Their Ranch Reunion Page 4

  He pressed the phone against his ear. “Hey, Ned.”

  “Judging from all the missed calls I have from you, I’m guessing you’re eager to talk to me.”

  “Yes.” He straightened in the wooden bench. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

  Ned laughed. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t think you’d be in need of my services so soon. Don’t tell me you’re bored with Ouray already.”

  Surprisingly, Ouray had been anything but boring this time around.

  “No, but I do have a problem.” He pushed his plate aside and proceeded to explain the change to his grandmother’s will. “Is there any way I can get this will revoked and the original reinstated?” He reached for another fry, awaiting his lawyer’s response.

  “Was your grandmother of sound mind? Did she have dementia or anything?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Though given her decision to split the ownership of the house, he was beginning to wonder. If it had been one of his brothers, he could understand it. But Carly wasn’t family.

  “Then it’s highly unlikely you’d be able to get it overturned.”

  Andrew wadded his napkin, tossed it on the high-gloss wooden tabletop and raked a hand through his hair. He’d anticipated as much. Still...

  “Can I get you anything else?” Beside him, the waitress smiled down at him.

  “One minute, Ned.” He eyed the unquestionably pregnant blonde. “I’m good, thank you.”

  She slid him his check. “My name is Celeste if you need anything else. Otherwise, you can pay at the register on your way out.”

  “Good deal. Thank you.” He again set the phone to his ear. “Sorry about that.” He grabbed the ticket as he slipped out of the booth. “So, what are my options?”

  “You could—”

  The town’s emergency siren shrieked to life just then, making it impossible for Andrew to hear anything. “Hold on again, Ned.” He stepped up to the register and paid his tab as the high-pitched wail of fire trucks added to the discord.

  When the madness finally settled, he stepped outside and resumed his call. “Okay, let’s try this again.” The cool midday air had him zipping up his jacket.

  “And here I thought Ouray was just a sleepy little town.”

  Andrew looked up and down the historic Main Street. “Apparently not today.”

  Ned chuckled. “As far as options, you could offer to buy out the other person’s half.”

  Crossing the street, Andrew let go a sigh. “Already did.”

  “And?”

  “She slammed the door in my face.” A quick glance heavenward had him noticing the plumes of thick, black smoke billowing into the air a few blocks away. Pretty significant fire, if you asked him. And fairly close to his grandmother’s house.

  A wave of unease rolled through him. “Uh, Ned, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

  He shoved the phone in his pocket, quickening his pace until he reached the corner. When he did, he peered to his right.

  Dread pulsed through his veins as every nerve ending went on high alert. The fire trucks were in front of his grandmother’s house.

  He broke into a run. One block. Adrenaline urged him forward. Two blocks.

  “Oh, no.” Heart sinking, he came to a halt.

  Across the street, smoke rolled from the back of Granger House Inn. Flames danced from the kitchen’s side window, lapping at the sea foam paint, threatening the historic dentil moldings and clapboard siding.

  One of the firemen barked orders, orchestrating the chaos, while others flanked the corner of the house, their hoses aimed inside.

  But where was Carly?

  “Andrew!”

  He jerked his head in the direction of his brother Jude’s voice.

  A police officer for the city of Ouray, his younger brother vehemently motioned him across the street.

  Andrew hurried toward him.

  “We need you to move your truck out of Grandma’s drive.”

  “Sure thing.” He tugged the keys from his pocket and threw himself into the vehicle, the smell of smoke nearly choking him.

  As he backed into the street, he spotted Carly’s SUV in front of her house. Where was she? Was she safe? Could she have been trapped inside? Oh, God. Please, no.

  He quickly parked on the next block before rushing back.

  People had gathered on the opposite side of the street, watching the horror unfold.

  He scanned the faces, looking for Carly. She had to be here somewhere.

  He again eyed the flames, feeling helpless. Sweat beaded his brow as panic surged through his body. God, she has to be all right.

  Spotting Jude in the middle of the street, Andrew jogged toward him. “Where’s Carly?”

  “In the ambulance.”

  Ambulance?

  He ran past the cluster of onlookers to the emergency vehicle parked a few houses down.

  Drawing closer, he finally saw her, standing near the rear bumper, attempting to pull off the oxygen mask while the female EMT fought to keep it over her face.

  Andrew had never been so glad to see someone.

  He slowed his pace as Carly ultimately ripped the mask from her face. “I don’t need this.” She coughed. “That’s my house.” More coughing. “I need to—”

  Andrew stepped in front of her then. “You need to let the firemen do their job. And you need to get some good air into your lungs.” He pulled the mask from her hand, noting the resignation in her blue eyes as she looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering. “At least for a little bit.”

  The fact that she didn’t resist when he slipped the respirator over her head still surprised him. But when he reached for her hand, she quickly yanked it away.

  He groaned. Stupid move. Who was he to try to comfort her?

  Only then did he notice the way she cradled her hand, holding it against her torso. The redness. She’d been burned.

