Moments In Time: The Complete Novella Collection (19 page)

Funny, she thought, before she sank into
unconsciousness, for someone who was hesitant to start living
again, she was really desperate for her next breath.

A loud banging sound jolted Melisa awake.
Her head lolled as she struggled to open her eyes, but they
wouldn’t obey her. She forced herself to remember where she was.
And then she did, and instantly started to shiver. In that moment
someone yanked the door of the fridge open and warm air flooded in,
along with a thick cloud of smoke. She coughed uncontrollably,
unable to breathe, her head pounding and spinning.

Muted male voices filtered through the smoke
and then someone slipped one arm under her legs and another around
her back. She was lifted off the floor like a rag doll. Someone had
found her. Someone tall and wearing clothing so rough, the friction
of her raw skin against it made her groan with pain.

Melisa kept her eyes closed because she was
too weak to open them, even when the air that filled her lungs
became lighter and cleaner and she gulped it in hungrily.

Then she heard frantic voices and gasps.
Even though some of her strength had returned, she was too afraid
to open her eyes, afraid to see the damage caused by the fire she
had caused.

The person carrying her lowered her down
onto a cool surface, probably the tiled floor.

Melisa opened her eyes then, but her vision
was blurry.

“You okay, ma’am?” The man who had carried
her draped a blanket over her. He appeared to be a fireman.

Melisa blinked and nodded as best she could
lying down. She wiped her red, damp hair from her face.

The man squinted and gazed intently into her
face, his brows knitted, as if searching for something. Then his
jaw dropped. “Melisa? Melisa Bergfeld?”

The fireman removed his helmet to reveal
tousled, almost shoulder-length caramel hair. A lock fell onto his
forehead above his slate-grey eyes.

Melisa’s eyes slowly adjusted and the man’s
face came into focus.

He was older and wore a five o’clock shadow,
but apart from that, he was still the same man she had known for
most of her life. Her dead husband’s best friend.

“Heat?” she uttered between coughs as their
eyes met and shock swept over her.

“I go by my real name, Florian Dane, these
days.”

Melisa would always know him as Heat, a
nickname he’d carried from high school, after he’d run into a
burning dorm room to save a trapped girl. No one thought he’d make
it out alive. But he’d survived, and so had the girl. The next day,
his face was all over the school newspaper and everyone called him
Heat, until the name stuck. That incident must have been what drove
him toward saving lives for a living.

Ignoring the people milling around them,
Melisa stared at him, her heart pounding. A few months ago she’d
seen him on the street; he had reminded her of the life she’d left
behind, so she’d bolted before he saw her. Spotting him had brought
back the pain she’d been trying to run away from. Now, she wasn’t
quite sure how to feel. She’d hidden for five years—and now she’d
been found. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Rescuing you.” His eyebrows knitted. “What
are
you
doing here? No,” he said, as he glanced at her arm.
“Let’s talk later, you’re hurt. You need to have that looked at.”
He gestured at her right arm.

Melisa opened her mouth to speak but coughed
instead. As she regarded her burned arm and registered the
blisters, physical pain of a kind she’d never known spread across
the affected area, and dizziness overwhelmed her.

Before either one of them could say anything
more, two paramedics interrupted to whisk Melisa off to an
ambulance.

As she was being led away, she twisted her
body to catch a glimpse of Heat, who stood in the middle of the
cafeteria, looking as shocked and shaken as Melisa.

In his work uniform, he resembled Scott when
he was on duty. Her heart ached even more than the burns on her
arm.

What she had been running away from had
finally caught up with her, and she had a feeling that she had
reached a dead end.

***

“Thanks for the visit,” Melisa said to
Lynnette Magill, the founder of the Oasis shelter, who had brought
her a change of clothes. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I
was cleaning the pantry. Next thing I knew—”

Lynnette patted Melisa’s hand and shook her
head. “That doesn’t matter. You suffered more harm than Oasis did.
The fire didn’t leave the pantry. I’m just happy they found you in
time. Concentrate on taking care of yourself. If you need anything,
let me know.”

