Rescued by the Firefighter

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  “Good news is the house already has a bid on it, and the Realtor said it looks good. It’ll be a relief to get rid of that problem.”

  Her references to relief and problem aroused his curiosity again, but her reference to a job sounded right to him. Maybe she had a good head on her shoulders. “I hope it works out.” From her expression, he’d obviously disappointed her. She’d expected his enthusiasm, but his parents’ way had been solid. Until the money was in hand, the offer was only a dream.

  She nodded and fell silent again.

  Questions dug into his mind, ones his parents would ask about budgeting and saving money, but the probing could end their amiable conversation. He headed for the safest topic. “Do you have siblings?”

  She shook her head. “I’m surprised my parents had me.” As the words left her, she grew silent, her expression reflecting her shock that she’d said that much.

  He sat glued to the seat, his lips pressed together, unable to think of anything safe to say.

  “I’m sorry, Clint. I’m sure that sounded crude, and I’m surprised I said it.”

  “Maybe you needed to.”

  Paula tilted her head as if weighing his comment. “You may be right. I tend to hold in things until they explode.” Looking uneasy, her attention drifted toward a couple of new guests who’d arrived. She dragged in a lengthy breath. “I should explain, I suppose.”

  He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he grasped his drink and leaned back in the chair, giving her time to decide what she wanted to say. Her expression created an unexpected ache. He’d suspected she buried things she didn’t want to deal with or think about. Her comment proved he’d been right.

  “I was never close to my parents. My dad split when I was still young. I hardly remember him, and my mom led a guarded life, one that didn’t involve me. I don’t think she ever said ‘I love you’ to anyone.”

  His chest constricted, air escaping his lungs. Everyone needed to be loved. He’d grown up hearing those words from his parents, and he knew that Jesus loved him. The childhood song swept through his mind. “I’m sorry, Paula. The words ‘I love you’ are precious.”

  She nodded without looking at him. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this.” She looked away for a moment.

  “I like getting to know you.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded, aching from the look on her face. “My life wasn’t perfect, either. Not by a long shot.”

  She studied him as if to make sure he meant what he said. “Thanks.” She raised her shoulders.

  He waited.

  Her shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of her past.

  “I’m here, Paula.” He tied down the other words longing to be spoken.

  Her head turned toward him like a weather vane in a faint breeze.

  When her eyes met his, he spoke those bottled-up words. “And I’m listening.”

  A wash of questioning rippled across her face before she took a deep breath. “I moved away from home as soon as I could. Took some college classes and worked a job to help pay for an apartment I shared with a couple of girls. When I finished my associate degree, I got a full-time job and took courses to work on a bachelor’s degree, but I never finished.” She shrugged. “It’s difficult working and going to school. I was dead tired all the time. I decided to put the dream to bed for a while.” She shifted and focused on him. “As life goes, I never went back to college.”

  “That happens. I started classes at Michigan State, but then got the firefighter bug. College isn’t necessary for the job, although it can help someone move up in the ranks. I plunged ahead, passed the written, physical and medical exams, and then earned my certification as an EMT.”

  “I’m impressed.” She lifted her plastic cup and took a sip.

  “Don’t be. It’s a job someone has to do, but I love it. Saving lives and helping people in trouble gives me an opportunity to do what I believe is important. You know the old saying, ‘What would Jesus do?’”

  Her head inched upward. “Should I be honest?”

  His eyebrows raised, and he forced them down. “Please.”

  “I don’t know what Jesus would do. That’s another part of life I missed out on.”

  “Religious training?”

  “My mother wasn’t a believer, I suspect. No Sunday school or church. Nothing.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be a believer. That’s something in the heart, not always in the home.”

  Her expression darkened.

  Concerned, he leaned forward. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I just meant that my faith deepened as life went on. I was born into a faith-filled family so I saw it in action, but it didn’t deepen until I experienced life and saw faith acted out each day.”

  “I suppose.” She stared into the distance for a moment, then continued. “I’m surprised Neely and Ashley have a religious foundation. Their mother and mine were sisters. Maybe if I’d had that kind of upbringing, my life would have been different.”

  “Hard to say why siblings aren’t always the same.” The urge to encourage her to study and grow in faith stirred through him, but he feared the results. “Maybe their dad was the influence.”

  A faint grin etched her mouth. “Probably was. Uncle Fred’s down-to-earth, funny and very thoughtful. He’s quite a character.”

  “He is. I get a kick out of—”

  “Pizza.” The word rang out as Devon came through the back door, holding a number of Jet’s Pizza boxes, while Ashley made room on the picnic table. “Time to eat.”

  Eating was the last thing Clint wanted to do. Paula had opened up, spilling out some of the hurts and situations that had molded her into the person he wanted to know better. But as others headed toward the table, Paula rose, and he followed, letting the subject drop. He sensed there was much more to tell, but today he’d made a little progress in getting to know the woman who’d become the center of his thoughts. Thoughts he couldn’t control. Ones that demanded attention.

