‘Take the baby and phone the fire brigade,’ he snapped, and thrust the infant over the fence into her startled arms before she had a chance to protest. ‘And contact the police and ambulance. Fast.’
And then he dived into the house after Erin.
She’d found Tess and Michael.
The children had woken and stumbled to their doors in the increasingly smoke-filled dark. Calling and feeling her way, she found them and grabbed their hands. Five years old and badly frightened, Tess stumbled in the gloom. Still holding eight-year-old Michael’s hand, Erin lifted Tess and fumbled her way out toward the door.
The smoke was so thick she couldn’t see anything. Her eyes were streaming as she called to the twins.
‘Henry? William?’
There was no answer. Ventilation slits were built in above the bedroom doors and the smoke seemed to be coming from the twins’ room, but she couldn’t investigate. Her first priority must be to get Tess and Michael out.
And then she barrelled right into Matt in the hall.
This time she acknowledged his presence. She needed help—any help!—and she knew enough of Matthew McKay to know he was capable.
‘Matt, there’s these two, but the twins are still inside.’ She propelled her children forward and choked on a lungful of smoke. ‘Take them out.’
He took them all out. Grasping her arm without a word, he pulled her back out of the door before she could argue. There, standing on the porch, she fought to regain her breath so she could speak again.
Her panic was threatening to overwhelm her. The smoke seemed almost impenetrable, and she could see flames shooting from the side window. It was definitely coming from the twins’ room.
‘Dear God, the twins…’ It was hard to make her voice work. The smoke had seared her lungs, so every breath hurt.
‘How many more are inside?’ Matt’s voice was harsh with authority. ‘How many and tell me where they are. Now!’
Somehow she hauled herself under control and made herself heard. She couldn’t have asked for a better assistant than Matt McKay. Sure, he was wealthy and too good-looking for his own good, and he moved in circles she didn’t belong too, but his competence was never in question.
‘Just the twins,’ she told him. ‘Two seven-year-old boys. They’re in there together.’ She choked on another lungful of smoke, but she had enough sense to thrust the children off the porch as she motioned toward the twins’ window. The curtains were billowing out through the smashed glass, flaming outward in the night air. ‘Please look after the kids. I’ll go—’
‘Stay where you are!’ Matt’s brain was in overdrive as he sorted priorities. Helmut Cole was running across the lawn with a garden hose, while Valda watched horrified from a distance. She was holding the baby like she was holding something unclean.
It couldn’t matter. At least the baby could come to no harm where she was, and Helmut was doing the right thing.
‘Have you called emergency services?’ he yelled and, as Valda nodded, he turned back to her husband.
‘Helmut, point the hose in that window and keep it there.’ Then he turned and headed back inside—back in the direction of those shooting flames.
‘Please be careful.’ Erin was close to collapse. ‘The smoke…’
‘We can’t get in through the window,’ he told her. ‘Let’s just hope the whole bedroom isn’t ablaze.’
The house was in pitch darkness, but even if it had been daylight he couldn’t have seen anything. The smoke was so dense it was threatening to choke him. Matt dropped to his knees and crawled, but the smoke was too thick…
Then his brain kicked in. Finally! Damn, he should have thought of this outside. He paused, hauled off his sweater and tied it round his face. It wasn’t much protection, but it was better than nothing.
The twins’ bedroom was the second window from the front. He needed to turn right through the kitchen and head for the second door along the passage to the closed door…
He had to work fast, whatever was behind that door. If he was met with a wall of flame he didn’t have a chance—but then, neither did the twins.
With a silent prayer, he felt the knob, but it wasn’t hot to touch. That was his first good sign. There was therefore only smoke hard against the door. There was nothing to do now but…
He took a deep, smoke-filled breath, opened the door and forced his eyes to see. The curtains across the window were blazing, and the bed against the far wall was well alight. Outside, Helmut raised his hose and he was hit in the face by a jet of water.
Thank God for Helmut. The water wouldn’t put the fire out, but it helped keep him alive. The soggy sweater across his face made breathing possible—just—and he kept his face in that direction until the sweater was completely soaked.
Then he took another breath and somehow managed to make his voice work.
‘Kids, where are you?’
‘H-here…’ The muffled gasp came from the side of the room away from the window—low down. A piece of burning curtain landed in his hair. He thrust it away, unconscious of the pain, and groped under the second bed.
‘Grab hold,’ he managed, and small hands reached out and gripped his arms. As he counted contact hands—four!—he could have sobbed in relief.
There was no time for sobbing. Now what? Somehow he had to get them back through the house, and the smoke was building every minute.
‘T-Tigger,’ one of the children was saying, and the kid was pulling away.
‘What?’
‘Tigger.’
Matt found his hands full of sodden fur as the thing was thrust at him. A toy? Good grief! He shoved it down his shirt and grabbed a blanket.
‘Wait.’ His voice came out as a hoarse croak. More of Helmut’s water hit the blanket, but not enough. He held it up and let it soak, and then threw the cloth over the boys’ heads.
‘We’re crawling out of the room,’ he croaked. He had them cradled against him, but he pushed them towards the door. ‘You crawl first. If I stop, then you keep going. That’s an order. Now!’
And he shoved them forward out of that burning room, along the passage, into the kitchen and the hall beyond.
‘Henry… William…’
Erin met them in the hall. Like Matt, she’d wrapped her sweater over her head. She’d come in as far as she dared and was waiting, crouched at the kitchen door. As they crawled from the passage, she hauled them into her arms and tugged them outside.
Matt followed. He crawled four feet from the front door and collapsed unconscious onto the porch.
The most beautiful pair of blue eyes was gazing down into his.
‘Do you think he’ll live?’
There was something over his mouth and nose—something plastic and hard, and he tried to push it away.
‘Keep it there, Matt.’ He recognised the voice—Rob McDonald, the local police sergeant. ‘You’ve got a lungful of smoke and we’re giving you oxygen. Yes, Erin, if he’s capable of fighting off a mask, then I reckon he’ll live.’
Matt thought that through, and it seemed to make sense. The gorgeous eyes were still looking at him. It was funny how he’d never noticed them before. Erin was grimy and smoke-stained and still looking frazzled, but suddenly he thought she looked the most beautiful