Copyright
ISBN 1-59310-240-2
Copyright © 2004 by Christine Lynxwiler. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Prologue
“You sure about this, Clint?” The gray-haired man behind the desk regarded him with solemn eyes.
Not trusting himself to speak, Clint McFadden nodded. He gently laid his firefighter badge on the scarred surface of the desk.
The older man picked up the shiny object and rubbed his thumb over it. “I know losing Ryan was rough on you. It was hard on the whole department.” He cleared his throat and looked back up at Clint. “But it happens in this business. We have to go on. It’s our job.”
He met the probing gaze of his boss and knew that if he didn’t explain, Steve would keep trying to change his mind. As he searched for the right words, images jumped through his brain like a video stuck on fast-forward.
Flames. Deadly, leaping flames. The crackle of his radio—“Ryan’s still inside.” Running through the burning building, fueled by the driving hope of getting to his best friend. Then, his pounding heart as he faced the murderous wall of fire between him and Ryan. Finally, the bottomless agony of knowing there was no passage through. If only. . .
“It’s—” His voice broke. He bowed his head, unwilling for his crusty old boss to see the tears that edged his eyes.
“It’s terrible, that’s what it is. But it happens. We don’t need to lose another good fireman.” Compassion rang in the older man’s voice. Clint raised his head.
Moisture glistened in Steve’s eyes, looking out of place in his weather-beaten face. “There’s no shame in grieving a friend. But you know he’d want you to go on.”
He shook his head. “Not if he knew how I felt.”
Steve pushed back from the desk and came around to put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “How about just taking some time off? It’s only been a week since the fire. Maybe a vacation would give you a new perspective.”
Frustration made Clint’s words come out more clipped than he intended. “No, it’s better to just be done with it. You can fill my position, and I’ll find another job.”
“You’re giving up firefighting completely?” Steve’s tone was incredulous.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
A mantle of humiliation and despair settled on Clint’s shoulders as he whispered the words he knew Steve would have no choice but to accept. “I’m afraid to go back into another fire.”
One
Jessa Sykes wasn’t sure if the fragrance of past bouquets really lingered in the air of the small shop or if it was her excited imagination. She looked around, hardly noticing the bare shelves and empty refrigerated coolers. Instead, her mind’s eye pictured rows of cut flowers and vibrant silk arrangements. “It’s going to be perfect!”
Evelyn’s short gray bob bounced as she nodded. “I knew it was just what you were looking for. Ruby has always loved it.” Her mouth tightened. “She hates to give it up.” The sober expression gave way to a smile. “But she’ll be glad to see young blood keeping her dream alive.”
Jessa ran her hand along the cool cream-swirled marble counter and glanced up at Evelyn. From the time Jessa had been a little tot begging cookies from her doting, childless, next-door neighbor, the two had established a relationship based on honesty and frankness. “Regrets?” she asked softly.
Evelyn chuckled. “Plenty.” She winked. “Oh, you mean about convincing Ruby to sell you her shop? Not really.”
“Has it been terribly hard on her?” Jessa knew Evelyn’s sister had put her heart and soul into the business she’d grown from scratch thirty years ago.
Ruby had closed the flower shop only weeks before when her failing health had made it necessary for Evelyn to move back to Arkansas from Georgia to help care for her. Now the two sisters lived together in an assisted living center less than a block away.
“No. She knew it was more than she could handle.” She looked thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, Ruby and I had been praying about what she would do with The Flower Basket right before you called that night from Georgia and told me you were quitting your job. When you said you wanted to open up your own flower shop far away from Atlanta, I had no doubt it was the answer to our prayers.” Evelyn shook her head. “No, no regrets on that front.”
“On that front, huh? That must mean you’ve heard from Mom.” Jessa sank into one of the two folding chairs that constituted the only furniture in the building.
“She called.” Evelyn smiled softly and sat opposite her. “She can’t help but worry. You’re her baby.”
“I’m well aware of that, Auntie Ev. I’m everybody’s baby!”
“Not anymore.” The older woman shook her head again. “A baby wouldn’t be here, about to open her very own business, five hundred miles from home.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. But that doesn’t keep them from calling just to see for themselves that I’m all right.”
“What do you tell them?” The intuitiveness in Evelyn’s eyes bore into Jessa’s soul, and she ducked her head.
“Most of the time I let the automated message answer.” Jessa had jumped at the chance to relocate and reinvent herself, not giving her parents or sister a chance to protest, at least not in person. She knew they loved her, but their constant fretting did nothing for her self-confidence.
“I guess it’s natural that they’re worried then.” There was no condemnation in Evelyn’s tone. Just a quiet understanding of both sides.
The memory of her family’s disapproval of the new venture came to mind, and the flowery fragrance Jessa had imagined earlier dissipated. In its place hovered a closed-up, musty smell. She suddenly saw clearly all the things that could go wrong. “I know it’s natural, and I promise I’ll try harder to keep in touch with them.”
