Christmas Sparks (Stonewater Stories Book 1) Page 2

  Harold nodded to one of the men hauling a hose back from the smoldering house. “We’ll probably make the new guy do double duty. Ryan, over there, is the town’s new building inspector. He can check the place for us.”

  Margaret glanced back, trying to see who Ryan was. She knew most of the volunteers for the Stonewater firehouse since her son fanboyed about everything firefighter. The name "Ryan" didn’t ring a bell.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know…” She flashed her kindergarten teacher smile and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Ryan Kramer.” He pointed. “The guy who hauled your ass outside.” Harold grinned, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Sorry, ma’am. ’Scuse my language.”

  A Kramer, the building inspector? God, no. Kramer and Sons Contracting was the sole game in town. Many of her friends told her the company was hit-or-miss with projects. One week they’d build an amazing porch and patio, and the next week, a hot-water heater they'd installed flooded a basement. According to her next-door neighbor, it was never bad enough to lose business over. They always fixed whatever they messed up, but still…

  Someone from Syracuse or Iverton might have been worth the mileage expense for Margaret’s little renovation. But, of course, her locally grown husband wanted to hire from town. Earl assured her the Kramers could handle the living room upgrade, including the new stand-alone fireplace. Not that they needed it—the fireplace in the family room, attached to a real chimney, worked perfectly fine. But Earl wanted it.

  He’d hired the Kramers to set up the hearth, build a mantel, add wall sconces, and install a giant TV which spanned most of the open space. Earl took the stupid TV when she kicked him out. The expensive, over-the-top device was the capstone of his surprise renovation. A surprise for him as she never watched the idiot box. Two children and a full-time job ruled out any TV watching.

  “Oh.” Her inviting smile faltered. How did one of the Kramers end up the city’s building inspector? Wasn’t it a conflict of interest? The only construction team in town now had city hall in their pocket.

  “Margaret, you okay?” A hand fell on her shoulder. She blinked up at the chief. “You don’t look so good. The EMTs should recheck you. You stayed in the smoke for a bit.” He signaled to the medics.

  “Oh, no.” She pulled his hand down. “I’m fine, but surprised, I guess.” She glanced around. Her minivan stood safe and sound behind the fire trucks, but the keys were inside the house. “Can we bum a ride?”

  A weight hit her arms, and her papers scattered to the ground. A red-faced Jill stood next to her, a beige purse in her hand. Apparently, she’d hit Margaret with it. “Uh, sorry, Ma. I was trying to hand it to you.”

  Turning to her daughter, Margaret swallowed back her anger, fear, and frustration. “Did you go back in the house for my purse?” She gritted the words out between her teeth, not wanting to blast the girl. When the fire broke out, she’d shoved Mikey at Jill, commanding them to get outside immediately. She missed seeing Jill grab the bag.

  With her usual sass, Jill bit back. “You’re one to talk. You went back in for Mikey’s pictures.” She waved her hand at the remaining papers on the ground. “I was smart enough to grab your purse on the way out. I didn’t risk my life…” She choked, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Margaret gathered the girl to her and hugged her. “I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured. “You’re right. I never should’ve done that. I’m sorry if I scared you.” She bit off the sentence before adding, “but I needed the paperwork for all our sakes.” Jill didn’t have to know what was at stake.

  Her strong-willed teen wilted into tears in her arms. Margaret held her tight when another weight hit her legs. She folded Mikey into the hug, worry and fear filling her heart. What would they do now? What about Christmas? Damned if she’d allow the kids to stay at Earl’s sad apartment in Albany. No way was he taking her babies at Christmas.

  After a good twenty seconds, Jill broke from the hug. “Whatever, Ma. I’ll be in the car.” Shoulders slumped, she spun away, Margaret’s purse with the keys inside in her hand. Fourteen had to be the hardest thing in the world to endure.

  “Here, Mommy.” Mikey handed her a fist full of crumpled documents. Harold handed her another, a worry line creasing his brow.

  “Thank you both.” She swiped at her eyes. “Mikey, we’re sleeping out tonight. How about the Greenview Inn?”

  Mikey’s soot-stained face broke into a wide grin. “Will Emil make us breakfast?”

