The sight she beheld as she crested the hill stopped her in her tracks. Fire had devoured the front door and half the wall to its right, leaving nothing but a gaping hole through which black smoke billowed. Snaps and crackles punctuated the roar that was the very life’s breath of the fire. The living mass moved over her house like a predator determined to devour it. Fury launched her into a run around the left side of the house where the wellhead was. There she found Cofield working the handle of the pump and Dylan holding a bucket beneath the flow of water. Her mind couldn’t wrap around Cofield helping when he didn’t have to, but she accepted it.
Knowing she couldn’t handle the buckets as fast or full as the men, she ran to the pump. “I’ll take over, you can carry water,” she said over the roar of the fire.
To her surprise, he nodded, grabbed a bucket, and took Dylan’s place beneath the spigot. She grabbed the handle and started pumping as fast as she could, using all her weight to push it down. Though it only took a few pumps to fill the bucket, it felt like an agonizingly long time. He took off running toward the fire. Outlined by the orange glow that made the hillside bright as day, Rick rushed back from the fire, bucket in hand. Deirdre started pumping again before he even reached her. He nodded to her and scanned the night as he held his bucket beneath the silver stream.
“She and Sadie are coming with the wagon and more buckets. Henry is with them,” she said, knowing what he was looking for.
He nodded again and ran back to the fire. Kinan took his place.
How long they worked like that, she couldn’t say. She knew only the flames crackling across her home not more than twenty feet away, the waves of heat that made sweat drip into her eyes, the burn of muscles from pumping, and the men she cared about rushing to the blaze. Dark, feminine hands came to rest atop hers. Wonderful cold seeped from those hands into her. A sigh of relief eased from her as Sadie pulled her aside and took over. That one sigh was all she allowed herself.
As she drew her next breath, she straightened. The clang of several buckets landing at her feet had her reaching for one automatically. She grabbed hold of the same one Cat did. Looking up into her friend’s eyes, she found the strength she needed to keep going. Once Sadie filled her bucket, Deirdre carried it toward the fire as fast as her legs would go. Kinan stopped her halfway there. He reached for her bucket, grabbed it in one hand, and passed his empty to her with the other.
“Let’s start a brigade. It will go faster that way,” he said.
She nodded and moved back close enough to hand off the empty bucket to Cat and grab another full one. When she turned back with the next bucket, Dylan stood a few paces down from Kinan. With the next bucket, Rick stood a few paces down from Dylan, and Cofield another few down from him. They passed the bucket from one to the other, pouring an endless stream of water onto the fire once they got a good rhythm going. She, Cat, and Sadie fed the men buckets as fast as they could.
Henry stood in the shadows nearby, firelight glinting off the barrel of his rifle now and then. He looked everywhere but at the fire. After a while, Deirdre realized he was watching over them in case anyone lurked in the shadows who shouldn’t be there.
Though water sloshed all over her, the proximity of the fire kept the cold at bay. Slowly, ever so slowly, they began to get the upper hand on the fire. The flames stopped advancing toward the roof. The light faded as the fire started to die. Despair gripped Deirdre as she realized the lack of flames was due in part to the walls having been all but consumed. Only the beams and roof remained. The men continued to douse the blackened framework, cooling what embers they could find. Their efforts slowed to a slower pace born of exhaustion. The need to rush had passed. They had done all they could.
The logs that Rick, Dylan, and the freemen had worked so hard to saw in half for her wall planks were all but gone. Taking the last bucket from her, Kinan’s hand lingered on hers. The hot touch brought tears to her eyes, both over how hard he and the others had fought to save her home, and over the fact that they had all but failed. Covered in soot and smelling of sweat and wood, Kinan had never looked finer to her. He had fought to save her home, risked his life.… She wanted to fall into his arms and weep until no more tears would come. The sympathy and regret in his eyes only strengthened the desire. Swallowing hard, she took a step toward him.
A horrible crack rent the quiet that had fallen, followed by a crash and a cry of pain. Flames erupted anew from the half-burned porch.
“Dylan!” Rick yelled. Bucket in hand, he ran for the porch.