  Pizza restricted their conversation, leaving him with the undaunted urge to rescue Paula from the hurts and damage from the past. He sat unmoving, the desire growing in his mind. He’d rescued many from flames and other tragic situations.

  But this was different. Was rescuing Paula even possible?

  Chapter Three

  Paula hesitated before pulling into the driveway when she spotted Devon and Clint near the garage with her uncle. If Clint hadn’t noticed her and waved, she would have backed out and driven away. Today wasn’t a day she wanted to talk with anyone. On top of that, when she thought of him, and it was more often than she wanted, she pictured him with Kaylee and Joey, and it charmed her. He was wonderful with them. Natural, outgoing, relaxed. He looked like a guy who knew how to be a dad. She had no idea how to be a mother and, if she tried, would she be a good one?

  She’d been fighting tears for the past hour, tears she resented, and her weakened ability to control her emotions was almost too much. Everything had gone wrong, even the memory of Clint with the kids. That should have lifted her spirit. What had happened to her new lease on life?

  She sat a moment, willing her pitiful tears to dry up. Self-pity wasn’t an appealing trait. No one wanted to deal with that, and she didn’t want to, either. She pulled her shoulder bag from the floor where it had slipped and hoped she could sneak into the house.

  As she rounded the car, her uncle Fred beckoned to her. Her heart fell as she managed a pleasant expression and headed his way, wondering what he wanted. Devon and Clint watched her traipse along the driveway though forcing each step. “What’s up?”

  Her uncle swung his arm toward a large pile of fireplace logs piled into a bin at the side of the garage. “We’re ready for winter. Free firewood. How often does a person have that ha
ppen?”

  She shrugged, having no experience with fireplaces or logs. “That must have been a good deal.”

  “Yep, but we had to move it today. Devon called and said a tree had fallen a few streets over, and they wanted to get rid of the wood.” He clasped his son-in-law’s shoulder and then flopped the other arm around Clint’s. “These two men came to my rescue. I had no way to load this myself.”

  She managed a smile at the men. “That was really nice.” She choked on the word. Nothing had seemed nice since she’d awakened, but she wanted to be happy for her uncle and his woodpile. The image caused a true grin to tug her mouth.

  “We were glad to help.” Devon patted her uncle’s shoulder.

  Clint sidled closer to her and tucked his hands into his pockets, a knowing expression on his face. “How was your day?”

  The gentle tone of his voice touched her like a breeze, and words failed her. She swallowed her rising emotion and shrugged. She wanted to run rather than stand beside him whimpering, but she noticed Devon had followed Fred around the corner of the garage, and she and Clint faced each other alone.

  “Something’s wrong?” He shifted closer. “I see it in your eyes.”

  Having someone read her thoughts triggered her emotion to break free. She looked away, fighting back the lump in her throat and the pressure behind her eyes. “A little.”

  His arm slipped behind her and drew her closer. “No luck looking for a job?”

  She tilted her head, willing her mouth to form words. “That’s one of the problems, and I’m beginning to sense it’s not going to happen.”

  Clint grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. His midnight-blue eyes searched hers, and the dam broke. Tears slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. He glanced behind him and drew her to his chest.

  That was all she needed. Sobs broke loose as her tears wet his polo shirt. She sniffed, trying to force back the ache rending her body. Foolish. That’s how she felt. She’d lost control, and her disappointment had knotted into a wad of sickening self-pity. “I’m sorry, Clint. I’m being ridiculous.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “But I’m not a crier. Tears and I are strangers—were strangers—and I want it like that again.”

  “Really.” He looked at her with question. “Why?”

  “Tears are weak, and that’s something I’m not.” Though she said it, the words felt like a lie. Somehow she’d weakened and had turned into a pile of mush. No one liked mush, especially her.

  “Even men cry, Paula.”

  The sincere look in his eyes gave her a start. She studied him, confused. Who was this man? Strong, confident and yet tender. The vision tripped in her mind.

  Clint glanced toward the garage and then motioned toward the house door. “Can we go inside?”

  She sensed he wanted privacy, and Uncle Fred didn’t always know when to vanish. She led the way to the side door. They entered the kitchen, and she pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Hold on a minute, okay?” He motioned toward the backyard. “I want to see if they’re finished. The more I think of it, I’d rather we go for a ride and talk without interruption.”

  She knew what he meant.

  He turned and hurried down the landing to the side door without giving her a chance to respond. But maybe that was good. Saying it wasn’t necessary would have been dishonest. Being with Clint would be the best experience she’d had all day.

  She returned one glass to the shelf, turned on the tap and filled the other. Her mouth felt dry, and she gulped the cool water, wishing away the depressing feelings that had overtaken her.

  Though Clint’s offer had met her need, she didn’t want their first conversation since Ashley’s party to be like this, but she needed to dump her worries somewhere rather than lug them with her, and Clint had volunteered. A true rescuer of many kinds.

