I smiled lightly. “It’s herbal.”
He crooked his mouth and wrinkled his nose, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would drink the earthy stuff. Then his green eyes flickered to the flameless candle warmer, which apparently reminded him why we were sitting there together. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.
I didn’t. Not really.
All the slow breathing I’d done earlier had helped lower my blood pressure and pulse rate, but I suddenly felt both rising once again. I’d carried the guilt over my mother’s death with me for so long. Maybe it was time I let someone in and get it off my chest. But then I wondered what he’d think of me once he knew the truth, and the fear clamped my vocal chords into silence. Bringing the cup back to my lips, I took another sip and shook my head.
Cowboy’s eyes narrowed in determination. He took my cup from me and set it aside, then he grasped my seat with both hands and scooted my chair around to face him. “Talk to me.”
Guess he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
I couldn’t look directly at him. A long pause ensued until I felt calm enough to speak the words out loud. “I was…six years old at the time,” I whispered, wringing my hands together in my lap. “My mother was cooking dinner while I finished my homework at the kitchen table. My stepfather had just called to say he was on his way home from work when the doorbell rang.” I paused.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
I swallowed hard. “My mom went to answer it. I…I should’ve stayed in the kitchen like she told me to…but I didn’t.” I was having a difficult time talking and shook my head in disgust as a fat tear dropped onto my cheek. “Had I stayed, I could have stopped the fire from happening. Things might’ve been different,” I told him, my lips trembling with remorse. “S-she might still be alive.” With that admittance, a sob tore from my throat and guilt stabbed into my chest, piercing my heart. Angry tears assaulted my cheeks, and although my hands flew to my face to fend them off, it was useless. The battle was lost.
Drawing me to him, Cowboy pressed his lips to my ear and made a shushing sound. He rubbed my back lightly, allowing me to release all the pent-up regret I’d held onto for so long. “I’m sorry, Anna. I should’ve trusted you from the beginning. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. I was a coward. He trusted me…yet I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him the whole truth.
When my cries finally died down, he asked, “Want to know why I became a fireman?”
His chin rested on top of my head, but he must’ve felt me nod.
“When I was thirteen, a single mother moved in across the street from my parents’ home. She lived in a double-wide trailer and had three kids, all under the age of six—Danny, Lynn, and Suzie Q. Well, that’s what I used to call her, anyway. The kids would come over on the weekends sometimes to play with my dog.
“One morning, I was out back working on my go-cart when I picked up a strong whiff of smoke blowing in the breeze. I’d circled the house trying to figure out where it was coming from, when I looked across the road and saw their trailer on fire.”
My temple was pressed to his throat, and I felt him swallow hard.
“I knew they were inside and yelled for my mom to call 911 while my dad and I ran over and pounded on their door. It was locked, though. We couldn’t get in. We knocked in a few windows and yelled, but no one answered. Every time we tried to enter, the smoke choked us and the heat from the fire burned our skin.”
I pulled back and looked at him, wide-eyed. “They didn’t make it out, did they?”