For the Love of Rosa
~ a classy romance ~
by Robynn Honeychurch
For the Love of Rosa
Copyright Robynn Honeychurch 2011
Published by CoolCats Publishing at Smashwords
Discover other titles by Robynn Honeychurch at Smashwords.
All rights reserved.
Robynn Honeychurch can be contacted at: books.mythicworks.ca
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to my loving and supportive husband, Shawn, without whom I’d not have experienced the romance that made me believe in true love.
Thank you to my friends and family who have supported me and encouraged me over my many years of writing: I appreciate you all…
CHAPTER 1
Rosa Joans sat straight up in bed. Before she was even fully awake she knew something was terribly wrong. She felt a rising panic in her throat and her heart was beating rapidly. She looked anxiously around the room. A breeze was blowing in her open bedroom window and causing the white, gauzy curtains to billow in. But the air felt somehow heavy, almost misty. Was it her imagination or was there a white haze floating about her room? She sniffed. Smoke! That’s what had awakened her!
Swinging her feet to the floor, she stood abruptly and ran to her bedroom door. Yanking it wide open, she was assaulted by a wall of smoke and heat. If she’d been thinking more clearly, she’d have remembered the long-ago instructions she’d been given to feel a door for heat before opening it, in the case of a house fire, but at the moment all she could think of was her son.
Rosa turned hurriedly into the room next to hers and ran to the bed. Nelson lay there asleep, wrapped securely in his blanket and clutching his teddy bear. She scooped the boy into her arms, without bothering to wake him and then looked desperately around the room. Her eyes were watering with the smoke that quickly rolled in to fill the small space. Her son made a sound and then turned his face against his mother’s chest.
Oh Lordy, Nelson’s window was not big enough or low enough to get the boy out. She’d have to go back to her room. Moving as quickly as possible, she left his bedroom and returned to her own. She didn’t think about the fact that she might have just seen her son’s room for the last time, she just focused on getting Nelson safely away from the smoke. For, now fully awake, she knew without a doubt, that there must be one major fire in the rest of the house to create the amount of pollution now stinging her eyes and lungs.
Rosa was at her bedroom window now. It was long and, although only the bottom half opened, she figured it was wide enough to get her son safely out. As she felt with one hand to open the window further, she realized a screen blocked her progress.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” Rosa cried. She felt panic rising in her. “Calm down, Rosa,” she muttered to herself, trying to do just that. “You can do this.”
By now Nelson was stirring. She set the boy on her bed a few feet from the window and turned back to try to pry the screen out. Everything seemed to be taking so long! She coughed as the smoke assailed her lungs with a vengeance now. It was seeking her open window and billowing out and the heat in the room was becoming unbearable. She sensed her son moving behind her.
“Stay there, Nelson!” She ordered. Then, finally, the screen came loose and she pulled it in and tossed it out of the way.
“Come here, son,” Rosa said now, contradicting her earlier command.
Obediently, the boy shuffled over in his blue pajamas, still clutching his blanket and bear.
“OK. There’s a fire in the house. I’m going to lower you out the window, you hear?”
Nelson nodded his small, red-haired head and started coughing as he inhaled the smoky air. His brown eyes were wide. Already, Rosa was taking the bear and blanket from his clutches.
He made a cry in protest.
“They’ll be outside on the ground waiting for you,” she told him, tossing his securities out the window. She lifted the boy and directed him to put his feet out the opening first.
By now tears were streaming down her face and she could barely see. “Nelson, when your feet touch the ground, I’m going to let go. You pick up your blanket and bear and then run, you hear?”
She began lowering him out the window. Leaning her body forward, Rosa clutched to her son’s hands that now stretched above his head. Fresh, night air mingled with the smoke and it was a relief for Rosa to breathe it in.
“Run to the big oak and then wait for me there. OK, honey?”
“Yes, Mama,” he replied in a small, scared voice.
She leaned out even farther until she felt his feet touch the ground. Then she let go.
“Go, now! Run!”
Rosa looked down on him and watched him pick up his blanket and bear and run into the night. Then she yanked up her nightgown so that she could get one leg out the window. Half way out, she looked back into the smoke-filled room and saw the picture of Jack sitting on her night table near her bed.
She had to take that picture with her. Pulling her leg back into the room, she ran to the nightstand and grabbed the small, metal-framed photograph of her deceased husband. Turning back towards the window, she was momentarily disoriented. Smoke billowed around her and she couldn’t see. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she could barely open her eyes against the irritating fumes and the heat. She gasped for air and choked. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Closing her eyes, she reached her arms in front of her and began to step slowly forward.
