EXCERPT from Fire-Alarm Masquerade by
Stacey Kennedy:
On her tulip-lined pathway, Abby
Hill stood, unable to move, barely able to breathe. She stared in horror as
harsh smoke drifted through the air and fire licked out of the bedroom window
of her Federal-style row house.
Firefighters passed by in a blur,
portraying a sense of calm in the chaos. Though she’d heard things like possible
electrical fire discussed among the men, the voices around her were distant.
She wrapped her arms around herself, tears dampening her cheeks.
“Miss, you need to back up,” a
low, smooth voice said.
“This can’t be happening,” Abby managed
through her tight throat.
Firm hands gripped her arms and
turned her to face warm green eyes with hints of brown around the irises. The
firefighter, decked out in full work uniform with a 4 on his black hat, had dark soot on the right side of his squared
jaw. His brows drew together with his frown. “Is this your house?”
Abby never thought of herself as
a person who showed emotions to a stranger. Now, she could hide nothing. “Oh,
God . . .” Hot sickness rolled through her and the world got dizzy, real fast.
His grip on her arms tightened.
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
Before she could drop to the
cement below, she found those firm hands belonged to strong arms as the fireman
tugged her into his powerful body. He lowered her to the ground, settling her
between his legs.
Abby pressed her head against his
rough coat, which smelled richer with smoke than what lingered in the air. She
held on tight to the coarse material, unable to let go.
Quick minutes passed, and soon
the wooziness faded. All but sitting in his lap, she noticed the smoke wasn’t
nearly as thick. When her spun around thoughts centered, that’s when she
realized something didn't make sense. “Why is my bedroom window broken?”
The firefighter's thick thighs
pressed against her, as did his arms. “We needed to break the window to
evacuate the heat and smoke before we put out the fire.”
Somehow, being in his arms made
facing what happened easier, or maybe the shock had worn off and she could
process better. She noticed that no other windows were broken in her house. “Was
the fire only in my bedroom?”
“Yes, you got lucky.” He shifted
on his knees, yet didn't move away. “The fire was contained to the master
bedroom.”
She gulped. “Lucky?”
He hesitated, and all the
pressure around her faded before he squeezed his arms. “I’m afraid you can’t
enter your house until the chief gives you the all clear. Do you have someone
you can stay with?”
She gripped his coat, resting her
head against his arm, tears trailing over her hot face. Though she noticed the
firefighters coming in and out of house, and heard the loud conversations going
on around her, she didn’t care she sobbed in front of strangers. “It’s gone.”
He leaned away and his gentle
eyes held hers. “Abby Hill? Is that what I heard the police say?” She nodded
and he waited for the car with the loud muffler to pass before he added, “What
you have is a partial loss, Abby. Yes, your bedroom is gone. The rest of your
upstairs might have smoke and water damage, but your insurance will cover it.”
She understood why he looked to
her as if she was overreacting. In the scheme of things, this didn’t seem all
that bad. “I don’t care about the rest of the house.” Her voice cracked. “The
photos of my family were in my bedroom.” Ten years ago, a car accident had
stolen away her parents, younger brother, and older sister. “It’s all I had of
them. There’s nothing left.”
He rubbed her back, giving an
understanding nod. “I’m sorry.”
Somehow, his response was better
than, “At least you weren’t hurt, or it
could’ve been worse.” Though there were positives in her current hell, it
didn’t change the fact that every picture she had of her family was likely
destroyed. Nothing else remained that proved they’d ever existed, except for
their gravestones.
A moment passed as his eyes
searched hers. “You have no other family that would have some photos?” “Both my parents didn’t have siblings. There
are a few friends of the family . . .” Her chest ached. “Possibly they have
some, but it’s not . . .”
“Not the special pictures of you and your
family,” he offered.
Her chin quivered. “Exactly.”
His lips pinched with his regard
of her. The firefighter excelled at serving the public, she actually believed
he felt bad for her. While she knew she should let him go, being a complete
stranger and all, she couldn’t find it in herself to tear herself away.
Staring into his piercing eyes,
she had the oddest sense that he didn’t want her to either. Something so sweet
and pure passed in the air between them. A sensation of understanding that at
this moment she needed more than anything. And how did that make any sense?
Why was being in a stranger’s
arms providing her with such warmth and familiarity, and more than anything
making her feel this safe?
“Where is she?” a familiar
feminine voice snapped. “And if you dare tell me again that I can’t see Abby,
I’ll remove your manly bits, you giant ass!”
Abby glanced over her shoulder,
catching sight of Sierra, dressed in her typical black skirt and red blouse.
Abby didn’t know how Sierra found out about the fire, but she didn't care; she
needed her best friend.
Sierra’s blue eyes were narrowed
and her bright red lipstick covered her frown as she gave the firefighter a
glare promising a painful death. After a good stare down, the man gestured in
Abby’s direction, then Sierra rushed forward. She yanked Abby into her arms.
“Jesus, sweetie. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me through to see you?”
“It’s all gone.” Abby rested her
head against Sierra’s shoulder, hugging her tight. “They’re gone.”
Sierra paused, then heaved a
sigh. “Shit, this is awful. I’m so sorry, Abby.”
Of course, Sierra understood the
depth of Abby's despair. Sierra had been there the night they worked on their
high-school assignment together. That fateful night Abby didn’t go for her
brother’s special dinner to celebrate his touchdown at the football game, and
the night where the car carrying her entire family collided with the transport
truck.
Leaning away from Sierra, Abby
looked into her best friend’s teary eyes. “That’s all I had of them.”