  “I think we’d better get you into the ambulance.”

  She shook her head. “I want to see what’s happening.” The words were muffled through the plastic mask.

  Andrew eyed the male and female EMTs. “Can she sit here while you look her over?” He gestured to the rear bumper.

  They nodded.

  He looked at Carly. “You promise to let them do what they need to do?”

  A cough-filled moment ticked by before she finally agreed.

  The female EMT checked Carly’s vital signs as the man went to work on her hand. All the while, Carly’s tearful gaze remained riveted on Granger House.

  Andrew could only imagine the flurry of emotions threatening to swallow her at any moment. The uncertainty, the grief... He wished he could make it all go away.

  He sat down beside her as the man wrapped her hand in gauze. “What happened there?” Andrew pointed to the injury.

  “I had gone to the bank.” She coughed. “When I got back—” looking up, she blinked repeatedly “—I opened the back door and the...flames were everywhere.”

  His eyes momentarily drifted closed. Thank God she was okay.

  Unable to stop himself, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Despite wearing a jacket, her whole body shook.

  Returning his attention to the house, he saw that the smoke had started to turn white, a sign that the fire was almost out. However, there was no telling what kind of damage it had left in its wake. Granger House was more than Carly’s home. It was her livelihood. Without it—

  As if she’d read his thoughts, Carly lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “What am I going to do?”

  Chapter Four

  How could this have happened?

  Carly stood beside the towering conifer in front of Livie’s house
a couple of hours later, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Staring at Granger House, she felt as though she were fighting to keep herself together. In only a short time, the fire had ravaged her majestic old home, leaving it scarred and disheveled.

  At the back of the house, where the kitchen was located, soot trailed up the once beautiful sea foam green siding, leaving it blackened and ugly. Windows were missing and, as she strained to look inside, all she could see was black.

  She breathed in deeply through her nose, trying to quell the nausea that refused to go away. If only they would let her go inside. Perhaps she’d find out things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  The loud rumble of the fire engine filled her ears as firemen traipsed back and forth, returning hoses to their trucks. Carly eyed her gauze-wrapped hand. At least it didn’t sting anymore. The smell of smoke would be forever seared into her memory, though. Not to mention the heat of those flames.

  Tilting her head toward the cloud-dotted sky, she blinked back tears. Save for a few years, she’d spent her entire life at Granger House. It was more than her home...it was family. An integral part of her heritage. Now she could only pray that the whole thing wasn’t a loss. Even insurance couldn’t replace that.

  But what if it was a total loss? What would she do then?

  “Can I get you anything? Are you warm enough?” The feel of Andrew’s hand against the small of her back was a comfort she hadn’t known in a long time. From the moment he appeared on the scene, Andrew had yet to leave her side. For once, she was grateful for his take-charge attitude. His presence was an unlikely calm in the midst of her storm.

  “No, thank y—”

  “Oh, my!”

  Carly turned to see Rose Daniels, a family friend and owner of The Alps motel. Hand pressed against her chest, the white-haired woman studied the carnage. Beside her, Hillary Ward-Thompson, a former resident who’d recently returned, appeared every bit as aghast.

  Carly knew exactly how they felt.

  The dismay in Rose’s blue eyes morphed into compassion as she shifted her attention to Carly, her arms held wide. “I came as soon as I heard.” She hugged Carly with a strength that belied her eighty years. “You poor dear. Are you all right?”

  She nodded against the older woman’s shoulder, tears threatening again, but she refused to give in. She needed to stay strong.

  After a long moment, Rose released her into Hillary’s waiting embrace.

  “I hate that this happened to you.” Hillary stepped back, looking the epitome of chic with her perfectly styled short blond hair and silky tunic. Then again, Carly wouldn’t expect anything less from the former globe-trotting exec.

  “How can we help, dear?” Rose shoved her wrinkled hands into the pockets of her aqua Windbreaker. “Just tell us what you need.”

  “Besides food, that is,” Hillary was quick to add. “Celeste has already talked to Blakely and Taryn. They’re planning to bring you dinner.” Her daughter, Celeste Purcell, owned Granny’s Kitchen.

  Carly hated that she’d added to their already hectic lives. “They don’t have to—”

  “Nonsense, darling.” Hillary waved a hand through the air. “That’s what people do in Ouray. You know that.”

  All too well. She’d been on the receiving end when Dennis died. Since then, she was usually the one to spearhead donations. A role she was much more comfortable with.

  “There’s also a room for you at The Alps should you and Megan need a place to stay,” said Rose.

  Carly felt her knees go weak. In the chaos, she’d forgotten all about Megan. What kind of mother did that? How would her daughter react? Would she be scared? Sad?

  Andrew moved behind her then. Placed his warm, strong hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, Rose, but that won’t be necessary. Carly and Megan can stay in my grandmother’s house if need be.”

  Hillary’s gaze zeroed in on Andrew. “Do I know you?”

  Andrew shook his head. “I don’t believe so.” He extended his hand. “Andrew Stephens.”

