by Marta Perry
“You sound almost surprised. Didn’t you think they meant it when they said they’d help?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know. I don’t have many women friends.”
Brendan stopped for a red light and glanced at her. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know.” Did he always have to probe for the inner meaning of everything? Anyone who got involved with him would have to get used to total honesty. “I guess I’ve been too busy with work for that.”
“Aren’t there other women who work where you do?”
“Not at my level.” There was a trace of pride in her voice. “No other woman has ever risen that high.”
“I suppose it’s hard to make friends with people you consider your subordinates.”
She couldn’t decide whether that was an insult or not. “Look, my business mentors have all been male. That’s just the way it is. The relationships your aunt and cousins have are out of my range of experience. I’ve always been one of the boys. That’s how you get ahead in business.”
She realized that her hands were balled into fists. Brendan certainly had a talent for getting under her skin. If she had a sneaking suspicion that most women were weak, well, that wasn’t any of Brendan’s business.
The radio crackled to life, cutting off any response Brendan might have made. He listened intently to something that was mostly incomprehensible to her, his face closed. Then he put on his turn signal and veered sharply around a corner.
She grasped the armrest, alarmed. “What is it?”
“Multivehicle accident with injuries and a chemical spill on the bypass. I’ll have to go.” He touched a switch, and a siren she hadn’t known existed wailed. “I have to go straight there. My gear is in the trunk. You can drop me and then take my car to the church.”
She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. This grim-faced, take-charge man was a Brendan she hadn’t known existed. All she could do was hang on for the ride.
Chapter Twelve
She ought to leave, but somehow she couldn’t. Claire got out of the car slowly, horrified by the scene in front of her. A tractor trailer and a car had collided, with the semi spilling barrels of some unidentifiable liquid on the road. Yellow-coated firefighters swarmed around the wreckage, and the swirling lights of police cars and fire trucks added to the sense of urgency.
“Claire, what are you doing here?” Joe Flanagan, in yellow jacket and helmet, approached her. His bulldog face bore more than its usual share of worry lines.
“I was in Brendan’s car when he got the call, so I had to come with him. He told me to take his car and go on to the church, but I couldn’t.” She hoped he didn’t think she was motivated by morbid curiosity.
“I know how you feel.” Joe’s gaze was on the firefighters, not her. “I’m supposed to be sitting at my desk at headquarters, but I never can manage that when something big is going down.” He glanced at her. “Don’t tell Siobhan I was here, okay?”
She nodded. “I won’t get you in trouble.”
“It’s not that.” His grin flickered. “Well, not entirely. Siobhan never shows that she’s worried, but it takes a lot out of her.”
“I know.” She’d seen it.
The flicker of humor left his face. “I never realized how much until my heart attack. I think it’s worse being at home imagining what’s happening than being here.”
Siobhan had sought refuge in prayer when Claire had been with her the last time her family had been in danger. Now Claire was seeing the situation from the other side.
“Does it help? Being here, I mean, when your family’s out there.”
She’d already spotted both Ryan and Seth among the helmeted figures. And Brendan, of course. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her stomach cramped.
“It doesn’t help unless I can be in there with them.” Joe’s tension was palpable. “Look, they’re going to lay down foam. That’ll let them get to the car.”
Claire’s throat tightened. The car was barely identifiable, crunched under the body of the truck. “Can anyone possibly have survived that?”
“You’d be surprised at what people come through.”
Please. She wasn’t praying, was she?
Gravel crunched under heavy footsteps. A state police officer approached, his eyes invisible behind his dark glasses. “You’ll have to move on, Miss.”
“She’s with me,” Joe said.
She couldn’t imagine that would work, but apparently Joe had influence. The man stalked on past them, not breaking his stride.
She spotted a flurry of activity around the remains of the car, and then one of the firefighters gestured broadly.
“Someone’s alive in there,” Joe interpreted. “The paramedics are going in.” The faintest quaver in his voice alerted her. He meant Terry was going in.
“She—” She stopped, her voice choking. “How can you stand it?”
He shrugged. “Terry’s my little girl. But she’s one of the best, too. She has to do her job.”
Terry’s figure, slender even in the protective gear she wore, began to squirm under the truck. Then someone else followed her—someone Claire would have recognized no matter how much gear he had on. A cold hand gripped her heart.
“Brendan’s going in, too.”
Joe nodded. “Bren never holds back if someone’s in trouble, no matter how dangerous. He might be the last spiritual comfort for a dying person.”
He said it almost matter-of-factly, as if she should have known that about Brendan.
Maybe she had. Maybe at some level she’d already realized that behind Brendan’s mild exterior was a core of strength that couldn’t be denied. He wouldn’t back away from danger if he thought he could help another human being.
Her hands clenched until her nails bit into her palms. “They’re in danger, aren’t they?”
He nodded, his jaw tight. He lifted a walkie-talkie she hadn’t realized he was holding and said something into it. A burst of static answered him, but he seemed to understand. His expression grew even grimmer.
