Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  “Oh no.” Kate’s stomach tensed. “Someone fell in?”

  “A three-year-old girl, Chrissy Faraday, back in 1991. I was twelve. The whole town was out here. National TV news teams too. Our family was called first, of course—Grandy, Dad, Mom. The old shaft had been filled, but the fill dirt settled with time and years of rain. The well cover rotted and—”

  “Chrissy fell down it.” Kate winced, imagining her parents’ terror.

  “About twenty feet. She tried to grab the rope the fire department lowered, but the dirt would fall and she’d get scared. It was getting dark, starting to rain. Nightmare situation.”

  “So . . . ?” Kate watched Wes’s face as he recalled the details.

  “They had a harness. But the hole was narrow. None of the firefighters or volunteers would fit. I was a skinny kid back then. Shoulders like a wimp. I hated it. Until that moment.”

  Kate’s mouth sagged open. “They asked you to go down there?”

  “No. They tried to talk me out of it—didn’t work. I’d latched on to the idea like a tick on a dog.” Wes shook his head. “My nose plowed dirt the first few feet. Then I was scared I’d step on the poor kid. Or cause a cave-in and bury us both. But the hole widened out toward the bottom and I was able to get a flashlight focused.”

  “You saved her.”

  “I got Chrissy into the harness and they pulled her up.”

  “You saved her life.” Kate realized that she’d stepped close to him, laid her hand on his arm.

  “When I was buckling the harness—” Wes’s voice softened—“she kept saying this one thing over and over: ‘I’m not lost anymore. . . . I’m not lost.’ I couldn’t forget that.”

  “That’s why you do what you do. Search and rescue.”

  Wes swallowed. “Partly, I suppose.”

  Kate was quiet for a few moments, thinking of what he’d told her. This man had been kindhearted and unselfish . . . heroic even as a youngster. Despite his modesty, Wes Tanner had the right stuff all along. For some reason it made her think of Barrett Lyon. And all the wrong stuff he was certain he and Kate had in common. Then she thought of the disappointment on her father’s face when she sent him away.

  “I don’t . . .” Kate cleared her throat. “I don’t think I could have done what you did. I’m not that kind of person. I’m selfish and . . .” She took a step, felt the wooden well cover beneath her feet. Solid as truth. “I’ve made so many mistakes. Even today. With my dad.”

  “Kate . . .” Wes said nothing further. He simply held her gaze.

  Kate couldn’t stop herself from trembling—or continuing. “After my mother died, I ran away from home. I was gone for almost a year. It hurt him. I knew it would. And when I came back, we never talked about it. He wanted to . . . today.” The familiar threat of tears rose, but Kate shoved them down. Wes had taken hold of her hand, his tenderness compelling her far beyond her comfort zone. “The year I was gone was a terrible time in my life. I can’t talk about it any more than I could climb down a well. Or believe that God hears prayers. I know you believe that, Wes. But I can’t.” She shivered. “I’m not the kind of person God would listen to. Should listen to. I’ve made too many mistakes. Unforgivable ones.”

  “Kate, no. It doesn’t work that way. We all make mistakes. We’re human. We’re flawed. That’s where grace comes in. That’s the beauty of it—an undeserved gift.” Wes took a slow breath. “When I saw your father at the hospital, he told me he regretted the way he’d handled things when your mother was sick. I saw how much that bothered him. But I also got the feeling that he’s found some hope. I wanted him to share that with you. It’s the reason I gave him your address.” Wes’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. “And took the risk of making a mistake myself.” His lips tugged toward a smile. “Meddling. I’m a repeat offender. So—” He stopped short as his cell phone began beeping. “Rescue tone. Excuse me.”

  Wes hauled it out of his pocket, checking the screen. “Amber Alert.”

  “Do you have to go?” Kate asked, torn between regret that he would leave and relief that it would mean the end of this unplanned conversation. She’d driven out here today because the walls were closing in, but if Kate kept talking, she’d demolish every wall she’d put up to protect herself. She couldn’t risk that. Someone like Wes would never understand the truth about Kate. “Do they need you?”

