Dillon and I race after him, both of us scanning the area just in case. Meanwhile, the tiny woman blinks up at Chance like she’s wondering where he’d appeared from and if he was even real, her eyes watery from the smoke. “Define all right.”
Her voice is rough, with city edges cutting through the rasp. Dillon jogs past me with a fire extinguisher. “Well, I guess it isn’t a forest fire.”
“It’s not a barbecue either,” I mutter as I stand at the base of the steps, the extinguisher heavy in my grip and try to make sense of the scene.
No one is supposed to be at this cabin, yet here she is. Some stranger with a stubborn chin and eyes that don’t quite match her fear. There’s a spark there, even through the soot and coughing, as she looked at all three of us in turn like she couldn’t decide whether to thank us or run.
The attraction hits me hard and unexpectedly as soon as her gaze meets mine, a fiery, poison-green gaze that seems simultaneously wary and determined. It’s like catching a punch you didn’t see coming.
I see Chance stiffen beside her when she turns to him, still blinking hard but obviously a little clearer now. Dillon, of course, is grinning like Christmas has come early.
“Don’t just stand there,” she finally croaks, waving toward the smoking doorway. “You’ve got a fire extinguisher. Use it!”
It takes me a second to realize she is talking to me. I jog past her and spray the fireplace until the smoke thins and the coughing outside quiets.
I twist around and see her now sitting on the porch steps, elbows on her knees, her face still covered in soot and frustration written across her delicate features.
“I’m not sure what happened,” she says flatly. “I was just trying to build a fire, but I guess I overachieved.”
Dillon coughs back a surprised laugh. “You could say that. Around here, fire isn’t something we mess around with.”
Her eyes narrow when she looks over at him. “You don’t say.”
“Are you staying here?” Chance asks, setting the extinguisher down beside him to run a hand through his still-damp hair.
I can practically see the relief winding through him. Although we’ve been out here for a while, single-handedly taking on a forest fire isn’t on any of our wish lists this year. Meanwhile, her gaze flicks between the three of us, a little more guarded now.
“Yeah, I am. For a while.”
“Funny,” Chance replies quietly. “Nobody’s stayed here in a long time.”
She shrugs one small shoulder, the fabric of her massive hoodie shifting with the movement. “Well, then I guess I’m nobody.”
For a second, none of us says a thing. The air still heavy with smoke and that strange, electric awareness of this tiny slip of a thing who somehow still seems to radiate trouble.
Whoever she is, she doesn’t belong out here. But damned if something in me doesn’t already want to make sure she stays safe anyway.
With that thought in mind, I turn my attention back to what is going on inside rather than keeping my focus on my friends with her outside. The air is thick with the lingering stench of burned wood and smoke. We’d definitely need to open some windows to let it air out.
It shouldn’t take too long, though. The place isn’t big. Just one open room, a kitchenette, and a hallway that probably leads to a single bedroom.
Everything is covered in a fine layer of soot, like the whole cabin had aged ten years in ten minutes. I crouch near the fireplace, running a hand along the cold bricks and bending to take a quick look inside.
I’m no expert, but to me, it looks like the flue is clogged solid, probably with years of bird nests and pine needles. She’d had no chance. Any spark would’ve blown straight back into the room, exactly like it had.
Sighing as I straighten up, I sweep my gaze around the room again, quickly assessing the situation. As far as I can tell, there is no heat, no insulation worth a damn, and no working chimney.
I don’t have to be an expert or a genius to conclude she can stay here.
The thought should be logistical, just a simple observation, but as soon as it crosses my mind, a smile tugs at my mouth.
Our place is warm. Safe. With room to spare.
Hell of a coincidence.
When I glance at the open door, Dillon is crouched on the porch steps, grinning like an idiot while Chance leans against a post, his arms crossed. Between them, the woman is gesturing with one hand as she speaks, her voice low but confident.
“…hadn’t earned my damn fire-making patch. I thought I was a goner when it started, I swear.”
