As he walked, his mind seemed to take flight. He thought of the day Jasmine was born, the thrill he felt when he held her for the first time. Then his mind flitted to the day he got hired at W. Shields Financial Corp. The new job came with all the bells and whistles. By all accounts, he and Melinda had made it. Two short months later, they moved into a new house in an exclusive Draper neighborhood.
His hands shoved in his pockets, Beckett left the lights of the station, welcoming the darkness of the rural road. With every step, he got the feeling of being alone on an alien planet. It was just him, not another soul in sight. The snow had stopped. The thin glow from the moon and stars was his only light. His feet and hands were numb with cold as he trudged on, losing all track of time and space.
Two lights up ahead shined through the darkness. He walked toward the lights. When he got closer, he realized they were off to the side of the road. A jolt went through him. The lights were from an overturned car. Curiosity prompted him to take a closer look.
The accident looked bad, the top of the car crushed like a tin can. Hearing a cry, he looked to his right realizing there was a person lying in the snow. His stomach roiled. Someone had been thrown out of the car.
“Help!” a feeble voice said.
He edged closer. A woman lifted her hand. “Help me, please.”
He tensed, then a roar started in his head. Time rolled back, and he was at his accident. He felt the force of the impact. The woman’s cries became Jasmine’s cries. “No!” he shouted, his hands going over his ears. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” A sob broke through his throat. “Please forgive me, Jazzie!” He moved to walk away.
“Don’t leave me here,” the woman begged. “Help me. I think my leg is broken. My head’s bleeding. I’m hurting.” Her voice sounded small and childlike.
Tears coursed down his face, reality coming back to him. The woman was hurt. He needed to help. He glanced around. “Was anyone else in the car?”
“No, just me,” she croaked, then coughed to clear her throat.
“Do you have a phone?”
The woman laughed futilely. “Yeah, somewhere in my car.”
Beckett’s eyes rested on the mangled car. No way would be able to get inside to find the phone.
“I’m so c—cold,” the woman said, her teeth chattering.
She could die of hypothermia. Beckett knelt beside her, taking an assessment. The woman was older, in her mid or late sixties. A wave of nausea rolled over him when he realized her leg was turned at an awkward angle. No way could he move her. He thought of the blankets at the shelter, wishing he had one now. He removed his coat and placed it over her. He hugged his arms, fighting off a shiver as the wind cut through his shirt.
Not knowing what else to do, he sat down behind her. As carefully as he could, he lifted her head and scooted in so her head could rest against his chest. She grunted in pain at the movement. “I’m sorry. I’m just moving close to you so our body heat can work in our favor.” He felt the stickiness of her blood, looked down at her matted hair. Would she bleed out before help arrived?
“You don’t have a phone?” the woman asked, her voice coated with desperation.
“No.” He hated dashing her hopes.
“Maybe you should get back in your car and go get help.”
“I don’t have a car. I was out walking when I saw your car.”
The woman started crying. “I’m going to die out here, aren’t I?”
“No,” he reassured her. “I can go get help.” He tried to think. How far had he walked from the train station?
She clutched his arm. “Don’t leave me alone.” Her voice broke. “You can’t leave me.”
“Okay. I’ll stay right here. You’re gonna be okay.” An incredulous laugh built in Beckett’s throat. He couldn’t guarantee the woman anything, yet there was no sense in causing her more alarm. His mind spun. Man, he needed a drink. He swallowed hard, pushing away the thirst. He needed to focus. This woman’s life was at risk. Blood seeped into his shirt. He had to stop the bleeding. “Hang tight.” He shifted slightly and pulled out the bottom of his plaid shirt, tearing off a large section. Carefully, he wound it around her head and tied it. From what Beckett could tell, the makeshift bandage was helping. He felt a fraction of relief when heat from her seeped into him, and he knew it was doing the same for her. He’d keep her warm until help arrived.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Beckett.”
Silence lapsed between them as he looked up at the twinkling stars.
