Baby Lessons

in search of flames. Her aunt’s house looked perfectly unscathed, thank goodness. “Where’s the fire?”
“In your apartment,” he said flatly.
“What?” She shook her head. A copper ringlet from the left side of her hair fell across her eyes, and she blew it out of the way. “There’s no fire.”
“I’m afraid there is,” he countered.
Seriously? She would know if her own apartment was on fire. Perched in her aunt’s barn, it wasn’t exactly spacious—barely larger than her fourth-floor walk-up in New York. But very much unlike her former big city digs, her Vermont apartment was rent-free. So she had no problem whatsoever with its close quarters. Bonus: if any part of it were aflame, she would definitely know.
“No, really. There’s not. I was in the middle of flat-ironing my hair and the electricity went out, that’s all.” She tilted her head to properly accentuate her hair’s good side.
The fireman remained unimpressed. “A heat sensor in this building activated an alarm at the fire station. I need to come in and take a look around.”
“Okay.” Madison blinked as she held the door open wide and he strode past her. “But...”
He carried a fire extinguisher in one hand and an ax rested on one of his broad shoulders. How had Madison missed the ax? Her hair mishap was beginning to seem less and less important. It was official—Vermont had finally broken her.
She shifted from one slippered foot to the other, acutely aware of just how ridiculous she must look. Probably because there was suddenly a cranky yet attractive fireman filling up the tiny space of her apartment. “Um. What’s with the ax? You’re not going to hack away at my walls, are you?”
Because technically, they weren’t really her walls at all. They were Aunt Alice’s, and for some reason, it seemed like a bad thing to have them destroyed on her watch—even if the one doing the destroying was a heroic firefighter-type figure.
Not that Firefighter Cranky Pants struck Madison as remotely heroic at the moment. Weren’t firemen supposed to be nice? Or at least somewhat pleasant? Particularly to people whose apartments were on—invisible—fire?
“I cut off all power to the building,” someone said.
Madison turned to see another burly man in weighty fireproof clothing standing in the doorway. Oh goody, there were two of them. At least this one was smiling at her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” The new arrival nodded. “I assume Lieutenant Cole informed you that an alarm sounded at the station and up at the main house a few minutes ago?”
“Sort of.” Madison shot an accusatory glare at the grumpy one—Lieutenant Cole, apparently—but he was too busy glowering at her flat iron to notice. “He mentioned an alarm, but I didn’t realize it went off at the main house.”
Aunt Alice must have headed out for an early-morning coffee before opening up the yarn store she owned on Main Street. Had she been home, she definitely would’ve let Madison know a fire alarm had sounded.
“The heat sensor for this building is wired to signal an alarm at the farmhouse rather than here.” The fireman made a circular motion with his pointer finger, indicating Madison’s living space. “The barn.”
Right, as if she needed a reminder that she’d gone from living three blocks off Madison Avenue to sleeping in a barn. Technically, it was a tiny area above the barn—more like a garage apartment than a hayloft—but still.
“You sure you didn’t see any flames? Not even a flash?” Lieutenant Cole arched a brow as he aimed his flashlight at the plug closest to her bathroom vanity. The plastic plate covering the outlet was covered in dark soot.
Madison blinked, horrified. “Oh my gosh. I...um...no.”
Her back had been facing the outlet when the lights flickered before going out entirely. Shouldn’t she have heard something, though? Had this grumpy public servant been right, and she’d failed to notice an actual fire in her home?
The indignities were multiplying by the second, but Madison no longer cared. The thought of the barn burning down around her was terrifying, to say the least.
“Is this the part where you use that?” She winced in the general direction of the ax.
Lieutenant Cole’s frown deepened as if the struggle to fight off an eye roll was causing him physical pain. What was his problem? “No need. The flame burned itself out.”
“How can you know that for sure?” She swallowed hard.
He sighed and crooked a finger at her, beckoning her forward.
She took a tentative step, butterflies swarming low in her belly. If she didn’t know better, she would have mistaken the feeling for attraction. But that was impossible, obviously. It was probably just a normal reaction to her recent near-death experience, even though she hadn’t actually been aware she was experiencing it.
Lieutenant Cole sighed again, regarding her with piercing blue eyes.
Madison’s mouth went dry as the butterflies beat their wings even harder. What was happening?
“May I?” He flicked a finger toward her wrist.
He wanted to hold hands? High-five? What was going on, and why was she suddenly mesmerized by the square set of his jaw?
Her hand drifted toward his, seemingly of its own accord. He took it, placed her palm flush against the wall and held it in place with his own manly grasp. “Feel anything?”
Goose bumps cascaded up and down her arm. She felt everything all of a sudden. Everything. Everywhere.
“Um,” was all she could manage to articulate and to her complete and utter horror, her gaze drifted toward his mouth. He had a small scar near the corner of his upper lip. Madison wondered if it might be the result of some heroic act during a fire.
Then she wondered if she might be having a stroke, because what was she doing?
She forced her gaze away from his perfect bone structure and back toward her hand, still flat against the wall with Lieutenant Cole’s strong fingers ringing her wrist like a bracelet.
“Heat,” he clarified. “Does the wall feel hot at all to you?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“That’s how I know.” He dropped her wrist and shrugged.