire hadn’t burned through to the skin.
Sighing in relief, she lifted her hand, ran her fingertips across the charred material stretched across his back. Her touch was feather-light, but CJ’s muscles bunched. She sighed again, dropped her head to gather her composure.
The man confounded her. Breath rattling in her throat, she finished her inspection, then returned to face him head-on.
He raked a hand across his mouth, not one wasted motion in the gesture.
A third sigh leaked past her lips. When had she become the sighing sort? She wanted to know so much about CJ, wanted to know what he was thinking when his brows scrunched together as they were now. Wanted to know what was going on behind those beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes that held her rooted to the spot.
