His expression crumpled. "Bethie, don't do this to me! You have to come back!" She saw him swallow hard. "I know you've been mad at me, but I promise everything will be different from now on. Just—just come home. Please."
Annabeth shook her head. "No. I don't think that would be a good idea."
He looked like he was about to start crying. Annabeth quashed an automatic surge of guilt.
She wasn't responsible for his feelings, she told herself. Or the fact that he couldn't accept that their relationship was over.
"But why?" demanded Roger, his voice breaking. "I thought you loved me!"
"I thought I did, too. But I see now that it wasn't a healthy relationship." Annabeth's hands, out of sight behind the bakery's counter, were clenching the loose fabric of her chef's pants.
"Bethie…please!" he pleaded. "I need you!"
"No, you don't." Annabeth shook her head again. "I've made a new life here, and I'm not going anywhere."
She paused, trying to gauge Roger's mood. The awful feeling of walking on emotional eggshells was so familiar.
Funny how she'd never had to tiptoe around Dane like he was set to explode at any moment. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.
Roger sneered, his lip twisting. "How can you even stand it here? It's Hicksville Hell—all cowboys and country music, and the nearest Starbucks is miles away."
"Five hundred miles away, in Boise, to be exact," Annabeth said, forcing herself to smile pleasantly. "Which is why the café part of my bakery is doing really well. The only other café in the area is Sufficient Grounds, and it's in the next town over."
"You're actually serious about this?" Roger appeared utterly boggled. "You really want to stay…here?"
"Roger, go home," Annabeth said, trying for gentle-but-firm. "It's too late for us, but I'm sure you'll find someone else to date in the Bay Area."
Annabeth saw the instant that her words sparked Roger's anger. Rage flared in his eyes.
She took an involuntary step back.
"What about the anger management class I took? What about all the counseling I paid for? The deposit money on the Tea Gardens?" he demanded, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. "I did all those things just for you because I wanted to make you happy! I changed for you! You owe me!"
The old Annabeth would have cowered and apologized in the face of his anger. The new Annabeth felt an answering spark of annoyance.
And Roger hadn't changed one bit.
"If you did all those things, it should have been to help yourself," she snapped. "Not to try to manipulate me into getting back together with you!"
"And exactly what do you mean by that?" he demanded.
"I mean that I hope you'll take whatever you learned in that class and use it with your next girlfriend." Gentle but firm, she reminded herself. "And now I think you need to leave. Good-bye Roger."
His face darkened and she saw his fists clench. Uh-oh.
"You—you don't get to tell me to leave!" he sputtered. "Not after everything I've done for you!"
He was really scaring her now, but she knew she couldn't let him see that.
The old-fashioned landline phone on the wall behind seemed a million miles away—and who was she going to call, anyway?
The police? So far, all Roger had done so far was talk to her, no matter how upsetting that was.
Dane? She knew her fiancé would charge over here in a heartbeat if he knew Roger was here and giving her trouble…but she didn't want to involve him and escalate the situation even further.
"Roger," Annabeth said, as sternly as she could, with her knees shaking. "Don't you get it? I am done with you. I moved all the way out here because I knew you'd go off the deep end if I tried to break up with you face-to-face."
As she spoke, Roger's face, already flushed under his expensive haircut, darkened until she thought he might have a stroke. His blue eyes bulged with rage.
"I'll show you going off the deep end!" he shouted.
Looking around wildly, he grabbed one of the chairs from the table behind him and raised it.
"Don't!" Annabeth shouted as Roger took aim at a glass display case filled with cookies.
If he broke it, the case would cost about $3000 to replace…a crippling expense.
Roger raised the chair to shoulder height, his face twisted with rage.
And the bakery's front door opened with an incongruously cheery tinkling sound as Dane pushed his way inside.
"Hey!" he growled. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Startled, Roger dropped the chair. It clattered loudly on the black-and-white marble floor tiles, making Annabeth jump.
