Brandon finally made it down the last stretch of road and onto the homestead. It had taken him far longer to get back from Three Rivers Ranch than it had taken him to get there. Paul and Brielle’s baby boy was absolutely adorable. They’d named him about the cutest thing Brandon could ever think of—Spur.
He still smiled to himself through the last of the storm, his headlights illuminating the front porch of Lenny’s house. He expected to see lights on there, but the house sat in darkness except for the faint, orange flickering light of the fire through a single side window. That didn’t seem quite right, though he supposed the storm could’ve affected her electricity.
He brought the truck to a stop outside her house, trying to decide what to do. His house would be cold and dark, and while hers was one of those, at least she already had a fire going. Paul and Brielle had fed him dinner, and Brandon really just wanted to curl up with a thick blanket and an audiobook and call it a day.
He looked down the lane again, but his headlights didn’t reach all the way to his cabin. He didn’t see Lenny’s dogs under the porch, and Dumpling would be fine for a few more minutes.
He pulled in beside her truck, the rain barely a drizzle now. He hoped the catchment system had done its job. He couldn’t wait to go see how much water they’d gotten off her roof.
He wasn’t one to check the weather until he stepped outside and saw that it was storming. When Lenore had told him a couple of days ago that there would be rain this week, he hadn’t had time to do the other half of her roof.
Still, you’ve got six hundred square feet there, he thought, peering up through the windshield. Only the rain gutter on the right side had been covered, cleaned, and attached to a hose that fed into a container to collect the water.
“Dear Lord,” he prayed. “Please let that rain catchment system work.” The storm was over—what was done was done. Brandon certainly didn’t expect that God could go back in time and change it, but the prayer made him feel better.
When he didn’t notice any more raindrops hitting his windshield, he opened the door and dashed up the front steps to Lenny’s porch.
He knocked and called, “It’s just me, Lenny,” then eased the door open and stepped inside. He wouldn’t catch Lenny getting out of the shower, as she didn’t have water in the house. He supposed he sometimes changed his shirt out in the living room, but he couldn’t imagine that Lenny would ever do that.
Admiral barked from the middle of the living room, but Lenny didn’t answer him, and Brandon quickly closed the door behind him. “Len?” he called, frowning as he smelled something burnt in the air.
His heart throbbed strangely in his chest, because something definitely wasn’t right here. He went into the kitchen and found a burnt quesadilla sitting on the stove. Papers—his sketches and figures—sat scattered all over the table, and Lenny’s phone waited there too, plugged in.
Back in the living room, Susie-Q whined, and Admiral barked again. Neither canine had come to greet him, though, and Brandon’s skin crawled and pricked at him.
The stove stood next to the window, with door ajar. No wonder he’d been able to see the flickering light, and with a quick glance down the hall and another, “Len?” that got no answer, Brandon stepped toward the stove.
Why would she leave it open?he wondered.
Then he saw her, lying on the ground in front of it. Passed out. Both dogs sat almost on top of her, and Admiral barked again.
He rushed toward her, panic rising in his throat and tasting like hot metal. “Lenore.” He dropped to his knees beside her, not sure if he should touch her or not. She seemed to be sleeping. He watched in the golden firelight as her chest rose and fell. He didn’t see any cuts or wounds, but she lay in a puddle of water. He reached out and touched her shirt. It was soaking wet.
Brandon had no idea what she’d been doing out in the rain. Perhaps the rain catchment system had failed, and she’d been trying to fix it. She clearly hadn’t eaten dinner, if the black quesadilla told him anything.
He pressed his eyes closed as another prayer flowed from his mouth. “Dear Lord, thank You that she didn’t fall forward into this fire.”
If she had…. Brandon didn’t even want to think about it. As it was, he needed to get her out of these wet clothes and get her warm and dry as her lips had started to take on a semi-bluish hue.
He grabbed another dry log from the stack she had clearly brought in and added it to the flames, stoking them up nice and hot. He left the door to the stove open, said, “You guys keep her warm,” and ran down the hall to her bedroom. He flipped the light, but nothing happened.
He scrambled to get his phone out and turned on the flashlight. He found Lenore’s bedroom to be one of controlled chaos. She didn’t make her bed, but it was very clear she slept on the right side. At least three cups and a plate sat on the nightstand, and a recliner waited in the corner, its purpose apparently to hold her discarded clothes.
Brandon went in that direction because he needed those dry clothes. He grabbed a soft pair of pants he’d never seen her wear before and a T-shirt with the American flag on the front of it, then hurried back down the hall.
He jogged into the bathroom and grabbed the hanging towel there, not sure why Lenny needed it as she didn’t have a shower. It didn’t matter right now.
“Lenny?” he asked again as he re-entered the living room. Still, she didn’t wake. Brandon wondered how long she’d been passed out before he arrived, and how long he should wait before he simply loaded her in the truck and took her to the emergency room.
Taking a chance, and with another whispered, “Stop me if I shouldn’t do this, Lord,” Brandon muscled the dogs out of the way, draped the towel over his lap, and slowly pulled Lenny into it. He quickly undressed her, covering her with the towel and rubbing it up and down her arms.
“Come on, Lenny, you gotta wake up. It’s Brandon. You gotta wake up, sweetheart.”
A horrible groan started in the bottom of her throat. It didn’t get any louder, and it didn’t go on for very long. He quickly pulled the dry shirt over her body, swiping the towel out from underneath once she was covered.
He repeated the process on her lower half, wiping the towel down her legs as far as it would go and still keep her covered. He’d gotten his nieces and nephews dressed as babies, andputting pants on another person was never easy—especially one who reacted like a limp rag doll.
Brandon managed the feat, and then he scooped Lenny up in his arms and laid her on the couch. Admiral didn’t get too far from her, and Brandon gave the dog a quick pat.
