Irresistible Stranger

“Oh my. Oh my.” Susannah grabbed a chair arm and pushed to her feet. “I’m afraid that’s close.”

So was Lily. She shot out the door, leaving her purse, her papers, everything. Before she could fly down the steps of the veranda, the only sound in her head was a fierce, angry no.

She knew it was Louella’s.

The bed and breakfast was the only other place in town where Lily had been that hadn’t been targeted. But she thought, no one would do that to darling Louella. To that beautiful old house. Why? Why?

A car honked-she crossed the street without looking, running like a gazelle, seeing neighbors step outside, crossing arms, worried about what was happening, kids being called to come in from playing. Lily just kept charging ahead.

It wasn’t the whole house. It was just one window where clouds of thick, blustery smoke was starting to rumble out. Her window. The room she stayed in. Another measure she was to blame for this somehow, involved in this somehow, but if Louella was hurt, she’d never forgive herself.

She could hear the fire truck siren joined by police sirens, but neither rescue vehicle was in sight yet. A new boarder was standing on the front lawn when Lily leaped up the porch steps and slammed inside, calling Louella’s name, not seeing her anywhere downstairs.

She took the stairs up two at a time, feeling the buildup of heat, her lungs whining at the choke of smoke. She found Louella in the hall, holding a handkerchief to her nose with one hand, trying to maneuver a heavy, unwieldy fire extinguisher with the other.

“Go!” Lily yelled at her.

Louella shook her head. “I’m not leaving my house!”

“I’ll do it, Louella!” She grabbed the extinguisher, hefted it, pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle full bore. “If you have another extinguisher, get it. Or see if the neighbors have some.”

“I-”

“I won’t leave your fire until the firemen get here, I promise, Louella. But you go. Outside. Don’t breathe this-” It was way too much talking. Both of them were starting to cough heavily, Louella bent over as she aimed for the stairs.

Lily turned back toward the bedroom, her eyes tearing in the rage of smoke-but she’d found the source. The wastebasket in her room was heaped with rags, reeked of gasoline. Fire danced up the lace curtains, shooting out the windows in scraps of seared lace and fabric. The white bedspread had caught a hem of fire now.

The extinguisher spewed foam, a white mousse that was almost as stinky as the fire. Lily kept aiming and shooting, her arms aching, screaming from holding the weight of the extinguisher.

“Lily!” Behind her, Louella had brought up another extinguisher. Lily took the fresh one, pulled the pin, let it rip.

“Go! Get out of the building!” she ordered the older woman.

“I am, I am. But the fire trucks. They just got here. So you can leave, too.”

“I will! I will!” Yet she couldn’t seem to desert the ship. She hadn’t caused this, but she still felt responsible. The things burning up in front of her eyes-her yellow shorts, her cosmetic bag, her white sandals with the cork heels-they were already smoked and soaked and destroyed. But it hurt, sharp as a wound, that it was her stuff, her room that had been targeted.

The heat built. The smell and smoke increasingly choked her. She couldn’t seem to get ahead of it. The bed pillow poofed, puffed, then came alive with fire, turning into a shower of sparks. The fire jumped, kept jumping. She put out curtains; then the lace scarf on the bureau sparked fresh. The old wallpaper on the far wall turned wet, shiny, started peeling.

The air seemed alive with moving, burning bits of debris. Clouds and wings of burning ash drifted in the air. Something tiny and sharp fell in her hair.

The burn was sharp and sudden. Instinctively, she dropped the extinguisher, batted at the pain in her head. Fear caught her like the sting of a whip. All these years she’d thought of fire as loss, as grief. Not as…personal. Not as something alive and lashing out. She spun, confused, choking, her palms stinging, her eyes blinded…

“Lily!”

Maybe she heard the fast thump of firemen’s boots, the noise of voices. But the only thing she spun around for was the sound of Griff, calling her name. She stumbled.

He caught her with a strong, sure grip. And with all the finesse of a tender lover, tossed a cold, soaking wet towel over her head.

The next stretch of time passed in a blur. Griff got her downstairs, set her up with a blanket in the front yard- and a medic. The medic was cute as a button, but it really, really hurt to have her palms cleaned, even though he talked to her nonstop. Jason hung tight to the periphery of her blanket like a scrawny, stubborn watchdog. Neighbors-some faces familiar, some not-clogged up the sidewalks and the yard.

Someone brought lemonade. Someone brought sweet tea. The party atmosphere built, completely at odds with the fire truck and official cars blocking the street. Louella, though, was holding court. Lily caught snatches of her conversation as the older lady poured lemonade and passed out spice cookies.

“See now? What did I tell you? She saved my house, she did. And Susannah’d be the first to tell you that she was at her house when this all happened. It’s primarily Lily’s things that were hurt. The child doesn’t even have a change of clothes to wear. She’s one of ours, has always been one of ours, and look at her now, bless her heart.”

The medic, the one who had gorgeous blue eyes and looked about nine years old, finished putting salve and bandages on her palms and various other places, and then examined the side of her head. Shook his head.

“Not a pretty picture?” she asked.

“It’s a gorgeous picture.” Griff seemed to show up from nowhere-for the second time-and looked as covered in soot and dirt as she did. “Hair grows, besides.”

“Uh-oh.” When he came closer, she said quickly, “Don’t come near me.”

“Why?”

“I think I smell worse than anything I’ve smelled in my entire life.”

He grinned. “Beneath all that fire and smoke, it’s still you, sugar.”

She remembered that. Remembered how his smooth soft lips had felt against hers. Remembered the sudden quiet of neighbors watching. Smiling. Griff…so not smiling.

Later, after talking to Cashner Warden and Herman Conner and Louella and Susannah-who had her purse and papers, thank heavens-Griff took her home. She seemed to need to cough her lungs out several times. Jason was there. He had ideas-like ice cream. Lots of cool, soothing ice cream. He thought she needed to watch a nice, soothing movie, an old one, like Batman, or The Fantastic Four.

But Jason wasn’t there when Griff lowered her into a bathtub. He’d started by sealing up her hands in bags with rubber bands, so the water wouldn’t touch the burns on her palms. Kneeling behind her, he washed her hair, washed her face, washed her toes, washed everything, slowly, carefully, tenderly. Silently.

“You know what I figured out?” she asked him.

“What?”

“That it’s about anger. Setting these fires. It’s not about destruction. Even those fires years ago didn’t actually destroy that much property. Or specifically aim to hurt a human being. It’s all about anger. Someone with a rage that’s just out of their control.”

When Griff said nothing-he was spraying water to rinse her hair at the time-she waited until she could open her eyes to look at him. Really look at him.

“I think I’m a little in shock,” she admitted.

“I know you are.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. I’m down to today’s clothes. Which aren’t exactly fit for man or beast.” When she couldn’t win a smile from him, she said, “In the background, I thought I heard Louella saying that insurance would cover the damage. Completely.”

“There was an insurance agent right there. Won’t be a problem.”

“I’ll need to borrow a toothbrush until tomorrow.”