He muttered something that might have been a prayer under his breath. “Those power lines are live. One loose spark, and things could go sour in a hurry.”
“Can’t they shut down the power?” She could hear the horror in her voice. All those people—they really were risking their very lives. Brendan. Terry. “Shouldn’t they wait until it’s safe?”
“Whoever is in that car could be dead by then.” Joe gripped her arm. “Look. There’s Terry. She’s signaling for a stretcher. They’re going to try bringing someone out.”
Claire held her breath, watching as the stretcher was maneuvered under the truck into what seemed an impossibly small space. The dangling power lines swung in the light breeze, too close.
Please, please. She could hardly deny now that the words were a prayer. If You’re really there, You know that they’re in danger. Protect them, please.
Joe’s fingers gripped her arm, as if some human link was necessary to keep him sane while those he loved were in peril. He didn’t speak, but she sensed he was praying.
Moments passed; the power lines swung and crackled. The bulk of the truck loomed over the struggling figures like some prehistoric beast ready to spring.
Please.
She could see movement under the truck. She bit her lip, her whole being straining as if she’d rush forward to help.
Please.
Then Terry emerged, reaching behind her to pull out the stretcher. Other people grabbed it, and the stretcher was free of the wreckage. Brendan slid out behind it.
“Careful, careful,” Joe whispered. “Don’t relax. You’re not clear of the lines yet.”
They moved with quick precision, a couple of people on each side of the stretcher. That was Brendan, bending over the still figure. He was holding the person’s hand.
Her heart seemed to stop beating. Smoothly, moving in unison, they cleared the deadly arc of the power lines. They rolled the stretcher swiftly toward the wait
ing emergency vehicle.
Joe’s grip loosened. “They’re out. They’re safe. Thank God.”
“Yes.” They were safe. That was what mattered, not whether she’d said an involuntary prayer to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in.
She took a deep breath. “Maybe I should leave. I’m supposed to be at the church to meet with the kids at the drop-in center.”
She didn’t want to be here if Terry and Brendan came over to talk to Joe. Her ridiculous assumptions about the Flanagan women had come back to haunt her.
She’d been so wrong about them. She hadn’t recognized the sheer courage it took for Terry to do what she did. Or the courage Siobhan displayed every day, knowing the ones she loved were in danger.
She definitely didn’t want to see Brendan right now, because she wasn’t sure at this moment that she could keep him from knowing how she felt about him.
“Thanks, Seth.” Brendan raised his hand in a farewell wave as his cousin drove off after dropping him at the church. Even the simple gesture took an effort. He was bone-tired, the fatigue as much spiritual as physical.
They’d all come close today—he and Terry especially, but the others, too. The situation could so easily have gone sour.
But they’d all walked away from it. Chalk another one up to the legendary Flanagan luck, although if pressed, he’d have to say he didn’t believe in luck. A firefighter walked away because he or she was well-trained, well-equipped and had a lot of people on his side praying.
Had Claire been praying today, when she’d stood with Uncle Joe along the side of the highway, watching, her hands clasped, her body tense? She probably wouldn’t admit to it.
His mind and body had been totally engaged in the work that had to be done. No one knew better than he did how terrifying and dangerous it had been under that semi. A person couldn’t do that and think of anything else.
But beyond thought was instinct. Even when he hadn’t looked in Claire’s direction, he’d been aware of her. It was as if he were hardwired to know where she was.
He pushed open the door to the office wing, noting that his car was parked at the curb. Had Claire just dropped it off and left, or had she actually worked with the kids? She’d so obviously not wanted to do that, and he still wasn’t sure if that reluctance came from her fear of what Gray would think or something else.
Voices came from Fellowship Hall, and then a burst of laughter. He swung the double door open, and several faces turned toward him.
Claire was there, along with Amy Watson, Stacy and five other kids. Not a huge turnout, but it was a start, at any rate.
More importantly, the atmosphere seemed relaxed. Claire actually looked as if she were enjoying herself. She’d shed her suit jacket, and her usually impeccable bronze hair was tumbling around her face.
“Hey, Rev.” Stacy grinned at him. “You’re late.”
“I had other business.” He pulled out one of the folding chairs and propped his foot on it, leaning his elbow on his knee. If he actually sat down, he just might sleep there all night. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“We’re actually finished.” Claire pushed a tendril of hair back from her face, as if his presence had made her aware that it was disarranged. “Most of the kids left half an hour ago, but we were talking.”
“How did it go?” How are you, Claire? What were you thinking when you stood and watched the rescue today?
“Great.” Amy answered for her. “I’m gonna get a job, you wait and see. Maybe even save up enough money to get into the Licensed Practical Nurse program.”
“Sounds good.” He glanced at his watch. How had it gotten to be nearly seven? Claire was probably starved. “Maybe we ought to call it a night. Stacy, do you need a ride home?”
She shook her head. “Amy’s going to drop me.” She stood, collecting some papers from the table. “Thanks, Claire.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Amy echoed.
With a few backward glances, they filed out. He heard the outside door bang shut behind them.
