Wildfire (4 page)

Chapter 3

As a protector, she wanted to sweep in and pluck Timmy away
from the flames. The creature thrashed, trying to break out of her skin. She
kept her gaze anchored on the boy’s figure. His spindly limbs pumped and flew.
She’d catch him just before he reached the burning house. It had to be this
way.

Yet, her mind argued caution. Changing into dragon would
only add to the panic. Turning invisible, even if she could pull it off, would
be pretty noticeable too at this point. She blew out a breath as tension
tap-danced in her stomach. And what would happen afterwards? A shudder ran
through her. Mass hysteria and probably a posse. Not to mention the rogue would
be alerted.

Tom and the fire marshal darted in front of her as they
joined the race. A firefighter grabbed at Timmy as he rushed by, but was
rewarded by a swift kick in the shin. Another tried to tackle the boy, and
instead stumbled into the other. In the confusion, Timmy got away and darted
into the house. Anderson grabbed Tom in a bear hug and restrained him when he
tried to follow.

The two firefighters pursued Timmy into the smoky, black
opening where the front door had stood. Lynn stopped a few feet from the house,
panting. The dragon seethed. Why was she waiting when she could save all three?
She closed her eyes and focused, reining in the beast with her will. Wait.
Wait. Let firefighters do their job. This was not the time to expose herself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Lynn muttered. She edged closer to
the house, her body trembling with the need to change. If they weren’t out in
three minutes, she’d go in, turn dragon and drag all of them from the house.
Lives saved would be the only consequence that mattered.

She checked her watch. After two minutes that seemed to
stretch into years, the yellow-suited firefighters emerged. One carried Timmy
and the other a fat, terrified ginger cat, presumably Lucky. Thank God.
Drained, Lynn trudged back to the station wagon. She shouldn’t have said
anything about pets. The boy could have died. A breath shuddered out of her.
She should’ve been in control. But then lately, her control over things had
been fragile at best. Not her actions, not her life, not her dragon.

Desperate times called for cookies. She grabbed an
oatmeal-raisin and bit into it. Ate without really tasting anything. Leaves
crunched nearby. Lynn whipped around. The approaching firefighter looked like a
space alien in his bunker gear, helmet and breathing apparatus. He stopped in
front of her.

Lynn steeled herself. OK, she’d earned a lecture. She took a
deep breath and tamped down the beast. The guy helped save Timmy, he could
berate her to his heart’s content. Her pulse pounded in stereo.

It was a scene out of the movies: the hero standing there, a
knight in shining armor— or in this case, a smoking suit. He reached up and
took off his helmet.

Her dragon lunged, then fell back.
Yikes
.

The man from her vision stood in front of her. He was real.
And he sported a big-ass shiner. Cool green eyes —the right one surrounded by
purplish-black bruising— studied her. Flecks of gold danced in their depths
like sunlight.

Her stomach clenched. Both dragon and woman trembled
.

The firefighter was a big guy, like those hulking football
players. Tall, well over six feet, with wide shoulders and a thick, muscular
neck. Danger spiked the air around him.

“Are you going to share that?” The firefighter nodded at the
half-eaten cookie clutched in her hand.

What? Shouldn’t he say something more dramatic? Or, at
least, lecture her on responsibility? “I think you deserve more.” She handed
him two chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of water. He sat on the ground and leaned
against the car. The cookies disappeared in two bites and then he guzzled water
from the bottle.

Lynn stared at him, taking in his flushed face and the
sweat-dampened dark curls sticking to his head and neck. A strange feeling
fluttered in her stomach.

He looked away from the fire toward her. “Thanks for the
cookies. Can I have another?”

Lynn handed him a third cookie. Their fingers brushed and a
light buzz ran up her arm. She dropped it to her side, rubbed her fingers
against her jeans.

He devoured the last cookie and swallowed some more water.
“I didn’t get your name.”

She closed her mouth. “Lynn.”

“I’m Jack.” He held out his hand .

Jack. Jen’s Jack? He didn’t seem big brother material to
her. She stared at the knuckles, cuts and scrapes on skin tanned golden by the
sun. She forced herself to present her hand.

