Rebekah (Seven Sisters Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Yes. Think about that and don’t dwell on my poor communication skills. The fact is, I want to date you, Rebekah, and I don’t want to date anyone else. Maybe ever again. This might be it for me—I might have found the one girl I want to date for the rest of my life. And maybe I’m scaring you off right now—all I know is, you haven’t scared me. Not by a long shot.”

  “So, you’re basically unable to be scared. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “When it comes to you, yes. The only thing that scares me is not giving this a try.”

  “Then maybe we should give this a try. I wouldn’t want you to be scared.”

  He grinned. “I like that idea a lot. And thank you for trusting me with your secret—I promise you, I won’t tell anyone else.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” She paused. “So, how about some Star Wars? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Alderaan get blown up.”

  ***

  “Hey, Dad.” Rebekah plopped down in the extra chair next to his computer. “Whatcha doing?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to program this necromancer character,” Bob McClain said, pointing at his computer monitor. “I came up with the concept last night, but the coding just won’t do what I want it to do. My boss asked me for a new game idea, and I think this is the one, but the execution has to be just right.”

  “Your execution is always impeccable, Dad,” Rebekah reassured him. “You’ll get this—you’re brilliant.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. You do know you’re my favorite, right?”

  “Of course.” She grinned. “And I won’t tell the other six.”

  “Good girl.” He swiveled around in his chair. “So, what brings you here to see me? You usually hang out in the kitchen with your mother when you drop by. What’s she doing right now, anyway? She’s been working on something in there for quite a while.”

  “Looked to me like she’s trying to make tortillas. A worthwhile endeavor if there ever was one.” Rebekah pulled in a breath. “I need you to talk to me about boys, Dad.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t your mother have this conversation with you a long time ago? Like, when you were twelve?”

  Rebekah laughed. “Yes, but that’s not what I mean. I mean, how do you know when the boy who says he likes you really does like you, and that he’s not just saying it? What if he only likes one thing about you, but nothing else, and he’s just pretending to like all the rest because of that one thing?”

  Bob sighed. “I sure wish you girls would ever ask a question flat-out without all these hypotheticals and vagueness. It would make it easier for me to give an answer that’s actually useful.”

  “I know, but sometimes we can’t be more specific. Let me just put it this way—how can I know if a guy really likes me?”

  “First of all, I hope this fellow isn’t just stringing you along—if he is, I’ll have to go rough him up a little bit.”

  Rebekah smiled at the thought of her mellow father roughing anyone up, but she let him continue without interrupting.

  “And second, pay attention to how he treats you. Does he listen when you talk, does he ask questions about your day, does he want to be with you even if you’re not making out—”

  “Eww, Dad. Gross.”

  “I’m glad you think making out is gross. That will save you from lots of heartache later.”

  “I actually meant that talking to my dad about making out is gross.”

  “Oh.” He looked crestfallen. “You know what—sometimes it’s hard to believe that you girls are all grown up. I still think of you as being nine and ten—back before things were complicated. Makes me wonder where all the time went.”

  “But think of all the time you have now.” An idea tickled the back of Rebekah’s mind. “Why don’t you and Mom take some classes together? That would be so much fun.”

  “Your mother’s just started talking about learning macramé,” Bob replied. “Can you imagine me doing macramé?”

  “That would actually be pretty awesome, but we won’t put you through it. I was thinking more like, dance lessons or painting lessons.”

  “I don’t know—we’re too old to be learning new tricks.”

  “You’re never too old, and besides, you’d be spending time together. That’s the main thing.”

  “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, wasn’t I in the middle of giving advice to you? How’d we get so off topic?”

  “You brought up making out.”

  “Ah, that’s right. A guaranteed conversation stopper.” He chuckled. “What I’m getting at is this—when I was dating your mother, I looked forward to spending time with her no matter what we were actually going to do. With other girlfriends, I’d get bored if we weren’t doing what I wanted all the time.”

  “Are you saying you wanted to make out all the time, Dad?”

  Bob’s face went bright red. “No! I mean . . . I mean . . . Barbara! I need your help!”

  Rebekah tried not to crack up.

  “Yes, dear?” Barbara stuck her head into Bob’s study, a little bit of flour on her nose.

  “Your daughter has somehow gotten the idea that I like to make out.”

  “And?” Barbara asked mildly.

  “Would you please set the record straight?”

  “I’m really not sure what you mean, dear.” Barbara looked at Rebekah and winked.

  “I was trying to explain to her that she’ll know if a young man likes her if he enjoys spending time with her even when they’re not making out, and somehow that got all twisted around.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, dear, you know that giving relationship advice is a dangerous business to be in.” She turned to Rebekah. “Are we talking about Jeremy?”

  “I thought we were talking about Dad, but yeah, we can change the subject if you want.” Rebekah grinned. “He says he’s starting to feel pretty serious about me, and I was hoping for some advice.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Barbara beamed. “I really liked him when he was here for Sunday dinner—you’ve been out with him before that, haven’t you?”

  “We went out Saturday, yes.”

