Rescued By The Firefighter
Catherine Lanigan
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.
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.
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.
Also By Catherine Lanigan
Shores of Indian Lake
Family of His Own
His Baby Dilemma
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Rescued by the Firefighter
Catherine Lanigan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09040-7
RESCUED BY THE FIREFIGHTER
© 2018 by Catherine Lanigan
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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“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 (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4),
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.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) 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
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
Cover (#uc32e9b33-6a79-56d1-bdaa-ad5a7754abd0)
Back Cover Text (#ue01ba926-d8fe-5832-be4d-2871783dc7f8)
About the Author (#u2ebf9c42-3fa9-5b92-a4e3-ff68ea916297)
Booklist (#uc1e9b93a-2ad2-568b-af45-db7d4d5fdb55)
Title Page (#ucae40f54-d313-5182-8aa2-51d98fef7211)
Copyright (#u3873aac8-6bd6-5b5d-8d0e-1b3335378706)
Introduction (#u5df456b0-2e80-535f-ad15-3a382df4e191)
Dear Reader (#u0de292e3-a6f3-52ff-b399-357bfaa3f0ad)
Dedication (#u87e7e7f9-61ea-5063-b4a1-08274028ab42)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf6dd0e23-f6ef-5d79-94ca-893e5d218538)
CHAPTER TWO (#u80d836ba-df42-5bd9-acdb-3fae69d996b4)
CHAPTER THREE (#ubcfd12a6-bb0f-5948-94cf-abce60b2bc85)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u3900a3a5-8de1-55a3-9bc1-40a8957f07a0)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u6b0997e3-be75-5d36-8f88-fd2327cf6235)
CHAPTER SIX (#ud3901c8b-a991-551c-8dd9-11cabd65a627)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
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.
“Maisie, 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.”
“What?” Chills spread over Beatrice’s body faster than any fire could eat a dried leaf.
“Tell Maisie to check the common areas. I’ll do a sweep of their cabin.”
Beatrice had been a runner all her life. Track. Five-k races. She’d won them all, but never in her life had she run as fast as she did now toward the last boys’ cabin. She flung open the door.
“Eli? Chris?” she shouted. Their bedcovers were pulled back, but the boys clearly hadn’t been in bed for a while. She ran to the small bathroom, which had been the most recent one to be modernized. Right now, though, the last things on her mind were tile, plumbing or the new toilet she’d found on sale. The bathroom was empty.
“Eli! Chris!” she shouted, going around to the back of the cabin. Thinking the boys might have gone down to the lake past their curfew, she ran down the grassy slope. The cabins were outfitted with motion lights that illuminated the area like daylight for her.
The little lake was placid with a ribbon of silver moonlight gleaming across the surface. No one was on the diving raft. No one on the short pier. No one hid near the kayak rack or the beached canoes.
She ran back to the driveway.
She whispered to Bruce, “They weren’t there. Take these kids to Father Michael’s. Cindy will drive the other SUV. I’ll keep Maisie here with me while we keep looking for Eli and Chris.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Call me when you get there. I have to know the kids are safe.”
The screams of the sirens grew louder.
Bruce climbed in the SUV and started the engine. Beatrice walked back to the second one and gave Cindy a thumbs-up.
As they drove away, Maisie jogged up to Beatrice. “I’ve just checked the kitchen and the activity room. I can’t find Eli or Chris anywhere. Where on earth could they be?” she asked.
Beatrice heard fear trembling in the raven-haired girl’s voice.
“I don’t know.”
The sirens wailed to an earsplitting level as they barreled down the country road.
Beatrice looked at the fire. It was clearly raging now. She was glad the gravel road put distance and a natural fire barrier between her camp and the fire.
Then her mind recognized a figure standing behind a wall of flame on the other side of the road.
“Eli! Eli!”
Beatrice ran into the fire.
CHAPTER TWO (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
BEATRICE HEARD MAISIE scream for her to come back. But if anything happened to Eli or Chris, Beatrice’s life would be over. She’d never handle the guilt or the sorrow.
Smoke filled the air, but the heat was so intense, Beatrice couldn’t smell it. For that she was thankful, because she hadn’t thought to cover her nose and mouth. She hadn’t thought about protective clothing, either. Not even a long-sleeved shirt. She still wore one of her lake-water-blue youth camp T-shirts and the navy shorts that she slept in every night. She was ill-prepared for saving anyone.
“Eli!” she called.
From between a curtain of flames on either side of him, little six-year-old Eli stood frozen to the spot, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Miss Beatrice!”
“Don’t move, Eli! I’m coming to get you!”
“I’m scared!” He started to take a step.
She kept running, dodging puddles of smoldering pine nettles, hoping her sneakers didn’t melt from the heat. Even if they had, she wouldn’t have stopped. Nothing would stop her. She had to save Eli.
Fortunately, Eli was wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt. Even in the heat of the day, Eli always claimed he was cold. She didn’t doubt it. He was so thin. The kind of thin that broke her heart and made her want to cook his favorite dish, spaghetti, for him—at every meal.
He also wore jeans and high-top sneakers. Eli never went anywhere without his high-top sneakers. He was determined to become a basketball player in the NBA someday, and though he was of average height for his years, he was the kind of kid who would “think” himself tall.
This was Eli’s third week at camp, which was due to the good graces and hard efforts of Zoey Phillips, the director of Indian Lake Child Services.
Eli and his brother, Chris, who was ten, were new to foster care. Their father had recently been sent to prison for drug dealing. Their mother had simply abandoned them in an upstairs apartment over an antiques store on Main Street. She’d told the boys she was going out for groceries, but three days later, she hadn’t come back. It was Eli who had called the police, hoping they could find his mother.
His brother’s call had angered an already resentful Chris. Chris had an iceberg-sized chip on his shoulder. He’d worshipped his father and copied his arrogance and cocky attitude.
From their first day in camp, Chris had posed one problem after another to Beatrice and her counselors. Beatrice believed the boys needed—craved—attention and caring. Eli was bright and genuinely a good kid. Chris rattled her nerves from breakfast to lights out. She was amazed the two were genetically linked. Bruce had tried to get through to Chris, but Chris had so far only stonewalled him. Beatrice believed Chris’s heart was broken, but she hadn’t the first idea what kind of glue would mend him.
Once the boys left her camp, Beatrice feared she would never see Eli or Chris again once the system sent them to a proper foster home. They’d likely be split up and sent out of the county.
As the flames jumped from tree to tree, Beatrice kept her eyes on Eli and his outstretched arms. She leaped expertly over a burning log, miraculously evading the flames. She kept running.
“Stay still,” she warned as she drew closer to Eli.
The fire had made daylight of the forest. It was hard to imagine that it was night. Flames shot out of forty-foot-tall dead pine trees that should have been felled years ago.
A pine tree about seventy yards away exploded like a cannon. The sound frightened Eli so much that his feet left the ground when he jumped.
“Miss Beatrice! Help me!”
She continued toward him but an enormous branch swooped through the air with a hissing sound and thudded in front of Beatrice.
She slammed to a stop before falling over the branch. The smell of it was pungent. The odors of pine, flame and smoke mingled to form a forbidding fragrance.
Like flaming needles, the sparks from the logs shot into the air and seared the skin on her arms.
She simply brushed them off, not feeling a thing.
Everything about her had turned to ice, except her heart. It was beating through her chest as if it knew she was going to die this night, and had to beat its last moments as hard and powerfully as it could to make up for all the years she would lose.