“Thank you for staying with me.” The words drifted up, getting lost in the still of the night.
“Of course. What’s your name?”
“Sadie.”
He looked at the car. “What happened?”
“I hit a patch of ice, and the car skidded out of control. I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. When I came to, I was out here, hurting all over.” Her voice caught. “I’ve been out here for a while, praying for help. Then, you showed up.”
The idea of him being an answer to someone’s prayer evoked conflicting emotions inside him.
“Why are you out here on a night like this?”
He chuckled. “It’s a long story.”
“I seem to have plenty of time,” she said morosely. “Listening to you will help me take my mind off the pain.” She winced. “I need something to focus on.”
“All right.” He smiled thinly. “You’d never know it by looking at me now, but at one time I was somebody.” The words tumbled out almost faster than he could speak them, as if his heart needed to empty everything out. He told Sadie about his hopes and insatiable ambition, how his desire to chase down the dream took a wrong turn when he buckled under the stress of being a hedge fund manager and lost a substantial amount of his clients’ money. He spoke of Melinda and how they slowly drifted apart until there was nothing left to build on. Tears rolled from his eyes when he spoke of the accident and Jasmine. How today was her birthday and she’d come to the shelter. “After everything I’ve done, Jazzie looked at me with such love, begging me to come home. I wanted to so badly.” His voice shook. “I just don’t know how.” As his admission flowed into the night air, he felt the futileness of his words.
Sadie grasped his arm, and he was surprised by her strength. “I’ll make you a deal.”
He’d gotten so caught up in telling his story, that for an instant, he’d forgotten he was here with this woman who was valiantly clinging to life. “Okay,” he said warily.
“You get your life cleaned up, and I’ll survive this.”
He laughed. “Trust me, I would if I could.”
“Prayer helps.”
God seemed as distant from Beckett as the lonely stars above. Where was God when he had the accident that crushed Jasmine’s ankle? Where was God when he gave up all hope and succumbed to his demons? “Yeah, it’s a nice notion, but I dunno.”
“It’s more than a notion.” Conviction rang in her voice. “God sent you here to help me tonight. If you pray for help and trust in Him, He’ll help you.”
Something stirred within his heart, as an unexpected warmth seeped over him. Was it possible? Could he really change?
“What do you say, Beckett? Do we have a deal?” Her voice broke. “Please, I need this to make it through.”
“All right,” he finally said to placate her. “Tell me about you,” he prompted to change the subject.
She let out a low chuckle. “Oh, you don’t wanna hear about me.” Her breathing was labored and shallow. She grunted in pain, then whimpered. A feeling of helplessness came over Beckett. He didn’t want Sadie to die. He looked up at the sky and did something he thought he’d never do again. Please, God, let her live, he prayed.
“Yes, I do want to hear about you.” Maybe it would help to keep her talking. Beckett realized he did want to know about Sadie, which came as a shock. On the streets, he kept his distance from other people. Handing out blankets was as close as he c
ame to sharing genuine human connections. There was something significant about this event, however. Beckett got the feeling that Sadie was right about their meeting not being by chance. Had the woman in front of him not gotten belligerent with the transit officer, Beckett would surely have been thrown off the train. He’d wandered here, showing up to come to Sadie’s aid.
His pulse increased when he saw headlights in the distance. “Someone’s coming!” As carefully as he could, he extricated himself and placed her head gently on the ground. He ran over to the side of the road, waving his arms wildly. “Stop!” he yelled. His heart dropped when the car passed without stopping. However, when it got a few paces away, it came to a halt. He jogged over to the car where a man haltingly rolled down his window an inch.
“There’s been an accident. A woman’s hurt. Call 911!”
1
Four years later …
Hearing the howl of the snowstorm outside made Beckett grateful to be in the warm fire station with his fellow crew members, his second family comprising the PCFD Station 3 C. They’d been together for two years, longer than any other crew in Park City. Becoming a firefighter, being a member of this crew, brought Beckett back into the world of the living. He sank into the recliner and stretched his legs on the foot rest as he glanced at the football game playing on the TV.
