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A bump sounded from beyond the wall of the kitchen. Nick paused; his ears perked up. Claire walked to the window over the sink and peered out. Nothing on the grassy yard stretching to the woods that edged the property. She twisted her head, craning to see left, then right. Nothing.
“Probably a squirrel,” she muttered to Nick. “You’ll like chasing those when you’re older.” She wagged a finger at the dog. “I don’t think you’ll ever catch one, but if you do, don’t bring it home. Wherever your home ends up being.”
Nick plopped down in the middle of the makeshift dog bed and rested his head on his paws.
“Look at the size of your paws.” She shook her head. “You’re going to be a big one, aren’t you? Just like your namesake.”
The image of the tall, dark man sitting on his gleaming motorcycle made her flush again. He was the stuff dreams were made of. A modern-day knight coming to the rescue. But she didn’t need to be rescued. She could take care of herself.
What was his story? Where would he end up?
There was something compelling about his dark eyes. She’d seen pain and intelligence, rage and mischief there. The way he’d smiled at her when he’d said his name was enough to make any woman’s knees weak. The man was too handsome. But not in a pretty boy way or even a GQ way. The angle of his nose, the jut of his whiskered chin and the planes of his cheeks could have been sculpted by a master’s hand.
She gave a wry laugh. Well, he had been, you dolt. God had done a nice job on Mister Nick. On the outside to be sure, but on the inside…?
A man who stepped in when he saw trouble was a rarity indeed. A man who carried a Bible with him out in the open even rarer. Was he a man after God’s own heart?
She’d never know. He was long gone now, just a wonderful memory of a guy on a bike who’d offered his help and wanted nothing in return. Definitely a rarity.
A man like Nick would be hard to resist. Good thing she wouldn’t face that temptation again.
With a quick glance to make sure the puppy still slept, Claire headed for her office—a small room located in the front of the house. It was an ideal spot to work and still be able to keep an eye on the main area of The Zone.
The bedrooms were all upstairs and she’d taken the largest of the five bedrooms at the far end of the hall. Gwen’s room was at the top of the stairs while the other three rooms were in various degrees of readiness for taking on more teens. Not that Gwen was a teen any longer. She was a college student now with a part-time job—a far cry from the strung-out, skinny orphan Claire and Aunt Denise had first brought home.
Having Gwen come into their lives solidified Claire’s desire to start a shelter. She’d decided to open it here in Pineridge because no such facility existed in the area.
But there would be soon.
Claire sat at her desk and rummaged through files and notes. There was still so much to do before she could officially open. More government hoops to jump through, the community to convince and teens to build trust with.
And a puppy to care for. She compiled a list of needs for Nick. Just in case she was unsuccessful in finding his owners, she wanted to be prepared. Then she went to work on her plans for The Zone.
The clock ticked by another hour.
The hairs on the back of her neck raised and chills raced down her spine. Something wasn’t right.
The loud shrill of three fire alarms pierced the quiet. Heart pounding with dread, she jumped from the chair and raced into the living room. A gray haze hung in the air, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs.
Fire!
“Nick!”
She raced toward the kitchen. Smoke billowed from beneath the crack in the back door and through the open window over the sink, filling the room with frightening quickness. She heard the puppy whimper, but she couldn’t tell from where.
She dropped to her knees like she’d been told to do in elementary school. She crawled across the floor toward the kitchen. The heavy smoke swirled around, making it difficult to see.
The puppy’s blanket was empty. She crawled out of the kitchen. “Nick!” she called again, taking in smoke. She winced as her lungs spasmed. In the laundry room she found the puppy huddled in a corner, its little body shaking.
“Here, boy.” Claire scooped the pup up and cuddled him close.
Claire crawled toward the front of the house while holding Nick in one hand. She breathed in. Coughed. Her lungs burned. She caught her hand on the leg of a chair and went down on her elbow, her knees scraping on the floor. Nick yelped as she tried to catch herself with the hand that held him.
The smoke became dense, more intense. The front door seemed a mile away. Somewhere in the closet under the stairs was a fire extinguisher. She’d get Nick out, come back for the extinguisher and put out the fire.