Eli’s face was covered in tears and snot when she finally reached him. She scooped him into her arms and crushed his face into the crook of her neck. “I’ve got you now,” she said comfortingly. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”
“You promise?” His voice was muffled as he burrowed his head into her throat.
“I do.”
“How can you promise? We’re both going to die.”
“No, we won’t,” she said sternly. “Didn’t you just see me jump?”
“Huh?”
“I was state champion in high hurdles for my girls’ team in high school.”
He hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry for this.”
“It’s not your fault, Eli,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have been out here. That’s why we tell you to stay in your cabins at night. The forest can be dangerous.”
He lifted his face from the shelter of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She looked around. “The fire is getting stronger. You hang on to me and I’ll get us back.”
“I can walk,” he protested.
“No. And I mean it. You stay with me. Understand?” She had him in her arms. There was no way she would let him go. For this moment, she felt in control, though her brain told her that she had just done about the most unthinkable act of her life.
The heat of the flames had increased, and perhaps she was allowing her senses to register something beyond her fears for Eli. She finally felt the burns on her arms, but she willed away the pain. She lifted her foot to start back to the camp when a second tree blew up.
This time she was the one to jump. She rocked back on her heels. Cinders filled the air. Branches flew overhead and landed behind her. When the pieces hit the ground, the earth shook beneath her feet like an earthquake.
Eli screamed. The sound of his terror clanged in her head like discordant and mournful bells.
She realized that she didn’t hear the sirens any longer. Had the trucks arrived? Or had it been her imagination all along that they were on their way? Had she imagined the dispatcher’s words? What other mistakes had she made in this nightmare? Would she be Eli’s hero or the cause of his death?
From somewhere, she found a thread of solid strength that bolted up her spine and empowered her arms. She pulled Eli close to her chest. “We’re going to make a run for it,” she said decisively.
“We can’t leave...”
“What? Why?”
“We have to find Chris.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
RAND NELSON PULLED his fire engine to a stop in front of the camp and stared over the steering wheel in disbelief at what he was seeing: a woman running toward the fire.
“No way in...”
He jumped out the driver’s door, his heavy leather-booted feet hitting the ground with a thud. He grabbed his thermoplastic helmet off the console, then his goggles and pigskin gloves.
The massive Indian Lake fire engine pulled up behind him, Captain Bolton quickly exiting the truck and assessing the situation.
Bolton quickly dispensed orders to the team, though every man knew their tasks. Extensive, in-depth training and experience had taught the Indian Lake crew how to manage and overpower forest fires big and small.
“Was that a woman? Running into the fire?” Rand asked Captain Bolton.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Where?” Captain Bolton spun around to follow Rand’s extended arm as he pointed into the worst section of burning trees and brush.
“That blonde woman. Right there.” Rand put on his goggles. “I’m going in after her.”
Captain Bolton waved Rand on. Then he quickly went to the large hose lays on the wildland fire engine.
Rand had seen some crazy, reckless acts in his years as a smoke jumper in California, then as a trainer in Boise, Idaho, and now, as a part-time firefighter at Indian Lake Engine #2, but this was a first. He’d heard about people who went back into burning houses to save a family member or a pet. But he’d never seen anyone run into a forest fire.
And why?
Was there someone else out there? Even if there was, the long-haired blonde should have left the rescue to the professionals. She wasn’t wearing a Nomex suit like he was. Or a helmet, boots and gloves. Didn’t she know that the heat alone could boil her skin? Set her hair on fire? And why wouldn’t she at least tie that long hair up?
Should he use the hose to try and contain the fire around the woman? Their truck could pump five hundred gallons of water on the flames. As long as the wind didn’t change direction, they’d be able to keep the fire to the forest, and the kids and the camp property would be safe. Then the situation would be safer for both him and the woman.
“Sir! Sir!” He heard a female voice behind him. Then a tug on his arm.
A young woman with chin-length black hair pointed to the fire. “She’s in there. She went after him. You have to help her!”
“Who is she?”
“Beatrice Wilcox. My boss. She owns the camp.” The woman struggled for breath, coughing on the rising smoke. “I’m Maisie. A counselor. We evacuated the children. She and I are the only ones left. Except for Eli and Chris—they’re missing.”
“Missing?” His jaw dropped as he looked back at the fire. “How old?”
“Eli is six. Chris just turned ten. They’re brothers. Beatrice thought she spotted Eli. But now I can’t see her.” Maisie’s eyes filled with tears. She put her palms to her cheeks. “She’s not like this. Daredevil things are not her deal, you know?” Her eyes shot back to his face. “Please, sir. Help her. She’s in there...somewhere.”
He put his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “I’ll find her. And the kids.”
Maisie held her breath and nodded.
The familiar sweetness of adrenaline shot through his body as he entered the fire. He was on high alert. The perimeter of the fire was already losing energy as it neared the road. However, the farther he went into the forest, the mightier the flames.
An explosion shook the air and the ground as Rand stepped over a burning log. He lifted his head to see a flaming branch head straight for him. Backing out of the path of the falling log, he reached into the tool belt around his waist and grabbed his hatchet, ready to attack any errant shrapnel that often erupted from dry branches as they crashed to the ground.
Only inches from his boot, the log landed with a thud, the flames smothering themselves on the ground.
He stepped over the log and scanned the area.
Then he saw her.
Remarkably, she was standing in a tiny space that was untouched by the fire, though flames created a curtain on either side of her. She held a child close to her chest, the burning forest giving them a crimson outline. She almost didn’t look real. The heat from the fire lifted her hair from her shoulders. He could almost feel her eyes on him, as if they had a force of their own, drawing him in. Terror was powerful like that. The little boy was crying as he clutched Beatrice’s neck. “Chris!” she called.
Rand assumed that the child in her arms was Eli, the younger of the two brothers. Chris, evidently, was still missing.
Not good.
“Beatrice?” Rand called as he moved quickly toward her.
“Yes! Yes!”
“Don’t move. I’m coming in to get you,” he said, just as a sharp crack sounded. He glanced up.
An enormous limb from a forty-foot sycamore tree broke off. Flames waved long and wide from the limb, looking like amber silk scarves as it sailed straight for Beatrice and the little boy.
She dashed toward Rand, but her foot caught on an exposed tree root. She fell to the ground, still holding the crying little boy.
“Bee—!” Rand never got out the rest of her name as he bolted forward. In three long strides he was at her side. “Beatrice. I’m here,” he said. Then he looked at the boy. “Eli, don’t be afraid. I have you now.”
“It’s okay, Eli,” she said softly as she lifted her face from Eli to Rand.
He gazed into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “I can take the boy.”
“No!” Eli cried. “I want to stay with Miss Beatrice.”
“It’s okay, Eli. He’s come to save us. You’ll be fine,” she said, massaging Eli’s back. Then she handed Eli to Rand. “Thank you,” she said as she put her hand on her ankle, which was swelling before his eyes.
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t know.”
“Here. Take my hand. I’ll help you up.”
Rand eased her to a standing position. “Put your weight on it. Test it.”
Gingerly, she stood. “Agh!” She flung back her head. “I think I’m going to throw up. The pain...”
“It’s probably broken,” he assessed. “Just lean on me.”
“Okay.” She nodded. He could tell she was bravely fighting tears.
Finally getting her steady and with Eli in his arms, he turned just as another large tree limb fell from above.
Rand instantly chided himself. He hadn’t heard the crack. His instinctual “alert” system had faltered for a fraction of a second while he’d focused on Beatrice. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have kept all his senses amped.
The limb fell behind them.
He checked Beatrice and he realized that the limb had skimmed her back. Her hair and the back of her T-shirt were on fire.
