“No, Rachel, I was wrong. I was completely wrong!” He broke in, as if he couldn’t hold back another moment. “I had my head up my ass. I was too worried about myself, and trying to prove something. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, I should have been grateful, and I hope you can forgive—”
“Stop it, Fred! This is my time to babble! You know I have to babble when I’m feeling claustrophobic. You can talk when I’m done.”
She became aware of a loud mechanical noise nearby. But she still had so much to say, so she just raised her voice and talked over it.
“What I’m saying is, I don’t regret doing the interview, I’d do that again in a heartbeat. It worked out for the best anyway. The part I’m sorry about is the money, because it’s my dad’s money and I’m used to money solving everything, but sometimes it makes things worse. And then I tried to protect you again when I saw the bumper sticker at your house, but I should have just told you and you probably would have thought of something, instead, now look at us . . . what is that sound?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s a compressor. We’re going to inflate a couple of air bags to create some space. The helitack team choppered them in.”
“Air bags?”
“The air bags will lift the pile enough so I can crawl in and dig you out. Here we go with the first air bag.”
She heard a short drone, then a slender crack of light appeared. Bright light; there must be more flashlights out there, or maybe spotlights. A sudden thought struck her. Was she getting special treatment, once again? “Doesn’t the fire department have a lot more urgent problems than me?”
“You’re trapped, Rachel. That’s urgent. We have crews out all over San Gabriel, but this area was hit the hardest.”
“My father didn’t have anything to do with this?”
“No, this is the San Gabriel Fire Department doing its job.” She heard the pride in Fred’s voice. “But your father is on his way.”
“That’s good.” She wanted to see him. No matter how suffocating his eccentric ways, her father loved her, and she loved him. With her whole heart—like a dog.
“We’re deploying another air bag.”
The crack grew bigger, until artificial white light was filtering in. The space grew wider, almost as wide as her body. Surely she could just crawl through.
“I’m coming out,” she called to Fred.
“No. Don’t move. It’s safer if I come in and get you. I’m handing in a helmet. Put it on if you can. There might be more loose pieces and we don’t want you getting hit on the head.”
About to protest, she snapped her mouth shut. Hell no, she didn’t want more brain trauma. She had too much to say, too much to do. There was the Refuge to rebuild, fund-raisers to plan, investors to woo. And most of all, Fred to love.
An object blocked the light, passing haltingly through the crack, which was now as wide as the heating vents at Cranesbill. It must be the helmet Fred was pushing toward her. When it was close enough, she painfully stretched out an arm and snagged it. By dint of much careful twisting and maneuvering, she managed to get it on her head, but the effort exhausted her.
“I’m coming in,” Fred announced. She didn’t protest this time, knowing she needed his help. Now that she could see the outside, taste the night air on her tongue, the craving for freedom nearly made her lose her cool. Out, out, she wanted out. A dark lump blocked a large portion of the light, and she knew it was Fred. Strong, true-blue Fred, coming to her rescue.
“What should I do next?” she asked him.
“How badly do you think your legs are pinned?”
She tried to move her legs, and managed about two inches. “I can move them a tiny bit. I just don’t have any room.”
“I’m going to dig you out then. Hopefully there’s enough loose stuff to get you some space.” A light was now shining directly in her eyes. She squeezed them shut. The sounds of grunting and digging kept her company. When she opened her eyes again, Fred was there, his dear, wonderful, smudged, exhausted face so close to hers that tears began flowing down her cheeks.
“You’re here,” she said weakly.
“Yup.” His cheerful tone left no room for the hysteria that threatened to burst free. “I missed you. Thought I’d drop in for a visit.”
“Don’t make me cry too much,” she warned. “Because if I start I won’t stop.”
“Please don’t do that, the last thing we need down here is mud.”
She smiled, making cracks in the dust that coated her face.
“I want you to hold this flashlight for me,” he told her. In one hand, he held a slim flashlight and a hand shovel. “Can you do that?”
“Of course.” Mildly insulted, she took the flashlight into her trembling grip, then used both hands to steady it.
“You’re lucky your father buys such expensive office furniture,” Fred said, eyeing the cracked mahogany overhead.
“He didn’t. This desk belonged to my mother.” That reminder made more warm tears trickle down the sides of her face. Her mother’s desk had saved her life. So had Inga. So had Fred. So had her father, and Marsden. So much had conspired to save her; never again would she waste a single moment being anything less than fully alive.
“Hey. No crying. It looks like there’s plenty of soft stuff around your legs. I’m going to pull myself forward so I can dig at it. Keep the flashlight aimed at your feet and keep trying to pull your legs free. As soon as you can, we’re headed out. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He inched forward, his body pressing against hers. Maybe it ought to make her feel even more claustrophobic, since the two of them were wedged together in an incredibly slim slice of space. But it didn’t. “Fred?”
“Yeah?”
With her voice roughened by plaster dust—or deepest truth—she whispered, “There’s no one else in the world I’d want to be in a confined space with. Only you.”
