Cover, p.1
Unfortunate Homecoming, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Sherri Wilson Johnson, Jeopardized Reunions Series
ISBN: 9798761429826
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All scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, NIV.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Unfortunate Homecoming is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination.
Chapter one
Finally. No more looking at that eyesore. If only Shaun Bartley could undo his own mistakes as easily as he ripped out this awful flooring.
Shaun tossed the last stack of ceramic tiles into the roll-off dumpster, clapped the dust from his hands then headed back into the 1902 Queen Anne he’d bought at auction—the house that might officially cripple him or be the death of him. His shoulders and neck might not recover from this reno. Had he known Great-Great Grandpa John Paul’s home on the Magnolia River had fallen into such disrepair, he might have resisted the urge to bid on it. But he’d heard so many stories about the house as a kid, he could not resist. And while every task checked off the to do list added two or three more, the promise of what this home would be when he was done converting it to a B&B kept him going.
“No going back now.”
Dragging his left forearm across his forehead, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Shaun grabbed the broom from beside the refrigerator and swept the kitchen floor. Why someone had covered the heart pine floors with green and white diamond shaped ceramic, he’d never know. Regardless, with a little sanding and fresh stain, they would sparkle like new.
If only he could spruce himself up that easily.
Back on the porch, Shaun dumped the scraps from the dust pan into the dumpster, crickets and frogs singing in the distance and bugs zapping on the zapper in the shell-covered roundabout. He needed to finish the bat houses and get them put up in some of the nearby trees or this summer’s mosquito population would run the guests inside to the air conditioning instead of enjoying everything this thirty-two acre property had to offer.
Shaun leaned against the railing under the yellow glow of the porch light and drew in the coolness of this May evening—fleeting, at best. Summer always came early to the Mobile Bay area, so even being on the river wouldn’t offer much reprieve from the heat in another month. Still, being here in Magnolia Springs was better than being back at the Okefenokee.
Shaun grimaced and shook the memories out of his mind, as he rubbed his left forearm. The doctors had said the residual pain from the canebrake rattlesnake bite wouldn’t last more than six months. They had been wrong. Just as they’d been wrong about the muscle weakness and neurological issues that cost him his job. Would he ever heal all the way?
Some—okay, probably only his ex-wife—felt he deserved it after running away from their failing marriage. Running away to a swamp filled with gators and poisonous snakes instead of staying and doing the repairs on their relationship.
But no one deserved this.
Right?
Was God that vengeful? Would he permanently punish someone for pursuing a dream?
Besides, he hadn’t run away five years ago. Sierra had refused to go with him. She chose to stay in Mobile and fall into the arms of a coworker. That’s what drove him away.
Shaun shoved off the railing with a sigh then jumped as a bang assaulted his ears. “What in the—” He jerked around and headed down the steps to the walkway, crushed shells crunching underneath his boots. Again, another eruption in the distance penetrated the tranquility of his evening.
He glared into the night, rubbing the back of his neck and scowling. Was that gunfire? Was someone hunting nearby?
Shaun shoved his hands onto his hips and grimaced. If someone was hunting then they were doing it on his property because the noise came from the west and nothing was in that direction but his acreage, which bordered the Magnolia River.
“Trespassers.” He sighed again. Should he call the sheriff? Or let it go? He’d only bought the property four months ago and only been renovating it the last few weeks. It sat vacant for years. Maybe whoever it was didn’t know the property had been sold.
All the more reason to get the no trespassing signs posted as soon as possible.
What would someone be hunting at nine o’clock at night? Shaun chuckled. Deer. Bobcat. Foxes. Coyote. Gators. Any number of wildlife creature could be and probably was roaming his ancestor’s land. Maybe whoever was hunting was doing him a favor. Shaun shrugged and headed back to the house.
But he halted at the front door with his hands on the cool brass doorknob. Swiveling to face the yard, he scowled again. How would trespassers have gotten on the property except on foot? The only way in was his half mile long drive. He’d have heard a vehicle coming in. Wouldn’t he have?
As if mocking him, a rumble in the distance proved him wrong. A vehicle sans muffler fled his property.
“Oh no you don’t!” Shaun jammed his hand into his left front jeans pocket for his keys then growled when his fingers graced only the pocket’s cotton interior. He’d left them on the counter in the kitchen.
Bounding to the door, he swung it open and hustled to the back of the house. If he hurried, he could get these sorry guys who trespassed and let them know they weren’t welcome back on his private property.
He grabbed his keys and phone then bolted through the entryway. Slamming the door behind him, his feet barely hit the steps, and when he got to his truck, he was inside and halfway down the drive in under a minute. At least it felt that way. He hadn’t moved that fast not once since his injury. He smirked. Maybe adrenaline was the answer to his troubles. He’d been too quiet, too subdued, too defeated the last half year.
“Woo hoo! I am coming for you!”