“Help! Help me!” she screamed and grabbed her hair. She hobbled and nearly fell again.
Rand instantly put Eli on the ground.
“Stay!” he said roughly and firmly.
Eli stopped crying as terror and submission rooted him to the spot.
With lightning speed, Rand grabbed Beatrice and pushed her to the ground. He batted her hair and put out the flames. He rolled on top of her back and extinguished her burning shirt. Once she was safe, he examined her quickly and decided she would have some burns but the skin was not charred. He’d gotten to her soon enough.
Quickly, he stood, reached down and pulled her to her feet. “My ankle...it’s worse,” she groaned painfully, her face contorted.
He swooped Eli off the ground and handed him to Beatrice. “Hold him close.” Then Rand lifted her left arm. “Put your arm around my neck.”
“But...”
“Now! We have to go!” he ordered.
He hoisted them both firmly against his chest. He was surprised how light they seemed. He’d never carried two people at once. She was tall, though quite slim. The boy was very thin. Still, his best guess was that his adrenaline was working overtime. Again. It was a rush.
Beatrice’s arm clutched his neck as she cradled Eli between them both. The boy had stopped screaming.
Just as they walked out of the tiny clearing, a massive pine fell with an earthshaking thud, covering the oasis they’d found for the brief moment they’d needed it.
He walked as quickly as he could over burning tree limbs and smoldering brush.
One more second in that clearing and they all would have been hit. They might never have made it out. The kid would have been crushed if the pine fell on him.
But they had made it. Rand’s mother would have said it was a miracle.
Rand would have to agree with her.
Still, he was just doing his job.
This kind of extraction was not new for him. But it was never routine. The circumstances were always different, but the pounding, throttling sense of triumph that shot through his veins was always the same. This was why he did what he did. This was why he chose to risk his life. He was saving lives.
Someone would live—perhaps live better than they had before—because he’d been there at the instant between life and death.
Rand walked through the last of the flames and felt the spray of water from the hose lines. As if walking out of another dimension, he heard Captain Bolton shouting orders to the team over the deafening sound of gushing water.
Two of the team had moved one hose to the far right of the fire and were advancing toward the center from the west, where a slight night breeze had originated.
Two others were hosing from the opposite direction.
An EMT crew and their ambulance had arrived. He spotted Maisie off to the side and behind the wildfire engine.
Joy leaped into her face as she saw them. She threw her hands in the air and then clamped them down on top of her head. “Beatrice! Eli!”
Maisie raced toward them.
The EMT crew got there first with a stretcher and oxygen.
“Thanks, guys,” Rand said to the EMT crew as he lowered both Beatrice and Eli onto the stretcher. He looked down at Beatrice. “You’ll be okay now. These guys are the top gun.”
He noticed that she never let go of Eli, and the little boy clung to her like a monkey.
To the EMT, he said, “Possible broken ankle or foot. Burns on her back.”
“We’ll check it out,” the taller of the EMTs said and immediately started to take off Beatrice’s shoe.
“You’ll be fine,” Rand assured her again.
Her blue eyes were wide as she looked up at him pleadingly.
“What is it?”
“Chris. He’s still in there.”
Rand nodded, taking off his glove. “I know, Bee.” He touched her face where a black mark slashed her cheek. The black soot smeared his fingertips.
Rand stood, and as he did she reached out and took his hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip. “What?” he asked.
“Just...thank you. Now, go.”
Rand dropped her hand and raced away, wondering if the tear he’d seen was gratitude or smoke in Beatrice’s eye.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
“CHRIS!”
Rand ran into the forest, the flames dying around him as the fire crew blasted water through the trees. He pushed through the piles of smoldering pine nettles and over the downed limb that had almost killed Beatrice, Eli and him.
As a firefighter the smell of wet earth always gave Rand hope. But would he find the boy in time? Did he even want to be found?
“Chris!” he yelled into the shock of burned and blackened trees, denuded of foliage and standing like spikes against the night sky. “Chris!”
Kids were strange ducks in Rand’s book. Most of them could outsmart the majority of adults. Granted, he didn’t hang with philosophers and academics, but his family and friends were no dummies. Kids, however, were open to all possibilities and concepts. That’s why a lost kid was so hard to find. They didn’t sit still. They didn’t follow patterns that “thinking” adults would take. They relied on base animal instincts. When trapped, they bolted for freedom. When cornered, they would outsmart their prey or vanish. They bucked rules, ignored safety measures and took risks.
He guessed that Chris had used plenty of animal instincts to avoid Rand’s search thus far. With the blaze petering out, Chris could circle around, exit through an unburned area and get back to camp. Of course, that scenario assumed Chris wanted to return to camp. But what if he didn’t? What if he was a runner? A kid who felt so displaced in his life that all he wanted was to skip over these tough years and wake up when he was much older. Rand had seen that kind of kid.
Sometimes they were arsonists.
Rand had fought fires from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Idaho to California. He knew exactly the kind of conditions that it took for Mother Nature to burn. But there had been no thunderstorms here in Indian Lake. No lightning bolts. And not quite enough heat to spark spontaneous combustion. No, this was a fire started by human hands. Rand would bet his reputation on it.
And if he was right, Chris had all the more reason to stay clear.
Rand had one shot at bringing out Chris. He had to take it.
“Chris! I know you can hear me. It’s safe now. Eli is safe.”
Rand kept going, toward the most burned section of forest. It was his guess that it had been near here where the fire started.
“Chris!”
“Do—do you promise?” The young voice traveled down from the sky to Rand.
Rand turned on his boot and looked up. To his right was a tall, wide pine tree that had been burned on the bottom, but halfway up the tree, the limbs were unscathed. Huddled between two enormous lush pine limbs was a boy. Rand couldn’t see his face in the dark. But he could feel his fear.
“Yes, I promise your brother is safe with Miss Beatrice at the camp.”
“I don’t believe you,” he sniffed.
“It’s true.”
“How did they get out? I barely got up here myself before it all exploded.”
Now the boy was crying and the sobs caught in his throat, restricting his words.
“The trees did explode,” Rand said, careful to keep his words calm.
“It was scary. Really bad.”
“But you were brave. You climbed that tree all by yourself.”
“I’ve been climbing stuff all my life.”
“I’ll bet you have. Let me guess. Windows? Fire escapes? Rooftops, maybe?”
“Yeah.”
“I was kinda like that, too. I’m still climbing ladders. Ropes. That kind of stuff.” Rand paused as he heard the dissipating sound of the hoses. The crew was winding down. “The fire is under control. You come down.”
Silence.
Chris coughed and then hacked. Rand guessed the kid had inhaled his share of smoke tonight.
“There are paramedics here who need to help you. The smoke—”
“I know all about smoke,” Chris interrupted. “Okay?”
Rand felt impatience kindle in his belly. “Chris. You have to come down, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
“No kidding.” Rand ground his teeth. This was no place for attitude. A burned limb could fall at any moment and crash into them both. But while he could think of a dozen retorts to Chris at the moment, not one of them would get the kid to climb to the ground. “If you don’t come down, I’ll come up and get you.”
“How?”
“Just like you did. Climb. Then I’ll tie a rope to you and lower you to the ground. Or you can stay there, where the burned bark will skin you alive. Your choice. But I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Why?”
“It’s my job.”
“Oh.” Chris started coughing. He cleared his throat. He coughed again. “I’m coming down.”