  Margaret grinned back. Mikey’s smile was infectious. “Breakfast and maybe dinner, if we ask nicely.”

  With a wiggle of pure joy, Mikey slipped his hand in hers and they trudged off to the car—homeless, almost penniless, in the December snow.

  ***

  Ryan held back, waiting for the homeowner to leave the premises. She wrangled the two kids into a minivan. They needed a warm bed and a cup of cocoa ASAP. As the taillights of her car disappeared down Cardinal Drive, he headed over to the Chief.

  “They okay?” Ryan asked, worry eating at his gut. If my family… he buried the thought. They’d find the truth tonight or tomorrow. He’d investigate the fire, if Chief and the mayor agreed. If Kramer and Sons Contracting put this family out of their house at Christmas time, he’d sure as hell do whatever he could to fix the problem.

  Harold nodded, tracking the volunteers as they put out the last of the hot spots. “Electric or gas?” Ryan asked.

  “I thought electric until the boom. I’ll know more in the morning.” The two men shared a look, confirming Ryan would investigate.

  “Kramer and Sons installed the fireplace, huh?” Harold dropped the words with no judgment. Ryan wondered how many fires Harold had put out over the years because of his family’s negligence.

  “Probably. She was not happy to learn my last name. I don’t recognize her. Who is she?”

  Harold nodded to the mailbox. “Margaret Porter. She used to be married to Earl Porter. They split up last year ’bout January.” He added nothing more. He didn’t need to. Ryan remembered Earl from high school. He charmed the girls left and right, but he was also the laziest asshole Ryan had ever met. How could that fireball of a woman marry such a putz?

  “They going to the Greenview? Any rooms left this time of year?” Ryan considered swinging by the Inn after they’d cleared the house, just to make sure the family had somewhere to sleep tonight.

  The Chief shrugged. “Emil’ll make sure they have a bed. Count on it.” He gazed at the house. “Don’t look too bad. Some plywood and plastic sheeting and they’ll be back in a few days. Christmas won’t be canceled.”

  Ryan nodded. “I’ll look at the integrity of the wall by the fireplace. But Harry, the Christmas tree was in there.”

  Chapter Two

  Margaret rang the bell at the front desk of the Greenview Inn. The delicate mahogany desk matched perfectly with the decor of the ancient Victorian building. Outside the building was a three-story gingerbread dream of balconies, tiny roofs, and odd-angled walls. It also had a portico over the main door to shield guests from the weather, a clunky add-on to the elegant building.

  Inside, the painstaking work of the owners to restore the building was evident. It was a riot of flowered wallpaper, overstuffed tiny-legged chairs, and gleaming hardwood floors. It was the pride of Stonewater.

  Over the years, she’d visited the place, oohing and ahhing over the beautiful interior. She’d heard the rumors about the food. Now she finally had a chance to sample Emil Russo’s cooking. Silver lining and all. She sighed as she waited.

  Fatigue itched at her and she considered driving into Iverton for a motel. Being so far from Stonewater would wreak havoc with their morning schedule. Glancing around, she caught sight of Mikey darting into the parlor, where books and games lined the shelves.

  “No, Mikey, get back here. You’re covered in soot.”

  “Oh, please don’t sit, then.” A voice sounded behind her and Margaret wheeled around, heart racing, nerves shot. A man
in his twenties with brown hair stood at the desk, smiling. Patrick O’Hare, the co-owner of the B&B.

  “Hi, sorry. I’m Margaret Porter. I teach kindergarten here in town. These are my children.” She gestured at Mikey and the sullen Jill.

  Patrick’s smile brightened. He was a nice, down-to-earth guy, if Margaret remembered correctly. “How can I help you, Ms. Porter?”

  Tired and frustrated, Margaret let it all hang out. “My house caught fire, and we have nowhere to go.”

  “Oh, my God.” Patrick’s hand rose to his mouth. “You’ll stay here. We’ll set you up and into a hot shower right away. Let me see.” He scrutinized the reservation list. “Yes, I do have a room available but only for three days. Holiday season and all. Hopefully, that’ll put you back on your feet. If not, I might be able to shuffle some things to get you more time.”

