Turning back on her stomach, she reached out for a handhold, something solid.
She hadn’t fallen through the floor, but pinned the way she was in the hallway, nothing but boards and litter filled her grasp. She pulled on a floorboard, but it splintered into black ash in her hands. The smell of ash seeped into her nostrils, and her legs felt like smoldering cinders.
Tasting the sharp edge of panic, she bit it back even as frustration balled in her throat. With a roar she lunged against her pinnings. The sound echoed back at her, lifting the fine hairs on her neck. Fighting tears, Ellie buried her face in the pocket of her folded arms. Why did she let her stubborn pride push her to the edge of safe and sane?
The sudden wave of memories, filled with the smell of smoke and the taste of frustration, took her breath away:
Seth stood in her way as she entered the fire camp, his feet planted, his eyes hard. “Turn around and go home,” he’d said in a tight voice.
“No!” She’d flung her backpack over her shoulder, faked, and sprang around him. He nearly raced her to the administration tent where the firefighters checked in.
“Does Dad know you’re here?”
His question felt like a slap. “Yes. Well . . . okay, no. But it doesn’t matter. I’m nineteen and old enough to figure out how I want to spend my summer.”
“Yes, on the beach or camping with your friends or maybe working at McDonald’s.” Seth seized her arm. She turned, and his expression looked more like panic than fury. “You can’t stay here.”
“I can, and I will.” She’d wrenched her arm out of his grip and walked away, his warning stinging her ears.
“Over my dead body.”
Ellie closed her eyes, listening to his voice fade in favor of the birds chirping and the sounds of the neighbors returning from Sunday services. Lunch would be on the table soon, and the little girls would be told to change out of their dresses. Meanwhile, across the street, the town fire chief would die of starvation and her stubborn pride.
Ellie groaned. It wasn’t like anyone was going to come looking for her. She had no friends in this town, especially after the way she’d treated Dan.
She winced, remembering his words: And who is going to watch out for you?
At the time she’d thought them invasive. Presumptuous. Chauvinistic.
Now they’d become painfully prophetic.
She knew better than to tromp around a fire scene without a partner. That’s what deputy chiefs were for . . . except she didn’t have one of those. The closest thing she had to an assistant was Franklin . . . or perhaps Mitch Davis, the volunteer captain.
Oh, joy.
He’d certainly have a good time with this one. He and Dan could hold each other up while they laughed at her. She wanted to curl into a ball and hide.
Then again, maybe this was a fitting demise to her dismal start. She barely had her head above water with this job, and this morning she had let her ambitions run away with her brain.
Maybe she could quit while she still had the pieces of her pride. Olaf Growald, the Duluth chief, would welcome her back without a word. She had been a good deputy.
What good would scraping out a spot for a female chief accomplish, anyway? The question hit her like a sledgehammer. Sure, she’d fought like a badger to earn her place, but now at the top of the heap, could she really make a difference in the landscape of Deep Haven life? And would it even begin to erase time or redeem the sacrifices made to get her here?
The empty places in her heart stung with the memory of raucous, infectious laughter and the smile of a boy who seemed to radiate the sun.
She had to make a difference. She owed it to Seth.
And she’d accomplish nothing if she starved to death trapped under a pile of debris.
Ellie lifted her head, spied her pike pole. Stretching, she barely nicked it with her gloved hand. Maybe she could—
“Ellie?”
The voice of salvation—or maybe doom—came from the doorway. Ellie pushed back her helmet, craned her neck, squinted at the dark outline in the doorway.
Tall, broad shoulders, tousled dark brown hair . . . she sighed. “Hi ya, Pastor.”
Dan peered into the gutted house at Ellie’s dark, sooty face, and horror slid over him in a wave. “Are you okay?” He strode into the house, picking his way over charred timbers. “What happened?”
She wiggled, but she wasn’t going anywhere with a layer of wood piled atop her, most of it resting on the now splintered staircase. Weakness washed over him when he saw how close she’d come to being crushed.