Kinan tore away, grabbing a full bucket as he went. Both he and Rick threw their buckets of water on the flames, but it wasn’t enough.
Deirdre flew to her feet, grabbed a bucket, and ran after them. “No, no, no,” she cried.
The small flare of flames had already begun to recede when she arrived, but she threw the water anyway. Kinan reached the smoking hole in the porch and jumped right in. A wordless scream of protest ripped from Deirdre. She lunged toward the charred steps. Strong, feminine hands grabbed her from both sides. Everything in her wanted to fight, kick, and claw her way free. But she didn’t dare because two of those hands belonged to Cat. She couldn’t risk hurting her friend’s baby—not even to get to Kinan and Dylan. Falling to her knees, she screamed their names until she lost her voice, which wasn’t long considering how hoarse she was from the smoke.
Heartbeats—an eternity—later, Kinan stood up in the hole, Dylan slung over his shoulders. Most of Dylan’s clothes were burned away, exposing red, blistering skin on his arms and side. His blond hair was singed in places and the left side of his face was bright red. He hung limp, eyes closed.
A small tug and Cat and Sadie let her go. “Dylan,” she said as she rushed toward them.
Rick reached them first and helped carry Dylan down. They took him over near the well pump and lay him on the damp grass. Deirdre touched Kinan’s soot-covered arm as she stood. He covered her hand with his.
“I’m fine, and he’s breathing,” he said softly.
She looked at him for a long moment before kneeling at Dylan’s side. Rick leaned over him, putting an ear against his chest. For a long, torturous moment, he said nothing. During that time, Sadie knelt down next to Deirdre, a knife in her hand.
“His heart is beating,” Rick finally said.
The stench of burned flesh wafted off Dylan’s red skin. Thankfully, the only bad blisters were on the left side of his neck and his left arm.
Tears spilled down Deirdre’s cheeks. “What do we do?” she asked. She wanted to comfort him, touch him, but she was afraid she’d hurt him. It hurt her to look at him. This was her fault. He’d been trying to save her home.
Sadie leaned down, reaching with the knife. Deirdre grabbed her arm.
“We have to cut his clothes off before he wakes up,” she said.
“Why?”
With a gentle tug, Sadie freed her arm from Deirdre’s grasp and cut open the front of Dylan’s tunic. “In case the cloth has burned into his skin and peels off the skin when we remove his clothes,” she explained.
“Oh God,” Deirdre murmured, wishing she hadn’t asked.
Cat suddenly rose. Footsteps retreated rapidly before a retching sound reached them. A pang of sympathy for Cat pinched at Deirdre, but she couldn’t leave Dylan. Cat would be all right. It would probably be best for her to be away for this part. Deirdre didn’t much want to be here for it herself, but she had to be. Together she and Sadie lifted Dylan’s shirt away. Thankfully, it only stuck in a few places, and those were not terribly bad. Bile tried to work its way up Deirdre’s throat when part of his sleeve pulled away several layers of skin. Her throat had closed enough that she didn’t think she’d be able to throw up anyway. She swallowed hard, forcing the bile down. It wouldn’t be fair to Dylan if she had to run off to retch.
Someone set a bucket of water down beside them—Henry, j
udging by the wrinkled, age-spotted hands. “Thank you, Henry,” Rick said.
A ripping sound preceded Sadie handing Deirdre a piece of cloth. Her friend dipped another bit of cloth into the bucket, wrung it out over the ground, and started to gently wipe the soot from Dylan’s chest.
“Easy. Don’t rub at the parts that look burned, just squeeze water on them like this,” Sadie instructed.
Deirdre followed suit, being as gentle as she could. Once they had cleaned away as much soot as they could, Dylan’s skin didn’t look too bad aside from being so red the color could be seen even in the moonlight. Large blisters already turning white with pus rose here and there on his left side, but they were few and far between. A groan slid from Dylan’s parted lips when Sadie dripped water onto one of the worst blisters. His eyes fluttered open.
“Bloody hell, that hurts,” he murmured.
Rick let out a whoop and leaned in. “He speaks! Ha, looks like you’ll live, lad.”
