He saved her life...
But will he destroy her dreams?
Firefighter Rand Nelson is tall and handsome and has literally walked through an inferno for Beatrice Wilcox. He’s a hero...and that’s exactly the problem. Beatrice knows all too well the risks of loving a man with a dangerous career. But when Rand’s report threatens her beloved children’s camp, Beatrice can’t refuse his offer of help...even though she knows they’re both playing with fire.
“I vowed never to get involved with a man who worked in a dangerous job.”
“Like cops...and firemen?”
“Exactly like cops and firemen.” His handsome face was heartbreakingly compassionate at that moment, but she’d struck him down again.
“Listen, Beatrice. I’m a highly trained and skilled fire jumper. I’m certainly more careful going into a fire than you were. I know what I’m doing. Seriously.”
“It’s still dangerous. You’re not an accountant who sits in an office behind a computer all day. You risk your life for others!”
“I certainly do,” he replied proudly.
This had to stop. With each moment she spent with Rand, their attraction grew. That kiss... No. It was more than attraction. Her heart was opening to him, and she couldn’t let that continue.
But another part of her grew queasy with uncertainty, as if warning her that she was making the wrong decision...
Dear Reader,
I’m thrilled and humbled that you are reading my newest story in the Shores of Indian Lake series. Earlier this year, Hallmark Channel aired the movie The Sweetest Heart, which is based on book two of the series, Heart’s Desire, now also available under the same title as the movie at www.Harlequin.com and on Amazon.
As I moved into writing Beatrice Wilcox’s story, I was aware of one of the aspects that make our Harlequin Heartwarming stories so poignant: not only do our heroines and heroes find their happy-ever-after, but their dreams really do come true. Beatrice is hardworking and has put everything on the line for her children’s camp. Of all my heroines, Beatrice has the biggest heart. She is all love. She’s who I strive to be.
The kids in the story, little Eli and Chris, have been abandoned by their parents. When Chris accidentally sets the nearby forest on fire, Beatrice runs into the fire to save the boys, never thinking of her own safety.
Rand Nelson, firefighter, comes to the rescue. Spellbound by Beatrice’s courage and love, Rand can’t help but fall for her. However, Rand works in a dangerous job and Beatrice has sworn she will never be with a man who takes such risks.
I hope you enjoy this and all the Indian Lake stories. Believe me when I say I can’t write the next half dozen fast enough!
God bless and happy reading,
Catherine
Rescued by the Firefighter
Catherine Lanigan
Catherine Lanigan knew she was born to storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer.
For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago. To add to the dream, Hallmark Channel has recently released The Sweetest Heart, based on the second book in her Harlequin Heartwarming series, Shores of Indian Lake. With more books in the series and more movies to come, Catherine makes her home in La Porte, Indiana, the inspiration for Indian Lake.
Books by Catherine Lanigan
Harlequin Heartwarming
Shores of Indian Lake
Family of His Own
His Baby Dilemma
Visit the Author Profile page at www.Harlequin.com for more titles.
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This book is dedicated to my husband, Jed Nolan, who was my hero on earth and is now my protector on The Other Side. It is love that brings heaven and earth together. You prove that to me every day. I love you to the moon and back and all the universes and galaxies between and beyond.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My sincere thanks to my agent, Lissy Peace, who said, “Why don’t you write about a Youth Camp and a smoke jumper?” Little did I know that this story would take on a life of its own—like a raging fire—so quickly. Thank you to Claire Caldwell, my former editor, who worked on the initial story line with me. And a big hug to my editor, Adrienne Macintosh, who took over after Claire’s departure and jumped into the story with me. I’m looking forward to the next books with you, Adrienne.
To Kathleen Scheibling, Heartwarming’s executive editor, and always to Dianne Moggy for over two decades of working together.
The next twenty years won’t be enough.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EXCERPT FROM THE RANCHER’S FAKE FIANCÉE BY AMY VASTINE
CHAPTER ONE
Indian Lake, Indiana
July
THE SUMMER NIGHT sounds of chirping tree frogs and cicadas drifted through the open screen window of Beatrice Wilcox’s sixty-year-old log cabin. Loving the wildlife melodies, she closed her eyes, her weary body spent from a long day with ten rowdy, sometimes frustratingly taciturn children and preteens.
But running this camp was her dream. She wanted to create a summer idyll for kids who faced challenges in their young lives, as she had when she’d been a camper herself as a child.
But how to pay for it? Worrying over money often kept her awake at night. Tonight being no exception.
She kicked the old patchwork quilt off her body. Then she flung her forearm over her brow. She was still wide awake.
Breathing a sigh, she sniffed the air. And froze. Then sniffed again.
“It...can’t be.”
