Hearts Ablaze (Courageous Hearts Series Book 2)

  Hearts Ablaze

  Courageous Hearts Series, Book 2

  Jenni Lovewell

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  Copyright © 2020 by Jenni Lovewell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Published by Nebula Publishing

  Contents

  Find Jenni Lovewell

  Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About the Author

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  Description

  Elena Brookes lived the perfect, worry-free life until the tragic night when her husband was killed in a housefire that she and her son barely escaped. After losing nearly everything and starting a life without the man she thought she’d have forever, Elena was lost.

  On the same night, the firefighter who rescued Elena and her son was hospitalized for burns that seared half of his body. Ethan Jones saved two in the fire, but he couldn’t save the third—even after giving his body to the flames. Suffering his first career loss, Ethan knew he’d never recover fully.

  When Elena and Ethan finally reconvened years later, the fire that tore them apart was the common ground that finally brought them back together. Despite a history that should have melded them together for life, can Ethan and Elena pick up the pieces of their broken souls and rekindle the relationship that they long ago lost, or will healing come at too much of a cost?

  Chapter One

  The small photograph of Bruce rested on the worn bedside table, tucked neatly beneath the corner of my lamp. As I rested on my bed, waiting for the alarm to sound, I examined it. A little less pain pierced my chest than the day before. The day before held a little less grief than the one before that. One day, if I was lucky, the photo would heed only good memories of a past life.

  With a sigh, I grabbed my phone and flipped off the alarm two minutes early. I stood and stretched, focusing my eyes on a form standing silently in my doorway. I grabbed my chest and huffed out a breath. “Derrick,” I sighed, relieved to see my son.

  “There’s a man in the front yard,” Derrick said, clutching his favorite stuffed racecar in his hands. The toy was never out of arm’s reach from him.

  I tightened my expression. “A man?” I asked. He nodded hugely and I sprung to my feet. My long sleeve T-shirt hung over my shorts and fell midway down my thigh. “Come here.” I reached toward him, and he padded forward. “Why don’t you watch some cartoons in mommy’s bed while I go talk to the man outside.”

  “SpongeBob?” he asked credulously. His cartoon time was never in the mornings, but I compromised to keep him in place.

  I nodded and started the television for him, leaving three tiny kisses atop his dark, untamable curls. I rushed from the room and closed the door before running to the living room window and peeking through the curtains. It was startling to see a man standing beside the woodpile, exactly as Derrick had claimed. The wood had fallen into a huge heap at the base of my small willow tree, creating a chaotic yard disaster. But the man wasn’t loading the wood into a vehicle. He was restacking the wood, and it looked like he had been at it for quite a while. His face was turned away but sweat glistened on the back of his arms.

  I released the curtain and picked my front tooth with my thumbnail. What was the proper way to thank the stranger for cleaning up wood from my yard? And was he the same man who had been sneaking into my yard and chopping my wood for a year? Was he the same one who cleaned out the gutters last spring when they clogged and flooded my walkway? I wondered if the man had been responsible for two years of outdoor assistance. Someone had made my life far easier after Bruce’s death, and I wondered if I’d finally found the culprit.

  I snagged a water bottle from the pantry and rushed to the door where I slid on a pair of flipflops. I opened the door as silently as possible and snuck down my sidewalk and toward the willow tree. I paused once I neared him, taking in the lean arms that picked up the wood effortlessly and tossed it onto the pile with precision. “Hey,” I said, clutching the water bottle between my hands.

  He turned, and I gaped at the man who stood before me. Ethan Jones.

  “Lena, how are you?” he asked, brushing his hands on his dark jeans.

  Sweat glistened across his forehead and upper arms. “I’m good,” I replied with a genuine smile. It was the answer I always gave to people. The truth was irrelevant. “I haven’t seen or heard from you since…” I let my words trail off, glancing at his left side.

  His legs and torso were entirely covered in fabric, and he moved normally, but I knew there was still some scarring residing there. From what I could see, though, he was just as handsome as ever with his dark head of hair and heavily exercised body. He didn’t comment on that topic as he looked me over, and I allowed it to drop. “What are you doing out here so early?”

  Ethan smiled and gestured toward the mess of wood behind him. “I noticed the wind knocked over your pile. I just wanted to be neighborly and help.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You live across town.”

  His grin turned sheepish as he shrugged. “I thought it was the least I owed you.”

  “For what?” I asked. I hadn’t done him any favors. Ethan used to be a close friend until I moved to New York for a couple of years, became established in interior design, and met the love of my life. Or more accurately, Bruce met the love of his life, and then left me to live the rest of my life alone. Since the time I got back from New York six years ago, Ethan and I hadn’t remained close.