At first he didn’t answer. When he did, the words seemed to be ripped straight from his heart. “Well, that settles it, then. You’d better marry me.”
“What?” Little shockwaves of elation traveled from her heart through every bruised limb of her body. “You want me to marry you?”
“More than anything.” He gave a little cough, as if trying to clear dust from his throat. “Funny how I can barely see a foot in front of me, but everything else is perfectly clear. I love you, Rachel, and I’d rather stay under this desk with you than be anywhere else without you.”
Her throat closed up over a swell of emotion. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t answer.
Fred filled the silence. “I’m even on my knees. How many guys propose while they’re flat on their stomachs under four feet of rubble?” He inched further forward, so his lower ribs were pressed against her face. She tilted her head so she could breathe and, more importantly, not miss a single word that he said. “I probably should have picked a different moment. Like with flowers instead of a shovel.” Grunting with effort, he moved his arms above his head to jab at the debris with the shovel.
“No.” She felt his body flinch. “I mean, no, it’s the perfect moment.”
“Your face is shoved into my stomach. How can it be the perfect moment?”
“Because we might not have another one.” She hurried past that possibility. She and Fred were going to have lots of moments. Her headstrong side would make sure of it. “And because the answer is yes. Yes, I want to marry you. As soon as possible.” She rubbed her face against his belly. “How’s it going down there? Are my limbs intact? I’d really like to be able to walk down the aisle at my wedding.”
“Already planning the wedding, huh?” He grunted with the strain of digging with no leverage. “Women.”
“Hey, I’ve got to think about something while I’m lying here like a sardine in a can.”
“Try thinking about moving your legs.”
She tugged her right leg toward her chest. It came free easily, but more debris tumbled down to
fill the space. Wincing, she felt some of it collide with her other leg. “Better keep digging unless you want a one-legged bride.”
“I’ll take you however I can get you,” he told her between grunts. “But you’re not losing a leg on my watch. Your dad would kick my ass. He might refuse to let me marry you.”
“Oh no. Dad has nothing to do with this. Did you know that I told him I’m not taking his money anymore? I’m no longer a rich girl. I’m on my own. I really think I can make the Refuge work and pay myself a salary. It might take me a little while, but I know I can do it.”
“Of course you can. Anyway, I can support us. And if we live at my house, the Sinclair kids can take care of security.” She giggled, thinking that sounded like pure heaven. Fred loosened some of the debris still pinning her left leg. His body felt so good against hers, so alive and warm and breathing.
Starting to feel a little faint, she took as deep a breath as she could manage. She wasn’t sure what was happening, why she was so dizzy, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. “I love you and I want to marry you. Don’t forget. Whatever happens, don’t forget.”
And then a black river was sweeping her away in its fast, swirling current.
After Rachel fell silent, the flashlight dropping to an unhelpful angle, Fred worked as quickly as he could. He could feel the shallow rise of her chest against his torso, which was enormously reassuring. He dug away as much of the debris as he could, then wormed his way back toward the opening, enough so he could drag her right leg out of its confinement. He had to tug hard, but finally she was free.
“I’m going to pull you out now,” he whispered. “Hang on, my sweet girl.”
He arranged her arms over her head, took hold of her wrists, and began working his way backward past the inflated, Teflon-coated air bags, pulling her along, slowly but surely. Behind him, at the entrance of this narrow, makeshift tunnel, the rest of the crew stood waiting to grab his feet and pull him free. Before him, gripped tightly in his hands, he held his future. Nothing, not the sprays of dust that kept cascading onto him, not the aftershock that sent his heart into his mouth, not the scrape of exposed nails against his forearms, would stop him from bringing Rachel out safely. Four more feet . . . three more feet . . . two more feet . . . Sweat dripped down his neck from pulling both himself and Rachel. His muscles screamed for relief. His vision wavered, going sparkly around the edges.
Then strong hands were gripping his ankles. He was being gently but firmly pulled along the narrow passage. Hold on to Rachel, he told himself. That’s all you have to do. Hold on. They’ll do the rest. You can trust them with your life . . . with her life . . . our life . . .
The fresh open air greeted him like a blast from a water hose. Noise surrounded him. People yelling, a medevac chopper coming in for a landing, Greta’s excited barking.
“Hey!” A shout as the dog broke free. A cold nose nuzzled him, then a warm, eager tongue swiped his cheek, over and over again.
“Greta, girl,” he said, with an attempt at a laugh that came out more as a bleat. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Satisfied, Greta moved on to Rachel, just emerging from the rubble. She draped her warm, wiggly body across her beloved owner’s chest. Fred let go of Rachel’s hands and tried to pull himself onto his knees, only to groan from the pain.
“Someone grab the dog,” he called. Rachel needed medical assessment before any more doggie love.
“You reopened your head wound,” came the rough voice of Mulligan. He was kneeling next to Fred, doing a quick check of his injuries. “It’s always something with you and that girl.”
