Rescued by the Firefighter

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Guests. The word disgusted her.

  Clint sat at a table with an album spread in front of him. He swiveled his head toward her when she entered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  What difference did it make? She shook her head.

  “Is this your mother?” He pointed toward one of the photos.

  She crossed the room and lowered her eyes to the picture. “She was young then. Probably in her early twenties. I barely remember her like that.”

  “I can see some of her features in you. She was very pretty, Paula.”

  Without meaning to, she cringed and wished she hadn’t. “I guess she was.” The only similarity she could see was their empty lives.

  “You’ll want to keep these.” He dropped it back in a box beside the table and looked up at her. “One day, you may want to show your child what his or her grandmother looked like.”

  A chill rolled down her back. A child? What was he thinking?

  The chair legs scraped against the hardwood floors as he rose.

  “I’ll never have a—”

  “Shh.” His lips silenced hers with a tender kiss. “You can’t read the future any more than you can change the past.”

  She rested her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, protecting her and saving her from sinking. His words lingered in her mind, and she wished she understood how she could give the Lord her burdens and let them go.

  “I’d like to understand it all, Clint. I don’t know where to begin.” She shook her head, frustration filling her face. “I really don’t know.”

  “Scripture and prayer. You can start there. You have the desire, Paula, and that’s the hardest part.”

  Her head spun with warring thoughts, but doubt had no power over her anymore. She wanted to win the battle. Since moving to Ferndale, she’d grown as a person. Hopes and dreams she’d forgotten had come to light, and people she’d met treated her with respect and expectation. It was time she met her own expectations and formed a new life so far from the past she could never go back there again.

  Weight lifted from her heart. God or something had answered her needs—the house had sold and she had a new job to start Monday. She stood beside a man who asked nothing of her yet had given her so much. He’d even reminded her she could be a mother one day. She wanted to be a healthy mother. And Clint. He’d be an amazing father.

  Hope streamed around her even though it meant telling Clint everything.

  Chapter Nine

  Time dragged for Clint even though he’d returned to work. The chief put him on limited duty, which meant he stayed at the firehouse, “holding down the fort” as the crew called it, while they went out to fight fires. He’d rather be home than feel useless at the station.

  Though assigned to easy tasks, he’d taken it upon himself to add extra jobs to his day, and while he worked, his mind centered on Paula. He’d been to her mother’s home twice, and the second time opened his eyes more.

  On his first visit, he’d admired the stone fireplace, the open cherrywood staircase and the wide expanse of seasonal porch that gave a great view of the woods, but on his last visit he reevaluated his first impression. His awareness of the damage the environment had brought to Paula changed his perception.

  This time he noticed the beige walls, white draperies at the windows and the furniture upholstery a darker beige. The wooden floors throughout most of the house and no pictures or decorations to add color took life from the rooms. The ivy had died and crumbled at his touch. Lifeless. That’s what he’d call it. Even a hospital room had a bulletin board and a wall clock.

  Though he was considered to be a strong, rugged male, the word cozy had meaning for him. The house in Roscommon lacked warmth—nothing there left him with a comfortable feeling. The dankness of the rooms echoed the spiritless life still hanging in the air. Picturing Paula growing up in the environment with her mother’s immoral existence helped him understand the lack of love she’d felt.

  No wonder she’d been hesitant to take a leap of faith. She’d watched her mother fail at relationships, and he understood why Paula might envision herself in that situation. That’s what she’d learned. Man-hopping. The idea dug deep into the pit of his gut. He couldn’t imagine Paula with that mind-set. Certainly she had more intelligence than to slip into the mire of her mother’s lifestyle. His desire to show her what great things life could offer choked his heart. His determination had grown beyond his ability to hold it back.

  An uneasy thought came to him. In that horrific environment for a young girl, could something have happened to her in that house? Images flashed in his mind of her innocence being ripped away by one of the lowlifes her mother had allowed into their home. Into their home with no regard for a young daughter just blossoming into womanhood. His chest ached with concern. Could this be the ugly part of her life that held her back and made her feel less than worthy? His disgust grew as his fist knotted.

  He could never ask. Never. Yet it made him long all the more to rescue her, to help her know in her heart that she was as pure as the morning dew.

  He was committed. He’d finally met a woman he wanted to be with, a woman he could marry, but...she’d said it herself. He knew what the Bible taught, and despite his feelings, he had some reluctance to continue in a relationship leading to marriage when the woman didn’t embrace his faith.

  A ragged breath tore through his chest, leaving an ache reminiscent of the pain he experienced after the smoke inhalation. He closed the magazine and tossed it aside, frustrated with being treated as an invalid. He lowered his eyelids, his supplication filling his mind. But prayers had rattled in his head so often he wondered if God got tired of hearing the same pleas.

  His cell phone came to life, and his heart lurched. Paula was the only one who called him these days, and he hadn’t heard from her since returning to work. She tended to hesitate, fearing she would interrupt his work. But since returning, his work had involved menial tasks.