Rand knew that once Chris got past the living foliage and sturdy limbs, his descent was going to get rough. There was a good twenty feet of burned bark and sharp splinters on that half-denuded trunk. Rand could see jagged stubs of limbs on the trunk, but could Chris? Were they strong enough for him to get a foothold? Or would they break under his weight? Worse, would the kid make a jump for it and risk breaking a leg or ankle in his drop?
“Once you get to the last limb, Chris, I want you to take it slow. I’ll guide you down.”
“I don’t need your help, okay? I made it up here and I can make it down on my own.”
Rand heaved a frustrated sigh and put his hands on his hips. Beatrice certainly had her hands full with this one.
“You’re doing great,” Rand encouraged the boy as Chris moved down through the limbs and came to the burned part of the trunk.
Chris toed the trunk with his sneaker, searching for a foothold, but he found none. The boy grabbed the limb with both hands and lowered his feet farther down the tree, still looking for a brace.
“The trunk is too wide for you to hug and slide down. Plus, you’ll scrape your skin in the process,” Rand said. “Or...”
“Or?” Chris asked with just enough trepidation that Rand thought he might have made an impression on the kid.
“You can drop and I’ll catch you.”
“No way.”
“It’s okay, my body will cushion your fall.”
Chris peered down at Rand, his arms stretched over his head as he hung on to the limb. His knuckles had gone white and his fingers were starting to slip. The kid wouldn’t last much longer.
“Why?”
“There ya go with the questions again. Just drop.”
“You’re angry at me.”
“I’m getting there, yeah.”
Rand heard the hoses stop, then he looked up. The wind had died completely. Tiny pellets of long-overdue rain had started to sprinkle from the sky. A mist of droplets hit his face. It certainly wasn’t a downpour—only a gentle rain—but it was wet, nonetheless, and would ensure the fire was completely extinquished.
Rand heard one of the other firefighters shouting his name. He heard boots stomping over brush and smoldering leaves and nettles.
“My friends are coming.”
Chris coughed and that led to another cough. “I can’t breathe so good.”
“I can imagine,” Rand replied. Another minute of hanging from the limb and Chris would be in trouble. Rand needed the boy to try to aim for his outstretched arms.
“Chris, let go, and when you do, pretend you’re lying down horizontally. It’ll be like skydiving.”
“Rand!” a man’s voice shouted.
“Over here!” Rand replied as loudly as he could.
“You skydive?” Chris coughed out the words.
“Yes, Chris. Now, let go and do it!”
“Okay!”
Chris let go of the limb, flattened his back and closed his eyes.
Rand dug his heels into the ground, bent his knees to keep his back solid and reached out to catch the boy. Chris landed in Rand’s arms with a wallop. Rand had expected his biceps to sting with the sudden impact, but, like his brother, Chris was much lighter than he’d braced for.
Chris popped his eyes open, blinked and squirmed out of Rand’s arms.
“You’re safe,” Rand said. “Here, put this oxygen mask on. It will help you with the smoke inhalation.”
“I’m fine.” Chris pushed Rand’s hand away.
“Wear it!” Rand ordered and then clamped the mask over Chris’s face and put the elastic strap over his head, making sure the back was secure.
“Rand!” Another shout came toward him along with the sound of many boots crunching over the burned ground. Ted McIntyre and Manny Quale stood shoulder to Nomex-suited-shoulder in front of them.
“You found him,” Ted said, pointing with his gloved hand to Chris.
“He was up that tree.” Rand looked at Chris, who was staring at the smoking forest floor.
“I’ll go back for the paramedics,” Manny said.
“I’m fine,” Chris said sternly as he ripped off the mask, shoved it back to Rand, and marched away from Rand, Ted and Manny. “See?” He swung his arms as he walked away from them.
Both Ted and Manny looked back at Rand.
“What? No ‘thanks’?” Ted asked.
Rand shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, he didn’t want to be rescued.”
“Oh,” Manny said. “One of those.”
“Afraid so,” Rand answered.
They walked out of the smoking forest after Chris.
* * *
BEATRICE LOOKED DOWN at her right ankle as she sat on the gurney in the ER. “Acute metatarsal fracture?” she repeated to Dr. Eric Hill, the ER doctor who was documenting her injury into a laptop computer on the counter to her right. A nurse with streaks of purple and pink in her midlength hair was inputting more information into another computer with a larger screen on a wheeled cart.
“Correct,” Dr. Hill replied. “Which means you broke the long bone in your foot. The one that attaches the ankle to the toes. Luckily the bones are aligned and don’t need surgery.”
“Will I have to wear a cast and use crutches?” Beatrice swallowed hard, thinking of all the camp chores, the climb to her cabin and supposedly easy things like helping the kids dress in the mornings. Such simple chores, these daily bits of her life, but they made her days rewarding. She’d have to put the crutches down each time she wanted to hug a child.
Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back.
“I’d rather not go that route,” he said.
“Seriously?” She brightened. “But you said the recovery time is six to eight weeks.”
“It is. But we can outfit you for an air boot. I prefer it to a cast because it has a reservoir that can hold ice-cold water around the injury for as much as six hours. Right now, I want the swelling to go down and ice is the answer. More than any medication. And overmedicating can lead to bleeding and that’s not good, either. In a week, I’ll start you on some exercises with that foot.”
“Exercises?”
“Easy things at first. Well, they sound easy to the uninjured. And make sure to keep the foot elevated as much as you can. Keep your weight off of it. The air boot will help a lot with redistribution of weight.”
“Good.”
He rose and looked at her with more empathy than she’d seen in anyone’s eyes in a long time. “Those burns on your back are going to sting for a few days, but could be worse. You’ll need to apply aloe vera and an antibiotic cream for a week to ten days. Take two Tylenol and three Ibuprofen for pain. And you’ll probably want to get a haircut.”
“Smells pretty bad, doesn’t it?”
“Like burned hair.” He gave her a faint smile and continued. “We’ve put loose gauze over the burns for now. Do you have someone who can change the bandages for you every day?”
“Uh, sure. Cindy or Maisie at the camp...”
“Great. I want to see you in my office a week from today. I’ll have the nurse here set up an appointment for you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You take care, Beatrice. I’m glad the camp is unharmed.”
After setting up the appointment, the nurse wheeled the trolley with the computer out of the ER bay, giving Beatrice a wide smile as she said goodbye.
“Dr. Hill, before you go. Could you tell me more about Eli and Chris?”
“They’re both fine. Eli was more frightened than injured. Chris is suffering from mild smoke inhalation. The firefighter who found him administered oxygen. He’s got a cough, but frankly, considering all he’s been through, he’s done remarkably well.”
“It’s a miracle,” she said, more to herself than to the doctor.
“The fact that he climbed a very tall tree and stayed far above the fire and smoke helped. He was high enough that the air was at least somewhat clearer. That was smart thinking on his part.”
Given his past, it didn’t surprise her that Chris was resourceful. His intelligence wasn’t the issue, however. He’d been closed-off, quiet and seemingly resentful at camp. She was sure he just needed to be loved. But he’d be gone from camp soon, and she couldn’t guarantee he’d get the care he so desperately craved.
“It’ll be a few minutes for the nurse to get all the release papers and instructions. You just rest for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, pulled back the curtain that hung over the sliding glass door and walked away.
As Dr. Hill left, a sandy-haired young man in surgical garb and a white lab coat entered the room. He carried a drawstring bag that looked almost as big as Santa’s sack. “I’m here to fit this boot on you,” he said.
“Of course.” Beatrice smiled, and the man went quickly to work.