Dylan gave him a weak smile. “O’ course,” he said, as if surprised it was ever in question. But his eyes revealed the truth of his worry. His head rolled in Deirdre’s direction. “Sorry…” He swallowed several times as if speaking were hard. “About your porch.”
Deirdre accepted a canteen from someone who passed it her way. Together she and Sadie helped him sit up a little and she held the canteen to his lips.
“You daft fool, my porch doesn’t matter,” she chastised.
He took several deep drinks before she pulled the canteen away. “Easy now, not too fast.”
As Sadie eased him back onto the ground, a powerful shiver traveled through him that ended with him wincing in pain. Sadie looked up at Rick and Kinan. “We need to get him back to the inn. We have to keep him warm and get these burns cleaned better,” she said.
Rick made a grunting noise of dissent. “’Tis too far. Me home is closer,” he said.
Sadie took Deirdre’s hand and pulled her back as the men moved in to pick Dylan up. He started to protest but a scream cut off his words. The sound died as his head lolled back.
Deirdre rushed back in. “Stop! You’re hurting him,” she cried as she grabbed Rick’s arm. But it was like grabbing an iron rod. She couldn’t stop him.
Rick got under Dylan’s arms and lifted him the rest of the way while Kinan lifted his legs. “’Tis all right, lass, he’s passed out now,” Rick said.
Sniffling, she allowed Sadie to pull her back out of the way. They carried him to the wagon where Cat and Henry were preparing a nest of blankets in the bed of the wagon. Canteen clutched to her chest, she followed them, feeling horribly useless. Gently as they could, they laid him down on the blankets. As soon as the two men jumped out of the wagon, Sadie crawled in. Rick left, heading in Cat’s direction, while Kinan stepped to Deirdre’s side. He took her face in his hands, wiping tears away she hadn’t realized had escaped.
“This is not your fault,” he insisted.
His earnest brown eyes failed to convince her. Fighting the instinct to collapse into his arms and weep, she shook her head instead. If Dylan didn’t fancy her, if she hadn’t encouraged his attention, maybe he wouldn’t have gone back up on that porch.
“But ’tis,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. We are responsible for the choices we make. Don’t blame yourself, please,” he said.
For one restful moment, she allowed herself to lay the weight of her head in his hands. Moans sounded from the wagon behind her. She pulled away from Kinan and turned to climb in the wagon. Inside, she sat down opposite Sadie so she could be close to Dylan. She lifted the canteen when he looked her way, and he nodded. The men had propped him up just enough that Sadie thankfully didn’t have to move him so he could drink. Gaze glued to her, he drank slow and long. She gave him the best smile she could muster. A gasp came from him as the wagon jostled when Cat and Henry climbed in the driver’s seat. Dylan grabbed hold of her hand and closed his eyes as the wagon started to move.
Trying to breathe through her mouth to avoid the smell of burned flesh, Deirdre looked back toward Kinan. She mouthed the words “be careful” to him. He nodded. In only a few turns of the wheels, the shadows hid his expression. Her gaze remained fixed on his silhouette, outlined by the gray smoke that continued to rise from the charred remnants of her house.
Chapter 20
A soft knock on the door roused Dylan from a restless sleep. Restless, but blessedly free of the pain that seared through his left arm and side the moment he moved. He wanted to yell at whoever it was to go away, but he didn’t, just in case it was Deirdre. Her attention and ministrations were all that made him want to wake up.
“Mr. O’Toole, you have a visitor,” came the voice of Rick’s housekeeper. The older woman’s thick Scottish accent made her a bit hard to understand, but he could make out most of what she said.
“Who is it?”
“It be Mr. O’Leary,” she said.
“Shite,” he mumbled. Must that bastard bother him? Wasn’t his physical pain enough for the man? Did he truly need to bother Dylan with his presence and dredge up all his own pain and guilt over Thomas’s death? Not to mention the fact that he had clearly won Deirdre’s affections. Not that Dylan didn’t have every intention of winning them away from O’Leary. “Give me a moment,” he called out.