Rosa didn’t need her eyes open to find her way around her familiar bedroom. After sleeping in this room for nearly nine years, surely she could make her way to the window, even blind and suffocating. There was the ledge now, and there was the opening. She swiped at the sweat trickling down her forehead and into her eyes and then tucked the picture frame under one arm.
Again she threw her leg over the sill. Her other leg followed awkwardly, as the window opening was narrow. Sliding her torso and breasts through, she pushed herself free. Rosa felt her flesh scrape the sill as she slid out and fell to the ground in a heap.
She’d made it out! And her precious photo was somewhere on the ground beside her. She’d heard it land with a plop! and now she felt anxiously around for it. Her fingers touched the hard metal frame and she snatched it to her chest. Pushing herself up, Rosa got her balance and then swung around and faced the oak tree. Smoke rushed from her open bedroom window and obscured her view. With it being so dark out, she doubted she could see her son from here, anyway. But the route to the oak was familiar to her. Setting out at a jog, Rosa was soon at the base of the tall, old tree.
When at first she didn’t see her son, panic rose like a hard knot in her throat.
“Nelson!” She called huskily, her throat raw from the smoke.
“Here, Mama,” he replied.
She heard his voice coming from behind the wide oak. Walking around to where he was huddled with his bear and blanket on the ground, she dropped the picture of Jack and pulled her son to her. She hugged him fiercely.
“You’re all right, buddy. Thank God. We’re gonna be OK,” she said, trying to reassure them both. She patted him on the back and was grateful for the solid feel of his small, warm body against her chest. But her attention was drawn to their burning house.
Wide-eyed, she watched flames shooting up from where the kitchen had once been in their small, ranch-style home. Instinctively, Rosa kept her son’s head pressed to her, so he wouldn’t watch the horror of their home burning. Red and orange and yellow flames licked at the roof over the kitchen and living room areas. That must be where the fire had started, she thought.
Just then there was a loud cracking sound, followed by a crash and Rosa watched part of the roof cave in. Nelson jumped at the eerie sound and wrapped his arms tighter around his mother.
“Oh God,” she whispered again. Part of her was tempted to run back to the house and try to rescue some of their clothes, or her locking safe with her important paperwork inside. And what about her clients’ accounting records? Rosa groaned.
Then she noticed that her car was still parked out front, not far from the house. Rosa knew she ought to move it, but she couldn’t seem to move. It was as though her muscles had all gone numb and limp. So she remained where she was, huddled on the cold, April ground with her frightened son. And she shook with shock and fear.
It was a spectacular spectacle, in a sad sort of way, Rosa thought. The night was now lit brightly by their burning home and putting off a tremendous heat. Even from her distance, Rosa could feel the warmth on her bare arms and legs, clad as she was only in her nightgown. Looking down, she realized she was barefoot and kneeling in two inches of spring snow that still covered the ground in spots. She shivered.
“Mrs. Joans! Nelson! Are you there?”
Rosa jumped at the sound of the deep, male voice that was calling out to her in the night. She had been so mesmerized by the sight of her home burning down, that she hadn’t even noticed the Ford truck parked on the road out front, or the tall man that now moved swiftly towards them in the red glow of the fire.
“Here!” She heard her own voice, weak and rough, answer.
The man’s direction changed slightly, and he strode purposely towards them.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Joans? Do you have your son with you?”
Dumbly, Rosa nodded. It was her quiet neighbor, Mr. Weston, who had showed up. Suddenly she felt faint. If she hadn’t already been kneeling on the ground, she would have fallen over. As it was, she swayed.
“Whoa, there,” Mr. Weston said, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Look, I’m going to move your car out of the way so it doesn’t catch fire. We don’t want to risk an explosion. Then I’m coming back for you both.”
Rosa nodded again and looked up at the man striding off. He was like an apparition, a tall, wide silhouette against the glowing night sky.
“Who was that, Mama?” Nelson asked, raising his head. Then he saw their house and he gasped. “Our house!” He squeaked. Letting out a moan like none she’d ever heard from the six-year-old boy, he turned his ashen face questioningly up towards hers. Tears were streaming down his face. “No, Mama,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes were wide in fear and shock. “I don’t want our house to burn down.”
“Me, either, honey,” Rosa responded, running her hand over the boy’s soft, mussed hair. Nelson rested his head against her again and quietly cried. She felt helpless to protect him from the tragedy they were facing, and too stunned herself to think of anything comforting to say.