  “No.” He reread the message, pocketed his phone. “It’s in Austin. An eight-year-old. The majority of these are school bus mix-ups; it’s that time of day. I ask for all the alerts because I like to be prepared.”

  Because you’ve got the right stuff. Everything Kate didn’t have. What was she doing here with a man like this?

  “So . . .” Kate felt suddenly awkward in the wake of her unexpected babbling. “The well cover’s good?”

  “Yes. We’ll take the Jeep back. I’ll leave a note for Lily Braxton, then go get Clementine.” Wes glanced at his watch. “Hey, maybe you can help me out. Save me some time?”

  “Sure. How?”

  “Go to the grove with me. Drive the Jeep back and I’ll ride Clem.” Wes’s brows rose. “Or you ride Clem, and—”

  “I’ll drive.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “I want to be able to sit down.”

  “Good point. Because I want to take you to dinner tonight.” He waited. “This is where you say yes.”

  “Yes,” she told him finally, promising herself she’d be more careful with further conversation. She’d missed lunch and was starving. And regardless of the fact that Wes was out of her league, there was something almost redemptive—if only temporarily—about saying yes to him on the heels of saying no to Barrett’s dinner invitation. She’d picked a man who risked his life for others over one who was unapologetically proud of his ability to “look out for number one.” Choosing the hero felt like a significant first.

  She hung on tight as the old Jeep bumped along the rocky terrain toward the grove. And tried not to question why a man like Wes would choose someone like her.

  - + -

  “Kate? Are you there?” Lauren glanced at the parked Hyundai, then rapped on the lacquered green door again. “It’s Lauren. I—”

  The door swung inward.

  “I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so long.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I thought it was the police again.”

  “Police? What do you mean?”

  “Here, come in.” As Kate led her inside, Lauren noticed she’d done some things with the house: packing boxes gone, sweater-knit pillows on the couch, and a framed photo on the mantel. Lauren sniffed. Potpourri? What prompted all this?

  “A detective came by. They have the security tapes,” Kate explained as they sat on the couch. She had cotton balls tucked between her bare toes, protecting freshly painted nails. A polish bottle sat on the coffee table next to her cell phone. “Barrett said they’d be asking me more questions.”

  Lyon? Lauren hoped the potpourri and polish weren’t for his benefit. After everything Kate had said about her poor choices when it came to men . . . “What did the police want to know?”

  “A detailed description of the girl. Everything she said to me. What I said to her.” Kate plucked at her hair; her fingernails were polished too. “Barrett said it was important that it didn’t appear as if this girl was looking to me as a Safe Haven provider.”

  “They found her?” Lauren’s brows scrunched. “I didn’t hear anything about—”

  “No. No, they haven’t found her.” Kate rubbed her neck. “Barrett’s just doing what he does.”

  Barrett. Again. Lauren decided she liked it better when Kate didn’t call the hospital attorney by his first name. “Strategy in the event that Austin Grace faces a lawsuit over the baby’s death?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to believe it will come to that.”

  Lauren pulled a couch pillow into her lap. “Dana Connor went home sick today.”

  Kate’s lips pinched. “I heard.”

  “I’ve talked wi
th her a few times as a peer counselor. She has a lot on her plate even aside from her nursing career.” Lauren ran a fingertip over a row of cable knitting on the pillow cover. “Dana has to be worried that she could be targeted for blame in the Baby Doe incident.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Kate glanced away, let her words trail off.

  You wouldn’t do that. Would you? Lauren dismissed the thought. She knew her friend better than that.

  “I stopped by because I heard you left early; I wanted to be sure everything was okay.” Lauren’s eyes connected with Kate’s. “You’re good?”

  “Yeah. Now I am. Rough morning: meeting with Evelyn, a humiliating skirmish with a Brownie troop . . .” She smiled at the confusion on Lauren’s face. “Nothing worth talking about. Then my dad showed up again.”

  Ah. “How’d that go?”

  “Not so well.” Kate flexed her toes and a cotton ball dropped to the hardwood floor. “He’s on his way back to California. We’re better via e-mail.”

  “Family,” Lauren commiserated. “Not always easy.”

