“Stop. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled out, his voice as uncivilized as his appearance.
“Let go of me!” I thrashed against him, terror making me wild, but his grip was too firm.
He’dset the fire. He had to have set the fire. Why else would he be here? Why else would he come crashing through my window?
His voice was rough and strained with exertion. “There’s no time forthis. We have to go.Now.”
Before I could fight him again, he grabbed the quilt from my bed and wrapped it around me, bundling me up like a child. Then he lifted me. Just scooped me up against his chest like I weighed nothing, as if my big butt was no burden at all.
I opened my mouth to scream again, but then we were moving. He carried me to the window, tucked me against him, and climbed out into the night.
The cold hit me first. Sharp spring air, still carrying winter’s bite, cut through the thin fabric of my nightgown where the quilt didn’t cover. He set me down on the grass a safe distance from the house, and I stumbled, my legs shaking too hard to hold me.
Then I turned around.
And I watched my house burn.
Flames crawled up the back wall by the kitchen, devouring the old wood siding like it was kindling. Smoke poured from the kitchen windows, thick and black against the star-scattered sky. The fire crackled and roared, a living thing eating everything I had left.
My grandmother’s farmhouse… my fresh start.
Gone.
A sob tore out of my throat. I pressed my hand to my mouth, but I couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of me. Tears streamed down my face, hot against my cold cheeks. The night air bit at my bare arms and my barer legs, everywhere the quilt didn’t reach.
The man who’d carried me out was already moving. He ran to the side of the house, and I heard the squeak of a spigot turning. Then water. He’d found the garden hose.
I watched him work, too stunned to do anything but stand there and shake.
He moved with purpose and competence, aiming the weak stream of water at the base of the flames. His bare back flexed with effort, muscles shifting under skin that gleamed with sweat despite the cold.
He was methodical and focused. Like he’d done this before.
Who is he? Where had he come from?
The questions circled my sleep-addled brain, but I couldn’t hold on to them. Couldn’t hold on to anything except the sight of my house burning and this stranger fighting to save what was left of it.
Minutes passed, and somewhere in that stretch of time I dropped the quilt without noticing, my attention completely on this stranger who’d crashed into my life.
The flames began to die, beaten back by water and determination. The fire didn’t go out completely, but it stopped spreading.
And he didn’t stop until every flame was out. I just stood there watching him work, muscles flashing in the moonlight.
Smoke curled into the air as he snuffed the last of the fire. Finally, once he was confident the fire was completely out, he dropped the hose and walked back to me.
I got my first real look at him then. His face was all hard angles and shadows. I could make out a strong jaw was covered by a thick, unruly beard.
Below that face, I was greeted with broad shoulders, a thick chest, and arms that looked like they could conquer anything.
He was handsome. Devastatingly handsome, in a rough, wild way that made something flutter behind my breast despite everything.
But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop staring at him as he stood there, chest heaving.
This man had saved my life. I mean, I may have been able to get out of the house on my own. I’d never know. But he’d forced me into action while I was still too dazed to react. And without him, my whole house would have burned down. From what I could see, the damage was contained to just my kitchen.
I was in shock, hardly able to register the loss of my home. All I could focus on washim.
“Who are you?” My voice came out cracked, barely a whisper. “How did you… where did you come from?”