  The only notable encounter we’d had was the fire three years ago—the one that he was sent to put out. “You know what for,” he claimed, getting back to stacking wood.

  His muscles bulged beneath his clothes as he continued picking up the wood. I tossed the water to the base of the willow and helped him lift the wood. It much bulkier than he had made them seem. I felt obligated to help, because I did know why he felt he needed to help me. “You don’t owe me anything, Ethan,” I told him. “You gave all you could to get all of us out of the fire. Bruce is the one who insisted that Derrick and I go first. You didn’t make that decision.”

  I recalled the night of the fire�
��the night I had worked so hard to repress. Ethan had arrived to put out the fire and get us out of the house safely, but it wasn’t possible. Even through all the grief and loneliness three years had brought, I never once blamed Ethan for letting Bruce die. As we worked, he remained silent. I had no doubt it was a night he wanted to forget. “I didn’t give enough.”

  I stopped and pulled Ethan to a halt in front of me. He towered over my short stature with his six feet, but I managed to pin him in place with my eyes. “Have you been the one helping out with firewood and all the yard work?” I asked. Ethan shrugged and turned to get back to work. My hand on his forearm stopped him. “I don’t want pity help. I’d rather move on from the fire and forget about it.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have a man around here to help you anymore, and that’s on me.”

  “I don’t know how to convince you that you are not responsible for his death or anything that’s happened after. You did your job.” His forearm muscles flexed beneath my grasp.

  “Not well enough.”

  I didn’t have it in me to continue arguing over Bruce’s death. It was a sick joke from above, but therapy told me than nobody was at fault. I moved my hand to his left side, and he stiffened. “You gave more of yourself to save us than what you should have. You saved my son.”

  He pulled away gently and got back to stacking. He used to be much less serious. I couldn’t imagine what he had gone through to heal his burns and his mental health, but whatever it was had changed him. “If you really want to help, how about a job?” I asked. I knew that outside of firefighting, he owned a series of rental homes and apartments in our small town. I just finished my last a job and expanding my client list was never a bad idea.

  He paused and turned. “Designing stuff?” he asked. “I don’t think I need a designer.”

  “Interior design,” I elaborated. “It’s a pretty big business for high end rental properties. If you want to help me, let me help you, too. I feel guilty that you’re out here making my yard presentable when I did nothing for you. If I can’t stop you, at least let me improve your rentals.”

  “It’s not in the property budget.” He finally took a deep drink of the water.

  “Cheap renovations can increase the value and make you more money in the long run,” I told him. “Let me prove it to you.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment as he looked down on me. “Why don’t you come to my place, and we can talk about it?” he asked. “I’ll look at the budget tonight.”

  I grinned from ear to ear. In New York, people paid top dollar for designers, and everyone wanted one. It boosted my savings and made certain that Bruce and I would never be in need of money again, but when he died and we lost everything, my savings quickly dwindled. A contract with Ethan’s property company would save my business. It would save my family.

  I felt a pang in my chest for using his generosity to benefit myself, but I was hoping it would serve each of us well in the long run.

  Chapter Two

  Derrick and I spent the day at home, enjoying our Sunday together as we always had. It was the one sacred tradition that we’d never break. Sundays were family days. I spent the earlier part of the morning searching relentlessly for a daycare so I could everything into Ethan’s plans, but destiny had a different idea.

  Three daycares—including the one I had used for years—turned me away because of maximum capacity. I hadn’t needed to send him to daycare during my last two jobs, so I lost my spot on the daycare list.

  So bright and early Monday morning, I knocked on Ethan’s door, Derrick holding my hand like a behaved child. It was a perfectly placed disguise, as he had emptied the toothpaste into the toilet less than a half hour ago. That adventure was preceded by him spilling the entire bag of dog food up the stair and into his room. He accomplished his goal of creating an irresistible path so Derrick Jr. wouldn’t get lost on his way to visit Derrick.

  As soon as the door opened, I sighed. “I’m so sorry I’m late. We had a few… accidents this morning while getting ready, and the daycare wouldn’t accept him for another week because of a stupid waiting list.”

  I could have rambled all day, but Ethan’s smile stopped me dead in my tracks. It showed an entirely different mood than the one I had witnessed the day before. “I have nowhere else to be,” he promised, stepping aside and allowing us entrance into his beautiful home. “Plus, I imagine this will be quick.”

  I didn’t know where to look first. His house was huge and structured beautifully. Though it resembled a bachelor pad more than an expertly decorated home, the bare, untouched walls and wooden floors had loads of untapped potential. I wanted to explore the remainder of the house, but I forced my feet to remain stationary as I examined the most intriguing thing in the room.