Shaking, she put her hands on the counter to steady herself.
Thank God! Thank God it was the time of day when Dane and the other firefighters usually stopped by for coffee and whatever pastries were left over from the morning rush.
She saw Mark and Evan enter the bakery close on Dane's heels. All three brothers had apparently just returned from a call, because they were wearing their firefighting pants—bunkers, Dane called them—and BPRFD T-shirts.
They were also wearing matching scowls as they glared at Roger.
Annabeth saw Dane's nostrils flare as he inhaled deeply.
"You," he said, his voice still a deep, menacing growl. "You're Roger Pemberton, aren't you?"
Roger's eyes widened and he backed up a step.
"Thought so," Dane said with soft menace. "Get out."
Roger shot Annabeth a glance filled with anger and hurt and headed for the door.
Silently, Mark and Evan stepped aside to let him pass.
Roger put his hand on the door knob, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Annabeth.
"I'm giving you until tomorrow to get your head on straight," he blustered. "Or you'll be sorry, you fat ugly bitch!"
Dane roared with primal rage. Moving with blinding speed, he pulled Roger away from the door and spun Annabeth's ex around to face him.
Annabeth gasped as she saw Dane grab Roger's upper arms and lift him effortlessly several inches off the floor.
"Let go of me!" Roger shouted. He looked scared now.
"Not until you apologize to Annabeth," Dane said, flatly.
Roger wriggled and kicked, to no effect. Annabeth could see that her ex wasn't going anywhere until Dane decided to let him go.
"I'll have you arrested for assault!" Roger yelled. "I'll sue you!"
Annabeth went cold. Roger would do it, too. She knew that about him. And he was rich enough to keep it up for a long time.
But Mark only laughed at the threat, and the sound boomed through the bakery.
"Good luck with that, Mr. Pemberton," he said. "I happen to be this town's lawyer, and if you're the same Roger Pemberton who's been harassing my future sister-in-law, then there isn't a law enforcement official in the county who'll arrest Dane if he decides to beat you to a pulp for threatening her."
"Yeah," added Evan, crossing his heavily muscled arms. "We all saw you holding that chair, looking like you were about to start swinging it, and poor Annabeth here—" he glanced over at her with exaggerated concern "—looking all scared out of her mind. If Dane slugs you, then Mark, Annabeth, and I will tell the sheriff that he was just protecting you against an asshole out-of-towner who attacked her."
At his words, Annabeth drew a breath that caught in a sob of pure relief and gratitude. It humbled her to see that it wasn't just Dane defending her…it was all of the Swanson brothers.
"Just give me an excuse," Dane said quietly. "The only reason you're still alive right now is because you didn't actually touch her."
Annabeth's eyes began to sting, and her vision turned blurry.
I’m not going to cry, she told herself fiercely. I'm not going to let Roger see me cry!
"You can't do this to me!" Roger protested, sounding petulant now.
"You try to sue, and I'm betting the judge will laugh you out of court," Mark told Roger. "Now, get o
ut of here before I decide that my client would best be served with a restraining order against you."
Roger struggled in Dane's iron grip, his feet kicking empty air.
"Dane," Mark said softly. "Let him go. I'm sure he's going to leave town now and never come back."
"Please, Dane," Annabeth said. "He didn't hurt me. He just yelled at me, that's all."
Dane growled softly, an almost inaudible rumble. His eyes had gone nearly gold. With obvious reluctance, he opened his hands and let Roger drop to the ground.
Roger landed on his feet with a thump and staggered before regaining his balance.
He headed for the door but was halted by Dane's hand landing on his shoulder.
"Oh no you don't. Not before you apologize."
"I'm sorry, okay?" Roger managed. "I shouldn't have done that. But you made me do it, Bethie! If you'd—"
"That's the sorriest excuse for an apology I've ever heard," interrupted Dane. "Get the hell out."
