Rescued By The Firefighter

What drove this fireman to do his job?

She was aware she hadn’t taken her eyes away from the velvet brown pools that were locked on her. She wondered if he was uncomfortable under her gaze. Probably not. He was too self-assured. She would be, too, if she’d just saved three lives that night.

“Rand Nelson,” he said. “Short for Randall.”

“I’m Beatrice. I don’t have a short.” She smiled and extended her hand.

“Sure you do, Bee.”

“That’s...what you called me in the forest.”

He walked to her, which only took three long steps. His thigh muscles flexed beneath his jeans. His movements were fluid, as if he was the most perfect human ever sculpted. She wanted to rub her eyes to make sure he wasn’t a dream. Then she felt his hand in hers. Flesh against warm flesh.

“Your hand is cold. You’ve been through a lot.” He withdrew his hand from hers and pushed back his hair. “I came as soon as I got cleaned up. I wanted you to know the fire is out. The wind died completely, which left nothing to fan the flames. That brief sprinkle of rain wasn’t much, but it helped. And the crew did their job well.”

“Masterfully done, I’d say.”

“The fire poses no more danger, so you can bring the other kids back to camp anytime.”

“That’s great,” she replied, amazed she’d managed a full sentence. That was a full sentence, right? Most likely she was still in shock. She did feel cold. But she’d bet her last dollar that her cheeks were hot—a heat caused by being this close to Rand. The hero who had saved her, two children and, along with his team, her entire youth camp.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t usually make hospital visits,” he said, clearing his throat as if he was uncomfortable.

“No?”

“Officially, you’re the victim. The regulations stipulate that what you tell me should be recorded.” He glanced away and back. “But I, well, wanted to see you. Er, to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Except for my broken foot.”

“You were lucky. You could have died out there.”

“I know I said it before, but thank you, Rand. Thank you for everything. And please tell your men how deeply grateful I am to you all for everything...”

He put his hand over hers, which was grasping the edge of the gurney for support. “It’s what we do, Bee.”

He’d leaned his face closer to hers and she smelled peppermint on his breath and something spicy on his recently shaven cheeks. She was bombarded by a storm of sensations that already screamed “Rand” to her. She swayed.

“Beatrice! Thank God!” Maisie burst into the ER bay, shoving the curtain back even farther. She glanced up at Rand and then ignored him as she nearly flew to Beatrice’s side.

“Oh, my God, I was so worried when they took you and Eli away. I thought I’d lose my mind until that man came out of the woods with Chris. I’ve never been through anything remotely like this, Beatrice.” Maisie stopped abruptly, her eyes shooting from Beatrice to Rand. “Wait, you’re that guy!”

Rand’s face was implacable, as Maisie’s gratitude and dawning hero worship bounced off him like he was made of Teflon. “Yes, we met at the camp earlier.”

Though Maisie was taking huge deep breaths like a track runner at the finish line, she calmed instantly, offered her hand and said, “Thank you for your service.”

Rand gave her hand a quick shake and stepped back a pace. “You’re welcome.” He looked at Beatrice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay...well, um, then I’ll be out to your camp in the morning. With the forensic team. What time would be good for you?”

“Forensics?” Beatrice’s heart thudded to a halt.

“By law we have to assess the origin of the fire.”

“Of course.” Her mind scrambled for logic. “Nine a.m. would be good.”

“See you then.”

He turned and left. The room was instantly less vibrant.

Beatrice’s booted foot slipped as she watched Rand walk through the bay door. It was as if Rand’s presence had provided an extra measure of stability, something she’d never needed before.

She looked down at the boot. It was only the bone that was broken. Nothing else. She was fine.

But an investigation...? Her hero apparently came with a double-edged sword. When he wielded it on the side of the law, would she and her camp survive the blow?

CHAPTER FIVE (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)

BY THE TIME Beatrice returned to camp at dawn, reality was crashing down on her. Pain was the first of her comprehensions of change. The ice water in the boot was warmer than her body temperature now. Dressing, bathing and asking Maisie to come to her cabin to redress her burns added another twenty minutes to her morning routine. Pain accompanied all these tasks that just yesterday she’d taken for granted.

Just yesterday, I wasn’t under investigation, either, she thought.

But after agonizing about it for the last couple of hours, she’d steeled herself for whatever Rand could bring. She tried not to think that an investigation could be the worst thing that could happen to her. The camp was old, and when she’d bought it, the list of repairs and necessary maintenance had been three sheets long. Two sheets longer than she could afford to fix, even with a small inheritance she’d received from her aunt Elizabeth.

She’d done much of the work herself. The repainting, the gravel for the driveway. She’d pulled every weed, and torn out the unproductive old rosebushes. She’d relaid the heavy stones around the gravel driveway. She’d hauled 52 tons of rock that first spring to create pretty flower beds and garden “islands,” where yard-sale benches mingled with Victorian iron arches that she’d also found at junk shops along Red Arrow Highway. She’d begged and bartered for all the used commercial kitchen appliances that their cook, Amanda, made the meals on.

Beatrice had suffered through one building inspection after another as she readied the camp for opening. She’d bought twice the liability insurance required. She and the camp had passed every building, plumbing and electrical wiring inspection required. Even her little lake was considered safe for all activities because it was only three to four feet deep. Safer than a swimming pool.

She’d obtained her state license as a caregiver. She limited the number of campers to ten and hired three counselors so that her counselor-to-child ratio was better than the one required by the state, which was four to one. She knew children with special needs required one-on-one care, and Beatrice, with sixty clocked hours of training and a child-development-associate credential, took care of those children herself.

The camp and the positive influence she had on the kids’ lives was more than just rewarding for Beatrice. It was her reason for living.

So if Rand came at her with his sword clashing, she’d strike back with a blade just as mighty.

She stood, then winced as pain shot up her leg.

“You okay?” Maisie asked as Beatrice eased her way on her crutches out the door and to the front porch.

“Fine.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m not buyin’ that one.”

They gazed out at the scorched woods, the felled trees and the blackened ground.

“It looks as bad as your hair,” Maisie mused.

“My hair? I just washed it.”