Long hoses were uncoiled, then hooked up to the fire hydrant three houses down. Some of the men carried dispensers of foam fire retardant as well. Neighbors opened their doors and windows to see what was going on.
A paramedic rushed to her side, checking for injuries.
Samantha touched her hot cheeks. “I’m not hurt. Just scorched a little of my hair.”
The paramedic scanned her beneath the illumination of his flashlight, then reached for an oxygen mask. “Just want to be sure.”
She brushed back the singed ends of her bangs. “I’m fine.”
“You really need to get a threshold ramp in case you have to get out alone. It’s an easy adaptation.” The tall, muscular fireman who had wheeled her outside pulled off his mask and frowned, critically studying the front of the house. “You don’t have a porch ramp either.”
“Bret?” Samantha stared at the handsome man. They’d known each other since high school. And had loved each other enough to become engaged. The pain of their breakup had kept them apart for the last eight years.
He stared back, clearly startled when he recognized her.
“It’s been…what?” Samantha swallowed the unexpected rush of emotions. “Since graduation?” Their days at Texas A&M seemed a lifetime ago. Strange the pain didn’t.
Bret pushed back his helmet, revealing dark hair. His equally dark eyes hardened and she wondered if he was feeling the same rush of memories, the unexpected flare of attraction. “Samantha Shaw. Didn’t expect it to be you. Thought your parents must have rented out the place.” He glanced down at the chair. “Accident?”
“Yeah.” It was still hard to talk about, impossible to accept.
His surprise didn’t fade. “So, what are you doing in Rosewood?”
“Can’t a person come home for awhile?”
“You haven’t been real big on doing that.”
She craned her neck, looking back at the house, trying not to think about the shock of seeing Bret.
The paramedic placed the oxygen mask over her face.
When she could speak, Samantha looked again at Bret. “Do you think there’ll be much damage?”
“If it’s confined to the kitchen, probably not.” Bret’s voice was as hard as his eyes. “Once it’s clear, you can go inside for a quick look.”
Her relief disappeared. “More than a quick look. I’m living here now.”
“Can’t do that, Sam. Not tonight. Could be a live ember left we didn’t catch. It’s too dangerous. You have to wait ’til it’s completely cold.”
Overpowered by the now familiar sense of claustrophobia and panic, she could barely speak. Not that it mattered. Surrounding neighbors who had poured out of their houses, dressed in pajamas and robes, crowded around, offering sympathy and help.
“I appreciate your concern, but it looks worse than it is.” Polite but firm, Samantha declined their offers, knowing she couldn’t let them in on her secret or her life.
Albert and Ethel Carruthers, the older couple who lived next door, were slow but determined as they closed in.
“Samantha!” Mrs. Carruthers clucked in worry, unfolding a crocheted afghan she’d carried with her, then smoothing it over Sam’s lap. “Whatever happened?”
They were two of the very few people in Rosewood who knew she was home. Because her parents had entrusted them to watch over the house, Samantha had been forced to tell the Carrutherses that she was back, especially since she’d needed their help to get inside. “Just a tiny grease fire.” She tried to ignore Bret’s startled expression, certain he was wondering why she was covering up the truth. “Nothing to worry about.”
“But Samantha can’t go back in tonight,” Bret told them. He disregarded the warning in her eyes, instead talking directly to the older couple. “Could she stay at your place? Don’t want her toasted by a flare-up.”
“Well, of course she can!” Ethel Carruthers patted Samantha’s shoulder. “It’s difficult enough to be on your own, but when there’s a catastrophe—”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Samantha interrupted.
“Even so. What are neighbors for?”
Possibly to squeal on me. If my parents find out…
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Bret was saying. “Want to see how much damage there is.”
As he walked away, Albert Carruthers stared after him, then back at Samantha. “I thought it was just a small fire.”
Emotionally, Samantha felt as though she’d just run a hundred miles. The irony made her even wearier. She hated fibbing to these people—she’d known them literally her entire life. “You know how firemen are extra cautious. I don’t see why I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Ethel had moved on to her mother-hen mode. “We keep the guest room set up all the time. Never know when one of the grands or great-grands will stop over.”
Samantha softened at the longing in the older woman’s voice. Her grandchildren were grown and Ethel missed them.
“Maybe we should call your parents,” Ethel mused.
“No!”
Ethel’s eyes widened and Samantha tried to control her flustered response. “Why worry them? It’s a tiny fire. They gave up so much time flying to New York when…when I had my accident. It’d be just like them to hop on an airplane and come home.”
“Well…”
“Going to Africa’s been their dream since…well, before they retired. The kids in their school need them more than I do right now. We agreed we wouldn’t ruin that for them.”
Ethel sighed. “You’ve always been determined. Ever since you were a little thing. You could barely toddle, but you were relentless.”
Swallowing, Samantha tried not to think of those days, a time when she believed anything was possible. “My days of toddling are in the past.”
Bret came up behind them. “I’m going to open the windows, let the house air out tonight. That’ll help the kitchen cool down sooner, too.”
Samantha squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, not wanting her emotions to spill over in front of him. But the lack of control, the inability to do things on her own anymore…. The pain was so intense she felt it pierce her chest. Instinctively, she pulled off the oxygen mask.
“I can come back in the morning for a few minutes before work,” Bret continued. “Check out the house and take you back.” He turned off the oxygen tank and placed the mask on top of it.
Not allowing Samantha to agree or refuse, he again took charge of her chair, wheeling her toward the house next door. Logically, she knew the elderly Carruthers would have a difficult time coping with her chair, but she hated when others simply took over as though her mind didn’t work any better than her legs.
The Carrutherses trailed a good distance behind. Bret chose the back door of their house, tipping and then lifting Samantha’s chair over the threshold in two efficient moves. “I’ll wait till tomorrow to ask why you’re back.” He pushed the chair through the kitchen and into the living room. “And why you lied.”
Startled, she stared up at him. Hearing the Carrutherses entering the house, Samantha didn’t try to explain. But she