The black-and-gray air boot looked like something an astronaut would wear to walk on the moon, Beatrice thought, as the man very gently lifted her injured foot and slid the boot into place. His fingers flew over the straps, making certain the boot fit comfortably. Beatrice eased herself off the gurney to try the rocker bottom of the boot, which was supposed to improve her gait. He explained how to use the ice-water feature, then instructed her about donning and doffing the boot and how to clean and maintain her new “friend.”
“This boot is my favorite,” he said. “I used it when I broke my ankle. I was back to fast walking in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? The doctor said six to eight weeks for me.”
“Oh, sure. That’s total healing time. But I can’t live without running. The docs let us ease back into our normal exercise fairly quickly.”
“Well,” she said, grinning, “then this is exactly the boot I want.”
“Great,” he said and handed her a card. “Here’s the number to the ortho department. Call us if you need.”
The young man left and Beatrice leaned her hip against the gurney as she rocked her foot back and forth in the boot. She lifted her knee, but felt a stabbing pain when she did.
Wincing, she glanced up and saw him.
He was leaning against the doorjamb. Gone were the Nomex suit, goggles and gloves. The helmet. She noticed his thick, dark, nearly black hair first. A hunk of shining, slightly damp hair hung over his strong forehead. His jawline looked like it had been carved from granite. In fact, everything about him was strong. He didn’t need a firefighter’s suit to make his shoulders wide; his presence filled the doorway, the room, the expanse between them. He wore a black short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched over biceps that could only have been built by hours in a gym. His black jeans fitted close to his narrow hips and muscular thighs. He wore no jewelry. No watch, no wedding ring, no tats. There was nothing extraneous or ornamental about this man. It wasn’t necessary—his whole being shouted, “I’m a man.”
He pushed himself off the door and took a short step inside. “You okay?”
That was all he said, yet his words caused her to be tongue-tied.
“You saved my life,” she croaked over a tangle of emotions that had yet to be released from the night’s ordeal. Fear that Eli and Chris would be burned alive. Shock that her dream camp could be swept away by fiery fingers. Despair that she would disappoint her employees. Anger that she’d failed herself. And utter sadness that the children would lose their idyll.
And then this man had walked through fire and carried her and Eli to safety, before entering the inferno again in search of Chris.
She couldn’t help the hero she saw in him.
“Just doing my job,” he replied flatly as if he did this every day.
Of course he did. She was just another of his tasks to be accomplished. Most people didn’t think twice about firefighters, police or prison guards until their circumstances collided. They were the protectors, sworn to their duty, and she didn’t know his name. “Thank you,” she replied simply. “Mr....”
“Nelson.”
He still didn’t move any closer, but his eyes examined her more closely than Dr. Hill had. By the troubled expression on his face, she got the sense he wasn’t pleased with what he saw.
She fingered her singed hair. She hadn’t felt so self-conscious since middle school. Her mother, Jenny, had been acting as a fill-in host on a local Chicago PBS talk show. The show was a favorite among Beatrice’s schoolmates’ parents. They were vocal with their opinions that Jenny was a joke—and their kids echoed their parents by taunting Beatrice. Beatrice’s shame and embarrassment lasted the six months until the regular show host returned from maternity leave.
But those months had taught her a lesson. She learned that kids can be placid, lonely, mean, arrogant, spiteful and defiant—but beneath it all, kids were afraid. Life came at children at jet speed or faster, and they were vulnerable to its whims.
That insight had led her to found her camp, and to try to go that one step further for kids like Chris and Eli.
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.”
“Okay, but those burned chunks still look bad. Cindy is good with scissors. Maybe she can whack it off.”
“Yeah.” Beatrice closed her eyes. Her long, natural-blond hair had always been a source of pride for her. Pride before the fall, she couldn’t help thinking. “I figure six inches will need to come off.”
“And that would just make it even.”
Beatrice gasped. “And it would be shoulder-length.”
“An improvement.” Maisie grinned, touching her chin-length cut. “Cindy cuts mine. Saves me lots of money compared to what I paid my stylist in Chicago.”
“I’ll ask her to do it this morning.”
“Good,” Maisie replied. “So, look, the kids are at breakfast. I’ll meet you over there.” Maisie started running backward, then twirled and took off toward the dining hall.
Beatrice was nowhere near close to being able to twirl. She was still navigating her new life with the awkward contraption on her foot. She’d come home with a pair of crutches, which were a hindrance inside her little cabin. She’d knocked books off her small, rickety bookshelf and nearly tripped on the rag rug next to her bed when the crutch caught on an edge. That was when she tossed the crutches down and decided to wing it without them. Fortunately, she’d been told she only needed the crutches for this first week. Then she would start rehabilitation. Exercises. Writing the alphabet with her toes.
The very idea made her wince.
Right now, she needed ice water for the interior of the boot to keep the swelling down. She grabbed the crutches and slowly made her way down the three steps of her porch and onto the gravel path that led to the kitchen.
In the kitchen she greeted the cook, Amanda Reynolds, who was turning Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakes on the griddle. Amanda was sixty-five years old, and had recently been forced to retire as a paralegal from a large law firm in Chicago. Amanda had been nowhere near ready to retire. She had enough energy to run rings around both Maisie and Cindy, from what Beatrice had observed. A widow whose only daughter lived in London, Amanda had always loved to cook. Though she preferred gourmet fare for herself and her guests, what she served for the kids was pure home-style family food at its all-American best. The kids loved it and, better still, they ate it.
“Pancakes? It’s not Sunday,” Beatrice said as she entered the kitchen by the screen door.
Amanda jumped. “Good heavenly days! You scared me to death! Don’t do that!” She flipped a mouse head. “I thought you’d take the day to rest.” Amanda walked over and gave Beatrice a big hug. Amanda was tall and slender, and wore very tight jeans, expensive running shoes and a camp T-shirt. Her dyed chestnut hair was clipped up on her head, and her makeup was immaculate, all of which confirmed her stylish Chicago career days. There was nothing “down home” about Amanda.
“After that ordeal last night, I thought the kids and the counselors needed something happy. I’ve got blueberries for the eyes, cherries for the nose and whipped cream smiles.”
Beatrice gave Amanda a smile of her own, the first one that had creased her face since she’d whiffed smoke. “You’re an angel.”
“No. I’m a cook, honey. You’re the angel for going in after those boys.”
Beatrice drained the warm water from the boot, went to the freezer and scooped ice cubes from the bin. She filled the boot resevoir. “Ah. Better already.”
Amanda scooped the pancakes off the griddle, placed them on plates and started decorating.
Cindy came through the swinging kitchen door. “Beatrice! You’re up!”
“Wobbling, but upright, yes.”
“Good. I could use you out here.”
“How so?”
“Would you talk to the kids? They’re upset, and Bruce and I are at our wits’ end. They need—”
“Leadership,” Amanda interjected. “Like the kind most of them don’t get from their parents.”
Beatrice stared at Amanda, who always spoke the truth sans varnish. And didn’t care when she said it or to whom. Sometimes, Beatrice wondered if that was the real reason she’d been pushed into retirement.
Cindy glanced at Beatrice’s air boot. “That’s just so intimidating. To a kid, I mean. Possibly scary. But hey, if anyone can pull this off, you can.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Beatrice replied and hobbled past Cindy and out the kitchen door into the large, vaulted-and-beamed dining hall. The long wall of windows at one end overlooked the little man-made lake at the back of the property, and the morning sun glinted off its surface. The opposite wall of windows looked out over the burned trees. Cindy was right. The atmosphere was already daunting to her camp kids.
