“No,” Gabriela whispered, drawing back her arm for another blow. “No, no, no!”
She hit the window again, and again, putting a couple more chips in the glass. Her heart somehow sped further, pounding hard enough that it seemed likely to burst out of her chest. She raised the rock for another swing, and her foot slid in the snow. She pitched forward.
Big, strong arms banded around her middle, catching her before she could fall. Gabriela barely understood what was happening in her panic and desperation; she could only think of Ana, of getting to her little girl. She felt herself being lifted off the ground, felt her feet pulled free from the snow, and the next thing she knew she was sitting on her butt, staring up at Mason’s hulking form.
She caught a flash of reflected light in his eyes just before he turned to face the window.
“Ana,” she shouted, struggling to get to her feet.
Before she could fully rise, before she could even get the two syllables of her daughter’s name fully past her lips, Mason braced his hands on either side of the window frame, tipped his head back, and snapped it forward.
The sound of the window breaking echoed through the night, briefly rising above the growing roar of the flames. Gabriela was vaguely aware of falling shards of glass clinking together as they landed.
Mason tore off his shirt—Gabriela actually heard the fabric rip—and quickly wrapped it around his arm. He swept that arm around the inside of the window frame, clearing away the remaining shards.
“Throw your pillow over the glass,” he said to Ana in a booming voice as he tugged the ruined shirt off his arm and dropped it. He leaned into the open window, slipping his arms inside.
The light from Ana’s room had taken on an orange cast now, and smoke was pouring out through the broken window. Gabby held her breath, oblivious to the burning in her lungs and throat, to the numbing cold that had seized her feet and legs, and lifted her hands to her still-damp hair, sweeping it back before squeezing the strands between her fingers. She couldn’t see around Mason. She couldn’t see her daughter.
But she could hear Ana’s coughs, could hear her baby suffering.
Little arms wrapped around Mason’s neck. He withdrew from the window and spun to face Gabriela, holding Ana to his chest with one arm.
“Oh, God, thank you,” Gabriela breathed, knees suddenly weak.
Mason stepped over to her, and Gabriella threw her arms around Ana, who twisted to return her mother’s embrace with one arm. Ana was talking quickly, frantically, and Gabriela realized she was doing the same, but she couldn’t make out anything either of them were saying—and she didn’t care. Her little girl was safe.
“Need to move,” Mason said. He looped his free arm around Gabriela’s waist and guided her away from the house.
She clutched at her daughter and Mason, but only made it a few steps in the deep snow before stumbling. He easily accepted her weight, dropping his arm down around her backside to lift her, and carried her forward. He was strong, solid, warm. Her savior, her guardian angel. She held him and her child tight, unwilling to let go even after Mason lowered her and she felt the cold, hard pavement of the road under her nearly numb feet.
Mason sank into a crouch, setting Ana down gently. He released his hold on Gabriela at the same time. She swayed slightly before her legs decided to fully support her weight.
“My baby, oh my baby girl,” Gabriela sobbed as she clutched her daughter close, smoothing her hands down the girl’s hair, unable to stop trembling. “I love you, nena. I love you so much.”
“Is everyone all right?” a someone asked, their familiar voice winded and worried.
Gabriela turned her head to see Austin Stevens, one of their older neighbors down the street, jogging toward them. She pulled back slightly and looked down at Ana. “Ana, are you okay?”
“My hand hurts,” Ana said.
“Let me see, baby.”
Ana lifted her hand with her palm up. There were patches of red and what appeared to be the beginning of a few blisters. “The doorknob was hot.”
Mason grunted and twisted aside. He extended his arm and scooped up a handful of snow before turning back to Ana. He placed the snow on her palm and, with his other hand, curled her fingers over it carefully. “Hold this.”
Ana nodded, keeping her fingers closed around the snow.
“I called nine-one-one. Hopefully the fire department will be here soon,” Austin said with a deep frown as he turned his face toward the fire.
Gabriela looked at the burning house. The flames had spread into Ana’s room, lighting it up and flickering through the broken window. Fire consumed everything—Ana’s unicorn stuffed animals, her posters, her bed, her sketchbook, and her clothes—just as it had destroyed so much else. The nativity scene, the Christmas tree, the gifts and framed pictures. Even the photo albums stored in the living room bookcase containing all the photos of Ana from her birth.
Everything Gabriela and her daughter owned was turning to ash.
A sob caught in Gabby’s throat. The fire danced above the roof, and something crashed inside the house. She turned back to her daughter, pulling her close. She was unable to hold in her cries as she listened to the fire roaring behind her and faint sounds of sirens in the distance.
All that mattered right now was that Ana was alive.
Nothing was more important to Gabby than her daughter.
Six
Broxen’s jaw muscles ticked as he watched the firefighters across the road. They were working through the ruins of Gabriela’s home with flashlights and spotlights, seeking out any lingering flames and embers, knocking down crumbling beams and opening blackened, half-collapsed walls. From Broxen’s vantage in his driveway, there were no visible fires, but thick smoke still poured from the rubble to drift away in the wintry night sky—especially from the blackened husk of her car, which had been near enough to the house to catch fire, as well.
The angry orange glow that had been cast on the surrounding snow earlier had been replaced by the red and white flashing lights of the firetrucks parked along the road. Somehow, those lights were both less intense and more severe than the light that had radiated from the hungry flames.
Releasing a short, harsh breath through his nostrils, Broxen turned his head to look at Gabriela and Ana.
The females were huddled together on the lowered tailgate of his pickup truck with their legs dangling, wrapped in the biggest, warmest blankets he owned. They were mere feet away from him, but that distance felt so immense now. Gabriela’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
What could he say to them? What could he do to make any of this better?
He wanted to put his arms around them, wanted to hold them, to share his warmth. To tell them everything would be all right. But would it? Could he really promise that?
Icy cold and searing heat coiled in his chest, constricting his heart and lungs. His breath caught in his throat, and something hot, sour, and heavy sank in his gut. He’d almost lost Gabriela and Ana tonight. He’d almost lost them before ever truly claiming them as his own.
He’d almost failed again to protect the ones he’d sworn to safeguard. He’d endured that once, but he couldn’t bear it again. Especially not when it came to these two females.
If nothing else, tonight’s events were a sign that there was no time to waste. That nothing was guaranteed, that every moment was precious. It didn’t matter if he was uncertain of how to woo a human female. He couldn’t learn, couldn’t figure out what Gabriela needed, if he always kept himself at a distance.