Before long, Mr. Weston had returned and was lifting Rosa into his arms. She felt her body rising up and then being pressed again his solid strength. In several, long strides, he crossed to his pickup parked out on the road, carrying both Rosa and Nelson in one load. Gently, he set her down and opened the passenger door.
Rosa helped Nelson inside the truck and climbed in after him. It was oddly cooler in the truck, as they were now further away from the fire. She felt the brush of the velour bench-seat cover against the bare skin of her calves. Her nightgown went only to her knees and now she shivered in earnest.
“There’s a blanket behind the seat. Wrap it around you both,” Alex instructed. “Mrs. Joans, I may be able to get into the rooms at the back of the house still. Do you want me to try to get anything out for you?”
He hated to even broach the subject of them losing all their possessions yet. Rosa looked in such shock still, but now was the time, if he were to recover anything.
“Did you call the fire department?” Rosa thought to query then. Bragg Creek, Alberta was a small, country community and she knew it would take time for the volunteer fire department to assemble and make it out to them.
Mr. Weston nodded. “I used my cell to report your fire the minute I saw your house burning. They’ll be here soon... About your things?”
Rosa groaned. Some of her accounting records were in the study. There was probably no way he could rescue those now, if they weren’t burnt already. And what about her fireproof safe? Was it really fireproof? Could he get to that? Not to mention that she had no idea where she’d left her purse last night when she’d returned from her client’s office. So, she tried to think of what else she needed.
All she could come up with were the sentimental things. Like her wedding dress in the closet of her bedroom. And the picture of Jack’s mother that hung in Nelson’s room. And what about the quilt her own mother had given her and Jack on their wedding day?
She told Mr. Weston about these things, briefly describing where they were. Then her voice faltered. “I don’t think you should go back in there,” Rosa said, shaking her head.
But her protest came too late. Mr. Weston was already moving determinedly towards the back of the house where the bedrooms were located. She watched him out the side window of the truck. He tied a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and then disappeared around the corner.
Nelson made a soft whining sound.
“Oh, honey,” she said soothingly, her attention returning to her son. “Here.” Rosa pulled the blanket from the storage space behind the bench-seat where they were huddled, and covered them with it.
Then she sat staring unseeing out the front windshield of the unfamiliar vehicle. Her own small, silver Hyundai was parked in front of the truck where they now sat, she noted numbly. Its shiny paint was bathed in an eerie orange glow from the fire. After a while she heard the soft, steady breathing that told her Nelson had drifted off to sleep. Dreamland was definitely the best place for her son to be right now, she thought.
Soon, she heard the approach of the fire trucks and she sagged back against the seat in relief. Irrationally, it felt as though those red trucks with their lights flashing could save her. Somehow they would save her home and her and Nelson’s life. She just knew it.
The first truck pulled into the unobstructed driveway and several men leaped out. As Rosa watched, Mr. Weston appeared from behind the house and moved to greet the firemen. Briefly the men stood in a huddle, talking and gesturing. The second fire truck parked on the lawn in front of the kitchen that by now had all but completely collapsed, and men began unwinding hoses.
Rosa felt something wet land on her hand and she swiped at it. When a second warm droplet landed on her wrist she lifted her hand to her cheek. She was crying—and she hadn’t even realized it. She wiped away the tears and tried to steel herself against the engulfing sadness and despair threatening to overwhelm her.
A bump at the back of the truck startled her and then Mr. Weston was opening her door.
“Grabbed what I could from the house, ma’am.” His voice was gruff and he was covered in a fine gray-brown dust. He pointed to the bed of the truck.
Rosa nodded and gulped down her rising tears. They were trying to close up her throat and cut off her ability to breathe.
For a moment the quiet man stood there indecisively. He studied Rosa’s pale face and lush cinnamon hair. He could see she was trying valiantly not to cry. With a low grunt, he reached into the cab and pulled the distraught lady into his arms. She needed comfort, and although he barely knew the woman, he knew he was the only one available to console her.
The minute Rosa’s head touched Mr. Weston’s solid chest, a sob wrenched from her. It was as though once she was in the protective confines of his arms she could stop trying to hold herself together emotionally. Grief and despair overwhelmed her and she let it all out in the desperate sobs that wrenched from her sore throat. Her fists clung to his denim shirt as if forcing him to stay where he was, to stay close to her. She felt Mr. Weston’s large hands gently rubbing her back and for a second, she closed her eyes and tried to pretend that the man holding her was her husband, Jack. But she couldn’t.
