A FATHER BEYOND COMPARE
Alison Roberts
Special Emergency Response Team – Book 3
Rescuer and protector
When paramedic Tom Gardiner rescues single mom Emma White and her little son, he doesn't realize that by saving their lives, he's changed his own life forever.
Husband and father?
He thought he never wanted a family, but with Emma and little Mickey around, the rules Tom's lived by are beginning to change. Can he show Emma that he is the perfect father and husband, and convince her that the past belongs in the past and her future lies with him?
CHAPTER ONE
Imminent disaster could be seen in the rear-view mirror but there was absolutely nothing Emma White could have done to prevent the accident.
Not when it came from behind like that. When she hadn't even seen the small truck following her camper-van down the long hill towards the bridge.
A one-way bridge.
The signs further up the hill had been perfectly clear. Arrows indicated that the traffic coming from the opposite direction had the right of way on the narrow old wooden bridge that spanned a canyon through which a large river coursed.
Emma had approached with due caution.
She was, after all, in an unfamiliar country, driving a heavy vehicle that required a far greater stopping distance than the compact hatchback she was used to driving. That distance was further compromised today because the roads were still slick after recent rain.
Her caution had been justified. There was a car coming towards them, well over halfway across the bridge and travelling swiftly. Emma was waiting her turn to move. Her hands were on the steering-wheel and, instinctively, when the sharp forward jolt occurred, she pulled down hard on the wheel to try and prevent a head-on collision as her car was shunted towards the oncoming vehicle.
Mickey was sitting in the front seat beside her.
Any mother would have taken the same protective action without thinking.
The jolt had been unexpectedly powerful, however. Forceful enough to jar Emma's foot from its position on the brake. With the wheels now turned away from the road, they were suddenly on the brink of a worse disaster than a head-on collision.
The ground sloped away—too close to the verge of the road. The river snaked along the bottom of a very deep gully and the sides were steep. The bridge had been situated at its narrowest point, which meant there was no margin between the swiftly flowing, rain-swollen river and its banks.
Nowhere for the van to come, to rest in relative safety, having careered and then rolled on its enforced detour from the road. The bone-crunching shock of hitting hard ground suddenly changed as the van slipped into the water. But the soft rocking was far from comforting. The van was still moving.
Picking up speed as the current teased and then clutched at a new toy. Filling with icy cold water as the river tried to claim it completely. Being dragged out into a set of boiling rapids.
Being tipped, inexorably, upside down.
'You must be out of your mind!'
'It could work.' Tom Gardiner spoke patiently, not at all surprised by his partner's reaction to the idea.
'No way. It's far too dangerous.'
'It's a calculated risk. I'm prepared to take it.'
'It's not justified, mate. They're probably dead, anyway.'
The two men, both paramedics attached to SERT— Specialist Emergency Response Team—peered down from the hovering helicopter.
It certainly appeared pointless to risk their own lives to help the victims involved in this scenario. Way below them, towards the middle of the swift and rain-swollen river, they had a clear view of the reason they'd been scrambled. A campervan had apparently missed a sign informing the driver to give way on a single-lane bridge and had careened off the road. The van had been swept far enough into the canyon to make access virtually impossible from the ground.
The tangle of debris that had caught the van's chassis and halted its journey included some hefty logs but it was on the edge of a strong current. At any moment it could be caught and pulled clear to tumble and roll in the deadly river on its seaward path. The distance it had already travelled made the survival of its occupants debatable but the fact that it was still afloat enough to roll if it did swivel clear of the obstruction was uppermost in Tom's mind as he surveyed the scene.
'They've still got a fair bit of air in there. They could be alive.'
'It's only the side door that's accessible. If they've got their safety belts on they'll be long gone. The driver must be completely under water.'
'Maybe not. We don't know how long it's been that far under.'
'The witness said it was rolling in the water.'
'He also said he thought he saw a woman and a child in the front.' Tom was getting impatient. He leaned further out the side door, blinking as enough of a blast of icy air sneaked around the edge of his helmet visor to make his eyes water. He twisted his head to keep the target in view as the helicopter did another slow circle. 'I'm going down to check.'
'And what happens if you do find someone alive?'
'I'll get them out.'
'No. You'd try and get them out and probably join them in the ride downstream. We can't attach a winch line to keep that thing stable, Tom.'
'I know that.'
'And there's no way of getting a line out from shore. The fire boys haven't arrived yet. And we'll need some boats and divers on scene.'
'It's going to be too late by then.' Under normal circumstances Tom was inclined to err on the cautious side himself but the fact that there could be a woman and child involved here made it seem like a copout to be cautious. 'I can at least go down for a look. If there's no sign of life, it'll take the urgency out of things a bit. What do you say, Terry?'
The pilot of the rescue chopper had worked with SERT for years now. A lot longer than Tom's relatively new partner. Tom not only trusted the pilot's opinion regarding any safety issues in the air, he knew he would get the encouragement he needed to go the extra mile to help someone in dire need. The middle-aged pilot had just become a grandfather. He was a soft touch.