“I came to do some preliminary investigation—”
“Alone?” He picked up two pieces of banister wood, piled them at the foot of the stairs. He had no doubt the entire house could cave in on their heads if he dislodged the wrong ceiling joist.
“Yeah, alone. You can quit laughing at me now.”
Laughing? With his heart lodged in his throat? “I fail to see the humor in this, Ellie. You could have been killed.” He continued to work to free her. “Is anything broken? Maybe I should call the guys. We can get a stretch—”
“No. I’m fine. Just . . . just get me out of here.” She wiggled again, and the entire pile began to groan.
“Stay still! I’ll dig you out; just stay still.” What she had obviously failed to see, apparently because of her position, was another ridgepole, burnt to a thread, above her. With the loss of the joist next to it, all the weight could shift and bury them. “Just . . . lie there.”
He moved another banister rail, but she wasn’t having any of his orders. Grunting, she twisted against her shackles. Dan heard the pile shift again. “Ellie, please trust me, will ya? I promise I’ll get you out of here.” His crisp tone cut into her efforts and she froze. “You’re going to bring the roof down on us.”
He stepped over her, examining the timber that trapped her.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded tight, as if she were holding in her fear.
“I was headed up to my cabin. Saw your Jeep.” He didn’t add that he’d sat at the stop sign long enough to pile up traffic before he’d turned her way. Something about her bold yellow vehicle sitting alone outside the house had triggered a sharp—and rightful—concern.
More than one timber had fallen, and the one pinning Ellie was still connected to an adjoining timber that looked like it might decide to follow. “Uh, Ellie, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to lift this end of the beam as best I can. You wriggle out.”
He crouched, gripped the end, lifted.
She moved like a soldier, fighting against the claw of the joist. “No good. I can’t figure it out. My legs are free but I can’t budge. I think my bunker pants are caught.”
“So wriggle out of them.”
She shot him a dark look.
“You are wearing something underneath them, right?”
She nodded but had managed to color an interesting crimson. “Um . . . okay, long johns.”
He smirked. “That’s appropriate attire for this neck of the woods. C’mon, shed those bunker pants.”
She made a face at him but somehow managed to pull off her turnout coat, then drop the suspenders from her waist. She squirmed out of the pants like a lizard shedding its skin, and a second later stood in the doorway in her stockinged feet, free and, by the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, dying on the spot.
He lowered the joist. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What about my pants?”
He walked over, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out onto the porch. The afternoon sun glinted off the gathering storm in her blue eyes. “You in your pajamas and alive is a thousand times better than a fully dressed casualty. We’ll get the city to shore up the house; then you can go in after your . . . um . . . pants.”
She looked so utterly ridiculous, however, standing in her turnout coat, which effectively managed to cover most of her backside, her face grimy and her helmet levered back on her hea
d like it might be her father’s, he couldn’t help but laugh. Now safely outside the hover of danger, he saw the humor.
She punched him square on the shoulder.
“Hey, is that how you treat your knight in shining armor?” He rubbed his shoulder but couldn’t work up a frown.
“You’re not my knight. You’re just . . . oh!” She turned away, her fists clenched. Poor woman. She looked like she might haul off and slug him again . . . or perhaps cry. Her jaw tight, her eyes didn’t meet his and he thought he saw actual fumes spiraling from her ears.
Lifting her helmet, he leaned down to her eye level and tried to pull a smile out of her. “Sorry, Chief. I hope I didn’t offend you by, you know, rescuing you or anything.”
She looked up at him, her face red. He fought the urge to duck. What was it about this woman that refused to appreciate the ironic humor in this situation? Especially after her declarations of independence the night before. He wasn’t even going to attempt a lecture on safety. He liked all his teeth in his mouth, thank you.
Ellie finally worked out words. “Well, now, I suppose all the guys at the station will have a good one on me.” Again, the clenched jaw, and this time did he spy tears?