Dead two years now, she just couldn’t drag the memory forth from her mind. She couldn’t envision his arms holding her, his smell or his voice. And this made her even more grief-stricken. Had she lost the memories of her husband along with her home and all her possessions? It was too much to absorb, so she sobbed for this loss, as well. And still, Mr. Weston held her close, his steady, quiet breathing reassuring Rosa that he was there for her.
Eventually, Rosa’s crying subsided to sniffles and she started to notice the wonderful feel of Alex’s defined pectoral muscles beneath his shirt. She also became aware of her round breasts pressed intimately against him, and her breath caught. As if they had a will of their own, her nipples hardened and became sensitive beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
She knew it was ridiculous for her to feel this way in this moment of disaster and emotional pain, but she couldn’t help it. She was bowled over by the sexual attraction that she’d suddenly developed for the man holding her. And she barely knew him!
Part of Alex Weston wanted to push her back into the truck and go help fight the fire demolishing her house, and part of him wanted to keep Rosa right where she was, safely against him. She was so soft, so lush with her large breasts pressed to him. She felt so right in his arms despite the gravity of the situation.
Even though he knew his pleasure was inappropriate, he was tempted to run his hands up her back and through the silky strands of her cinnamon hair, or down her spine over the womanly flare of her hips. He wished he could lower his head and taste that exposed patch of pale, bared skin visible at her throat. But he didn’t. He knew this was not the time or place for such things and frankly, he was astounded to even have such urges at a time like this!
Lifting his head, Alex looked over Rosa’s head at the firefighters at work. It probably wouldn’t help any to have one more set of hands fighting the fire at this point, he speculated. No, the house was pretty much a goner. Better to comfort this woman in need. And it wasn’t as if he really wanted to release her, anyhow!
As he watched, the men hosed again and again at the flames consuming the house. At this point, all they could really do was try to contain the fire so that it didn’t spread to the dry grasses and trees surrounding the Joanses’ home. He felt Rosa pushing him gently away then, and he released her.
“I’m going to take you to my place, Mrs. Joans,” he told her, looking down into her wet, luminous, nutmeg-brown eyes, visible in the glow from the cab light.
“Oh, no, Mr. Weston. I really don’t want to impose,” Rosa said, shaking her head as she looked up at him. Then she swiped at her wet face, now smudged with soot from Alex’s shirt, and hiccuped.
Alex grimaced. “I hate to say it, ma’am, but do you have somewhere else to go right now?”
“Well… no, but—”
“No buts. I have a spare bedroom and you’re both welcome to stay there as long as you need.”
Rosa couldn’t even fathom making any decisions in this horrific predawn hour, so she simply nodded and settled back onto the truck seat. Her hand moved protectively to rest on her son’s back.
Softly, Alex shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. Thinking better of leaving without telling the firemen, though, he caught up briefly with one who was talking on a radio in the cab of one of the fire engines. After explaining what he was doing, he returned to his Ford and climbed in.
Silently, he started the truck and did a U-turn on the narrow, dirt road. As he drove to his house, Alex tried to recall when he’d last seen Mrs. Joans and her son. It had probably been last year when he’d passed her at the corner store. But they hadn’t spoken then. No, he didn’t think he’d talked to her since her husband’s funeral. Practically the whole community of Bragg Creek had been present on that sad occasion. It had been about two years ago, now, Alex figured. He’d attended because it seemed the neighborly thing to do. But truth be told, he didn’t know his neighbors very well, even though only five acres separated his property from the Joanses. In fact, he didn’t know any of his neighbors all that well. He tended to keep pretty much to himself.
But when he’d gone to load his tools into his pickup at three o’clock that morning for an early job in Calgary, he’d noticed the red flickering light coming from his neighbors’ property. Right away he knew it had to be a fire. He just wasn’t sure whether the fire was located at Mrs. Joans’ house or not until he came around the bend in the road and saw that indeed it was her place burning down.
For a moment his heart had leapt into his throat as he’d imagined Rosa and her son trapped inside the house. A relief disproportionate to how well he knew the two had flooded through him when he’d heard Rosa’s soft voice calling out to him from under the oak tree.
Now, as Alex pulled into his own driveway, he felt very thankful that his neighbors were all right. And that he was all right. He wasn’t exactly accustomed to braving burning buildings in search of wedding dresses, pictures and quilts. He felt rather shook up.
He insisted on carrying Rosa into the house, as she wore no shoes and there were still patches of snow on the ground around his place. When he’d set her on his couch, he went back for the boy. Nelson was getting so big! he thought, as he hefted the sleeping child into the house. He remembered when Nelson had just been a wee baby and he’d bumped into the family at a Christmas Fair in Calgary. A long time and a lot of events had passed since then. Carefully, he set Nelson on the bed in the guestroom.