Warm, strong callused fingers wrapped around her skin. Heat
traveled from the touch, bloomed inside, spread lower. She tried to pull her
hand free.

His grip tightened and he squinted at her in consternation.
Did he feel the strange charge too?

Tension thickened the air as his gaze burned into her. Panic
clogged her throat. Her lips parted on a silent gasp. Finally, he blew out a
breath, relaxed his hold. She snatched her hand back.

Why had he appeared in her vision? He didn’t look like he need
rescuing. “Thank you,” she said. “For saving Timmy.”

He glanced away. “Just doing my job.”

“If I’d just held on tighter or realized what he was going
to do.” She turned away, grabbed a water bottle and took a drink. Paced back
toward him.

His gaze bore into her as if looking past the skin to the
dragon and beyond. “I’m the guy Timmy kicked and got away from, and his father
was pretty fooled too,” Jack said. “So unless you have some sort of secret
ability the rest of us don’t know about, there’s nothing more you could have
done.”

Her hand jerked and she ended up with more water on herself
than inside her. Sputtering, she screwed the top on the water bottle and wiped
her face and neck with the back of her hand. Could he sense her animal?
Takes
one to know one
.
God, she was turning into a cliché queen like her
grandmother.

She glanced at Tom, Brenda, Timmy and Lucky locked in a
tight family hug. Tears pricked her eyes. She turned and looked hard at Jack.
Would the rogue stop to help the family? Who knows? People could be
unpredictable. After all, didn’t she flame-broil a Miata in the not-so-distant past?

“What?”

“Nothing.” She stepped closer, inhaled. A hint of rich musky
maleness teased her nostrils, made her heart skip. Her chest tightened and
tingled. Dragon or just a prime human male?
With
all the smoke and ash in the air, and being a rather inexperienced dragon, she
could miss an older, more controlled shifter.

Something had riled her beast up. Of course, just minutes
before the creature had mistook a seven-year-old as a threat. Her abilities
were seriously fried, couldn’t be trusted.

“You’re staring at me.”

Lynn wanted to slap the smirk off his face. Instead she
folded her arms across her chest. “I’m just amazed how dirty a firefighter can
get.”

He laughed and glanced ruefully at himself. “You did catch
me in the banana suit.” He gulped some water. His sweaty, soot-smudged face
broke into a grin. “Tell you what, next time I’ll make an effort to clean up.”
He winked. “Just for you.”

Lynn pulled in a quick breath as fireworks exploded in her
stomach. Oh. My. God. The man had potential.

“Hey Jack, got a minute?”

She bestowed Roberts with a grateful glance. He stood a few
feet away with Anderson.

“We need you to answer a few questions,” the fire investigator
added in a frosty tone. He pushed his hat back and stuck out his chin.

Jack’s expression turned stony and his gaze burned. Just
like in the vision.

Lynn’s pulse sped up as she watched the too still tableau.

Roberts shook his head at the two men and stepped forward.
“All I want is a friendly chat.”

Jack lumbered to his feet. “I’ll see you around.”

The dragon pushed against her skin, wanting her to step
closer, to touch, to breathe in his scent. Her face warmed as he stalked away.
What
the hell?
She needed a man like she needed a dragon in her life.

Lynn slumped in her seat as Jen drove them back home. She
remembered
Obaa-chan
sitting cross-legged in the sunroom, teaching her
about life.
All material things are impermanent.
Seeing the house
destroyed —literally devoured by flames— brought that truth home to her.
Our
attachment to material things causes suffering
. The sad, soot-streaked
faces of Tom, Brenda and Timmy came to mind and tears threatened again. The
family had become homeless within minutes. But how could they not be attached
to their home, affected by the loss?

“You okay?” Jen glanced at her.

Lynn nodded, leaning back into her seat. “I hate fires.”

Jen pulled over and stopped the car. “I know.”

“I hate being part dragon. I hate that the dragon loves
fires.”

“You didn’t start the fire. We don’t know who did, but it
wasn’t you.”

Protector and destroyer were two sides of the same coin. Who
knew which one would come out in a toss-up? “I wish there was something I could
do.”