  While Kate reached down for the cotton ball, Lauren glanced toward the framed photo on the mantel. A woman with dark hair and Kate’s eyes. Her mother, without a doubt. “I understand family drama, trust me. I may need to go home to Houston before Thanksgiving. To check on things.”

  “Jessica?”

  Lauren nodded, worry pressing down like a weight. “She’s been missing some school—I think I told you she’s pre-nursing. Anyway, Jess hates it when I go big sister on her. But . . . it’s a fine line. So—” She stopped short as Kate’s phone signaled a text message. “Go ahead. Really.”

  “Thanks. I should check. I was expecting . . .”

  Barrett Lyon? Lauren watched Kate’s face as she read, caught the fleeting smile she tried to conceal.

  “Sorry ’bout that.” Kate set the phone back down on the table. “You were saying?”

  “Nothing really. Another time.” Lauren pushed the pillow aside. “I need to get going. I only wanted to make sure you were good.” She pointed to the nail polish. “In my professional opinion, nail polish is always a positive sign. Even better if you were wearing a killer dress and heels.”

  “Black jersey. Italian pumps. Laid out and waiting.”

  “Seriously? For what?”

  “Dinner. With . . .” Kate’s pause was merciless.

  “Tell me now, or I’ll pitch a fit.” Lauren held her breath, tried not to think of the gold Mercedes.

  “Wes Tanner.” Kate’s smile returned.

  - + -

  “All settled in?” Wes asked, noting the half-eaten plate of food next to Gabe’s recliner, a cafeteria array of entrées from his neighbors and church family. He spotted one of Lily Braxton’s powdered-sugar cookies.

  “Snug as a bug in a rug.” Gabe pressed the remote to lower the volume on the TV. Then nudged his dog’s nose away from the dinner plate. “Thanks for taking Hersh out today; he’d have been bored to tears playing nurse. Clementine did okay with the grove?”

  “Yeah. That old trailer’s scheduled for haul out on Friday, I think.”

  “The sisters must be relieved.” The compassion in Gabe’s voice reminded Wes once again how unselfish and good-hearted this man was. “Nancy Rae will sleep better too.”

  “I expect.” Wes rolled his eyes. “You sure you don’t need me to bunk on the couch tonight? Give you a hand?”

  “Nah.” Gabe pointed toward the mounded plate. “I’ve got more food than I need; the crutches are no problem. And Mom’s insisting she’s going to stand by—covering her eyes—when I navigate the shower tomorrow morning.” He shook his head. “In our line of work she’s seen a lot worse.”

  Wes snorted. “Don’t count on it.” He glanced toward the door. “Hey, did I see a county car pulling away when I drove up?”

  “Yeah.” Gabe nudged Hershey’s nose again, then caved and tossed him a piece of Lily’s cookie. He turned back to Wes. “Corey, from the sheriff’s department; you remember him. Wife’s doing K9 training. Anyway, he stopped by to say hey . . . and give me a little inside information on Sunni’s case.”

  “Like?”

  “Like there could be another park search. Didn’t we both predict that?”

  “Which park? When?”

  “Not sure when. Sounds like the DA’s pushing for more information first. But the inmate mentioned the Barton Creek Greenbelt.” Gabe caught Wes’s gaze. “All hush-hush, of course. Which probably won’t keep you from heading in that direction again.”

  “Tonight.” Wes smiled at the thought.

  Gabe’s brows rose. “I was kidding. In the dark? You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. I’ll be heading toward Zilker Park tonight.” Wes stalled, enjoying the look on his friend’s face. “But not for the reason you think.”

  “Don’t torture an invalid. I’ll throw a crutch.”

  Wes grinned. “Kate lives near there. I’m taking her to dinner.”

  “IT’S AMAZING,” KATE SAID over the soft clatter of glassware and distant strains of guitar. She peered through the restaurant’s window and across darkened Lady Bird Lake toward the glowing cityscape. “The horizon does look purple now that the sun’s set.”