Rosa had followed him down the hall and now she stood behind him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked so fragile and forlorn in the pale morning light now streaming through the window.
“You OK?” He asked gruffly, once he’d pulled the comforter over the boy.
She nodded.
His eyes scanned her pretty face, as though looking there for instructions as to what to do next. Finally, he sighed and said, “There’s a bathroom across the hall from your room here. I hope you don’t mind sharing a bed with the boy…”
Rosa shook her head and continued to stand there, staring wide-eyed at him.
“Feel free to shower, or whatever…” He felt like showering himself. He felt like going back to bed and getting up again in an hour, just to see if maybe this was all a bad dream. But deep down he knew this was no nightmare, only the harsh reality of sad disaster. Then he remembered the wiring job he’d been on his way to. He should have been there by now.
“Look, I have to go make a few calls,” Alex told her.
Rosa gulped down her desperate sadness and shock. She stepped out of his way, allowing him to pass from the room.
Then she was alone in the unfamiliar bedroom with her sleeping son. She went over and lay down on the bed beside him. She put her arm around his curled form and closed her eyes. More than anything, she wished she were asleep now, too. If only she could disappear from the world for a little while... But she couldn’t. Her body would not relax and her mind would not stop replaying the images of the house fire she’d just witnessed. Although she felt emotionally exhausted, she knew she wouldn’t sleep anymore this morning.
Instead, she listened to the low, comforting sounds of Mr. Weston’s voice as he spoke on the phone. Then she heard the front door open and shut, and she wondered where he was going. Irrationally, she didn’t want him leaving her, going anywhere. Rosa wanted someone around to look out for her, just for a little while. Though she’d gotten pretty used to looking after herself and Nelson—two years as a widowed mother had taught her a lot about survival—just now, she didn’t want to be responsible for anything. If only someone would come wash her face, kiss her cheek, tuck her into bed and promise her that everything was going to be OK… she sighed heavily. That wasn’t likely!
The front door opened and shut again and she heard Alex’s boots on the linoleum in the kitchen. Thank God, he hasn’t left. She relaxed in relief. When she saw him poke his head into the guestroom, she raised herself up on her elbows.
“What is it?”
“Just wondering if you were asleep,” Alex said, softly.
“No.” She rose slowly and moved off the bed.
“You don’t have to get up… I just wanted to check on you is all…”
She crossed the small room anyhow, and stepped out into the hall. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered, not wanting to wake her boy.
“Oh, well…” Alex ran a nervous hand through his tousled, black hair. He wasn’t used to having women in his home, and especially not one clad in only a short nightgown. “I cancelled my work plans for the day. Thought you guys might need me around here today.”
“Oh, Mr. Weston, you shouldn’t have done that!” Rosa sounded genuinely distraught.
Alex shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. That’s the advantage of being self-employed. I can just reschedule my jobs for tomorrow. Look, I think I ought to go back to your place,” he said, “and see if there’s anything more I can do there—to help them out, I mean.”
“Oh,” Rosa’s voice was small and disappointed. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her once more.
Alex moved down the hall towards the front of the house where the living room, kitchen and front entrance were. “You’re safe here, ma’am, I promise. I piled the stuff of yours that I got out of the house on the couch,” he told her, gesturing in that direction as he headed towards the door.
“Oh.”
“Please, help yourself to coffee… or whatever you might need. I won’t be long.”
He knew she wasn’t happy about him leaving her alone in his unfamiliar home, but he wanted to see whether any of her house would remain standing when the fire was out. And honestly, he just needed to get outside. Her emotional state was making him a bit uncomfortable. He’d been single so long, he wasn’t quite sure how to act around her, so he figured giving her a bit of space was probably best.
CHAPTER 2
Rosa perched on the edge of the sofa next to the pile of smoke-stained, soot-spattered belongings. She felt suddenly calm, looking at her and her son’s only remaining possessions. As her eyes scanned over the clothes, quilt, pictures and books, she realized how little these things meant next to the life of her son and Mr. Weston. Her neighbor could have died trying to rescue these things from the fire, and all for her. She thanked heaven he’d been spared any harm.
Reaching into the pile, she separated a clump of clothing still attached to hangers. It was obvious Alex had pulled the bunch randomly from her closet, hoping he’d catch the wedding dress she’d asked for among the collection. He hadn’t. Rosa had forgotten to mention that she kept the special gown safely wrapped in a dry-cleaner’s bag at the back of her closet. It was surely destroyed now.
