Rescued by the Firefighter byCatherine Lanigan

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.”