Sierra gathered Abby’s hands.
“You don’t have any pictures in your attic or storage?”
Abby shook her head. “I kept
everything in my bedroom in a memory box. I wanted to scan them all, keep them
safe, but—”
“Don’t do that to yourself," Sierra
interjected with a soft voice. "You’re not to blame for this. It’s a
horrible accident.”
Abby remembered hearing something
similar from her therapist. Not that she thought she could’ve prevented the car
accident that killed her family, but her guilt for not being with them that
night had stayed with her for a long time.
With her therapist’s voice in her
head reminding her she couldn’t stay in the past and mourn things she couldn’t
change, she pushed off the cement pathway. She glanced around, seeing that the
entire neighborhood was watching from the other side of the street, and she
didn’t want to process the loss of photos under the scrutiny of onlookers.
Sierra must’ve read Abby’s
thoughts, since she reached up and fixed Abby’s hair. There wasn’t a day that
Sierra had let Abby walk out the door with a strand of hair out of place. She
ran her fingers under Abby’s eyes, clearing away her mascara. “Let's get out of
here.” She gave a small smile, wiggling
her eyebrows. “Unless you’d rather stay in the arms of that sexy
firefighter.”
Abby blinked. “Who’s sexy?”
Sierra snorted. “Seriously?” She
grasped Abby’s shoulders. “When I found you, you were in the arms of that.”
Abby spun to face the house and
she discovered a man whom she suspected was the fire marshal, dressed in a blue
uniform. “Am I missing something, or are you suddenly digging older guys?”
“Older guys?” Sierra stepped in
next to Abby, then she frowned. “Ew, not
that guy.” She gestured to the garden off to the right. “That guy.”
Abby followed Sierra’s direction
and her mouth dropped open. Though the firefighter’s attire made the man look
bulky, she wondered how much of that was the gear, or if his thickness was due
to a muscular body.
Standing near her front window,
he chatted to another firefighter, who was slightly shorter than him. The height
difference made the taller firefighter
look masculine. He’d clearly noticed them ogling, since he caught her gaze.
Under his direct stare, funny
things happened low in her belly. Odd, strange happenings, considering seconds
ago, a soul-crippling despair had overwhelmed her. The fireman’s features
portrayed more than confidence, more than strength, but she thought that came
from the sexy, arrogant twinkle in his eye.
The firefighter broke the
connection, and Abby exhaled. He turned to the other man and exchanged words.
Then hotness packaged in firefighter gear approached. Similar to when she
watched her bedroom burn, she froze.
She knew, with total certainty,
her reaction was absurd. Her bedroom was destroyed, along with precious
pictures, but her body flared with a heat so addictive and intoxicating.
Over Abby’s shoulder, Sierra
whistled. “Holy hell—all he needs is the fire burning behind him and we’d have
one of those perfect calendar shots.”
“No kidding,” Abby agreed.
On his way down the pathway, Abby
scanned over his black boots, to the thick pants she knew had suspenders, and
images of a shirtless man filled her mind. She swallowed, forced herself to
stop thinking in the gutter, and focused on appropriate places, like his face.
That didn't help much—he had a
chiseled face with masculine features, all making him way too noticeable.
Lifting her gaze, she looked past his kissable lips that held a slight arch in
the corners, and when his piercing eyes captured hers, she finally released the
breath she’d be holding.
Whoa . . .
He was drop-dead gorgeous.
Once the firefighter reached her,
he smiled. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
Abby blinked.
Sierra elbowed her in the side.
“She’s much better, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it.” His voice
wasn’t too deep, but low enough to sound smooth. “Do you have somewhere to
stay, Abby?”
Her mind stuttered under how he
said her name. As if he wasn’t stating a name, but the one word held powers
making her feel like he noticed her, too. A hot shiver slid right down to her toes.
“Um . . .”
“She can stay with me,” Sierra
interjected with a laugh. “Unless you’re offering—”
Abby jabbed Sierra hard in the
side and Sierra cursed.
The firefighter chuckled,
focusing on Abby. “Please give the chief the address and telephone number where
you’ll be staying so he can get in touch with you. You’ll also want to contact
your insurance company right away.”
She parted her lips to respond,
yet closed them a second later.
Eyes squinting, lit with a
twinkle of mischief, he said, “All right, Abby, you’re good to go.” His
eyebrows creased. “Again, I’m sorry about your home.” He hesitated. “And your
pictures.”
He turned, walking down her
pathway.
Abby stared after him, her mind
snapping into focus. On a gasp, she hurried to reach him. Just as he neared her
front door, she grasped his bicep, giving his coat a tug. “Wait!”
Glancing over his shoulder, he
looked at her hand before his gaze lifted. She nearly melted into a puddle of
goo right there on her front porch. “Thank you for holding me like that. I know
it’s not in the job description.”
He tipped his hat, giving a soft
smile. “Maybe it should be.”
About the Authors:
A professional
technical writer, Anne discovered that getting laid off was actually A Very
Good Thing. While looking for her next writing gig, she picked up her pen
(well, okay, she used her writing as an excuse to buy a new Apple laptop) and
started writing. She soon discovered that writing was uncomfortably similar to
sit-ups: add a few more crunches each day, wake up sore, but, by God,
you will fit into that bikini. Or finish the book (she’s still
working on the bikini). Now she cranks out software manuals during the
daylight hours– and writes about alpha shapeshifters the rest of the time.
Website: http://annemarsh.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Anne-Marsh/225897900782649
Twitter: https://twitter.com/anne_marsh
.jpg)