  Picturing her at the other end of the call lifted his spirit. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and then his mind flew back in time. While his pulse skittered, he stared at the phone, unable to answer. Finally catching his breath, he hit the button. “Elise?”

  “Clint, it’s been a long time. How are you?”

  “Fine. What’s up?”

  She didn’t respond for a moment, but he heard her breathing. “I surprised you, I suppose?”

  She supposed? That was an understatement. “I’m at the station, Elise. Can I help you?”

  “No, but I had hoped you’d be happy to hear from me.”

  He pulled back the phone and stared at it. Was she insane? “Surprised.”

  “I’m sorry, Clint. I suppose you’re married and I shouldn’t—”

  “I’m not married, but I’m curious why you’re calling me.”

  “So you are single.” Her tone had lifted. “So am I.”

  Huh? The purpose for her phone call struck him in the gut and sickened him. “I’m sorry.” He’d stretched the truth. She deserved every miserable moment of her life. “You’re divorced, I assume.”

  “The marriage was a mistake, Clint. It was my second big error.”

  He pictured her blond hair brushing her shoulders, her fluttering lashes and her tapered nose that turned upward at the end. She’d captured him once but not again. “We all make mistakes. We learn from them and grow.” From the sound of her voice, he suspected she’d found herself stuck in the same hole she’d been in when she walked away from their wedding.

  “That’s why I decided to come home for a while.”

  He could only shake his head and swallow the bile rising to his throat. The best he could do with her call was to gain a sense of closure, but lately he’d realized that wasn’t important anymore. Paula had reminded him that he wasn
’t likely the one with the problem. That’s all he’d needed to hear. And today, in his eyes, Elise had validated it.

  “Clint?”

  Her plaintive voice tripped to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “I thought maybe we’d been cut off.”

  “No. I’m busy, Elise. I’m at work.” He’d stretched another truth. Sitting and looking at an old magazine he’d probably read before didn’t meet the definition of busy.

  “All right. This was bad timing. I should have known.” Silence inched along until he heard her breathe. “I’ll say goodbye for now.”

  He heard the disconnect and released a stream of air, but as he did, her words came back to him. I’ll say goodbye for now. He’d been miserable all day, wanting to get back to work—real work instead of babysitting the station. Her call made everything else seem insignificant. She’d riled the confusion he’d lugged around for too long. Firefighters had a lifestyle some women couldn’t handle, and he’d learned that now. He’d watched some marriages crumble, but not for his buddies not trying.

  He buried his face in his hands, hoping to dispel the tension that had raked through him, leaving a sting. At one time, he’d thought seeing her had value. Though Elise had reappeared, he knew better now. Something more important needed his efforts rather than swathing an old ache. His relationship with Paula had just begun to strengthen. And now Elise had fallen into the picture. He had no control over Elise and what she really wanted or what she might do.

  “Clint, if you’re not feeling well, you need to go home.”

  His head snapped up, hearing Devon’s voice.

  “No, I’m okay.” He straightened in the chair and planted a pleasant expression on his face. At least he hoped that was what it was.

  “We can manage here, pal.” Devon rested his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I feared you would come back too soon. You’re a hard worker, but you should take care of yourself first.”

  “I’m fine, Dev. Well, I was fine until...” Too late to keep his mouth shut. He’d flapped his jaw and sucking back the words couldn’t be done. He needed to think the situation through on his own without anyone’s opinion to sway what he needed to do.

  Devon’s face screwed into a quizzical expression. “Until what?”

  “Until Elise called.”

  Devon’s eyes opened as wide as his mouth. “You’re kidding.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose you’d kid about that.” He grasped a chair back as if to steady himself. “What did she want?”

  Clint rolled his eyes. “I have no idea except she’s divorced and thought I’d be happy to hear from her.”

  “Ah. That’s rather open-ended.”

  “She said she was coming back home for a while to deal with her mistakes. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I told her I was at work and ended the call, but not before I heard her last line.” He shook his head, choking on the words. “She said, ‘I’ll say goodbye for now.’”

  Devon seemed frozen in place. “For now, huh?” Finally, he came back to life. “You don’t look happy.”

  “Should I be?”

  He drew up his shoulders and shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

  Clint didn’t know how to respond, and he certainly hadn’t expected Devon to say something like that. “That’s been long over, Dev. I thought once I’d like to have her explain, but you know what? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Good for you.” He gave Clint a wink. “I’m guessing my sort-of sister-in-law can take credit for some of that.”

  Clint winked back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Devon let out a horselaugh and strutted away.

  Clint watched him go, wishing he could laugh about the situation, but Elise’s goodbye gave him concern.

  * * *

  “Are you sure this covers everything?” She eyed Ashley and Devon, trying to read their expressions. “The check is half of the value—my down payment—and I’ll make monthly installments for—”

  “It’s more than half, Paula.” Devon eyed the check. “We’re not taking money for the furniture. Those things are a gift from Ashley until you can replace them with your own purchases. Then you can sell the items or donate them to charity. They belong to you.”