  As she set the glass in the sink, Clint returned and stood on the landing. “I hope it’s okay for you to leave.” He studied her a moment. “Will you go with me? You’re guaranteed no interruptions.”

  Her usual resistance had disappeared for once. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and followed him outside.

  “By the way, I told Devon and your uncle we were going out for a while. I didn’t explain.”

  “Thanks.” She felt protected with Clint. He had a way of making her feel safe.

  He motioned her to go ahead and steered her toward his Jeep across the street. There, he held open the door as she alighted, and then he slipped into the driver’s seat. “What about a park? The weather’s great, and it won’t be like this for long. We can pick up a sandwich and drink....” His eyes caught hers. “Or will that mess up dinner? I’m guessing you do the cooking for your uncle.”

  “True, but he has plans tonight at the seniors’ center. He has a lady friend.” She pictured her uncle’s boyish charm when he talked about Alice. “She’s from the church.”

  Clint pulled away from the curb as he chuckled. “You can’t find a better place to meet someone.”

  She shriveled into the seat, and though she knew he didn’t mean to make her feel ashamed, he had. Being a believer was important to him. Fleeting images skipped through her mind, pictures of her and Clint walking into church...maybe with children, but those images weren’t her, and she sensed he was letting her know that if she had ideas about a relationship, she’d better forget them.

  He turned onto Hilton Road and pulled into a parking spot to pick up a sub sandwich. When he stepped out, he leaned back inside. “Want to come in and see what they have?”

  His church reference had saddened her. Though he didn’t mean it to, she suspected he was right. For a Christian, where better to find friends? She shook her head. “No. Surprise me?”

  Arching an eyebrow, he shrugged and closed the door.

  If she’d gone inside, she may have been able to dismiss his comment. It wasn’t necessarily a warning. He knew she hadn’t grown up in a faith-filled family. As yet he hadn’t rejected their friendship.

  When he exited the sub shop door, he swung the bag and dangled it in the air, a silly grin on his face, and for a moment it caused her to smile. Clint could do that for her.

  He slipped into the car and handed her the sack. “Now to Harding Park. It’s close.”

  They rode in silence, her mind on him and her problems, and his mind...? She couldn’t even guess.

  “Wouldn’t you know.” He motioned toward the park as they approached.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Who would think. It’s busy today.” He pointed ahead as they turned the corner.

  She spotted the problem. The few picnic tables appeared filled, and some people were playing with toddlers at the nearby swings.

  “They’re enjoying the last days of summer.” He waved his hand again in another direction. “Soccer game going on, too. So much for being alone.”

  She eyed the food bag he’d handed her. “We could eat in the car.”

  “I have a better idea, and it’s close.” He followed the street around a bend and turned at the next corner onto Inman Street. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Before she could figure out what he meant, he pulled into a driveway.

  He shifted into Park and turned off the engine. “My house. It’s quiet and I have an umbrella table in the back if you prefer.”

  She studied the two-story yellow-sided house with white trim. A castlelike turret jutted from one side, and the porch reflected more old-world charm, with four columns supporting the roof. The architecture was enchanting and different from any home she’d noticed in the area. Intrigued by the look of the house, she pictured Clint inside.

  Maybe he had an old-world charm, too. Each time they met, sh
e noted his staunch values and ways. Old-fashioned manners of opening doors and holding chairs, niceties that had been lost by most of the men she’d known. “It’s really pretty, Clint.” She admired the well-kept yard and the turret—it made her feel like a queen.

  He jumped out, came around to her side and opened the passenger door. “Thanks.” He motioned toward the side of the house. “Let’s go in back.”

  Though disappointed not to see the inside, she walked beside him. When she rounded the corner, a flagstone patio extended from what might be a kitchen door. A table and four chairs in deep green and a matching umbrella took most of the space. Farther left, he had two outdoor recliners sitting in the sun with a small table between them.

  She settled onto a chair, and he used a napkin from the bag to brush off the tabletop that already looked clean.

  “I hope you like turkey and ham with cheese.” He slid a wrapped sandwich in front of her.

  “It sounds good. Perfect.” She folded back the paper as he set a napkin next to the wrapper. Her stomach rolled a low growl. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

  “And I bought you a lemonade. I hope you like it.”

  She chuckled, seeing his concern.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  His expression brightened as they sat in silence, unwrapping the meat-and-cheese subs thick with lettuce, tomato and cucumbers. Even a pickle peeked from beneath the multigrain crust. She took her first bite, tasting the blend of flavors, and washed it down with a sip of the lemonade, amazed she’d almost forgotten her less-than-perfect day. Keeping those thoughts to herself, they chatted about his landscaping and house, topics that drew her attention away from her earlier upset.

  With her appetite sated, she managed to finish most of the sandwich before she gave up. “Thanks for suggesting this. Otherwise I would have gone inside Uncle Fred’s and wallowed in my misery.”