“And when you think about it,” he had said, delivering the final, decimating blow, “it’s a good thing she and I met before you and I made a huge mistake and got married.”
“I’ll show you mistake,” Violet said now, the metal gears digging into the pad of her thumb as she reignited the flame that’d flickered out. She lowered the lighter to the crumpled bridal magazine pages, thinking how cathartic it would be to watch the blaze consume the entire pile.
Smiling brides shriveled in on themselves as the edges curled and turned black. Plastic sheet protectors melted to the papers Violet had reverently cut out to add to her collection.
Then a breeze kicked up, the mound she’d formed glowing bright orange. A couple of partially burned pages fluttered and blew off the top of the pile, one landing against a dried-out weed, which caught.
“No, no, no.” She stomped it out, chased after the other sheet, and did the same to it. As her heart pounded from the adrenaline, she thought of how easily the fire could spread and burn out of control.
Just like that, Violet returned to her body, the possessed, jilted woman no longer in control.
This was stupid. Dangerous.
And in the end, nothing would change.
Violet peeled off her hoodie and used it to beat out the blaze, adding stomping to her efforts once the flames flickered and sputtered. As soon as she was sure the pile had been extinguished, she plopped on the hard ground.
Defeat weighing heavy on her shoulders, she slid her melty binder from underneath the charred heap, gathered it to her chest, and let loose the tears she’d tried to hold back all day.
She sniffed and swore she smelled smoke—different than the scent that’d accompanied the burning of the magazine pages. Less…chemical, maybe?
She lowered her mangled binder and stared at it, double-checking that it wasn’t aflame.
Her eyes stung, and acrid fumes burned her nose.
What the—? Violet sprang to her feet when she saw puffs of gray belching from the back door of the bakery. “The cupcakes!”
She sprinted over and tapped the handle with her fingertips before wrapping her hand around the metal. When it didn’t scald her palm, she tugged.
Luckily, the door wasn’t locked. As she rushed inside and took in the hazy air and the flames flickering around the edges of the oven door and crawling up the wall, she didn’t feel so lucky.
A quick scan didn’t reveal the location of a fire extinguisher, so Violet grabbed a potholder and tried to yank open the door.
It wouldn’t budge, and intensifying heat seeped into her skin, making it impossible to hold on.
“Wait. Why are you at six hundred degrees?” she shouted at the oven when she caught the temperature on the display.
Since the appliance didn’t answer and the smoke was growing thicker, Violet dialed 911, hoping it wouldn’t take forever for someone to respond in this dinky town.
Chapter Two
The engine of his Cummins Diesel Dodge Ram growled as Ford depressed the gas pedal and rocketed down the back streets of town before slowing and cutting across to Main.
He nosed his truck into the alleyway between Maisy’s Bakery and Lottie’s fabric store, and sure enough, there was smoke.
Ford did a quick assessment.
Color: white. Volume: little. Velocity: low. Density: thin.
Charging in alone was never a good idea, but waiting until the fire went from small to large wasn’t a stellar idea, either.
He leaped out of the truck and grabbed his ax, along with his medic kit. Fires weren’t very common this time of year, so his bunker gear was in the firetruck.
His pulse skyrocketed when he heard a female voice yell, “Why won’t you open? I can’t put out the fire if you won’t let me in.”
The hacking cough that followed had him rushing toward the open door, Pyro hot on his heels.
A woman who looked like Maisy, yet not quite, stood in front of the oven. She batted at the spitting flames with a potholder as she rambled about her sister trusting her and the “shittiest day ever.”
Ford stepped between her and the oven, nudging her backward. The sweltering air seeped through his shirt and pressed heavy against his skin. Experience took the wheel, his focus narrowing to clearing the building. “Is anyone else inside?”
A cough burst from the brunette, followed by a wheeze. “No, it’s just me. Which is why—”
“I’ve got it from here, ma’am. Please exit the building.”
Pyro gently bit onto her pants and tugged, trying to coax her to safety.
Since she wasn’t doing as instructed, Ford nearly used his surge of adrenaline to scoop her up and rush her outside. But his brain had already launched into analytical mode, spinning over the facts as fast as his heart hammered in his chest.
There wasn’t anyone else in the bakery, and the fire was contained to the oven. Cutting off the source of heat will be the safest, fastest course of action for everyone.
Ford pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, focusing on inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. “Stand back.”
Pyro bumped the woman’s legs with his snout, herding her toward the open doorway, and she seemed to notice his dog for the first time. She backed away, giving Ford much-needed space.
The damn plug didn’t want to come free of the outlet, and a growing sense of urgency pounded away at the base of his skull. He gripped the handle of his ax and used the edge of the blade to pry the hard plastic free.
With the oxygen in the oven running short, a minor backdraft could turn into a big problem, so even if the door would open now, it wasn’t a good idea. At the risk of the blaze spreading and the bakery going up in flames, he couldn’t simply leave the oven be.
As soon as the temperature drops, I’ll deal with the fire.
A siren blared, growing louder and louder, and Ford put his hand on the woman’s back and rushed her outside.
Darius drove the firetruck up to the door, and he and Ford threw on their bunker gear. The thick gloves made it hard to get a solid grip but protected them from searing their skin. Getting the giant oven through the back door was like birthing an elephant, but eventually they managed to maneuver the appliance to the center of the alley, where they waited to see if it warranted dousing with the hose.
With the danger mostly dealt with, Ford went looking for the woman who’d been in the kitchen, attempting to put out the fire herself.
Pyro stood at her side, watching the commotion, ready to spring into action if needed. Sometimes Ford thought his dog was as big of an adrenaline junkie as he was, which wasn’t always great and had left them in tight spots before. Rest or regret, it was a question that’d haunted him more than he liked.