Free Wildfire by Roxanne Rustand Page B

the way you did,” she said as she bustled around, pulling shades and turning on lamps. “But you remember what the doctor said, right? No heavy lifting. Take it really easy. Frankly, he seemed surprised that anyone could tear open his sutures like that. You must’ve worked on Gus with CPR for a long time.”
    “I really didn’t have much choice.” He gave her a weary smile. “And I’d do it all over again in a minute.”
    “I know.” She hovered as he made his way across the room to the couch, then reached for his crutches when he set them aside. “And I’m thankful.”
    Their fingertips brushed, just a brief contact, but she felt her cheeks heat and she quickly turned away, embarrassed at her reaction.
    “So now—” Her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears, and she swallowed hard. “Now, you need to take good care of yourself or that incision isn’t going to heal. They said you were really lucky that you didn’t do any internal damage.”
    “Tess.” His voice was low, husky. Gently mocking. “I can take care of myself, but you probably need to get up to the house and get some sleep. It’s been a long day for you, too.”
    “Right.” She’d always been attracted to his dark, good looks. His intelligence and his sense of humor. But now, after what he’d done for Gus despite his own injuries, she felt more drawn to him than ever.
    She backed toward the door, then turned and let herself out into the dark night.
    She’d loved the solitude here…the complete absence of city lights, the blanket of stars at night. The discordant chorus of coyotes that filled the silence. It had always been exactly right, being here with just Gus and Sofia tucked in their private lodgings, and no one else to get in the way.
    But now, as she walked to the house and let herself in the front door, she felt oddly lonely. Bereft. From the shock of nearly losing her old friend, probably.
    But Sofia was most likely already on her way back to the ranch by now, as Gus had stabilized, and he’d insisted that she go home for a decent night’s sleep. He would be home soon, too—the doctor had predicted that he’d have a four or five day stay in the hospital, and then up to thirty days in cardiac rehab at a skilled care center after that.
    Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. For the life of my friend. For keeping him with us. Please, let him recover well and be strong, so he can enjoy retirement…
    Locking the front door, she headed on through the house to the back hall leading to her office and two main floor bedrooms, then took a detour to the kitchen to lock that door as well. Until the string of cabin break-ins in the area, she’d rarely locked up at night. But now—
    She cocked her head, studying the back door, then fumbled for a light switch.
    The heavy oak door was open, as usual, but the screen door was wide open, too. The screen itself was torn from top to bottom, and hung limp and useless.
    She blinked, not believing what she saw, then moved closer.
    This didn’t appear to be the work of a raccoon trying to come in after food, or a larger animal that might’ve blundered into it. The screen looked as if it had been cut by a laser-sharp knife.
    Her pulse stumbled as she spun on her heel, scanning the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. Not the pretty little potted ivy that still sat dead center on the round oak claw-foot table.
    Not the neat stack of mail on the counter, or the orderly row of boots by the door. Even the cookie jar was untouched—a prime target for ’coons—and the old fishbowl by the phone was still full of the coins she tossed in whenever emptying her pockets before doing laundry.
    Still scanning the room, she backed over to the entryway closet and retrieved Claire’s old shotgun and a box of shells from the locked gun cabinet inside. Stood quiet and still for several long minutes, listening for sounds in the house.
    The house felt empty—with that hollow, vacant aura of total silence. She