She sighed and pulled a pale-pink, lace and satin dress from the pile. It was her High School graduation dress. Smiling softly, she ran her fingers down its length. It had been thirteen years since she’d worn it. She’d had a baby since then and her body had finished blossoming into her fully female figure. It wouldn’t fit her now, but it was special to still have it, anyway.
Next she untangled a black pants suit from the pile. This was the outfit she’d worn to her husband’s funeral. She wasn’t sure why she’d ever hung onto it. She surely didn’t plan on ever wearing it again, but the day she’d worn this outfit had been the last day she’d ever seen Jack. He’d looked so perfect lying there in his coffin. The fatal heart attack hadn’t altered his handsome face one iota. But still, he hadn’t looked like himself. It was as though, with the life sucked out of him, his body had lost the special brilliance that had made Jack the man he was. It had simply been a body lying there. A moment of deep sadness and longing for her first and only love passed over her.
Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Rosa reached for the next piece of clothing. It was her favorite winter dress. A dark-gray angora sweater-dress with long sleeves. She hugged it to her and felt its softness against her cheek. She felt absurdly happy to still have this garment. So many pleasant memories were formed while she’d worn it. Nelson’s first Christmas. Her parents had come up from New Mexico… Jack’s award ceremony when he’d received the honorable title of Coach of the Year at the High School where he’d taught… The New Year’s party she and Jack had attended just months before his death—they’d danced for hours and kissed and laughed… it had been the best night of her life (aside from the night she’d given birth to Nelson).
She lay the dress aside and reached for the last item of clothing in the pile. Her royal-blue summer dress with large white flowers spread across it. She’d bought it last year and worn it as often as it was clean. She loved the thing. Seeing it again made her smile. She’d be able to wear it again in a few months—once the weather warmed up a bit more.
Glancing at the remaining pile, she noted that Mr. Weston had collected her wedding quilt from her bed and several small, framed photos from her dresser. The pictures were all of various family members and she was grateful they been rescued from destruction. Only Nelson’s piggy bank, a few of his books and the football Jack had given him still rested in front of her. Mr. Weston must have not been able to get into her son’s room. These possessions had all been sitting on Nelson’s dresser just below his bedroom window. Her neighbor must have reached in the window and grabbed what he could.
A chill went up Rosa’s spine. Thank heavens she’d been awakened by the smell of smoke when she did and that she’d gotten Nelson out of there so fast! She didn’t want to think about what could have happened…
Just then the front door swung open and Mr. Weston strode in. His expression was grim and he was now completely covered in soot from head to foot.
Rosa simply stared at him, silently. She didn’t want to ask about her house. She didn’t think she could handle knowing quite yet. His bright blue eyes met hers and held for a moment. They were startlingly intense in contrast to the black dust covering his face, and they were bloodshot from the smoke and dust. His expression was unreadable.
“I’m going to go take a shower. I have my own bathroom attached to my bedroom,” he felt obliged to tell her. He turned and moved swiftly and purposely down the hall.
She was glad he hadn’t told her anything more about the fire. There was only so much she could bear—and she was pretty sure she’d reached her limit.
Slowly, Rosa stood up and wandered back to the guestroom, looking in on a still-sleeping Nelson, she decided she’d take a shower herself. Maybe she’d feel more awake and able to handle the day if she were cleaner.
She couldn’t believe her son was still sleeping, she thought as she pulled off her nightgown and underwear and stepped under the stream of warm water. Of course, he had gone to bed quite late, what with the babysitter being there and all…
Rosa had had an evening meeting with one of the people she kept books for. Mr. Blake ran a hardware store and with it being income tax season, there had been many, many receipts and bills and income records to tally. By the time she’d made it home, it had been far later than she’d expected. The teenage babysitter had told Rosa that Nelson had just fallen asleep. That was at eleven-thirty. She remembered going into her son’s small bedroom and kissing him on the forehead, then returning to the kitchen to briefly peruse the paper before falling into bed. What had happened that evening to cause a fire? she wondered now. Had she left a stove burner on? The coffee maker? Or had it simply been a weird power surge?
She sighed as she rinsed the conditioner from her thick, shoulder-length hair. Perhaps she’d never know what had caused the house fire. And she supposed it didn’t really matter right now. When she stepped from the shower she was greeted by the delicious aroma of bacon cooking. Was Mr. Weston making breakfast? Her mouth watered. Despite the trauma she was still going through, she felt like eating.
Just then she heard Nelson calling to her from the spare room.
“I’ll be right there, honey,” she replied, wrapping a towel around her hair and one around her body. She streaked across the hall and into the room, shutting the door behind her. Even though Mr. Weston had seen her in her nightgown, she felt self-conscious about him seeing her in only a towel.
