Page 12 of Burn Point

“I heard that.”

“Catch you later.”

The drive back to the shelter took me out of the way of the station, but what was a few more minutes? Though my bed was calling my name. How long had I been on duty now? It had to be going on thirty-six hours.

So much had happened in such a short period of time. I was moving on autopilot at this point, long past the point of sheer exhaustion and running on fumes.

At least it had been a nice, sunny spring day. And wasn’t that the way after a big storm?

As I passed by the south end of the church, movement in the courtyard caught my attention. Likely some refugees hanging out. Were they refugees? What was the right term for them? Victims? Survivors?

I slowed down to check out of habit, just like I’d been checking in with everyone I’d passed all day.

“Hey, you doing okay? Need anything?” I asked. What a stupid question. These people probably needed everything right now. Why else would they be here?

A woman approached from the edge of the courtyard, and when she stepped out of the shadows, there was the face that had been haunting me all day. The sun lit up her blonde curls, framing her face like a halo.

“Jordan?” I called, hope lacing my tone.

She gave a small wave. “Nate, right?”

I nodded, stunned that I’d found her here, of all places. “Wow…I don’t know why, but I’m surprised to see you here.”

Even with her dirty shorts and t-shirt, messy hair, and bags under her eyes, she was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen.

She rested both hands on the iron fence and leaned in with a tired smile.

“I don’t really know anyone in town, and my family is far away. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Her voice held the sweetest hint of southern twang.

I wanted to bathe in it.

I turned off the UTV to hear better, suddenly not in such a rush to get back to the station.

“Have you been working since I saw you last?” she asked.

I nodded. “I have. We’ve been running search and rescue, and we set up an emergency post since the trucks can’t get through.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she gazed at the destruction in the general direction of her house.

“Have you been here this whole time?” I asked.

She gave the smallest nod.

Jesus Christ. She had to be miserable. “How’s your leg?”

She dropped her arms and turned to the side, baring her leg to me. The long creamy expanse of skin was marred by a gauze strip.

“Not too bad. They cleaned me up and gave me a few stitches.” She paused and glanced at me quickly, then away. Her gaze locked on the ground at my feet. “Thanks for being there for me last night. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten out of there if it hadn’t been for you.”

I studied her face, the dark circles under her eyes. Even in her disheveled state with her shoulders hunched, and her clothes rumpled and hanging off of her, she was so pretty.

With her soft smile and gentle manner, she looked like an angel. Like the sweetest gift to come from the destruction.

I hated the thought of her being in some makeshift shelter. She should be at home, or in the finest of hotels. Somewhere comfortable and cozy and safe.

She probably hadn’t slept at all.

And she didn’t have a home to go to anymore.

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