Roger glared at Annabeth, then slunk out of the bakery like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.
All three Swanson brothers turned to watch him get into his silver BMW.
As Roger gunned his engine and roared away from the curb, Evan said in disgust, "What an asshole!"
Dane rounded the counter and took Annabeth in his embrace. She slid her arms around his waist and clung to him while she tried to get herself under control.
"I’m sorry we didn't get here sooner," he murmured. "Mark saw that car go by the firehouse, and we should have known something was up. I mean, who the hell drives a Beemer in Bearpaw Ridge?"
"Thank you," she said shakily. "I never thought he'd actually come here."
"No problem," Mark told her. "You're family now, Annabeth. Anyone who messes with you messes with us. All of us."
"Got that right," agreed Evan.
Chapter 16 – Incinerated
Dane's phone woke them both up in the middle of the night, blaring with the strident ringtone used to summon the volunteer firefighters to an emergency.
Annabeth kissed him sleepily as he rolled out of bed.
She mumbled, "Be safe," before rolling over and sinking back into an exhausted sleep. She didn't even hear her apartment door close behind him.
Sometime later—she was never quite sure how long it was after Dane left her apartment—her smoke detector went off.
As she started awake out of a deep sleep laced with disturbing dreams about being chased through a dark forest by something menacing that she could hear but not see, she caught a faint whiff of smoke.
Then she heard the fainter sound of the bakery's fire alarm coming from the ground floor and the rush of water through the building's pipes as the sprinklers were triggered.
"Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic," she chanted under her breath as she scrambled up and grabbed for her clothes.
She dressed in haste, then looked wildly around her loft. What were the most important things she could carry with her?
She sprinted for the bookcase against the wall of her living room area, where her photo albums were stored. As she passed her coffee table, she grabbed the slim, silver laptop along with the thick manila folder containing her most important business paperwork.
Then she picked up her phone and dialed 911.
"911, what's your emergency?" asked a calm female voice. Before Annabeth could answer, the dispatcher asked, "Annabeth is that you, honey? What's going on? The bakery's alarms just went off. Are you okay?"
Annabeth recognized Linda Barker's voice, and somehow that helped. A weird sense of calm descended.
"Yes, but I think there's a fire downstairs. " she said, shouting to be heard over the strident sound of her smoke detector.
"Are you still in the building?" Linda asked.
"Yeah, but I'm heading for the door now…" Annabeth said, shifting her awkward burden of laptop, photo albums, and manila folder to the other arm.
"Okay, stay on the line with me, honey," said Linda. "Before you open the door, touch it and tell me whether it's warm or not."
Annabeth reached for the doorknob and found it hot to the touch. She knew that was a bad sign.
She looked down and saw a thin trail of smoke seeping under the metal door. "Dammit!"
"Annabeth, what's happening?" asked Linda.
"I think the fire is right outside my front door!" Annabeth said, her voice rising. "The handle is hot, and I can see smoke!"
"Okay, hon, I've notified the fire department. The boys are on their way, but it'll be a few minutes," Linda said. "Take a deep breath and look around. Can you wet down a kitchen towel and put it at the base of the door?"
"Y-yeah, I think so," Annabeth said and hurried to do so. It would help keep the smoke out of the loft for a while longer.
"Good," Linda said. "Now tell me about the windows. Can you open them and climb out?"
Right. Windows. There was no fire escape, and it was a pretty big drop to the sidewalk, but it probably wouldn't kill her. Probably.
Annabeth dumped her armful of albums and her computer on her bed and pushed up the large sliding window.
The century-old building that housed her bakery and apartment was made of brick. It was the middle building on the block, and the upper story only had windows along the facade overlooking Main Street. All the other natural light in the loft came from the skylights cut into the roof…at least 15 feet above her head.
She stuck her head out of the window and looked down. There were a few people gathered on the street below. She recognized most of them as her customers.
Someone waved at her. "You okay?" he shouted.
