Christmas Sparks (Stonewater Stories Book 1)

  Christmas

  Sparks

  by

  Ginny Frost

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Christmas Sparks

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Ginny Frost

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: ginnyfrost@ginnyfrost.com

  Ginny Frost

  PO Box 4686

  Halfmoon, NY 12065-9211

  Visit me at www.ginnyfrost.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Edited by Sandra Nguyen of Untangled Yarns: Fiction and Nonfiction

  Cover design by Kathryn R. Biel

  Cover Image via depositphotos.com by OKSIXX

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ginny’s Other Books

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have been possible without the love and support of my family. Thank you for not letting me give up.

  A huge thank you to my beta readers—Jen, Grace, Ben, and Kari.

  An even bigger thank you to Kathryn R. Biel for your encouragement, support, knowledge, and cover making skills. You are amazing!

  Dedication

  For my father-in-law

  We miss you and your sharpie

  Chapter One

  Shin-deep in the December snow, Ryan Kramer wiped an ash-covered hand across his forehead. Goddamn holiday fires. Black smoke still poured out of the white colonial, despite the best efforts of the Stonewater volunteer fire brigade. The fire danced with a will of its own, sending thick gray smoke skyward. If the blaze spread to the second floor, he and his fellow firefighters were in for a long night.

  Someone tugged on his jacket.

  He glanced down at a soot-smeared boy. The child pointed to the house. His bottom lip trembled as a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “My mommy’s inside.” His voice sounded raspy from the heated air. The boy dropped his hand slowly as ash and snow fell on his shoulders. His chattering teeth spoke more of shock than cold.

  “You sure, bud?” Ryan knelt to meet the child’s gaze. The little guy looked only about five or six. He and the other firefighters had cleared the house. Two kids, one woman. If she went back in… Ryan’s pulse quickened as he prepared to don the ventilator again.

  The boy stared at his home, tears in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.” The words were barely out of his mouth before a shriek pierced the air.

  “Mikey! There you are.” A young teen rushed over and crushed the kid in her arms. “Jesus, shrimp. I thought you…” Her gaze met Ryan’s, and she switched to Indifferent Mode. “Whatever. You’re safe. Stay here.” Her words sounded aloof, but she didn’t let go of the child.

  Ryan touched Mikey’s arm to get the boy’s attention back. “Your mother, where is she?” The girl glanced around. Mikey pointed to the house again.

  “Mikey.” The teen knelt in the snow. “Mom went back inside?” He nodded, and she paled. The sound of breaking glass filled the air as a window blew out. Both kids flinched, huddling closer, tears on their cheeks.

  Time to act. “Upstairs or down, Mikey?”

  “Up?” he asked, his voice muffled as he buried his head in his sister’s shoulder. Ryan glanced at the girl, who shrugged.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, waving an EMT over to the children. Dashing toward the house, he called to Chief Burges. “Woman, second floor.” He tugged the self-contained breathing apparatus, or SCBA mask, into position over his mouth and slapped his helmet back on. After a deep breath, he burst through the smoky doorway.

  Inside, thick gray clouds billowed from the living room. Two volunteers worked to contain the blaze in the room. He caught their attention, pointed at himself then the stairs. The guys paused for a thumbs-up.

  A woman upstairs? How had she snuck past everyone? It didn’t matter. He needed to find her, get her out.

  Now.

  Rushing up the wooden steps, Ryan almost removed the SCBA to call out. Taking it off inside a burning building was a violation and a stupid move. Somehow, he’d find her. His pulse quickened as he climbed to the top of the stairwell, instinct pushing him faster. Rooms stood to the left and right of the stairs.

  He’d fought many fires in Meadow Wood Estates. The master bedroom always sat on the right side of the house. His gut told him to head there. Smoke gathered around his head. The door to the master stood ajar, and he nudged it open.

  The murky room appeared empty at first glance. Stepping through the doorway, he peered through the haze, looking for any movement. A cough caught his attention. He swung around. In the dim light, he spotted a woman scrabbling through files on an old oak desk.

  “Hey,” he called, the SCBA muffling his words. “The house is on fire!”

  She jumped, spinning around, her arms full of papers. “What?” she asked, blinking. Soot marred her pale skin, and ash and water spattered her clothes. Dust peppered her dark hair.

  “You gotta leave,” he yelled through the SCBA.

  Tilting her head coyly, she said, “One second, please,” The sweet, calm authority of her words stymied Ryan and he stopped in his tracks. Her reaction was the absolute opposite of what he expected. Then she flashed him a smile.

  The simple beauty of it rocked him on his heels. All thoughts disappeared from his mind. He could only stare at that smile, that face, thunderstruck.

  He almost answered, “Oh, okay,” to her melodious and endearing tone. The crackling of the fire downstairs snapped him back to reality. Quickly, he crossed to the desk where she hunkered, sorting paperwork.

  “I’ll be two shakes.” She continued to move and stack documents, adding more to the pile in her arms.