  “Violet, officially. Or so they say.” Wes smiled at her across the linen-topped table. Candlelight played over his freshly shaved jaw and the shoulders of his navy twill jacket, creating smoky shadows beneath his dark lashes. “City of the Violet Crown. Supposedly it was O. Henry who gave Austin the nickname. Back in the late 1800s. Could be a tall tale, though.” His smile stretched. “Folks claim we Texans are prone to that sort of thing.”

  Tall tale. Kate hated that his words made her think of what she’d said to the police scant hours ago. Or rather, what she hadn’t said. That poor girl was asking me for help. . . . Had Kate lied? Was she willing to shift blame to Dana Connor? Do exactly what Barrett Lyon expected of her . . . because she was like him?

  “You’re lost in thought,” Wes said, bringing Kate’s attention back.

  “No,” she said in a hurry. “Only remembering how much of this amazing city I’ve discovered, thanks to you.” She glanced toward the window again. “That shoreline down there—with Stevie Ray Vaughan himself—the capitol, those crazy food trailers, and Lake Austin.” Where we kissed. His eyes met hers and Kate felt her face flush. “And now this spot,” she added, glancing across the casually upscale oak-and-brick dining room toward a lively bar offering spotted cowhide stools. And in summer, apparently the city’s best view of the famous Congress bridge bats. “It’s great.”

  He pointed to her empty salad plate. “You were just surprised to find Humboldt Fog goat cheese this far from California.”

  “True.” Kate smiled at him, feeling again the persistent quiver that had begun with Wes’s arrival on her doorstep tonight. It wasn’t so much that he’d looked different, though he certainly did: jacket and dress shirt paired casually with nice jeans and boots, and an enticing hint of a scent that had nothing to do with horses. It wasn’t that he’d left his Got Water? truck behind in favor of a comfortable sedan—something she greatly appreciated with her clingy dress and heels. The quivers didn’t even spring from the way Wes kept a protective hand at the small of her back when they crossed the street to this restaurant. The truth was that they came from the sense that tonight was different. Because I’ve never known a man like him.

  Kate blinked, realizing Wes had said something else.

  “And if we get the sort of rain they’re predicting this week, you might wish you were eating your salad in California. There’s a good reason we call them gully washers.”

  “Will that kind of rain affect your work—the well-drilling business?”

  “The drought’s affected it more. We’ve had almost more business than we can handle: extending wells, drilling in new sites, and installing rainwater-catchment systems. Austin needs this rain.” He traced a finger down the condensation on his water glass, his expression sobe
ring. “Though flash floods are possible. Which would affect my other business.”

  Kate gave him a puzzled look.

  “Search and rescue,” Wes explained. “Travis County has an impressive swift-water rescue team. Central Texas is known as Flash Flood Alley—it’s our number one natural disaster threat. And we’ve had some, trust me. Back in 2001, a supercell thunderstorm, combined with tornadoes, hit Austin during rush hour. Fifteen inches of rain, high winds. Eight of the ten deaths from the storm were vehicle related. Two feet of water will carry away an SUV.” Wes’s blue eyes darkened and Kate suspected he was thinking of his mother. Her death in that river.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. Never give an engineer an opening to quote statistics.” He glanced toward the sound of the guitar. “How about I settle up with the waiter and we go enjoy the music? Take back what we lost to that raccoon at Lake Austin.”

  “The cupcake wrapper?”

  “No.” Wes smiled. “The dance. Let’s finish one this time.”

  - + -

  They stood and Wes stepped aside, allowing Kate to weave through the tables ahead of him. Which also offered yet another glimpse of how great she looked in her dress and heels. He’d been nearly speechless when she opened the door at her house. From jeans and boots and handily navigating that rusty old Jeep, to . . . this. He took a slow breath. Right now Kate Callison would look completely at home on the arm of some Dallas banker, but she was with Wes. With me . . . not Barrett Lyon. It felt incredibly good. If only he could manage not to botch things by boring her with more weather statistics. Or mentioning the greenbelt and its possible connection to Sunni’s disappearance. Kate didn’t need to add that to her list of problems. Wes didn’t want to worry her; he just wanted her back in his arms.

  Kate stopped at the edge of the small, darkened dance floor. A few yards away, a solitary guitar player leaned toward his microphone in a soft pool of light, eyes closed as he sang.