Carolina Girl (21 page)

Rory kicked and squirmed, but this time he wouldn’t
let her go. Wildly, she fought his greater strength, not believing he could
stop her if she’d made up her mind to go.

“Give it a rest, Aurora,” he said with
implacable finality. “We can’t just run in there until we know if
it’s too hot to walk.”

Too panicked to be reasonable, too frightened to fight, she
collapsed against his chest. She could feel the heat, breathed the ashes and
smoke, and she couldn’t look. Clay’s arms held her, his strength
supported her, and she simply burst into helpless tears.

“I see your father.” Holding her upright, he
spoke above her head. “We should go in by the road. He’s turned a
hose on the house, but everything else is scorched. Let me take his place, and
you get him out, okay?”

Overwhelmed with relief that all might be well, she nodded
against his chest, wiped her eyes, and tried to stand. Clay kept his grip on
her waist as she pushed forward to observe the scene. She looked for blazing
embers in the darkness, sought a clear path through the smoldering pine
needles, but saw only her father in his purple cast, defiantly spraying any
spark daring to alight in his vicinity.

If Pops was safe, then she’d have to believe Mandy was
fine. If only she knew about Cissy...

Breaking free, Rory ran across charred grass, ignoring the
heat and the smoke searing her skin and eyes. Hot embers burned through the
soles of her pumps, water squished through the holes, but her shout of
“Pops, where’s Mandy?” caused her father to look up.

The relief on his bearded face was so blatant, she ran into
his arms, weeping, getting soaked by the dripping hose for her efforts.

“I sent her to help old Annie out and to look for your
sister. Figured the police would keep her away.” Shakily he hugged her
before glancing up at Clay. “Why the hell did you bring her back in
here?” he roared with more than his usual force.

“You want to try to keep her out?” Clay asked,
having followed in her path. “Give me the hose and you make her
leave.”

“I’ll get the hose around back.” Since
they talked as if she couldn’t hear, Rory ignored their commentary.
“Pops, I think Cissy wrecked the car up the road. I can’t find her.
Someone said the ambulance may have taken her to town. You know the guys out
there better than I do. Go find out what happened, please? It’s killing
me.”

She could see the fear and uncertainty in her father’s
eyes. His leg had to be hurting. He couldn’t run if the fire turned back
in this direction. But he didn’t want to be thought a coward for
abandoning his daughters’ house.

“Your family needs you.” Clay took the hose from
Jake’s hands. “I can do this. I’ll get Aurora out if it looks
bad. I’ll never budge her if you stay.”

“Don’t know how much longer the well will
last,” Jake warned. “The house ain’t worth saving if the fire
turns back this way. You haul her out the instant it does, y’hear?”

“It’s chaos out there.” Clay reached in
his pockets and handed Jake his truck keys. “If you find Mandy, take her
over to my place and wait for us there. You can start calling hospitals if you
can’t find Cissy. That way we’ll know where everyone is.”

A wave of relief nearly toppled Rory as Pops reluctantly
took the keys and directions to the truck. Leaning on a crutch as he never did,
he limped down the drive toward safety. She wanted to hug Clay in gratitude and
cling to him for reassurance at the same time.

She didn’t dare do either one or she’d break
down and totally lose it.

“I’ll go through the house, change, and get the
hose out back.” Without waiting for Clay’s approval, Rory sprinted
inside.

The house reeked of smoke but was blessedly untouched. Rory
stripped off her wet suit and ruined pumps in favor of shorts and sneakers. The
occasional patter of water against the thin roof reassured her that Clay had
things in hand.

With a sudden terrifying thought, she jerked open her
underwear drawer, located the precious bottle cap, and, with another prayer of
thanks, shoved it deep into her pocket.

Having preserved the one valuable she could keep on her, she
dashed outside, located the hose, and began to soak the shrubbery on the drive
to her father’s workshop. That he’d ignored his home and work and
precious motorcycle in favor of saving his daughters’ possessions brought
another choking sob to her throat, but she fought it back. Tears could come
later.

She kept a watch on the night sky and the flames flickering
through the trees in the marsh. How well did cypress burn? Would Grandma Iris
and the others back there be safe?

