Page 22 of Hot Knot Summer
Our gazes lock, and for a breath-stopping moment, the world narrows to just us, me sitting on the tailgate, him standing close enough that the heat radiatingfrom his body, even through his protective gear, pours over me.
My skin tingles with awareness despite the trauma of the fire.
I should look away. Should focus on the fact that I nearly died, that my temporary home is currently burning to the ground, or that I’m sitting here in a rain-soaked summer dress and Chad’s oversized jacket. Instead, I’m transfixed by the way Atlas’s eyes seem to darken as they hold mine, by the subtle shift in his scent that reaches me even through the smoke clinging to both of us.
He reaches out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of soot from my cheek. The brief contact sends a jolt through me as if I’ve touched a live wire, and I can’t contain the small gasp that escapes me. His gaze widen slightly at my reaction, his pupils dilating in a way that makes my toes curl inside my shoes.
“When I saw you through that smoke,” he says quietly. “I thought I was seeing things. Couldn’t believe it was really you.”
I swallow hard, wincing at the pain in my throat. “Seems the universe has a strange sense of humor,” I manage through my gas mask.
“Or fate,” he suggests, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it like a physical touch. “Maybe there’s a reason?—”
The moment shatters as another firefighter approaches, this one tall and lean with golden-blond hair visible beneath his helmet. He’s grinning despitethe situation, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he glances between Atlas and me.
“Chief,” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone. “The west side’s contained, and we should be able to salvage the front side.” His teal-blue eyes flick to me with undisguised curiosity. “Good to see you found a survivor.”
Atlas straightens, instantly shifting back to professional mode, though his hand lingers near my shoulder a moment longer than necessary. “Go help Kai with the north exposure… looks like it’s trying to jump to those pine trees.”
The blond firefighter nods, but his knowing smile doesn’t fade as he heads back toward the blaze. I watch him go, noting the confident, almost swaggering way he moves, even in his bulky gear. When I stare back at Atlas, he’s watching me with an unreadable expression.
“My second-in-command,” he explains briefly. “River Graham.”
Suddenly, the wail of another siren cuts through the storm as an ambulance pulls up, followed closely by a police cruiser. Atlas steps back, his professional mask firmly in place now.
“You need to get checked out properly,” he says, his tone all business again. “Smoke inhalation can be serious.”
I nod, suddenly exhausted beyond words. The adrenaline that kept me going is crashing, leaving me shaky and weak. As a female paramedic with short-cropped hair approaches, Atlas gives my shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze before turning away to direct his crew.
He strides toward the burning cabin, powerful and commanding, rain streaming off his gear. He joins several other firefighters wielding hoses, pointing and shouting directions that are instantly obeyed. Even from this distance, there’s no mistaking his authority, the natural Alpha leadership that seems to radiate from him.
“Ma’am?” The paramedic gently reclaims my attention. “I’m Sara. Let’s get you checked out, okay?”
She guides me to the back of the vehicle, out of the worst of the rain, and replaces the firefighter’s oxygen mask with her own, then begins examining me methodically. Blood pressure, pulse, oxygen levels, pupil response. I submit to it all in a daze, answering her questions about my symptoms automatically while my mind circles back to Atlas’s rescue, to the way he looked at me, to the electric shock of his touch.
“Your oxygen levels are lower than I’d like,” Sara informs me. “But not dangerously so. Any pain when you breathe deeply? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Just my throat,” I rasp. “And my chest hurts from coughing.”
“That’s normal. We’ll still need to take you in for observation,” she says kindly. “Smoke inhalation effects can sometimes be delayed.”
A police officer approaches next, middle-aged with salt-and-pepper hair and deep lines around his eyesthat deepen as he smiles at me. “Officer Brennan. I know this isn’t a great time, but I need to ask you a few questions if you’re up to it.”
I nod, pulling the oxygen mask away from my face. “Of course.”
He settles beside me on the ambulance tailgate, rain dripping from his police cap. “Nasty business, house fires,” he says conversationally, flipping open a small notebook. “Especially in weather like this. You’d think all this rain would keep things from burning, wouldn’t you?”
There’s something comforting about his casual approach, as though we’re two people having a chat on a porch somewhere.
“I thought the same thing,” I admit. “I kept hoping the rain would help, but it seems like the fire... ignored it.”
Officer Brennan nods thoughtfully. “Fires can be strange that way. Once they get hot enough, they create their own weather systems, in a manner of speaking.” He meets my gaze. “Were you alone in the cabin tonight, Ms…”
“Emma Collins. And yes,” I confirm, another coughing fit interrupting me briefly. “I arrived today… yesterday, I mean.”
“Any candles burning? Fireplace? Kitchen appliances left on?”
“I had some candles lit earlier, but I’m positive I blew them all out before going upstairs to bed. I remember doing it one by one.” My brow furrows as Itry to think if I’d missed anything. “The fireplace wasn’t lit, and I didn’t use the stove or oven.”