She crawled forward again, laboring to breathe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The puppy whimpered.
“It’ll be okay, Nick. Dear Lord, please let us be okay.”
She coughed, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Her stomach rolled. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t. She forced herself to continue on despite the effects of the smoke. Her survival instinct pushed her, urged her to keep crawling away from the source of the smoke.
Her wrist gave out, forcing her weight down hard on her elbow, sending pain up her arm. Her head fell forward to smack against the hardwood floor. Spots of light popped in front of her eyes.
She couldn’t stop, she had to keep going.
Where was the man in black leather when she needed him?
Flames shot from the back of the house.
Nick’s heart slammed against his ribs as he stopped his bike at the bottom of the cement stairs leading to the front door. He set the kickstand and jumped off his bike. He rushed up the porch steps and burst through the front door.
Smoke billowed around him, stinging his eyes. His gaze zeroed in on Blondie crawling toward the door with the puppy clutched to her chest with one hand, while she balanced with the other hand.
She lifted her head, her eyes wide. The puppy squirmed out of her grasp and ran past Nick’s legs and down the steps.
Nick scooped up Blondie and carried her to the front yard where he gently laid her down on the grass. She opened her mouth to say something but coughed instead. He rolled her to her side as she spit out black soot between taking in gulps of air.
Relief surged through Nick. He’d finally given in to the urgent, nagging feeling that he should turn back. And a good thing, too. He patted her shoulder, offering her comfort as his heartbeat began to slow.
“You came back,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged.
“The puppy?” she rasped, her eyes widening as she sat up and was momentarily gripped with another bout of coughing.
“He ran out. I’m sure he’s fine.”
She raised her gaze to her home. “My building.”
The disappointment and hurt in her voice burned in his gut. This shouldn’t have happened. He knew who was to blame. His fingers curled into a fist. He’d make sure they paid.
Seeing that the blonde was out of danger, he rose. He refused to consider why he felt the need to help her, why her distress tightened a knot in his chest. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He left her on the grass and went around to the back of the building where the smoke seemed to originate. Two garbage cans were on fire directly below an open window as well as the wooden slats of the back porch.
Pillows of black smoke rolled into the kitchen. The flames were licking at the back door and the ceiling of the porch, curling the gray paint and blackening the wood, which crackled and snapped.
Nick skirted around the fire to where a garden hose lay rolled on the ground. The faucet turned easily and water sprayed out. He aimed the spray on the door and porch since that would be where the damage would be most devastating.
Off in the distance the wail of a siren drew close, bringing hope of help. Within minutes firemen bustled about, waving off Nick and his efforts. He dropped the hose and headed back toward where he’d left Blondie.
He spotted her as he came around the corner and his chest tightened more. Grass clung to her hair, streaks of soot marred her creamy complexion and smeared her white blouse and jeans.
Two paramedics were tending to her. Or rather, trying to. She brushed away their attempts to get her into the ambulance. Nick stepped over a fire hose as he approached.
“No, I can’t leave,” she said as she dodged one EMT and snagged the arm of a passing fireman. “Do you know how much damage has been done?” Her voice rasped with the effects of the smoke. A purple goose egg formed on her forehead.
“Not yet, ma’am.”
She dropped her hand away and the fireman continued on, giving Nick a nod as they passed each other.
The worried lines framing her mouth deepened and her eyes were troubled as she turned to face Nick. She closed the distance between them in a rush of steps. “Is everything ruined?”
The anxiety in her voice tore at his heart. He didn’t want to care. He couldn’t. “Hard to tell. The fire department will let you know. You need to go with the paramedics and let them check you out.” He took her elbow and steered her back toward the ambulance.
“I need to find the puppy!” She doubled over, coughing.
He held fast as she tried to pull away from his hold on her elbow. “What you need to do is let them take care of you.”
“But who’s going to take care of things here?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I have to be here.”
“Is there someone, a friend, a family member, you could call who could come?”
Two little lines appeared between her dark blond brows. “This place is my responsibility.”
