Clint’s eyes were misty as he looked at her. “Those are words that I’ve longed to hear, Paula. You’ve grown so much, both in faith and in living. I can’t tell you how wonderful that makes me feel.”
“The awareness has closed some doors that needed closing. For that I’m grateful.”
He nodded, then turned and motioned to the gift she’d given him. “When I said the gift meant so much to me, I meant that, but I meant even more, because—”
“I know. I saw it in your face.”
His tense expression softened. “I told you one day you’d read me the same way I read you sometimes.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Come here.”
“In a minute.” Her chest tightened, realizing now she would ruin the beautiful moment. “You’re right about my faith growing. I still have much to learn, but I no longer question the reality of the Lord. He’s as real to me as the rising sun.”
She saw him shift as if he wanted to take her in his arms, but she couldn’t. Touching him would only delay what she had to do. “So saying that, I need to get to the serious part of this conversation.”
“Serious part?” Tension darkened his face again. “Tell me. What is it?”
“Before you and I go any further in this relationship I have to fill in some holes I left in my story. Holes I’d rather fill with dirt and have them buried forever, but they never will until I am totally open with you.” She saw the disappointment grow on his face, but she had to continue.
“You remember when I told you one of my mother’s men came after me.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me he—”
“No. I told you the truth about that.” She hesitated, questioning her decision. Then she faced the fact that it had to be told. “But I left out one part. My mother knew what her live-in wanted to do with me, and still she didn’t throw him out. That day she’d left us alone, she remembered a comment he’d made before she left, and she realized she couldn’t let it happen. She came back and caught him before he...”
Clint’s face paled. “Paula...” He opened his mouth but nothing came out until he closed his eyes and began again. “Now I can understand your bad feelings for your mother. I can’t even wrap my mind around it. But it doesn’t reflect who you are, and even though you lived with that horror, you gave up your job and returned home to care for her. You can’t ignore that you followed Jesus’s instruction to do to others as you would have them do for you, and, in a way—” he lowered his head “—to love your enemies.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “You did that.”
“Thank you.” Her chest ached with the rehashing of those horrible experiences. Seeing his anguish, she dragged her final admission from the depths of her being, the one that made her sick. “What’s even worse is what happened later after that incident.”
Clint looked confused. “But the lowlife was gone.”
She nodded “He was, but after it happened, the memory lingered in my mind often, and sometimes when I remembered that day, I recalled how warm it felt to have someone hug me.” Tears blurred her vision as the memory pierced her. “And I wished he had done more, because then I felt needed and wanted.” She swallowed, holding back the sadness that wrought her helpless. Her throat tightened. “That disgusting moment, and I felt wanted. Clint, I was pitiful.”
Clint’s hands knotted as he shook his head. “No, Paula. Why do you say you’re pitiful? We all want to be loved. Expressions of love are gentle touches, embraces, tender kisses. You were a only child.”
“I was then, but those same feelings stayed with me, the longing to be held, to experience being needed and wanting to be loved.”
His head lowered, and she knew her words hurt him, but she had to go on.
“After I left home and got my own apartment, occasionally I’d bring guys home.” Her eyes shifted from him, but she forced them back, hoping that he would look at her. That somehow he would understand. “And when they left, I felt unclean and even more unloved. I began to see those one-night stands weren’t the answer.”
Clint lifted his head, his lips squeezed so tightly they looked as if they would have to be pried apart.
She burrowed for strength. “That lasted a few months, and then I met Vic.” She dragged in a breath. “And you know about that fiasco. That’s all of it, Clint. I’ve wiped the slate clean.”
He didn’t speak. All she heard was the walls creaking as they shrank in the icy cold.
“Thanks for being honest.” He finally looked at her, but he didn’t move.
Aching, she longed for his arms around her, telling her he understood. “Clint, I told you so much before and you insisted I wasn’t to blame. I realize this is different since I had choices, but—”
“Paula, don’t apologize. I need to think this through. It’s a lot to grasp, but I will. Right now, I’d like to let it sink in.”
She looked at the empty cushion beside him and longed to be there, to be in his arms. “Did you want the hot chocolate now?”
He glanced at his watch. “No, it’s been a long day, and I need to clean up a bit at home. Get the dishes put away, and...I work tomorrow.”
The bottom fell from her heart. “I understand.” She managed a nod and rose. “I’ll send the cake home with you. The guys might enjoy it.” She left the room, forcing herself to get a grip while she found a plastic plate for the rest of the cake and covered it in plastic wrap.
When she returned, he stood by the door, his hand on the knob. “Here you go, and happy birthday.”
His head flew up as if startled. “I’ll pick up the nativity set another time, if that’s okay.”
“It’s fine.”
He turned the knob and then looked at her again. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
A rush of frigid air swept through the doorway when he pushed open the storm door. He stepped outside and hurried to his car, and she watched him pull away. No blink of lights or a little toot. Nothing as usual when he left, and she sensed this might be what she had feared. The end of a dream that had become real.
