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After a few more minutes of cutting and negotiating the twisted metal, they were able to free Mr. Barker’s leg. They hoisted the man onto the gurney and Mack helped them up the steep embankment to the ambulance.
Grant was slowly easing back the ram when he noticed the smoke rising from the engine block. The black cloud was almost as thick as the fuzziness in his own mind. The smoke hadn’t been that bad before, but shifting around the dash could’ve made something worse. He pulled the last of the equipment out, rounding the car. He scooped up the power unit and helped Mack haul everything back up to the truck.
“Hurry!” Mack shouted.
The car was smoking in earnest now, thick, black clouds billowing out from under the hood. The paint on the hood was starting to blacken and bubble, with flames licking around the edge. “Grab the extinguisher.”
They got the man out just in time, but they had to contain the fire. With the rescue truck, all they had was the fire extinguishers they had on board. If they could put out the fire before the fuel tank caught, that would be enough. The tanks were designed not to blow, but if there was a leak in the line . . .
“Radio for the night shift to meet us out here with the fire truck, just in case,” Grant said, carrying the extinguisher down to shoot foam at the car from a relatively safe distance.
“Don’t forget Roscoe!” Mr. Barker cried from the back of the ambulance.
Crap. Grant looked to the right where the dog carrier was still sitting. The scared pup started whimpering as he got close. Poor little guy. He could smell the smoke and he was scared to death.
“Hey there. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Grant said. The dog looked up at him with wide, trusting brown eyes and the funny sort of grin that bulldogs seem to have. Grant set down the extinguisher and grabbed the carrier to hand it up to Mack.
With the dog safely stowed in the ambulance with his owner, Grant returned to pick up his fire extinguisher and put out the
flames before they got too much worse. While he was dealing with the dog, the flames had spread into the cab, lighting the fabric seats and the duffel bag that was sitting on the passenger side.
“I’m going to need more!” Grant shouted to Mack and lifted the nozzle to put it out. He was only a few steps from the car when he heard a loud hissing sound.
His normal reaction would’ve been to run, but his brain was simply not cooperating with his body. Before he could do anything, the car exploded and everything went black.
“Is he okay?” Pepper asked as she rushed into the hospital waiting room.
Mack was there, along with Blake, Ivy, Maddie, and Hazel. Blake stood up when she arrived, giving her a nod, followed by a hug. “He’ll be okay. Mom and Dad are in with him right now. They said they’re going to release him tonight.”
“What happened?” Practically speaking, Pepper knew serious injuries were always a possibility with his job, but she wasn’t expecting to get that text from Ivy so soon.
When she didn’t hear back from Grant about their dinner plans, she thought maybe the accident was bigger than they anticipated. She didn’t want to text him while he was working at saving lives. An hour went by. Then two. Then three. When her phone finally chirped, it was Ivy’s text and her worst fears were suddenly very real.
“I guess I can’t blame him since he had a head injury and was in shock,” Mack said, standing up from his seat, “but the guy didn’t tell us that he had a portable tank of propane in his duffel bag. At the time, I didn’t think the car was going to catch fire or we would’ve checked for flammables. When the fire spread to the cab, the tank exploded. It blew Grant back about ten feet through the air and set his shirt on fire.”
“He was burned?” Pepper felt her chest ache. Ivy had left out any details in the text and just told her to meet them at the hospital. For all she knew, he’d been completely engulfed in flames or had a leg blown off.
“His left forearm got the worst of it,” Blake explained. “He’ll be out of work for a few weeks until it heals up. Riding his motorcycle might take longer, depending on how well he can use the clutch.”
The doors to the waiting room opened and Grant’s parents came out. Pepper was unprepared for the visceral reaction she had to seeing Norman Chamberlain for the first time after learning the whole story from her mother. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to claw his eyes out or kick him in the junk that had caused all her mother’s troubles.
She balled her hands into fists and took a deep breath. Neither was appropriate. For one thing, those eyes were the same as Logan’s. And Grant’s. She might hate Norman, but she couldn’t hate the beautiful blue eyes that she stared into as she lay with Grant. For another, tonight was about Grant, not about what happened almost thirty years ago.
“How is he?” she asked.
Norman narrowed his gaze at Pepper. She could tell he was trying to place her and figure out why she was here. Fortunately, Blake stepped in.
“Dad, this is Grant’s girlfriend, Pepper.”
Norman nodded and put his arm around Helen’s shoulders as she sniffled into her tissues. “I know who she is. You’re Kate Weaver’s girl, aren’t you? You look just like she did at that age.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied through gritted teeth. “It’s Kate Anthony now.”
“Of course, she married the fellow from the gas station.” There was a smirk curling his lips that made his blue eyes seem to twinkle with amusement. Did he think it was funny that his mother had been put in that position? “I saw him at the funeral with your brother. How’s he doing since his stroke?”
Pepper took another deep breath, trying to ignore the way he so casually referred to her brother as though he were no more significant than any other of her family members. “He’s doing better. We’re hoping he can return to running the shop soon.”
“How’s Grant doing, Dad?” Blake asked, no doubt sensing the tension between the two of them.