  “Yeah, no.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted, and spun her around. They don’t call it a fireman’s carry for nothing.

  The woman shrieked. Hefting her on his shoulder, he hurried out the door and to the hallway. She kicked, screamed, and cursed, her sweet, quiet tone replaced by something demonic. Twice while on the stairs, she almost hurled them to the bottom with her squirming.

  All the fuss only made him admire her more.

  “Lady, read me the riot act later.” He adjusted her position, purposely bouncing her slightly. Papers floated around them.

  “No!” Her voice cut through the air like a siren. “I need those. Stop.”

  Ryan continued down the stairs.

  “Stop now.” She commanded, and once again he almost obeyed. She kicked out, inches short of crushing his nuts. The glancing blow against his coat woke him from his trance.

  “No,” he said, adding authority in his tone. “Paper’s replaceable. You aren’t.”

  She huffed but quieted to a disgruntled m
utter. Who was this chick? Sweet one minute, then swearing like a sailor, next ordering him around like a sergeant.

  A call of alarm sounded from the living room where the guys still battled the blaze. A command, mixed with panic in their voices, sounded like “Gas line!” Ryan didn’t wait to find out the rest. Gripping the woman tighter, he hurried out the front door and onto the lawn.

  The surrounding air sizzled. Then a huge boom filled their ears. A wall of pressure smashed into them. His feet left the ground, and the universe clicked into slow motion. Acting on instinct, he twisted, curling the woman into his chest. She squeaked as they tumbled headlong into the snow.

  His back crashed against the piled snow on the lawn. Her weight smashed against his torso, forcing the breath from his lungs. He closed his eyes for a beat, screaming a mental “Oww.” When she groaned in his arms, his training kicked in.

  Rolling over quickly, but gently, he placed the woman on the snow. He knocked off his helmet and shoved the SCBA to the side, scanning her up and down for injuries.

  Haloed by the gleaming snow, the thirty-something woman with pale skin stared up at him. Her pretty face shone pink with exertion. Her brown eyes sparkled with unspoken fury, or maybe fear, as she gasped for breath. Papers scattered around her like rose petals on a bed.

  Something deep inside him opened up and his heart called out. He swallowed hard, trying to resist the call of insta-love.

  Leaning over her, restraining the rush of lust, he asked, “Are you all right, miss?” Her gaze remained blank, her lips twitching. He should’ve been concerned about a head injury, but his testosterone-soaked brain said, “gorgeous.” It didn’t help they were pressed together in the snow. “Miss?”

  Slowly, her liquid brown eyes fixed on his, the faraway stare fading. With seemingly great effort, she raised a hand to his cheek, her face tilting slightly.

  The instinct to kiss her surged in his chest and other areas, but he held back. Her lips opened, and Ryan believed he'd found the woman of his dreams. Rescuing her from a fire, saving her life…

  She placed her whole hand over his face and shoved him away—rather unexpected, considering the romantic tension in the air. Thank God, she didn’t dig her nails in.

  Ryan’s mouth hung open, words failing.

  She, on the other hand, had no problem speaking her mind. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She heaved him off her and stood up.

  “The fire, miss. I… I was rescuing you.”

  She snorted, her hands on her hips. “I was fine. You didn’t need to do a dramatic rescue. This isn’t some romance novel.” She marched toward the house, but Ryan caught her arm.

  His desire dissolved into anger. This woman took the cake for belligerent rescues. “Did you not hear the explosion?”

  Grabbing his arm, she hauled him to his feet. Ryan blinked at her in surprise.

  “Are my kids okay?” Ah, Mama Bear Syndrome. He pointed to two small figures dashing toward them.

  “Yep.” It was the only syllable he managed before she turned on him again.

  “I know you. You’re one of those Kramers, aren’t you? Figures.”

  Ryan stepped back. Over the years, his father and his contracting company hadn’t always done its best for their customers. Ryan had left Stonewater to escape his family’s tainted shadow. But now, it dropped over him again. It didn’t matter he’d pulled her from a fire.

  “Mommy!” Mikey slammed into the woman, wrapping his arms tight around her thighs. She wavered for a second from the impact. Kneeling, she engulfed the boy in her arms, kissing his forehead, checking him for injuries, whispering words of reassurance. But the reunion didn’t squelch her anger at Ryan.

  “Your family is responsible for this mess.” She waved at the house. “It’s December. My house blew up with everything inside. Our Christmas things are gone. Where will we stay?” She threw her chin up, glaring, but tears glistened in her eyes.

  Dammit. She was out on the street with two kids—at Christmas. “Your husband?” he asked tentatively.

  She blew a raspberry. An actual raspberry. “Now, what am I going to do?”

  “Geez, Ma,” the daughter said. “Give the guy a break. He did carry you out, caveman-style. Kinda sexy.” She flashed her phone. “I got it on vid. Man, my friends are gonna freak.” She turned her back on the adults, clicking her phone at the house, the firemen, and snapping several selfies.

