Winter's Destiny (11 page)

Her head struck something hard—the bureau outside the living room. She was almost there. She pulled herself up and turned toward the living room, but she could see nothing. The heat was cooking her. She tried to call out to him, “Gramps!” But ended up choking instead. An overhead beam pulled away, dangling precariously, sending sparks flying around her. Smoke, heat, and fire were everywhere, but no Gramps.

She could no longer feel anything. Her body went numb. The searing heat disappeared; she felt cold. Then her feet left the floor.

Dallas climbed the worn staircase to his apartment over the dreaded dentist’s office. Juggling grocery bags and dry cleaning, he unlocked the door, stepped inside, hit the lights, and looked around. He needed a cleaning service.

Putting food away was no problem. It either went into the near-empty pantry or the near-empty refrigerator. That job finished, he popped the top off a Lone Star beer, took a long swig, and walking over to the scanner, flipped it on. A second later, he caught Hadden’s address and the word
fire.
He dropped the beer in the sink, grabbed his coat and hat, and ran back out the door.

The patrolman was looking the wrong way when Dallas arrived at First Street, so he whipped around him and broke through the tape, maneuvering his pickup down the crowded street. He came to a fast stop behind the fire truck. Ahead, the road was clogged with emergency vehicles, onlookers, firemen, police, an ambulance, and hoses snaking through the street. He barely recognized Hadden’s house. “Hellndamnation!”

The core of the blaze centered on the front right corner of the bungalow, where flames reached over the rooftop, throwing searing heat back to the road.

Sam Eden, Sanville’s fire chief, was barking orders when Dallas interrupted him. “Anybody inside?” Dallas yelled.

The chief gave him a sidelong glance. “It don’t look good for old Hadden. By the time we got here the fire was too far gone for my guys to get in and out of there safely. Worse thing is, his granddaughter went in for him.”

“What?” Dallas tensed, “Amy’s
inside?”

“Been in there a couple of minutes now.”

“Anybody go in after her?”

The Chief shook his head. “We tried, but it’s too risky. The roof is going to cave any minute. Hey, wait! Wayburne, you can’t do that. Come back here!”

Dallas grabbed a yellow jacket, helmet, and respirator from the fire truck and yelled for the paramedics to meet him in the back lane. Throwing on the protective clothing and respirator, he ran through the neighbor’s property, into Hadden’s backyard. Two firemen tried to grab him, but his years on the football field paid off. He dodged them and raced up the wheelchair ramp to the back door. Locked! Two powerful kicks and the old wood splintered. He pushed it open. As he slid across the kitchen floor, something broke free in the front of the house, near the living room, and crashed to the floor sending sparks flying down the hallway.

Then he saw her.

Dodging toppled furniture, he dashed down the hall, reaching Amy just as she collapsed. He flipped her over his left shoulder and wound his way back toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, the house swayed on its foundation. The ceiling over his head buckled, sending drywall and wood splinters raining down upon them. He moved as fast as he could, re-entering the kitchen at the same second the far side of the room disintegrated. The roof was collapsing.

Move! Move! Move!
Ten feet to the back door. He ran for it, plunging outside, as the roof caved behind him. He didn’t stop running until his shoes hit the lane. There, gasping for breath, he dropped onto his knees. Paramedics lifted Amy onto a stretcher, put an oxygen mask over her mouth, and hoisted the stretcher into the back of the truck.

“Get a move on.” Dallas told them. They pulled out and Dallas limped back through the neighbor’s yard, onto the street. Fire Chief Sam Eden was furious. “You crazy bastard! All the years I’ve known you, this has got to be the gull-darnedest, stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Lucky you didn’t get fried in there.”

Dallas slapped the fire chief’s back. “Had to get that woman out of there, Sam. Your job’s to put out fires. My job’s to do everything else.”

The Chief grunted. “You barely made it out of there, Dallas. Only thing that saved your ass was your old football days. You always broke the speed records, but this one tops ‘em all.”

Dallas stripped off his gear and dropped it into the fire chief’s hands. “Call me on my cell if you find Hadden.”

Dallas waited impatiently in the Emergency waiting room. As usual, the place was in turmoil—white coats and uniforms going every direction, would-be patients waiting for treatment, and a young girl sobbing. How people actually got medical treatment in these conditions was beyond him.