“Thank you. I will,” Melisa lied. Asking for
help had never come easy to her.

Lynnette left, and Melisa gazed at her
now-bandaged arm. She had suffered second-degree burns on her
forearm and had inhaled a lot of smoke, and despite her protests,
she was asked to spend the night in the hospital for
observation.

When the nurse came to check up on her, she
argued again for her release, to no avail.

“I’d prefer to leave today,” she said, her
voice firm. “Shouldn’t I be the one to judge whether I’m all right
or not?” As she said the words, pain sliced through her arm and she
gritted her teeth. But she wouldn’t let on that she was suffering.
It would only delay her plan to get the hell out.

She hated hospitals. The terrible smells and
sounds. Although the rooms at Serendipity Memorial Hospital were
clean, Melisa still smelled the faint cocktail of blood, vomit,
bleach, and flowers. They could scrub the visible surfaces as much
as they liked, but they couldn’t clean the air.

As she sank back against the pillow, she
shut her eyes tight. If only she could seal her ears shut. The
screams and groans of people in pain, the beeping machines, and the
squeaking of wheelchairs were driving her nuts. She’d lose it if
she stayed here another hour. A whole night would be torture.

Plus, even if she wanted to stay, how the
hell would she pay for it?

The nurse looked down at the clipboard in
her hands. “Miss Bergfeld, I’m afraid you have to stay at least one
night. Try to rest, now.” The nurse walked out, leaving Melisa
gripping the cool metal bedrail, fuming and hedging a plan of
escape.

A knock on the door disrupted her scheming
and she gazed up to see a bouquet of yellow roses. Her chest
swelled to what felt like the verge of bursting.

“Scott once mentioned that you love yellow
roses. I hope you still do,” Heat said in his deep and velvety
smooth voice as he strode into the room. He was out of uniform and
now clad in black jeans and a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
His shoulder muscles strained against the thin fabric.

Melisa’s gaze flickered to the bare part of
his tanned arm, to the silky dusting of hairs, and her pulse
skittered.

She had always been drawn to Heat. He was
tall and athletic with broad shoulders and rugged good looks.
Unless she was mistaken, he looked even better now than when she’d
had a crush on him in high school—a crush that had led to a broken
heart, which Scott later pieced together.

She refrained from telling Heat that yellow
roses only meant something when they had come from Scott. But it
would be rude to reject Heat’s kind gesture. “Thanks,” she said,
trying to ignore the sweet scent.

Heat placed the flowers on an empty table
next to the bed and lowered himself into the only chair in the
room. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Just a few burns.” The pain was
more bearable now that it was muted by the bandages.

He shook his head and the same stubborn lock
of his hair brushed across his forehead. “That’s not what the nurse
told me. You got some serious burns on your arm.”

“You talked to the nurse about me?” Should
she be offended or touched?

“I was concerned.”

“How can you be concerned about someone you
haven’t seen in years?”

Heat narrowed his eyes. “Whose fault is
that? You were not only my best friend’s wife—we were friends...
then you disappeared without a trace. What were you thinking,
living in a shelter, when you could have come to me for help?” A
vein throbbed in his jaw.

“I’m not your responsibility. I never was.
I’m a grown woman. I can do whatever it is I want.”

“Looks like you still have your stubborn
streak. Well, it won’t get me off your back. Right now, I’m making
you my responsibility. You clearly need help if you’re sleeping in
a shelter. And as your friend, I’d like to help.”

Anger coursed through Melisa’s body. Not
necessarily directed toward him, but at the situation. The fire and
seeing Heat brought back memories she’d worked hard to repress, and
those memories were making it difficult to be grateful. “I was
doing fine all by myself, thank you.” She turned her head to the
window.

“Can you even afford to pay your medical
bills?”

Melisa looked down at the bed and said
nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Heat’s eyes were
the color of thunderclouds as he stood. “You stay in here as long
as you have to. I’ll handle it.” He paused, his dark gaze piercing
the distance between them. “And when you leave this place, you’ll
move in with me until you get back on your feet.”

