She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. When they reached the pump, she relieved her father, who began exchanging filled containers with empty ones.
As Abraham reached for a full bucket, he leaned close to Dr. Pelton. “Poe’s about. Don’t allow her out of arm’s reach.”
Her father’s gaze darkened, and he nodded. At least now Abraham could leave her side and know that someone guarded her.
He rushed to the flames, which battled against the barrage of splashing water. Unfortunately the efforts meant little unless the fire department arrived soon with their steam engine and fire hoses.
Trip after trip, he lobbed water at the climbing flames. His muscles burned from the exertion, and his lungs ached from the smoke. Each grateful smile Lydia gave him when he exchanged buckets renewed his determination.
Finally the bells of the fire engine rang in the distance. Soon they’d have help.
Abraham drew back a bucket. Something red and round flew past his face. It crashed against the carriage house’s wall and shattered. Flames exploded with invigorated life and leaped from the wall toward him.
On instinct, Abraham dropped the bucket and lifted his arms to protect his face. He twisted away, but the inferno hit him with such force he stumbled backward.
His mind barely acknowledged his screamed name. The urge to escape the painful blaze overpowered every other sense. Heat seared up his sleeves and spread along the side closest to the fire. He ripped off his coat and flung it as far as he could.
Still, it felt as if flames torched his clothes and kissed his skin.
Startling cold water struck him in the face, then from opposite directions. Relief mingled with the sting of burns on his arm and hand, but thankfully his neck and face just felt wet. He swiped away the water and glanced around.
Lydia, Dr. Pelton, and another officer holding empty buckets stood nearby. Beyond them, Lawson knelt on the ground, pounding at the flames on Abraham’s still burning jacket with his own.
Lawson’s coat burst into flames, and he jerked away with a howl.
Too late, another officer doused the material.
Lawson sat on his haunches, cradling a hand already red and blistered.
“Madelyn, grab my bag from my room!” Dr. Pelton glanced over Abraham. “Lydia, I’ll need your help. Go with Detective Hall to the kitchen. Detective Lawson and I will be right behind you.” He rushed over to assist Lawson, leaving Abraham and Lydia alone.
Abraham doubted Dr. Pelton really needed her help, but the sly way of keeping her from Poe’s reach served its purpose.
Distress pinched her face as she slipped her arm around Abraham’s waist. “Does this hurt you?”
“No, but I’m perfectly capable of walking without falling over. Do not feel like you have to bear me up.”
“What if I’m the one who needs bearing up?” She turned exaggerated wide eyes on him and fluttered her lashes. “I just might faint without your sturdy presence to keep me going.”
When she wanted to flirt, Lydia could be as laughable as her books. Even so, he couldn’t deny he liked it. It was nice to have a woman concerned for him and to banter with. And that amusement was just what he needed to distract him from the growing discomfort on his hand and forearm.
He returned her flirtation. “I’m happy to be of ser—”
The bells of the fire engine overwhelmed his gallant response as horses led the engine and half a dozen firemen around the building. Soon the fire would be well in hand and its source determined.
The memory of glass shattering just before the flames erupted slammed into him. That small explosion was no natural event.
He pulled free of Lydia’s grip and pivoted toward the fire. There, scattered on the blackened ground, lay the undeniable remnants of curved glass. A fire grenade would leave that sort of debris, but those were filled with salt water or carbon tetrachloride. They were meant to extinguish a fire. Whatever had been within that glass vessel was an accelerant, not a suppressant.
And it had been thrown right when he was closest to the flames.
Abraham’s attention snapped to the area around them. Two dozen people now swarmed the fire. Several men dragged the cotton-jacketed rubber water hose into place while another connected the engine to a hydrant. Others continued to refill buckets and haul them back. If Poe were someone other than Clemens or Monroe, he could easily blend in, and Abraham would never know it. But more than likely, he had run as soon as he tossed the fire grenade. Poe was too smart to stick around.
Abraham clenched his fists, ignoring the painful protests of his burns. Poe’s targeted attack had come much quicker than he’d expected. The newspaper declaring his and Lydia’s romantic relationship hadn’t yet been delivered when he’d left his house an hour ago. That left Clemens and Monroe fighting each other for top suspect.
“What’s wrong?” Lydia pressed a hand to his shirtsleeve, reminding him of the urgency to get them both out of the open.
“We should get inside.”