Curling through the screen was pungent smoke. Not the smoke from a cigarette or cigar, or the acrid, bitter smoke from a country farmer burning garbage. This was clean smoke. The kind from burning vegetation.
Beatrice bolted upright in her bed, her eyes wide. She tossed aside the sheets and swung her legs to the rag rug she’d made herself that covered the painted concrete floor.
“No!”
Going to the window, she cranked the casement window open wide. The smell of smoke was unmistakable. “Not a fire. Not now. Not ever!”
Spinning around, she shoved her
feet into her sneakers and grabbed her cell phone off the varnished tree-stump table.
“Please don’t let it be one of the cabins. Or the kitchen!” She raced out to her front porch, the wood screen door banging behind her. The yellow “bug” light on the front porch did a good job of keeping the mosquitoes and flies away, but unfortuntely gave little illumination. She leaned over the wide log railing that extended down the four steps to the gravel path that served as her sidewalk.
The camp consisted of ten sturdy small log cabins, with five on either side of the main dining hall and activities center. Up the hill at the end of the five cabins was a larger cabin that housed the male counselors, though right now there was only the one. Beatrice’s cabin was on the left side after the five girls’ cabins and a larger cabin for the female counselors.
Her eyes scoured the little cabins and the main hall. She saw nothing amiss.
Walking farther down the path, she stopped abruptly as a crimson glow illuminated the side of her face. She turned toward the forest that stretched for acres across the country road. “Oh, no!”
Forest fire.
The summer had been hot and dry with barely a sprinkle of rain in the past month. The Weather Channel had said it was the driest summer in Indian Lake history. This was Southern California weather, not northern Indiana weather. July was known for heat in Indiana, and even soared over one hundred degrees, but seldom did the region get this dry. In recent weeks, the corn was withering on the stalks. The leaves of the soybean crops were already turning golden six weeks ahead of normal.
She punched in 911 on her phone.
“What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
“Fire! I’m at Indian Lake Youth Camp. Up Highway Thirty-Five. There’s fire in the woods across the road. It’s been so dry, I’m afraid the fire could move fast and head right for us.”
She looked around and saw the light in Maisie and Cindy’s cabin switch on. Cindy had just turned twenty-two, and though a year younger than Maisie, she possessed a child’s boundless energy. She was pulling a light sweatshirt over her head as she rushed out onto her porch.
Beatrice beckoned to Cindy, who started running toward her, her sneakers digging into the gravel with purpose.
Cindy’s streaked blond hair was clipped up on her head into a thick spike, making her look just like Cindy Lou Who from the Grinch cartoon. There was nothing comical about the fear in Cindy’s face, however. She pointed to the fire. “This is a nightmare.”
“It is,” Beatrice replied, still listening to the dispatcher.
“The units have been sent. They’re on their way,” the dispatcher said.
“Thank you,” Beatrice said and hung up while simultaneously grabbing Cindy’s arm. Cindy was shaking.
“Cindy, look at me. This is no time to panic. We have to get the kids up and dressed. Then you and Bruce need to take them to St. Mark’s.”
“St. Mark’s?” Cindy’s voice cracked.
“Yes. You remember, right?” Beatrice asked firmly. Beatrice knew she could do this.
But Beatrice was their leader. She was responsible for these children. Their lives might depend on her tonight.
More than the danger the fire posed to her beloved camp, it was the children she cared about. Each child was a gift to her. She took special care to learn their needs and idiosyncrasies, their fears and their delights.
When misgivings about money turned to dark moments, when she wondered why she’d placed all her dreams into this black hole of continual and costly restoration, she reminded herself it was for the kids, whom she cared about as if they were family.
“Cindy...”
“St. Mark’s! I remember. Father Michael offered his activity hall in case of any emergency.” Cindy brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek. “This definitely qualifies.”
“Yes, it does, Cindy. Wake up Bruce. Believe me, it takes a bomb to get that guy up. You and Bruce wake up the boys. Maisie and I will take the girls’ cabins. Get everyone to the dining hall first, then hustle them into the SUVs and drive them into town.”
“What about you?”
“I have to stay here. It’s my camp. Now, go!”
As Cindy raced off to Bruce’s cabin, Beatrice waved to Maisie.
Maisie had put on jeans, sneakers and a light hooded pullover. She held up her cell phone as she ran toward Beatrice. “I’ll get the girls.”
While Cindy was all emotion, hugging the kids, giving them encouragement, Maisie was the organized, Excel-sheet-minded counselor who kept the kids in line. She also helped order the food and had their consumption quantities down to the number of tiny boxes of raisins and bars of soap they would need each month.
“Yes. Good thing I filled up the SUVs’ gas tanks yesterday. We are good to go,” Beatrice replied as they went to the first girls’ cabin.
