On A Night Like This (The Callaways) (2 page)

Her father grabbed a towel and tried to beat out some of the flames, but his efforts only seemed to make things worse. Embers flew everywhere, finding new places to burn, the heat growing more and more intense. Moving to the sink, she turned on the faucet and filled up a pitcher, but it was taking too long to get enough water. She threw some of it at the fire, but it made no difference.

"Move aside," her dad shouted, grabbing two hot pads.

"What are you doing?" she asked in confusion.

He tried to grab the pot and move it to the sink, but she was in the way, and he stumbled, dropping the pot in the garbage. She jumped back from an explosion of new fire.

"We have to call 9-1-1," she said frantically. But there was no phone in the kitchen, and her cell phone was in her bag by the entry. "Let's get out of here."

Her father was still trying to put out the fire, but he was getting nowhere.

"Dad, please."

"Get out, Sara," he said forcefully, then ran into the adjacent laundry room.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I have to get something important," he yelled back at her.

"Dad. We need to get out of the house." She coughed out the words, but she might as well have remained silent, because her dad had vanished through the laundry room and down the back stairs to the basement. She couldn't imagine what he had to get. There was nothing but gardening tools and cleaning supplies down there.

She started to follow him, then jumped back as the fire caught the wallpaper next to her head, sizzling and leaping towards her clothing.

"Dad," she screamed. "We need to get out of the house."

A crash echoed through the house. Then all she could hear was the crackling of the fire.

Chapter Two

Sara ran through the fire and down the stairs into the basement. A single light bulb dangled from a wire over the stairs, showing her father in a crumpled heap on the cement floor.

She dropped to her knees next to his still body. He was unconscious, blood under his head, and his right leg was twisted in an odd position. She put a hand on his chest. His heart was still beating.

"Dad," she said. "Wake up."

He blinked groggily. "Sara?" he asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"The kitchen is on fire. We need to get out of the house." A glance back over her shoulder revealed smoke pouring through the open door at the top of the stairs. There was no way out of the basement without going through the kitchen.

Her father tried to sit up, but quickly fell back, groaning with pain. "My leg is broken. You go."

"I can't leave you here. That's not an option."

"You can't carry me. Go. Get help."

"I'll be right back," she promised.

She ran up the stairs, shocked and terrified when she saw how much worse the fire had gotten in literally minutes. The heat was intense. She could barely breathe, and there was a wall of flames between her and the only way out. She couldn't afford to be scared. Grabbing a towel off the top of the nearby washing machine, she covered her nose and mouth, and prepared to make a dash for it.

Before she could move, a figure appeared on the other side of the flames—a man.

A wave of relief swept through her. Help had arrived.

He barreled through the fire and smoke, batting away the flames as if they were troublesome bees. When he stopped in front of her, her heart jumped again.

"Aiden?" She lowered the towel from her face. He was the last Callaway she wanted to see.

"Sara?" he asked, shock in his eyes.

"My dad is in the basement. He's hurt." She waved her hand toward the open door in the laundry room. "I think he broke his leg. You have to help him."

"First you, then him," he said decisively.

"But—"

"The longer you stand here arguing—"

"Fine." She took his hand, put the towel over her mouth and nose and let him lead her through the flames.

It was a terrifying pass through fire. She felt as if any minute her hair would go up in flames. She was glad she'd put it up, fewer tendrils to catch the sparks. Her eyes streamed with tears, and each smoky breath seared her lungs. She could barely see the furniture now, and she was more than grateful to have Aiden by her side. He moved with decisive confidence as if daring the fire to touch them.

When they reached the hall, he patted some lingering sparks out of her hair and off of her clothes, giving the rest of her body a quick look before saying, "Go outside. The fire department is on its way." And with that, he disappeared back into the fire.

The sound of sirens made it easier for her to leave the house.

She grabbed her purse off the hall table and saw the front door hanging off its hinges. Aiden must have broken it down to get inside. The reality of what was happening hit her again. A few more minutes and neither she nor her father might have made it out of the house.

