Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2015 Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
ISBN: 978-1-77233-273-5
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Kerry Genova
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To all the firefighters who battle blazes and keep us safe and to all the psychics who see more than any pair of eyes ever could…
FIRE RESCUE
Romance on the Go TM
Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
The scent of lavender, sweet and fresh as a spring garden, wafted in advance of the old woman. She moved with silent grace, gray hair pulled into a tight topknot and eyes as vital as if she were alive. Her navy skirt and the crisp ironed white blouse with a cameo brooch in place dated her. She either had crossed over a long time ago or had been old-fashioned because elderly women today tended to wear jeans and faux pearls. Aislin nodded in acknowledgment but whatever the woman might want, she’d have to wait until the reading now underway ended. As if she understood, the spirit turned into the parlor and sat down on the vintage crushed gold velour sofa. Then she folded her hands into her lap, prim and proper.
“Your sister shows me paper dolls,” Aislin told her client. “But they’re not store bought. From what I can see, she’s holding up images clipped from a catalog.”
“OMG,” Lindsay Mace said with a nervous giggle. “That’s what we used to do, cut out the models we liked from the pages of the catalog. If we were careful, we could get most of their body and clothes. No one knows that!”
“It’s Annette’s way of validating the communication.” Aislin schooled her voice level and bright, but she wearied of the never-ending explanations. Her gift often seemed as much a curse as a blessing and a lot of people couldn’t accept it. They wanted to nitpick or doubt the evidence she provided. “Now, your sister wants you to be sure and tell your mother there wasn’t anything she could have done. There wasn’t any way your mom or you or anyone else could’ve known Annette would be stung by a bee then veer off the highway and across the median because she turned out to be allergic. Nobody’s to blame.”
“I’ve always felt I should’ve known, somehow,” Lindsay stated with a sob behind the words. “Are you sure it’s my sister, though?”
Annette’s spirit smiled as she communicated to Aislin, “Tell silly old bear it’s me. Who else ever put chocolate milk on their cereal?”
Aislin repeated the message and Lindsay began to cry. “Oh, it’s ‘Net,” she gasped. “It really is!”
Fifteen minutes and half a box of tissues later, Lindsay departed, still offering thanks. Aislin shut the front door and leaned against it for a long moment, drained. Readings made her weary. It required energy to bridge the physical plane with the spiritual realms and if it hadn’t been for the old woman waiting in the parlor, Aislin would’ve headed upstairs for a long, hot soak in the tub. Instead, she summoned up her last bit of energy and joined the visitor in the parlor. She sat down in her great-grandmother’s timeworn rocker and waited. Sometimes the dead spoke immediately but often not. Aislin learned early not to speak first or ask what they wanted. They would tell her—in their own time.
“I’ve come about my grandson,” the woman said without any greeting. Her hands fluttered together. A distinct Scots bur flavored her soft voice. “I’ve nowhere to go for no one else sees nor hears me but I’ve an important message he must hear and soon. Will you help me?”
“I will if I can,” Aislin replied. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Jenny Carmichael and the lad’s name is Morgan Carmichael. I’ve been desperate to reach him, you ken for some long time.”
“Did someone send you to me?”
“Nay, I found you on my own. You seemed to be a nice young woman, one with a gift I ken well for I have it myself. I tried to get Morgan to hear me, but he’s closed his mind to such things.”
Aislin forced a smile onto her lips. Sometimes spirits found her this way, a method she likened to insects gathering around a porch light on a summer night. Some of what showed up might be innocent, even lovely, but it wasn’t a given. Although Jenny Carmichael appeared to be both harmless and genuine, she needed to be certain. And reaching someone who didn’t believe or wouldn’t willingly receive often proved difficult. “I’m sorry to hear that but I’ll do what I can. How long have you been on the other side, Mrs. Carmichael?”
With a death date, she could verify this was indeed the soul it claimed to be and move forward. Although it didn’t happen often, she’d run into a few dark entities hiding behind someone else’s mask. “Oh, lass, call me ‘Jenny,’ please,” the woman said. “I died on the fifth of February in 2000 I believe ‘twas. I’m buried out at Ashland Cemetery too, dearie.”
She could tell Jenny to wait while she checked the facts, but Aislin decided to believe her. Nothing about the woman’s spirit raised any hackles or alarms. “All right but it’s been more than twenty years ago. Is your message still urgent?”
“Och, aye, more than ever,” Jenny said with a firm nod. “Morgan’s a firefighter and a brave one but he’s going to die if he doesn’t heed my warnings. I had a vision and I’ve tried to reach him but I’ve failed. That’s the main thing I need to tell him, but there’s a few odd bits he needs to know too.”
“Let me get my notebook,” Aislin said. “Oh, and by the way, I’m Aislin Tiernan.”
Jenny smiled, for the first time. “I know.”
They ended up sitting at the kitchen table while Aislin scribbled notes. “So Morgan’s in danger of dying in the line of duty?” she asked Jenny to make sure she understood. “But you’re not sure of the date.”