“Wait. You think I’ll turn you into the town laughingstock?” The last thing he wanted to do was listen to Mitch run her down. Dan would go to his grave with this episode if that’s what it took to protect her.
She swiped away an errant tear in lightning speed. “Tell them what you want. I don’t care.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not going to tell them anything, Ellie. I promise. That’s what friends do. Pull each other out of scrapes and keep their secrets.”
The gaze she turned on him was so searching he felt it spear right through him to the soft tissue of his heart. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Finally, she smiled. Tentative and just enough to make him believe the sun might rise again in the morning. “You’re my friend?”
“I thought we ironed that out last night on the beach.”
She looked down at her stockinged feet. “And you’re not going to tell the guys that I’m running around town in my jammies?”
He scratched his chin, as if mulling it over. She whacked him again on the shoulder and nearly toppled him off the porch. But there was a genuine light-up-the-world smile on her face.
“Well, it’ll cost ya,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes, the smile dimming. “What?”
“Dinner.”
“I can’t . . . um . . . well, I’m not the greatest cook.”
“Oh, c’mon. You’re a fire chief. You’re supposed to be able to make five-alarm chili. I thought it was part of the job.”
She winced with one eye closed.
He laughed. “Calm down, Miss Good Housekeeping. I was planning on doing the cooking—or maybe picking up some sub sandwiches. But I have a cute place up the trail I’d love to show you.”
“Can I change out of my jammies?”
“Ellie, you can wear anything but your badge.”
Her smile disappeared. The light in her eyes blinked out, and her playful expression faded with a twitch. “Then I guess I’m going to have to say no.”
He felt a chill shudder through him. He’d meant it as a joke . . . well, okay, not a complete joke. It would be nice to get to know the woman without the internal armor that came with her job. But if he had to chip away at it, he’d take her fully armed and outfitted for battle too.
“I was just kidding, Ellie,” he said, but he nearly heard the lock turning in her emotional barricade. She turned away from him, hopped off the porch, strode across the yard, and hopped into her Jeep. He watched her in silence, his heart sinking.
But he didn’t miss the quick swipe of her hand across her face as she gunned the engine and tore past him.
Ellie stomped her brakes before some ambitious cop pulled her over . . . in her long johns, tears running down her face. She could just imagine what the local law would think . . . or worse, what the town gossip page would write.
Local fire chief breaks sound barrier. Ellie Karlson, Deep Haven’s new fire chief, was arrested Sunday afternoon, wet to the bone and dressed in thermal underwear, for breaking every speed limit in Deep Haven. She gave no account for her excessive speed. . . .
Except, of course, if it were true gossip, it would describe one tall, dark, and curious pastor, his timely appearance, and his lifesaving rescue. Hopefully it wouldn’t mention that his north-woods charm had nearly turned her to mush. To think she’d actually considered, for more than a minute, having dinner with him. She wanted to keep driving right off the pier. Did she think she’d finally found a man who might, just possibly, see beyond her badge to a woman full of fear as well as courage? a woman who could be both feminine and fierce?
Thankfully, he’d snapped her to her senses with that “no badge” comment. How dare he? Obviously Pastor Dan was threatened by the thin piece of tin, and for the second time today she could thank God for stepping in to save her.
She crawled down Main Street, forcing a smile, trying not to focus on the families walking along the shore or feeding the gulls. Sundays had always been filled with games, big dinners, and laughter in the Karlson home. How long had it been since she’d spent the day in rest? enjoying relationships?
Nearly fifteen years. She gritted her teeth and forced back the wave of melancholy. Getting knocked down had obviously jarred loose her emotional baggage. Maybe a good shower, lunch, and a walk with Franklin would help her pin it back in place.
She waited until the street emptied, then dashed out of her car, taking the steps to the hotel two at a time. Passing an elderly couple rocking on the porch, she kept her head down, barreled through the hotel lobby, and ran up the stairs.