  “See, Bob? I was right. I told your father you had to know each other a little longer than you were letting on.”

  “Not a whole lot longer, though,” Rebekah said. “It’s actually happening pretty fast.”

  “As it did for your sisters, except Jessica. She took her own sweet time, but that’s just how she is. When you find the right one, it can happen instantly. You might take longer to make it official, but you have a sense right from the start.”

  For a brief flicker of a second, Rebekah wondered if maybe her mother had some kind of gift of matchmaking, but she discarded that thought as soon as she had it. First, her mother wasn’t the kind who could keep secrets, and they’d all know about a gift if she had one. Second, she hadn’t tried to set up any of her daughters, and if she was a matchmaker, again, they’d all know about it.

  “So if Jeremy did turn out to be the one, you wouldn’t get freaked out that I just met him?”

  “Of course I would. That’s my job. But then I’d get over it and we’d start planning a wedding.” She paused. “But what about medical school?”

  Rebekah closed her eyes as she realized the implications of what her mother was asking. Jeremy had just gotten a job in Bagley, and he wouldn’t want to uproot again so soon after moving here. If she got into medical school, she’d be moving to San Antonio, and he’d be in Bagley. Maybe they could find a place to live exactly in the center and then they could both commute half an hour, but that just seemed silly.

  “I don’t know, Mom,” she said at last. “We don’t even know that I’ll get in, though—and we don’t know that Jeremy and I will end up together. We can’t make plans with so little information.”

  “You can’t make plans, but you can certainly be thinking about all the variables,” Bob said. “You might have to try several different approaches until you f
ind the right one, and you’ll have to be willing to put aside your preconceived ideas and think of something new . . .” His eyes took on a faraway look, and he spun back around to his computer. His fingers flew over the keys for a moment, and then he hit enter. “There!” he said, pointing to the screen. “There! I did it!”

  “I knew you would, Dad,” Rebekah said with a grin. “That’s because you’re a genius.”

  “Well, you’re a genius too, and you’re going to make this work out. If he’s the right guy, nothing will stop the two of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Rebekah stood up and gave each parent a quick hug. “Gotta run—I’m on the night shift.”

  “Bring Jeremy over again soon,” Barbara called out as Rebekah hurried toward the front door.

  She’d just have to do that. It sounded like fun.

  Chapter Seven

  Harriet turned from the telephone, a look of shock on her face. “There’s been a gas leak at the senior citizen center,” she announced. “There was an explosion, and countless injuries. Some parts of the building have collapsed, and they’re going to have to dig people out. We need to stand ready when the ambulances start rolling in. I’m going to page everyone on staff to get down here.”

  Rebekah gave a sharp nod, already thinking about everything that needed to be done. She trotted through the emergency room, checking that every bed was ready for a new patient. There was one little girl who’d been brought in with an allergic reaction, but the medication they’d given her was taking effect, and Rebekah didn’t sense any further complications. She discharged the girl so the bed would be free, and she changed out the sheets and made sure everything was ready.

  The first ambulance pulled up, and Jeremy and Frank guided their stretcher inside. “Eighty-year-old man with a crush injury to his chest,” Jeremy called out.

  Rebekah came to the man’s side and touched him. What she saw made her wince. “He needs chest x-rays stat,” she told the orderly who had just responded to his pager. “He’s got at least three broken ribs.”

  The orderly nodded, and Rebekah turned to the next bed.

  Bagley only had a few ambulances available, and soon she started to notice vehicles from surrounding counties. The whole area must have been alerted about this emergency—thank goodness they were getting some help.

  “St. Christian’s Medical Center is sending over some personnel,” Dr. Hunsaker called out as he helped bring in yet another patient. “It’ll take them about twenty minutes to get here, but they’ve promised to drive fast.” He turned to Rebekah. “Listen—we have a situation here. I need your . . . abilities . . . but you can’t be seen issuing orders around here or people are going to get suspicious. I want you to get out there and do triage on the scene. We’re going to lose lives if we don’t hurry.”

  Rebekah nodded. The senior care facility in Bagley was the largest one in four surrounding towns, and there were easily a hundred residents there, not to mention the staff. They had to do whatever was necessary to get those people the help they needed.

  She grabbed a medical kit and raced to the door. “Take me with you back to the scene,” she told the first ambulance driver she saw. “I’m on Dr. Hunsaker’s orders.”

  “You sure? It’s not pretty,” he told her.

  “I don’t care.”

  He nodded once, and she climbed up beside him. They pulled out onto the road and he flipped the switch for the siren, making cars in front of them scatter. Under any other circumstances, it would be fun to ride in the front of an ambulance and careen around corners, but knowing what lay ahead, there was nothing fun about this at all.

  She pressed her lips together as they approached. Smoke poured from the back half of the building, where firefighters were working on some last remaining flames. The front half of the building was nothing but rubble, and more emergency personnel were digging through the bricks as quickly as they could. There were also dozens of volunteers, men and women Rebekah recognized as being shopkeepers or businessmen or Avon ladies working alongside the response team, not caring about their clothing or their nice shoes as they loaded up wheelbarrows with bricks and carted them away to make room for more searching.