After she closed the door, she dropped to the floor, her face in her hand, and wept.
Chapter Fifteen
The engines rolled into the apparatus bay, and Clint slipped to the concrete floor. The scent of smoke clung to his turnout gear. He stripped down to his uniform and joined the others cleaning the gear used at the fire. Following the established routine, his mind drifted to his last talk with Paula.
This time she’d startled him, and he wished it wouldn’t have made an impact. He’d heard about her experience with Vic and recognized the guy as a scam artist and a cad, but the one-night stands created pictures in his mind that he couldn’t dismiss. Questions jammed his thoughts until nothing else sank in. How easy had it been to bring strangers home to spend the night? How often had it happened? Why had she continued when she’d said she felt unclean and unloved? But the worst question was, could she do this again?
He knew she’d changed and professed her newfound beliefs. He’d watched her grow and gain confidence as a desirable woman. He sensed she understood her past and why she couldn’t allow it to control her life, and she’d grown to better understand her mother. Everything positive. He knew her. He read her expressions that often told the real story. He’d witnessed her sorrow for her past. So why did the images flash through his mind?
Would he have preferred not to know? He’d asked himself the question many times since he’d heard her admission. They’d agreed to honesty. That was what she gave him. He saw that it tore her to bits to divulge the past that shamed her so deeply. No one would do that on a whim. She’d struggled with it, and he’d witnessed her pain as she spoke that day.
He longed for a shower to wash off the stench of the fire, and he wished he could wash the stink of his confusion.
He’d acted like a jerk, walking away, making an excuse so as to not deal with her confession. If he truly loved her, he would stand by her and not judge.
But he did love her. Nothing could sway the deep emotion that she’d brought out in him. Her vulnerability had captured his attention, her determination had created interest, and stepping into her world had opened his heart. Her wit, her bravery and her gentle nature, despite her past, wove into the kind of woman he could admire and want to spend a lifetime with.
He lowered his head, working on his mask and air tank. His solution. Apologize. But even the word lay limp in his head. Undoing the damage he’d done overwhelmed him.
Devon had looked at him a few times before the fire as if he suspected something had happened, but Devon hadn’t asked, and he was grateful. The situation belonged to Paula and him. Only he could resolve it, and he would.
His ring tone vibrated in his pocket, and his first hopeful thought was Paula, but he read his mother’s ID. He released a breath and hit the button. He heard her upbeat voice, and he had no intention of worrying her about what had happened.
“We’ve just come in from fighting a fire.”
“Was it bad? I hope no one—”
“The building’s gone, but no casualties.”
“Phew. Good. Well...I just wanted to tell you your dad and I had a lovely time. We enjoyed meeting Paula, and...we were wondering...”
Here it comes. It took him back to his teen days.
“Wondering if you two have, you know, serious intentions. Your dad and I talked about it on the way home, and we’re both enamored with her, and hope you have bigger plans—”
“Mom, yes, I’m crazy about her, but we’re taking it slow. Both of us have had a bad relationship, and—”
“Goodness, Clint, that was over three years ago. I’d think you’d be over that by now.”
He muzzled a scream. “I am, Mom. Way over it, but an experience like that still makes a person think. I hope soon we’ll—”
“Be engaged. That’s it, right?”
It hadn’t been what he’d started to say, but getting his mom to hang up meant making her happy, and in truth, that’s what he wanted. “That’s it.”
“Your dad will be as happy as I am. We can’t wait to have some grandbabies we can love.”
Clint winced, unable to forget Paula’s fear of being a mother. Nothing he’d said seemed to change her view of herself. “You and Dad would do a good job with that, Mom, but let’s take one step at a time.”
She chuckled. “Tell Paula we send our love, and I’ll let you go. You sound tired.”
“I am. Fighting fires doesn’t lend itself to a good time.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he’d not said it.
“Rest and take care of yourself. Dad sends his love, too.”
“Thanks, Mom. Tell Dad I send my love.”
She hesitated but finally disconnected, and he was grateful he hadn’t offended her with his crass comment. He adored his parents. He couldn’t ask for better, but for some reason, his mom never remembered he’d just turned thirty-eight. Not twenty. He grinned and tucked the cell into his pocket.
He checked the last piece of equipment, and with the job done, he headed for the showers, welcoming the scent of soap and shampoo. As he stripped down, he heard a text message ping on his cell phone, and he tapped the button. Paula’s message popped up, and his heart skipped. His eyes swept over the message. Neely was in labor, and Paula was heading for the hospital in a few minutes. He sent up a quick prayer for mother and child and added another for his next talk with Paula, praying the Lord gave him the words to admit he’d been a jerk and to tell her he loved her.
* * *
Paula gripped the steering wheel as her car spun out backing from her driveway. They hadn’t plowed the latest snowfall and now it had frozen. When she arrived home from work, she’d ground her teeth at the snow blocking her driveway, but she’d barreled through it. Now startled by the quick freeze, she kept her eye on the speedometer as she neared her corner, and calculated the best time to pull out onto Woodward Avenue.
