Читать книгу Rescued By The Firefighter - Catherine Lanigan - Страница 14

CHAPTER FOUR

“CHRIS!”

Rand ran into the forest, the flames dying around him as the fire crew blasted water through the trees. He pushed through the piles of smoldering pine nettles and over the downed limb that had almost killed Beatrice, Eli and him.

As a firefighter the smell of wet earth always gave Rand hope. But would he find the boy in time? Did he even want to be found?

“Chris!” he yelled into the shock of burned and blackened trees, denuded of foliage and standing like spikes against the night sky. “Chris!”

Kids were strange ducks in Rand’s book. Most of them could outsmart the majority of adults. Granted, he didn’t hang with philosophers and academics, but his family and friends were no dummies. Kids, however, were open to all possibilities and concepts. That’s why a lost kid was so hard to find. They didn’t sit still. They didn’t follow patterns that “thinking” adults would take. They relied on base animal instincts. When trapped, they bolted for freedom. When cornered, they would outsmart their prey or vanish. They bucked rules, ignored safety measures and took risks.

He guessed that Chris had used plenty of animal instincts to avoid Rand’s search thus far. With the blaze petering out, Chris could circle around, exit through an unburned area and get back to camp. Of course, that scenario assumed Chris wanted to return to camp. But what if he didn’t? What if he was a runner? A kid who felt so displaced in his life that all he wanted was to skip over these tough years and wake up when he was much older. Rand had seen that kind of kid.

Sometimes they were arsonists.

Rand had fought fires from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Idaho to California. He knew exactly the kind of conditions that it took for Mother Nature to burn. But there had been no thunderstorms here in Indian Lake. No lightning bolts. And not quite enough heat to spark spontaneous combustion. No, this was a fire started by human hands. Rand would bet his reputation on it.

And if he was right, Chris had all the more reason to stay clear.

Rand had one shot at bringing out Chris. He had to take it.

“Chris! I know you can hear me. It’s safe now. Eli is safe.”

Rand kept going, toward the most burned section of forest. It was his guess that it had been near here where the fire started.

“Chris!”

“Do—do you promise?” The young voice traveled down from the sky to Rand.

Rand turned on his boot and looked up. To his right was a tall, wide pine tree that had been burned on the bottom, but halfway up the tree, the limbs were unscathed. Huddled between two enormous lush pine limbs was a boy. Rand couldn’t see his face in the dark. But he could feel his fear.

“Yes, I promise your brother is safe with Miss Beatrice at the camp.”

“I don’t believe you,” he sniffed.

“It’s true.”

“How did they get out? I barely got up here myself before it all exploded.”

Now the boy was crying and the sobs caught in his throat, restricting his words.

“The trees did explode,” Rand said, careful to keep his words calm.

“It was scary. Really bad.”

“But you were brave. You climbed that tree all by yourself.”

“I’ve been climbing stuff all my life.”

“I’ll bet you have. Let me guess. Windows? Fire escapes? Rooftops, maybe?”

“Yeah.”

“I was kinda like that, too. I’m still climbing ladders. Ropes. That kind of stuff.” Rand paused as he heard the dissipating sound of the hoses. The crew was winding down. “The fire is under control. You come down.”

Silence.

Chris coughed and then hacked. Rand guessed the kid had inhaled his share of smoke tonight.

“There are paramedics here who need to help you. The smoke—”

“I know all about smoke,” Chris interrupted. “Okay?”

Rand felt impatience kindle in his belly. “Chris. You have to come down, son.”

“I’m not your son.”

“No kidding.” Rand ground his teeth. This was no place for attitude. A burned limb could fall at any moment and crash into them both. But while he could think of a dozen retorts to Chris at the moment, not one of them would get the kid to climb to the ground. “If you don’t come down, I’ll come up and get you.”

“How?”

“Just like you did. Climb. Then I’ll tie a rope to you and lower you to the ground. Or you can stay there, where the burned bark will skin you alive. Your choice. But I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“Oh.” Chris started coughing. He cleared his throat. He coughed again. “I’m coming down.”

Rand knew that once Chris got past the living foliage and sturdy limbs, his descent was going to get rough. There was a good twenty feet of burned bark and sharp splinters on that half-denuded trunk. Rand could see jagged stubs of limbs on the trunk, but could Chris? Were they strong enough for him to get a foothold? Or would they break under his weight? Worse, would the kid make a jump for it and risk breaking a leg or ankle in his drop?

“Once you get to the last limb, Chris, I want you to take it slow. I’ll guide you down.”

“I don’t need your help, okay? I made it up here and I can make it down on my own.”

Rand heaved a frustrated sigh and put his hands on his hips. Beatrice certainly had her hands full with this one.