  Relief washed over Margaret to the point her knees almost buckled. “Three days? I think we’ll require… my insurance… the house… I don’t know how it is,” she ended, her hands gripping the desk.

  Patrick patted her hand. “Don’t you worry. We’ll even round up some clothes.”

  Margaret blinked at him. Clothing. She hadn’t considered school tomorrow, and work, and… Her chest tightened, and she leaned into the counter for support.

  No clothes, no money, only the car, and their shoes. Thank God, they had their shoes on. The reality of the fire sank in as her panic rose.

  Patrick considered. “I can buzz Emily, my sister, and see if her kids…”

  Jill broke in. “Chill, Ma. The house didn’t burn to a pile of ash. Upstairs is probably fine. Living room, remember? Not a supernova.”

  Margaret wrapped her arms around Jill and squeezed gently. No nonsense Jill. Attitude larger than an elephant but practical as hell. “What do you suggest?” she asked, unwrapping herself from her daughter, who, of course, huffed loudly.

  “I think we check-in here. Grab some grub, and call the insurance people. Like now.” She held her phone out, a charger cord dangling from the socket.

  “Did you grab your phone when I told you to find your brother and leave?” Margaret leaned in, but Jill seemed unfazed.

  “Duh, I was on my phone when you yelled. It took three seconds to unplug it, grab Mikey, and your purse. I know how to fire drill, Ma. I’ve been training for years.”

  Margaret and Patrick shared a knowing look. He handed over an old-fashioned key to Jill. “Head up to room 201. I’ll look for a cot for your brother. Your mom and I will settle here.”

  Jill grabbed Mikey’s hand, turning toward the stairs. “Then food?”

  “Yes, then food.” Margaret glanced at Patrick, who nodded with a smile. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a second.”

  “The kitchen is closed, but I could rouse Emil and…”

  Margaret waved away Patrick’s offer. “It’s fine. Thanks, though.” She handed Patrick her credit card, calculating how much money remained after holiday shopping.

  Ugh—the Christmas presents, most of which were probably ruined. Hopefully, the Santa items in her closet had stayed safe from the smoke, water, and fire. She needed to go back to the house and see the severity of the damage. Once the kids settled in, Jill could watch Mikey for a few minutes. Margaret could use the excuse of getting PJs and toothbrushes from the minimart down the street.

  Drained from the adrenaline rush of dashing back into the burning house, Margaret dragged herself up the stairs to room 201. The children were already inside, making a racket, arguing over something. The sound was music to her ears.

  “Hey, kids,” she said, entering the room. Both turned to stare at her, probably in shock she wasn’t lecturing about how siblings are friends for life. Instead, she plunked down on the canopied queen bed.

  “What a day.” Margaret considered slipping off her shoes and burying herself under the handmade quilt that covered the bed. She indulged in the fantasy for a few seconds then returned to business. “What’s the plan?”

  Mikey hiked himself up next to her. “A bed for me.”

  “Or me,” Jill shot in. “I don’t want to share with either of you.

  “Bed, check. What else?” Margaret considered grabbing her notepad from her bag. She had a dozen things for a list, and nothing felt better than ticking items off.

  “Food,” Mikey yelled with a fist raised in the air.

  “Keep it down, shrimp. Other people live here, ya know.” Jill rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. “We need take-out. I am not eating in public looking like this.” She spun and headed for the small bathroom. “Get me a salad, ’kay?” And she shut the door.

  Margaret looked at Mikey who giggled and said, “She’s gonna be mad when there’s no clean clothes to change into.”

  “You said it, kiddo. We’ll wait on Patrick for the cot while Jill cleans up. Maybe there are some clothes in the car.”

  Mikey snorted. “Just my soccer stuff, old and stinky. Jill won’t fit into that!” He rolled around on the bed. His shirt hiked up just a bit, showing his round little belly. With all the tension inside her seeking relief, Margaret couldn’t resist. She let the tickle monster out and attacked the exposed skin. Mikey roared with laughter.

  After a much-needed respite, with her son in her arms, she picked up the conversation again.

  “Dirty soccer clothes? Ewww. That stuff is still in the car?” she asked. “We’ll take care of that later. Once Jill gets out from the shower, Mommy will hit the minimart and see if I can get into the house for some clothes.”

