Rescued by the Firefighter

by Catherine Lanigan

  Beatrice felt her legs wobble. Quickly, she sat back down in her chair before she fainted. She held on to the chair arms. “Fire chief. And the forensic team. Yes. They were all here.”

  “Apparently,” Percy said.

  All the upgrades she’d installed and the enormous cost flew across her mind like a swarm of banshees. She’d spent all her inheritance. She’d gone through her savings. She’d bet everything she had on this camp. She’d been so certain she’d covered all the bases. But this was a new development. One she couldn’t afford to cover.

  She picked up the papers. She flipped to the second page, which was the official report on the fire. Anxiously, her eyes skimmed the text and the lengthy explanation about Chris and Eli’s participation in the cause of the fire. Her heart hammered in her chest, fearing the worst.

  Then she read the final line:

  Accidental. No intent. No damage to private property. No injury or death to human or animal.

  Court of Indian Lake: Christopher Dunning found not guilty of reckless burning.

  It was deemed an accident.

  She breathed a sigh of relief—Rand had been lenient with the boys, as he’d promised.

  But halfway through the report was the order from the fire chief for two more hydrants to comply with the city and county code #4530898.

  Her hands shook as she put down the papers.

  Yes, she had to figure out how she’d find the money for the new hydrants, but Chris and Eli were saved from legal trauma. She could deal with everything else.

  Somehow.

  At the bottom of the report were two signatures. Those of Fire Chief Bolton and Rand Nelson.

  Beatrice felt a stab in her belly.

  On the one hand, Rand had come to the boys’ rescue. On the other, he’d delivered her camp a crushing blow.

  She’d told him she’d struggled to get the camp up and running. Maybe he didn’t understand how difficult it was to take a ramshackle place like the camp and refurbish it.

  Rand.

  Beatrice had never been one to cast blame on others for her situations or crises. She put her hands around obstacles and tackled them. Alone.

  But in this case? Beatrice felt her anger boil. Rage. Seethe.

  The inspector cleared his throat. “You have two weeks to present the City Water Commission with two construction bids for the hydrants and thirty days to begin the construction or the city will install them for you.”

  “And the cost?”

  “It’s there in the paperwork. Four thousand.”

  Beatrice swallowed hard. Anger, hurt and fear cut off her airflow.

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. You may proceed with your inspection.”

  “I need to take some photos, is all. I won’t be long.”

  He left without a single pleasantry. Beatrice didn’t blame him. It had to be tough being the messenger of ill fate.

  Maisie’s eyes misted over with tears. An unusual response from her analytically minded counselor. “Oh, Beatrice, what are we going to do?”

  “Do?”

  She rose from the chair and grabbed her crutches, which were perched against the wall by the window. Then she took her keys from the desktop. “I won’t be long.”

  “Where are you going? And should you be driving?”

  “To town. And physically? Yes. I can drive and should drive. Though I might have to restrain myself from plowing my SUV into a particular fire station.”

  * * *

  A TOOL BELT around his waist, Rand stepped back to watch the fire engine’s hydraulic platform rise into the air. “That’s it, Curt. I think I fixed it.”

  “Yeah, much smoother,” Curt shouted from the aerial apparatus basket. “But let’s check if we can crank it up farther.”

  The tower-ladder fire engine was parked outside the fire station on the concrete drive. The hot summer sun had baked the ground and the driveway since dawn. Rand ran the sleeve of his black T-shirt along his sweating forehead. “Will do.”

  He was just about to go to work when a familiar SUV sped around the corner, nearly on rails, and shot up the drive and jerked to a stop.

  Beatrice got out of the SUV, hauling the crutches out behind her. Awkwardly, she slammed their rubber poles against the concrete and stomped, with somewhat of a wobble, toward him. Anger spewed out of her mouth before she said a word.

  “Rand Nelson!”

  Oh, boy, he didn’t like this Beatrice—at all. “Bee. Beatrice.” He walked up to her. “What can I do for you?”

  “I think, sir, you have done enough.”

  She’d seen the report. That was fast. He figured city offices and bureaucracy being slow, he should have had a week or more to think of how to break the news to her. Gently.

  Better toss that game plan.

  “Come again?” Stalling was the new game plan, apparently.

  She balled her fists at her sides, as an element of composure crossed her face. “First, I suppose I should—I mean, I want to thank you for what you did for Chris and Eli. That...well, it was decent of you. Though I still don’t think children should be formally accused of accidents...”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t go there. It’s moot. It’s the law. I’m not the lawmaker.”

  “Right. And so, yes. Thank you.”

  “But...?”

  “You know precisely what I’m talking about. Seems my camp is not up to some new city water code I didn’t have a clue about. I have a citation sitting on my desk that if I don’t have two bids from construction companies in two weeks, and begin the installation of not one, but two—” she shoved two fingers in his face “—water lines and two hydrants, the city will do it for me.”