“You’re doing great,” Rand encouraged the boy as Chris moved down through the limbs and came to the burned part of the trunk.

Chris toed the trunk with his sneaker, searching for a foothold, but he found none. The boy grabbed the limb with both hands and lowered his feet farther down the tree, still looking for a brace.

“The trunk is too wide for you to hug and slide down. Plus, you’ll scrape your skin in the process,” Rand said. “Or...”

“Or?” Chris asked with just enough trepidation that Rand thought he might have made an impression on the kid.

“You can drop and I’ll catch you.”

“No way.”

“It’s okay, my body will cushion your fall.”

Chris peered down at Rand, his arms stretched over his head as he hung on to the limb. His knuckles had gone white and his fingers were starting to slip. The kid wouldn’t last much longer.

“Why?”

“There ya go with the questions again. Just drop.”

“You’re angry at me.”

“I’m getting there, yeah.”

Rand heard the hoses stop, then he looked up. The wind had died completely. Tiny pellets of long-overdue rain had started to sprinkle from the sky. A mist of droplets hit his face. It certainly wasn’t a downpour—only a gentle rain—but it was wet, nonetheless, and would ensure the fire was completely extinquished.

Rand heard one of the other firefighters shouting his name. He heard boots stomping over brush and smoldering leaves and nettles.

“My friends are coming.”

Chris coughed and that led to another cough. “I can’t breathe so good.”

“I can imagine,” Rand replied. Another minute of hanging from the limb and Chris would be in trouble. Rand needed the boy to try to aim for his outstretched arms.

“Chris, let go, and when you do, pretend you’re lying down horizontally. It’ll be like skydiving.”

“Rand!” a man’s voice shouted.

“Over here!” Rand replied as loudly as he could.

“You skydive?” Chris coughed out the words.

“Yes, Chris. Now, let go and do it!”

“Okay!”

Chris let go of the limb, flattened his back and closed his eyes.

Rand dug his heels into the ground, bent his knees to keep his back solid and reached out to catch the boy. Chris landed in Rand’s arms with a wallop. Rand had expected his biceps to sting with the sudden impact, but, like his brother, Chris was much lighter than he’d braced for.

Chris popped his eyes open, blinked and squirmed out of Rand’s arms.

“You’re safe,” Rand said. “Here, put this oxygen mask on. It will help you with the smoke inhalation.”

“I’m fine.” Chris pushed Rand’s hand away.

“Wear it!” Rand ordered and then clamped the mask over Chris’s face and put the elastic strap over his head, making sure the back was secure.

“Rand!” Another shout came toward him along with the sound of many boots crunching over the burned ground. Ted McIntyre and Manny Quale stood shoulder to Nomex-suited-shoulder in front of them.

“You found him,” Ted said, pointing with his gloved hand to Chris.

“He was up that tree.” Rand looked at Chris, who was staring at the smoking forest floor.

“I’ll go back for the paramedics,” Manny said.

“I’m fine,” Chris said sternly as he ripped off the mask, shoved it back to Rand, and marched away from Rand, Ted and Manny. “See?” He swung his arms as he walked away from them.

Both Ted and Manny looked back at Rand.

“What? No ‘thanks’?” Ted asked.

Rand shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, he didn’t want to be rescued.”

“Oh,” Manny said. “One of those.”

“Afraid so,” Rand answered.

They walked out of the smoking forest after Chris.

* * *

BEATRICE LOOKED DOWN at her right ankle as she sat on the gurney in the ER. “Acute metatarsal fracture?” she repeated to Dr. Eric Hill, the ER doctor who was documenting her injury into a laptop computer on the counter to her right. A nurse with streaks of purple and pink in her midlength hair was inputting more information into another computer with a larger screen on a wheeled cart.

“Correct,” Dr. Hill replied. “Which means you broke the long bone in your foot. The one that attaches the ankle to the toes. Luckily the bones are aligned and don’t need surgery.”

“Will I have to wear a cast and use crutches?” Beatrice swallowed hard, thinking of all the camp chores, the climb to her cabin and supposedly easy things like helping the kids dress in the mornings. Such simple chores, these daily bits of her life, but they made her days rewarding. She’d have to put the crutches down each time she wanted to hug a child.

Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back.

“I’d rather not go that route,” he said.

“Seriously?” She brightened. “But you said the recovery time is six to eight weeks.”

“It is. But we can outfit you for an air boot. I prefer it to a cast because it has a reservoir that can hold ice-cold water around the injury for as much as six hours. Right now, I want the swelling to go down and ice is the answer. More than any medication. And overmedicating can lead to bleeding and that’s not good, either. In a week, I’ll start you on some exercises with that foot.”

“Exercises?”

