by Gail Sattler
Copyright
ISBN 1-58660-259-4
© 2001 by Gail Sattler. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973,1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover illustration by Kay Salem.
Prologue
Cindy wiped her damp brow and reached for her set of precision screwdrivers. The hot and humid warehouse did nothing but aggravate the tense atmosphere, and the noise grated constantly on her nerves. Still, she couldn’t survive without the income, so she would suffer through until she could find employment elsewhere. This stint on the assembly line had to rank as the worst job she’d ever held.
A booming male voice interrupted her thoughts. “Cindy, can I see you, please?”
She followed Troy to his office, where he motioned her to sit in the chair across from him as he took his seat behind his large desk. “You don’t like it here, do you?”
Cindy sucked in a deep breath and her heart thudded in her chest. Not yet over her probation, if management decided to terminate her, she would be without recourse. After being unemployed for too long, her savings had almost run out and she’d had to take in a roommate. She couldn’t afford to lose this job.
Cindy gulped and gripped the arms of the chair. “I suppose the job isn’t the most fulfilling one I’ve ever had, but I do my best,” she said more calmly than she thought her shaking insides would allow.
“I see.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him.
She was sunk. She felt sure he was going to fire her. And she didn’t even know why.
“Can you type?”
“Well, a little. Yes. . .”
“Have you ever worked in an office?”
“Uh, no. . .” Cindy’s stomach churned. Her boss was suggesting something he thought she might be better suited for before he let the ax fall.
“I’ve been watching you, and while you’re doing a fine job, I know you’re not happy here. The senior vice president’s secretary called in sick four days in a row, and today she just quit. The desk is in a state of anarchy and Robert Blackmore needs someone immediately. No one else from the secretarial pool. . .” The corners of his mouth tilted upward, and he cleared his throat. “. . .can be spared. All you have to do is answer the phone and do some typing until they find someone to take the job on a permanent basis.”
Cindy struggled to keep her mouth from hanging open. Troy wasn’t talking about just any secretarial position. He was talking about a job that required more experience than she had, by far.
She glanced down at her clothes, including her favorite beat-up, old sneakers. Her grease-streaked jeans had a hole in the knee, and her hair was caked with dirt after a trip to the bowels of the parts warehouse.
“Well?”
She met his stony stare. She’d already decided to look for another job anyway, and answering the phone wasn’t beyond her capabilities.
Mustering up all her courage, she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Troy stood. “Sit on a towel to keep their precious chair clean if you need to. Robert Blackmore said he’s desperate, so I told him I would pull someone from the assembly line. Report upstairs in half an hour.”
Troy opened the door and waited for her to leave. As Cindy approached, he extended his hand. “I hope this works out for you.”
Her head reeled at what sounded like a permanent good-bye. She merely nodded and weakly returned his handshake. To her surprise, he held on when she tried to pull away. “I’m warning you right now. Don’t ever let Blackmore know what you did before you started working here.”
At his words, Troy smiled and winked. Cindy nearly fainted. Before she said something really stupid, she hustled to the lunchroom, where she barely managed to choke down half a sandwich. She then hurried to the washroom and attempted to wipe off some of the morning’s grime from her clothes.
At one o’clock, Cindy headed for the elevator.
On the seventh floor, the elevator door opened to a large, silent, thickly carpeted expanse. The heady aroma of fresh coffee wafted into the open compartment.
Cindy stood alone in the stopped elevator. Shiny brass lettering on the solid wooden doors of the company’s top executives glittered in the bright fluorescent light. Four desks, aligned in a neat, professional row, sat beside the large window. One very untidy desk sat alone in front of the largest office on the floor.
She stepped out of the elevator, and the doors immediately swooshed closed behind her. Four well-dressed ladies with coffee cups in their hands approached. At the sight of her, they all stopped dead in their tracks.
“Hi,” she mumbled, trying to show a confidence she did not feel. “I’m Cindy Martins. I’m here to temporarily fill the vacant desk.”
The oldest lady of the group stepped forward. “My name is Ann, and this is Susan, Brenda, and Melinda.” They all nodded at the mention of their names. “We’re glad you volunteered, because, to tell the truth, we all refused to do it.” She paused and turned to the messy desk while speaking to Cindy. “What did they tell you about the job?”
Cindy hesitated. “Troy said I only have to answer the phone and maybe do a little typing.” Her smile faded as the three other ladies burst out laughing.
Before she had a chance to ask what was so funny, a heavyset, balding man in a navy suit opened the door of the large office next to the messy desk. He scowled at the desk, then at her. “You must be Cindy Martins. I’ve been expecting you,” he said gruffly.
She approached him with as much grace as she could muster. “And you must be Robert Blackmore. I’m pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand, but instead of a handshake, he stared at the hole in her jeans. He thrust a file folder with papers sticking out at odd angles into Cindy’s outstretched hand. “This is what I need first. I’m not taking calls until three o’clock unless it’s my wife. I take my coffee black with one sugar.” At that declaration, he turned back into his office and closed the door in her face.