She couldn’t tell the exact location of the leaping
flames in the distance except that they seemed to be caught on the ocean breeze
from the east and heading west.

Cleo’s house and Clay’s cottage were west of the
Bingham swamp.

A smoldering ember caught in the pine mulch around the enormous
azaleas camouflaging the old toolshed. Rory dragged the hose from the drive and
back to the wooden structure, turning it on the flames licking at the dry
bushes. The fire grew faster than she could spray, and she panicked.

She tugged at the hose to get closer, but she had reached
its length. The water pressure dwindled, dripping just short of the fire
licking along the termite-riddled wood. If the fire reached the shed’s
roof, it could easily leap into the trees overhanging the house.

Apparently losing pressure in the front hose, Clay jogged
around the corner of the trailer. Grasping her predicament, he grabbed a heavy
concrete birdbath full of water, flung the contents on the low-lying flames,
and ran for a nearby fountain. “What’s in there?” he yelled.

“Old mowers, tillers, junk,” she shouted back.

“Gasoline?” He dropped the birdbath he’d
lifted and planted himself in front of her, apparently prepared to push her out
of the reach of danger.

Rory shook her head. “Pops said the place is a
firetrap. He keeps the gas with his bike.” His expression of relief
warmed her, giving her the strength to continue instead of giving up and
getting out.

In silence they worked to combat the leapfrogging sparks,
Rory with her trickle of water from the hose filling every available container,
Clay lifting and emptying one concrete lawn ornament after another to the
tinder dry shack. The roof collapsed in a rain of flame and smoke, but the
thoroughly doused shrubbery burned slower.

By the time Clay had climbed a fence to drop a Byzantine
structure of spouting fish and mermaids on the last embers, Rory was crying
tears of laughter as well as relief.

“I never thought that monument to Poseidon’s bad
taste would ever have a use.” Her voice cracked and sounded hoarse.
Abandoning the dry hose, she wrapped her arms around Clay’s waist and
kissed him.

He stank of wet smoke, and his fancy dress shirt was soaked
in sweat, but he tasted more wonderful than strawberries and chocolate
together. His mouth hungrily covered hers, not entirely in a sexual way, but
seeking the same life-affirming reassurance she needed. Finding bliss in this
mutual understanding, Rory was reluctant to release him when the kiss became
something more demanding.

He pulled her roughly into his arms and deepened the connection
with tongue and lips and an urgency that dragged her off her feet.

A hail from the driveway abruptly slapped them back to
reality. “Everyone all right in here?”

With a curse, Clay set her back enough to break the spell.
He lifted his smoke-smudged face to check the location of the fire, listened to
the sirens in the distance, then watched her expression. “I think
it’s under control here,” he called to the policeman on the drive.

In a lower voice, he added to her, “I’ll talk to
the cops, see what I can find out. Why don’t you check the phone and see
if you can call my place?”

Cissy. Without wasting time on words, Rory raced for the
house. She had to know about Cissy.

Shivering, she flipped on a light, grateful the electricity
still worked. Her fingers flew through the box of business cards and notes
beside the phone, locating the index card she’d scribbled Clay’s
number on. Punching the numbers in, she collapsed against the counter while it
rang.

“McCloud residence,” a female voice announced
curtly.

“Cleo!” Terror took root as she pondered the
reason for Clay’s sister-in-law’s presence at the beach house.
“This is Aurora. Is my family there?”

“Thank God!” Cleo’s voice gained more
animation. “We have two of them here, refusing to leave until they hear from
you. Where’s Clay?”

“Harassing policemen. My sister? Have they heard from
Cissy?”

“Let me give you to your father before he pounds a
hole in the floor with that cast.”

“Rora?” he roared into her ear before Cleo could
add any niceties. “You okay?”

“It’s all okay. The well ran dry, we lost the
toolshed, but I think we got all the hot spots. Clay’s checking to see
what else we need to do. Is Mandy there? Have you heard from Cissy?”

“Mandy’s fine. We found Ciss. Your fancy car had
air bags, so she’s bruised up some, but she was walking, looking for us
when the neighbors found her. They sent her in for observation. We were just
waiting to hear from you before we catch a ride into Charleston. Are you gonna
be okay?”

