He longed to be there with her when she got the news. He wanted to be there for her to lean on—to do what she needed of him.

But he also knew with all of his years of experience that he would probably be of the most help right there on that truck. Because no matter what he’d been through, he wouldn’t let the flashbacks stop him from doing what came natural to him. He would help Sam and Nikki any way possible.

As the fire truck rumbled its way along the winding two-lane road, his imagination conjured up an image of the big old farmhouse going up in flames. There couldn’t be any mistakes. He had to do everything just right. Where a fire was concerned, there weren’t do-overs.

The two fire trucks and one tanker truck rolled down the gravel driveway. Ethan craned his neck to see out the window. He focused on the big white farmhouse. He scanned the roofline. No signs of fire. Was it possible this was a false alarm? He certainly hoped so.

His gaze moved to the second floor and then lowered to the main floor. There were no flames and not even a plume of smoke. He breathed a sigh of relief to see the farmhouse was just as it had been.

The trucks rolled past the house into the back yard. He jumped out. There in the field sat the new barn—the one Sam and some men had been building. The smoke rose from it.

Nikki ran over. “Ethan, help!”

He knelt down. “Nikki, what’s wrong?”

Tears tracked down her pale cheeks. “It’s Dash. He kept running away. I…I put him in the new barn with his momma while I went to Spring Fling. They…they are trapped. Please save them!”

Ethan turned toward the new barn, which wasn’t quite finished. As he studied it, he noticed the smoke was coming out the back. It didn’t look like the whole barn was engulfed—at least not yet. Still, it didn’t look good. Not good at all.

As he took in the scene, flashbacks of the past filled his mind. His pulse quickened. His breaths came quick. Fiery flashbacks filled his mind. His stomach churned. Could he do it again?

The entire fire crew had been called out.

That never happened unless…unless it was bad.

Even with the last remnants of the afternoon sun, a chill of apprehension inched its way up Hannah’s spine. Where were they all going?

“Where’s the fire?” she called out as one last man rushed past her.

He didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure he’d heard her as he broke into a run.

The last fire on the island had been last summer. It had been a grease fire at The Lighthouse Café. Thankfully it had been minor with no injuries.

Please let this be minor.

She ran back inside the community center where cleanup efforts had commenced. Her gaze swung over the mass of worried expressions. At last, she located her mother. Hannah rushed up to her. “What’s going on?”