  Mikey settled into tiny laughing fits as he calmed from the Attack of the Tickle Monster. “Can you get our stuff, Mommy? I’m askared we’ll never see it again.” He pouted, his eyes watery.

  “Don’t you worry, my son.” She kissed the top of his head. “Stuff is stuff. The important thing is we’re safe. We can replace everything.” She smiled down at him, ruffling his hair.

  “’Cept my drawing. It was so special you went back for it.” He looked up at her expectantly, and Margaret’s heart lurched.

  “Yes, honey.” She kissed his head. “Yes, the picture. I had to save it.”

  ***

  Ryan toed a pile of rubble next to the fireplace. Grimacing, he shifted his clipboard to his other hand. He’d stayed to examine the structure. He desperately wanted to help, especially after the homeowner dressed him down. Out of her house with kids, at Christmas? Not on my watch.

  A flash of headlights through the broken windows caught his attention. Carefully, he made his way to the far wall, avoiding the crispy Christmas tree. That and the blackened shapes below it tugged at his heartstrings. He and the other volunteers had tacked up some plastic sheeting over the huge holes once they extinguished the fire. Not the usual procedure but the Chief seemed to have a soft spot for the homeowner.

  Ryan had personally explored the rest of the house, unplugging electronics, securing the water. Again, not the usual procedure. But as she had no help with either the kids or the damage, it was the least he could do. Plus, even with her coldness, she was smoking hot, and not because he’d pulled her from a fire.

  Glancing out the window, he saw someone parking in the driveway. He secured his pen to the clipboard and headed out the front door, ready to speak to insurance agents or rubberneckers. Not as square-chested or big-boned as his brothers, Ryan could still hold his own if he needed to chase off trespassers.

  A car door slammed before he closed the door. After adjusting his hard hat, he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look formidable. “Excuse me,” he called, “you can’t be here. Leave the premises immediately.”

  A scoff sounded. “It’s my fucking house, buddy. What are you doing here?” Ah, the kindergarten teacher. She strolled into the light of the porch. He loved how easily obscenities poured out of her when she wasn’t being sweet and demure. He wondered if Harold knew about her mouth. Ryan certainly wanted to learn more.

  “Hi. Mrs. Porter? It’s Ryan Kramer with the fire department.” He
smiled. From her narrowed gaze, she probably only saw his silhouette in her door frame.

  “You’re still here? Ugh.” She huffed as she reached the steps. Her disheveled hair and soot-spattered clothes gave her the air of a dangerous woman. The smoldering brown eyes and wicked stare added to her allure. He swallowed hard and tried to maintain his professionalism.

  “Can I go inside? I need clothes and such,” she continued, lifting her chin. The dark circles under her eyes hinted at exhaustion.

  “Mrs. Porter…”

  “Ms.”

  Ryan pressed his lips closed then tried again. “Ms. Porter, we don’t know if the house is structurally sound. I’ll need to inspect it in the daylight. I can’t allow you up on the second floor or in the basement until I’m sure ceilings and floors are stable.”

  Her fierce demeanor crumbled in a heartbeat. “Please, I need some clothes for my kids. It’s cold. They have school tomorrow. It’s been a shitty night.” She pressed her fist to her mouth.

  Ryan stepped down off the porch and pulled Margaret Porter into his arms. He hated when women cried, especially single moms who had their Christmas set on fire. He wanted to help her, even if his family wasn’t responsible for the fire. No one deserved to be in such a spot.

  No one.

  After a moment of stiffness, she melted into him. He squeezed and rocked her gently. “Give yourself a break here. You’ve been through so much today.” He cooed the words into her ear and she hummed in response. “Why’d you go back inside anyway, Daisy?”

  After a second, she shifted away. “Did you call me Daisy?”

  He looked down into her endless brown eyes. The urge to kiss her rose again. Why would any man divorce this woman? Sweet, sexy, no fear. “Yeah, Daisy, short for Margaret.” He smiled.

  She studied his face, her arms still tight around his waist. “Yeah, right. Like who?” Her laughter, sweet and warm, drifted over him. The scent of roses and apples snuck through the odors of the fire, soot, and ash.