“Easy things at first. Well, they sound easy to the uninjured. And make sure to keep the foot elevated as much as you can. Keep your weight off of it. The air boot will help a lot with redistribution of weight.”

“Good.”

He rose and looked at her with more empathy than she’d seen in anyone’s eyes in a long time. “Those burns on your back are going to sting for a few days, but could be worse. You’ll need to apply aloe vera and an antibiotic cream for a week to ten days. Take two Tylenol and three Ibuprofen for pain. And you’ll probably want to get a haircut.”

“Smells pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“Like burned hair.” He gave her a faint smile and continued. “We’ve put loose gauze over the burns for now. Do you have someone who can change the bandages for you every day?”

“Uh, sure. Cindy or Maisie at the camp...”

“Great. I want to see you in my office a week from today. I’ll have the nurse here set up an appointment for you.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You take care, Beatrice. I’m glad the camp is unharmed.”

After setting up the appointment, the nurse wheeled the trolley with the computer out of the ER bay, giving Beatrice a wide smile as she said goodbye.

“Dr. Hill, before you go. Could you tell me more about Eli and Chris?”

“They’re both fine. Eli was more frightened than injured. Chris is suffering from mild smoke inhalation. The firefighter who found him administered oxygen. He’s got a cough, but frankly, considering all he’s been through, he’s done remarkably well.”

“It’s a miracle,” she said, more to herself than to the doctor.

“The fact that he climbed a very tall tree and stayed far above the fire and smoke helped. He was high enough that the air was at least somewhat clearer. That was smart thinking on his part.”

Given his past, it didn’t surprise her that Chris was resourceful. His intelligence wasn’t the issue, however. He’d been closed-off, quiet and seemingly resentful at camp. She was sure he just needed to be loved. But he’d be gone from camp soon, and she couldn’t guarantee he’d get the care he so desperately craved.

“It’ll be a few minutes for the nurse to get all the release papers and instructions. You just rest for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, pulled back the curtain that hung over the sliding glass door and walked away.

As Dr. Hill left, a sandy-haired young man in surgical garb and a white lab coat entered the room. He carried a drawstring bag that looked almost as big as Santa’s sack. “I’m here to fit this boot on you,” he said.

“Of course.” Beatrice smiled, and the man went quickly to work.

The black-and-gray air boot looked like something an astronaut would wear to walk on the moon, Beatrice thought, as the man very gently lifted her injured foot and slid the boot into place. His fingers flew over the straps, making certain the boot fit comfortably. Beatrice eased herself off the gurney to try the rocker bottom of the boot, which was supposed to improve her gait. He explained how to use the ice-water feature, then instructed her about donning and doffing the boot and how to clean and maintain her new “friend.”

“This boot is my favorite,” he said. “I used it when I broke my ankle. I was back to fast walking in three weeks.”

“Three weeks? The doctor said six to eight weeks for me.”

“Oh, sure. That’s total healing time. But I can’t live without running. The docs let us ease back into our normal exercise fairly quickly.”

“Well,” she said, grinning, “then this is exactly the boot I want.”

“Great,” he said and handed her a card. “Here’s the number to the ortho department. Call us if you need.”

The young man left and Beatrice leaned her hip against the gurney as she rocked her foot back and forth in the boot. She lifted her knee, but felt a stabbing pain when she did.

Wincing, she glanced up and saw him.

He was leaning against the doorjamb. Gone were the Nomex suit, goggles and gloves. The helmet. She noticed his thick, dark, nearly black hair first. A hunk of shining, slightly damp hair hung over his strong forehead. His jawline looked like it had been carved from granite. In fact, everything about him was strong. He didn’t need a firefighter’s suit to make his shoulders wide; his presence filled the doorway, the room, the expanse between them. He wore a black short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched over biceps that could only have been built by hours in a gym. His black jeans fitted close to his narrow hips and muscular thighs. He wore no jewelry. No watch, no wedding ring, no tats. There was nothing extraneous or ornamental about this man. It wasn’t necessary—his whole being shouted, “I’m a man.”

He pushed himself off the door and took a short step inside. “You okay?”

That was all he said, yet his words caused her to be tongue-tied.

“You saved my life,” she croaked over a tangle of emotions that had yet to be released from the night’s ordeal. Fear that Eli and Chris would be burned alive. Shock that her dream camp could be swept away by fiery fingers. Despair that she would disappoint her employees. Anger that she’d failed herself. And utter sadness that the children would lose their idyll.

And then this man had walked through fire and carried her and Eli to safety, before entering the inferno again in search of Chris.

She couldn’t help the hero she saw in him.

“Just doing my job,” he replied flatly as if he did this every day.

Of course he did. She was just another of his tasks to be accomplished. Most people didn’t think twice about firefighters, police or prison guards until their circumstances collided. They were the protectors, sworn to their duty, and she didn’t know his name. “Thank you,” she replied simply. “Mr....”