Though stressed by the weather, her spirit lightened each time she thought of Neely and Jon welcoming their new baby into the world. They would make wonderful parents. She’d watched them with Ash and Devon’s kids. Observers might think the children had belonged to Neely and Jon.
Her pulse skipped, thinking about her own pleasure in spending time with Kaylee and Joey. Both were funny and filled with cute ways to manipulate doting adults. She’d allowed them to twist her around their fingers on occasion. The thought she wouldn’t make a good parent had been filtered with her recent experience. For the first time in her life, she could envision the possibility.
Finally seeing the lane clear, she edged onto Woodward and picked up speed, worrying about the crazies speeding behind her. Her heart stopped as a car skidded toward her. She gripped the wheel and veered left, managing to move into the next lane. She thanked the Lord no other vehicles had blocked her as she steered to safety.
A car zoomed past her, and her chest tightened as she gulped for air. She might have hesitated leaving the house if she’d realized the danger on the highway, but she’d really wanted to be there when the new baby arrived.
Calming herself, she stayed in the new lane. In less than five miles, she had to make a left turn after she passed 13 Mile so this saved her the move later. The traffic became more bold, and a horn tooted behind her. She had nowhere to go, but when she eyed the rearview mirror, her heart flew to her throat. A car sliding sideways was heading for her from behind but instead clipped the car beside her. She clung to the wheel with no control as her car spun and headed into the third lane.
A thud slammed her forward with her heart in her throat, and the crush of metal was followed by a clank from the right. Her head hit the side window. Her sight blurred as a car in front of her spun toward her. Metal crunched. Glass splintered. White blinded her. Then darkness.
* * *
Clint tied his shoes and stood, his thoughts on Neely. He’d listened for the ping of a text message, but none came. He drew in a breath, worrying about Jon and Neely on the slippery highway as they drove to the hospital. No one wanted their baby born in a car.
Driving had been treacherous. While some drivers drove as if on tiptoes, others still considered the roads their own autobahn with no good sense as to the danger they faced. Earlier on the way back to the station after they’d fought the fire, he’d spotted on the shoulder of the road three cars that had either spun out or had had a fender bender. Nothing life threatening, but a good warning to passing traffic.
He stepped into the hallway and faltered as the siren sounded again, but this time the loudspeaker announced a four-car accident on North Woodward and 9 Mile Road. His shoulders drooped, knowing the crew would face another long night.
Joining the others, he retraced his steps to the bunker room and found himself again tugging on his turnout gear and climbing into the rig as they rolled outside, the siren whooping to warn traffic. Woodward Avenue, though salted, continued to be slippery, the ice having melted and then frozen again, leaving traffic creeping. The urgency of the sirens sent many to the shoulder where they waited for the engine and rescue unit to pass.
The short trip took forever, and as they arrived, police where already setting up barricades and detouring traffic down clogged side streets. Ahead he could see the tangle of the four-car pileup, and as they drew closer, his heart stood still as terror surged through his limbs. “Oh, dear Lord, no.”
Sal’s head swiveled toward him. “What is it?”
“That’s Paula’s car.”
Sal shook his head. “Are you sure? It can’t be?”
“It is.” He craned his neck, positive the vehicle was hers, but managed to contain his growing fear. He could neve
r forget he was a firefighter. “Neely’s in labor, and Paula was on her way to Beaumont.”
Fighting for the control he needed in emergencies, he jumped from the engine when it came to a full stop and raced to the car pinned in between the three others. Drivers from two of the vehicles stood beside the road, talking to police, while two officers attempted to get to the center of the pileup.
His stomach knotted as he stepped onto the rear bumper, climbed over the trunk to the top of the car and leaned over to look through the windshield. Blood rolled down her face, and he gasped. “Paula.” His voice thrummed in his ears, but she didn’t move. “Paula.” She lay unconscious against the driver’s door, the white airbags draped around her. Fear surged as he searched for evidence of life, but a faint rise of her chest gave him hope.
“She’s unconscious and bleeding from the head, but alive.”
The crew surrounded the scene, assessing the damage and the best way to get to her car.
He spotted the only safe way. “Access her through the passenger door. Get someone to move that van,” he yelled over his shoulder, knowing any other way of moving her would be more dangerous for her.
Two of his pals had already appeared with the rescue tools—cutters and spreaders—the Jaws of Life, which lived up to its name. Though longing to stay near her, he retraced his path and slid from the car while the men strategized their next move.
Relief spread through him as a tow truck appeared and pulled in front of the tangle. The driver lined up with the van blocking Paula’s passenger-side door. The driver hooked the winch cable to the van’s engine cradle, climbed into the wrecker and rolled the vehicle forward.
Grasping the spreader, Clint darted back to the car and attacked the passenger door, inserting the narrow tip between the door and frame before he used the hydraulic pressure to separate them. His prayer rose that the Lord give him a chance to tell Paula he loved her.
Rescued by the Firefighter Page 19
