Page 12 of Fragile Sanctuary

I let my hand fall, glancing around at the rest of the room. So many boxes. But they could wait.

Because I was itching to get a better look at the ol’ girl. After getting past the first tidal wave of memory, I realized I’d missed her—her intricate trim and steepled roof. I’d missed how it felt like home more than any other physical place, even Colson Ranch.

Moving away from the bookcase, I headed out the front door. The first glimpse of charred siding had me sucking in a breath, but I pushed on, stalking toward the house. The burned half was on the side closest to my guest house, so I’d have to get used to seeing it.

The few years I’d been forced into therapy, my shrink at the time kept saying over and over that I needed to face what had happened. Until Nora got outright furious one day and screamed at the man that I’d face it when I was ready and told him to stop being such a pushy bastard. That had been my last session with him. But her outburst had made me feel more loved than I could express.

And Nora was right. I needed to do this at my own pace. It might’ve taken me fourteen years, but I was here now. Ready.

My worn boots kicked up gravel and dust as I walked. Instead of looking at the house, I focused on the dried-up garden beds surrounding it. My mind instantly began drawing up plans, and I pictured them coming to life with poppies and lupine. I wanted an explosion of color everywhere I could root it.

Rounding the back of the house, I caught sight of the kitchen. Through the windows, I saw a bit of smoke damage but not much else. The same four stools stood sentry at the oversized island—the ones Mom and I had sat on the night it all happened. They were where I’d told her about that first kiss.

God, that felt like a lifetime ago. A fumbling press of lips in the dark of a closet in Owen Mead’s basement. I saw Felix around town now and then. He had that same sweetness to him that he did all those years ago. But it wasn’t something I’d ever truly know.

He’d tried back then. To be my friend, and to bemore. He’d visited me in the hospital. Had gone to the memorial Fallon, Nora, and Lolli had arranged so I’d have a chance to say goodbye. But I’d never truly let him in. Eventually, he quit trying. But now, he stopped to say hello whenever he saw me and always gave me that warm, easy smile.

Taking a deep breath, I moved toward the house. I swore I could still smell the smoke in the air. Just a hint. It wasn’t something I’d ever miss.

I reached for the handle of one of the back French doors and simply let my hand rest there for a moment. A company my aunt had hired had tried their best to board up the place and cover the roof with a heavy-duty tarp. But when she realized any costs for repairs would be coming out of her pocket, she’d ceased helping altogether. The local sheriff’s department had been forced to oust the occasional person who tried to use it as a crash pad, but mostly, it had lain vacant all these years.

On a single exhale, I pressed on the knob’s lever. The movement was a bit jerky, the mechanism not used to it, but it was unlocked. I’d given Shep the keys so he didn’t have to wait around for me.

Slowly, I opened the door. This time, there was no denying the scent of smoke in the air. How it was possible after all these years, I didn’t know. Maybe it was baked into the walls.

Shep had assured me he had a guy who was a magician when it came to fire damage. Swore up and down, they’d bring the place back and help me come home again. But as I stepped deeper into the space, I wasn’t sure how that was possible.

Soot stained the walls to my right, making dark, inky swirls on the wallpaper that had once brought my mom so much joy. Those smoky patterns seemed to hypnotize me, pulling me deeper into the house and toward the worst of the destruction.

I ambled down the hallway, taking in every inch of damage and wondering about the small pieces that had magically seemed to escape the same way I had. Some tiny miracle that held no rhyme or reason as far as I could see.

When I reached the entryway, I turned to my left and felt as if a prizefighter had leveled a punch just below my rib cage. The library. My dad’s favorite place to hole up with a crime novel on the weekends. You could see exactly where the firefighters had stopped the blaze. The room was how I pictured my heart at times, half destroyed and half still beating.

Pressure built behind my eyes, and my throat worked to pull the tears back in as I took in the burned parts. All the thrillers that had been so well-loved were now nothing but ash. I bit the inside of my cheek. I’d give my dad back his library. And I believed he’d somehow see it as I stocked the shelves with John Grisham, Stieg Larsson, Truman Capote, and Patricia Highsmith. Along with novels we’d read together, saving whatever I could along the way.

Turning, I looked up the stairs. The landing above was half burned away, but the stairs, while soot-stained, looked steady enough. I stepped onto the first one, testing its strength. It held easily.

I climbed a few more with a desperate urge to see more. A breeze picked up, sending an eerie howl through the house. I knew it was because of the burned-out walls and smashed windows, yet a chill skittered down my spine.

But none of that stopped me from climbing. I told myself only two more steps, just to get a peek into the room that had held all my childhood dreams. Maybe I wanted to look into the girl herself. The one who’d thought a single kiss would change her life. And maybe it had, in a way.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a deep voice snarled.

There’d been nothing but me and the eerie howl for the past ten minutes—nothing but me and the ghosts. So much silence that I wasn’t ready for anything else. I whirled around, my foot catching on the broken step above me just as a man’s dark blond head came into focus.

I had a moment to see panic streak across his blue-gray eyes and his tanned skin pale as my arms windmilled. And then I was falling.

4

ANSON

I’d seenthe woman nosing around the outside of the house, peeking in through the back French doors, and then finally getting up the nerve to come inside. I’d called Shep, but he hadn’t picked up his damned phone, and I really hadn’t wanted to call the cops for a Nosy Nelly. I was sure the woman was just curious.

But sneaking around a construction site was a surefire way to get hurt or worse, which was exactly what was about to happen. The woman’s eyes widened at my barked question, revealing stunning hazel irises. Her shock seemed to make them spark, the gold in the green a living, breathing thing. But then her foot got caught on a broken step.

That shock turned to fear as she windmilled her arms. I let out a stream of curses, trying to predict which way she might tumble. She was only about ten steps up, but if she hit wrong, it could be really damn bad.

The woman’s mahogany hair flew around her face as she tried to regain her balance. It was futile. She crashed into the railing, already weak from fire and smoke damage, and went straight through it.

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