“So, how did it really go? Did they give you any trouble?” He was spinning it out, trying for a little more time with Claire even though he knew it was a bad idea.
“Well, Rick was his usual obnoxious self, but I think even he got something out of it.” She shuffled some papers together, and he realized they were job application forms. She must have brought them for the kids to practice on.
“It’s good of you to go to this much trouble.” He tapped the stack of papers. “Even if we did push you into it.”
Her face was turned partially away from him, but he thought she smiled. “Well, some people can be pretty persuasive.”
“You’re talking about Amy, I presume.”
“Of course.” She glanced at him, eyes like brown velvet. “How did it go for you? The person you took to the hospital—is he going to be all right?”
“She,” he corrected. “Multiple injuries, including a broken pelvis, but she’ll make it.” He grimaced. “She was talking on a cell phone. She’s paying a high price for a moment’s inattention.”
“It could have been worse.” Emotion flared in her eyes. “Someone else could have paid the price. You, or Terry, or one of the others.”
He had to take her hand. He couldn’t help himself. Her fingers curled around his, clinging.
“We didn’t. We all walked away. Uncle Joe would call it the famous Flanagan luck in action.”
She shook her head slightly. “I was with him. I don’t think he was relying on luck.”
“No, probably not.” What about you, Claire? Did you pray for us?
Her grip tightened. “Do you take chances like that often?”
“Not often, no.” He shrugged. This was something civilians didn’t understand. “The thing is that you never know. The most routine call can turn deadly in an instant, so you always have to be ready.”
“You didn’t have to go under that truck.” She looked almost angry with him.
“Yes. I did.” He studied her face. “That woman needed the reassurance that someone was there praying for her.” He managed a grin. “Besides, I couldn’t let my little cousin show me up.”
“Terry was amazing. I couldn’t believe she was making wedding favors one day and dragging someone out from under a tractor trailer the next.”
“She’s good. They all are. I’d rather have Seth heading up a team than anyone else I know.”
“The heroic Flanagans,” she said softly.
He might almost imagine Claire admired him. His stomach twisted, reminding him. She wouldn’t, not if she knew the truth about him.
She was so close, her face inches from his. The smallest movement could bridge the distance between them.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk a relationship with Claire, knowing what he did about himself. And he couldn’t tell her. For an instant he imagined her recoiling in horror. No, he’d never tell her. This was his private battle.
“It’s getting late.” He straightened, putting some space between them. “Shall I drive you home?”
She turned away, her shoulders stiff. “I have to pick up my car at the garage. I can call a cab.” She started toward the door.
“I’ll drop you.” He followed her, reaching around her to push the heavy door.
“You don’t have to—” She stepped into the hallway and the words trailed off.
Ted stood there, leaning against the outside door, arms crossed. He’d obviously been waiting for them.
Claire didn’t show any obvious signs of tension, but he could feel it, as if her nerve endings touched his. He let the door swing closed, taking his time, and turned toward Ted.
Father, help me to remember that this is one of Your children, no matter how wrong he may be.
“Ted.” It took an effort to keep his voice neutral. “Can I do something for you?”
The boy jerked a nod. “Tell me where Stacy is. You must know. Or she does.” Ted’s angry gaze moved to Claire, and his fi
sts clenched.
Brendan shifted his weight so that he was close enough to let his hand brush Claire’s, which was pressed tightly against her side. Let me handle this, Claire. Please.
“I know where Stacy is. She’s staying at a safe place.” He’d leave Claire out of this if he could.
“She’s not at a shelter. I asked around.”
Ted had shown more persistence than he’d given him credit for. “No, she isn’t at a shelter. She has friends to protect her now.” He gestured toward his office. “Why don’t you come into the office and have a cup of coffee? We’ll talk about this whole situation.”
Ted took a step as if he’d bar their way if they tried to move past him. “I don’t want to talk, Rev. I just want to find Stacy. You don’t have any right keeping her away from me.” He glared at Claire. “Neither does she.”
“I’m Stacy’s friend.” Claire’s voice was as cool as if she discussed the most recent sales figures, but against his hand her pulse jumped and pounded. “I’m only doing what she wants in not telling you where she is. You’ve knocked her around for the last time. She’s done with you.”
“No. She can’t be.” Ted’s face twisted. “I heard. Somebody was talking. They said she’s pregnant. She’s going to have my kid.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath from Claire. Her mind was probably racing just as fast as his was. Still, he’d known all along the news couldn’t be kept from Ted forever.
“That’s just gossip.” Claire got in before he could say anything. “People say stupid things.”
Ted took a threatening step toward them. “Is it true? She is going to have a kid?”
“No.” Claire’s tone was sharp. She wouldn’t hesitate a moment to lie for someone she cared about.
“Rev? You tell me the truth. Is she?”
Claire might be able to justify the lie. He couldn’t, and even if he could, it was futile. Ted would find out. They had to deal with his knowing sooner or later.
“Yes. She is.”
“Where is she?” Ted shook his head slowly, like a bull before it charged. “You tell me where she is. I got a right to know if she’s gonna have my kid.”