  “That’s the law, yes.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  He jumped in. “Look, Beatrice. This is all for the safety of the children, the counselors. You. We got lucky with this last fire. If there was another one, we might not be so fortunate. What if I hadn’t saved you? Or the kids? Did you think of that?”

  He’d seen anger before, but not directed so piercingly at him. His guilt over his part in her crisis rained down on him like rocks from the skies.

  But why did he feel guilty? He was right. Positively right.

  “Yes, Mr. Official. I thought of that. But you know that I don’t have the financial resources to do all this right now. At the end of the summer—”

  “Might be too late. If we don’t get some substantial rains—and soon—to wet down that forest, another blaze could spark. One lightning strike—”

  “Stop.” She cranked up a palm. “I don’t want your lecture. I get it, okay? I paid attention when you talked to my kids.”

  Sarcasm wasn’t her thing, he thought. He liked her better when she was hugging children. Or letting him put his hand on her waist. This defiant, angry and hurt Beatrice cut him to the bone. He guessed his pain was nothing to compare with hers, however.

  She turned awkwardly on her boot, adjusting the crutches, and marched toward her SUV.

  “Beatrice, wait,” he said and strode after her.

  “Hey! Rand!” Curt called from his platform in the air. “I’m up here, remember?”

  “Be there in a sec.”

  Curt laughed. “I think you’re done.”

  Rand’s eyes flew to Curt, who blew him a kiss. Rand turned his gaze to Beatrice. Her anger had come down to a simmer. A breeze lifted her blond hair off her shoulders. She’d finally gotten it cut. Her blue eyes shone in the sunlight. Other than some lip gloss, she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on her tan face. If she wasn’t so mad at him, he would have tried to hug her. Console her about the monster who had done this to her.

  But I’m the monster.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I just want to say that I’m sorry. But I was doing
my job.”

  “Your job?” She pursed her lips and looked at the concrete, then back at him. She moved a step closer, leaning on the crutches. She lowered her voice so that Curt couldn’t hear her. “Fine. You do your job, Mr. Nelson. I’ll do mine. I’ll find a way to make this right. Comply with regulations and give my kids the summer dream of their lives. I’m not going to let you stop me.”

  “I’m not trying to stop you, Beatrice. I’m trying to help.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  He stared at her as she turned and opened the SUV door. He grabbed the door handle and put one hand on her shoulder. “I have a friend at the bank...”

  “Don’t bother. I’m at my credit limit.” She put the crutches in the SUV. “Without more revenue, they won’t loan a dime to me until I pay off my existing loans. Yes. That’s loans, plural. You have no idea...” Her voice caught. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, forget it,” she spat and climbed into the vehicle. He closed the door for her. Gently. Safely.

  “I can’t forget it, Beatrice.”

  “Try,” she said and started the engine, backed out of the drive and sped away.

  He stood at the end of the drive and watched as she drove around the corner and disappeared.

  “Hey, Rand!” Curt shouted and hung over the metal white bar of the platform. “I gotta tell you, man, your technique sucks. Unless you were trying to get rid of her. In that case, you were aces, man.”

  “Yeah. No question. She’s written me off—for good.”

  Curt gave Rand a thumbs-up.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WASN’T GUILT that shoved Rand into his truck and steered him toward the Indian Lake Youth Camp later that day, or at least that’s what he told himself as he watched the setting sun blister the clear blue sky with fingers of flaming red, orange, lavender and gold.

  He’d left three voice mails for Beatrice and she hadn’t answered. He wasn’t about to let the sun go down on this day without talking to her.

  The camp’s gravel drive crunched under his tires as he entered. Before he got out of the truck, he heard the clanking and clanging of pots and pans being washed and put away. The dining hall was empty of kids. He saw the cabins’ interior lights coming on as the sun sank in the horizon and the sky turned dark, studded with twinkling stars.

  He heard muffled sounds of giggling kids through the screen doors of the cabins. Kids getting ready for bed, talking to their camp mates about the fun they’d had that day.

  As he got out of the truck, he spied several duffel bags outside the cabin doors. Some kids would be leaving in the morning. New kids would be coming in.

  New little spirits for Beatrice to influence. Guide.

  “Love,” he said aloud as he took in the scene around him.

  Night swooped in on dark wings, and the yellow bug lights outside the cabins automatically turned on. Combined with the lights from inside, it created a nostalgic look that Rand could have taken from his own childhood, when he’d camped with his father and brothers up in Michigan.

  Tree frogs chirped in the forest and crickets joined in their song. Lightning bugs flitted from the cabins across the gravel road to the burned forest. As the last vestiges of twilight gleamed, he saw neat rows of pine saplings had been planted across the street. Debris had been raked and cleared. Three old metal watering cans were perched near a large rock.

  Beatrice must have organized a reforesting project. Without rain, the saplings wouldn’t make it, but if she and the kids watered the trees, they might live. He knew she wouldn’t abandon those infant trees any more than she would walk away from her camp.

  Codes or no codes.

  At the end of the row of cabins, set back closer to the woods, he saw a larger cabin, its lights blazing.