She down to the sidewalk just as the first fire engine came around the corner, followed by two more trucks and an ambulance.

She met the first firefighter as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk. "My father is trapped in the basement," she said. "The door is off the laundry room by the kitchen. Aiden Callaway went to get him, but they haven't come out yet."

"Aiden?" the guy echoed.

She nodded, not really surprised that the firefighter seemed to know Aiden since so many of the Callaways worked in the department.

"Wait here," he told her.

She crossed her arms in front of her waist as the firefighters entered the house. Everything would be okay, she told herself. Aiden was with her father, and they were both going to be fine.

Aiden must have seen the flames from next door and in typical Aiden-fashion, he'd run straight into the house without waiting for backup. The Callaways had never been short on courage, sometimes on good sense, but not on guts. And Aiden didn't just end up in trouble; he often went looking for it. At least, he had when he'd been younger.

It had been more than ten years since she'd seen the very attractive guy-next-door, who had been the object of the most intense crush she had ever had in her life. Aiden had been a bad boy and she'd been a very good girl. But one reckless night had taken their relationship to a new level. Then Aiden had brought it all crashing down.

Her gut clenched at the memory of what had been the best and worst night of her life. She'd put Aiden out of her mind for a long time, but now he was back, and so was she.

Only temporarily, she reminded herself. This wasn't her home anymore and never would be.

"Sara?"

She turned to see Lynda Callaway, Aiden's stepmother, crossing the lawn at a brisk pace. A tall, willowy blonde, Lynda Callaway moved gracefully, like the dancer she'd once been.

"Are you all right, Sara? I couldn't believe my eyes when I drove around the corner and saw the fire engines and the smoke. What's happened? Where's your father?"

"He's inside. So is Aiden," she added.

Lynda paled at that piece of news, her gaze flying to the house. "Aiden? Aiden's here?"

"Yes. I guess he saw the smoke. He broke down the front door." She glanced back at the house. Smoke was pouring through the front door, flames still visible through the windows in the dining room. What was taking them so long? "Aiden went to get my father. He fell down the basement stairs. I didn't want to leave him, but I couldn't move him."

Lynda put a reassuring hand on her arm. "You did the right thing."

"I think he broke his leg."

"Your father is a strong man. He'll come through this.

She'd always thought he was strong, but when she'd seen him on the floor, he'd looked surprisingly fragile and suddenly very human.

"How did the fire start?" Lynda asked.

"He was cooking. I distracted him when I showed up. We were upstairs arguing, and we didn't smell the smoke right away. What is taking them so long?"

"They'll want to be careful moving him," Lynda said, putting her arm around Sara's shoulders.

It had been a long time since Sara had felt such a motherly touch, and the emotion of it brought tears to her eyes. She'd been a strong, independent woman for a long time, but right now she felt like an uncertain girl, who was really, really happy not to be alone.

They stood in quiet for a few moments, watching firefighters attack the fire from both inside and outside of the house. She saw two men up on the roof, using axes to make some sort of a vent. Their work was efficient and apparently done without any sense of fear. She'd been inside that heat, and she couldn't imagine volunteering to go back in.

"How do they do it?" she muttered. "How do you do it, Lynda? The fire was so terrifying, so out of control, and it was only in the kitchen. How do you not worry every time your husband or sons leave the house?"

Lynda smiled. "I've had a lot of practice. I trust in my husband, my children, their fellow firefighters and their training. That gets me through." She paused, her smile fading away, her gaze turning back toward the house. "I can't believe Aiden is here. He's been impossible to reach the last few weeks. I wasn't sure when or if we'd see him again."

"Really? Why?"

"He's had some trouble in his life."

"Isn't that usually the case with Aiden?"

"This time is different."

Before Lynda could explain, Aiden came out on the porch, carrying her father over his shoulders. They crossed the lawn and then with the help of another firefighter, her dad was placed on the gurney and attended to by the waiting paramedics.

