Page 42 of Sweet Beginnings

“Shovel?”

He tipped his chin behind them. “Winds moving the fire towards us.”

“Yeah.” She’d noticed too. All the firefighting training in the world wouldn’t do Preston any good without the right tools. Trying her best not to panic, she couldn’t help but think if ever panic was in order, this situation would be it.

Somehow, Preston had to get Sarah out of this. Digging a hole by hand wasn’t going to work. If they had a shovel, there was a small chance that if they sank into the ground and covered themselves with a water-soaked blanket, the fire might blow over them. And right about now, a small chance was better than no chance. But the problem remained: no shovel.

Samson howled again, did another circle dance and this time darted forward before coming back and howling again.

“He’s getting worked up again,” Sarah almost whispered.

No one could blame the animal.

“Preston.” Sarah nibbled on her lower lip.

“Got a good idea?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in. “I just want to say something, in case, you know, if we don’t get out.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” He was thinking it enough for the both of them.

She blew out a deep sigh. “I love you.”

If it were possible for time to stop, it just had, along with his heart.

“I know that wasn’t the plan, but I don’t want to die without you knowing.”

Gently, he took her hand in his and pulled her closer. “First, we’re not going to die,” even if he had to carry them through the fire to fulfill that promise, “and second, I love you more.”

A slight grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I love you most.”

Before he could come up with an appropriate comeback, Samson lunged at them, grabbing hold of Preston’s pants leg and tugging him away. “Don’t tell me he’s jealous.” That’s all he needed, for the frantic dog to get over his PTSD and then come between him and Sarah.

This had to be something more. Samson’s frantic energy was palpable, his brown eyes wide and locked on Preston’s, as if willing him to understand. The dog released his grip and barked sharply, then darted a few feet away, pausing to look back, his tail wagging in rapid, desperate sweeps.

Sarah grabbed hold of Preston’s arm. “He wants us to follow him.”

Could it be? “I think you’re right.”

Samson barked again, circling in agitation before sprinting to a thicket of trees. He barked twice more and jumped up, his paws scrabbling at the bark of one particularly sturdy-looking oak.

Smoke billowed in a choking cloud. Crouching low to the ground, he moved forward, following the dog, pulling Sarah with him.

“Preston…” with the heat licking at their backs, Sarah’s voice trembled, her grip tightening on his arm. “Do you think he—”

“I don’t know, but we’re out of options.”

Scrambling toward the determined dog, they were almost close enough to touch him when Samson suddenly bolted past the tree and into a narrow, barely discernible opening between the thick underbrush. Preston squinted, trying to make out where the dog was leading them. Obscured by dense foliage, the opening had yet to be engulfed by the fire.

“If this dog has found a way out, he’s getting the biggest bone the butcher has for dinner.” Preston tugged on Sarah’s hand, hurrying them along.

“And breakfast too,” her voice stronger, sounded more hopeful.

Disappearing into the brush, Samson’s barks echoed back to them. Still crouching low to avoid overhanging branches, they scurried after him. Air was heavy with smoke, mingled with oppressive heat, making it hard to breathe. Ahead the narrow passage seemed to curve away from the flames.

“I knew he was a special dog. He’s leading us away from the fire,” Sarah gasped, glancing over her shoulder. “How does he know?”

Preston shook his head. “Honestly, I haven’t a clue how he knows, I’m just glad he does. We’ve got to keep moving.”

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