Keeper of the Flame

by Stephanie Burke

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  Dedication:

  This is for my Parents, Betty and James, who baby-sat children and always believed in me no matter what. For Teresa for being such a Kendall as well as a “stuffedchicken”. This is for the ladies of FlameKeeper, especially Kim, Lori, Raqai, Dixie, Anita, and Bev, who would not let me quite when I was ready to stop. This is for Goldie, for “discovering” me and kicking my butt until I got it right! And this is for Dennis! Thank you for being the perfect Flame and chasing away all of my shadows.

  Flickering, sensuously dancing, weaving it’s mystery,

  The candle flame grows higher, the light expands.

  But the fire grows, writes it’s own history.

  Makes the tormented soul into a blaze, clear demands.

  It seeks to conquer the frigid ice, the fragile crystal.

  But cannot overcome, only co-exist.

  The glow of the light reflects, ever mystical,

  How can one soul, one heart, resist.

  The frozen tundra, the glacial floes,

  Desperate to eat away at the land.

  Just as doubt, hate, suspicion grows,

  Before love makes it’s final, ultimate stand.

  Fire and Ice, heat and freeze the blood in their veins,

  Love will vanquish them, make their energies merge.

  Within the heart, true love forever reigns,

  Between two souls, one spirit will emerge.

  On the edge of forever, what choice will they make,

  They burn for each other, yet what is the price?

  But winter comes forth, their spirits to take.

  Together, though, the love will suffice.

  Bound together in the eternal dance,

  The frost quenches, the passionate inferno subsides.

  But the torch of lust will capture romance,

  The heat of love is where the dream resides.

  - Katherine Schlem

  Chapter One

  “Damn that man anyway!” Kendall muttered as she walked out of the swinging doors of Johns Hopkins Hospital. At this hour the parking lot was empty, but the sound of the nearby traffic told her the drive home would be difficult. The wet asphalt gleamed in the glow cast by the streetlights. The square empty black parking pads looked as dead as she felt inside.

  The treacherous Dr. Richard Tanner was absent, thank God. That, at least, made her day a little brighter. She had tried so hard to keep a smile on her face, but it had been difficult when all she wanted was to go home and hide. As far as she was concerned, she had no family left to help her grieve. Her sister was probably catting around with the good doctor right at this minute.

  “Damn him! Damn them, and damn me!” Kendall slammed open the door to her silver minivan and threw herself into the driver's seat. She sat there looking out at the bright yellow lines on the parking spaces as tears slowly tracked down her face.

  “Damn me for caring.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, then pushed the key into the ignition. After pulling an eighteen-hour shift on what was supposed to have been the eve of her honeymoon all she wanted was a little peace.

  The radio began to croon nauseatingly sweet lyrics of undying love. “Damn love songs, too,” Kendall muttered as she reached out to switch the station, but changed her mind. The irony was too good to pass up, even if it was at her expense. Maneuvering her car on to her street, Kendall sang along.

  She threw up a her middle finger in an uncommon fit of bad temper when she looked up and noticed lights flickering on the waters of the lake behind her house. Late night boaters, no doubt, out having a good time, while Kendall's life crumbled around her. They were probably drinking and dancing, enjoying a nighttime cruise filled with all kinds of joy and laughter.

  “Damn them for being happy!” Kendall whipped her van into her driveway. Her irrational anger faded into a deep aching sadness when she remembered the plans that she'd had for many a romantic tryst on that very lake. How different her current reality was when compared to her fantasies.

  “A shower,” Kendall murmured to herself. “No, a long hot bath for this old girl.” Absently rubbing the tension from the back of her neck, Kendall popped open the mini-van’s door and wearily headed for the house.

  Thanks to last winter's blizzard, she’d been kept running all day. The combination of four-foot high snowdrifts and stranded couples always made for crowded delivery rooms nine months later. It was just a quirk of fate that the nine-month span ended around the time her wedding was to have taken place.

  The most difficult part of the day had been dealing with the pitying looks and uncertain comments from her friends. What could you say to someone whose heart had been ripped out and tossed away like so many used rubber gloves in an ER?

  She had smiled at all of her well-wishers and reminded them that at least she was getting an all-expenses-paid-for vacation this week, courtesy of the good doctor.

  She had tried to laugh and joke, but the pain had gotten harder and harder to hide. And now it was almost unbearable. Tomorrow was the start of her vacation and new life, but the night was still her demon, her monster to face and to fist into submission.

  “I'll deal with the world tomorrow!” she decided, a little spark of the old Go‑get‑'em‑Kendall shining through her misery. “Tonight I get loaded!” She did have rum in the house, right? Maybe a bottle left over from when her sister flew in to help her celebrate her engagement. She would have to overlook the irony of drinking her sister’s liquor to help her revel in the joy of her single state. Yeah.

  With new determination, she hopped to the ground and gave a small nod to her property. All these double shifts were worth it as long as she could still afford to keep her own house.

