“You’ll probably just wind up standing around and waiting for hours to hear something—if then.”
She had no intentions of standing around. “I’m going to join in the rescue effort,” she told him. She saw the skeptical expression in his eyes. “There’s got to be something I can do,” she insisted. “Swing a pickax, something. I’ll dig with my bare hands if I have to.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t come to that,” Kevin said, trying to reassure her.
The moment they got there, Irena leaped out of the truck. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she scanned the area, trying to locate a friendly face, someone to steer her in the right direction.
The second rescue party was organized by Max. The owner of the mine was going over the mine’s structural integrity, such as it was, and the possible dangers that were ahead of the men. Both Max and the owner appeared doubtful when she walked up to them and offered to help.
“Maybe you could help Lily with the food,” Max suggested gently. “She’s been out here, feeding the workers and their families. I’m sure she’d welcome more helping hands.”
“As important as that is, Sheriff, no. I’m going with you.” Reading his mind, she told him, “I’m a lot stronger than I look,” and then she added with more passion than she’d intended. “My father was killed in a cave-in, Max. And I’ll be damned if I let that mine take someone else from me.”
Without a word, Max handed her a pickax.
Irena blinked back tears, rubbing them away with the back of her hand. “Thanks.”
“Just be careful where you swing that thing,” he warned. Pointing, he indicated a section to the far left. “We’re clearing off an area so we can light a charge.”
“Dynamite?” she cried, stunned. That could set off another cave-in. The people trapped inside couldn’t take it.
The situation they faced was a grave one. “The miners are running out of air, and we need to get another shaft going so that we can reach them before that happens.” Max looked at the faces of the other volunteers who were now gathering around him. “Anyone who knows any prayers, now’s the time to say ’em.”
Irena was already doing just that.
Fear drove her far beyond what she thought she was capable of. She swung the pickax and dug with her hands as she’d threatened when the rocks could be moved no other way.
And when it came time to light the fuse for the dynamite, her prayers grew more frantic.
Everything felt as if it was moving in slow motion. And then it came. The explosion. It echoed in her brain long after the smoke and actual noise had died down.
It took another hour before they found out if they’d been successful—or if the blast had sealed off the miners and their rescuers permanently.
When the first miner, ashen faced and guided by one of the second wave of rescuers Max had led into the mine, emerged from the cave, she was too numb to join in the cheers that broke out. But Irena felt her cheeks growing damp and knew she was crying.
One by one, the miners and the original men who had gone in to get them came out, straggling, gasping, in some cases badly injured. Twenty-three in all came out.
Brody wasn’t one of them.
Nine men still unaccounted for.
Trying not to think of anything but putting one foot in front of the other, Irena hurried over to the last man to come out. One of the original rescuers.
“Herb,” she cried, clamping her hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him in place, “where are the others?”
He looked dazed, as if he didn’t recognize her for a moment.
“They’re dead,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. The thirty-two-year-old clerk from the Emporium was clearly shaken. “All dead. We were together when it hit.” He seemed haunted as he repeated the words. “They’re all dead.”
Irena refused to believe him. Refused to accept the idea that there were no more survivors coming out of the mine.
“No,” she cried.
“All dead,” Herb said again just before he began coughing and choking. Jimmy took charge of the man, leading Herb to the makeshift triage tent.
He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead.
Strong arms caught her as Irena rushed to the mouth of the new opening. She was only vaguely aware that it was Ben, Shayne’s brother and one of the three doctors on the site, who was holding on to her waist. Keeping her from running inside and looking for Brody.
“You can’t go in there,” he told her firmly.
Catching Ben off guard, she managed to shrug out of his hold. “The hell I can’t,” she cried.
But before she could duck into the cave, Max came out. He was covered with dust from his head down to the toes of his boots. As was the man he was half dragging, half carrying out.
“Brody!” she screamed. The next second, she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him up.
Brody blinked, then turned his face toward Max. “Am I dead?” he asked.
“Not unless I am, too,” Max told him. He filled his lungs with fresh air. “And I’m not ready to be dead yet, so, no, you’re not.”
Then he had another question. “What are you doing here?” Brody asked, his words emerging slowly.
“Trying to find you.” She choked back a sob. He was alive. She knew he couldn’t have been dead. She struggled not to cry. “You can’t be trusted on your own.”
This time, his voice a little steadier, Brody turned toward Max again. “I’m really not imagining this?”
Max allowed himself a smile. “Nope.”