“Where am I, Mama?” The boy asked.
“We’re at Mr. Weston’s house. Did you sleep OK?”
As soon as the words came out, she realized it was a silly question, considering he’d been awakened in the middle of it and forced from his bed!
Nelson shook his head. “So it wasn’t a dream? Our house really did burn down?”
Rosa sighed and drew the boy into her arms. “Yes, our house really did burn down, honey.”
“Oh.”
For a few moments they just sat there in stunned silence. It was still so hard to believe that such a thing had actually happened, could actually happen.
“Breakfast’s ready!” Alex called from the kitchen.
“You feeling hungry, Nelson?” Rosa asked.
“A bit.” The sleepy, freckle-faced boy shrugged.
“Why don’t we go wash your face and then get some breakfast,” she suggested.
He nodded and followed her to the bathroom.
A few minutes later it dawned on Rosa that she didn’t have anything decent to wear to the breakfast table—and neither did her son! She didn’t want them to have to dine in front of Mr. Weston in their nightclothes, but she didn’t really know what other choice they had. The thought brought her to the edge of tears. But she pulled herself together for the sake of her son and tried to think of what to do. She’d ask Mr. Weston if they could borrow something—just until she could go shopping. That made her remember that she didn’t even know where her purse was or if she even still had one. Rosa suppressed a moan. It was all so overwhelming!
Before she could think about it anymore, she poked her head out of the bathroom.
“Mr. Weston?”
“Hmm?” He called from the kitchen.
“Do you think—I mean… well, we don’t really have anything to wear today…” She’d never had to ask a virtual stranger to borrow clothes before. It was both embarrassing and humbling. “Do you think we could borrow something from you for today?”
Alex came into view in the hallway. “Of course!” He smiled compassionately. “And please, call me Alex.”
Rosa nodded and watched him walk into his bedroom. Then he stopped and looked back at her. He was clad in a clean, white T-shirt and snug pair of blue jeans. His jet-black hair was still damp from his shower and styled back from his face. He looked appealing—too appealing. He was lean and oh, so beautifully built… he looked like a god. Well, Rosa reflected, he may not be that but today he was their savior.
“Will a T-shirt and jogging pants do? I might have a small pair around that would fit you. As for Nelson, the best I can offer is a T-shirt and shorts.”
Rosa blushed, feeling awkward for imposing on her neighbor so. “That’ll do. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, Mrs. Joans, I’m glad to be able to help out.”
She nodded. “Call me Rosa, if you would,” she said, reciprocating his gesture of friendship.
“Sure,” Alex replied from around the corner. She could hear dresser drawers opening and shutting. Soon he returned with the garments and handed them to her.
“Thank you,” she couldn’t help saying again.
Then she shut the bathroom door and she and Nelson got dressed. Rosa couldn’t recall ever putting on men’s clothing before. She’d never even worn her husband’s T-shirts. Now she wondered why. The dark-blue top she pulled on was incredibly soft and comforting and smelled ever so vaguely male. It was as if she were being enveloped in a big hug by Alex, and she liked the feeling. It made her feel especially feminine and protected. She shook off the irrational thought and pulled on the gray sweatpants. They were too long, but fit well in the hips and waist. They would do for now and that’s all that mattered.
Once Nelson was dressed in a short-sleeve red shirt that came down past his knees and a pair of khaki shorts, held up by an adjustable woven belt, the two made their way to the kitchen.
Alex had already set the table for three and was busy piling pancakes and bacon onto plates.
“How many pancakes would you like, Nelson?” He asked.
“Two, please,” the boy replied, and slid onto one of the carved, wooden chairs at the table.
“Wow,” Rosa couldn’t help murmuring, “a man that can really cook!” The pancakes looked delicious and smelled even better.
Alex’s dark eyebrows arched upward. “You haven’t seen a man cook before?”
“Well…” she suddenly felt uneasy and she wished she hadn’t made the comment. Jack hadn’t been able to cook for the life of him and neither could her father. She’d developed the impression from those two experiences that men didn’t generally cook. But she didn’t want to say anything bad about either her dead husband or her absent father, so she just shrugged and smiled. “I’m just impressed, that’s all. I’d like two pancakes, too, if you don’t mind,” she added.
He handed her a plate already heaped with two very fluffy pancakes and several strips of hot bacon. “Thank you,” she said, and slid into the chair next to her son.
Nelson was waiting quietly with his plate in front of him, untouched.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Rosa asked with concern.