'Go for it,' Terry said. 'Winch conditions are good. Just don't attach us to anything down there. I don't fancy getting my feet wet.'
Neither did Tom but that was exactly what happened as he neared his descent target. His boots dragged in the surface of the river and filled with icy water.
'Hey, I said minus two, not ten!' he complained to Josh via the helmet radio. 'I've got wet feet!'
'Sorry, mate.'
'Take me up a bit and then see how close we can get. I can't see a thing yet.'
Except for the ominous speed that made the eddies around the pile of debris look like white-water rapids. And the deep grey-green that advertised the depth of the river channel that was running alongside the obstruction.
The big square white van had an incongruously cheerful rainbow stripe painted along its side. It was bobbing slowly but something underneath—the front axle, maybe—had caught firmly on a thick branch. That branch belonged to a large tree that the earlier storm must have uprooted.
'Looks reasonably stable,' Tom relayed. 'I want to stand on the side door and see if I can get a view into the front compartment.'
From where he was hanging now, he could see the passenger's side window and a portion of the windscreen. The side window was shut tightly but light reflecting on the glass made it impossible to see through. The nose of the vehicle pointed down and another log was jammed against the front door. Even if there was someone trying to open that door from the inside, it would be a pointless struggle.
The roar of the helicopter drowned out the sound of rushing water as Tom drift
ed slowly sideways but he could feel the cold spray of wind-whipped water on his cheeks. His feet touched the side of the van and he bounced slightly as it bobbed. He shook his head to clear droplets of water from his visor, leaning forward, trying to see into the side window at least.
And then he saw it.
A hand. Pressed against the glass. Small fingers that seemed to try and then fail to find something to hold onto.
A child's fingers.
A child who was still alive.
'Contact,' Tom said tersely. 'We've got a live one here.'
'Hell!'
Tom wasn't sure if it was Josh or Terry who expressed the frustration they now all faced of trying to do anything more in the immediate stage of this rescue mission. What on earth could they do?
If the van had been stable, they could have winched the victims up to the helicopter, but when the van could be swept away at any moment, it was far too dangerous to have a line that could potentially pull the chopper down.
How long would it take the fire trucks to arrive? The land-based teams had been dispatched at the same time as the SERT paramedics but they had to travel a long way by road. The fire service appliances had the lines to secure an unstable vehicle but someone would have to abseil down the side of the gully to get near the water. The boat rescue team would also be needed. And the team of police divers in case it all went wrong.
It would all take far too long.
'I'm unhooking,' Tom informed his colleagues.
'Tom! No!'
It was too late. Tom had snapped open his winch hook as he'd spoken and he now held the line out to one side, signalling for Josh to retract it. A muttered curse echoed in his helmet from above but the line snaked upwards out of harm's way.
The smooth side of the van was now a skating rink. Sleek wet metal that tipped gently one way and then another. Tom dropped to his knees as he felt himself sliding, his gloved fingers sweeping in a rapid arc to catch the handle of the door to the back compartment.
And then he was lying flat on the side of the van, aware of the tense silence within his helmet and the sound of the helicopter outside it, hovering as its crew watched with trepidation. Were they already planning to follow Tom's path downriver when he got swept away? Hoping he might get to shore at a point where they could winch him back to safety?
He wasn't going to get swept away, dammit. Not before he'd checked out the owner of those small fingers anyway. With an immense effort he dug his fingers behind the handle and pulled, heaving the door outwards.
It opened. The door snapped back and Tom slid far enough to touch a wing mirror with his boot. The metal attachment was fortunately strong enough to take his weight and, using it as an anchor, Tom was able to pull himself back by gripping the top edge of the door. And then he could see inside the compartment.
The water level came at least halfway up and the surface was awash with debris. Clothing. Cooking utensils. Maps. And...a teddy bear.
Ignoring the mental alarms sounding stridently, Tom twisted his body, hooking his legs into the gap he had created in the side of the vehicle.
And then he slid inside the floating campervan. As his feet found a solid point well beneath the water level he pulled the door closed again behind him in the hope of preventing the swirl of disturbed water outside filling any more of the interior.
With a silent prayer to whatever forces might have the power to keep the van exactly where it was for the time being, Tom manoeuvred himself to face the front of the vehicle.
'Hello,' he called. 'My name's Tom and I'm here to help. Can anyone here me?'
'Yes!' The sound was somewhere between a word and a sob. A feminine sound. 'Help us... Please!'
'That's what I'm here for.' Tom took a slow step through the thigh-deep water, no longer aware of the chill. Between the front seats of the van was a windowlike gap in the wall that separated the seats from the back compartment. Light from outside made that gap glow in comparison to the gloom of the space Tom was in. It also made it easy to head in the right direction.
'What's your name? Are you injured?'
'I'm... Emma.'
'And you've got someone with you?'
'Just my son.. .Mickey.'
The owner of those small fingers, then. 'Hey, Mickey,' Tom called. 'How're you doing?'
The only response was an adult groan. 'Don't try and stand on me again, Mickey. It...hurts...'