She regarded the woman who had always supported her. Unlike her family, Evelyn never said “That’s too dangerous,” which Jessa knew meant, “That’s too dangerous for you, Jessa.” The older woman was probably the only person in her life who didn’t think Jessa still needed help tying her shoes at twenty-six. “But, you have to promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Promise no matter how things go here—good or bad—you won’t tell my family.”
The older woman pursed her lips and glanced toward the ceiling as if considering Jessa’s request, then grinned, looking far younger than retirement age. “You’ve got a deal.”
After they shared a laugh and shook hands to seal the agreement, Jessa softly spoke. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’d already decided not to be their informant.”
“No, I mean, thanks for taking a chance on me.” She knew that if Evelyn hadn’t financed half the purchase price, the bank wouldn’t have been nearly as cooperative as they had been, agreeing to finance the other half plus initial investment money at a low interest. “If it weren’t for you. . .”
Evelyn waved her hand in dismissal. “If it weren’t me, it would have been somebody else—if this is God’s plan for you. As much as you’re dying to
be in charge of your own life, hon, you’re not.” She smiled and pointed heavenward. Jessa recognized the teasing glint in her eyes. “You’ll always be His baby.”
“I’m fine with that.” Jessa returned her grin. “At least He lets me make my own choices.” She grimaced. “Even if they’re not always the greatest.”
Evelyn cleared her throat. “Speaking of making your own choices, have you given any more thought to whether you’ll be able to keep Doris on? I hate to ask, but Ruby’s really worried about her. Last we heard she hadn’t found a job.” Evelyn rushed on, and her face turned a little red. “If you can’t, I understand.”
“Actually, I think I’ll be able to use my savings to pay her wages until The Flower Basket can afford to. She’s familiar with the business, and I know she was a loyal assistant to Ruby.” Jessa smiled as she envisioned the now-empty building bustling with activity and brimming with customers. “If the business gets going again right away, like I’m praying it will, I should have no problem keeping her on or paying Seth to do deliveries. I’m going to call them both this afternoon.”
“Wonderful.” Evelyn stood. “I’d better get back to the apartment and tell Ruby. She’ll be so happy.”
Jessa pushed to her feet and gave the older woman a hug. “Thanks again.”
As the door closed behind her friend, Jessa turned back and ran her hand along the counter again. Just a few more days and, Lord willing, this shop would be filled with customers, and she and Doris would keep sixteen-year-old Seth busy making deliveries. Reality faded away again, and she immersed herself for a few luxurious moments in the make-believe garden of flowers and beauty and dreams come true.
When the tinkling bell over the front door sounded, she pivoted, prepared to tease her old friend about forgetting something. But, instead of the petite, gray-haired woman she expected, a tall, blond man loomed in the doorway. His blue eyes widened as he glanced around the bare store.
“Am I in the wrong place?” He leaned back out the door and peered at the painted words on the window. “It still says The Flower Basket. Did Ruby move?”
“Actually, she retired.” Jessa smoothed down her T-shirt over her faded jeans and tried not to think about what she must look like. She hadn’t planned on seeing anyone today, certainly not a handsome stranger. And in spite of his unshaven face and brooding eyes, this stranger was the epitome of handsome. “I bought the shop a week ago. It won’t reopen for a few days, though. I’m sorry.”
He nodded and flashed a rueful grin. “That’s okay. My mom loves flowers, and I thought that maybe an unusual bouquet would help distract her attention from the return of her prodigal son. . .stave off a few questions. . .” He murmured the last words so softly Jessa had to strain to hear them. “Guess I’ll have to think of something else.” He offered her a crooked smile, but the returning sadness in his eyes grabbed at Jessa’s heartstrings.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, uncertain why her knees felt weak. She’d never been prone to “like” at first sight. But there was something about this man. His vulnerability, perhaps. Or maybe just the hide-and-seek dimples.
“Not a problem, really.”
“The Grand Opening celebration begins next week.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be back.” Without another word, he nodded and exited the store.
She stood staring at the tiny bell that still jangled to and fro above the doorjamb. She had the feeling there was much more to her mystery man than met the eye.
❧
Clint McFadden woke with a start, violently pushing against the blanket that seemed to smother and strangle him. Finally rid of the offending cover, he leaped to his feet, blinking against the inky darkness. Where was he?
He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths—pulling air in through his nose, blowing out through his mouth by instinct—fighting the panic. After a few seconds of standing motionless in the unfamiliar room, he remembered.
The fire, Ryan’s funeral, his resignation—it all came back to him in a horrific flash. He’d taken up temporary residence in the garage apartment of his parents’ lakeside house. He’d been here two weeks now. “Recovering from the trauma,” they said. Hiding out was more like it.
Clint fumbled around until he found the light switch and flipped it on. Shuffling over to the small refrigerator, he retrieved a bottle of water and chugged it down, then plopped onto the sofa. He hadn’t eaten supper, and water wasn’t going to add any calories to his already depleted nutrition.
