The one truism she’d known in her life was that her father had danced with danger and he’d left her.
She and romance were sparring partners at best. For some reason, fate kept bringing the wrong guy to her.
First there was Heath. They’d actually gotten to the diamond-ring phase before he did a one-eighty on her and their relationship went up in flames.
Upon reflection, Beatrice had to admit that she should have known Heath wasn’t happy in his career. Her dreams, even then, had been about children and making a real family. She’d hoped that the void of her past could be filled with a real home. He’d been more focused on his career.
Now she was older and, she hoped, wiser. Though the camp wasn’t what most people would think of as a family, it was hers. She’d built it as an oasis for forgotten kids like she had been, who needed love. They came here broken, sorrowful, angry, arrogant or just plain lonely. She hugged them all and loved them all.
She’d accomplished a great deal with the camp, and though it still had a long way to go, she would get there. It might take her twenty years, but she had a lifetime to devote to these children. She didn’t care how many hours she worked, or how many obstacles fate rutted her road with—she would persevere.
“Rand Nelson’s investigations or no. I won’t stop.”
“What did you say?” Amanda asked from the kitchen doorway, causing Beatrice to jump.
“Oh, you surprised me.”
“Just got here. So, what were you saying? Are you worried about what Mr. Nelson will put in his report?”
“Frankly, yes. I have no idea how we will be affected.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, I always say,” Amanda replied with a half smile. “Don’t look at me like I’m nuts.”
“Nuts? No, you’re not nuts. A Pollyanna, though, yes.”
Amanda shook her head. “Not true. I’m old and I’m wise.” She shook her finger at Beatrice. “The rule of the universe is that if you put negative thoughts out there, that’s what’s going to come back to you. Think happy things instead. I always do. And look at the kids. They’re happy to be here. This camp was their wish all winter. They depend on you to shore them up like you always do.”
Beatrice hopped over to Amanda and hugged her. “You’re so right. I have let myself wallow a bit, haven’t I?”
“Wait ’til the verdict comes in. Whichever way it goes, we’ll deal with it then. In the meantime, I made my cherry lemonade.”
“Cherry, huh?”
“Yep. I just got a peck of sweet cherries from my friend up the road in Michigan. Her trees weren’t hurt by the late-spring frost.”
“However did she manage to escape that?”
“She has a positive attitude.” Amanda began to turn, then lowered her voice. “And fire barrels to heat the trees in the orchard during a frost.”
* * *
RAND WORE HIS full gear of Nomex suit, pigskin gloves, thermoplastic helmet and heavy boots as he held up the fire hose that was pumping one hundred and fifty gallons of water a minute at the flames.
The warehouse fire had gained strength and power before the alarm had even been triggered. The building had been built in the late 1880s. The wiring had been updated, and a sprinkler system installed fifteen years ago, but the place had not had a tenant for over a decade, the chief had informed him. The place was the definition of a tinderbox.
In larger cities, these old buildings were demolished and replaced by high-rise condos or parking garages. But not in Indian Lake, where town residents preferred to refurbish their historic stores and houses.
Luckily, there was no one inside this warehouse. Rand and the crew were battling the flames, but the fire would no doubt eat the remaining walls. The roof had caved an hour ago. The contents were a goner. Their goal now was to make certain the fire went out and stayed out.
His biceps flexed as the water rushed through the hose. Had it only been a couple of days ago that he’d held this same hose after rescuing Beatrice and the boys? A few days ago that he’d sat in the camp’s kitchen and been more moved than he’d ever been in his life?
He’d kissed her neck. He hadn’t meant to linger over her skin. Hadn’t meant to close his eyes and inhale the floral-and-spice scent she’d worn. It had been all he could do to take his hands from her waist. He’d liked helping her keep her balance.
Though he’d wished she’d reached out for him as well, because he felt as if the floor had melted under his feet. He’d kissed plenty of women in his life—and technically, he hadn’t yet kissed Beatrice. He’d only touched his lips to her burned, very tender neck. But he’d felt her pulse stop and then race under his lips. She’d warmed to him, whether she knew it or not. More than her response was his reaction of wanting to know everything about her. She strummed a deep chord of harmony in him he’d never felt. As if everything in his world had been made instantly right and complete.
It had been days ago and he was still reverberating.
How was that possible?
It wasn’t. Pure and simple. It had to be some kind of delayed reaction to the adrenaline he’d experienced saving her from the fire. That had to be it.
Once, he’d found an elderly man overcome with asphyxiation near Bear Lake in California. The guy had been fishing, then started a campfire and had passed out. When the wind picked up stray sparks from the campfire, an inferno had resulted. Blessedly, the fire had been near the lake and hadn’t gone far, but the man had awakened and been dazed. Rand found him wandering, disoriented and terrified. But Rand had gotten him out and the fire had been contained quickly. Three days after saving the man, Rand still had tingles of triumph running through his body. He’d done his job and he’d done it well.