Exhausted, Rory knelt on the vinyl kitchen floor and pressed
her forehead against the cabinet wall. Whispering silent prayers of
thanksgiving, she couldn’t immediately reply. Tears stung her swollen
eyes, and she swiped at them while she tried to find words to reassure her
father. “We can take your bike over, then drive in and pick Cissy
up.” She hoped she sounded sensible.

“Nah, don’t you bother. You gotta keep an eye on
the house. Never know what sumsabitches will be poking around, looking for
trouble. Keep McCloud there until we get home. I figure they won’t let
Ciss out until morning.”

She couldn’t think straight enough to argue. Her
father put Mandy on, and they exchanged encouraging words before hanging up.

Cissy was safe. Her family was all right.

Her life would never be the same again.

She managed to stumble into the bathroom, wash her face, and
pull her tangled, smoky hair into a ponytail. Clutching the bottle cap in her
pocket, she blocked out all thought of more hospital and ambulance bills.
Instead she worried over the neighbors, checked the night sky to see if more
flames had cropped up, and walked the yard to search for hot spots.

When she recognized Clay’s shadow jogging up the
drive, she ran toward him, halting awkwardly just before she reached him.
Ignoring her uncertainty, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and hugged
her wearily, then steered her toward the house.

“Cissy’s okay,” she said breathlessly,
trying to spill all her news before her voice gave out. “They have her in
the hospital for observation. Mandy and Pops are going in to see her.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Your sister’s tough.
She’ll probably sneak out of bed and run away rather than face you over
the damned car.”

Rory hadn’t thought of that. She didn’t care
about the car. Somewhere during the evening, it had lost its importance.
“I ought to go and talk to her, but Pops says we should guard the
house.”

“Let your sister rest. The cops have a patrol car
driving up and down the road, but someone needs to stay here. The swamp halted
the worst of it, but it’s impossible to know if they’ve got all the
hot spots. I told them I’d be here if the neighbors needed any
help.”

He’d be here. With her. In an empty house.

Rory tilted her head back to read his expression in the
porch light.

Gray eyes returned her look, watching warily.

After all they’d been through, she couldn’t turn
him away. Didn’t want to turn him away.

“I’ll fix coffee.” Rory held the door open
for him to catch.

Clay supposed he should be relieved that she hadn’t
told him to sleep on the lawn after he’d nearly molested her in the
backyard under completely inappropriate conditions. He wasn’t a
demonstrative man, but seeing her running toward him, unharmed and with open
arms, had jolted awake a starving need he didn’t recognize. He’d
wanted to hold her and never let her go. And then he’d nearly devoured
her until she’d had to push him away. Not precisely hero behavior.

Maybe her southern hospitality required that she invite him
in before throwing him out. Or she wanted to pump him on what he’d found
out about the accident.

He hoped it wasn’t the latter. His suspicious mind had
fixated on Aurora’s car and destructive fires, and he wasn’t liking
his conclusions. The policeman hadn’t been telling him everything. If she
threw him out, he’d sleep on the lawn rather than leave her here alone.

“Water is fine,” he replied, before remembering
the water had run out. “You can’t do either without water. Whatever
you have will do.”

“The house is on the water line. Only the hoses are on
the well.” She led the way back to the kitchen and removed ice cubes from
the freezer.

He thought she might still be running on adrenaline and
shock. She sounded hoarse. He could see where she’d attempted to wash the
soot off her face, but it was ground into her hairline. She still brightened
his world like sunrise. He didn’t know how to deal with that feeling.

His stoic upbringing hadn’t taught him to deal with
rioting emotion. He really didn’t want to be the one in the line of fire
when Aurora’s brain kicked in and she started asking questions.
He’d much rather fall back on mind-melting kisses than face her fear and
fury.

Kisses apparently overruled self-preservation. He stayed
put.

He let the iced water slide down his parched throat. He
stank to high heaven and probably looked like a chimney sweep. He needed a
shower before he could think about being alone with the woman he wanted so much
that he walked around with a permanent hitch in his stride.