Fan the Flames (31 page)

“Rory, go! Get out!” Ian's frantic voice shouted as her panic returned. She couldn't leave her dog, the last remaining member of her family, the one who'd almost given his life for hers three years ago. She couldn't run outside like a coward and allow her faithful companion to be blown to bits. Rory ducked around the men, dodging their well-meaning, grasping hands, until she was at the outside of the circle again.

“Everyone out!” the chief bellowed. “Go! Go! Go!” All the guys except Ian followed his command, rushing through the door in a well-ordered stream.

“Rory!” Ian yelled, reaching for her.

Twisting out of range, she slipped by him and ran toward the dog. “Jack!” He stood up and stretched. Panting with terror, Rory lunged for him, grabbing his collar and a handful of scruff, ignoring his yelp as she hauled him toward the exit. “C'mon, Jack!” she cried. Her breaths weren't coming out right, sounding perilously close to sobs. She didn't cry, though. Rory never cried. Making small noises that were definitely not sobs, she dragged her dog toward the door that suddenly seemed so far away.

Ian grabbed her from behind, his hands latching around her upper arms. He shoved her through the door. Pulling out of her grip, Jack jetted ahead, streaking through the back room and out the exterior door the guys had opened. Everything slowed, every movement of her legs felt like she was moving through thick syrup. Only her thoughts came in fast-forward, stupid thoughts like
please let Ian and Jack be okay
and
I don't want to die, not yet
and
please, God, I'd like to kiss Ian again, at least one more time.

“Let's go!” the chief shouted from his position outside the back door.

Rory ran toward it, her muscles moving too slow but her heart racing too fast, feeling Ian pressing her from behind, urging her to increase her speed. She pushed, trying to go just a little faster, because Ian was behind her, and if she died, so did he, and she really, really didn't want Ian to die.

Just as her foot touched the porch, the world went blindingly bright.

Suddenly, Rory was flying.

She floated in gray space, not wanting to wake completely. If she did, she knew the dull pain throbbing around the edges of her consciousness would sharpen. The rise and fall of conversation was niggling at her, though, not letting her sink into total oblivion.

“…shouldn't all be in here.” The female voice was unfamiliar.

“You are an angel to make an exception. Well, multiple exceptions.”

Rory frowned. Was that Soup talking?

“I didn't see this,” the unknown woman spoke again. “Just…stay quiet and don't touch anything.”

There was a light thud of a door closing, and then a few seconds of silence before another, different whacking sound broke the stillness.

“No. Touching.” That was definitely Steve.

“Ow!” And there was Junior. “I was just looking! I wasn't actually going to press that button. Besides, I'm a medical professional. I know what I'm doing!”

Despite the potential for pain, Rory decided she needed to wake completely, before Junior messed with something on the wrong machine and killed her. Her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but she managed to force them open a slit.

“Hey, Rory.” Junior's face looked huge as he leaned over her. “You're awake again. You going to stay with us this time?”

She swallowed against a dry throat and then rasped, “Quit pushing buttons.”

Junior scowled. “I didn't touch anything! I was just looking!”

There was laughter behind him, and then Soup and Steve were leaning over her, too.

“How're you feeling?” Junior asked, his expression switching to a clinical competence that contrasted oddly with the goofiness of just seconds earlier.

“Head hurts.” She checked in with her body parts. “Face hurts. Ribs hurt. Everything else hurts, but not as much.”

“That fits.” He smiled. “You have a concussion, a bruised jawbone, and a couple of cracked ribs. Ian landed on you pretty hard.”

“Ian.” Her whole body clenched, making everything hurt even more, but the pain didn't matter. “How's Ian?”

“He'll be fine,” Junior soothed. Rory checked out Soup and Steve's expressions to get confirmation. Their calm nods allowed her to relax her muscles a little. “The doctors were more worried about your injuries than his. He's just a few rooms over.”

“Can I see him?”

“Nursezilla wouldn't like us taking you on field trips,” Soup said. “We're already pushing it by the three of us being in here with you. Let them check you out first, and then we'll see if we can round up some wheels for you.”

“What happened?”

The guys exchanged glances. “Do you remember Billy and his boys visiting?” Soup asked.

“Yeah.” The images of their rushed exit flipped through her mind. “Did everyone get out? Is anyone else hurt?”

“Yes and no.” At Rory's startled expression, Junior clarified, “Everyone got out, and no one else has anything but minor injuries.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious that they were sugarcoating things for her. “How minor?”

“Chief had a few nicks and scratches, but the explosion was mostly contained to the front of the shop, and Walsh blocked the shrapnel that came through the open door with his brick-house body,” Soup explained.