“Sheriff?”

Dallas turned to see Sandra Wilson, the head nurse waving him over, pen and clipboard in hand. “You can go in now, Sheriff. Amy will be fine—minor burns, cuts to her upper arm and shoulder, a few scrapes, and surprisingly, her lungs aren’t too bad. She’s pretty upset about her grandfather though. She says she’s got to go back to the house. We’ve sedated her to calm her down and to help with the pain.” Sandra stuck the pen behind her ear. “We’ve been trying to locate Dr. Johnson, but it seems he’s out of town and didn’t leave an emergency number.”

Dallas grunted. “If you find him, let me know.” The nurse caught his tone of voice and raised an eyebrow.

Dallas followed her to a curtained cubicle. She parted the curtain so he could step through and closed it behind him. He stood beside the stretcher. Amy was still, her eyes closed; an intravenous solution dripped into a vein in her hand, an oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. Her arms and hands were lathered with a jelly-like substance. A reddish-purple lump grew from her forehead and one eye was swollen and purple. She must have heard him because her eyes opened immediately.

Dallas shook his head. “You look terrible.”

Amy pulled the oxygen mask away and tried to speak. “My grandfather?” Her voice was raw.

“We don’t know yet, and we probably won’t for a while.”

She closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she asked, “Pull back one curtain, please. I don’t like being closed in.”

Surprised, Dallas reached around and opened the curtain. He looked back to find her staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

Amy tried again to speak. “The paramedics told me you went into the burning house and got me out just as the roof caved in.” She swallowed. “Can’t believe you did that.”

Dallas raised his brows meaningfully. “You going in there was a little crazy, you know that, right?”

She cringed. “Somebody had to.”

That Dallas understood.

Her eyes never left his face. “But you didn’t
have to
.”

He stepped away from the stretcher. “Get some rest. I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”

“Sheriff?”

He turned around to see her trying to get up. “Don’t get up—”

“I can’t stay here. Please, I have to get back there.”

He pushed her gently back onto the stretcher. “Come on now, you keep that up and they’ll hog-tie you to the damned thing. You know how they get in here when you don’t do what you’re told.”

“I can’t stay here. Please.”

“You’re in no shape to be released. Now, lie back. I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how you’re doing.” He dropped his cap back on his head and seeing her settle back down, he slid the oxygen mask back in place and headed off.

He had driven most of the way back to Sanville when his cell phone rang. “Wayburne.”

“Sheriff, it’s Sandra in Emergency. Sorry to call on your cell, I know you’re off duty, but it’s about Amy Johnson.”

Worried, he asked, “What is it?”

“She’s gone. We’ve checked most everywhere. A couple of people in the waiting room saw a woman who looked like Amy, slip out the front door.”

Dallas cursed and yanked on the wheel, made a U-turn, and headed back toward the hospital.

Sandra continued, “The thing is, we’re not sure how she can stand up, let alone walk, considering the amount of sedation and pain meds she’s been given. After you left, we increased the dosage.”

“I’m on my way.”

Dallas was three blocks from the hospital when he spotted Amy walking unsteadily down the shoulder of the road. He pulled up beside her and lowered his window. “What do you think you’re doing? You have any idea how far it is back to Sanville?”

“Can make it. Better ‘n the hospital.” Her words were slurred.

Dallas jumped out, grabbed her arm, and steered her around to the passenger door.

He helped her inside and headed to the US 101. “Where do you want to go? It’s not safe to be at your house. In fact, that’d be crazy. Do you have any friends you can stay with?”

Amy shook her head. “No.” Dallas was thoughtful. “I have a cabin up in the mountains, about an hour from here. You’re welcome to use it. You’d be safe there.”

“That’s—nice, but I have to go back—to my grandfather’s. I have to know.”

“There’s nothing you can do for your grandfather.”

Amy sighed. “Should get my Jeep.”

“It’ll be fine where it is. You’re in no shape to drive anyway.”

“Do I have any other—options?”