Back then, Rand had been young and naive. The adrenaline rush that accompanied firefighting falsely led him to believe he was invincible. He’d thought he could save the world. Years later, after the incident at jumper school, Rand had realized how wrong he was. The strict rules and guidelines of firefighting and the laws accompanying his work were based on experience and a long history of lives lost. Fire codes and regulations were established to save lives.
Rand abided by them now as if they were his bible.
But kissing Beatrice and being with her was not the same victorious energy he’d experienced when he’d saved her life. It had been something different. But equally thrilling.
He’d never met anyone like her. Most people put a guard on their heart. Certainly he did. That was a space meant only for special people. His mother. Brothers and sister. Close friends like Luke Bosworth. Nate, Rafe, Mica and Gabe Barzonni. Austin McCreary. He trusted all those guys. He’d known them his whole life. They were good people.
Beatrice had no guard on her heart when it came to her kids—but when it came to men, she had electrified guard gates around her, complete with very large No Trespassing signs. Particularly if a man held a dangerous job.
He’d gotten the message loud and clear.
Well, if that was what the lady wanted, then so be it.
But was that what she wanted? He couldn’t help remembering her strong and distinctive pulse that had jumped when he’d touched his lips to her neck.
And why in the blazes had he done that? Sure, it was an impulse. Sure. Sure. Kid yourself, Rand.
He’d been wanting to taste her from the moment he’d seen her in the hospital. He still wanted to kiss her. Really kiss her, like he’d bet she’d never been kissed before.
“Hey, Nelson.” Captain Bolton jogged up to Rand.
Refocusing on the job at hand, he turned off the hose. He realized the fire was mostly out.
“We’re done here. Pack it up. I’ll see you in the truck.”
The other two guys on the team, Curt Sauers and Jim Peyton, were already gathering the last of their equipment.
“You gonna drive?” Curt
asked Rand as he pulled the hose to the truck to rack it.
“Sure.” He might as well. Maybe the drive back to the fire station would help get his mind off Beatrice.
Captain Bolton called to him from the passenger seat, “Nelson!”
Rand held the engine door open as he doffed his helmet. “Captain?”
“I want that report about the youth-camp fire on my desk by the end of the day.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
Rand climbed in the driver’s seat and waited for Curt and Jim to settle in.
He started the engine.
The report. So much for getting his mind off Beatrice.
* * *
RAND STARED AT the document template on his laptop. He’d filled out plenty of these reports, so there was no reason this one should be any different. But it was.
He glanced at the report Art had submitted. He went over his own notes.
They’d both noticed the youth camp only had one fire hydrant. He read the regulatory document from the City of Indian Lake Utilities. Three hydrants were required by law for the size of her property. If Beatrice didn’t install two more hydrants, the city had every right to shut her down until the water lines and the hydrants were operational.
That could end the camp for good.
But an even greater issue was how he handled the issue of Chris and Eli.
The boys’ futures were in his hands. The laws had been tightened in recent years, and the new severity of the charges could change the course of Chris’s and Eli’s lives.
Rand had never been in such a quandary. He believed both boys were good kids despite the deplorable childhood they’d endured. They were strong and independent. He liked them. Incredibly, he wanted to get to know them better, and he wanted the best for them.
If he did not come to their rescue, Beatrice would never forgive him.
He’d never forgive himself.
At the same time, he had to think of the other kids at the camp. Beatrice was responsible for their safety, and due to his involvement now with this report, he was responsible as well. He was bound by duty and the law to do the right thing.
“The right thing.”
He swept his palm across his forehead, smoothing away a thick lock of hair and a good bit of nervous perspiration. He didn’t like being the bad guy. Nobody did. But darn it, she should have known about these regulations, despite the fact that they were recently enacted.
“She should have...” He rested his forehead on his palm and exhaled deeply.
None of this was going to go well. She would blame him if her camp closed. And if there had ever been the slightest chance they could explore what was between them, this report would kill it.
Rand looked at the report form. He filled in the blank that required the cause of the fire. He wrote “Accidental.”
He went on to describe the incident of the s’mores and the boys’ innocent and naive participation in the cause of the fire. He purposefully requested leniency for the boys. If there was to be any sentence at all, he suggested community service, and that he be assigned to oversee the boys’ sentence.
As for the necessity of the hydrants, Rand filled in “Failure to comply to code.”
Captain Bolton rapped on the open door to Rand’s office. “Can I get that report?”
Rand hit Send. “It’s on its way to your inbox.”
“Thanks.”
Rand watched his superior’s back disappear into his office down the hall.
Rand turned off the laptop and left the office.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BEATRICE WORKED WITH Maisie on yet another Excel spreadsheet listing their growing expenses.
“You can’t take on any more foster kids this summer,” Maisie said.
“Why not?”
Maisie jabbed her finger at the list of numbers that swam in front of Beatrice’s eyes. These days those numbers had a life of their own. They taunted her, teased her and threatened her. Beatrice inhaled and took the printout. “Don’t answer that. I know why. The state doesn’t cover their expenses.”
“It doesn’t. Each week we’re fifty to seventy dollars short. Over a month’s time that’s two hundred to two hundred-eighty dollars in the red. Per foster kid.”