Garrett Macey the fire captain was sitting in a nearby recliner. “The first snowstorm of the season,” he observed, looking out the window at the large snowflakes coming down.
“Yep.” Beckett let out a long sigh. “I wish I could say I was ready for it.” His time living on the streets had left a bad taste in his mouth about winter. He hoped that would eventually fade with time. Before everything fell apart, Beckett used to live for the snow, spending many an afternoon at a ski resort, blitzing down the black diamond slopes.
“Ready or not, here it comes,” Garrett chuckled.
Garrett was the oldest member of the crew and the driving force that kept them on task. About the only time Beckett saw him ruffled was when he discovered his wife was having an affair with her personal trainer. Garrett hit rock bottom during their divorce. Knowing precisely what it was like to have his world ripped apart, Beckett was happy to lend emotional support to Garrett during his difficult time. Like Beckett, Garrett had a daughter. Even though the transition was hard on Garrett, Beckett could tell he was doing well
He followed Garrett’s vision, which settled on JFK a rover who took their fellow crew member Jak’s place when he was off fighting wildfires. JFK was glued to his phone, texting. Seeing Garrett’s displeased expression, Beckett grinned inwardly. JFK was about to get lambasted, and he didn’t even know it.
Garrett slapped his hands together as he got up from his recliner. “What’s our station rule during family time?”
It took less than half a second for the rest of the crew to jump on board. “No phones during family time,” Tom said, leaning over and snatching the phone out of JFK’s hand.
“It’s my device, I’ll do what I want with it.” JFK reached for it, but Tom tossed it to Charlotte the toughest kid-sister the fire station could have. “Seriously? You guys need a hobby,” JFK said like the whiny neighbor who never quite got the family jokes.
“This is our hobby.” Charlotte threw the phone high in the air to Beckett, who sat at the end of the row of recliners.
Enjoying the lighthearted banter that was an integral part of station life, Beckett quipped, “’Twas a month before Christmas, all snowy and white …” He handed the phone off to Nikola who took up the rhyme in his Serbian accent.
“…Family time came, not a phone was in sight.” Nikola tossed the phone across the room, but a hand shot from behind the recliner and snatched it out of the air.
The crew turned to see a shaggy-faced man standing there, grinning. Jak, the missing member of the crew, the prodigal son, had returned home.
“Sorry, sir, the homeless shelter is down in Salt Lake,” Tom said, his expression deadpan. “This is a fire station.”
“Wait,” Beckett teased. “Look under the beard. He’s kind of familiar. Didn’t he used to work here?”
Jak casually tossed the stolen phone into the garbage can. “A guy goes away to be a hero for a couple months and you forget all about him?”
JFK cast Jak a crusty look as he dug through the trash, muttering something about being mistreated.
The crew descended on Jak, giving him shakes and bumping shoulders. Charlotte, the little wisp that she was, measuring at least a foot shorter than any of them, wiggled in and gave him a squeeze. “Welcome home, bro. We’ve missed you.”
JFK’s phone chirped. He looked at it. “Finally, some civilized company. My wife’s here, I’ll be downstairs in the community room.” He shot them all an exasperated look.
The crew settled back into their recliners. With Jak home and the visiting firefighter gone they were a family again.
Garrett released a sigh of contentment as he stretched out in his recliner and placed his hands behind his head. “That’s more like it.” He nodded to Jak. “How go the wildfires?”
Jak shrugged. “Still burning. Snow here, drought there. I got three days R and R, then a couple of weeks out there.”
“Good,” Beckett said, falling into the teasing manner of firefighters. “JFK’s got his eye on your spot.”
“That’s right,” Tom added. “Says he’s going to bid it.”
“It breaks up the crew, but man can he cook,” Nikola said, licking his lips.
“He also has never been house-trained,” said Jak. “So, have fun with him.”
“House-trained?” Charlotte questioned with a snort. “That’s money coming from Chewy the Wookie.”
