engagement soured him on marriage, so he’s not looking for anything permanent. I get that.” But what happened if she began to care about Jake too deeply? Even though her own lack of decisiveness still had her emotionally shackled, she wasn’t sure how she felt about a surface relationship with him. What if she would always be someone he could enjoy chicken and ice cream with, believing she’d never want or expect anything more?
A loud bang and crash came from under her deck. Jumping up, Rachel waved a hand to turn on her motion lights and rushed down the steps in time to see—as she expected—two bristly lumps hurry away from her trash cans. Raccoons. You’d think they’d realize that when the trash cans were outside, they were empty. The best defense against marauding animals was to keep refuse inside until the morning that it was collected—which had happened today. But she’d failed to return the cans to her mud room.
So much for a night of soul searching.
Moving inside, then descending her basement steps, she unlocked the ground-level door, lugged the trash cans back inside and locked up again. Maybe all that noise was her cue to get some sleep. Jake wasn’t the only one who’d had a long, tiring day. She was slowly finding out that emotional stress could be just as draining.
A few hours later, she was thoroughly annoyed to realize she was coming awake again and tried to fight it. She burrowed deeper into her pillow, tried to concentrate on the dream she’d left behind. It was a good one. She and Jenna were crocheting baby booties, but she didn’t know who they were for. She drew abreath—coughed. Coughed again. She would go back to sleep. She couldn’t keep—
Rachel bolted upright in bed, alarm bells clanging in her head. She flew to her bedroom window and saw flames licking upward over the siding.
Dear God! Her house was on fire!
FIVE
T errified, Rachel ran to her nightstand, grabbed her cordless handset and raced for the living room. Suddenly, her smoke and heat detectors began to beep and scream. She punched in 9-1-1—jerked the phone to her ear. No dial tone! Her panic escalated. Rushing to her kitchen phone, she yanked the receiver off the hook and released another frightened breath. Still no dial tone!
Her thoughts ran wild. Save what you can! No! Get out, get out! Then: the camp store has a phone! The smoke was faint, and the fire was at the rear corner of the house. She had time. Rachel was through the patio door in seconds and bolting down the steps. She hit the driveway’s limestone chips at a run. Behind her, motion lights clicked on.
She still had lights! Thank you, Jesus! Now please, please let the phone work!
Eighty yards away, the camp store’s faint overnight lighting showed the way. She ran faster, barely aware of the stones cutting into her feet. Sixty yards. Forty. Twenty. Gasping, she leaped onto the stoop, tried the door. Locked! She yanked the wooden No Pets Inside, Please sign off the siding beside the door and smashed the glass pane—fumbled an arm inside to free the latch.Seconds later she uttered a shaky prayer of thanks again.
She had a dial tone!
Every nerve in his body pulsed and thumped as Jake yanked a T-shirt over his jeans, jammed his feet into his boots and strode for the door. He jerked his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair on his way out. The police scanner beside his bed was still squawking orders to and from firemen and emergency personnel on their way to the campground.
Maggie ran after him through his still-open door—jumped into the truck with him when he slid behind the wheel. Then he gunned the engine and roared out of his driveway, his brain all needles and fear. Rachel was too vigilant to have accidentally caused the fire, and she was a stickler for upkeep. No old paint cans or turpentine rags would be lying around waiting to spontaneously combust. That pile of rocks was back in his belly. He wasn’t an alarmist by nature, and he
A loud bang and crash came from under her deck. Jumping up, Rachel waved a hand to turn on her motion lights and rushed down the steps in time to see—as she expected—two bristly lumps hurry away from her trash cans. Raccoons. You’d think they’d realize that when the trash cans were outside, they were empty. The best defense against marauding animals was to keep refuse inside until the morning that it was collected—which had happened today. But she’d failed to return the cans to her mud room.
So much for a night of soul searching.
Moving inside, then descending her basement steps, she unlocked the ground-level door, lugged the trash cans back inside and locked up again. Maybe all that noise was her cue to get some sleep. Jake wasn’t the only one who’d had a long, tiring day. She was slowly finding out that emotional stress could be just as draining.
A few hours later, she was thoroughly annoyed to realize she was coming awake again and tried to fight it. She burrowed deeper into her pillow, tried to concentrate on the dream she’d left behind. It was a good one. She and Jenna were crocheting baby booties, but she didn’t know who they were for. She drew abreath—coughed. Coughed again. She would go back to sleep. She couldn’t keep—
Rachel bolted upright in bed, alarm bells clanging in her head. She flew to her bedroom window and saw flames licking upward over the siding.
Dear God! Her house was on fire!
FIVE
T errified, Rachel ran to her nightstand, grabbed her cordless handset and raced for the living room. Suddenly, her smoke and heat detectors began to beep and scream. She punched in 9-1-1—jerked the phone to her ear. No dial tone! Her panic escalated. Rushing to her kitchen phone, she yanked the receiver off the hook and released another frightened breath. Still no dial tone!
Her thoughts ran wild. Save what you can! No! Get out, get out! Then: the camp store has a phone! The smoke was faint, and the fire was at the rear corner of the house. She had time. Rachel was through the patio door in seconds and bolting down the steps. She hit the driveway’s limestone chips at a run. Behind her, motion lights clicked on.
She still had lights! Thank you, Jesus! Now please, please let the phone work!
Eighty yards away, the camp store’s faint overnight lighting showed the way. She ran faster, barely aware of the stones cutting into her feet. Sixty yards. Forty. Twenty. Gasping, she leaped onto the stoop, tried the door. Locked! She yanked the wooden No Pets Inside, Please sign off the siding beside the door and smashed the glass pane—fumbled an arm inside to free the latch.Seconds later she uttered a shaky prayer of thanks again.
She had a dial tone!
Every nerve in his body pulsed and thumped as Jake yanked a T-shirt over his jeans, jammed his feet into his boots and strode for the door. He jerked his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair on his way out. The police scanner beside his bed was still squawking orders to and from firemen and emergency personnel on their way to the campground.
Maggie ran after him through his still-open door—jumped into the truck with him when he slid behind the wheel. Then he gunned the engine and roared out of his driveway, his brain all needles and fear. Rachel was too vigilant to have accidentally caused the fire, and she was a stickler for upkeep. No old paint cans or turpentine rags would be lying around waiting to spontaneously combust. That pile of rocks was back in his belly. He wasn’t an alarmist by nature, and he
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