Beatrice dropped the sheet. “Those foster kids need me, er, the camp. I can’t let them down.”
“You mean kids like Eli and Chris? The ones who’ve caused the most harm since we opened this season?”
“Yes! Just like them,” Beatrice ground out. “The neediest ones are the reason to keep the camp going. We’re changing lives here, Maisie.”
Maisie placed her palm on Beatrice’s hand. “Your heart may be made of gold, but we can’t cash it at the bank.”
Beatrice peered at her associate. As young as she was, Maisie was as business-savvy as they came. Maisie had yet to pass her CPA boards, but when she did, the young woman could have a job in any accounting firm in Chicago. Beatrice wondered if Maisie would choose to work here at the camp at a much lower wage. Despite her hard talk, Maisie didn’t fool Beatrice. She loved the kids and sympathized with their plight as much as Beatrice did.
“I’ll talk to Zoey Phillips and see if she can get us more money from the state.”
Maisie rolled her eyes. “The state? Which is already overburdened with the skyrocketing number of foster kids thrown into the system on a daily basis? That’s not going to happen and you know it.”
“What’s the solution?”
“We could cut some of these expenses. Regular milk instead of organic. Tap water rather than bottled water. We’d save over a hundred a month right there.”
“All right. And we can substitute canned or frozen veggies for fresh.”
Maisie took out Amanda’s shopping list. “I say we buy our flour, sugar, syrup and some of these canned goods in even larger bulk. I talked to a wholesaler in Indian Lake yesterday—”
Beatrice cut her off. “A wholesaler? Who? How?”
“I was at the tractor supply looking at bulk packs of granola bars. Actually...” Maisie started to blush. “He wasn’t the wholesaler. He was making a delivery. We met in the parking lot.”
Beatrice smiled knowingly and propped her chin on her palm. “And his name was...”
“Clay. It’s his uncle’s fish-and-produce wholesale company. The place has been in business for over a hundred years. Don’t you think that’s amazing?”
“Uh-huh.”
Maisie’s blush had grown to a crimson stain that now ran down to her throat. “He’s a native of Indian Lake.”
“Right. And when are you going to see him again?”
“At the fair.” Maisie stopped abruptly. “How did you know he asked me out?”
Beatrice sat back in her chair, picked up the Excel sheet again and said, “Oh, just a wild guess.” She gazed down at the paper. “I think you’re right. There are places to be more cost-efficient. Buy cheaper laundry supplies instead of the expensive green powders we use. Then I want to talk to our insurance company and see if I can lower our monthly premiums in any way.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Look, Maisie, I have no intention of cutting the staff or of lowering salaries. I don’t want you to worry.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried.”
“Liar.” Beatrice smiled and Maisie breathed a sigh of relief.
“We all love it here, Beatrice. We love you. Working with these kids is more than a dream. It’s satisfying in a way I can’t explain. You’re so right. These kids need us. Even the ones with loving homes blossom in ways that show their real potential to learn and grow. Each week when they leave, I see the changes. They’re happier. They’ve learned new skills We’ve given them responsibilities and they love it.”
“I know. That’s because we don’t coddle them. We
have expectations and they want to meet our vision of them.” Beatrice rose from the desk and went to a bulletin board where she’d pinned photos of two years of camp kids. “But the foster kids mature the most in the little time they’re here. I like to think the guidance they get from us will last a lifetime. Even if I never see them again, I know we made a mark on them. A good one.”
“We do, Beatrice.”
Caught in the moment of fond and fulfilling reflections, Beatrice almost didn’t hear the first knock on her door.
The second knock was nearly a pounding. “Sorry to disturb. Are you Beatrice Wilcox?” The man in the doorway was middle-aged and rail-thin, and wore his starched cotton shirt and starched knife-creased khakis as if he was a wooden board draped with fabric. His skin was pale to the point of being a bloodless gray and his wire-rimmed glasses slid to the middle of his long, hooked nose.
“I am.”
“Percy Smith. Inspector for the City of Indian Lake.”
Beatrice hadn’t met this inspector before. He must have been newly hired.
His voice was clipped, emotionless and thin. He didn’t offer his hand. Instead he opened a plain manila folder and withdrew a stapled group of papers. He shoved the papers toward her, narrowly missing Maisie’s face. “I’m here to inspect your water hydrants. Or lack thereof.”
Beatrice looked at the official stamp at the bottom of the document. “We have one hydrant.”
“Says that here.” He pointed at the paper. “City code is that for an establishment of this size you need three.”
“Three?” Beatrice’s voice squeaked with shock. She cleared the rattle from her throat. “I don’t understand. I was given a list of all city requirements when I began renovations nearly three years ago.”
“It’s an update.”
“Update?” Beatrice and Maisie chorused.
“New code. You received a notice about it.”
“No, I did not.”
“I’ll check that. Perhaps an oversight. Which is possible. This, er, discrepancy might have gone overlooked for quite some time if it hadn’t been for this recent fire.” With his head he gestured to the documents on the desk. “We learned about it from the fire chief’s report and the court ruling. It’s all there.”
Rescued by the Firefighter Page 9