“Shrapnel?” she repeated sharply. “Just how badly is Ian injured?”

“I'll be fine,” a new, achingly familiar voice said from the doorway. “You were the one who kept losing consciousness on us.”

Forgetting her own aches, she tried to shove herself to a sitting position, yelping when pain clamped around her chest.

“Easy,” Steve ordered, stilling her with a broad hand on her shoulder. Once the initial pain eased, she pushed against his hold, and he helped her to a semisitting position.

Rory craned her neck to see around his bulky form. “Ian?”

“Here.” Soup and Junior stepped back to give Ian a spot next to her bed. When he came into view, she ran anxious eyes over his face. Except for a red-and-purple lump on his forehead, he looked surprisingly unharmed.

“Hey,” she said, lifting a hand toward him.

“Hey, Ror.” He grabbed her fingers and locked them in the warmth of his.

“Nice gown, Beauty,” Soup mocked, although he gave Ian's upper arm a squeeze at the same time. “I'm surprised you don't have a trail of doctors and nurses behind you, checking out the rear view.”

With a scowl, Ian reached back with his free hand and twitched his hospital gown into place. Although his wince had barely crossed his face before he erased it, Rory still caught the pained grimace.

“Shrapnel?” she asked.

“I'm fine.”

“Liar.” She eyed him as he swayed slightly. “Sit before you fall on your face.”

Steve moved a chair behind Ian, who lowered himself into it. By his expression and stiff posture, sitting wasn't much of an improvement to standing.

“What did you hit your head on?” she asked, checking out the goose egg on his forehead.

“Your head.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “Sorry. I was the cause of your concussion.”

“And her bruised ribs,” Junior added. “And, indirectly, her bruised jawbone, although that was mostly caused when her chin hit the ground. Your weight on her probably didn't help, though.”

Steve grabbed Junior by the back of his shirt and hauled him toward the door. “We'll let you two have a minute,” he said. “Soup.” Steve jerked his head toward the door, and all three men filed out of the room.

“Bruised ribs?” Ian repeated when they were alone. “Ouch. Sorry for that, too.”

“They'll heal.” Although she started to shrug, she felt the pulling ache of the ribs in question, so she quickly returned her shoulders to their original position. “And don't apologize, when you took the brunt of the explosion for me.”

He gave an aborted shrug very similar to hers. “As you said, I'll heal.” He used his free hand to stroke a strand of hair out of her face. “You scared the hell out of me when you went back for the dog.”

“Is Jack okay?”

“Yeah. Squirrel's taking care of him. And the chickens.”

“Tell him thank you from me.”

“I will.” Ian kept his hand cupping her cheek.

“The shop's probably in pretty bad shape, huh?” Rory didn't want to ask, but she needed to know.

“I didn't see. Once the blast went off, I was focused on you.”

A nurse with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail entered the room. “You're awake,” the female voice from earlier said, “and
you
, Mr. Walsh, should not be out of your room.” She gave Ian a stern look, but he just set his jaw and tightened his fingers around Rory's hand. “Those bandages need changing. C'mon. I'll escort you back.”

Giving a final squeeze, Rory pulled her hand away from his. “Go on. We'll talk later.”

With a grumpy huff, he pushed himself to his feet. Leaning over her bed, Ian brushed his lips over her cheek. “Later.” As always, the one word was more of a promise than a standard good-bye. He wavered a little when he straightened, and the nurse reached to take his arm. He shook his head, refusing help.

As he headed for the door, Rory bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a gasp. His hospital gown gaped open, revealing a wide expanse of gauze pads covering the majority of his back. In several places, the white bandages were marred by red and yellow stains, as blood and other fluid seeped through the gauze. She stared until he reached the doorway, the nurse close behind him. When he turned, she forced down her horror at the extent of his injuries and smiled, lifting her hand in a small good-bye wave. The corners of his mouth quirked up in return, and he looked at her intently for a long moment before leaving.

Rory was dozing a few minutes later when the nurse returned, along with a couple of doctors. She was relieved that neither were the attractive blond doctor who'd cared for Julius after the fire. If that woman was around, Rory would have to sneak into Ian's room to stand guard so he wasn't molested in his sleep. Instead, there was a tall woman with steel-gray hair and a no-nonsense expression, as well as a round-cheeked, younger man.

They checked her and told her that, barring complications, she'd be free to go after a night of observation. As soon as she was alone, she slid out of bed, wrapping one arm around her sore ribs. The room tilted alarmingly when she first made it upright, as blood rushed and pounded through her brain.

