One Plus One Makes Marriage

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Usually I just have to smile at them.” Turning a corner, she spared him a look. And a smile to illustrate her point. “You’re a tougher case. But you know what they say.”

  He didn’t bother suppressing the groan. “No, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out whether I want to or not.”

  He was learning. “The more effort you put into getting something, the more you treasure it when you finally get it.” And she wanted to get to be part of his life, even if it meant just being on the perimeter. “You’re not fooling me, you know, Lance Reed.”

  He couldn’t decide if he thought she was adorable or just a pain in the butt. Probably a little of both. “I wasn’t aware that I was trying to.”

  “Then maybe it’s yourself you’re trying to fool, but it’s not working. Inside that hard, blustery exterior is a soft center.” And she was going to go on mining until she reached it.

  The description had him scowling. Did she think she could sum him up that easily? “I’m not a Tootsie Roll Pop, McCloud.”

  Melanie just gave him a knowing smile. “Have it your way.”

  Sometimes retreat was called for before complete annihilation struck. Lance sank down in his seat. “Not so’s you’d notice,” he murmured. He had a strong hunch that very few people had their way around McCloud unless she wanted them to.

  Laughing, Melanie turned down one of Bedford’s two main thoroughfares, taking the tree-lined, four-lane road that led to Bess’s house.

  A dark formation on the horizon caught her attention. It was too small to be a cloud. She glanced toward Lance, but he was looking out the window on his side.

  “Lance?”

  He heard the uncertain note in her voice. Now what? “Yeah?”

  “That dark cloud hanging in the sky over there.” She squinted, trying to get a better view herself. It was dreary out, and darkness was drawing in, making it difficult to see. “Is that smoke?”

  Every fiber of his being came instantly alive. He looked out the windshield. “Where?”

  She pointed. “There.”

  It was a small, darkening plume just above the cluster of trees. The trees obstructed his view. At this distance, it hardly seemed bigger than the fluffed-up tail of a Persian cat. He craned his neck out the window just as they came to a break in the trees.

  “Damn.” It was smoke all right. Coming from the residential area.

  The plume was gaining in size as she drove toward it. An uneasy premonition wafted through her.

  “Do you think that’s anywhere near Bess’s house?”

  “Drive faster,” was his only response. A sick feeling was curling through his belly, growing in direct relationship to the widening gray cloud.

  Her heart hammering in her chest, Melanie pressed down on the accelerator. The speedometer jumped as she flew through a light that was a split second from red. Taking a corner, she guided the van with the ease of someone who was accustomed to defensive driving.

  Had he not been so worried about Bess, he would have asked Melanie where she’d learned to drive like that, but all he could think of, all he could do, was pray that Bess wasn’t in danger and that it wasn’t her house that was on fire.

  But it was.

  Lance saw the smoke hovering greedily around the structure as Melanie turned the van onto Bess’s block. Located at the end, with no neighbors on three sides of it, the house normally attracted little to no attention. There was no one now to notice the fire that was swiftly marshaling control over the two-story building.

  It wasn’t a fiery inferno yet, but Lance knew how quickly the situation could change. Perspiration broke out over his brow. Bess loved having a good, roaring fire in the fireplace.

  “Damn it, I told her to have that chimney cleaned.” He cursed roundly. “Pound on one of the neighbor’s doors and call this in,” he ordered, leaping out of the van before Melanie had brought it to a full stop.

  Running, he left the passenger door hanging open. It almost snapped off as Melanie brought the van to a screeching halt. The vehicle fishtailed before finally stopping.

  Melanie yanked on the emergency brake. “Where are you going?” she shouted after him.

  “To get Bess. Call!” he ordered.

  The doorknob was too hot for him to turn. Heat was radiating through the spaces, daring him to enter. Lance stripped off his windbreaker, wrapping it quickly around his hand and arm. Swinging hard, he drove his arm through the glass in the living room window.

  Melanie turned to rush to a neighbor’s house when she saw the silver car parked across the street. She recognized it immediately.

  Oh, my God.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Melanie saw someone running out of the house next to Bess’s.

  “Call the fire department,” she shouted to them as she ran to the burning house.

  Hesitating only long enough to mumble a prayer, Melanie climbed in after Lance.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lance had always had a healthy respect for fire.

  Fire was something that couldn’t be tamed, only temporarily held in check. Two years ago that respect had turned to fear. He thought he was trapped then, as trapped as the old woman he wasn’t able to save. Instinct and blind luck had somehow guided him to the only exit left open to him. He’d gotten out, but not whole. He’d been scarred, both in mind and body.

  One set of scars healed, the other had only crusted over.

  With all his heart Lance wanted to flee from the inferno. Flee and run for cover. But he couldn’t allow fear to paralyze him. He had to find Bess. Find her and get her out before the fire wouldn’t let either one of them leave.

  Flames hissed a ghoulish greeting as he made it over the windowsill. Without his firefighting gear on, he knew he had only minutes, maybe not even that long, to do what had to be done and get the hell out.

  He had no idea where to find Bess. She could have been anywhere, in any of the rooms, and the smoke and flames were making it difficult to see. The flames weren’t coming in sheets yet, but they would. They would.