Franklin looked up from his place on the center of her bed as she slammed the door behind her. His big brown eyes blinked.
“Don’t ask,” she said, peeling off the coat, throwing her helmet on the chair, and stepping into the shower.
The hot spray sloughed off her frustration. She braced her hands on the shower walls, let the water course over the back of her head and down her spine.
Would Dan keep his word? She winced, rewinding her dire predicament, his laughter and his promise. He’d seemed . . . sincere. So much so it had nearly toppled her off her professional bedrock. Friends. Right. The second she gave in to that impulse was the second he’d be pushing her to hang up her fire axe.
She’d do well to remember that she’d had her pick of men over the years, and none of them—not one—had been able to see past the job. No, she’d made her choices, and she wasn’t going to trash fifteen years of sacrifice for a moonlight walk and a husband to cozy up with when the night got cold. Or when life got tough.
She needed a man to protect her like she needed a lump on the head.
But hadn’t Dan just sprung her out of a very long and embarrassing imprisonment?
She shouldn’t have let his voice, so filled with concern, rock her. Long ago she had decided that the standard marriage, family, and homemaker life wouldn’t fit into her life goals. Then why, with a whoosh, did the image of Dan’s hand in hers fill her brain? It hadn’t helped that he’d led her, with firm gentleness, out of harm’s way.
Maybe she wanted protecting more than she wanted to admit.
Or maybe Pastor Dan simply had a way of finding all the unprotected corners of her heart and zeroing in for the kill. She’d have to give him wide berth if she expected to escape his very subtle, charming blitzkriegs. She had a job to land, a reputation to prove.
Turning off the water, she hopped out, dried off, then unearthed a pair of track pants and her new Deep Haven sweatshirt. After slicking her hair back in a tight braid, she woke up her lazy dog, pulled him off the bed, and headed for the door in her jogging shoes.
Miss Good Housekeeping, indeed. She slammed the door. Come Monday morning he was going to discover she didn’t have a domestic bone in her body.
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7
You made her mad,” Joe Michaels said as he jogged around the high school track.
“You think?” Dan ran beside him, sweat beading on his temples, his chest heaving. After a day of training, he felt worn to the bones, fatigue a heavy blanket on his shoulders. He was in worse shape than he thought. “How many times around?”
“Four. You’d think we were on the high school track team or something.”
“This is not how I’d hoped to spend my Saturday.” Dan thought of his cabin, still waiting for the back wall to be constructed. “How many times did we go over the different classes of fires?”
Joe shook his head. “I’m just trying to recover from the stress of hauling that dummy down the ladder. I think she put boulders in the arms.”
Dan glanced at Ellie, who was proving a point by running fifty paces ahead of the pack. She’d made no friends today, talking to seasoned firefighters like they were probies. Between the beginning firefighter instruction about the tetrahedron of a fire, the different types of fire and standard techniques for extinguishing each, and the organization of FAST—Firefighter Assist and Search Team—Dan wondered if she thought any of them had working gray matter. Half the guys had left after lunch, announcing that she’d used up her allotted time. The remaining bunch, twelve of them who had decided they liked their work—or maybe their feisty chief—had run rescue scenarios all afternoon.
Only a light, autumn-scented breeze and the fact that he’d have another chance to see Ellie made the day bearable for Dan.
Who would have thought, a week after his colossal foot-in-the-mouth comment, that she’d still treat him like two-day-old roadkill? She hadn’t even met his gaze, even when their hands had touched while retrieving water from the cooler. The porcupine returneth.
He finished his lap in tight silence. Joe and he veered off the track, gripping their knees, breathing hard. She had already finished and walked between her “men,” checking on them, drinking her water. She had her hair back in a ponytail and had donned a baseball cap to shade her eyes. With her workout clothes and springy step, she looked about sixteen. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d made a point of humiliating them all by folding a forty-five-pound hose then hauling it the length of the football field, he would almost think she was here to cheer them on—a firefighter groupie.
Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Page 8