Page 111 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
What if Nick got hurt? Or worse? The mental image of him running into a burning building consumed my mind.
Nick had a dangerous job but for months nothing had happened. I had fooled myself into believing his work was all volunteer trainings, pancake breakfasts and kindergarten demonstrations.
Now I was faced with the crippling reality. He could be seriously injured in a fire. Firefighters died. What if he didn’t come back?
“Stop freaking out,” I told myself. I had to stop these negative thoughts. I was losing my mind. And the quietness of the room was making me even crazier. I was proud of Nick for fighting fires. It was heroic and brave. But right now, in this moment, the worry was consuming. I needed a distraction. Something to keep my mind occupied while I waited. And I had just the thing.
For the next three hours, I sat at Nick’s computer and researched the cost of starting up a garage. By my calculations, three hundred thousand would buy Slater’s Station.
It was too late on a Sunday evening to transfer any money out of my trust, but tomorrow morning I was calling my financial manager. By the end of the week, that money would be available at Jamison Valley Bank. If Draven did end up coming after my fortune, I wanted Nick’s garage fund in cash.
I was shutting down the computer when the garage door started to creak open.
Prescott’s firefighters slowly piled off the fire engine. They were all covered in dark soot and sweat. I nearly fell to my knees as Nick walked toward me.
“You’re okay,” I sighed, running my hands over his dirty coat. I didn’t care if my hands got messy as long as I could touch him.
“Yeah. We’re all fine,” he said.
I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry. For hours I had been anxiously imagining the worst possible scenarios.
“I’m okay,” Nick reassured me.
I nodded and inhaled another calming breath. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. We’ve got to unload the truck. Get equipment prepped and put away. I’ll probably catch a shower here, get some of the smell off before we go home.”
“Okay. I’ll stay out of the way,” I said.
Reaching for his bearde
d cheek, I tipped my chin so Nick could bend down and lightly brush his lips against mine.
He did smell bad. Like burnt popcorn and campfire smoke. The stench would stick to my hair and I’d be catching whiffs of it all night. But I didn’t care.
It was dark when we pulled away from the station.
Nick had taken a quick shower but he was still a mess. His hair needed at least two more rounds with the shampoo, and the soot ground into the rough skin of his hands was likely going to be there all week.
“Is it bad?” I asked as he turned down Main Street. I didn’t know if I could stand seeing the theater in ashes.
“No. It looks the same on the outside. The inside is a fucking mess but the good thing is we got there early. Most of the damage was isolated to the concession area. The owners should be able to get it fixed back up.”
“That’s great. Do you know what caused the fire?”
“Fucking kids. One of the high school kids that works at the theater decided to go in today with his girlfriend.”
“On Easter?” I asked.
“Yeah. Theater was closed. They needed an empty place to go have sex.”
“What makes you think that?”
Nick didn’t answer but instead started chuckling. After a few moments, his chuckles turned into full-blown laughter. His belly was heaving and his hands slapped the steering wheel as he roared.
“Nick!” I shouted. “Tell me!” His smile was contagious.
His laughter died down by the time we passed the theater. One remaining deputy cruiser was still outside but all the spectators and other officials had gone home.