  Was she upstairs? God, he hoped not. One hand over his nose and mouth, and trying to breathe as little as possible, Lance scanned what he could of the living room as he made his way through it to the staircase.

  And then his heart stopped.

  Bess was on the floor just beyond the sofa. She was clutching that damned autographed picture he’d given her. Hurrying to her, Lance almost lost his balance as he tripped over something. It took him a moment to realize what it was.

  His eyes stinging from the smoke, Lance made out the form of a man.

  His father was lying facedown on the floor, only a few feet away from Bess. It wasn’t difficult to see he’d been trying to reach her before smoke had overcome him, as well.

  The wide ceiling beam above Lance groaned, serving notice. His father was directly under it. Adrenaline pumping in double time, Lance grabbed his father’s arm and dragged him away just as the beam came crashing down, cutting the room in half lengthwise. Other beams criss-crossing the vaulted ceiling made similar noises. He had no idea how long before they followed suit.

  He had to choose, choose who to save first, who to return for. What if there wasn’t enough time to get them both out? What if his choice meant certain death for one of them? The thought tore him apart.

  He wasn’t filled with anger or with hostile, hurt feelings anymore. He was just a man who didn’t want to see his family taken from him.

  Most of all, he didn’t want to be the one who made the decision of who lived, who died.

  But he had to. If he didn’t, if he tried to save them both at the same time, then they would all die.

  Steeling himself, Lance made his choice.

  The fire swirled and swelled surrealistically around Melanie, its flaming red tongues licking close to her body as she fought to keep Lance in sight. Even a few inches could be enough for her to lose him if they were filled with smoke and fire.

  “No,” she shouted abov
e the groan of the fire. Lance was stooping to pick Bess up. He was going to carry his aunt out first. Melanie jumped over a burning cushion to reach him. Every second counted. “Take your father, I’ll take Bess. Your father’s too heavy for me.”

  Stunned at the sound of her voice, Lance whirled around to see Melanie running toward him. “What the—”

  “Take him!” she cried, coughing. The smoke was already filling her throat and lungs. They felt as if they were bursting.

  Anger flared uncontrollably through him. Had she lost her mind? What was she doing in here? McCloud was crazy, absolutely crazy.

  But there was no time to tell her that. No time to do anything but try to survive and bring everyone out safely.

  It all depended on him.

  “This way,” he shouted.

  Straining, he dragged his father’s dead weight into an upright position. Bruce was as tall as he was and had about ten pounds on him. He was too heavy to carry. Slinging one of his father’s arms over his shoulder and holding on to it tightly, Lance half dragged, half carried him toward the door.

  Halfway there, he tried to turn around to make sure Melanie was still with him. The fire was growing fiercer with each second that passed. It obstructed his view. God, what if he lost her?

  With the photograph frame tucked under her arm, Melanie struggled not to let Bess’s weight throw her off balance. She kept her eyes glued to the back of Lance’s head and concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other.

  “I’m right behind you,” she called out. She didn’t want Lance wasting any time by looking back. “Just keep going!”

  The window they’d used to gain entry was completely framed in flames as the drapes on either side succumbed to the fire.

  They couldn’t get out that way. Debris from the ceiling was blocking the front door. The fire was swiftly eating its way to where they were standing.

  Grasping his father more tightly, Lance kicked the burning debris out of the way. With effort, he grabbed at the doorknob. It was hot, just like the one on the other side, but he had no choice. They couldn’t double back, and there was no other way out. He could feel his palm stinging as he yanked the door open.

  Lance thought he heard Melanie scream above the noise of the fire just as they all poured over the threshold and down the verandah steps.

  Letting Bess sink onto the grass, Melanie spun around and pushed Lance down. Startled at the sudden impact, he lost his hold on his father and fell to the ground. Melanie’s cry rang in his ears.

  “Your pant leg is on fire!”

  He hadn’t even realized that the flames had hooked their talons into him. Lance rolled furiously on the grass, acutely aware that Melanie was trying to beat the flames out with her hands.

  Within a heartbeat, it was over. The flames were out.

  Shaken, he sat up, looking down at the damage. The fire had only gotten one pant leg. The material was mostly eaten away, but it didn’t appear as if the bums on his leg went beyond first-degree.

  Right now he was far too numb to even feel them.

  In the distance he heard the peal of a siren. They were coming. The guys from his fire station were responding. The fire wasn’t going to spread to the other houses. It was going to be all right.

  Relief strove to overtake him, but he couldn’t let it come, not yet. Not until he was sure everyone was all right.

  Scrambling to his feet, Lance checked on his aunt first. He took her hand in his. There was a pulse, and she was breathing. “Bess?”

  Coming around, Bess coughed violently as she took in her first breaths of clean air.

  “I’m all right.” Weakly she waved Lance away, though she continued to hold on tightly to Melanie’s hand. Then her eyes widened with fear as she tried to look around. “Your father—”

  Mechanically, Melanie looked toward the other man on the lawn. Euphoric relief vanished, ushering in a new wave of fear. Bruce’s chest wasn’t moving.