She gazed around the room at the fear-filled wide eyes. No one said a word. No one was eating, pinching their neighbor, arguing or joking. They weren’t camp kids now; they were children floating through insecurity’s seas. The Kettering sisters held hands as Beatrice walked into the hall. Little Ricky stared blankly at his full glass of orange juice, though Beatrice perceived the tiny movements in his shoulders to be quiet sobs.
Eli wore a gauze patch over half of his left cheek, but he was the only child who ventured to smile at her. To his right was Chris, whose eyes were focused on the wall above Beatrice’s head. Eli reached for Chris’s hand, but Chris brushed him away and leaned back against his chair, folding his arms defensively over his chest.
Joshua Langsford was the only one who spoke, as he asked, “Does it hurt, Miss Beatrice?”
“A little bit, but nothing like what you’ve had to go through, Joshua.” She smiled. He didn’t smile back.
Every one of the kids clamped their eyes on Beatrice’s air boot. “So, here’s the scoop, guys. I broke a bone in my foot. I’m going to be fine. But for now, I have to wear this boot and use crutches when I’m outside or going up stairs to my cabin. I’m hoping the doctor lets me toss the crutches in a week.”
“Yeah, crutches help, but they’re a pain after a while,” Joshua said.
Beatrice’s cell rang. She looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, but it was local. She hit the decline button. “I’ll get it later. So, this is what I want you all to know. Last night was an accident and luckily no one was seriously hurt. What we need to focus on is the loss of trees.”
“The trees?” the kids said in unison.
“That’s right. Those trees were here when I was your age. I loved those trees. They were my friends when I didn’t have friends.”
Amazement and incredulity hung in the air as the kids leaned a bit closer, propped a chin on a palm or cocked their heads.
An adult revelation was rare to them, which made this moment all the more precious. Their hearts and heads were open to her and she hoped they felt her sincere caring.
“The Indian Lake Nursery has agreed to deliver over a hundred baby trees to us tomorrow. We’re all going to work together and plant these new trees to rebuild the forest.”
“But the ground is burned,” Ricky said.
“That’s the interesting thing. Did you know that ancient tribes used to purposefully burn the land in order to start new growth? The trees have cones filled with seeds that start new trees, but the cones only open with great heat. In one month, we may see little trees peeking up through the ground. It’s new life. A new beginning.” She paused to let the children absorb what she was saying. “We aren’t required to plant new trees, but I wanted you all to be part of helping to rebuild the forest. It’s sort of our way to put the past behind us, and to learn that out of every sorrow, every pain, there is something good and wonderful to be found. But you have to look for it. Work for it.”
The errant tear that rolled down Beatrice’s cheek didn’t let its presence be known until it hit the edge of her jaw. Only then, when she stopped talking, did she lift her fingertips to whisk it away. She’d never cried in front of camp children before. This was a first.
Then again, she’d never run headlong into a blazing fire to save one of her kids, either.
“For all of you who went to St. Mark’s last night, Father Michael phoned me early this morning and told me that you were the best group of kids he’s ever seen. You made me proud. Bruce and Cindy didn’t have to worry about any of you. You took an emergency situation and dealt with it calmly and respected those in authority. I couldn’t ask for more. Thank you to the older kids who helped the younger ones. Everybody pitched in. You’re all—” she looked directly at Chris and Eli “—the best group of campers who’ve come to stay with me. I hope you all come back next year and stay for a whole month!”
The room erupted in cheers and clapping. Beatrice’s heart swelled and she breathed in their affection.
They were so young, and though the night had been fraught with terror, they’d all grown from the experience.
“So, listen up, guys. Amanda has made a special breakfast for you all. Pancakes, bacon and baked cinnamon apples with oatmeal crunch. We have lots of homemade syrup from the Indian Lake Boy Scouts and plenty of butter. After breakfast, Cindy is taking those who signed up for kayak lessons to the lake. Bruce and Maisie are heading up baseball practice. Joshua? How’s the leg? You think you want to try some batting practice?”
“You bet, Miss Beatrice,” Joshua replied happily.
“Great!”
Amanda, Bruce, Maisie and Cindy entered the dining hall with trays filled with special breakfast plates. While the kids cheered, Beatrice’s cell phone rang again.
This time, she turned away from the dining tables and headed toward the door. Walking in her boot slowed her down enough that she could read the caller ID.
It was the same number that had tried to reach her previously.
Still looking down at her phone, she reached for the screen door to the outside porch. “Who in the heck is calling me?”
Then she ran smack-dab into a broad, rock-hard human chest. Beatrice wondered if she’d suffered a concussion. Not another trip to the ER! And what would that cost? “What?”
“I called,” Rand said. “You didn’t pick up.”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“I gave you my card.”
“When?”
“Last night. Er, this morning. In the hospital.”
“Sorry. I was drugged. I mean, medicated.”
“I see that. We’re here about the investigation.”
Beatrice’s skin iced over as if the contents of her boot had thrown over her whole body.
She tried to remember that he was responsible for saving her, and Eli and Chris. He was handsome. And strong and heroic.
But Rand stood like a colossus in front of her, and at this moment he represented every fear that had festered in her head from the instant she’d smelled smoke. Her earlier resolve to go toe-to-toe with him faltered.
Ultimately, she was responsible for Eli and Chris being in that fire last night. Their safety was her obligation. She’d put them in harm’s way. Would Rand report to his superiors that the camp was unsafe? That she, personally, was at fault for the kids being out by themselves?
If Rand found one fault and declared her camp unsafe, the sheriff could shut her down, send the kids away and force her to make improvements. Not until a city inspector deemed the camp safe again, could she open. If Rand or his superiors declared her negligent, her state license could be revoked. She would lose more money than she could ever recoup.
And Beatrice’s dreams would be lost, too.
The fact that everyone was safe and alive didn’t matter, she realized. Rand was here to find fault. From the dour look on his face, she guessed that he believed she should be toe-tagged with the blame card.
CHAPTER SIX (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
“YOU’RE READY TO START?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced a smile that she was sure would crack her lips. She just hoped she didn’t bleed in front of him.
“Yes. The forensic team is already on the job.”
She tried to peer around him, but his shoulders nearly blocked the entire entrance and all of her view of the outside. “Okay—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Since that—” he tilted his head to indicate the fire site across the street “—is county property, this is just a courtesy to let you know we’re here.”
Her sigh of relief was instantaneous. He wouldn’t be investigating the camp. She was off the hook.
“However...”
She held her breath. She should have known she wouldn’t escape this man’s scrupulous and discerning eye. “Yes?” She lifted her chin defensively. She was ready for him. She had nothing to hide.
That I know about.
She thought of the previous night with Eli and Chris, all their infractions and possible broken laws huddled together like balls inside a pool-table rack, waiting to be broken apart. Dispelled. And sunk.
Beatrice’s best defense was honesty. “I intend to cooperate in any way I can.”
“I should hope so,” he said brusquely. “After all, we’re here to ascertain if a crime has been committed.”
“A crime?” Beatrice nearly lost her balance. She slammed her palm against the wall for support. “Sorry. I’m not used to the air boot.”
His eyes flitted down to her foot and then back up.
Oddly, she didn’t recoil from his glance at her camp shorts and T-shirt. When his eyes met hers, she could have sworn she saw empathy in them.
“I’ll need to interview you, your staff, the two kids...” He lifted a notebook. “Chris and Eli.” He lowered his hand. “I trust they’re all here now?”
“They are. And Officer Nelson, I’d rather you didn’t talk to Chris or Eli in the dining hall. I don’t want to disturb the other kids. You can use my office.”
