Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) (24 page)

Guessing that the kitchen would be to the right, next to the burning garage, Jeb turned left. Still yelling for Mrs. Lindstrom, he waved his phone in front of him, searching for bedroom doorways by its feeble light. He entered the first room on his left and wasted precious seconds discovering it was only a bathroom.

The next door was closed. He opened it and quickly discerned the small bedroom was unoccupied.

The smoke alarm ceased blaring, and suddenly Jeb could hear the ominous hissing and crackling of the spreading fire.

A door on the other side of the hall was open. Hurrying across the threshold, Jeb heard a faint cough. The weak light from his phone had become almost useless in the thickening smoke, so he dropped the makeshift flashlight back into his pocket. Waving his arms in front of him, he moved cautiously forward until his knees bumped a bed.

He heard more coughing. By sound and touch, he located Mrs. Lindstrom. Holding his breath to avoid inhaling any more of the dangerous smoke, he shoved the bedcovers aside and swung the nearly weightless woman into his arms.

He retraced his steps, bumping and feeling his way along the walls with his elbows as he carried Mrs. Lindstrom in his arms. At the far end of the hallway, a menacing orange light flickered.

A wave of scorching heat slammed into him as he reentered the living room; the far wall had caught fire. His steps faltered, and he felt something press against his shins: the terrified cat, he realized.

He couldn't bend down and grab it, so he raised his knee and hooked his foot under its belly. Then he swung his leg, hurling the heavy animal toward the front door. He hoped it would land on its feet and find its way outside.

Starting forward again, he tripped over the edge of a rug. He lurched sideways, collided with a piece of furniture, and fell to one knee—all without letting go of Mrs. Lindstrom. But as he struggled back to his feet, he noticed she'd gone limp in his arms.

Despair poured through him. He had failed to save her.

He wasn't going to be able to save himself, either. Somehow he'd gotten turned around, and at some point he'd started breathing again. Now dizzy, disoriented, and with his smoke-stung eyes narrowed to slits, he was unable to find the front door.

Before he could even think the prayer, it was answered. From somewhere beyond the horrifying blackness, he heard Laney screaming his name.

Clutching Mrs. Lindstrom's lifeless body more tightly to his chest, he stumbled toward the sound.

O
verwhelmed by relief and gratitude, Laney couldn't stop trembling, even though Jeb stood right behind her, his long arms hugging her tightly against his warm chest as they stared at the surreal scene before them.

Several times as they'd watched firefighters battle the blaze, he'd begged her to go home to put on some shoes and grab a jacket. But she'd worn wool socks to bed, so she wasn't standing barefoot on the cold sidewalk. And she couldn't have left Jeb, in any case. Not after coming so close to losing him.

He coughed again, and her heart squeezed painfully. Closing her eyes, she sent another silent
Thank you
to God.

It had nearly killed her to turn back to call 9
-
1
-
1 when she'd known Jeb was about to run into a burning house, but she'd done it. She'd gone inside and grabbed her cell phone and was back out the door before her call was even answered. She'd given the necessary information while running across the street, her stomach clenching from fear.

She would never forget the horror of seeing that gaping doorway and knowing Jeb was inside the burning house. Screaming his name, she had charged after him, but just as her foot hit the top step of the porch, Mrs. Lindstrom's cat had rocketed out the door and tripped her.

Scrambling back to her feet, she'd screamed again for Jeb.

And then he had appeared in the doorway with Mrs. Lindstrom in his arms, just like a storybook hero.

He'd been distraught, thinking he had failed to save the old lady, but Mrs. Lindstrom had opened her eyes mere moments after being exposed to the cold
night air. The EMTs had arrived a couple of minutes later, and while Mrs. Lindstrom was clearly in shock, she had asked about her cat before being whisked away to the hospital.

Jeb had worn an oxygen mask for several minutes; he'd sat on the running board of a fire truck while Laney paced in front of him, worried sick. She'd been both relieved and annoyed when he'd torn off the mask and insisted he was fine, even though he was still coughing.

When the EMTs had finally given up trying to persuade him to go to the hospital, they'd told Laney to monitor him. If his cough worsened, or if he experienced shortness of breath or hoarseness, she was to get him to the emergency room.

"I think they've almost got it," he murmured above Laney's head as a powerful jet of water from a fire hose played over the last stubborn flames.

"Let's go inside, then." Laney patted one of the hard arms encircling her shoulders. "It's not good for you to be standing here in all this smoke."

"I'm fine, princess." His words sounded pinched; he was holding back a cough to keep her from worrying. "But you're cold, so let's go."

As they turned away from the fire, Laney remembered Mrs. Lindstrom's cat.

"One second, Jeb." In the dim light, her gaze swept the cluster of concerned neighbors until she located the kindly old woman who was cradling the corpulent feline in her arms.

"Mrs. Schultz?" Laney walked toward her. "I can take Snowball."

"No, dear. Before they carted Ida away in that ambulance, I told her I'd look after him." Mrs. Schultz looked down at her charge. "I guess he knows me as well as anyone, since I live right next door. And Darla Frank has already offered a litter box and a bag of cat food."

"He only eats the stinky canned gourmet stuff," Laney warned.

Mrs. Schultz gave her an amused look. "We'll see about that."