  “Lance, he’s not breathing,” she cried. “Your father’s not breathing!”

  The siren was getting louder. The fire truck was coming, and behind it, the ambulance. But Lance knew that even if the paramedics arrived in the next three minutes, it might be too late. Every second counted.

  It might even be too late now.

  He had to do something. Adrenaline stripped his exhaustion of its power. Galvanizing himself, Lance began CPR, praying that there was still time to save his father. And that he was good enough.

  The first two efforts yielded no results. For all the pushing on his chest, all the breaths blown into his mouth, Bruce remained still.

  Lance could hear Bess’s panicky questions, but they just formed a buzzing noise in his head.

  His father couldn’t die this way, he just couldn’t.

  Lance tried again, pushing down harder on his father’s chest before he breathed into his mouth. Mentally he counted out the numbers, then did everything again, more quickly this time.

  “C‘mon, Dad, c’mon.” Lance stared at his father’s face; watching for a reaction, willing one. Nothing. He fought off the bitter taste of panic. “You’re not going to die on me now, damn it. You’re not. I’m not going to let you. Do you hear me? I’m not going to let you die.”

  Barely able to think, Lance went through all the motions again, picking up the pace again. Tears gathered in his eyes.

  A sudden barrage of coughing pushed him back from Bruce’s mouth as Bruce belched out the smoke that had been choking him. He fell back weakly, but his eyes were open and he was at least partially alert.

  “You always were infinitely stubborn,” Bruce managed to say hoarsely.

  Lance sat back on his heels, only vaguely aware that the corners of his eyes were wet. He was just too drained to move, too drained to even manage the smile that he felt through all the corners of his being.

  “It’s in the genes,” he answered wearily, his voice hitching.

  The next moment they were surrounded by a wall of noise as the firetruck pulled up and men in slick yellow gear jumped off, scrambling to bring the fire to its knees.

  Paramedics swarmed around them. Lance recognized two of the three men. One helped him to his feet.

  “I’m okay, see about my father and my aunt.” He turned around to see Melanie moving back from Bess to give the paramedics room. “And my pain in the butt.”

  Melanie looked up sharply as she caught the description. Despite the number of people around them, she’d also heard the barely suppressed anger in his voice. She would have thought he’d be too exhausted to be angry. But then, exhaustion was a funny thing. It seemed to breed baser, more irrational feelings.

  It certainly did in her. She felt angry herself, angrier than she could remember being in a long time. Maybe ever.

  Moving out of the way of the activity, she glared at Lance. “You’re welcome,” she snapped.

  She was bedraggled and covered with smudges from head to foot. Her eyes were flashing, and for once there wasn’t even a friendly glimmer in them. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen her looking more magnificent.

  It also took everything he had not to strangle her. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as she raised a dirty, pugnacious chin. “Hang gliding in the desert,” she spat.

  What the hell was wrong with her? Didn’t she know what could have happened to her?

  “Don’t get flip with me,” he shouted, ignoring everyone else around them. “You had no business climbing through that window after me.”

  No business? No business? her thoughts sputtered.

  She was so angry, she had to concentrate hard in order to remain coherent.

  “I saw your father’s car parked across the street. I figured he had to be inside. You didn’t know that, and by the time you came out with Bess, it would be too late to go back in. So I came in to tell you and to help if I could. You’re not a superhero, either, you know.” She rocked
forward on her toes, drawing herself up. “And don’t you shout at me and tell me what my business is. You have no idea what my business is, what I feel.” God help her for even admitting this. “I saw you disappear into that burning building and my heart stopped.” She should have her head examined for even caring. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the type to stay on the sidelines, wringing my hands and making little worried gasping sounds.”

  Without realizing it, she gave a perfect imitation of a hapless heroine in a thirties melodrama. Finished, she waved a blistered palm toward the house.

  “You were in there, your aunt was in there and your father was in there. I damn well wasn’t going to stand outside and wait to see if you lived or died.”

  She wasn’t making any logical sense. “That was exactly what you were supposed to have done. I’m a trained firefighter. You’re not. Damn it, McCloud, you could have been killed.”

  Her eyes were ablaze with challenge. “Well, I wasn’t. Live with it.”

  Dumbstruck, Lance stared at her, speechless with anger, with relief, with more emotions than he knew what to do with. And then he exhaled a breath that he realized he’d been holding for a long, long time.

  Leaning his forehead against hers, he said wearily. “I guess I’m going to have to.”

  Already the anger was draining away from her. “You could sound a little happier about it,” she suggested.

  He laughed softly, drawing away to look at her. “I am. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “That’s not right. You should make me know.” A smile began to slip along her soot-marked mouth as her eyes searched his. Maybe they were in for a happy ending after all. “As a matter of fact, you should devote the rest of your life to making me know.”

  That was exactly what he intended on doing, he realized. Exactly what he wanted to do. But she could have at least let him take the lead for once. Still, he couldn’t gather together sufficient pretend indignation to pull off asking, “Is it because you grew up on movie sets that you’re always giving cues?”

  Humor teased her mouth, though she tried to keep a straight face. “I wouldn’t have to if you were just a little faster on the uptake.”