After a few seconds, her body accustomed itself to standing, and she shuffled toward the door. A peek into the hall showed that it was clear of stern yet well-meaning firemen and nurses. Since there were no other rooms to her left, she turned right. The first room next to hers was empty. The second contained Chief Early and Al, so she knew she had the right place even before she saw Ian in the bed.

“Hey,” she said, slipping into the room. The two standing firemen turned toward her, looking startled.

“Hey,” Al said in surprise. “We were just about to go see you.”

“Should you be out of bed?” the chief immediately demanded.

“Probably not.” She gingerly made her way over to Ian's side. “But I figured if they really wanted me to stay in bed, they would've tied me to it.”

Early frowned. “That could be arranged.”

“Then Ian would just come to my room, and his wounds would open up again,” she said, eyeing the new bandages covering his back. The white wasn't marred by any blood yet. Ian was on his stomach, his face turned toward her. When he made to prop himself up on his elbows, she pressed a hand to his uninjured shoulder. At the same time, she bent to kiss him on his temple. “I'm out of here tomorrow. Did they tell you when you'll be released?”

“Today, most likely.”

Al slid a chair toward her, and she accepted it with a smile of thanks. Her arm curled around her ribs again as she gingerly lowered herself onto the seat. All three men watched her with concern. “Today? Really?”

“Yeah.” He caught her hand in his. “It looks bad, but most of it's superficial.”

The chief snorted. “Yeah. Especially the burns. Oh, and the one hole in your back that took five staples to close.”

“Burns?” Rory repeated.

Even lying down, Ian's glare had power behind it. “I said most. And the burns are just first- and second-degree.”

Rory rested her head next to Ian's so they were eye to eye. “I wish I'd been the last one out.”

“I know.” He smiled, a sweet, gentle curve of his lips. “That's one reason I love you so much.”

She couldn't smile back. “I don't like when you're hurt.”

“I don't like when you're hurt, either. Especially when it's because I landed on you.”

“You were protecting me. Bruised ribs are nothing compared to that.” Her eyes flicked toward the bandages covering his back.

“Okay,” the chief said, too loudly. “I think we should take a little walk around the halls. Al, feeling like stretching your legs?”

Both dove for the door like a naked Letty just appeared on the bed. Rory finally smiled. “We really know how to clear a room, don't we?”

“We'll have to remember this, next time we want to get rid of the guys. Just get mushy, and they scatter.”

She inclined her head a little closer as her smile widened.

“There you are.” Rob Coughlin's voice startled her, and she sat up abruptly. Her ribs protested, and she hissed out a breath.

“Watch it,” Ian snapped, rolling to his side so he could glare at the sheriff.

“I'm fine.” The stabbing pain had settled back to its regular steady ache. She didn't want Ian and Rob fighting, for several reasons. “What can we do for you, Sheriff?”

“I need to get your statement.” He took a couple steps into the room, keeping an eye on Ian. “I stopped in your room, but it was empty. I figured I'd talk to Ian first, but here you are.”

Rory braced herself for another grueling round of questioning and winced at the pull on her ribs.

“She's injured,” Ian almost growled. “Statements can wait.”

Instead of looking angry, Rob appeared almost rueful. “I wanted to talk to you for another reason, too, Ian.”

His glare didn't lighten, but Ian didn't order the sheriff to leave, either.

“I wanted to apologize,” Rob said, making Rory sit up straighter in surprise. This time, she managed to hide her pained wince before Ian noticed. “I knew you weren't behind Willard Gray's murder, but I gave in to pressure from the state investigators and others in the department. They saw that pendant as a smoking gun. Outsiders tend to prefer physical evidence to gut feelings.” He grimaced. “I should've stuck to my guns and refused to arrest you. I'm sorry for that.”

Although Ian kept his face impassive, Rory could see the sheriff's apology had been unexpected. “Thank you,” Ian said stiffly. Before he could add anything else, the door opened.

“Now
you
're in here?” the ponytailed nurse snapped at Rory as she entered. “I'm going to borrow this nice cop's cuffs and chain you two to your assigned beds. Let's go, missy!”

“Come see me before you leave?” she asked, stretching out a hand.

He caught it and gave it a kiss. “I'm not going anywhere once I'm discharged, except down the hall to your room. We'll go home together tomorrow.”

Blushing, she couldn't hold back a grin. “See you later, then.”

“Later.”

* * *

True to his word, Ian returned to her room in a couple of hours, planted himself in a chair, and didn't budge. Since they didn't need to split themselves between two patients anymore, firemen filled Rory's room until nursezilla snapped and kicked out everyone except Ian. There was a steady trickle of other visitors, too—Belly, Lou and Callum, other firemen, regular customers, and a bunch of people who'd made the trek from Simpson to check on them.