Page 5
Damn, that smile knocked the air out of me, though. And there was something about her that made me want to trust her more than I should.
I turned back to the box of homemade cards, pretending to study the stick-figure firefighters and glitter glue. But all I saw was the look in her eyes when she looked at me and smiled.
3
The smell woke me before the light did.
Not pine. Not damp earth. Smoke.
It crept through the cracked window of my cabin, faint but wrong. I shoved my hair off my shoulder and threw the covers back. Outside, the morning sun was dulled to a weak glow, the air thick and uneasy.
Anxiety churned in my gut. This was not going to be a normal day. A text message lit up my phone. School was canceled today because of fire concerns.
I yanked the duffel from beside the door and ran through Jack Butler’s list again. Jeans. Hoodie. Papers. Water. Charger. My grandmother’s locket. My hands hovered over a stack of lesson plans, then dropped. Papers could burn. Kids couldn’t. I shoved everything in my teacher bag and set it beside the door.
I looked around for anything else. If the cabin burned, what could I not do without? I ran to the dresser and pulled a file from the bottom drawer. It had my important papers. I stuffed it into my teacher bag.
The alert hit my phone just as I pulled the strap onto my shoulder: Mandatory evacuation for residents north of Pine Hollow Road.
That was me. Oh, God…
Grabbing my bags, I locked the cabin and jogged to my car. Gravel crunched under my tennis shoes, smoke already seeping through the trees. My old sedan coughed to life, engine rattling as I steered down the narrow road. Branches scraped the sides, and the engine hesitated like it wanted to quit.
“Come on,” I begged, hands tight on the wheel.
Then the road bent, and a red pickup blocked the way. It was a bright red half-ton with the fire department logo on the hood, dust still swirling around its tires. The driver’s door opened, and my heart leaped into my throat.
Jack Butler.
He strode toward me, boots crunching, the heat shimmering around him. “Turn it off,” he called, voice rough.
I killed the engine, my pulse skittering.
“You can’t drive this road in that thing,” he said. His gaze swept the car, then landed on me. Unflinching. “You’ll stall out before you reach the highway.”
“I can make it,” I argued, chin lifting despite the smoke stinging my eyes.
His jaw flexed. He jerked his head toward the haze rising thicker over the ridge. “If the wind shifts, you’ll be trapped. We need to get out of here.”
I gripped the wheel harder. “So, what am I supposed to do?”
“You ride with me.”
The words hit like an order. My throat tightened. “I can’t just leave my car.”
“You can and you will.” His eyes locked on mine, steady as stone. “Metal can be replaced. You can’t.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks, part frustration, part something else entirely. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t softening. He just waited.
Damned bossy man.
Finally, I popped the door and grabbed my duffel and my teacher bag. My legs shook as I slammed it shut, leaving my little sedan behind like a defenseless turtle.
Jack opened the passenger side of the pickup and held it wide. I climbed in, the cab chilled from the AC and smelling of leather, smoke, and him. He closed the door with a firm snap, circled the hood and slid behind the wheel. He shifted into gear and we took off.
The old sedan faded in the mirror, smoke curling around it.
Jack
