Chapter 32

32

"The fire will soon be here!" The frantic call from down the street sent chills up Enya's spine as she stood on the front stoop outside her home.

An eerie orange glow hovered over the rooftops to the east in the direction of the river, growing brighter with each passing hour. The night sky that had been clear earlier was now covered in a haze of smoke and black billows.

At least four hours had passed since she'd ridden away from the waterfront and the Morning Star dying a blazing death in the middle of the Mississippi. After arriving home, she'd been unable to do anything but huddle on the settee beside Alannah, too shocked by the turn of events at the levee to speak or even cry.

When shouts of dismay had begun to echo in the nearby streets, Mr. Dunlop and Mrs. Christy had gone out to find out what was happening. Mrs. Christy had returned with a pale face along with the news that the fire among the steamboats had spread, with at least twenty or more blazing like torches in the night.

What was worse, with the wind fanning the flames, the sparks had set fire to the lumber and hemp stacked on the levee. The casks of bacon and lard had exploded. It hadn't taken long after that for the blowing flames to spread to the warehouses on Front Street and then to cross over to Locust.

Over the past hours of watching and waiting, they'd continued to receive news that Main Street had turned into a roaring furnace, that houses and businesses on both sides were burning to the ground. The surrounding streets were filled with storekeepers and merchants attempting to cart away as much as they could out of the path of the inferno.

Now, it appeared that the fire was moving into the residential areas.

Enya shivered and hugged her arms to her chest.

Mrs. Christy was there in an instant, draping a cloak about her.

"Thank you." Enya reached for the older woman's hand. The world around them was coming to an end, and they needed each other now more than ever.

Though it was well past two o'clock in the morning, nobody was sleeping. The lights in every home were lit, and families and servants were scurrying about filling carriages with valises and trunks and even pieces of furniture. In a frantic effort to leave the city ahead of the spreading inferno, people were trying to save important items.

Not Enya. She didn't care about anything in her home. Not even the grand piano that Sullivan had given her. The only thing that mattered was him. And he was gone.

She wanted to hang on to the slim chance that he'd found a way to survive. She'd inquired of every passerby whether there was any word about the Morning Star , and the dismal news was always the same—the blackened hull had drifted into a sandbar and no survivors had been found.

Alannah hadn't ventured outside and was busy packing so they could leave at a moment's notice if the flames truly did spread to their street.

The only reason Enya would go was because she didn't want to bring harm to Alannah, Mrs. Christy, and Mr. Dunlop. And, of course, she didn't want to endanger the baby.

Even though the child hadn't been conceived in love, she already loved the baby more than she'd ever believed possible. A mother's love...

She'd never understood her own mam, had never felt as though her mam understood her. But now that she was growing to love her baby, a part of her wished she'd tried harder to connect with Mam. Maybe she still could.

"The fire is already burning up Second Street!" The call came from down the street again. "And it's moving fast!"

The air was growing heavier with smoke, and bits of charred debris had begun to rain down on them.

"Should we go?" Mrs. Christy asked.

Mr. Dunlop was standing on the small patch of grass at the front of the house, speaking with several other men who, from their humble attire, appeared to be servants from the neighboring homes. At Mrs. Christy's question, he nodded gravely. "We're discussing whether we should make attempts at saving the houses by putting wet blankets on the roofs."

"Would it work?" Enya tried to muster the energy to think and plan and decide what to do. But the emptiness inside was deafening.

"We have to try something." One of the other men in the cluster on the yard spoke. "We can't just let the fire continue to spread without making an effort to stop it."

Another of the fellows nodded. "If we don't, it's gonna burn down the whole city."

Enya pushed through her emptiness. Sullivan had sacrificed himself tonight to save that runaway. If he could make such hard sacrifices, surely she could set aside her own grief for a short while and work to save lives and homes. Instead of focusing so much on herself, as she'd been doing since all that had happened with Bryan, perhaps it was time to start thinking more about others.