“Guess not. Dallas turned south onto the US 101. They drove in silence and Amy dozed. A while later, Dallas turned inland, drove twenty-five minutes, then engaged the four-wheel drive, and worked the pickup up a steep incline to a level clearing. Dallas helped Amy out of the truck and guided her across the clearing. She shivered in the cold night air, so he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, before climbing an uneven path toward a dark structure nestled in the trees. Her feet kept slipping on the rocky path. “Oh, help, sorry, oops. Where are we? Dallas?”

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“Right here. Give me your hand.”

“Whoops!”

He reached down to help her up. “Hang on to my arm.”

“Okay. Where’re we?”

“Almost there.”

“Where’s there?”

“My cabin. Remember?”

“No,” she said. “Don’t see anything.”

“You will.” Dallas unlocked the front door and they went inside; the air was cold and smelled like cedar.

Amy waited while Dallas lit the butane lamps. Yellow light filtered through the building and she looked around in a haze. Dallas saw her curiosity. “Hand-built,” he told her. “My dad and I. One and a half stories of rough-hewn, split lumber and timbers. It’s simple enough. The main level is just what you see: living area, a rustic eat-in kitchen, and you’ll be happy to know there’s even indoor plumbing. Bathroom’s over there,” he said, pointing to an open door off the kitchen.” He saw her look back at the narrow staircase off the living room. “Goes up to the loft,” he told her, pulling out a chair in the kitchen and helping Amy into it.

“We built the place a few years ago,” he explained. “Dad thought of himself as a pioneer of sorts. Wanted to be self-sufficient, so there’s no electricity. The heat comes from the oil stove and the fireplace.” Dallas lit a long match and dropped it into the stove. He waited for the oil to ignite, then dropped the lid back down, filled a kettle with water, and placed it on the stovetop to eventually boil. “Dad might have taken the pioneer spirit too far because we originally didn’t have running water. Mom made him change that fast.” He saw that Amy was still shivering, so he went into the living room and reached into the woodbin for kindling. “Won’t take long for the stove and the fireplace to heat the place up,” he told her, placing slivers of wood in the fireplace and lighting them. He added small pieces of split wood until flames danced across the hearth. Finally he placed a few logs on the fire.

Amy cringed and looked away. Dallas realized that a
fire
was probably the last thing she wanted to see right now. He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How about some soup?”

“Huh?”

“Cures everything.”

Amy was too tired to argue. Her mind was on Gramps. “Maybe he wasn’t in there,” she said.

Dallas looked down at her. The hospital staff had cleaned her up, but her clothes were torn, scorched, and damp. He disappeared into the storage room behind the kitchen where he rummaged in a box of clothes and returned with a red jogging suit. “Here,” he offered it to Amy. “Looks like it’ll fit, but even if it doesn’t, it’s clean and dry.” He motioned to the bathroom. “Change in there, if you like,” he suggested, putting one of the butane lanterns on the bathroom vanity.

Amy took the jogging suit, looked down at her jeans and shirt, then made her way toward the bathroom. Dallas waited for what seemed an eternity.

“You done yet?” he called through the closed door.

“Soon,” she told him.

A few minutes later he inquired again. “You coming out of there tonight?”

“Ah, maybe,” she mumbled. “It was here a minute ago--”

There was a loud thump. He knocked on the door. “Everything okay?” When there was no response, he opened the door slightly and peered around it. She was sitting on the floor, staring at the sweatshirt, naked from the waist up. She looked up at him, then tried to cover herself with her bare arms. Her ivory skin was flawless, her breasts firm and round. Dallas realized that he was gaping at her, so he grabbed the sweatshirt, and pulled it over her head. “Here. Stick your arms through here,” he said.

Her arms landed around his neck. “You have nice blue eyes,” she told him matter-of-factly. Her eye met his and lingered. “Very handsome…too.”

Dallas grinned. “Uh, I think we need to get you dressed. Here, try it again. Stick your arms through here.” This time they tangled in the sleeves. He worked the fleece down over her arms. Her skin was silky soft.
She’s so beautiful.
He lifted her off the floor. A vivid image of soft white skin and perfectly round breasts involuntarily flashed through his mind.

Amy reached out to steady herself and ended up clutching his shirt. Confused, she looked up. “Sorry, Dallas, drugs do strange things—to me.” Her words slurred. “But you’ve been very…nice.” She kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. “And you’re very com-for-ble.” Then she stood up and stepped past him into the kitchen.