Was she a control freak or did she really not have anyone she trusted to help? What did it matter to him, anyway?
But it did matter. This happened because of him. His interference. He felt responsible for her. For her situation.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll stay—make sure the police and the firemen have everything they need—while you go with the paramedics.”
“You’ll stay?” Big tears filled her eyes. She rapidly blinked them away.
That knot twisted another notch, warning him he was getting too involved. But guilt was a stronger motivator than self-preservation. He owed her a debt because he’d brought this on her.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll stay.”
She sagged and allowed him to help her into the ambulance.
“Wait,” she called as he stepped back. “You’ll find the puppy?”
“Sure.”
Her smile held gratitude. “Thanks. His name’s Nick.”
Their gazes held for a moment before the doors of the vehicle closed.
Nick stared after the ambulance. She’d named the puppy after him. Flattered warmth spread through him, heating his face. He was treading water in the deep end.
Not my problem?
He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
Claire sat on the gurney waiting for the emergency-room doctor to return. She swung her bare feet, picked at the cotton hospital gown and tried to ignore the noises from the other exam rooms.
She felt vulnerable and exposed, but mostly she was worried. Worried that everything she’d worked so hard for was ruined.
She chewed her lip, wondering if Big Nick had found Little Nick.
The corner of her mouth lifted at the memory of his expression when she’d told him the pup’s name. He’d looked dumbfounded.
She still could hardly believe God had answered her prayers by bringing Nick back. When he’d come storming into The Zone she’d thought she was dreaming. Dreaming about a dark warrior who used his powers for good, not evil. Like some comic book character, except the strong arms that had held her so tenderly had been very real.
And the concern in his eyes called to her in a way nothing else could. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any real concern for her well-being. Oh, people had shown her kindness, but she often felt it came from obligation to her late aunt’s memory rather than for herself.
The need to belong to someone rose sharply and she squashed it like an irritating fly. She couldn’t allow herself to want anyone, to expect anything from anyone because expectations only led to disappointment.
More likely, Nick wouldn’t stick around as he’d promised. She sternly steeled herself against any pain from hope. She wouldn’t fret over it, wouldn’t let it matter.
She was thankful he’d arrived when he had and that she hadn’t inhaled too much of the smoke. The doctor had said her lungs might hurt for a few days and she’d probably have a headache from smacking her head on the floor, but otherwise she was in good health and could return home. He’d gone off to tell the nurse to discharge her.
But what would she be going home to?
Her stomach twisted. She had a pretty good idea who’d set the fire, but she hadn’t told the police when they’d arrived because she wasn’t a hundred percent certain.
She had to focus on moving forward no matter how much this incident set her back. She’d push through it, as always.
First she had to get back to The Zone. She didn’t have money for a cab with her. She shrugged. She’d walk. She didn’t relish putting on the smoke-scented clothes she’d arrived in, but she’d do what she had to.
The nurse pushed aside the curtain and stepped in. She was tall, African-American and very striking. Her black hair was pulled back into a fancy twist and her smile was kind.
In one hand she held a clipboard and in the other a brown paper bag, which she set on the counter. “The doctor says you can be released. I have a few forms for you to sign.” She handed Claire the clipboard and pen.
Quickly looking over the form, Claire worried her bottom lip. She wasn’t sure how the bill would be paid—if the insurance would cover it or not. She signed where appropriate and handed the clipboard back. She’d deal with the financial stuff later. “Where are my clothes?”
The nurse moved to the counter behind the gurney and picked up a clear plastic bag that contained Claire’s dirty clothes. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “You’re not going to want these anymore.”
She set the bag down again and then grabbed the brown paper bag she’d brought in and handed it to Claire. “Your boyfriend brought you these. When you’re dressed, come on out.”
Claire blinked. Boyfriend? She opened the bag and pulled out her red polo shirt and fresh jeans. Embarrassed heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.
Someone had gone through her things.
Nick?
A jittery panic hit her stomach like a spray of pebbles. He couldn’t be her boyfriend. Not in a million years. She didn’t need a boyfriend.
But she had to admit it felt good to have someone care.