"Yeah," Annabeth called back. "Just trying to get out of here."
She leaned out further, looking for footholds in the brick façade of the old building.
Then, directly below her, the bakery's plate glass windows exploded outwards with a roar of flame and a great billowing cloud of smoke, cutting off her escape route.
"Annabeth? What's going on?" Linda asked.
Annabeth tried to keep the panic out of her voice as she answered. "I think I'm trapped."
The call that had kicked Dane out of Annabeth's bed had been for a solo rollover car accident on the highway just before the turn-off for the Bearpaw Springs Resort.
Dane, Mark, Evan, and Fred Barker were on call with the BPRFD this week, so they responded with a fire engine and a paramedic van. All of the town's volunteer firefighters were certified as EMTs, and Dane was driving the pumper truck, in case the car had caught on fire or there was gasoline spilled on the road.
The fire engine, with its bulk and flashing lights, would also help to control traffic on the highway by closing the lane and securing the scene while the firefighters did what they could to help the accident victims.
Problem was, when they reached the turnoff, they couldn't find the accident.
They drove slowly past the turnoff, each of them peering intently at the pastures and hayfields on either side of the highway, looking for any signs that a car gone off the road.
Nothing.
They continued up the highway, still looking.
After they had driven five miles past the reported scene of the accident and still hadn't spotted anything, Evan radioed Dispatch to verify the reported location.
In the rush to respond to an emergency call, it occasionally happened that firefighters incorrectly noted the location of an incident.
But Linda Barker, who was working Dispatch tonight, verified that the person who called in the accident had definitely said the Bearpaw Springs Resort turnoff.
So the little convoy found a place to turn around and headed back down the highway to the turnoff.
The mood was tense. Dane and the others knew that precious seconds were ticking by, with someone possibly badly injured or trapped in wreckage. And here they all were, driving around like tourists.
Still nothing.
They even drove up Bearpaw Sprin
gs Resort Road for several miles.
Were they missing something important? Or had the reported location been a mistake?
Dane hoped not.
Bad enough if they'd been hauled out of their beds in the middle of the night for nothing.
Worse yet if an accident had happened, and they were looking in the wrong place while someone in a wrecked car waited for help that never came.
"Damn it," Mark said, after they had made three more passes and still hadn't found anything. "You think this was someone's idea of a prank?"
Dane shook his head. "Who knows?" he said wearily. "It's happened before."
But usually on a Friday or Saturday night, when kids with too much beer in their systems thought it would be funny to see fire engines racing by on a mission to nowhere.
"I find out who did this, I'm gonna kick their ass," Evan said grumpily from the rear seat. "Even if we head back now, it'll be time for morning chores by the time I get back to the ranch." He yawned.
Dane radioed in the situation. He could hear Linda sigh. "Yeah, probably a false alarm. All right, have Fred make a couple more passes in the van, just to make sure. The rest of you can come back in."
They had just turned the engine around when the radio sprang to life again. "This is Dispatch," said Linda. "We're getting multiple reports of a fire on Main Street." She paused, and Dane felt a cold chill run down his spine. "And the alarms have gone off at the Cinnamon + Sugar Bakery."
Annabeth!
Dane accelerated as quickly as he could. Their ETA was at least 20 minutes back to town.
As he drove through the night, his initial chill of apprehension only spread at the thought that Annabeth might be in danger.
He recalled the rage in Roger's face at the bakery when he was shouting at Annabeth, who had gone white as a sheet but had bravely stood her ground.
Roger had wanted to hurt her then, Dane was sure of it. His keen bear nose could smell a killing rage, and Roger Pemberton had reeked of murderous intent.
Dane had been surprised when the man backed down so quickly after he and his brothers showed up.
At the time, he had thought it was because Roger was a coward who only dared to threaten a lone woman.
Heat: A Werebear + BBW Paranormal Romance (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 1) Page 13