“That would be good.” He stepped back from the entrance, put the slim notebook in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled at her with a quirk of his lips. “Uh, and Bee. I’m not an officer. My father was a navy officer, an admiral, actually. I’m a firefighter. You can call me Rand.”
Beatrice’s head hitched back as if she’d been doused with a bucketful of water. She wished he wouldn’t call her that. No one had called her “Bee” since she was little. Coming from Rand, she’d never heard it said with so much velvety charm.
And where had that come from? Rand had been stoic and strong and purposeful during the fire, when he’d saved her and the boys. His gruff exterior only a second ago had caused her to believe he was as rough as sandpaper on the inside as well. But this sudden glimpse of something else—someone else—was unexpected.
But was it real?
He stepped outside. “I’ll get my recorder and be right back.”
“Recorder?”
“Yeah. I tape the interviews for the captain’s records. It will go with all the other forensic samples.”
Beatrice wrung her hands as the depth of his investigation hit her. She looked at her hands and shoved them to her sides. She wasn’t the hand-wringing type. She’d just risked her life for her camper kids. She’d do it again. No second thoughts.
But what if Rand’s investigation exposed some nuance of neglect? Just how far would he go to fulfill his duties as a firefighter?
“Maybe you should tell me what exactly you’re looking for?” she challenged, raising her arms to cross over her chest. Armor to deflect the threat he posed.
“Noncompliance with safety regulations.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, it’s all too common. I’ve even seen day-care owners who posed as caretakers but in truth were anything but.”
“And you think I’m capable of such behavior?”
He stared at her.
“Why would I—or anyone—do such a thing? They’re...children, for goodness sake.”
“Money. Government funds. Grants.”
She held up her palms. “Stop right there. I would never do anything to harm these kids. And what on earth would I gain by starting a fire?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Insurance money? I’ve seen that before, too. Insurance money is a quick way out for people who get into debt.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits to filter out his accusations. He probably had seen that kind of person a dozen times over in his line of work. Maybe worse. Pyromaniacs. People whose euphoria escalated with the sound of sirens.
And even though that was nowhere near the kind of person she was, Rand was the kind of by-the-book official who would shut down her camp if he found the tiniest infraction.
Had she caused herself great harm by running into that fire to save Eli and Chris?
And what of the boys themselves? The boys might have had something to do with the fire, but she would not let herself think that either of them had done anything intentional. It all had to be an accident. But even if it was, would the fact that the boys were in her care still be enough to bring charges against her?
She could see the case Rand could make. That accusatory finger of the law was itching to point at her.
Beatrice sensed that if she let her growing sense of guilt show on her face or in her tone of voice, he would suspect her of crimes she hadn’t even thought of. That was the problem with being a cop’s kid. You could always see the dark side of a situation before you saw the light.
She cocked her chin and pursed her lips. “Well, Mr. Nelson, I can tell you one thing—you’re never going to get the truth out of a kid acting like this.”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“None of your questions and interrogations will be easy for a kid. I know you’re doing what’s necessary and all this is required by the law, but these kids—” she turned her head toward the dining room and then, after a thoughtful pause, back to him “—they’re good kids. All of them.”
Ouch. Even she thought her defensive tone was sharp enough to pierce granite.
“Look,” she said sweetly, changing tack. “Some of them have had a rough life. A couple have had a very tough life. Could you be a little...well, softer in your delivery?”
“Softer?”
“Yeah. Not so gruff.”
His biceps flexed, bulged and relaxed as he folded his arms over his chest. “You think I sound harsh?” He leaned forward a few inches, but instead of seeming threatening, his closeness reminded her of the other reactions she had to him. The ones that made her wish they were not in this antagonistic situation. The ones that flashed visions of being held in his arms.
“To a kid. Yes.”
She peeled her eyes off his arms and hauled them up to his face. She met his gaze dead-on.
“I’ll take that into consideration. Thanks for the advice. I’ll be right back.”
He walked toward the huge fire truck.
His heavy black boots left shallow imprints in the dry dirt as he headed across the summer-bleached grass that in spring had been dark green velvet. Their indentations left proof that he was on the job, performing his duty. Beatrice inhaled deeply as the space between the two of them lengthened. She realized that when she was near him, he didn’t just fill the inches and feet between them, but he overtook her thoughts as well.
He wore regulation black jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt, which had the ILFD logo over the breast pocket. Beatrice had never been the type to linger long over any male’s physique, but Rand was so perfectly sculptured, it was impossible not to conjure visions of ancient Greek Olympians and the mighty feats they accomplished.
But then, Rand had carried her and Eli out of a blazing inferno. What was more Herculean than that?
Beatrice was so immersed in her fantasies about Rand, that she didn’t notice that he’d walked back to her and had started talking to her.
“Sorry, what?”
He sighed, and started over. “I need to talk to all the kids about fire safety before I have the private, er, interviews.”
She had to give him points for carefully choosing his words. Maybe he’d listened to her.
She turned her boot around and let her body follow, using the wall for momentary security. “This way.”
The kids were nearly back to normal, Beatrice realized as she entered the dining hall. Their voices were sprinkled with chuckles and had returned to the loud, happy tones she’d heard before the fire.
She clapped her hands three times, the signal for their attention. Usually, it took them a few moments to stop joking with one another. This time they came to abrupt attention.
“Guys. This is Firefighter Rand Nelson. Some of you met him last night during the fire.” She looked pointedly at Eli and Chris. Eli smiled at Rand. Chris scooted back on his chair. He clutched either side of his seat with his hands. Little Ricky’s eyes were filled with adoration.
Cindy stared blatantly at Rand’s chest. Maisie’s cheeks were pink.
Beatrice continued. “Mr. Nelson wants to talk to you all about fire safety.”
Beatrice took a step back and nearly toppled over. Quick reflexes on Rand’s part saved her from the fall. “Thanks,” she said, feeling both clumsy and embarrassed.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered but didn’t give her a second glance.
He turned his attention to the children. His “official” hat was back on.
“The first thing I want to assure you kids is that the fire has been extinguished. To make doubly certain, later this afternoon, our crew will be out here to cut down any remaining trees that appear to be a hazard. At this moment, our forensic team is in the forest to ascertain the origin of the fire.”
Little Jessica Kettering raised her hand high above her cropped carrot-red hair. “Sir! Sir!”
Rand looked at Beatrice.
“Her name is Jessica.” Beatrice smiled. “Yes, Jessica. What’s your question?”
Jessica shoved her thick glasses back up her nose, and angled her unpatched eye directly at Rand. “Do you think someone started it?”
“We can never be sure until our investigation is complete. But since there were no thunderstorms or lightning strikes anywhere in our area last night, we felt we needed some expert eyes on the situation.”
“Sir!” Little Ricky threw his hand up. “I think it was gangs.”
“Gangs?” Rand questioned. “What’s your name, son?”
“Ricky. I’ve seen all kinds of things on the news about the gangs near Indian Lake. We have to be careful because they try to give drugs to little kids.”
Beatrice realized there were more fears buzzing in her camp kids’ heads than hornets in a nest. Camp was supposed to be an oasis for children. Their summer idyll. “Ricky, you are right. We all have to be very careful. That’s why we have camp rules about lights out and being in your cabin at sundown. We take special care to make sure all you kids are safe. That’s why Miss Cindy, Miss Maisie and Mr. Bruce are always close to you. We don’t ever want you to feel that you are alone.”
“We don’t feel alone, Miss Beatrice,” Susan Kettering said, grasping Jessica’s hand. “This is the best place. You make it the best for us.”
“Thank you, Susan.”
