Their Ranch Reunion

The kid walked between them, her purple backpack bouncing with each step. “Did you make cookies today?”

He glanced at Carly to find her looking at him, her expression teetering somewhere between nervous and petrified. Did she really believe her daughter would hate her?

Hoping to reassure her, he offered a slight smile and nodded, as if to say, You can do this.

She nodded back. “No, sweetie. There was a little problem at home today.” Stopping, she looked into her daughter’s eyes. “A big problem, actually. There was a fire. In the kitchen.”

Confusion marred Megan’s freckled face.

“The fire chief said we’re going to have to stay somewhere else for a while.”

Megan looked up at her mother through sad eyes. “Where?”

“At Livie’s.”

The girl turned to Andrew then. “But where will you stay?”

“At the ranch.”

Her eyes went wide. “You have a ranch?”

“No. It’s my dad’s.”

“Oh.” Her gaze drifted away, then quickly shot back to him. “Can I see it sometime?”

He couldn’t help laughing. Whoever said kids were resilient was right. “Sure.”

Several minutes later, with gray clouds moving in from the west, hinting at snow, the three of them stood at the back of his grandmother’s drive, staring at Granger House. The charred back door stood slightly ajar, windows in both the kitchen and family room were gone, and soot marked the window frames where the flames and smoke had attempted to reach the second floor.

Carly rested her hands upon Megan’s small shoulders. The girl’s blue eyes were wide, swimming with a mixture of disbelief and fear, her bottom lip showing the slightest hint of a tremor.

Poor kid. The fire hadn’t just robbed her of her home. It had robbed her of her security, as well. He had to find a way to make her feel safe again. To protect both her and her mother from any more pain. And standing here staring at the ruins of their beloved home wasn’t going to do that.

He rubbed his hands together. “It’s getting chilly out.” He stepped between the two females and Granger House. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you two go on inside my grandmother’s house and make yourselves at home while I survey things at your place?”

Both sent him an incredulous look.

“The fire chief said it was fine. I’ll just see what kind of damage we’re talking about.”

“I want to go with you.” Carly looked at him very matter-of-factly. “I’m going to have to see it eventually. Might as well get it over with so I know what I’m up against.”

“Okay.” He still didn’t think it was a good idea, but... “What about Megan?”

“I want to go, too.”

Carly smoothed a hand over her daughter’s strawberry blond hair. “Are you sure, sweetie?”

The girl nodded, not looking at all sure of anything.

“All right, then.” Still skeptical, he went to his truck to retrieve some flashlights from the toolbox in the bed. With the electricity out, it was likely to be pretty dark in there. “We’ll go through the front door. Perhaps you’ll each want to gather up a few things.”

“Such as?” Carly watched him as he pulled out the flashlights.

“Whatever you can think of. Clothes. Toiletries.” Assuming they hadn’t been consumed in the fire. “Things you use day to day.” He closed the lid on the large metal box. “Okay, let’s go before it gets dark.”

The trio climbed the wooden steps onto the front porch.

As soon as Andrew pushed the antique door open, they were met with the strong odor of smoke.

“Eww...” Megan held her nose. “It stinks.”

Carly put an arm around her. “I know, sweetie.”

Inside, the parlor looked unscathed for the most part, save for the slight tinge of soot on the walls. He turned on his flashlight and aimed the beam around the room for a better look.

“Don’t worry.” He glanced at Megan now. “They have people who can take care of that and make everything smell like new.”

“Really?”

Killing the light, he gave her his full attention. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

That earned him a smile.

They moved collectively into the dining room, where all the antique furniture appeared to be intact. But as they neared the door to the kitchen—

“Can I check my bedroom?” Megan’s room sat off one end of the dining room, while Carly’s was on the opposite end.

Carly glanced his way. “Would you mind going with her while I grab some things from my room?”

The fact that she trusted him with her daughter meant a lot. “Not at all.”

Megan turned on her own flashlight and slowly moved into her room.

Andrew followed, relieved to see that, like the parlor and dining room, the mostly purple bedroom remained intact, though perhaps a little damp from all the water the firemen had used.