  “But the appliances and—”

  “How many stoves and refrigerators does one person need?” Ashley shook her head and chuckled. “Devon has a new fridge and he put his old one in the basement for extra storage. We don’t want another stove.”

  Paula’s chest constricted. “Thanks. You’ve done more than I could ever imagine.”

  “You’re family—like a sister. We love you.”

  Ashley’s words washed over her as comforting as a warm bath. “I’ve decided to bring a few things from Mother’s house. Clint insisted, and he was right.”

  They did a double take. She was sure she’d mentioned it...or Clint would have.

  “How are you moving the items here?” Devon stuffed the check into his wallet.

  “I hired a guy to move it here. The rest is going to charity.” Her chest tightened again, but this time with concern. She’d only talked with Clint once since he’d brought her back from Roscommon. Part of their distance had been her reluctance to get any more involved than she already was. Things were moving too fast.

  Devon rose. “Let us know if you need help. I’m off Sunday and Monday.” He tilted his head back. “I suppose Monday won’t work now with your job.”

  “I know. The house sale and the job came at the same time, but I’m not complaining. I’m grateful.”

  Ashley came to her side and kissed her cheek. “We’re both happy for you.”

  “I know you are.” She rose and gave her cousin a hug. “Thanks. You’re making my dream came true.”

  “We’re glad.” Devon squeezed her arm and headed toward the kitchen.

  But Ashley paused. “Dad said you’ve been reading the Bible.”

  A lump caught in Paula’s throat, and she could only nod.

  “I’m happy you are.” Her mouth curved upward. “If you have any questions—”

  “Your dad’s been good about answering the ones I’ve had. He suggested I read the New Testament first.” She studied Ashley’s expression and got positive feedback.

  She finally nodded. “You’re surprising me, Paula, and yet, it’s so good. I’m really happy that you’re taking this step.” She gave a wave and headed toward the door but slowed and turned to her again. “If you want to go to church with us, just let me know.”

  “Thanks.” She watched Ashley vanish around the corner. Their footsteps faded as they exited.

  She rubbed her face and sank into the chair again, taking a moment to put her checkbook into her shoulder bag. So many things were falling into place except the one major decision she’d made, and that one broke her heart. Falling in love, she’d learned, wasn’t something that could be controlled. It happened whether the person wanted it to or not, and she’d let it sneak up on her. But for now the emotion had to be put in bubble wrap and placed somewhere safe until she knew faith was possible for her. She owed it to Clint.

  Prayer had happened without thinking once she’d realized that she couldn’t make a mistake with prayer. If there was a God, he’d hear it, and if there wasn’t, then it didn’t make a difference, but lately when she prayed, she’d been washed in a sense of comfort. She couldn’t stop the feeling, and the more she prayed and read the Bible, the more she’d faced a truth she hadn’t considered. Her cousins and uncle weren’t gullible people. Clint was as far from being duped as many might be. And they believed without a doubt. She’d heard it in their conversations and prayers at dinner. She’d seen it in their actions.

  Those seeds inside her that Clint had mentioned had burst open, and tendrils of faith had begun to wind around her heart
and through her being. She had changed, desiring to pray rather than wishing she could.

  The doorbell chimed and she stilled, not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment. Then she remembered her uncle had gone somewhere with Alice—their time together had become more frequent—which meant she was the only one home to answer. She rose to deal with the door and pulled the latch.

  Clint stood on the other side, one hand on the screen door handle and another clutching a bouquet of flowers. His serious expression gave her concern.

  “Are you home?”

  His silly question eased her tension. “No, but come in anyway.” She pushed the screen door forward as he pulled. “Is someone sick?” She nodded toward the flowers, hoping to make him smile.

  He did. “I am, but I bought these for you.” He handed her the bouquet wrapped in florist paper and tied with a ribbon.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if these are a peace offering” She cradled the bouquet. “Or maybe it’s a ploy to cover your guilt about something. I’ve read articles about that in magazines. Never trust a bouquet of roses.”

  “They’re not roses.” Though he chuckled, she sensed something was askew.

  Without probing him, she headed to the kitchen to find a vase, and he followed her. He’d never given her flowers before although he’d done so much more. Still, the beautiful bouquet made her think.

  She opened the cabinet door, closed it and opened the next. On the top shelf, she spotted a vase tall enough to hold the long stems. “Can you reach that?” She pointed to the glass container too high for her to reach.

  He lifted it down, and she filled it with water from the tap. When she set the vase on the counter, he had already untied the ribbon and unbound the bouquet from the floral paper. She gazed at the lovely blossoms—colorful snapdragons, pink carnations, yellow poms and blue iris. Withdrawing the green ferns and purple statice first, she arranged them in the vase, then added the flowers to form a balanced display of height and color. She stood back, admiring her handiwork.