  Beatrice stood on the porch, her hands gripping the rail as she stared at him. Even at this distance he could feel the Arctic blast from her.

  He walked up the inclined path to the bottom of her porch steps.

  “I’m surprised to see you. Why are you here?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the citation.”

  “There’s nothing to say. It’s done. Now, please leave.” She pointed to his truck.

  Despite her blatant disgust with him, he was fascinated by her passion and commitment. She was a fighter. And that intrigued him.

  He took another step forward, though gingerly. “I just want to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or the kids.”

  “Well, you did.”

  He wondered if she’d ever warm up to him again.

  He walked up the first step and paused, trying not to intimidate her. “I think what you’re doing here for these kids is great. Needed. Fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” She jutted out her chin. “But your apology doesn’t help me or them. I don’t have the money for those water lines or hydrants or the next code I haven’t complied with. Which I’m sure you’ll find somewhere in that long list of regulations that mean so much to you.”

  “Look, Bee...” He took another step but stopped when she shook her head.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  She clenched her jaw and looked off to the forest. She sniffed.

  Was she fighting tears?

  “My father used to call me that.”

  “And I’m dishonoring him by using that name, too? Bee fits you.”

  Her shoulders hitched as she pursed her lips. “He used to say I was as sweet as a honeybee.”

  Right now, Rand could only think of the stinger she’d attacked him with at the station. “I can see that.”

  “Really?” She heaved a sigh but continued staring at the forest.

  He followed her gaze. “Did you do that? Plant those saplings, I mean.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, the kids and I did. Bruce dug the holes and we planted them. Amanda and I water them every morning and evening.”

  “They’ll be strong trees with all that attention.”

  She looked at him with a smile so faint he wasn’t sure if shadows were playing tricks on him. “I love trees. They’re my friends. When I was a kid and came here to the camp, I used to walk in the woods and talk to the trees. I even hugged them. Stupid, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s real. I’m the same way. That’s why I risk my life for them. I’ve always thought that because trees live such long lives, they could tell such great stories. I hate it when I see a tree being cut down, even by us firefighters when we know it’s the only way to stop the fire from spreading.”

  He’d come here to apologize, but he liked that they were getting back to the warmth of the conversation they’d had in her kitchen.

  And then what, Rand? You don’t “do” relationships and she clearly told you she’d never consider one with someone like you.

  But if there was chemistry between them, shouldn’t they explore it?

  Rand walked over to one of the two rockers on the porch and sat. He patted the arm of the rocker next to him. “What did you tell the trees when you talked to them? How much fun you had at camp?”

  “My sorrows, mostly. I was missing my dad so much back then. He was my world and my mother was so into herself. I felt...”

  “Abandoned.”

  “Exactly,” she said softly.

  “It’s not easy to admit to being alone.” He looked down. “Or lonely.”

  “You can’t feel that way, though. You said you had a large family.”

  “I do.” The sides of his mouth went up involuntarily. He always smiled when he thought about his mother and siblings. “My brothers are my best friends. We kid around, probably too much for my mom, who’s really cool about our taunts to each other. And my sister, Cassie, she’s the gutsy one. Owns her own business.”

  “Really?”

 
“I admire her for that. Did it all on her own.” He peered deeply at her. “Like you.”

  “Oh.”

  Was she blushing? He wasn’t sure. Beatrice always seemed to glow when he was around her.

  “And your dad?”

  “He died when I was young. Similar to your experience.” He looked down at his hands, realizing he was uncomfortable talking about Richard Nelson.

  His father, though, had been a hard man. There were times when Rand believed the man had ordered his children into existence with his commander’s voice, rather than them being birthed naturally.

  A navy admiral, Richard had run every part of his life as if he was the leader of a warship. But he’d been honest, responsible and protective of those less fortunate until he’d passed away when Rand was fourteen. Rand held his father in the utmost esteem for that, and strove to emulate Richard.

  Of the four Nelson brothers, Rand looked the most like his father. His mother called him handsome, but Rand didn’t see it, what with his broken nose and one awkwardly placed dimple. Didn’t handsome guys have a dimple in their chins? But he was strong like his father; it was his powerful body that saved lives.

  For that he was abundantly grateful. And he didn’t take his physical gifts for granted. He did not misuse his body, take drugs, drink or smoke. He was the vigilant type. Always ready to respond to a crisis.

  Still, it was his mother’s nurturing and loving care that had molded him and all his siblings into the responsible and respectable adults they became.

  His mother’s softness and gentle spirit had bent his rigid father to her will time and again. It had always amazed Rand that his father’s blasts and orders to him and his brothers and sister to do their chores, clean the garage, do their homework, were silenced by the crook of his mother’s finger or the caress of her hand against his arm.

  Richard would get a silly look on his face that Rand hadn’t understood until he was in high school and had a crush for a full semester on Mary Kate Harrold.

  He lifted his eyes to Beatrice. Already she was having that kind of effect on him. Astonishingly, he liked it.