“No, dear, I’m afraid not. And there’s more than just that.”
“You mentioned there was.”
“The woman he’s seeing, Paige Erikson, she’s two-timing him,” Jenny said. “He deserves better. She’s a piece of work, that one. I don’t like her at all.”
Danger of dying during fighting a fire, Aislin scribbled, then added GF cheating on him. “Is there more?”
The woman’s spectral hands fiddled with her brooch. “Well, isn’t it enough for now?”
Shit. There’s more and probably a trainload of it. Aislin nodded. “Okay, then. You said he’s closed his mind to you but does he believe in spirit communication at all?”
“He doesn’t though he full well knows better,” Jenny replied. “I was born fey and with The Sight myself. He showed signs of it as a wee lad himself. But Morgan doesn’t remember or wants to forget so he shuts it all away.”
“How do I find him, your Morgan?”
“He works out of the main fire station,” Jenny told her. “The downtown one, you know.”
She did. Aislin passed it each morning on her way to Central High School where she taught literature to teenagers. She’d often ogled the firemen as they washed the big, bright red trucks or went about their daily business. Aislin had always had a real thing for cops, firemen, guys in uniform. More than once she considered taking a stroll past the police station so she could wave or toss the guys a cheerful “good morning.” She tried to imagine making a visit to ask for this Morgan and struggling to explain the situation. “I do.
But I don’t like to just show up and deliver a message out of the blue,” she told Jenny. “It never works very well. People tend to reject the idea. I’ll do it, I will, but I need to figure out how and when.”
Jenny shook her head. “Aye, as long as you will. I’m grateful for your help and I’ll be near until you have. I’m often around Morgan though he doesn’t seem to notice like you did, dearie.”
Oh, yeah, I have and I will. Somehow I doubt you’ll be bashful about hanging around or coming through. “Yes, I expect so. Give me a few days to get in touch with your grandson.”
“Aye, very well,” Jenny replied, sounding disappointed somehow. She offered a finger wave and dissipated. One moment, she was there, solid as a living soul, then faded to a transparent shade and vanished. Aislin stared at the empty seat and shook her head. She’d been tired after the scheduled reading, but the exchange with Jenny Carmichael left her drained and weary. Her gift sometimes proved to be a heavy burden, especially when she’d never been able to tell any wandering spirit no. If she did, Aislin thought it would be as awful as a doctor refusing to treat a patient, unconscionable and unprofessional. She lacked the ability to be so callous so she’d do what Jenny asked and would do the same for any positive entity. But she didn’t have to like it and probably wouldn’t.
Upstairs, she ran a bath with the water as hot as she could stand it, added a handful of scented rose bath salts, and soaked away the tension. Aislin remained until the water chilled and climbed out feeling boneless. A glass of pink Moscato wine added the last step for relaxation and she climbed into bed drowsy. Before she slipped into the depths of sleep, Aislin recited the prayers learned as a child, as protection. Then she surrounded herself with the brilliant white light of all things good. If she missed either one, her dreams were too often haunted with unknown spirits and populated with ghosts. Unwilling to be bombarded nightly with such intense interaction, Aislin did what she could to keep them at bay.
She preferred to keep her dreams private but somewhere near morning she dreamed of fire, intense and hot. Aislin tasted the smoke on her tongue. It choked her lungs and caused her eyes to tear. Heat blasted her skin and through the orange gloom she caught sight of a fireman. He wore the heavy coat, the boots, a helmet and the breathing apparatus meant to shield him from the smoke. She couldn’t see his features but knew it would be Morgan Carmichael. He tugged at the mask over his face and then pulled it off. From his expression she thought it must have malfunctioned. His bleak frown and worried blue eyes demonstrated his concern as he turned to find himself surrounded by tall flames. The fire danced high and crawled across the ceiling with crackling speed, hungry and unstoppable.
Aislin tried to call out to him but her voice failed and no sound emerged, or if it did it became inaudible over the roar of the fire. She watched him stumble in one direction, then another, unable to find an exit. Her chest tightened with the realization he would succumb to smoke inhalation and die if he failed to get out. This, then, must be Jenny’s vision, the one which prompted her to seek Aislin’s help. For a split second, the smoke parted and she stared into Morgan’s bright blue eyes. Something connected within and she vowed she’d help, not just because Jenny requested assistance but because for some reason she couldn’t define, Aislin cared.
Despite the early hour, Aislin woke. As she plugged in the coffee pot downstairs, she remembered it was Sunday, not Monday. For a few moments she considered returning to bed but rejected the notion. Once up, she became alert and aware so she waited for coffee to brew. Once it had, she headed for the front porch. Aislin cradled the mug between her hands and savored the morning.
Tomorrow she would be at work, teaching students about Edgar Allen Poe’s poems, but today stretched out free and blank. Aislin didn’t see any clients on Sundays. It was her day. Sometimes she slept late or went shopping or met friends for brunch. Once in a while, she had a date but it had been some time. Her gift often provided far too much information and revealed things she might have rather not known.