Sara moved as close as she could get, relieved to see that her father was awake and able to answer questions, but it was clear he was in a lot of pain. Once they had him stabilized on the stretcher, he was loaded into an ambulance.

"I'll meet you at the hospital," she told him.

"No, I need you to stay here, Sara. Keep an eye on my house."

"I'll take care of everything," she promised. "Then I'll come to see you."

The ambulance doors closed. A moment later, he was on his way to the hospital.

"Do you need a ride?" Lynda asked her.

"Uh, no," she said, trying to pull herself together. Everything was happening so fast her head was spinning. "I have a car. I'll wait until the fire is out, and then I'll go."

"You've grown up into a beautiful, capable woman, Sara," Lynda said with an approving gleam in her eyes. "Your mom would be proud."

"I hope so. I still miss her."

"So do I. And so does your father."

"That's not easy to believe."

Lynda gave her a knowing look. "Your father is a difficult, complicated man. I've lived next door to him for twenty years, and I don't feel like I know him any better now than when he first moved in. Since your mom died, he's become even more reclusive."

She nodded, her attention distracted by Aiden's approach. Now that they were outside, she could see him more clearly. As his gaze met hers, she felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. He'd always had the ability to unsettle her, to make her feel off balance, dizzy, her heart beating too fast, her words getting choked in her throat. It was silly to feel that way now. Her teenage crush had ended long ago. She certainly didn't intend to go back there.

Unfortunately, Aiden was still a very good-looking man, even with ash in his brown hair, sweat on his brow, a three-day growth of beard on his face and tired blue eyes. Add in the faded jeans with a rip at the knee and a t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and strong shoulders, and Aiden was still as hot and sexy as ever, maybe more so.

Sara drew in a breath, trying to dampen down her physical response. She could handle it now. She didn't need to get all worked up about a man who had only once seen her as more than his sister's best friend and the girl next door, and that one time had ended in regret on his part.

Fortunately, Lynda broke the awkward tension between them.

"Aiden," Lynda said. "I can't believe you're home. Why didn't you call me back?"

"I figured you'd see me soon enough." He paused. "Are you okay, Sara?"

"I'm fine. Thank you for saving my father."

He shrugged, as if what he had done had been of little consequence.

"I've been leaving messages for you for three weeks, Aiden," Lynda said.

"I needed some time to clear my head," he replied.

"Well, I'm glad you're finally home. I've been so worried about you since—"

"I'm fine," Aiden said, cutting Lynda off. "I'll be over to the house in a minute."

"All right," Lynda said, obviously sensing that this wasn't the time to grill her son. "Sara, please stop by later and let me know how your father is doing. In fact, come for dinner. We eat around seven, but any time you get back is fine. I'll save you a plate."

"That isn't necessary."

"You won't be cooking in that kitchen tonight. Just come by," Lynda insisted. "There's always room for one more at our house."

"Okay, thanks."

With Lynda gone, she shifted her weight, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them, wishing that Aiden would stop looking at her with those incredible blue eyes.

"So, is the fire almost out?" she asked.

"Looks that way, but you won't be able to go inside until the fire inspector signs off."

"When do you think that will be?"

"Depends," he said. "Could be an hour or more."

"I'm lucky my dad lives right next door to firefighters. Although, it doesn't sound like you live at home anymore."

"Not in a long time," he said shortly, his gaze drifting toward his childhood home.

She stared at his profile. In his early thirties now, Aiden's features had become better defined, his jaw stronger, his blue eyes harder, and more cynical than she remembered.

His gaze returned to hers, and she couldn't help wishing she looked a little better. She knew she was more attractive than she'd been in high school, because once she'd left her father's house, she'd discovered make-up, and hair products, short skirts and high heels. Unfortunately, she'd dressed herself down to visit her father, pulling her hair back in a knot and wearing gray slacks and a button down blouse that did little to show off her shape. The fire had made her sweat and she could feel her hair falling out of her bun, so it wasn't her best moment.