Page 46 of Slow Burn
Her chest ached at the truth of it, how much it threw into question for her, how it had thrown them both off. She tried to steady herself, but her thumb rubbed unconsciously at the ache beneath her sternum. He caught the gesture, made her aware of it.
“Been quite the day. For both of us,” he said, voice softening for the first time. “You okay?”
Her response came automatic: “I’m fine.”
He studied her, unconvinced. “Fine? Now, really, Darlin’?” A smirk tugged at his mouth, humorless and knowing. “Don’t sound like fine to me.”
Her gaze lifted skyward. She hated the naked feeling and the contradiction of terror that he could see past the mask, see the sadness at the possibility of him walking away if she was honest. It was dizzying.
“I expected the emotions,” she admitted. “The grief. Even some push back from people in town. But…”
“But what?” There was a tightness to his voice that drew her eyes to his face.
Did he know what was coming? Could he sense the doubt that threatened to drown her?
A vine of fear snaked through her stomach, winding its way up her throat to choke out the real answer. What came out was: “I just didn’t realize it would be this hard.”
His shoulders hunched for a moment. Could he hear the lie in her voice or did he believe her words? The last thing she wanted was to hurt him, to damage whatever this was between them, even if it was ridiculous to consider that it could be anything.
She was well-versed in the hazards of a woman who followed her feelings for a man into disaster. She was a Murphy, after all.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence heavy as autumn fog.
Then a siren split the air like an ax through a log. They both flinched, but she started moving first because something about it rattled in her bones with a foreboding she couldn’t shake.
Working their way through the alley, they made it to the sidewalk in time to catch the engine that barreled out of the station and cut right in front of them on its way down First Street.
It was an odd sixth sense, maybe because of heightened emotions, maybe because she had an intimate knowledge of fire.But the foreboding turned into leaden dread when she spotted the smoke snaking into the dusky blue sky—thick, black, toxic.
Cole looked at her, a silent question in his eyes.
And then they ran.
eighteen
“I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me.” - Joshua Graham
They slowed at the corner where First met Walnut, but Cole felt the way Jocelyn internalized the sight before them. The Hollow Inn—the only hotel in town—wasn’t completely swallowed by fire. Yet. But the right wing was coughing out heavy smoke, the kind that meant the blaze was still chewing its way through the old bones of the place.
Being a firefighter’s son, he knew the crew had gotten there quick enough to save most of the structure. Odds were good the left side would stand, patched up and still workable for Heath and Sally Anne to limp their business along. But that depended on how fast they could get the flames wrangled.
He cut a glance at Jocelyn. Her face had gone pale as ash, and she hugged her arms tight around her middle, bracing like she could hold herself together by sheer force of will.
“My room’s on that side,” she whispered.
Cole’s chest pulled tight. “Hopefully the fire hasn’t touched it.”
She only nodded, jaw flexing as she watched the parking lot crowd. Barely contained panic rolled through the folks who’d been caught in the chaos.
Their talk before about the arsonist from twenty years back rose up in his mind like smoke curling out of an old chimney. Logic said it could be coincidence. The Hollow Inn was a turn-of-the-century relic, full of bad wiring and outdated guts. But the idea of coincidence didn’t sit with any measure of rightness, especially knowing how thorough Heath was about that kind of thing. That, with Jocelyn’s note, her digging, her history with this town and fire itself—it all added up to more than happenstance.
“My clothes will be ruined,” she murmured.
Her words yanked his attention back to her. Her color still wasn’t promising, but there was a hardness to her expression and a set to her chin like she was ready to go to war with whoever had done this.
“Even if they aren’t burned, the smoke’ll stain everything—” She cut herself off, the anger in her throat choking out the rest.
Before Cole could say a thing, she spun on her heel and stalked down the sidewalk. Took him a few beats to shake off the whiplash and catch up.