Before Melisa could respond, Heat marched
out of the room to
handle it
, leaving her staring at the
door, seething with rage. She felt like throwing something. Maybe
the vase of roses?

How dare he give her orders like he owned
her? And why was her reaction to him so volatile after all these
years? Her heart was racing. Living in the same house as him was
out of the question.

They say you never forget your first love.
How could she, when he just kept showing up in her life? While
married to Scott, she’d shoved Heat to the back of her mind, and
she’d been happy. Scott was the love of her life, she often told
herself. But now that he was gone, her foolish heart seemed to
think it was back in business.

Could she afford to say no to Heat’s offer?
Did she even have a choice? God knew her life was a mess and she
needed all the help she could get. But she hated being a burden.
Hated being seen as weak and vulnerable. That was why she’d left
behind her old life in the first place. The thought of people
seeing her broken, pitying her, made her want to curl up and
die.

But it seemed the only way to keep her
promise to Carlene, a promise to start over, was to accept help.
And the only person offering it was the man she wanted to keep her
heart far away from. She needed Heat’s help just as much as she
wanted to throw it back in his irresistible face.

***

“I’m sorry,” Melisa said when Heat reentered
the room. “I—”

“Suck at accepting help?” Heat said, a trace
of laughter in his voice. He pushed his hands into his pockets and
approached the bed. “Tell me something I don’t know. I’m not
surprised you bolted instead of leaning on someone. You’ve proven
to be quite good at it. How does a person manage to hide in a small
town like Serendipity, Wisconsin?”

Anger burned in Melisa’s throat and then
spilled out. “I didn’t run away. I needed to get away. There’s a
difference.”

Heat lowered himself to the foot of the
hospital bed, resting with his backside touching Melisa’s toe.
Maybe she imagined it, but she could swear that she felt the warmth
of his skin radiating through the sheets.

She drew her legs up and hugged her knees to
her, and away from him. Having him so close made her uncomfortable.
Heat seemed unperturbed.

“I don’t blame you.” His features hardened.
“I’ve known Scott for most of my life. He was like a brother to me.
When he died I also wanted to leave, go somewhere that didn’t
remind me of him.”

“Why didn’t you?” Melisa’s anger abated, now
that he’d lowered himself to her level of feelings.

“I did. I spent a few weeks in Boston with
relatives. Then I returned to my life, because no matter where you
go, you can’t escape memories. Your heart carries them
everywhere.”

Melisa rested her chin on her knees. He was
right. Memories were determined little creatures. “I guess.” She
was quiet for a long time. Eventually she realized Heat was
studying her face intently, as if peeling away her layers. “What?”
she asked, frowning.

He shook his head and his wavy hair swept
the collar of his shirt. “After all these years, you haven’t
changed a bit.”

Maybe not outwardly. Inside she was a mess.
“Neither have you.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How did you end up in a homeless shelter?
What happened to the house?”

With her good arm, Melisa reached for a
glass of water on the bedside table but grimaced. Each movement was
agony. Even though only one arm was burned, her back also hurt, as
if she had been dragged naked along the street.

“Let me.” Heat rushed to her side,
enveloping her with his smell. His cologne—the same one he’d used
for years—had a hint of citrus. He handed her the cool glass and
their fingers brushed.

That single touch sent her crashing back
into the past. The time she had been crazy about him until he broke
her heart. The time before Scott walked into her life. Did he ever
think of back then? Did he think about her? Did she want him
to?

“So, you haven’t answered my question,” he
said.

Seriously? Wasn’t tonight tormenting enough
for her? Did he really have to rub salt into raw wounds? “I sold
the house,” she replied curtly, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the issue
further.

“I see.” He rubbed his stubble. “But I don’t
understand. Why didn’t you get yourself a smaller place instead of
moving into Oasis?”

Melisa had always known Heat to be
clean-shaven, but his stubble now made him even more
attractive.