Page 64 of Ashes of the Past
“The little Australian shepherd of Liv’s?” Joanne asks.
“Yeah, that one.”
“I’ll ask Brynn. She didn’t say anything about him.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to head home with the kids,” Joanne says. “Now that I know you’re all right, I can sleep better. The Castings and all the ranch hands are outside; I’ll let them know you’re good and can go home. Brynn was really worried about you.”
My chest squeezes at the mention of Brynn’s name, but I brush it off.
“Thanks, Jo.” I smile as she leans down to hug me.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say with a soft chuckle.
It hurts too bad to laugh.
Mom sits on the couch in the corner of the room.
“You don’t have to stay, Ma,” I say.
She gives me a look that saysYou’re crazy if you think I’m leaving. I chuckle low and smile back at her.
“You get to rest, Jack. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I close my eyes and try to rest. The hospital room is quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor tracking my heartbeat. It’s too slow, too even, like it doesn’t belong to me.
It’s too quiet.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, my throat dry, my body heavy. The fire flickers behind my eyes when I close them—red and violent, swallowing the barn in an instant. I can still hear the panicked cries of the animals, the heat pressing against my skin, and the suffocating smoke in my lungs. I went in without thinking. No hesitation. Because they needed me. Because I couldn’t stand there and do nothing.
I would do it again in a heartbeat.
My mind replays when they helped me out of the barn. Locking eyes with Brynn, seeing how scared she was, and also relieved that I was okay. She ran to me. Through the chaos, through the smoke, her face pale, her eyes wild with fear. She wasn’t looking for the damage to the barn. She wasn’t barking orders at the firefighters or checking on the horses. She was looking for me. And when she saw me barely standing, she touched me like she needed proof I was real.
Like she cared.
My fingers curl into the stiff hospital blanket, and I exhale slowly, shoving the thought away. She was worried because Iwork for her. Because I’m the one who keeps her ranch running. That’s all.
It’s not because of what happened between us.
Not because of the way she came apart in my arms just hours before the fire, her body tangled with mine, her lips whispering my name like it meant something.
I swallow hard and stare at the ceiling again, ignoring the way my chest tightens and the way that her face won’t leave my memory.
I can’t allow her in.
By Monday, I’m feeling a little better. The soreness is still there, but the burning in my lungs has dulled to an ache. My mom and Joanne are hovering, fussing over every little thing. It’s equal parts comforting and infuriating.
“You need to take it easy,” my mom says for the hundredth time as the doctor comes in to check on me.
“He’s healing well,” the doctor says, glancing at the chart. “If everything looks good this afternoon, we can discharge him.”
“Discharge?” My mom’s voice rises half an octave. “He’s in no shape to be on his own.”