“’Course, sir.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would come, he reached for the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. The brush of the cotton sheets felt like someone held a torch to his skin. He had to stretch to reach inside the drawer, which pulled the worst of the burns on his left side. Gasps and quiet curses passed his lips, but he managed to pull out the two sheets of paper he had in the drawer. He folded them carefully, wincing as burnt bits of the edges flaked away. The writing on the parchment didn’t suffer any more than it already had, that was all that mattered. He carefully tucked them beneath his pillow, turning enough to make sure they were completely hidden.
Liquid warmth spread beneath the bandage around his left forearm as he propped himself up into a sitting position. With it came a searing pain that took his breath away. But it was worth it. He didn’t know if Kinan would dig into his nightstand, but he wouldn’t put it past the man, and he couldn’t take that chance.
Another knock sounded on the door, this one hard and impatient.
“Come in,” Dylan called in a clipped tone.
Kinan strode in and closed the door behind him. In his pristine breeches, pressed blue linen shirt, and black vest, he looked the perfect high-society gentleman. Anger drew deep lines between his dark brows, and his suspicion-filled eyes were as hard as flecks of brown jasper. Dylan sat up a bit straighter. The movement hurt, a lot, but he didn’t let it show. In fact, he grinned.
“Me being the hero has your knickers in a bloody big knot, don’t it now?” he said.
Kinan’s eyes narrowed further. “You fancy yourself a hero because you fell through a half-burned porch your daft arse shouldn’t have been on in the first place?”
Dylan’s grin widened to expose more teeth. “’Tis always amusing to hear you use Irish slang, knowing your mum is Mexican.” He covered his mouth, eyes widening. “Oh, me apologies. Did I say that out loud?”
The smug look that settled on Kinan’s face was the last reaction he expected. “Say what you want. I have no secrets from Deirdre, unlike you. Tell me, does she know you ran my best friend’s sister out of town after disgracing her, then dragged him off to a fight a war that wasn’t his own?”
Dylan tried to rise from the bed, but the pain it caused made him so nauseous that he collapsed back into the pillows. “You’re just sore that she chose my poke instead of yours,” he snarled.
Kinan’s hands curled into fists and he took a step closer. “You bastard, if you’re pursuing Deirdre just to try and rile me, stop now. She deserves better than that. She i
sn’t a conquest, she’s a woman with feelings.”
“Me reasons are none of your concern.”
Another step and Kinan’s hands gripped the footboard of the bed. “They are if you hurt her. If you do, that fire of yours will seem like a mercy compared to my wrath.”
Dylan gripped the blankets. A thousand needles of pain shot deep into the muscles of his arm from the movement. He turned it to anger and poured all that pain into his words. “My fire? Out with it, O’Leary, what are you accusing me of?”
“Did you set those fires, Dylan?” he asked in a steady, quiet tone that sent a chill through Dylan. It was the tone of a man who had killed and would do so again if he felt justified. Dylan wouldn’t give him that justification.
“O’ course not. Where would you get a daft idea like that?” Dylan demanded.
He suspected he knew exactly where the idea had come from, but he wouldn’t help the man by volunteering information.
“Cat’s winery house was saved because you woke the freemen here at Rick’s ranch and told them it was on fire. But if you had been coming from your home and saw the fires, Deirdre’s house would have been the first you saw, and my inn would have been miles closer. If you were protecting Deirdre’s property, like you should have been, it wouldn’t have burned at all. What were you doing all the way over by Cat’s property if not setting the fires?” Kinan asked.
Dylan glared him down, giving himself a moment to formulate his story. He’d known someone might eventually ask this very question, but he’d been too tired and in too much pain to think about it until now. “Not that ’tis any of your business what I do, but one of Rick’s milk cows got out and I was taking her back to the barn.”
“You expect me to believe you abandoned your post to save a cow? You sure you weren’t coming from Ainsworth’s place? ’Tisn’t far from there,” Kinan said.
Dylan bristled, not out of anger, but because of how spot-on Kinan’s instincts were. He managed to turn it to anger that he knew would show in his expression. “And why do you think I’d be coming from that blaggard’s property?”
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