Out Of The Ashes. Cynthia Reese

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       CHAPTER ONE

      SMOKE.

      Ashes.

      Kari Hendrix wanted to see neither ever again.

      All around her in the predawn light were the loud industrial sounds of ventilator fans, the slap of boots against concrete, the beep-beep-beep of a fire truck as it backed up, the calls from one firefighter to another, the thwack and clank of fire hoses being rolled up, the pulse of red and blue lights streaking across puddles of water on the street.

      And the wet smell of a building burned to a crisp.

      Make that buildings. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off a chill despite the late summer temperatures still not dropping below seventy-five at night. Almost the whole section of the downtown on one side of the street was gutted and blackened. Her little bakery stood smack in the middle, an even darker smudge against the rest.

      Gone. Up in smoke.

      She’d checked everything twice the night before when she’d closed up: the oven, the stove, the lights. She always did.

      If there was one thing Kari knew, it was the destructive power of fire.

      The scrape of boots on the sidewalk came nearer—next to her. She pulled her attention away from her ruined bakery and switched it to the man who’d walked up to join her by the fluttering yellow tape that blocked off the scene from civilians.

      The first thing that struck her about him was how tall he was—a good foot taller than her 5­4"—okay, 5­3½"—frame. Beside him, Kari felt even more like a munchkin than usual.

      Unlike the rest of the men on the far side of the tape, the tall man wasn’t dressed in turnout gear. He wore no fire helmet or rubber boots, but he was in a uniform of sorts: khakis and a knit golf shirt with a shield of some sort embroidered on it.

      She couldn’t make out the logo because of the third thing she noticed about him: in his hands he carried two paper cups of coffee and had a blanket slung over one arm.

      “You’re Kari Hendrix.” It wasn’t a question, just a confident restating of a known fact. “Here. I figured you could use a cup of coffee.”

      Kari’s hand reflexively took the coffee before she could get out, “What?”

      But he wasn’t done. With his free hand, he awkwardly propped the blanket, marked PROPERTY OF LEVI COUNTY FIRE DEPT, around her. Kari grabbed at it before it slipped onto the sodden sidewalk and pulled it gratefully around her shoulders.

      The man made a quick save of her fumbling coffee cup. “Whoops. So much for my being a gentleman. You nearly lost the coffee and the blanket,” he told her.

      “Thank you,” she replied. She peered at the stitching on the shirt, which stretched over a well-constructed chest that looked more like a triathlete’s than a firefighter’s. This guy was built like a tree. In the dim light, though, she couldn’t really decipher the dark threads that made up the design.

      “Oh, I’m Rob Monroe.” He offered a hand, realized she had both hands occupied—one with the cup and the other anchoring the blanket. He grinned.

      It was a good grin—the smile of a guy who didn’t take himself too seriously and realized when he was being a goofball, Kari decided. It tugged at dimples and a cleft in his chin, and it showed off white teeth and the barest hint of stubble to devastatingly good advantage.

      “Kari—well, you, hmm, you already know my name, don’t you?” she asked. She felt her face heat up. Suddenly she could picture how she looked to this guy: she could feel her blond hair slipping out of its hastily-rigged ponytail, imagine her face bare of makeup and still streaked with the tears she’d shed earlier as she’d stood watching the fire in all its gut-wrenching destruction. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

      “The coffee and the blanket don’t make up for that?” His eyes were dark—not brown or black, but she couldn’t quite make out the color in the dawn light. But they were kind eyes. Intelligent ones.

      Now they shifted beyond her, not apparently expecting an answer to his question, and they locked on the smoldering remains of the downtown section that had burned.

      She followed his gaze. It was hard to watch it now that she’d looked away. She’d almost hoped that it had been a nightmare that she could wake up from and it would be gone.

      But of course it wasn’t. No, the fire was out now and the firefighters were gathering up their equipment, tromping around the half-burned walls СКАЧАТЬ