Crushed shells pinged the back of his truck as his tires chewed the path and Spanish moss dripping from the oaks and pines whacked his windshield. He felt alive. Alive for the first time in ages.
When Shaun came around the bend near the end of the drive, the brake lights of the getaway vehicle glowed red in the night, dust surrounding it. He flashed his brights at the trespassers, not stopping to think about the consequences if these people had guns with them—which they probably did if they were hunting. Instead of stopping, they peeled out of Shaun’s drive onto the dirt road which led to Highway 98 and to town.
Should he follow them? Or should he just call it in? If he reported it, what would he say? A dark car fled from his property—and, no, he didn’t get the tag number?
Shaun slammed on the brakes and pounded his fists against the steering wheel. “You should’ve gone after them and gotten their tag.”
Regrets. Always regrets.
Well, he’d be prepared for them if they came back. No trespassing signs were going up tomorrow along with wildlife cams to capture any suspicious activity. If they came back, they would be the ones regretting it.
Putting the truck in reverse, Shaun turned around in the grass and headed back toward the house. His adrenaline had subsided, and now his hands trembled and stomach threatened to lurch. He wasn’t surprised by the vulnerability that raced through him, but he didn’t like it.
About halfway back to the house in the section where the foliage was thin and the canopy hung over the road, Shaun’s gaze landed on a patch of grass laid flat against the ground. He slowed the truck and rolled down his window.
An overgrown path he’d never noticed seemed freshly traveled. The trespassers must’ve emerged from the spot. Grabbing his flashlight out of the glove box, Shaun climbed out of the truck and strode to the path entrance. His beam illuminated the woods, revealing what looked like a man-made path which must go all the way to the Eslava branch of the river on his property’s western boundary.
Shaun scratched his chin and furrowed his brow. “Clearly, I haven’t explored this property enough.” One more thing needing added to his list. “Who knows how many people have used this land for hunting and fishing.”
When the wind shifted, the faint hint of smoke wafted across his nose, and all his senses went into high alert.
Needles prickled the back of his neck.
His eyes stung with fright.
Acid rose in his throat.
Smoke could only mean one thing.
Fire!
Had the trespasser set his property ablaze? Why would someone do that?
A fire, with the volunteer fire department ten minutes away and no firefighters on active duty, meant one thing and one thing only. His property could be up in flames and burned to the tree roots before help could arrive.
Shaun scrambled to the truck, grabbed his phone and dialed 911 as he dropped into the driver’s seat. The firefighters probably couldn’t get here in time to save the forest, but if they could save his home, they would save a lot more than just material possessions. This home was all he had right now.
His present and his future.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
The female dispatcher on the other end sounded way too calm.
“Hey, yeah, this is Shaun Bartley. 222 River Route. I caught trespassers leaving my property a few minutes ago and now I smell smoke.”
“Okay, I’m dispatching the fire department now. Can you get to safety?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Mr. Bartley, you need to leave the property in case it’s on fire. With the current conditions right now—you know, the humidity level and fuel density, it will only take five to ten seconds to destroy an acre. The fire department doesn’t need a search and rescue on top of putting out a wildfire.”
“I’m not leaving the property.”
“Mr. Bartley—”
“I said I’m not leaving my property!” Shaun locked his jaw and dared the operator to challenge him again.
Smoke didn’t always mean fire, right? It might not even be smoke that burned his nostrils. Maybe it was exhaust from the trespasser’s car. It had backfired, after all.
Or if it was smoke, maybe the trespasser had been smoking dope. It didn’t mean what he feared it meant.
Shaun tossed his phone on the passenger’s seat and jumped out of the truck. Clouds parted, allowing the moon to shed light on this eerie night. As he paced, he rubbed the cotton interior of his pockets between his fingers and tried not to fear the worst. It couldn’t mean what he feared.
Chapter two
Lieutenant Sierra Beaumonte didn’t have to go on the call. In fact, she probably shouldn’t at seventeen weeks pregnant with twins. She could have stayed at the station and finished grilling the burgers for their dinner. But five of the Magnolia Springs firefighters were on a multi-vehicle call in Gulf Shores helping other units, so Unit One needed her.
Since becoming pregnant, she’d mostly gone on rescue calls instead of fire calls with the volunteer fire department on her off-duty days. But with an arsonist on the loose, as a Deputy Fire Marshal with the state’s fire marshal’s office, she still spent plenty of time at after-fire scenes where hazardous irritants mingled with fresh air and posed a potential danger to her and the babies. Tonight wouldn’t pose any greater a risk for her as long as she wore a respirator and stayed clear of the heat and didn’t inhale any smoke.
“You ready, C?” Cameron held his hand out for her to climb into Brush 3456, the station’s F-350 with 250 gallons of water. They would lead pumper 3455 with 750 gallons of water and tanker 3453. Hopefully, their combined 4,000 gallons of water were enough to put out a fire if the caller’s suspicions were validated.