  She found Jeremy. “Dr. Hunsaker sent me out here to do triage,” she said. “I need all the injured to come to me before they’re driven off. Can you see to that?”

  “I’ll do my best,” he replied. “I can’t guarantee there won’t be questions asked.”

  “We’re hoping there will be fewer out here in the chaos,” she replied. “To be honest, though, if I am found out, that doesn’t matter as much as getting these people the help they need.”

  He gave her a nod. “Here comes one now.”

  A woman who looked like she might be one of the housekeepers was brought over on a stretcher. “Concussion—blow to the right side of her head. She’ll be fine with rest, but she needs fluids.”

  Jeremy jotted that down on a piece of paper he ripped from a notebook in his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing it to the ambulance driver. “We’re speeding things up—give this to the ER staff.”

  The driver nodded, and off they went.

  Rebekah moved from person to person as they were brought from the rubble. A few times, the paramedics loaded up a patient before Rebekah had seen them, but Jeremy was keeping an eye on things, and he made sure she got a chance to examine them before they drove away. She was amazed at this side of him—he seemed to know what was going on every single minute, even with so many responders and volunteers.

  “Rebekah, this is Miss Jones,” Jeremy said, bringing a middle-aged woman up to meet her. Miss Jones had a cloth pressed to her forehead, and she looked dazed. “She’s the director of the facility.”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Rebekah said. “I do wellness checks out here from time to time. Miss Jones, how are you feeling?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” the woman replied. “We were just starting to get dinner put out, and then there was this horrible noise . . .”

  Rebekah put her arm around Miss Jones’ shoulders. “Shock, scrapes and bruises,” she said to Jeremy. “She doesn’t need to go in, but she’ll want to see her doctor tomorrow. Miss Jones, how many people were in the building at the time? Do you know?”

  “One hundred and twelve residents, and sixteen staff,” Miss Jones replied automatically. “But I don’t know how many visitors. We have a sign-in book, but I can’t find it . . .” She looked over her shoulder at the devastation.

  “That’s all right, Miss Jones. We’re going to do everything we can to find them all.”

  A volunteer led Miss Jones over to the side of the property, where some folding chairs had been found and set up. Mugs of coffee and hot chocolate were being passed around, and Rebekah was thankful once again for this community that rallied around in times of crisis. She didn’t think she’d see caring like this anywhere else. Or she might be a little biased because this was her hometown. Either way, she was proud of it.

  One man was brought out and sent straight to the morgue, nearly breaking Rebekah’s heart. She knew it was silly to think they’d all survived—they were already in poor health or they wouldn’t be in the center, and adding this kind of explosion on top of that? It was a miracle how many had survived. She tried not to think about the statistics as she continued working. Even one death was one too many.

  As the sun set, many of the volunteers ran home to get their cars, then parked them with their headlights shining on the wreckage. Even when it grew to be fully dark, no one wanted to give up. Partial light was better than no light at all, and they would not make any remaining survivors wait for their rescue.

  “Are you all right?” Jeremy asked, coming up and pressing some hot chocolate into Rebekah’s hands.

  “I’m fine. It just takes a lot out of me.” She glanced around. “How many dead now?”

  “Ten.”

  She nodded. Awful—just awful. He touched her arm. “You’re doing a ton of good out here, R
ebekah. You’re helping us get these people treated much faster than we could relying on our regular equipment—focus on the lives we’re saving, not the ones we’ve lost.”

  “I keep telling myself that. I promise, I will.”

  He moved on to help excavate the next pile of rubble. It seemed they were never-ending—as soon as they cleared one spot, it was time to clear another.

  “This woman will need emergency surgery for a shattered pelvis. That man needs to have his arm set and put in a cast, but no surgery. Immobilize with a split for now. This one . . .” Rebekah closed her eyes. “She’s gone.”

  Finally around two o’clock in the morning, the responders had removed as much rubble as they could, and those who had been tracking the victims said they’d counted the proper number of residents and staff. “But we still don’t know about visitors,” Rebekah mumbled when Jeremy told her it was time to go home.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. Listen—the visitors would have been there to see residents, right? And so we would have found them with the residents they were there to see.”

  Rebekah slowly nodded. That made sense. She was just so, so tired.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her way from the spot where she’d been working for hours. “Actually, no, I don’t think I am. You need to be with someone who understands all this—I don’t want to leave you alone. Where should I take you?”

  “Tracy’s,” Rebekah said. She wanted to be alone, but she understood the wisdom of what Jeremy was saying. She’d worn herself out both physically and emotionally using her gift over and over again, and she had no way of knowing how long it would take her to recover—she’d never pushed herself like this before.

  “Tell me where to go.”

  Before she could open her mouth to heckle him, he grinned. “Let me rephrase. Tell me how to get there.”

  “Party pooper.” She rested her head against the window as he pulled the ambulance out onto the road. The siren stayed quiet this time, which was a relief—it had been nothing but sirens all day.