Page 66 of If the Boot Fits

Finally, her aunt’s eyes opened, though they took a minute to focus. “Samantha?” She pushed up on one arm. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a fire in my room. We have to wake Uncle and get out of the house.”

Aunt Regina bolted upward and grabbed for Samantha’s hand. “Are you hurt?”

Samantha shook her head. “No, I was downstairs when I smelled the smoke.”

“Thank God.” Her aunt tossed the covers from her legs, then turned to her husband. “Obadiah, wake up! The house is on fire!”

After a snuffle and groan, her uncle managed to wake. It took him longer to shake off the lethargy that had beset them, but after a push from his wife, he spilled out of bed and fumbled for his glasses.

“We might be able to save the house,” Samantha said. “The fire’s not too big yet. I’ll start filling buckets at the kitchen pump.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Aunt Regina grabbed her arm and pierced her with a stern look. “You are to leave the house this instant. Rouse the neighbors. They’ll help with the fire. You aren’t to go anywhere near it.”

“But what about you? I can’t leave the house until I know you and Uncle Obadiah are safe.”

God have mercy. If anything happened to either of them, she’d never forgive herself for bringing tragedy to their doorstep.

Aunt Regina climbed out of bed and reached for her wrapper. “We’ll be right behind you.” She shooed Samantha toward the bedroom door. “Now go! The best thing you can do for us is to get help.”

“But—”

“No sassin’ me, young lady.” Aunt Regina scowled and jabbed a finger toward the hall. “Go!”

Never in all of Samantha’s nineteen years had Aunt Regina ever spoken to her in such a sharp tone. It brought tears to her eyes and an ache to her chest, yet it also brought speed to her feet. A sob choked out of her as she ran for the stairs. Not because her aunt had yelled at her, but because leaving family behind ripped a hole in her heart. She’d run to the neighbors as fast as she could, then she’d come back and make sure her aunt and uncle got out.

Please, God, get them out.

Using the banister as a guide, Samantha sped down the hall and onto the stairs. Her stockinged feet slipped on the wooden steps, urging a modicum of caution and bringing the state of her feet to the front of her mind.

Shoes. She’d be faster with shoes.

Ducking into the parlor, she peered into the darkness in search of a pair of shadowy lumps. Her toes registered the softness of the rug a heartbeat before she kicked one of her shoes. She hunkered over and felt around for her other one, thankful that her confinement had led to her wearing house slippers instead of shoes with endless buttons and laces. She sat on the edge of the settee and slid them on. When she bent forward, something pointed jabbed the underside of her thigh. The journal. Not wanting to lose the last connection she had to her mother, she snatched the small book off the settee and shoved it into her skirt pocket before running for the front door.

She unlatched the lock, then grabbed the handle. The knob turned, but the door wouldn’t open. Samantha used both hands and yanked with all her might. The door rattled on its hinges but refused to swing inward.

What was happening?

“Come on!” She tried again, jerking the handle every which way to no avail.

Giving up, she abandoned the front door and ran for the kitchen. She banged a hip against a kitchen chair and sent it crashing to the ground. Ignoring both the chair and the pain it inflicted, she pushed past the table and latched on to the handle of the back door. She yanked it toward her. It refused to come.

“No!” She shook the door with all her might, trying to free it from whatever moored it in place. Her own body shook with sobs of desperation as the horrifying truth slashed across her panicked mind.

They’d been locked inside.

****

Something dropped onto Asher’s forehead, waking him from a dream about Samantha. Usually he enjoyed such dreams. In sleep, there were no obstacles to prevent the woman he loved from becoming his wife. No financial barriers, no powerful father with disapproval in his eyes, no murderous threats hanging over her head. Just him and Samantha together beneath a sunny sky, her hand in his, her gaze filled with love, her chin tipped up for his kiss. But tonight’s dream had been darker, tying his gut in knots and leaving him on edge. Made him glad something had woken him.

Lying on his back on the bedroll he’d spread on the floor of his brothers’ room, he blinked into the dark and reached up to his forehead to figure out what had hit him. The back of a limp hand, apparently. Asher rolled his eyes. Jack. That boy’s gangly limbs were always flinging around while he slept. It seemed Asher’s forehead had gotten in the way when Jack had flopped onto his stomach. Asher lifted the sleep-slackened appendage away from his face, then sat up. He thought about scooting his bedroll closer to Fergus’s bed and going back to sleep, but the disturbing dream he’d awoken from left him restless. Maybe stretching his legs would help clear his head.

Asher rose and stepped into the pair of pants he’d left draped over a chair last night, leaving the connected suspenders to drape over his hips. He shoved his feet into his boots, rubbed a hand over his face to clear away the last vestiges of sleep, then tiptoed out of the room. Thinking to visit the outhouse, he opened the back door and stepped onto the porch. A breeze hit him in the face. One that carried a distinctive odor.

Smoke.

Asher’s chest instantly tightened. Fire was dangerous enough during the day, but at night? It could cut a swath through a town before anyone knew what had happened. Heart pounding, he pulled his suspenders up over his undershirt and started jogging north, the direction from which the wind was blowing, thankfully away from the courthouse square and the more densely populated areas of town.