Page 3 of Hargrave Flame Out
Celeste dropped her phone on the nearest bistro table. They’d installed a fire extinguisher when they’d built the outdoor kitchen. If she could get to it, she might save the pergola and keep the fire away from the house.
They had guests coming in less than a week. This B&B was her career, her focus, her future. Her…everything.
The fire threatened to consume their livelihood, along with those fragile seeds of change so recently planted in her heart.
She would not let that happen.
Squinting against the heat of the flames, she looked for the red tank that should be in the bracket on the end of the countertop. It was gone.
Crap. She judged the distance from the fire to the garden hose while desperation clawed through her belly. She had to try. She couldn’t stand here and watch her world burn.
Tugging her shirt up over her nose and mouth, she crept around the blaze toward the hose. The wind shifted and theflames lunged toward her. Jerking away from the danger, she stumbled and fell. Something cracked in her wrist, but she didn’t have time for the pain. On her hands and knees, she scrambled for the hose and flipped the lever all the way open. Water shot out of the hose and she aimed it like a fountain toward the place where the pergola connected to the house.
Within a minute it was obvious she was fighting a losing battle. There wasn’t enough force from the hose to douse the fire. With luck, it would be enough to save the home she loved and the business she wanted to grow into a legacy for her sisters and the families they might have one day.
Chapter Two
Celeste lostall sense of time from the moment the firefighters arrived. They pried the garden hose out of her hands and drew her away from the scene toward the ambulance waiting in the street.
She watched as closely as possible as they put out the fire. Nerves and fear coursed through her. The paramedics treated her, insisting on transporting her to the clinic for a full exam of her painful wrist. Based on the pain, she assumed it was broken, but she refused to leave until she knew the house had been saved.
She’d never realized how noisy fire could be, but with the flames out, the change was shocking. A couple of firefighters approached the ambulance, asking her questions about the scene. She gave her best answers until the paramedics closed the ambulance doors.
Alone with her thoughts, her mind swirled.
The outdoor kitchen and pergola were destroyed. The back of the house was scarred with smoke, the cedar plank siding blistered from the heat.
They had insurance—full coverage. But more than the time and money to rebuild, her sense of security was trashed. Herdad’s grill was gone. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the charred remains of one of his prized possessions.
Why did that one detail matter so much? It wasn’t as if her father made a point of staying connected to this place or his daughters.
At the clinic, she felt like a passenger in her own life as the paramedics gave Dr. Sanders the details. The older of the two doctors on staff, his bedside manner was gruff yet comforting. Despite her best efforts, she struggled to stay alert. The pain and pressure seemed to increase with every beat of her heart. The doctor spoke to her, then the nurse, and as he wrapped up his exam, the pain finally started to die down.
Like the fire, she thought. Not nearly so loud.
After x-rays were taken, Dr. Sanders returned to her room. “Good news, Celeste. The break was clean and you shouldn’t need surgery.”
She nodded along.
“We’ll splint it today and put a cast on once the swelling subsides.” He pinned her with a stern gaze. “You’ll give yourself time to heal.”
Floating on the pain meds, her mind was tangled between reliving the fire and comprehending the present. “Uh-huh.”
“Hey?” Her sister, Veronica, walked in. “Oh. Ow. Can you hear me?” She came around to hold Celeste’s uninjured left hand. “Celeste?”
“Um. Hi.” She tried—and failed—to say more.
Of course, Veronica would be here. The older of her two younger sisters had gladly settled into Brookwell life. She’d bought a house nearby so the three of them could better support their B&B venture.
Though Veronica tried to get her talking, Celeste wasn’t up for conversation. Dazed and in shock, she couldn’t stay focusedon any one thing. She stopped fighting it. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift.
“Don’t worry. It’s probably the pain meds,” another voice murmured. “Let’s give her some time.”
That voice sounded equally concerned and far more paternal. Kind of like her dad, but not. No way her dad was here, she thought on a wave of heartache. In a crisis, her dad was stoic, his voice calm and flat. His voice didn’t go warm and tender until long after a situation was resolved.
Why did that still make her sad?
Sometime later, she woke up to the bustling energy of a nurse asking her more questions. The thick fog in her head had cleared and she gave her name and birthdate with ease. Along with the current year.