  The brick-faced split-level was barely within her price range. With careful budgeting, though, she would be able to keep up the mortgage payments alone. As an added bonus, Richard had no claim on it! She had bought it just after finding out the truth about her fiancée and was proud to say that no memories of him tainted her beloved sanctuary.

  Her front yard always made her smile and tonight was no exception. In the warm, humid air of the late summer night she could smell the roses that grew in abundance around the perimeter of her yard. She had painstakingly planted and nurtured each one like a child and all of her efforts were paying off. Her flowerbeds were fully stocked. Gladiolas, Impatiens and colorful decorative grass surrounded the house like a vibrant, living welcome mat. The garden glowed softly in the illumination provided by her porch lights. Even the delicate white MoonFlowers she had planted beside her front door gave off an enticing aroma that teased and pleased her senses.

  She paused in the perusal of her organic masterpiece of a front yard when she spied a pile of garbage near her front porch. Her eyes flared in sudden anger before narrowing into small brown slits. “Damn the person who left that there!” she declared. She gave a small snort of laughter. At the rate she was damning people, the word would soon lose all meaning. “I need to find some better swears!”

  Muttering under her breath about overpriced community association fees and cheap, ineffective security, she stalked over to the pile of refuse. After all her hard work creating a horticulture showcase, she would be damned before she let a litterbug destroy her near perfect view.

  She never expected the garbage to move.

>   With a shriek, Kendall fumbled for the pepper spray in her pocket. Hands trembling, she held her weapon before her. When the pile showed no other signs of life, her heart rate returned to normal. She inched closer to the dark pile and carefully nudged it over with the toe of her nursing shoe. Again she jumped back, barely controlling another shriek of fright.

  It was a man.

  A big man in obvious pain.

  He groaned as a wave of pain flashed over his features. “Help me!” he managed, desperation washing over his face.

  In the face of his unmistakable distress, Kendall's medical training kicked in. In a flash, the pepper spray was replaced with her house keys and she was squatting to help the man struggle to his feet. It wasn't easy. He was lying in a fetal position, his back to her as he strained to hold his head up and speak. Kendall placed her hands on his quivering shoulders only to pull back at the cold wetness. He moaned and she rushed to brush the wet hair from his face in an effort to calm him down. Dropping to her knees, she to eased her hands beneath his arms.

  Muscles straining and screaming in protest, Kendall managed to pull the man the few feet to her porch, grunting and breathing heavily with the effort.

  “Come on! Help me here!”

  He must've been dumped by one of those boats, she reasoned. Maybe there had been an accident and he had managed to make it this far for help. Many scenarios quickly flashed through her brain as she helped support the man. Maybe after he'd been dumped he had managed to swim to safety.

  The man's slow nod brought her back to the situation at hand. He braced himself and tried to force his body upwards. Working together, they managed to get him upright. Then they attempted a few shaky steps towards the front door. Struggling for each step, they made their way to the front door.

  Once there, he released a tortured moan when his body tightened and began to spasm in her arms. “Come on,” she urged, “you can do this!” She added a bit of command in her voice as she tried desperately to hold him upright long enough to get the key in the lock. His legs tightened, taking some of the burden of his weight, freeing up her arm for more movement.

  “Shh,” she crooned while searching for the right key, sighing in relief as it slid into the lock.

  The key turned slowly and the tumblers clicked loudly, but finally the door slammed open under the weight of the man. Kendall ignored the noise and urged him into her hallway. They both let out a sigh of relief.

  But there were still more obstacles ahead of them, mainly the couch. It seemed a million miles away across the room. And the man's wet clothes would have to come off. He was starting to shiver in the air-conditioned hall.

  “To the couch!” was her war cry and together they nearly ran the last few feet before his legs collapsed beneath him. Like a doll, he lay there, as if it were too much of an effort to right himself.

  “Are you okay?” she questioned in her best nurse's voice, dropping to her knees in front of him.

  “My babies…”

  Babies? She hadn't seen anyone else out there. Had there been an accident? Were there other people hurt? “Where?” she demanded. “Where are they?”

  He groaned, closing his eyes in pain. “I am in labor.”

  “Labor?” Oh, no! He's escaped from a loony bin, she thought. Why do I get all of the nut jobs?

  Before she could say anything else or check for a bump on the head, he pulled aside a long coat to reveal his extended abdominal cavity.

  Shocked by what had to be an extreme case of peritonitis or some type of internal hemorrhaging, Kendall jumped to her feet and eased his legs up on the couch. Before she could run to call 911, he gripped her hand, his face twisted in agony. His back arched almost off of the couch and he sucked in and held his breath.

  In front of her disbelieving eyes, his stomach tightened in what appeared to be an actual contraction. It lasted nearly a full minute before he began to relax and start to breathe again.

  “Please, Mistress, help me!” he panted. “I am about to deliver!”

  Kendall looked into the grayest eyes that she had ever seen—eyes that were now filled with anxiety and pain. Her rich brown coffee-au-lait skin paled as she read both truth and sincerity there, and not a drop of madness.

