“’Kay.” With a four-year-old’s attention span, she quickly dropped the topic of her mother.
Jazzy tried to remember what she was like at four. Crystal was long gone by then and it was pre-Sarah. For years, it had just been Jazzy and her dad. She’d never felt deprived in any way, until other kids poked fun at her for not having a mom. That had hurt, but she’d felt no big mother-shaped hole in her life because her dad, Travis, took care of her every need.
“Thanks, Dad,” she murmured.
In the living room, it was clear Roan had not changed the decor since his wife’s death. The place had a woman’s touch. The color scheme was light-toned grays and soft pastels with plush pillows on the sofa and cozy throw blankets. There was plenty of greenery with pots of ivy, airplane plants, and ficus.
On the floor, she found boxes labeled with the contents in a lovely feminine script.Nativity Scene. Christmas Village. Plastic Ornaments. Twinkle Lights. She imagined the pretty woman from the photographs writing it, full of hope for future Christmases.
“Dang it, Claire, this should not have happened to you,” she whispered.
“Huh?” Pushing her hair from her face, Trinity peered up at Jazz from where she crouched peeling the tape off a box.
“Oh look,” Jazzy said, opening the box. “Angels!”
“Daddy says Mommy is an angel.” Trinity stroked a finger over the ornament. An angel trio holding hands.
Jazzy didn’t know what to say. In the distance she heard the wail of sirens.
Trinity’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”
“Fire trucks.” The sirens rapidly grew louder.
“Canna see?” Trinity hopped up and ran to the back door.
“I know it sounds exciting, but we have to be careful,” Jazzy explained. “There’s a small fire in your daddy’s pasture and they’ve come to put it out. We’ll stay out of the way and let them do their job.”
“Aww, man,” Trinity said in such a cute voice that Jazzy couldn’t resist chuckling.
The fire trucks screamed into the driveway. The sound was so deafening, Trinity plastered her palms over her ears, but she was grinning.
“Please canna see?”
“Okay,” Jazzy said as the sirens halted and other sounds began—doors slamming, feet running, voices commanding. “We’ll take a quick peek, but that’s all.”
“Yay!” Trinity clapped her hands.
To control the girl in case she decided she wanted to rush out to greet the firefighters, Jazzy scooped her into her arms, took her to the back door, and stepped out onto the wraparound porch.
Trinity swiveled in Jazzy’s arms to stare agog at the firefighters in their turnout gear. The southerly breeze sent white smoke rolling in, wafting around the barns, and drifting toward the house.
Jazzy couldn’t see the fire from where they were standing but she could hear sharp crackling noises as the fast-moving grass fire consumed the pasture. She spied Roan’s Stetson on the opposite side of a firetruck, but she couldn’t make out his face. The smoke was too thick.
The firefighters scurried efficiently about their business. Their presence calmed her, but she had a desperate urge to stick Trinity in her car and drive away for her safety. Jazzy might even have done it if the firetrucks hadn’t blocked her exit.
The firefighters piled back onto their trucks and lumbered through the gate Roan opened for them, heading for the back pasture. She and Trinity watched until they disappeared from sight.
Trinity coughed and covered her mouth with her little palm.
“Let’s get back in the house. It’s too smoky out here.”
“Bye-bye, firetrucks.” Sweetly, Trinity waved to the departing emergency vehicles. Then she turned to look Jazzy in the eyes. “Is Daddy gonna be okay?”
“Yes, he’ll be just fine. The firefighters are with him now. They won’t let anything bad happen. Everything is A-okay.”
But a niggling voice inside her, the one she normally kept tightly under wraps, whispered,What if it’s not?
Dadgummit, a pasture fire was the last thing he needed.