Beatrice felt yet another tiny tear fall from her eye. She blamed the fire for her highly charged emotional state this morning. As she lifted her finger to slide it off her cheek, she noticed Rand watching her. His face was expressionless. Part of his stoic on-the-job mask, she guessed. But his eyes probed her more deeply than she ever remembered a man doing. She felt her knees weaken, but this time she was glad she had the air boot, because it helped her maintain her balance.
“And thank you for listening, kids. Finish your breakfast and take your dishes to the kitchen for Miss Amanda. You all know your next activities.” She nodded for Bruce, Maisie and Cindy to gather their groups.
“Except for Chris and Eli,” Rand said in a loud tone that caused both boys to stop in their tracks. “I need to talk to both of you. Miss Beatrice has said that I can use her office.” Rand walked over and put strong hands on each boy’s shoulder. “Where is it?”
“This way,” Eli replied, looking up at Rand.
Beatrice held her breath as she watched Chris blanch to a ghostly white.
“Um, Mr. Nelson, didn’t you say you needed to speak with me, first?” she asked.
He glanced at Chris and then raised his eyes to Beatrice. He dropped his hands off their shoulders. “I did.”
“Okay, boys. You go out and join Mr. Bruce. I’ll call you later if we need you.”
Chris nearly shot to the dining hall’s back screen door. Eli raced after him.
Beatrice hobbled over to Rand, one hand on her hip. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you, now?”
“I do. But until I get a formal forensic report from your guys out there in that forest, I’d rather you didn’t upset the children.”
“Fair enough.”
“If there’s any hot seat you’re cooking up, I’ll be the only one occupying it.”
“Look, Bee—”
“The name’s Beatrice.”
He frowned. “All right. I’ll focus the questions on you. For now.”
Questions that can trip me up, she thought. Her dad had been a cop. He’d always said that anyone who disclosed personal information was at risk. People didn’t understand how ordinary actions in one’s life could be twisted by a prosecutor against them. He’d told her he’d seen innocent men sent to prison and murderers set free. She didn’t have anything to hide from Rand, or anyone, but an investigation of any kind made her nervous. It rattled the bars of her carefully built security gates.
Curiously, trepidation filled his face and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if he didn’t want to go through this any more than she did. But how could that be? He was so formal. So official.
She knew he had a job to do, but could she trust this feeling of hers that he was uncomfortable enforcing codes and regulations? Did he always feel this way about this part of his job, or was it just her camp and this particular fire that bothered him? And if it was, could she trust that he might be lenient with her if he did find her culpable?
“Let’s go to my office,” she said, then led the way down a wood-paneled hallway.
Her office was quaint and situated in the southwest corner of the building with casement windows on two sides of the room, which allowed dappled light and patterns of maple leaves to splay across the plaster walls. There were no drapes or blinds on the windows, as Beatrice wanted as much sunlight to enter the room as possible.
Her desk was like most of her personal furniture—old, distressed, battered, in need of reupholstering and bought at yard sales, though loved and adored by her. The lamps were another thing altogether. They were true antiques. Most were Frank Lloyd Wright designs in stained glass and she’d sat in the rain for hours at area estate sales to win them. Luckily, she’d never paid more than a hundred dollars for any of them, but they were her treasures. Where other women fancied jewelry or leather handbags, for Beatrice, her Achilles’ heel was the lamps—these illuminations that glowed with colored lights through dark nights or gloomy days. They made her smile and gave her hope when she banged away at her electric calculator and pulled up a white tape with globs of red ink.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to a rumpled linen-slip-covered club chair that sagged, but whose bones were pure 1940s craftsman-designed hardwood.
Rand lowered himself into the chair. It groaned with his solid weight. He laid his hands on the rounded arms. “I like this chair. A family heirloom?”
“Not quite. There’s nothing heirloom about my family,” she said, sitting in the swiveling wooden desk chair.
Though the desk chair was circa 1930 and she’d seen replicas in box stores selling for hundreds of dollars, she’d snagged hers on Maple Avenue in Indian Lake during the spring cleanup days—an event in April where residents put out unwanted furniture and the city garbage trucks picked them up for free. Mrs. Beabots, whom she’d known since she bought the camp and was a true believer in her mission, had phoned her to tip her off to some special finds down the boulevard, at Katia and Austin McCreary’s house.
Beatrice hadn’t wasted a minute. A call from Mrs. Beabots, who’d obviously prescouted Maple Boulevard for her, was never taken lightly by anyone in town. That day, Beatrice came back to camp in a rented truck with end tables, a Ping-Pong table, a set of twin beds with headboards for the women counselors’ cabin, one walnut bookshelf and a credenza for the far end of the dining room near the stone fireplace.
The following week, Mrs. Beabots had donated the tables and chairs the children now ate at for every meal. Just thinking of the octogenarian’s generosity brought an emotional lump to her throat.
“Nice rug, too,” he said, tapping the red, gold and black wool rug.
“Thanks, I hooked it myself.”
His eyes darted to her face. “You’re kidding?”
She shrugged. “I hook rugs. Mea culpa. I do it in the winter when the days are lonely and bleak here at the camp. It keeps me busy at night.”
His face went solemn. He blinked and shook his head slightly, as if he didn’t believe her. Then he took out the recorder.
“So, for the record, how long have you had the camp?”
His voice took on an intimidating tone that matched the physical strength of the man. She was amazed at how quickly he could bounce from pleasantries to business. Then again, that could be a self-criticism since it was so easy for her brain to remain in idyllic fields and grasses of splendor. Anywhere to avoid the shards of reality, most of which had to do with her shrinking financial status.
“Three years and a few months,” she answered. “But we’ve only been open two summers. I spent a great deal of time—not to mention my small inheritance and all my savings—on upgrading the camp. It’s been a financial struggle, I’ll tell you, but I’ve done it. I’ve put in the regulation wheelchair ramps, and we have very safe recreation equipment. I’ve upgraded all the electrical, bought new beds, linens, kitchen equipment. If you didn’t know, the camp was built in the early 1950s. The bones of the place are solid as a rock. But the rest... Frankly, I have to admit that from a financial perspective I would have been better off bulldozing it down and starting over with new buildings. The bank would have been happier. But I loved this place too much to tear it down. Anyway, the bank did give me a loan for the new plumbing and electrical system.”
“And that’s all up to code?”
“Absolutely!” She ground her back teeth. Man, but she hated officiousness. “I have the inspections and permits if you need to see those.”
“I’ll take your word for it. But keep them handy if it comes up.”
“Comes up?” She glared at him.
“I’m trying to help you, Bee... Beatrice. If there was an incident last night, my chief might ask for documentation of your inspections.”
“Why?”
“If that fire had crossed the road then your camp would have ignited. All it would have taken was a strong wind for the sparks to carry. City regulations are there to protect you. In an emergency, do you have enough power to run electrical equipment? Enough water to feed fire hoses once the pumper is empty? I see you have a little lake. You could use the water from that lake, but you’d need a sump pump to extract it. And that sump pump would require an electrical feed.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll have to make sure everything is in order.”
“Mr. Nelson...” She took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her at all. In fact, she felt she was about to ignite with indignation, which happened nearly every time she defended her camp. “I bought this place because I loved it when I came as a kid. It was lovely here. I met real friends here. You see, I grew up in Chicago, in the city, actually, and life was all about concrete and traffic and buildings. I didn’t have a yard. I had an elevator. I never had a dog or cat. When I came to camp, I felt I was me, for the first time.”
“You never had a cat?”
“No.”
“And you don’t have one now?”
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