Jessica and Susan Kettering were two sisters from Chicago whose parents were in Europe for work. The girls were living at the camp for a month, and Beatrice had gotten to know them well.
The girls, ages six and eight, both had amblyopia, or lazy eye. They refused to wear their eye patches on corresponding eyes at the same time. Thus, Jessica’s patch was on her right eye for six months, and Susan’s patch was on her left eye. In addition, they both had myopia and couldn’t read or see objects up close. Their glasses were thick and cumbersome for many of the sports, but their lighthearted attitudes overcame their personal struggles. Beatrice admired their closeness; they were always holding hands and helping each other.
Jessica awoke first. “What is it, Miss Beatrice?” She rubbed her eyes.
Jessica was thin and short, and had cropped auburn hair. She looked like a little ladybug to Beatrice, because she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. “Bruce and Cindy are going to drive you kids into town.”
“But why?” Susan asked, putting her glasses on before she sat up in bed. She lifted her little arms to Maisie.
Maisie leaned down to the girl. Beatrice didn’t know what it was about Susan, but she had a way of melting Maisie’s analytical heart.
As Maisie whisked the child out of bed and to the floor, Beatrice pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over Jessica’s head. She held out a pair of pull-on pants.
“Once these two are dressed, Maisie, take them to the SUVs. I’m going to the next cabin. Belinda and Sherry are older. They can meet you at the SUVs. Then I’ll get Aubrey and Anna.”
“Got it,” Maisie said, tying Susan’s shoes. “In fact, you should go now. I’ll help Jessica with her shoes.”
“I can tie my own,” Jessica said proudly. “It’s okay, Miss Beatrice. I can help Maisie with Susan,” Jessica insisted. “She’s my sister.”
Beatrice felt her eyes sting with tears and a lump invade her throat. Jessica was so precious to her—if those flames came anywhere near...
“You’re such a help, Jessica.” Beatrice leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
Maisie stood upright, her eyes darting to Beatrice. “You did call Father Michael, right?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Beatrice halted. She’d been so concerned about getting the kids out of danger, that she’d skipped a step. “I—I...”
“It’s understandable,” Maisie said, her eyes going to Beatrice’s back pocket, where she kept her phone.
Beatrice yanked the cell out of her pocket and found Father Michael’s number.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Bless you for answering so quickly, Father Michael. It’s Beatrice Wilcox at the youth camp. I need your help.”
“Name it,” he replied.
Beatrice had only just started her explanation when Father Michael stopped her. He was already on his way to the church’s activity hall to turn on the lights and fans. “I’ll have everything ready.”
He hung up.
“M
aisie, are you sure you’re all right here?” Beatrice asked, knowing that the girls’ eye conditions caused them to stumble and trip a great deal in addition to their having trouble dressing.
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” Maisie assured her.
Beatrice shot out the cabin door and paused for a moment to see Bruce taking two of the younger boys to the large black SUV. “Bruce!” she shouted.
“It’s A-OK! Cindy is checking the last cabin.”
“Good...” Beatrice’s voice trailed off as she glanced across the road. Flames snaked along the ground. The mounds of dry pine nettles around the trees sparked like tiny fireworks as they ignited. Then the tongues of fire wove up and around the tree trunks, following the growth of poison ivy and clinging vines.
In the distance she heard sirens pierce the summer night. At the sound, she felt the first burst of hope since she’d breathed in the smell of smoke. “Hurry,” she breathed.
Racing to the SUV, she found Bruce belting in nine-year-old Joshua Langsford. Joshua had tears in his eyes.
“Are we going to be all right, Miss Beatrice?” the dark-haired boy with the leg brace asked.
She ruffled his hair and wiped his tears away with her fingertip. “Yes, sweetie. Bruce is taking you all to Father Michael’s church hall. You’ll stay there until the firemen put the fire out. He and Cindy will stay with you all night. Maisie will drive in later and help bring you back when it’s safe. Don’t you be afraid. You’re a brave boy, Joshua. If you can survive all the pain from your leg surgeries, you can do this. You help Bruce with the younger boys, okay?”
“Okay,” Joshua replied, pursing his lips and slamming his back against the seat.
Cindy came rushing up with five-year-old Ricky Sanders, the youngest child at the camp that week. He was a foster child, hoping to be legally adopted by his new foster parents, and was Cindy’s personal favorite. “Did one of you get the Dunning boys?”
“Eli and Chris are in the last cabin,” Beatrice replied. “I thought you were getting them.”
“I was...” Cindy hesitated, looking at Ricky. She put Ricky in his child’s seat and belted him in. She turned away from the boy so that only Beatrice could hear her. Nearly in a whisper Cindy said, “They weren’t there. That’s why I thought one of you might have gotten to them already.”
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