Page 101 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

He tilted his head, slid a tight glance her way. “You said you’d had legions of lovers. So many you couldn’t accurately recall.”

“Well, yes, I mean, I haven’t...that is, I loved them...loved them all. This loneliness you speak of” —she waved her hand, almost able to hide the shaking— “is not an emotion I can identify with.”

Jamming his hands in his pockets, Tanner vowed to keep them to himself. Unless, of course, she begged him, goddamn begged him, to touch her. On her knees. He opened his mouth, not sure what to say to crack her stone-faced facade. “Really, Kat? I can tell you the first time I experienced that kind of love. It was the first night you spent in my apartment. I woke with the sun, excited, as eager as a pup. Wanting to wake you and” —he laughed and shook his head— “and talk. Talk about your day, what you wanted to eat for breakfast, what you’d read in the newspaper the day before.” He coughed, shrugged. “Maybe you don’t understand, maybe I’m the only one who felt that way. Or maybe what I did ruined us. You know, it’s funny, really. I’ve never had much patience for mistakes, and yet, I’ve made so many with you.”

Arm throbbing, head pounding, chest aching, Tanner stalked to the desk. His coat lay in a crumple on the floor, reminding him of Kate’s urgent desire. He slipped it on with jerky movements, finally noticing the noise outside.

An elemental warning had him running to the window. Flames danced in each window of the Four Leaf Clover as billows of smoke poured into the sky.

The damned town was burning down around them.

CHAPTER6

Tanner raced outside and glanced across the street. A few wobbly-footed bystanders milled about the Four Leaf Clover. Other than that, the town appeared deserted, most at home preparing for the holiday.

A distraught scream, shrill and feminine, hit his ears. “Great.” He snatched his gloves from his pocket and jammed them on his hands. “Just great.”

Kate caught him as he stepped off the boardwalk, gripping his sleeve in her fist. “Don’t go. Don’t do it,” she said, voice breaking. In the fire’s reddish glow, her skin shimmered, her eyes gleamed. She looked charmingly ravished. Enchanting.

Enchanting and determined to marry another man.

Tanner ripped his sleeve from her grasp and shoved her away. “Stay here. Out of trouble,” he threw over his shoulder and dashed toward the crowd swarming in front of the saloon.

Plunging into the throng of men, he grabbed the first person he encountered, and turned him by a ragged cuff. “The fire rig? Is it coming?” He had to shout above the roar of flames consuming parched wood.

The man he’d chosen—ninety if he was a day—cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted, “No fire rig! Town’s been saving for one. Cake sales, miscellany auctions, nigh on two years. About there, I reckon. Got a water wagon, though.” A whiskey-scented cloud floated from his lips, tangling in the dense whiskers dotting his face.

Stunned, Tanner slapped his gloved palm against his head. “About goddamn there.” He jerked his gaze to the window, watched orange fingers dance around the shattered frame. A feeling of dread knotted his stomach. Still controllable, the fire hadn’t spread to the roof or the other rooms. Yet.

Sweet Jesus, Edgemont didn’t have a fire rig. How in the hell could they extinguish a fire on the second floor without one? To make matters worse, the crowd surrounding the burning building obviously drank copious amounts of whisky on a regular basis. He couldn’t send them inside. They would burst into flames in the first minute.

Tanner snagged the old man by the wrist. “Water wagon? Where is it?”

The old man hitched his thumb high. “Big John’s livery! Use it for soaking the roads in the summer. Goddern dust.”

“Go! Get that damn thing down here. I don’t care how. If you can’t do it, find someone who can. Now.”

Tanner’s commanding air straightened the man’s spine, brought his heels together with a pop. He lifted a veined hand to his brow in what Tanner assumed was a salute. “I can do it, Colonel. Major Joseph Caventree, at yer service, Colonel. Fought in the Battle of Orleans in ‘15, under Jackson himself. Goddern British bastards.”

Tanner sighed and gave Major Caventree a shove, propelling him into the crowd. Turning, he seized another sleeve, stared into another bewildered face—not as rheumy as the last, but exceedingly ruddy from drink. “Blankets,” he ordered, searching for comprehension. “Buckets. Water. Sand. Whatever you can find. Anyone you can find.” The man nodded and staggered off.

A boy—nine, ten at the most—crashed into Tanner’s knees, nearly sent them both tumbling. “I’ll help, mister,” he said, rosy cheeks quivering.

Tanner almost laughed in relief. Someone sober, even if only a child. “Son, you know where Adam Chase lives?”

The boy snapped his fingers and nodded, mint-green eyes glittering in a dirty face.

“Get him. Alert as many men as you can along the way. And a doctor, find a doctor. Just don’t get near this building. Understand?”

“Yessir!” The boy disappeared in a sea of smoke. Tanner’s most energetic volunteer yet.

A piercing shatter filled the air. Shards of glass rained down upon Tanner’s shoulders as a wave of scorching fury washed over him. He tilted his head and watched flames engulf another upstairs window. He had to get in there, make sure everyone had gotten out.

Striding forward, he issued orders: form a bucket brigade, do the best you can with any water coming in, stand watch, keep women and children away. Evacuate the buildings next to the saloon. Hurry.

As he neared the Four Leaf’s entrance, a viscous crest of smoke and heat spewed forth, smarting his eyes, burning his throat, scorching his skin. He grimaced, sucking bitter air he wished he could do without into his lungs, and started forward.

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