“Nelson.”

He still didn’t move any closer, but his eyes examined her more closely than Dr. Hill had. By the troubled expression on his face, she got the sense he wasn’t pleased with what he saw.

She fingered her singed hair. She hadn’t felt so self-conscious since middle school. Her mother, Jenny, had been acting as a fill-in host on a local Chicago PBS talk show. The show was a favorite among Beatrice’s schoolmates’ parents. They were vocal with their opinions that Jenny was a joke—and their kids echoed their parents by taunting Beatrice. Beatrice’s shame and embarrassment lasted the six months until the regular show host returned from maternity leave.

But those months had taught her a lesson. She learned that kids can be placid, lonely, mean, arrogant, spiteful and defiant—but beneath it all, kids were afraid. Life came at children at jet speed or faster, and they were vulnerable to its whims.

That insight had led her to found her camp, and to try to go that one step further for kids like Chris and Eli.

What drove this fireman to do his job?

She was aware she hadn’t taken her eyes away from the velvet brown pools that were locked on her. She wondered if he was uncomfortable under her gaze. Probably not. He was too self-assured. She would be, too, if she’d just saved three lives that night.

“Rand Nelson,” he said. “Short for Randall.”

“I’m Beatrice. I don’t have a short.” She smiled and extended her hand.

“Sure you do, Bee.”

“That’s...what you called me in the forest.”

He walked to her, which only took three long steps. His thigh muscles flexed beneath his jeans. His movements were fluid, as if he was the most perfect human ever sculpted. She wanted to rub her eyes to make sure he wasn’t a dream. Then she felt his hand in hers. Flesh against warm flesh.

“Your hand is cold. You’ve been through a lot.” He withdrew his hand from hers and pushed back his hair. “I came as soon as I got cleaned up. I wanted you to know the fire is out. The wind died completely, which left nothing to fan the flames. That brief sprinkle of rain wasn’t much, but it helped. And the crew did their job well.”

“Masterfully done, I’d say.”

“The fire poses no more danger, so you can bring the other kids back to camp anytime.”

“That’s great,” she replied, amazed she’d managed a full sentence. That was a full sentence, right? Most likely she was still in shock. She did feel cold. But she’d bet her last dollar that her cheeks were hot—a heat caused by being this close to Rand. The hero who had saved her, two children and, along with his team, her entire youth camp.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t usually make hospital visits,” he said, clearing his throat as if he was uncomfortable.

“No?”

“Officially, you’re the victim. The regulations stipulate that what you tell me should be recorded.” He glanced away and back. “But I, well, wanted to see you. Er, to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Except for my broken foot.”

“You were lucky. You could have died out there.”

“I know I said it before, but thank you, Rand. Thank you for everything. And please tell your men how deeply grateful I am to you all for everything...”

He put his hand over hers, which was grasping the edge of the gurney for support. “It’s what we do, Bee.”

He’d leaned his face closer to hers and she smelled peppermint on his breath and something spicy on his recently shaven cheeks. She was bombarded by a storm of sensations that already screamed “Rand” to her. She swayed.

“Beatrice! Thank God!” Maisie burst into the ER bay, shoving the curtain back even farther. She glanced up at Rand and then ignored him as she nearly flew to Beatrice’s side.

“Oh, my God, I was so worried when they took you and Eli away. I thought I’d lose my mind until that man came out of the woods with Chris. I’ve never been through anything remotely like this, Beatrice.” Maisie stopped abruptly, her eyes shooting from Beatrice to Rand. “Wait, you’re that guy!”

Rand’s face was implacable, as Maisie’s gratitude and dawning hero worship bounced off him like he was made of Teflon. “Yes, we met at the camp earlier.”

Though Maisie was taking huge deep breaths like a track runner at the finish line, she calmed instantly, offered her hand and said, “Thank you for your service.”

Rand gave her hand a quick shake and stepped back a pace. “You’re welcome.” He looked at Beatrice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay...well, um, then I’ll be out to your camp in the morning. With the forensic team. What time would be good for you?”

“Forensics?” Beatrice’s heart thudded to a halt.

“By law we have to assess the origin of the fire.”

“Of course.” Her mind scrambled for logic. “Nine a.m. would be good.”

“See you then.”

He turned and left. The room was instantly less vibrant.

Beatrice’s booted foot slipped as she watched Rand walk through the bay door. It was as if Rand’s presence had provided an extra measure of stability, something she’d never needed before.

She looked down at the boot. It was only the bone that was broken. Nothing else. She was fine.

But an investigation...? Her hero apparently came with a double-edged sword. When he wielded it on the side of the law, would she and her camp survive the blow?