“The Paradise Valley community will make sure they get
clothes— probably used ones, but at least it’s something,” Jen said and
restarted the car. “Plenty of food and whatever cash can be scraped together.
But there’s only so much.” She paused. “You could make a donation.”

Lynn nodded. “I will, but I want to do more.” She cocked her
head. “How come there wasn’t any media there? I mean this was a pretty major
fire and if more people knew about the situation, perhaps more help would
come.”

Jen sighed. “The
San Angelo Herald
is the nearest
paper. They send out people whenever they can, but if something’s going on in
the city and the small staff is tied up…” She shrugged.

“Maybe I can write up a few paragraphs about the fire and
the Jarvis family and mention the assistance effort,” Lynn said. “We can send
it in to the
Herald
.”

Jen tossed her a wry grin. “That’d be a good use for your
journalism degree, better than writing ad copy and jingles for a soulless PR
firm.”

Lynn bit her lower lip. “They might not even print it.”

“Never know until you try.”

Jen pointed out Jack’s house as they passed it. The ranch
house stood surrounded by ancient live oaks. The spreading canopy of branches
and leaves hid much of it in cool shadows. Lynn took in glimpses of red brick
and dark wood. The house looked mysterious and aloof.

A movement among the trees closest to the house made her
draw in a sharp breath. Did somebody step back into the shadows?

“Something wrong?” Jen asked.

“I thought I saw somebody.”

Jen slowed to a stop and they peered at the house. No one.
The leaves shivered from time to time and shadow and sunlight played tag.

“I don’t see anybody now.”

“You probably saw a branch move in the wind or something,”
Jen said, driving on.

“Maybe.” Lynn glanced back. Uneasiness still prickled her
neck. She just couldn’t shake the feeling someone stood in the shadows watching
them.

Fire
would
avenge.

The dragon master hoped the discipline and routine of his
daily run would help calm him. If nothing else, he hoped he’d be too tired to
think anymore. He ran through downtown San Angelo, trying to lose the
frustration burning his blood, smoking his thoughts. Too many things had gone
wrong. He’d almost got caught. A breath raced out of him.

He shook his head.
Focus. I am the dragon master.
His
gaze flickered over the closed stores and empty streets. Podunk town. Seven
o’clock Wednesday evening and the place stood desolate and bleached by the sun.
Dry heat itched across his bare neck, face, arms. Eighty plus degrees in
October. Only in West Texas. Absofuckinglutely
loco
.

Lynn had distracted him. Thrown him off his game. An image
of the shimmering blue-green dragon hanging in the early morning sky like a
fantastic illusion filled his mind. A real live dragon. The same one he’d seen
before.

She’d distracted him even though he’d been expecting her.
Ever since he’d visited Jen and seen their picture on a side table in the
living room, he’d been thinking and planning. He’d used Jen as bait to draw her
out and she’d come. Satisfaction, warm and sweet, shot through him. He’d stood
hidden among the trees and gaped like an idiot. Until she’d fanned the blaze
away from the target. Then anger had brought him back to his senses, but too
late. The damn fire brigade had arrived by then, with sirens blaring and lights
flashing. Hero-wanna-bes.

He cut into a service alley behind the library. He knew all
the back ways in the area and this would get him to the river quicker. The
parking lot stood deserted, but further down three scruffy men, scarecrows in
tattered clothes, scavenged through the dumpster. Right in his path. He wanted
to be alone. No small talk, no hassle. He stuffed his hands in his pockets,
ducked his head and picked up speed.

His thoughts returned to fire. Fire was his thing, his to
control. Yet, he’d messed up. The Jarvis house hadn’t been scheduled until next
week. But after the artist fiasco, he’d lost control. The beast inside had
demanded another fire. He’d rushed the job, only to land himself a second damn
disaster.

The fire should've devoured the house, ground it into ashes.
Instead, it stood like a charred and smoking rebuke to him. His business
associates would be pissed.

Damn town. He should have never returned to San Angelo and
Paradise Valley. The whole area gave him the heebie-jeebies for some reason. He
gritted his teeth. Fuck everyone and everything. His roots were here and he
belonged here as much as anyone else. He had every right —and intention— to
stake a claim.