  “Jill, please.” Her mother ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Oh, God, the paperwork.” She sank to her knees and gathered up some of the scattered sheets. “If it’s not here, if I could lose…” A tiny sob halted her words.

  Ryan’s heartstrings twanged again. He glanced at the woman, her two kids, and the burning house highlighting the snowy ground. Regret filled his gut. Having saved her life, he needed to go save her house. Before heading into the smoke, he asked, “Why did you go back, miss? For papers?”

  She glared up at him, those brown eyes molten. Her nose wrinkled, but before she could speak, her son piped up. “You got my picture? Thanks, Mommy.”

  Mikey scooped up a crayon family portrait, complete with a Christmas tree.

  She pushed a strand of hair away from the kid’s eyes. “Of course, I did, sweetie.”

  Ryan gulped. A woman who’d risk her life for her kid’s drawing…There was something in that—strong and a bit insane. His heart fell. It didn’t matter. She’d hired his dad to work on the house. She’d never give Ryan the time of day ever again.

  “I’ll send the EMTs over to look at you,” he said cordially, donning his helmet.

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” she spat, wrapping her kids in her arms.

  ***

  Squeezing the children tightly, probably to Jill’s annoyance, Margaret let go of some of her fear. The kids were physically unharmed, and if she'd grabbed the right papers, everyone was safe. Loosening her grip, she checked Jill’s face, then Mikey’s, for pain, fear, or anything needing immediate attention. Both looked shaken and scared but not hurt.

  One worry gone.

  She refrained from looking at the house. It was the least of her problems now. All that mattered at this moment was a warm place for her children to spend the night. Tomorrow, when her hands stopped trembling, she’d deal with the fire, the paperwork, and probably her ex-husband.

  Scooping up Mikey, she used the last of her fueling anger to storm past the Kramer man. Who cared that he looked sexy in the uniform? And carrying her outside over his shoulder? She shivered from the remains of the hormone surge. No matter. He was a Kramer and a male. She had no use for either.

  “Come on, kids,” she said without looking back. She needed to speak with the person in charge. “You guys are okay, right?” Her voice stuck in her throat.

  “Yeah, Mommy. Me and Jill ran out like you told us. We’re fine.” He squeezed her neck as they trudged back toward the house. She kept him facing backward, not wanting him to see the ugly black hole where their living room used to be. Jill never looked up from her phone. Margaret’s heart squeezed. Jill would be fine. Thank God for resilient teenagers.

  “Good.” Margaret tried to mask her relief. The whole thing was scary as fuck. No crying, not yet. She’d cry later after she tucked the kids into a warm bed somewhere.

  “Are you okay, Mommy? Because the fireman carried you out. So cool, but you weren’t supposed to go back inside. They said so at school.” He tapped a rhythm on her back, something he hadn’t done for years. A sign he wanted some comfort.

  She squeezed him tight, giving him the reassurance he needed. “You’re right, baby. But I needed to get some things. Important papers.”

  “Like my drawing?”

  She sighed, hiking him a little higher on her hip. Carrying him one-handed while she clutched the pile of papers wasn’t easy. Hopefully, the file lay somewhere in the stack. If not, she and the kids were screwed.

  Chief Burges stood next to the fire truck, shouting orders to men who scra
mbled in and out of the house. Margaret beelined for him. If anyone knew the situation, Harold Burges would.

  A few feet from the trucks, Mikey slid to the ground, eager to check out the fire engine. Margaret glanced back at Jill, glued to her cell. “Honey, could you?”

  Her daughter peeled herself away from the phone. Their gazes met, and thank God, the fourteen-year-old attitude vanished in an instant. “Yeah, Mom. I got it.”

  Margaret ran her hand over Jill’s hair, and for once the girl didn’t flinch. A thousand things passed between them, and her mom instincts told her Jill was dealing. Her daughter wandered off behind Mikey, watching both him and the phone. Pride surged in Margaret’s chest at how well her daughter handled the situation.

  “Chief,” she said, “give me the bad news.”

  He met her gaze for a millisecond before focusing on the working men. “What caused the explosion in the living room?” He narrowed his eyes, but the warmth remained.

  “Uh,” Margaret racked her brain. “Oh, God, the fireplace. Please tell me it’s not that.” She hung her head. Her new fireplace, last year’s Christmas gift from her ex. The damned thing had been the final straw in their wobbly marriage. Now the fucking thing had blown up her house.

  “From what I can tell, you’ll be out of the house for a bit. Call your insurance right away. Call Emil down at the Greenview Inn. I’m sure he can put you up, at least for the night.”

  She blinked rapidly. “How long?” Her words sounded strained, and she hated showing anything but her sunshiny kindergarten-teacher face in public. The divorce with Earl had pushed her to her limits.

  “I’ll know better once the fire is out. I’ll have an inspector in there as soon as possible. We want you back inside, but only if it’s safe.” He tipped his head, a stern but understanding smile on his lips.

  “We have a fire inspector in our little town?” With three thousand people in Stonewater, she didn’t believe they warranted such a position. Maybe they would call in someone from Iverton proper.