Aimee Thurlo - Navajo Justice

The man had moved in about a week ago, and had already doubled the machismo level on their street, as every woman on their block would have happily attested. There was something powerfully and wonderfully masculine about him. Laura had no doubt that it was partly due to the arrogant confidence with which he did virtually everything. His long-legged stride, so filled with purpose and a hint of aggression, gave something as mundane as “walking” an entirely new meaning.

She sighed and lowered her head, resting it on the steering wheel. Reality-check time. The romantic in her was taking her very good-looking neighbor and rewriting him into a fantasy hero. Burke was probably a businessman or some form of engineer, like many of the men in her new, upper-middle-class neighborhood. His masculine walk was probably due to a sore spot left after taking a corner too fast on his motorcycle down one of the graveled back roads.

She’d have to make a point to talk to Burke and find out more about him next time he came up to the cedar fence that bordered their properties. So far only her madrina, Elena, had actually spoken to him. With luck, Laura’s fantasies would come to a screeching halt once she met him and found out he was a salesman with a high-pitched voice and the tendency to try and sell life insurance policies to everyone he met.

Laura switched off the ignition, grabbed her purse and climbed out of her sporty but sensible Chevrolet sedan. Flipping through her Scooby-Doo key chain on the way up the sidewalk, she found the right key and unlocked the front door.

The second she stepped across the threshold, an invisible cloud of foul-smelling gas slammed into her like a massive wave. She staggered back, coughing and fighting to catch her breath.

She turned her head away from the house, trying to catch her breath so she could go back inside. All the oxygen inside the house had been replaced by natural gas, making her light-headed.

“Elena!” she called out frantically, but there was no response.

“Elena, where are you?” Laura yelled again, fighting the feeling of nausea from the noxious gas. She stepped back from the door, looking around for Burke, hoping she could ask him to call 911, but she couldn’t see him now. Knowing there was no time to lose, she took two deep breaths of fresh air, then rushed into the house.

For a moment, her blood turned to ice and she couldn’t move. The interior of her home was in shambles. Everything that had been on the bookshelves was now on the floor, swept into random piles. Cushions from the sofa and chairs had been slashed, then torn open and gutted. Stuffing lay scattered around the room like the aftermath of a bizarre snowstorm.

She tried to focus her thoughts quickly, feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen. Her godmother was here someplace and she had to locate her and get her outside, fast.

Laura’s lungs felt as if they’d burst any second. Knowing that she had to take a breath, she rushed to the living room windows and threw open the first one she reached. She took a deep lungful of air, then plunged back into the nightmare her home had become.

Laura quickly searched the bedrooms and the kitchen, resisting the urge to turn on the lights and risk a spark-initiated explosion. But Doña Elena wasn’t there. Halfway back to the living room Laura was forced to take a breath. She tried to make it a shallow one, but the smell was overpowering. She ran into the bathroom, slid back the small window and breathed deeply, then dove back into the poisoned atmosphere.

The hall seemed endless as she ran along it, heading directly for the next closest window. But when she tried to lift the sash, it was stuck tight. Out of air now, she was forced to take a short breath, but that proved to be a mistake.

Suddenly very dizzy, she leaned against the wall. Elena was in here somewhere and Laura had to find her, but her eyes had lost the ability to focus. Vaguely, she remembered the garage and turned to head in that direction. As if someone were playing with a dimmer switch, the room grew darker and she slipped slowly to the floor.

Laura fought to stay conscious, but oddly shaped patterns exploded before her eyes. Asphyxiation—she didn’t want to die this way. Yet even as the thought formed, it slipped away and darkness greeted her.

Laura wasn’t sure when her thoughts began again, but she awoke to the feeling of being carried. A man’s arms, strong and warm, were wrapped around her, pressing her securely against a rock-hard chest. His strength was comforting, but also deeply stirring on a primitive level.

Still groggy, she wondered if this was what happened to romance authors when they died—perhaps God had created a special heaven for them. She didn’t struggle. If she’d gone to romance writers heaven, she would enjoy every single moment of it.

As a strong light hit her eyes, she buried her face against his chest. The Light. It was harsh. She’d expected more—or maybe less. And where was that tunnel she’d heard about, and those departed loved ones stepping up to offer encouragement?

Slowly, she realized that she was able to breathe now. Did the dead breathe?

“You’re going to be okay,” a deep, sure voice said.

She turned her head to look at her rescuer, but his face was lost in an iridescent haze. A soft glimmer in his eyes seemed to pierce it somewhat, and she found herself captivated by the light brown eyes that held hers. “Am I dead?”

“No, not hardly, though you’ll probably have a killer headache later on.”

The haze that clouded her vision began to give way and, like a slowly developing photograph, his face grew clearer. She knew this man. It was her next-door neighbor, Burke, and his eyes were shining with a vibrant inner fire. She allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his gaze, and in the knowledge that she was alive and safe.

Then suddenly another thought made a bolt of panic shoot through her. “Elena!”

“She’s not at home. Relax,” he said, his voice utterly compelling and reassuring.

Burke laid her down gently on the grass of her front lawn. “I heard you calling for her and coughing, then saw you rush inside the house with your hand over your mouth. I tried to stop you but I couldn’t reach you in time.”

Relief flooded through her, erasing her fear. “I thought—” Her voice broke and she buried her face against his shoulder again.

Burke held her tightly. “What you did was very brave, but completely unnecessary. Doña Elena—Mrs. Baca—left over a half hour ago in the senior center’s van.”

It felt wonderful to be held by him. He was all hard muscle and lean strength. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Let me show you.” He leaned down and captured her mouth in a tender kiss.

He tasted of cinnamon and strong, dark coffee. Seconds stretched out as a sweet, slow fire coursed through her veins.

But it was over too soon, and he drew back.

“Now we’re more than even. In fact—I may owe you, lovely lady.”

Laura took a long ragged breath. The taste of Burke still lingered in her mouth, teasing her. What she’d found in his arms was pure fire. He remained close to her now and she breathed in his incredibly masculine scent. It was a blend of the rugged outdoors and pure danger.

She sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. She’d spent years writing about the devastating magic of a man and a woman’s first kiss—but she’d never thought this would happen to her. Now, out of all the places in the world where she might have found that sweet fire, it had happened here on her own front lawn.

Laura shook her head. She was still daffy from the gas. She was confusing life with the Wizard of Oz.

“You’re darned tootin’ you owe me,” she answered him at last. “And just to make it even, the day I collect, I’ll take you by surprise.”