for him. And I have a few other bits of business to attend to.”
Was Rosaleen one of those bits of business? Carrie didn’t dare ask. She needed to talk to someone about her suspicions, but clearly Griff didn’t want her getting close enough to confide in him. The thought was as painful as walking on broken glass. But what had she expected, really?
She scoured the frying pan and set it aside. Granny Bell often said that God’s good could be found in everything that happened. That he had a purpose for everything under the sun but that sometimes you had to really look for it. Well, she’d tried to see the purpose in every bad thing that had happened in her life, but her eyes had grown weary with looking.
She forced a smile. “The boys and I will miss having you around. You’ve made quite an impression on Caleb. He—”
“Carrie Daly.” Caleb burst through the door, his eyes wide. “Joe’s done gone and set the smokehouse on fire. The door’s jammed, and we can’t get him out.”
Griff tore out of the house, leaving Carrie and Caleb to follow. He sprinted to the barn, grabbed a horse blanket, and soaked it in the water trough beside the barn. Tenting it over his head. he kicked open the smokehouse door and ran inside.
“Caleb, get the water buckets. Hurry.” Carrie ran into the barn for the milking pail, filled it at the trough, and doused the flames leaping toward the smokehouse roof. The air filled with the stench of old grease and burning wood. Caleb returned with two buckets, and they took turns throwing water on the fire. A towering wall of hot, blinding smoke rushed toward her, choking her breath.
A section of the roof caved in. Sparks leapt into the darkness.
“Come on, Carrie. We’ve got to get more water!” Caleb yanked on her sleeve.
She stood motionless, speechless with horror as a wall came down. There was no sense in trying to save the building. The fire had won. She screamed Griff’s name.
Caleb began to cry. In the flickering light he looked like an old man, hunched over and defeated. “It’s my fault. We were pretendin’ to smoke cheroots. Joe didn’t mean to do it. He’s just a dumb little kid.”
Carrie grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Didn’t you learn anything from the last time? Didn’t I tell you both not to play with fire? Now Joe and Griff might be dead.”
Then she saw a dark shape moving through the thick smoke. Griff emerged, sooty and gasping for breath, holding tightly to Joe. Her knees buckled.
“He’s scared half to death,” Griff rasped. “But he’s all right.”
She collapsed onto the ground.
Joe patted her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Carrie Daly. Griff saved me.” He climbed into her lap and wound both arms around her neck. “I’m all right.”
Carrie buried her face in his sooty little shoulder and sobbed. Griff and Caleb hurried back and forth from the well and the trough, pouring more water onto the smoldering ruin until the last of the flames died.
Griff touched her shoulder. “Come inside. Everything’s all right now.”
He helped her to her feet. Leaving the blanket spread on the fence to dry, he led them into the house.
Carrie turned up the wick in the lamp and examined Joe. He was covered head to toe with a mixture of tears, ashes, and soot. His hands were raw with blisters, but otherwise he was unharmed. Carrie bathed his face, smoothed salve on his burns, and sent him and Caleb to wash up. Then she stole a glance at Griff. His hands and forearms were red and blistered, and he had a nasty scrape on his cheek. His shirt was torn. Carrie longed to tend his wounds, to repair his shirt, but he’d made it clear that her attention wasn’t wanted. She handed him the tin of salve. “Thank you for saving Joe. I don’t know what I’d have done if . . .”
He nodded, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his expression grave. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your smokehouse too. You’re going to need it once that hog is butchered.”
She sank onto a chair, suddenly so weary her legs wouldn’t support her. “I’ll speak to Sage Whiting. He’ll know someone at the mill who can rebuild it.”
With a quick nod he headed for the barn. Carrie watched him cross the yard, a dark silhouette against the still-smoldering embers, and wiped away bitter tears. Would her troubles never end? She tried