She could almost imagine a positive Christmas. Peace. Here in this beautiful, restful place. Goodwill. Here with kind, generous people.
Instantly, those thoughts bought back the old horror of Christmas when she was so young. Her body tightened with anxiety, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She felt choked by thick smoke. She coughed, trying to ease the constriction, but she could hardly catch her breath. She panted, taking short, shallow breaths as she felt her heart rev up hard and fast. She heard her painful gasps grow louder than the sound of the spring. She called on her safe words, mentally repeating, “Be here now. Safe and sound. Be here now.”
Too much. That was her current problem. Too much Christmas. Too much fire. Too much emotion. She always walked a fine line, not allowing herself to have too much of anything. She couldn’t afford to get too tired, too hungry, too cold, too hot, too happy, too sad. All things in moderation kept her stable.
But Wildcat Bluff, Trey Duval, and the fire had pushed Christmas into bright neon, flashing on and off in her mind. She’d started to feel too much, and obviously she couldn’t afford to do it. She took deep, calming breaths. She mustn’t think about Christmas, not here, not now. Not ever.
Normally, all the stability tricks she’d learned in recovery worked to ease her panic attacks. But not now. She gasped harder, feeling her chest contract as if a band squeezed tighter and tighter. Anxiety became fear. What if she needed medical help? How far away was a hospital or doctors? And even worse, what if she appeared weak in front of these capable people when she wanted them to view her as she truly was, strong and capable?
Somehow, she had to overcome this rare panic episode. She wasn’t willing to do it with mind-numbing drugs. She’d done the zombie routine for one week and vowed never again. She looked outward to try and relax her mind, but night had fallen. The stately pines now appeared dark and dangerous. Anything could lurk in their shadows. A carpet of fallen pine needles was particularly susceptible to fire, and the ground was covered in dry grass and fallen leaves. Everything combustible. Fortunately, if worse came to worst, she could leap into the pool and be surrounded by water. Yet flames could turn the spring into a boiling cauldron.
She desperately needed to get back to the house and into her bathroom for her inhaler. She’d be safe. She’d have a chance to recover, to do her deep-breathing exercises and yoga positions with no one the wiser. But she felt frozen, unable to move in any direction. She gasped harder as she watched for the telltale sign of yellow-orange flames to flare up among the trees to signal an out-of-control fire.
If she stayed here, she could give an early warning of fire. If she stayed here, she wouldn’t be seen in distress. If she stayed here, she might overcome her anxiety by sheer force of will.
But she couldn’t stay here. She had to move and help herself. There was no one else to lend assistance, even if she’d wanted it.
Still gasping for breath, she pulled one foot out of the water and swiveled toward the house. A tall, dark shape stepped into the gazebo. Shocked, she slid backward and hit the water, sending waves cascading over the tile floor. Now her panic came from water, not fire, as it closed over her head. She came gasping to the surface, drenched from head to toe, as she found solid footing on the bottom of the pool.
“Misty!” Trey dropped the sack he carried on a table and knelt beside her. “Are you having an asthma attack?”
Horrified and embarrassed, she shook her head, water dribbling down her cheeks, unable to speak. She felt her knit shirt cling like a second skin, revealing everything. She tried to pull it away from her bra, realized the water offered better cover, and ducked down, still wheezing.
“Let me get you out of here and to the house.”
She backed away. The water now covered her shoulders. She only needed a little longer to regain control. Trey was bringing back all her earlier emotions. He loomed so big and strong, so powerful and confident, so ridiculously handsome, while she was drenched, with her hair and makeup ruined, that she felt her heart beat even faster. She was no longer sure if she was reacting to the past or to the present. He made her want to be brave, strong, beautiful, not tingling all over with emotions best kept suppressed so that she could breathe.
“It’s okay.” He sank down to sit on his boot heels by the edge of the pool. “I’m an EMT. All our volunteer firefighters are trained as emergency medical technicians or paramedics.”
She wanted to scream that she wasn’t a medical emergency. She just needed a moment to catch her breath. But she couldn’t get the words out. She held up a hand, shaking her dripping head.
“I can call an ambulance. My cell is in my truck since I’m not on duty, but I can run up to the house and use Ruby’s phone.” He was on one knee now, thigh muscles tensed as if he was ready to jump into action in an instant.