“Go ahead and take some clothes. I know they’re probably wet or smell like smoke, but we can toss them in the wash.”

While she opened drawers and pulled out items, all of which seemed to be purple or pink, with one random blue piece, he tugged the case from her pillow to hold the clothes.

“Oh, no.”

He stopped what he was doing. “What is it?”

Head hung low, the girl frowned. “My cards. I left them in the family room.”

If cards were her greatest loss, he’d count himself blessed. Still, they were important to her. “No worries. I’ll pick you up a new deck tomorrow.”

Her gaze shot to his. “Really?”

“Cross my heart—” he fingered an X across his chest “—and hope to die.”

She threw her arms around his waist. “You’re the best, Andrew.”

The gesture stunned him. Or maybe it was the intense emotions her hug evoked in him. He’d never had much interaction with kids. But this one was definitely special.

A few minutes later, when he and Megan returned to the dining room with a pillowcase full of clothes and shoes, he dared what he hoped was a stealthy peek into the kitchen. And while it was too dark to see everything, what little he did glimpse didn’t look good. Or even salvageable.

“Ah, good. You got some clothes.” He jumped at the sound of Carly’s voice. Turning, he saw her standing beside the table, holding a large tote bag.

“We did, so it looks like we’re ready to go.” He did not want to allow Carly in the kitchen. At least, not now. Maybe tomorrow, after the shock had a chance to wear off.

“Not yet.” Carly set her bag atop the dining room table. “I’d like to see the kitchen.”

“Let’s do that tomorrow. It’s getting dark outside anyway, so you won’t be able to see much.”

Leaving her bag behind, she took several determined steps toward him and stopped. “I want to see it. Now.”

Chapter Five

Talking tough was one thing. Putting words into action was another. And try as she might, Carly couldn’t persuade her feet to move across the wooden floorboards of her dining room. Still, she had to do this, had to see her kitchen, because not knowing left far too much to the imagination.

She drew in a bolstering breath, the sickening smell of smoke turning her stomach. At least her great-grandmother’s dining room set and sideboard had been spared, as had the antique pieces in the parlor and her bedroom. Her gaze traveled to the opening that separated the dining room from the kitchen. Based on the charred swinging door, she doubted things on the other side of the wall had fared so well.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” The uncertainty in Andrew’s voice only solidified her determination.

“Yes.” She eyed her daughter. “Megan, you stay with Andrew.”

Willing one foot in front of the other, she eased toward the kitchen door, her mouth dry. Her heart thudded against her chest as though it were looking for escape.

The closer she drew to the kitchen, the more bleak things became. She reached out a steadying hand, only to have her fingers brush across the scorched casing that surrounded the door. Trim that was original to the house, now burned and blackened. And she had yet to see the worst of it.

Two more steps and she rounded into the kitchen. She clicked on the flashlight Andrew had given her.

Her heart, which had been beating wildly only seconds ago, skidded to a stop. The space was almost unrecognizable. Soot-covered paint peeled away from the walls, dangling in pathetic strips. Floors and countertops were littered with water-soaked ash and all kinds of matter she couldn’t begin to identify or explain. She always kept a clean kitchen, so how could—?

Looking up, she realized the ceiling was gone. Over a hundred years of drywall, plaster and who knew what else now strewn across the room, exposing the still-intact floor joists of the bedroom above.

How could she have been so careless? This would take forever to fix. Where would she even begin?

The once dark stained cabinets that Carly had painted white shortly after taking over the house were blistered and burned. The butcher-block island top, salvaged from the original kitchen, had met a similar fate.

Noting her commercial range at the far end of the room, she tiptoed across the wet floor, tears welling as she ran her hand over the soot-covered stainless steel. It had been only two months since she’d paid it off.

“Mommy?”

She blinked hard and fast. She couldn’t let Megan see her like this.

Turning, she saw her daughter standing in the doorway, lip quivering, holding up a blackened, half-melted blob of blue-and-white fur.

A sob caught in Carly’s throat. Boo Bunny, Megan’s favorite stuffed animal. The one her father had given her, the one she still slept with every night.

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