'Sorry, Mummy.'
'Are you injured, Emma?' Tom pushed a sodden pillow to one side as he took another step forward.
'I'm...not sure.'
Both Emma and her son had an intriguing accent. An appealing, soft lilt that evoked an image of something British. Possibly rural. The fact that these people were in a foreign country triggered something else protective in Tom. They would be terrified in any case but being away from home had to make this all that much worse.
'What's hurting, Emma?'
'My foot mainly.. .it's kind of trapped under something. And my leg. The steering-wheel's sort of bent.'
Tom groaned inwardly. This rescue had just become that much more complicated. Any visions he'd had of balancing on the side of the van and miraculously being able to get the victims winched to safety before land-based back-up arrived went out the window. Trying to do an extrication on a trapped person in this vehicle was going to need back-up in spades. And even then it was going to be dodgy.
He had reached the gap in the wall. He could look into the space that held the driver's seat. A seat that was under water. The driver appeared to in a crouched position, her back hunched into the corner of the windscreen but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.
Two sets of huge, dark, terrified eyes stared up at Tom.
Tom smiled. 'Good to see you guys,' he said calmly. 'About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn't it?'
The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman's lips curved into a wide smile. 'Oh, yes... please!'
That smile touched something deep in Tom's heart. This was one brave lady. Maybe it was a front to try and reassure her small son but that didn't make it any less courageous. And courage was a quality that Tom valued very highly.
He smiled at the small boy. 'G'day, Mickey. How old are you, mate?'
'Go away,' Mickey told him. 'I don't like you.' He burst into tears.
'It's all right, honey.' Emma's grip on her son tightened noticeably but Tom could see the grimace of pain as Mickey wriggled. 'Tom's here to rescue us. It's all right. Remember your manners.'
'But I can rescue you, Mummy. I was going to open the door but I'm too short and J don't want to stand on your sore bits again.'
'No, don't stand on Mummy's sore bits,' Tom said hurriedly. 'I know I look a bit scary, Mickey, but I am here to help. You and Mummy. Do you have any sore bits?'
'No.' Mickey's face turned from where it was buried against his mother's neck. 'I'm four.'
Tom blinked, trying to make the connection, but then realised Mickey was answering a much earlier question.
'Wow. You're old.'
'I'm not old. I'm big.'
'Mmm.' Tom was happy to agree. He needed to win this child's trust—as quickly as possible. A plan was formulating in his head as he used the time this conversation was taking but it was hard to try and sound relaxed. 'Are you here on holiday with Mummy?'
'We're having an adventure.'
'You sure are,' Tom agreed dryly. 'I'm sure you didn't plan to have this bit of it, though.'
Mickey screwed his face up into lines of deep consideration. 'No. This was a nanksident.'
'Do you remember what happened?' Tom was leaning in more closely now. He could feel the edge of the wall digging into his abdomen as he peered down. He didn't want to frighten Mickey by reaching an arm in just yet. A terrified and uncooperative child could ruin w
hat he was planning before it even became a possibility. He also wanted to check Emma out. Right now he was trying to see how well she was able to breathe but Mickey's small body made it difficult to assess the movement of her chest wall to get an impression of a respiration rate. His question was designed to try and find out whether either of these victims had been knocked unconscious at any point.
'There was a big bump,' Mickey told him. 'And Mummy said we turned into a boat.'
'There was a bridge,' Emma said. 'One lane. And there was...a car coming.. .so I stopped.'
'You stopped?' Tom was noting how many words per breath Emma was managing, which seemed to indicate at least some degree of respiratory distress. He couldn't help the note of surprise in his own voice. That wasn't what the witness had told the emergency services.
'Of course I stopped.' Emma was indignant. This was good. A seriously injured person wouldn't have the energy to sound that indignant. 'Do I look like some sort of idiot?'
'No.' Tom's response was rapid. And sincere. Even with thoroughly wet hair plastered in dark strands around an overly pale face, Tom could see fine features and bright eyes that advertised intelligence.
'We got bumped,' Mickey added. 'I told you that.'
Tom was clearly the idiot here but he needed to clarify the information. 'From behind?'
'Yes.'
'Josh?' Tom's query was brief. 'You hearing any of this?'
'Enough,' came the response from within his helmet. 'Will pass it on to the cops.'
'Who's Josh?' Emma asked.
'My partner. He's up in the helicopter, waiting for me to get you out.'
'Waiting for you to get out more likely,' came Josh's voice. 'Get a move on, Tom.'
'How on earth are you going to get us out?'
'I'll take Mickey first.' Tom had to hope he'd won a level of trust by now. 'You want to go for a ride, Mickey?'
'No.'
'You have to, sweetheart.' Emma spoke urgently. 'It'll be my turn after you.' Those huge eyes were on Tom now and the silent plea was heartbreaking. Emma was far from stupid. She knew how much danger they were all in and how much harder it was going to be to rescue her. Tom could actually feel her gathering her determination to save her child. She spoke even more firmly. 'Mickey? Listen to me, darling. You have to do exactly as you're told.'
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