She squeezed Mrs. Christy's hand before she released it. She could do this. She had people around her who cared about her. It was time to show them that she cared about them too.

"Let's get to work," she called.

Her coachman and the others paused in their conversation and gave her their attention.

"Several of us will visit the homes closest to the fire to let them know we'll put the blankets on their houses first." As she issued the instruction, her voice rang out, drawing attention from those nearby. "I need the rest of you to find blankets and drench them in water."

The coachman and the other men regarded her with wide eyes, as if uncertain of her intentions. She moved down the steps and began striding down the street. "Mrs. Christy, you'll be in charge of gathering blankets. And Mr. Dunlop and I will go door to door."

She didn't wait to see if anyone followed her instructions. Instead, she forced herself to move one foot in front of the other, praying for strength to do what was right and good for others without thinking of herself. It's what Sullivan would have done if he'd been here. And now she would do it too.

Within the hour, they'd rallied everyone who hadn't already left the neighborhood. Every available blanket and sheet had been brought out. And every woman and child hurried to soak the linens in cisterns and wells, while the men climbed onto the tops of the homes, spreading the wet items over as much of the roofs as possible.

"It's almost here, Mrs. O'Brien." Disheveled and damp, Mrs. Christy pointed to the bright light drawing ever closer. "I think it's time to get you to safety."

Enya paused at the base of the ladder and followed the woman's gaze. Were those flames sparking into the air or only the glow from afar? She shook her head. "I think we still have a little more time—"

"Enya?" A shout from down the street cut her off, and she drew in a sudden and sharp breath at the familiar voice.

Two horses and riders had turned the corner.

"Enya?" This shout was different and belonged to Kiernan. His proud bearing was easy to spot atop one of the horses.

But it was the other rider who drew her attention and whose powerful build, broad shoulders, and intense posture made her tremble. Was it really Sullivan? Or was the smoke distorting her vision and mind?

As the horses thundered forward, the flurry of activity ceased, and people moved out of the way to make room for the two to pass. Through the glow of the night sky and the lanterns set about to aid their work, Enya locked her gaze onto the face she hadn't been sure she'd ever see again. She eagerly took in the hard lines of his jaw, the firm set of his mouth, and the furrows in his forehead.

He was still hatless and his dark hair mussed, as though he'd hastily combed it off his forehead with his fingers. His trousers and shirt appeared damp and dingy with smoke or mud or perhaps both.

But he was alive. And that's all that mattered.

The relief swelled inside her so swiftly that her knees gave way, and she sank to the grass of the neighboring house.

He was scanning their home, the front stoop, the yard, the road, until at last his gaze landed upon her. He reined in his horse abruptly and didn't wait for a complete halt before he dismounted and strode toward her, his footsteps heavy and purposeful.

When he reached her, she grabbed on to the ladder to try to hoist herself to her feet. But in the next instant, he was slipping his large hands underneath her and lifting her off her feet so that she was cradled against his chest the way he always held her.

His muscles were tense, his body rigid, his expression fierce. She loved every detail about him, every single one. And she had to tell him while she still could before anything else happened to rip them apart.

"I love you." She didn't care that the words fell so easily from her lips and that everyone around could hear her declaration. All that mattered was making certain he knew that she'd fallen in love with him.

His eyes were as inky as the smoke in the sky. Cloudy and unreadable. What did he think of her declaration? Did he still love her?

She opened her mouth to say more, to convince him that she really meant it, but before she could speak, he swiftly and decisively bent in and captured her lips with his.

She rose into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly and falling into the kiss with abandon. Each stroke of his mouth was desperate and powerful and hungry all at once, leaving her breathless and completely undone.

She wanted to arch into him, crush her body to his, feel his hands on her. She needed to be closer to him, wanted him to know that she was finished putting obstacles between them.

He pressed in as though telling her that he knew who she was and what she was communicating and that he would take whatever she was willing to give him.