Man, it was good to have Jak back. JFK was a decent guy, but he wasn’t part of the family. Beckett cast his eyes around the crew. He and Charlotte, the only female, were medics. Tom and Jak were rescue techs. Nikola was the engineer, and Garrett the captain.
“What’s new?” Jak asked, doing a full body stretch as he plopped down in his recliner. “What did I miss?”
“I’m not sure we should trust him,” Charlotte said with a raised eyebrow and a devious smile playing at her lips. “I’m still not convinced that’s Jak. We might need to take that beard off his face to find out.”
Jak shot her a playful, bring it on, smile.
“You’re such a skeptic,” Tom said, slowly coming out of his recliner. With a tiny dip of his head, he invited the rest of the group to join him. “Only one way to find out.”
Beckett jumped from his seat and joined the others as they rushed Jak, piling onto his recliner in a massive heap, threatening to snap the heavy-duty chair in half.
Before any more thoughts of razors or forced shaving could manifest, the chime of the doorbell brought them all to a standstill.
“I got it,” Jak said glibly from the bottom of the pile.
“Yeah right,” said Charlotte, already up and running for the door. “You don’t even work here.”
Jak fought free and raced after her, but Nikola caught him by the foot. Garrett rushed into second place as Jak shook off Tom’s hand. All six of them raced for the front door, reaching it within a second of each other.
A cold wind, laced with shimmering snowflakes, spiraled around a figure standing on their front mat. There stood in front of them a hunched over, tiny figure draped in a brown cape with cottony white hair puffing out the sides of the hood.
“Come in,” Garrett said, reaching out his hand to the stranger.
The figure tilted up its tiny head to display the smiling eyes of a little, old woman. She took Garrett’s hand and wobbled by him into the fire station.
She patted Garrett’s arm as she passed him, smiling with a mischievous, yet kind tilt to her mouth. Charlotte helped the woman remove her cape. Without it, she looked even more feeble.
“What are you doing in the snow?” Nikola asked. “Come inside, sit by the fire.”
The six of
them accompanied her upstairs. Garrett pulled a chair closer to the fire for her. Tom produced a blanket. Wanting to make her as comfortable as possible, Beckett offered her some coffee or hot chocolate. He couldn’t stand the thought of this poor woman being out in the cold.
“No, dearies.” The woman pulled the blanket tight. “None of you remember me?” An enigmatic smile touched her lips. “That will change.”
There was something mysterious about the woman. Beckett could tell from the reactions of the other crew members that they shared his assessment. All six of them studied the diminutive woman. Nikola, Tom, and Jak sat nearby on the flagstone hearth. Charlotte perched herself on the arm of the woman’s chair, ready to offer any assistance she could.
The woman reached deep into the cavity of her cape. She wiggled her arm around for a few seconds before pulling out a small, enclosed cake tin embossed with green leaves and small, red berries. “I made you a fruitcake,” she announced gleefully, as a cartoonish smile splashed across her face.
Beckett suppressed a smile when he saw the mortified look on Garrett’s face. This time of the year, well-meaning townsfolk dropped off treats and baked goods by the truckloads, more than any of them could possibly eat in an entire year, much less the holidays. Garrett had made his distaste for any type of fruitcake loud and clear.
There was something magnetic about the woman. Beckett watched as she used her arthritic fingers to slowly crack open the tin, causing a stale, candied fruit smell to infiltrate and spread throughout the room.
“Garrett,” the woman said, removing a long, dull knife from the inside pocket of her cape.
“How do you know my name?” Garrett asked.
The woman only smiled in response.
Garrett eyed the fruitcake. When Garrett gagged, Beckett couldn’t help but laugh softly. How was he going to get out of this one diplomatically?
“Thank you so much,” Garrett said to the woman, reaching for the tin. “I’ll place it on the counter with the other treats and we’ll eat your wonderful cake after dinner.”
Yours By Christmas: Park City Firefighter Romance Page 2