Cindy couldn’t believe his audacity. She at least expected a thank-you for agreeing to help.
Soft female giggling from the row of desks by the window interrupted her thoughts. “Do you see why none of us would do that job?” asked Susan. “You couldn’t pay me enough to put up with him. That’s why Elsie quit.”
She looked at the bulging folder in her hand, then at the disorderly mountain of papers on the desk. It was this or the assembly line.
“Lots of luck, Cindy,” Susan said. “You’ll need all you can get.”
She heard a string of nasty words, crystal clear even through Robert Blackmore’s thick wooden door, then stared blankly at the desk that was to be hers for the rest of the week.
She had wanted another job. In the future she would be more careful about what she prayed for.
One
“Thanks for doing this for me on short notice, Troy.”
“No problem. I might have fun being the victim of a beautiful woman.”
Cindy shot him her best dirty look, but he only laughed. She’d almost forgotten that it was her turn to provide a volunteer for their monthly practice for the first aid competition. Maybe this year, they woul
d beat City Tractor’s team and claim the trophy.
“So, will this hurt?”
Cindy gulped down the last of her dinner. “Only your pride. You’ll get some fake blood painted on you or, perhaps, some rearranged fake body parts. Maybe both.”
Troy made a face and pushed his plate away. “Let me get this straight. You paint me and stick horror movie props on me, then poke and prod me while I’m lying on the ground pretending to be mortally wounded.”
“Something like that.”
“Brother. The things one does for a friend.”
Cindy didn’t comment. A short month ago, she could never have foreseen what had taken place. On top of the shock of actually getting the job on a permanent basis, she was even more shocked when she and Troy became such good friends so quickly. Now and then, he still tried to make more of their relationship, but she’d told him, in no uncertain terms, how she felt about him. In a way, even though she hated to admit it, she enjoyed his teasing and playful flirting. One day, when he met his “Miss Right,” Cindy knew she would be sitting in the first row at his wedding crying her eyes out.
Troy checked his watch. “So tell me again. What am I supposed to do?”
“Jacques has everything set up in advance. He’ll tell you, as the victim, what your injuries are. Go with it and use your imagination. In real life, every accident situation is unique and unpredictable. This is no different.” She winked, but instead of taking the gesture the way she intended, Troy made a playful, low growl and reached for her hand. She slapped his fingers away. He pretended to pout.
“So I can do what I want?”
“Within reason. We try to determine your injuries and get you ready for transport.”
He grasped himself around the throat and crossed his eyes. “Transport? Not to the morgue, I hope.”
“No!” she laughed, then quieted when people from nearby tables turned to stare. “To the hospital. This is first aid. We just package you for the ambulance and the medical profession does the rest. After the meeting, we discuss our performance as a group, clean up, and go home.”
“What a great evening out. Wish I’d thought of it. Why are you doing this?”
Cindy sighed. “There’s no better way to practice industrial first aid. It’s a good way to help with the refresher courses I need to maintain my certificate.”
“But you don’t need industrial first aid to be an executive secretary. That is, unless Blackmore falls off his fat—”
“Troy!! You know how I feel about that kind of talk.”
He didn’t even try to look contrite. “Yeah, yeah. You religious types.”
“Troy. . .”
Troy put on his most charming smile and winked. Cindy knew other women frequently fell prey to Troy’s good looks, wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and rascally smile, but his charms were all lost on her. They’d come too far in their friendship for that, but she was flattered that he still tried. As a concerned friend, her fondest wish was that, someday, he would give in to her frequent invitations to church and go with her.
Cindy grabbed the bill and stood. “Quit it. We’re going to be late.” Because she’d forgotten until the last minute, they had to take separate cars. Troy followed her there, and upon their arrival, Jacques, the leader, approached them.
“Oh, Cindy!” he exclaimed in his thick French accent. “My, but he is a big one, no?”
Cindy grinned. Since she was five-foot-nine, Troy, at six- foot-three, was one of the few men she could go out with and actually wear fashionable shoes.
“Follow me, please.” Jacques waved Troy toward to the preparation area, and both men disappeared.
Jacques soon returned to explain the evening’s scenario. Tonight, a man had fallen over a cliff in a climbing accident.
On the stage, Troy lay “unconscious” among some large stones. “Blood” spattered around him and a large “boulder” pinned his legs. Cindy wondered where Jacques borrowed the lovely huge fake rocks.
Troy would have done better if he hadn’t been so ticklish, but he still made a good victim. After checking his vital signs, the team soon had him securely splinted and supported and all “bleeding” stopped. Then, they bound him into the stretcher, ready for the helicopter to take him away. The exercise ended when they “signaled” the helicopter to pull him up.
“Will I live?” Troy asked, still tied into the stretcher on the floor.