  The woman Carly suspected to be somewhere around sixty cautiously accepted the offer. “Hillary Ward-Thompson.” She let go, still scrutinizing Andrew. “You wouldn’t be related to Clint Stephens, by any chance?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s my father.”

  Hillary’s espresso eyes widened for a split second. “You favor him a great deal.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Seemingly distracted, Andrew shot a glance toward the house before peering down at Carly. “It looks like the chief might be ready to talk with you.”

  “We won’t keep you, dear.” Rose’s smile was a sad one as she moved forward for another hug. “I’ll touch base with you later. Until then—” she let go “—you’re in my prayers.” Turning to leave, she patted Andrew on the arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Rose. So am I.”

  Carly was glad, too. Without him, she’d be curled up in a corner somewhere, bawling like a baby, clueless about what to do or where to turn. But why was he glad?

  As the two women continued down the sidewalk, Ouray’s fire chief, Mike Christianson, approached. “Good to see you again, Andrew.” The two men briefly shook hands.

  “You, too, Mike. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Carly swallowed hard as her former schoolmate turned his attention to her. Now married with three kids, Mike was a good guy. She knew he wouldn’t sugarcoat anything. Though the harsh reality was what she feared the most.

  His features softened as his weary green eyes met hers. “The good news is that the fire never made it to the second floor.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. That meant her guest rooms were okay. But what about her and Megan’s rooms on the first floor? The kitchen, parlor and family room?

  “Most of the damage was confined to the kitchen and family room.”

  “How bad?” She absently rubbed her arms.

  He hesitated, his gaze momentarily falling to the ground before bouncing back to hers. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to stay here for a while, let alone host any guests. Kitchen is a complete loss.”

  So far, Carly had managed to keep her nausea in check. Right about now, though, she was quickly losing that battle. She didn’t know which was worse—not being able to stay at Granger House or not hosting any guests. No guests meant no income, but to have her home taken from her...

  Where was that oxygen mask?

  As though sensing she needed help, Andrew slipped his arm around her while he addressed Mike. “Do you know what caused the fire?”

  Mike nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “As most often happens, it was a cooking fire.”

  Confused, Carly shook her head. “Cooking? But I wasn’t—Oh, no.” She felt her eyes widen. Stumbled backward, but Andrew held her tight. Her hand flew to her mouth, horror flooding her veins. “The chicken.” The earth swirled beneath her. Sweat gathered on her upper lip. “I forgot.” She looked at Mike without really seeing him. “And I went to the bank.”

  A churning vortex of emotions whirled inside her. A feeling she’d experienced only one other time in her life. The night she learned that Dennis had died. And just like that time, this was all her fault, and poor Megan would be the one paying the price for Carly’s mistake.

  * * *

  Andrew recognized the self-reproach that settled over Carly the moment she learned the cause of the fire. He was all too familiar with the hefty weight of guilt. He’d carried it for the last two years, since the day he’d given work a higher priority than his dying mother. When he’d finally made it to her bedside, it was too late. He never got to say goodbye or tell her how much he loved her.

  He shook off the shame as the fire trucks pulled away. He had to do everything he could to help Carly. He could never turn his back
on her. Especially now.

  Still standing in his grandmother’s front yard, he eyed his watch. School would be letting out soon. And if Megan came walking up here, unaware of what had happened, Carly would blame herself even more.

  He wasn’t about to let that happen. “What do you say we go meet Megan?”

  Carly’s deep breath sent a shudder through her. “I guess that would be best. Give me an opportunity to prepare her before she sees the house.”

  As they walked in the direction of the school, the extent of Carly’s nervousness became clearer. The constant zip, zip, zip sound as she fiddled with the zipper on her jacket was enough to drive anyone crazy.

  Still a block away from the school, he touched a hand to her elbow to stop her. “Anything you care to discuss?”

  Her blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears as she peered up at him, her bottom lip quivering. “What am I going to say to her? I mean, what if she hates me?”

  Seeing her pain made him long to pull her into his arms. “Hates you? Why would Megan hate you?”

  “Because the fire was my fault.” She crossed her arms over her chest and held on tightly. “Because of me, my daughter won’t be able to sleep in her own bed tonight. Won’t be able—”

  “Now hold on a minute.” Using their height difference to his advantage, he glared down at her. “It’s not like you meant to start that fire. Being absentminded one time does not make you a bad mom.” Softening his tone, he reached for her good hand. “Instead of focusing on the bad, play up the good. She’s nine years old. Kids that age love sleepovers, don’t they? Tell her she gets to have an extended sleepover at my grandmother’s.”

  Lifting only her eyes, she sent him a skeptical look. “That’s the only good thing you could come up with?”

  It did sound kind of lame. “Well, I haven’t seen the extent of the damage yet, but it sounds like you might be getting a new kitchen, too.”

  “Like Megan’s going to be impressed with that.” She started walking again, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I’m just going to have to trust God to give me the words.”