Then she noticed his eyes on the pile of their belongings still heaped on the couch.
“That’s our stuff?” He asked softly.
“Yes. We can look at it together after breakfast, if you like.”
“I would,” he replied.
“I’d have gotten more,” Alex put in, sitting down across from them, “but…” he shrugged. But your house was too engulfed with flames by then, he was going to say, but he didn’t. He didn’t know if they were ready to talk about things yet. “But I couldn’t,” he finished lamely.
Rosa nodded and met his eyes. Hers were filled with a sadness and desperation that he didn’t know how to respond to. This whole situation felt foreign to him. He’d lived alone for about eighteen years and it had been a long while since he’d had a beautiful lady at his table. And even longer since he’d had a child in the house. He liked the company, but it was still unusual. He felt a bit unsure of how to act.
“Shall we eat?” He asked finally.
Nelson nodded and they all dug in. The meal was a quiet affair and when they were done, Rosa offered to do dishes.
“It’s not a big deal, I have a dishwasher. I’ll just load things in,” Alex said, picking up the plates and carrying them to the kitchen counter.
“If you’re sure,” Rosa said, feeling as if she ought to be helping out.
“I’m sure,” Alex answered. “You two should take it easy.”
She nodded. To Nelson she said, “Alex was able to save the football your dad gave you, isn’t that wonderful?” There was a forced brightness to her tone. She beckoned her son over to the sofa and they sat down to go through his few possessions together.
Alex was impressed with how well Rosa was able to keep it together in front of her son. He knew it must take incredible strength on her part not to break down completely. While he stacked dishes in the dishwasher, he listened to his guests’ conversation.
Nelson seemed to be handling things better than Rosa expected. But then again, she wasn’t sure how much of what had happened had really sunk in for him yet. He seemed pleased enough to have his favorite books and all his savings from his piggy bank, but in the end he asked, “What about all my other stuff?”
“Well, honey. I don’t think there is any other stuff anymore. I think everything else got burned in the fire.”
“Oh… Are you sure?” The boy asked, his brow puckering.
Rosa shook her head. “No… until we go have a look at our house, I won’t know for sure. But don’t count on seeing any of your other toys and things, Nelson. This is probably all we have.”
“That’s all?” He was truly astounded.
Discreetly she glanced over at Alex who was leaning against the counter watching them. The kitchen opened into the living room, and they sat a mere twelve feet from where he stood. He gave a small nod that said Yes, that’s all you’ve got, I’m afraid. Rosa sighed and looked back towards her son.
“I guess so.”
“But what about my shoes?”
“We’ll have to buy you new ones.”
“And my boat?” His voice had raised in pitch. He stood up and looked anxiously, almost accusingly at his mother.
Rosa felt helpless. She understood her son’s anger and felt powerless to do anything about it.
“I guess you’ll have to build another one.”
“But that took me forever to build!” He wailed.
Alex crossed the room in a few, long strides and knelt next to the distraught boy. “Nelson, it’s not your mother’s fault that your house burned down.” He placed a large hand on the boy’s small shoulder.
“Yes it is! Why did you let it happen, Mama? And couldn’t you at least have gotten my boat?” He yelled, glaring at his mom.
“I—” Rosa began, then fell silent. She didn’t know if the fire was her fault, or not. How could she explain to a six-year-old that in her state of panic, the only thing that had mattered to her when she’d realized her home was on fire was getting him safely out?
“As far as the boat goes, I’d be glad to help you build another one. But I insist that as long as you’re staying in my house you not blame your mother for the fire. She was very brave to be able to get you out of there in time,” he said firmly. His eyes lifted to meet Rosa’s and held.
She blinked in surprise. In her moment of feeling helpless, when she was at a loss for words, she appreciated Alex’s support. Quickly she looked away, uncomfortable with the emotional bond she felt she was developing for the stranger. Turning to her son, she gave him a gentle hug.
“I love you, honey. I’ll try to get you the things you want and need soon, I promise,” she whispered.
“Nelson, why don’t you take this book,” she said handing him one from the pile on the couch, “ and go read for a while in the guestroom?”
The boy looked hesitantly at the book. Rosa could tell he didn’t feel like reading, but he obediently took the book anyhow and slouched off. She smiled fondly and watched him disappear down the hall.
Rosa needed a few moment to compose her thoughts and figure out what had to be done today. She was finding that difficult to do in the presence of her understandably upset son. When she saw the pain and confusion on his face, she wanted to cling to him forever, and cry and cry until there were no tears left in her. But she knew she couldn’t do that. She had to keep a tight control on her emotions so that she could make it through this terrible day.