  Ethan stood tall in dark jeans similar to the ones he wore the day before. His tight black T-shirt exposed the same rigid dips in his torso as the shirt yesterday. He clutched a white coffee mug in his hands and stared intently at me and the bag slung over my shoulder. Derrick, standing at my side silently, held my coffee mug in his hands carefully. He knew not to drop it. Mom without coffee was a different breed of irrational impatience.

  Derrick followed behind Ethan as he led us to a kitchen area. A center island expanded the entire length of the kitchen. I wanted to drool at the size of his kitchen, but I refrained from embarrassing myself. Aside from a knife block, there was nothing that could be considered decorative in the entire place. It had more untapped potential than any place I’d ever decorated.

  I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat Derrick down carefully. He placed my coffee mug in front of him and pushed it toward me. He eyed the fruity and sugary assortment of cereals atop the stainless-steel fridge. “Mommy, I have a secret,” he said. I leaned down, and he grabbed my hair to nuzzle his lips near my ear. “Can I have the red cereal?”

  His whisper was audible throughout the entire kitchen. I shook my head and handed off my phone. It distracted him quickly, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. I turned and looked at Ethan, who appeared amused by our interaction. “Okay, so I brought a lot of selling points,” I promised, holding my satchel bag in the air for him to see. “Ready to start?”

  He nodded and looked down at the counter where his phone rested. It vibrated and he smiled. “Garrett should be here in a minute. He’s running late, too. Probably not as good a reason as yours,” Derrick said, clicking his phone off.

  “Garrett’s coming, too?” I asked. Garrett and Ethan were the infamous Jones brothers. The third, Lance, took off and joined the navy after finding a knack for computers, but Garrett and Ethan stayed local after college and started a family business. They were co-owners of Jones’s Luxury Estates—the rentals and the apartment complexes in town. Talking to each of the owners, brothers who I’d known for years, had my excitement growing.

  “If we’re going to hire someone, we need dual approval.” My phone clattered to the table and I whipped around. Derrick winced, glanced at me, gave his award-winning smile, and continued playing his game. Ethan snickered. “He’s trouble, huh?”

  I groaned. “This morning, he poured all of Derrick Jr.’s food in a straight line through the house to lead him to his room.”

  “Derrick Jr.?” his laugh rumbled through me. The smile was electric. It came as no surprise that Ethan hadn’t grown any less attractive over the years. The smile proved it

  “I told Derrick he could name the dog, and he wanted that name. He wouldn’t hear of it when I gave other suggestions. It had to be Derrick. He was three, so reasoning was out of the picture.” I rolled my eyes as the front door slammed shut and rushed footsteps echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen.

  Garrett entered the room, bagged eyes and bloodshot pupils. When he saw me, his expression changed in a millisecond. “If it isn’t Miss. New York City, Elena Brookes. I’m humbled to be in your presence as always,” he said with a mock bow.

  While I felt enti
rely different around Ethan, more hesitant and unsure of how to approach a relationship with him, Garrett was a different story. “If it isn’t mister rich and handsome, Garrett Jones,” I mocked.

  Garrett strode toward us and elbowed his brother in the side. “You didn’t tell me we were interviewing Elena for the gig. She’s hired,” he said with a wink. Garrett looked down at Derrick, and Derrick looked up, his little eyes taking in the huge man who hovered above him. “What’s your name, little dude?” Garrett asked.

  “I’m not little,” my brazen son argued, giving his best scowl. “I have a secret.”

  Garrett reached down, and Derrick said in an attempted whisper “can you reach the red cereal on the fridge?” he asked, side-eyeing me as if he wanted to ensure I hadn’t heard.

  Garrett swooped Derrick from the chair and toward the cereal. I winced. “You’re watching him today,” I told Garrett, plopping onto a barstool. The amount of sugar in that cereal would send Derrick into a sugar high that would last for hours. Ethan sat in the seat beside me. “Ready for me to woo you?” I asked

  “My vote’s yes,” Garrett said from across the kitchen, lowering the cereal into the hands of my child monster. “Convince Ethan, then plan on coming to our family cookout this weekend. Everyone misses you.”

  “I can do that,” I told him. I knew of the annual Jones family cookout, and if it meant getting a contract with the company, I’d happily go. Ethan sighed and scowled at his brother’s indifference. I opened my satchel and pulled out a dozen separate folders, all demonstrating proof of my good work and the value increases on all the homes I had renovated. As I went through each of my projects, Ethan leaned closer to me and the files. I knew his intrigue was growing with each example of meticulous work.