  Swallowing hard, Kendall nodded. She believed him. She actually believed him. She was going to help deliver this man's child.

  “There are some things I need first.” She managed to force the words past her suddenly tight throat as she stared bug-eyed at the miracle man before her. “Just remember to breathe with the pain and try not to fight against it.”

  He closed his eyes and seemed to relax a bit as he ran a trembling hand through his long wet hair.

  She turned and raced to the second floor, mentally reciting the list of things needed for a home birth. Breathing hard, she grabbed sheets from her linen closet along with a few clean, white towels fresh from the laundry. From the bathroom, she pulled her first-aid kit from beneath the sink before rushing back downstairs to the man lying on her couch.

  “My name is Kendall Moore. I’ll try to make you a bit more comfortable.” She repeated her litany in her best bedside voice. Never before had she delivered this speech to a man, but there was a first time for everything. This was certainly the first time that she had seen a man in this condition.

  She began to strip the man of his clothing. “Remember to rest during the contractions and pant when the pain gets bad.” First came a sopping wet pair of black leather-like ankle boots. Then, with his help, she removed the long, many-pocketed black trench coat. It made a thumping sound as she dropped it to the floor.

  After a pause to help him breath through another contraction, she slid his shirt, also in black, over his head, carefully untangling it from the long rope of his wet hair. She reached for the fasteners at his waist, but stopped short.

  “How do I get these things off?” Kendall had to wait as another contraction stiffened his body. The pants were made of some long, flowing material, but seemed to have no visible zippers or buttons.

  Finally the painful grip of the contraction passed. “The zip cords are on the sides.” This contraction had lasted longer and now his body was covered in a thin film of sweat.

  Sure enough, there were two tabs at the waist of his pants. With a few pulls, they separated down the sides to his ankles and she rolled the material away.

  Kendall covered him with a sheet. She took no time to be embarrassed, she really didn't want to see just what he had been hiding beneath his clothes, did she? He was handsome enough, and he looked like he had a great body, but... Really, how could a man conceive a child without a little—odd—equipment?

  She had no time to follow that line of thought. A small opening began to appear just beneath his navel. “Holy...” Her eyes widened as the opening grew. He moaned in pain, but he followed her directions and panted as best he could.

  “This won't hurt.” Kendall opened a bottle of peroxide and dumped it over his stomach, blotting the excess with a towel. The shock caused the man to jerk his head back in her direction, eyes wide in a near-panic at this liquid cold, though he voiced no complaint.

  She knelt beside him when he was disinfected to her satisfaction, wiping his damp forehead with one of the towels. The rules had to be different when a man gave birth. “What am I supposed to do now?” There was no birth canal, for starters.

  “Just catch them.” He groaned as another contraction shook him. He was pale with pain and damp with sweat.

  “Catch them. Right.” He must mean from that tiny opening on his stomach. Now how would that work? Kendall stared in shocked silence as his abdomen spread open and a small head crowned. The man bit back a cry of pain.

  “My God!” she cried excitedly. “Push or do what you just did again!” He raised his knees slightly and grunted with effort. They were rewarded when a small heap of humanity pushed its head through the abdominal opening. Quickly Kendall moved in to clean the child's airway, gratified to hear a small wail.


  “Do it again!” she cheered as the sound of new life filled the room.

  “What the hell do you think I am trying to do!” he growled at her. But then he seemed to gather control over himself as he began to strain again. With his hands clutching the arm of the couch above, tendons straining in his neck, he prepared to deliver his baby into her hands.

  Eyes closed tight and jaw clenched, he threw back his head and groaned like a wounded animal. The growl exploded into a cry of both pain and relief as the opening widened and the baby was expelled from its warm cocoon.

  Kendall ignored his outburst as the small child slowly slid from his body.

  “It's a boy!” she cried as she laid the small body on his father's chest. She turned to her first aid kit, retrieved a package of surgical thread, and tied off the cord in two places. With a grin, she cut in the center of her bindings, freeing the child to breathe on his own.

  She flushed brightly with success. Bringing a new life into the world always touched a place within her. Her smile faded as another spasm of pain crossed the man's face.

  “What's wrong? Don't you dare die and leave me with this child!”

  “It is the other child, Mistress,” he gasped.

  The pouch was opening again and another dark head was crowning. Pushing the first child higher on his chest, Kendall made ready to catch the next one. Within moments, the second child emerged from his body, crying in complaint at being thrust into its cold new world.

  “It's a girl.” Kendall spoke softly as the man closed his eyes in exhaustion. He seemed to sigh with relief.

  For the first time, Kendall actually looked at the man. Even while in pain, his accent had sounded almost similar to a Russian doctor she had once had the pleasure of working with. His voice sounded Russian with a French lilt and the slow delivery of an Italian playboy.

  The features of his face were strong—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a stubborn chin seemed to scream that he was a mixture of cultures, but it was his crowning glory that caught and held her attention. His hair, even wet, was a most startling and unusual shade of red.