These days, he ate little and slept even less. His mom and dad were worried sick, he knew, but they didn’t pry. They didn’t ask him what he was going to do with his life since his childhood dream had literally gone up in smoke, but the question hovered in the air like a deadly gas.
On long nights like this one, Clint thought not knowing would consume his very soul. For a minute, he stared at the TV remote control on the weathered coffee table in front of him. Maybe he could lose himself in some all-night oldies or at least fall back asleep to the mindless drone of some silly show. But he didn’t reach for the small gray device.
Instead, he thought about Jennifer Dawson. They’d been fairly serious until the day, three years ago, when she’d calmly explained that she couldn’t take the danger of his job. If only she’d waited, he thought. But she hadn’t. Last he’d heard, she’d married and had a kid.
Funny, though, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like. Or anything they’d ever talked about, except for the last conversation when she’d asked him to give up firefighting. He’d known then he didn’t really love her, because it never even crossed his mind to agree.
Memories like those only reminded him of how much he was going to miss his job. He had to get out. He’d known it from the minute he remembered where he was. The vastness of the starry sky and the caress of the crisp autumn breeze against his skin had become his nightly therapy.
He plunked his empty water bottle down on the table and stood. Without hesitation, he threw on a T-shirt to go with the jogging pants he slept in and grabbed his tennis shoes. The need to be outside was almost as frantic as his need to get out of bed had been a few minutes before. He pushed open the door and hurried down the wooden steps, slipping into his shoes as he went.
Two
“Who’s burning the bacon?” Jessa rolled over and squinted at the bedside clock. Three o’clock in the morning. “Too early for breakfast,” she mumbled. She surrendered to the tiny lead weights that seemed to be attached to her eyelids, but she lingered for a second in that strange place between sleep and wakefulness. Something wasn’t right.
For starters, she lived alone in the lakeside cabin she’d rented a few weeks ago. So who would be cooking breakfast? Eyes still closed, she sniffed again. Even burned bacon didn’t smell that bad.
She sat up with a groan. She’d gotten a wonderful deal on the cabin rental because it was so old no one else wanted it.
Please tell me some of the ancient wiring hasn’t shorted out. An electrician’s bill is the last thing I need.
Still half asleep, she slid her feet into her slippers and padded down the short hall, then skidded to a stop. Smoke streamed from under the door of the water heater closet. The acrid smell burned her nostrils and her lungs. Suddenly, the sleepy haze fled from her mind as the seriousness of the situation dawned on her.
She grabbed the phone and sank to the floor, immensely thankful for the relative clarity of the lower air. Her hands shook as she dialed 911.
“911. May I help you?” The female voice was no-nonsense.
“There’s a fire.” She coughed.
“Ma’am, are you at 239 Lakeshore Drive?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ve already dispatched the trucks. What’s your name?”
“Jessa Sykes.” She looked up at the ever-thickening cloud of smoke above her head. “Please tell them to hurry.”
“Jessa, listen to me. Are you alone in the house?”
“Yes.” She coughe
d again.
“Can you see the front door?” The voice was calm but insistent.
“Yes.” Thankfully, the short distance between her and the door wasn’t as smoky as the area toward the kitchen.
“Go out the front door now and wait at the edge of the yard for the fire truck.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to hang up now, so you can go on outside. Don’t stop for anything, you hear?”
“Yes.”
Jessa hung up the phone and crawled toward the door. When she was almost there, she spotted her purse at eye level on a foyer table. She grabbed it in one hand and the doorknob in the other.
Suddenly, in the eerie quietness of the hazy cabin, she heard a whimper. She gasped and yanked her hand from the doorknob as if it were scalding hot. How could she have forgotten about the puppy?
Half-starved and filthy, the little yellow pup had been sniffing around outside the flower shop yesterday. Jessa hadn’t hesitated to take him home with her. She’d given him a bath, a meal, and a soft bed in the kitchen.
The kitchen. Right next to the closet that held the water heater. The kitchen that was surely filled with deadly smoke by now.
Still on her knees, she reached for the doorknob again, then stopped. If she waited for the firemen, it would probably be too late for the puppy.
She tossed her purse against the door. Then, breathing a prayer, she turned and quickly crawled back toward the whimpering sound. As she neared the kitchen, the air became blacker. She pulled the neck of her T-shirt up over her nose.
The nightlight over the stove combined with the smoke to give the room a haunted house look. She would grab the puppy from its blanket. They’d both be out in fresh air in just a minute.
Her horrified gaze fell on the empty blanket.
A feeble cry beside her sent a shiver down her spine. She turned sharply on her knees and peered behind the solid oak china cabinet. The frightened eyes of the puppy glowed in the eerie light. He appeared to be wedged just out of reach. Afraid to stand, she knelt in front of the wooden cabinet and pulled with all of her might. It didn’t budge.
Through the Fire Page 1
