Read Online On Deadly Ground by Lauren Nichols - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Nichols
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home. Utility servicemen still milled around, talking to firemen and drinking coffee supplied by the ladies of the firemen’s auxiliary.
The house itself was all but gone now, nothing left but charred timbers, a creek stone chimney that wouldn’t give up, and the acrid smell of burned memories she would remember all of her life. It hurt so much that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Jake slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned into him, holding on tightly and grateful for his strength.
“Let’s go back to the camp store,” he murmured against her temple. “We can grab another cup of coffee or a donut or just sit for a while.” After the firemen had arrived, Jake had pulled a pair of flip-flops, bottled water, towels and antiseptic spray from her store shelves. Then, over her teary objections, he’d knelt down to clean the dirt from her feet and attend a bloody cut she didn’t know she had. “You should give your foot a rest. There’s nothing you can do here.”
She knew that, but somehow she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop monitoring every word the firemen and hazmat team called to each other. She’d managed to save some of her things; besides her wedding portrait, she’d gathered a photo album, the clothes from her dryer and her security box. Thankfully, David had insisted the box be placed in the laundry room off the kitchen—not in the bedroom or living room where thieves might expect it to be.
Rachel swallowed hard. Electric service to her homehad been separate from the store and campsites, and light poles throughout the campground glowed in the lingering smoke and haze. She stepped back from him, but not very far. “You’re a good man.”
“I try,” he said quietly.
“You do more than try.” He’d barely left her side since he’d arrived except for a few minutes a half hour ago. Once it was certain that the fire wouldn’t spread to the woods, he’d driven Maggie back home and put her in her pen. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done tonight.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s not as if I was busy doing anything else.” At some point, he’d slipped his green jacket over her dorm shirt—startling her because she’d forgotten how she was dressed. Now he adjusted it on her shoulders. “Come on. The firemen’s auxiliary’s been working hard back at the store. You don’t want the ladies to think they’re unappreciated, do you?”
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t want that.”
They were preparing to walk back up the lane to the store when, from some distance away, Fire Chief Ben Caruthers called for Rachel to wait.
“Give me a minute?” she said to Jake, automatically backing up several feet.
“Sure.”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m through.”
Dressed in smoke-smudged, dull-gold bunker pants and an insulated coat striped with reflective tape, Ben came toward her. An SCBA mask dangled from his neck. Like many of the firemen who attended her church—Roy Blair, Nate, Joe Reston and the Atkins brothers—Ben had offered his sympathies earlier. She wasn’t surprised when Reverend and Mrs. Landersshowed up to offer their prayers and visit for a few minutes. They were loving, caring people who did whatever needed to be done for St. John’s congregation, day or night. The big surprise was the courtesy that off-duty Chief of Police Lon Perris had shown her. Maybe it was the lack of a uniform and a gun on his hip that seemed to soften his demeanor. But by the time Charity P.D. officers Charlie Banks and newly hired Caleb “Call” Drago took him aside to talk, she was nearly ready to change her opinion of him.
Ben pulled off his helmet and heavy gloves as he reached her—kept his insulated hood on. “Sorry, Rachel. The house was just too far gone by the time we got here. But you were insured and you can rebuild. Focus on that—and the fact that you got out alive.”
“I am, Ben. And believe me, I’m
The house itself was all but gone now, nothing left but charred timbers, a creek stone chimney that wouldn’t give up, and the acrid smell of burned memories she would remember all of her life. It hurt so much that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Jake slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned into him, holding on tightly and grateful for his strength.
“Let’s go back to the camp store,” he murmured against her temple. “We can grab another cup of coffee or a donut or just sit for a while.” After the firemen had arrived, Jake had pulled a pair of flip-flops, bottled water, towels and antiseptic spray from her store shelves. Then, over her teary objections, he’d knelt down to clean the dirt from her feet and attend a bloody cut she didn’t know she had. “You should give your foot a rest. There’s nothing you can do here.”
She knew that, but somehow she couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop monitoring every word the firemen and hazmat team called to each other. She’d managed to save some of her things; besides her wedding portrait, she’d gathered a photo album, the clothes from her dryer and her security box. Thankfully, David had insisted the box be placed in the laundry room off the kitchen—not in the bedroom or living room where thieves might expect it to be.
Rachel swallowed hard. Electric service to her homehad been separate from the store and campsites, and light poles throughout the campground glowed in the lingering smoke and haze. She stepped back from him, but not very far. “You’re a good man.”
“I try,” he said quietly.
“You do more than try.” He’d barely left her side since he’d arrived except for a few minutes a half hour ago. Once it was certain that the fire wouldn’t spread to the woods, he’d driven Maggie back home and put her in her pen. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done tonight.”
He smiled. “Well, it’s not as if I was busy doing anything else.” At some point, he’d slipped his green jacket over her dorm shirt—startling her because she’d forgotten how she was dressed. Now he adjusted it on her shoulders. “Come on. The firemen’s auxiliary’s been working hard back at the store. You don’t want the ladies to think they’re unappreciated, do you?”
“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t want that.”
They were preparing to walk back up the lane to the store when, from some distance away, Fire Chief Ben Caruthers called for Rachel to wait.
“Give me a minute?” she said to Jake, automatically backing up several feet.
“Sure.”
“I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m through.”
Dressed in smoke-smudged, dull-gold bunker pants and an insulated coat striped with reflective tape, Ben came toward her. An SCBA mask dangled from his neck. Like many of the firemen who attended her church—Roy Blair, Nate, Joe Reston and the Atkins brothers—Ben had offered his sympathies earlier. She wasn’t surprised when Reverend and Mrs. Landersshowed up to offer their prayers and visit for a few minutes. They were loving, caring people who did whatever needed to be done for St. John’s congregation, day or night. The big surprise was the courtesy that off-duty Chief of Police Lon Perris had shown her. Maybe it was the lack of a uniform and a gun on his hip that seemed to soften his demeanor. But by the time Charity P.D. officers Charlie Banks and newly hired Caleb “Call” Drago took him aside to talk, she was nearly ready to change her opinion of him.
Ben pulled off his helmet and heavy gloves as he reached her—kept his insulated hood on. “Sorry, Rachel. The house was just too far gone by the time we got here. But you were insured and you can rebuild. Focus on that—and the fact that you got out alive.”
“I am, Ben. And believe me, I’m
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