Drawn by the shouts, Shayne emerged out of the triage tent. “Bring him over here,” he called out to Max. “I need to check him out.”
Max didn’t bother suppressing a laugh. “I think Irena’s already doing that.”
“I’m serious, Max,” Shayne told him. “Get him over here.”
Before Max could comply, Irena angled her shoulder beneath Brody’s arm, offering her support. Between her and Max, they brought Brody over to the triage tent.
“I can walk, you know,” Brody protested.
“Sure you can,” Max answered, humoring him. “We just need the exercise.”
Brody looked at Irena. “Why did you come?” he asked again.
There was no point in holding back any longer. “I heard about the earthquake,” she told him. “And then June sent me a text saying that you were in the mine when it caved in. I couldn’t just sit in a courtroom, waiting to hear if you were dead or alive.”
Brody half nodded at the answer. “Saves me a trip,” he murmured.
“Put him down here,” Shayne instructed. There were a handful of cots hastily set up beneath the huge tent. Both the narrow cots and the tent had come from the Emporium and were actually intended for campers.
Brody winced as Max and Irena eased him onto the closest cot. Shayne began to examine him, but Brody waved him back. “Just give me a minute, please, Doc. I want to finish,” he requested.
“Finish what?” Irena didn’t know whether to throw her arms around him because he was all right or hit him upside his head for putting her through this kind of anguish. Why did he always have to be the hero?
Brody took a shallow breath, trying to work past the pain. His words came out slowly. “I was about to come down to see you when the quake hit,” he told her.
Just because she’d hopped on the first flight here and most likely killed her career doing it didn’t mean she was stupid. “Right.”
“No, really,” Brody insisted, taking her hand. Even that movement cost him. It took everything he had not to suck in his breath as another shaft of pain skewered him. “I’ve got a plane ticket in my pocket.” Pain shot up and down his body as he reached into his pocket.
She didn’t believe him, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Brody was alive.
“You trying to get this?” Max asked, pulling something out of his back pocket.
It was a torn airline ticket.
Irena stared at it, stu
nned. He was telling the truth. “You were really coming to see me.”
Brody started to say something, but a coughing fit cut his words short. He clutched at his side.
“I need to get you to a hospital,” Shayne told him sternly, gingerly touching Brody’s side. “I think you’ve got a cracked rib. Maybe several.”
“Not yet,” Brody insisted.
“Brody, please. You need to listen to him,” Irena told him.
Brody raised his eyes to hers. “I will if you marry me.”
Okay, her hearing had just short-circuited. “What?”
“That was why I was coming to Seattle.” Each word was torture for him but he had to make her understand. “To tell you I shouldn’t have let you go. That I don’t care if you’re only with me because I remind you of Ryan. I love you, and I’ll take you any way I can.”
Now she was not only stunned but angry as well. “Is that what you think? That I was with you because you reminded me of Ryan?”
Brody pressed his hand to his side, as if to contain the pain. “Well, weren’t you?”
“No, you idiot,” she exploded. “And it’s not your rib that’s cracked if you believe that, it’s your head. You’re nothing like Ryan. And if I love you, it’s despite the fact that your face reminds me of Ryan, not because of it.”
He heard only one thing. “You love me?”
She backtracked, aware that all eyes had now turned toward them. “I said ‘if’ I love you.” And then she caved. “Oh, hell, yes. Yes, I love you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. So much time could have been saved, so much anguish, if he’d only known.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she countered.
“This is all very touching,” Shayne interjected, “but you need to get to the hospital, Brody. Sydney’s going to be taking three patients to Anchorage Regional Hospital.” Shayne glanced over toward Kevin, who was helping Ben with another injured rescuer. “Kevin?”
“I can take at least five,” Kevin responded.
Shayne nodded. “All right, we’ll send them in order of need. I think that Mr. Romance here can safely wait until the second wave.”
Brody smiled, staring at Irena. Half an hour ago, he was pretty certain he was a dead man. Now he had everything to live for. “I think I can find something to do while I wait.”
“Whatever you’re planning on doing, it’ll have to be done gently,” she cautioned, afraid that Brody would hurt himself further if he tried to do anything except just sit there. “Very gently.”
And the last two words, Irena felt certain as she lightly touched her lips to Brody’s, would do justice to describing the rest of their lives together.
As she allowed herself to sink into the kiss, Irena knew she’d finally come home.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3445-5
LOVING THE RIGHT BROTHER
Copyright © 2009 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Loving the Right Brother Page 16