“Ready. Question is: Are you?” Sierra climbed into the truck, and slammed her door shut shrugging off the unintentional inferiority Cameron’s comment had caused. He was a good guy. Sometimes, his chauvinism popped unchecked to the surface.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Cameron climbed into the driver’s side and closed his door.
She smiled as she strapped her seatbelt around her belly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Good to know we’re both feeling confident. If this beast turns out like the failed controlled burn a few months ago, we could be in for a long night.”
“Let’s hope not.”
As Cameron pulled out of the station and the sirens engaged, he tipped his chin upward while shoving his helmet onto his dark curly head. “I wasn’t suggesting you couldn’t do the job. You know that, right? Just looking out for you and your babies.”
“I know. Thanks. I’m looking out for us too.” Sierra directed her gaze out the window into the dark night. She’d be lying if she said fear hadn’t wrapped its talons around her stomach, that goosebumps weren’t peppered up her arms underneath her turnout jacket. Until discovering she was pregnant, she’d been riding the waves of fighting fires. But now? Change was on the wind.
They bypassed the tanker and the pumper, red and yellow lights lighting up Highway 98. Sierra kept her gaze trained on the road ahead while adjusting her gear—anything to keep her nerves from unraveling. Why was tonight’s call any different from the others? Maybe Aunt Audrey had been right when she’d said her time for fighting fires needed to come to an end. The babies were more important than her need for adventure and desire for success and a sense of accomplishment.
Aunt Audrey had been with Sierra through the death of her parents and when her ex-husband left her for what he’d thought would be a promising career, and for the past three months since Bryce’s death. He’d drowned pointlessly during the three a.m. search and rescue after someone called in a false tip about a gunshot victim on a capsized boat off Gulf Shores beach.
If he hadn’t been called out that night, and if he hadn’t disobeyed orders when his captain said to call off the search, he’d still be here—and she wouldn’t be about to raise twins without her second husband.
Sierra blinked away the tears that stung her eyes and huffed. She might very well still be alone even if Bryce hadn’t died that night. If they hadn’t been able to get back together after being split apart for a year and work through his infidelity, she’d be divorced for a second time or stuck in a miserable marriage. Had they not had a senseless night of passion seventeen weeks ago, she’d at least not be pregnant.
Well, no more of that for her. Two husbands had cured her from ever depending on a man again. At least she had Aunt Audrey.
“C? You with me?”
Shaking the dreaded memories from her mind, Sierra glanced at Cameron with a nod. “Yeah, yeah.”
“If you’re not in the game...”
“I am, Cameron. Chill.”
“Okay, okay. Just be willing to sit this one out if you’re not focused.”
Palms stinging from the pits her fingernails had dug into them, she groaned. “Would you be asking Chip or John or Moose that question if one of them were here with you instead of me?”
“If they were staring out the window, wiping tears from their eyes and not answering my questions? Yes.”
“Valid. Sorry.” Sierra straightened in her seat and plopped her helmet onto her head as Cameron slowed the truck and turned onto River Route.
The property owner’s drive should be less than twenty seconds up the street. When the reflective 222 decals danced in the headlights, Cameron whipped the 350 left into the shell-and-sand drive then slammed his brakes on to avoid a collision with the property owner’s truck. Before he could roll his window down and ask the location of the suspected fire, the owner propelled his truck down the drive, leaving them in his dust.
Sierra held both arms out in front of her and pointed toward the windshield. “What is that guy doing? Didn’t the dispatcher tell him to let us handle this? If the property is on fire, he’s going to get himself killed driving up there ahead of us.”
“Dispatch probably did tell him, but they can’t control what people do when they’re freaked out.”
They followed, Spanish moss and low-lying branches whacking against the truck. The tanker behind them was bound to pull most of that off the trees. Another fourth of a mile up the drive, the owner skidded his truck to a halt.
Cameron slammed the 350 into Park and unlatched his seatbelt. “I’ll be back.”
While he conferred with the property owner and the tanker as the pumper pulled to a stop behind them, Sierra adjusted the insert inside her right boot. Without inserts being properly placed, she couldn’t stand long without her back giving out on her. Pregnancy and firefighting mixed about as well as oil and water.
Cameron popped his door open and pulled the lever on the side of the seat. “Get in.”
Sierra glanced up at Cameron then at their passenger as she adjusted her left insert.
The property owner slid into the backseat then Cameron hopped in and slammed the door. “Radio the others and tell them we’re going down the path where he saw the trespassers escape and where he smelled smoke. We’ll let them know if we need them.”
Sierra threw her hands in the air as Cameron took an unkempt path in the woods like it was a pristine paved stretch of highway. Leaning over to block their guest from hearing her, she expressed her complaint for Cameron’s ears only. “You can’t let homeowners ride into the fire. What are you thinking?”
“We don’t know there is a fire. Radio them.”
She sighed then brought the radio to her mouth. “Engine 3456 taking a path into the woods to check for fire. 3455 and 3453, wait for instructions.”