Cindy bent to pat him on the head. “Yes. And we’re going to win the competition this year, all because of you.”
Everyone applauded Troy for being such a good sport, Cindy untied him, then the group discussed the techniques they had used, and they were done.
Troy checked his watch. “I thought this would take longer. The night is still young. And I could sure use a coffee.”
Cindy glanced toward Jacques, who had already begun to clean up. “You’re so subtle, Troy. I have to stay a few minutes and talk to Jacques, but Erin will be home. I once talked her into being our victim, so I know you’ll have something in common. Why don’t you go on to my house? I won’t be long.”
Troy placed his hand over his heart, his fingers splayed. “I never turn down an invitation from a pretty woman.” He waggled his eyebrows, but Cindy ignored him.
She helped Jacques with the last of the cleanup as she asked her questions, then she hurried out the door twenty minutes behind Troy, much later than she had intended.
To make matters worse, she found herself directly behind a slow-moving pickup truck hauling a bundle of oversized poles. No red warning flags dangled from the pipe ends, which protruded well beyond the rusty bumper. Only one single rope tied the bundle down. She didn’t like being behind such a hazard, but traffic wouldn’t allow her to skirt around the truck.
She was about to turn off on one of the side streets when the last car passed, allowing her to finally change lanes, only to find herself having to stop for the red light.
While she waited, a small, expensive-looking yellow sports car pulled up beside her, taking her place directly behind the idiot with the poles. The car’s glossy paint shone, even in the dark. She harumphed to herself, thinking about how much such a car would be worth, which was likely at least the cost of her old duplex and then some.
The light changed, and the car in front of her started to proceed. She had just begun to inch forward when an earth-shattering crash assaulted her eardrums. Her car shook with the force of the nearby impact. The groan of bending metal and the smashing of breaking glass accompanied the sudden bang.
Cindy’s stomach lurched as she gripped the steering wheel tight. It was beside her.
Flying debris bounced off the hood of her car as the noise from the impact reverberated in her brain. A large, older model car had rear-ended the sports car beside her, squashing it like an accordion into the truck ahead. The poles had broken through the windshield and protruded into the car.
First, Cindy said a quick prayer for the occupants, and after that, she didn’t think. Ignoring the running motor, she yanked on the parking brake, grabbed her bag, and bolted to the yellow car. A lone man lay pinned inside, badly injured.
The mangled door refused to open, so Cindy kicked off her shoes, swept the broken glass off the crumpled hood, and squeezed into the space to lay half in and half out of the opening where the windshield had once been.
As she stared at the scene in front of her, nausea threatened to overwhelm her. With so much blood, she thought at first that the driver couldn’t have possibly survived the impact, but she could see his chest moving, ever so slightly. His eyes were closed and his face contorted in pain. Still, he was alive. For now.
She quickly scanned him. Fortunately none of the poles impaled his body, but a couple of them had gouged the side of his chest, causing him to bleed profusely.
One of the poles had smashed his upper arm, and the steering wheel pressed tight against his body, presenting a high probability of internal injuries. His legs were pinned in the crushed vehicle, pr
ohibiting Cindy from seeing them, but because of the car’s angle, she strongly suspected that his left leg was broken.
Cindy reached to his neck to feel his pulse, but hesitated. “Can you hear me? I have my industrial first aid ticket, and I’m going to see what I can do for you until an ambulance gets here. Can you respond?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried to nod.
“That’s okay. Don’t move. Save your strength. From now on, just listen. And open your eyes so I know you’re conscious.”
His eyes, unfocused and glazed with pain, fluttered open.
“First I’m going to secure your arm. This is going to hurt, but I have to stop the bleeding. Please try and stay awake for me.”
A mobile phone attached to the dash hung by the spiral cord. She wiggled farther into the squashed compartment to reach the handset. Trying not to bump the injured man and cause him any more pain, she planted herself almost on top of him.
Resting on her stomach with her legs sticking through where the windshield should have been, she dialed 911. She quickly told them what happened, requested the rescue squad with the Jaws of Life, and left the phone dangling, knowing the emergency staff would want to monitor the situation.
Frantically, Cindy rummaged through her first-aid bag, but she couldn’t find the right piece to wrap the man’s arm. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, remembering it had been used on Troy for practice. Since she had to act fast, she pulled the scissors out of her bag and cut a jagged piece off her skirt, then wrapped his arm tightly. She tried to ignore the agony in the man’s face and the deep moan that escaped through his clenched teeth.
People started to arrive, surrounding the car.
“You!” she called to a pale young man who looked as if he were about to be sick, “that’s my car over there with the door open. Park it and come back with my keys.”
She ignored everything else and gave her undivided attention to the injured man. In the middle of winter, all he wore was a very short pair of old cutoff jeans. But, she thanked God for his lack of proper seasonal attire, because now she could quickly assess the extent of his injuries without having to worry about clothing.