Maybe I could walk over to the firehouse and pay Morgan Carmichael a visit, she thought. He’s going to think I’m crazy but if I don’t, he’s going to die. And I don’t want him to die. Something about those eyes nailed me. I’m in for this one, all the way, no holds barred.
Aislin finished her coffee, toasted a bagel, and called it breakfast. Then she pondered her wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear to deliver a message the recipient wouldn’t want to believe. Should she wear a nice navy skirt or pair of slacks with a red blouse and blazer, something she would wear to school, or go casual in her favorite black denim jeans and a green sweatshirt? Deliberating between dressy and sexy, she opted for the jeans with green top and her favorite cardigan sweater. She took a little extra time with her make-up, accentuating her eyes and applying a bright vermillion lipstick to her mouth. Aislin debated whether she should tame her long auburn hair into a ponytail or knot but let it fly free over her shoulders in a mass of natural curls.
She wished she had a dog to walk. If she did, then perhaps, her stroll past the fire station might seem casual and lack a motive, which, of course, she had. Oh, who cares, she thought. He’ll know soon enough why I’m looking for him.
On the way, Aislin rehearsed mentally what she might say, trying to find the best way to tell him something he would refuse to believe. Although she’d embarked on similar missions many times before, this one was different. One, she had seldom encountered someone so skeptical they had a website to debunk psychics and other paranormal phenomenon. Two, her role had always been that of messenger and she seldom engaged her emotions. Her dream, however, and gazing into those blue eyes made it more personal. Damned if she didn’t feel some odd sense of connection to Morgan Carmichael. I should have checked out his website before I left, so I’ll know what I’m up against. Too late now, though.
The fire station loomed ahead. Built decades earlier, the building possessed traditional style blended with state of the art equipment. A red pumper truck sat at an angle in the driveway and one man tinkered, polishing the chrome with a dry rag. Even before he turned, Aislin knew him. It was Morgan Carmichael and his grandmother had been correct. Unless he heeded her warning, he would die.
Chapter Two
The crackle of uncontrolled fire rushed into her ears as she inhaled the sharp tang of smoke. Her head whirled with a sick dizziness and her chest constricted with fear. Aislin paused and leaned against a sturdy oak tree on the edge of someone’s front yard, desperate for support. She drew several deep breaths, even though aware that neither the smoke nor sound was real. Sometimes her gift worked overtime, usually when the threat was high. Beneath her palms, the rough bark provided a solid anchor to reality. Aislin shook her head to clear it so she could approach him.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Oh, God. She loved the voice from the moment she heard it, rich as dark chocolate, deep as low thunder, and yet soft as a caress. Before she turned around, she knew it had to be Morgan.
“Yes, thanks,” she said. His blue eyes, same as in her dream, fascinated Aislin and she gazed at him with admiration and the stirring of interest. “I got a little, uh, shaky for a moment but I’m fine.”
He grasped her elbow to steady her which spiked her blood pressure and weakened her knees. “You look pretty pale to me. Maybe you need something to eat or a cup of coffee or something. There’s a small café about three doors past the fire station. I’m a regular – I’m a firefighter assigned here and I’m in all the time. Would you like to grab something?”
She should refuse and give him the message, then leave him alone to ponder it. Aislin parted her lips to tell him but instead she said, “I’d like that, thanks.”
“Good,” he said with a grin. “I’m Morgan Carmichael.”
“Aislin Tiernan.”
“Ash-ling,” he repeated. “That’s pretty.”
“Thank you.”
Morgan crooked his elbow and she linked her arm through it.
“Shall we?” he said.
“Sure.”
They ambled down the street to the small restaurant tucked away in what had once been a neighborhood grocery store. Aislin had been past it many times but had never ventured inside. Each table boasted a bright floral print tablecloth along with the traditional salt and pepper shakers, a napkin holder, a bottle of ketchup and another of mustard. The smell of coffee and bacon lingered in the air, a pleasant aroma. Morgan pulled out a chair for her at a table for two near the front window and she slid into it, pleased and surprised. He’s got grand manners.
Bountiful ferns topped several plant stands around the dining area along with several blooming hanging baskets. Thick white china cups rested upside down on saucers. Aislin turned hers up, so did Morgan. Then he plucked a pair of menus from behind the napkin dispenser and handed her one.
“I just want a cup of coffee,” she told him.
He shook his head. “Indulge me and eat something. It’s professional advice, not just an opinion.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Morgan grinned and her heart kicked into a rock and roll beat. The smile made him not just handsome but absolutely fucking gorgeous and totally hot. “I’m a paramedic and a firefighter,” he said.
The patches on his crisp, blue uniform confirmed it. Despite the bagel she’d eaten, she could make room for a small breakfast. “Okay, you win. I’ll have whole wheat toast.”
On cue, the server appeared with a coffee pot in hand. She filled their cups. “What would you like?”
“Two double orders of whole wheat toast with two eggs each, over easy,” Morgan told her. “And jam for the toast.”
“I’ll have it right out,” the server said.
Fire Rescue Page 1