She dug her fingers into his hair and let her kiss delve deeper, hoping he could read the message that she was giving him everything. She didn't want to hold anything back. She was all his and would be forever.

But before she could find a way to convey her feelings, he broke the kiss just as quickly as he'd started it. He pivoted and glared at Mr. Dunlop and Mrs. Christy, who had dropped whatever they were doing and were watching and waiting.

"You should have taken my wife out of the city earlier." His voice was harsh.

Behind them, Enya glimpsed Kiernan dashing up the stairs into her home. He was in a hurry, his movements intense too. Where was he going? To warn Alannah?

"We were just about to leave, sir." The coachman bowed his head at Sullivan.

"Get the carriage now!" Sullivan practically roared, sending the poor man and Mrs. Christy scurrying away.

"I'm the one who decided to stay," Enya called out. "Mr. Dunlop and Mrs. Christy wanted me to leave the city hours ago."

"They shouldn't have listened to you," he growled, already stalking after Mr. Dunlop and still carrying her as if she weighed no more than a piece of luggage.

"Oh, Sullivan." She couldn't hold back laughter, her heart suddenly full and happy. "You know they didn't have a choice. I'm too stubborn and do what I please."

"I'm firing Mr. Dunlop for bringing you down to the levee earlier." Sullivan's tone was still hard and unrelenting, as was his stride.

She laughed again, this time more softly. "I love you so much." She lifted a hand to his cheek and skimmed his jaw and the thick layer of scruff there.

He dropped a glance to her face, to her lips, one that made her body flush with need, the kind that urged her to go right up to their bedroom, slam the door closed, and kiss him the rest of the night through.

"I thought you died, so I did," she whispered.

"I'm stubborn too," he whispered back. "Too stubborn to die without seeing you again."

His words sent need spiraling through her again, this time even more keenly. She breathed him in, mentally mapping every part of him—the hard ripples of his body against hers, the warmth of his flesh, the possessiveness of his hold.

He'd come back to her. Now she never wanted to be away from him again.

He turned the corner of their house, where Mr. Dunlop was already with the team which he'd had ready for the past couple of hours. As Sullivan stopped in front of the carriage, Mrs. Christy was waiting to open the door.

Sullivan stepped up and deposited Enya on the seat, the interior crowded with bags of all shapes and sizes. He was as gentle with her now as he'd been that first night after they'd been married in the cathedral.

She clung to him. "You must come with me, Sullivan."

"I'm staying in the city."

His words didn't surprise her. She had no doubt that every man in St. Louis was needed now to fight the fire alongside the firemen if they had any hope of stopping it.

There was so much yet she wanted to say to him, so much left unfinished. And she wanted to hear all about how he'd made it off the steamer and what had happened to the runaway. But now wasn't the time or place for any of that. It would have to wait until they were reunited again.

If they were reunited...

He started to retreat, but with a tremble deep inside, she clutched his shirt to hold him in place. "Kiss me again."

Without hesitating, he leaned in and took possession of her mouth just as explosively as he always did. Like kegs of gunpower touched by cinders, she let her lips combust with his, taking and giving with unrestrained passion.

One of his fingers traced the line of her jaw down her neck to her collarbone, burning her into a smoldering heap. She started to groan and wrap her arms around his neck.

But he pulled back, breaking their kiss. Then in the next instant, he was shutting the carriage door and barking commands at Mr. Dunlop. "Get her out of the city as fast as you can and take her to her parents' home in the country."

Before the carriage could start rolling, the opposite door opened, and Kiernan was carrying Alannah and thrust her inside all the while she was protesting. She slid onto the seat across from Enya, and Mrs. Christy followed a moment later.

When the door closed on the three of them, the carriage jolted forward.

Enya peered out the window, wanting more of Sullivan. But all she saw was his broad back next to Kiernan's as they jogged to their horses.

Soon enough, he was out of her view, and she sagged against the seat, her heart already beating with the need to see him again.