Laney figured a brief stay in a less indulgent home might do the fat cat a lot of good. "Mrs. Lindstrom will be grateful," she said warmly.

"No, she won't," Mrs. Schultz contradicted with good humor. "Ida Lindstrom has never been grateful a day in her life. But she's a decent neighbor, for all that. Since my husband died, she's done all kinds of favors for me. Nobody understands like another widow."

"Well, if you're sure." Laney reached out to pet Snowball, but then decided against it because even at the best of times, the cat was as prickly as its owner. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do."

Behind her, Jeb coughed again.

"Why don't the two of you come to my house for a nice cup of tea?" Mrs. Schultz inquired. "I'll put some honey in it for Jackson's poor throat."

Laney's own throat suddenly swelled. When had any of these neighbors, even the friendlier ones like Mrs. Schultz, ever shown any concern for Jeb?

"Thank you," Jeb said, his voice even more gravelly than usual as he came to stand beside Laney. "But I'm going for a drive to get some fresh air." He looked down at Laney. "Want to come?"

She nodded hard and threaded her arm through his. It was the middle of the night, but there was no question of her going home to her snug little bed and leaving Jeb alone to deal with the emotional aftermath of this horror. Besides, somebody needed to monitor his cough.

They crossed the street together, and then she left him and rushed back to her still-open front door. Inside, she pushed her feet into a pair of snow boots and hastily pulled a goose down vest over her long flannel nightgown. She went out the kitchen door and hurried to the driveway, where Jeb was waiting next to the Explorer.

He chuckled when he saw her. "Princess, I may not know anything about fashion, but that ensemble is—"

"Shut up," she said brokenly, reaching for him. "J-just
 
.
 
.
 
. shut
 
.
 
.
 
. up!" She sobbed the last two words against his broad chest. He reeked of soot, but he was alive, and she didn't know how she was ever going to let him go.

His big hand palmed the back of her head and pressed her so tightly against his heart that even through his sweatshirt, she could hear its violent hammering.

"I couldn't see." His quiet words were barely audible over the rumbling engines of the fire trucks across the street. "It was so dark, and the smoke burned my eyes, and I got lightheaded and lost my sense of direction. But then I heard you screaming for me and I just followed your voice." He squeezed her hard and added, "Laney, you saved me."

"Don't talk about it." She wiped her wet face against his sweatshirt, ignoring
the
acrid stench. "I don't want to remember those awful moments when I thought you might—" She stopped and swallowed hard. "Oh, Jeb, I thought—"

"You're right," he interrupted. "Let's not talk about it."

He stiffened suddenly and withdrew his arms. Laney looked up in confusion, and then she followed his gaze and saw they were being observed by three people on the sidewalk.

"Is he all right?" a woman called.

"Can't complain," Jeb responded like a good Minnesotan,
but th
en he coughed.

"Try some honey and lemon juice to soothe that throat," the woman advised, and the small group moved on.

Once again, tears welled in Laney's eyes. Finally, people were looking at Jeb and seeing an actual person rather than a scandal to be gossiped about. And all he'd had to do, she reflected bitterly, was nearly get himself killed saving Mrs. Lindstrom.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go somewhere quieter."

Tugging one long flannel sleeve over the back of her hand, Laney used the soft fabric to dry her tears before climbing into the Explorer.

They drove in silence for several minutes, and then Jeb made a sound of disgust and lowered his window.

"I'll turn the heater full blast on your feet," he said, reaching for those controls. "I just need to blow some of this awful stink away. Sorry."

"I'm fine," Laney assured him.

He was safe. What did anything else matter?

Remembering the Graces, she patted the pockets of her puffy down vest before realizing she'd left her cell phone in the house.

"Jeb, do you have your phone? I should call the Graces."

"At this hour?" he asked, reaching into his pocket.

"They won't mind. People often call them in the middle of the night with emergency prayer requests, so I'm afraid they'll hear about the fire and try to reach me to make sure we're okay. And I forgot my phone because I had to set it down to put on these boots. Flannel nightgowns don't have pockets for cell phones, you know."

He made an amused sound that turned into a cough. "Should you be calling a man's attention to your nightgown?"

"It's only
you
, Jeb." She took his phone and entered the Graces' number. "Besides, I'm covered from neck to ankles in heavy flannel. Hardly the kind of thing to excite a man's interest."

He muttered something that sounded like, "You might be surprised," but she didn't have time to wonder about that because her call was answered on the first ring.

She briefly explained about the fire. Then she told Caroline she was going for a drive with Jeb to calm down.

"We'll pray for you both," Caroline promised. "And for Ida Lindstrom, of course. And don't you bother about getting to the tearoom first thing in the morning. We'll go in and get your baking started."

"No, Caroline. Thanks, but I'll be there. After a scare like this, I need to get right back into my routine."

Jeb shot her a sympathetic look. She gave him a weak smile and wished her aunts a good night.

Gravel crunched and popped under the Explorer's tires as Jeb pulled into a small picnic area next to Clear Lake. When he turned off the headlights and the engine, Laney opened her door and stepped out into the soft, welcoming darkness.

Jeb came around the hood to join her. They both leaned back against the passenger door, arms folded as they stared at the calm black surface of the lake. The moon had already set, and the inky sky was alive with stars.