“Mulligan? What are you doing here?” He stared, bewildered, at the rugged, broken-nose face of the newest member of Station 1. Behind Mulligan, he could see the USAR crew extracting the air bags, and two San Gabriel police officers.
“Vader sent me. Every firefighter in town called in so we have hands to spare. So you got mine, baby. The USAR crew has to take off, but I’m staying.”
The paramedic at Rachel’s side gave a thumbs-up. “Your girl’s pulse is thready but she’s okay, Freddie.”
Rachel made a soft sound. Fred, forgetting the pain in his knees, scrambled to her side, followed by Mulligan.
“Sweetie? Did you say something? Are you awake?”
“Fi . . .” She mumbled.
Fred, completely mystified, looked at Mulligan. “Can you understand what she’s saying?”
“I heard an F and an S. French fries? Are you hungry, Kessler? Did you work up an appetite under all that rubble?”
Rachel pushed the EMT’s hand from her throat and sat up. “I said,” she said, coughing. “I’m not just his girl. I’m his fiancée.” Fred put his arm around her, supporting her while she hacked up more dust.
“Okay then. Fiancée. Good work, Freddie-boy.” Mulligan slapped him on the back, making him cough too. “You work fast, bro. Not everyone crawls into a collapsed building and comes out engaged. No wonder they call you the Bachelor Hero.”
“Shut up, Mulligan.” Fred kept his focus on Rachel, tenderly smoothing the hair from her face, brushing mortar crumbs from her cheeks. In the harsh light of the spotlight the crew had set up, her eyes glimmered with a glorious, mysterious violet sheen.
“Or what? You’ll beat my ass?” One look from Fred had Mulligan backing down. “Right. You will. You can. But you won’t, since I just saved your ass, and I think that earns me a spot in the wedding party and . . .”
But Fred didn’t hear the rest, because Rachel had taken his face between her hands and was kissing him so deep and hard, he forgot where he was. He could have been back under the rubble, in Rachel’s elevator, or in a bumper car, for all he knew. The only thing that mattered was he was with Rachel, she was alive, and they could hold each other and love each other until the sun rose and set and rose again.
Chapter 32
San Gabriel was hit hard by the quake, which the United States Geological Survey named the Los Feliz Earthquake, after the neighborhood of its epicenter. Dozens of people were injured, a hundred homes damaged beyond repair. Two overpasses collapsed and much of the city lost power for up to twenty-four hours. But thanks to the dogged efforts of the city’s first responders and emergency workers, no lives were lost. Stories would be told for decades about the neonatal intensive care unit nurses, who carried each tiny patient to safety after a gas leak was discovered at Good Samaritan. Grocery stores handed out food and water, restaurants brewed endless pots of coffee, residents brought blankets and snacks to the overcrowded shelters.
Rachel had never loved her adopted city more.
After making sure she was in good medical hands, Fred reported to duty with the USAR team and spent the next long hours going from one hard-hit neighborhood to another, helping trapped victims and putting out fires.
As soon as Rachel was released from the emergency room, she went straight to the makeshift pet shelter to tend to the panicked animals rescue workers kept bringing in. A news crew showed up, shooting a story for their twenty-four-hour coverage of the earthquake. Recognizing her, the reporter made a beeline in her direction.
Facing the camera, Rachel took a deep breath and embraced her new existence, that of a public person with a meaningful mission. She explained how she was helping the animals and what people should do if they were missing a pet. She offered a list of supplies the shelter needed. When the reporter asked her to spell her name for the camera, she didn’t hesitate.
Rachel Kessler, she told him. San Gabriel resident.
Her father arrived soon after. Since the shelter was a madhouse and terribly stinky, she met him outside, where he leaned against his black sedan. At the haunted look on his face, she burst into tears. He strode toward her, enfolded her into a long, hard hug, and poured out a stream of apologies.
“Stop it, Dad,” she said, finally pulling away and wiping the tears off her cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“We investigated the Zander family seventeen years ago, but eve
ryone checked out. We should have run a report on the entire police department when you came here. Sneaky rat-weasel.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. I bet he joined later, after I decided to stay.”
“Smart girl.” And he hugged her again. “You’re tougher than he is, you proved it. Twice now. Don’t mess with a Kessler. Look at you, safe and sound.”
“Fred deserves a little credit for that too. It’s not every day your office falls on top of you.”
“Sure.” He gave an expansive gesture to include the entire town. “I figured a donation to the San Gabriel Fire Department should do the trick.”
Rachel put her hands on her hips and shook her head at her father. “I had a different idea. I’m going to marry him.”
“Marry him?” The black wings of his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “That’s going a little far, don’t you think? Marry a fireman?”
“Marry Fred the Fireman,” she corrected. “The fireman I’m in love with. He’s no ordinary guy, you know.”
“I know.” The frown cleared from his face. “At this point, I’m not sure I’d trust anyone else in the world with my daughter. I just hope he knows what he’s getting into.” He winked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re on the willful side. Hardheaded. When you were little, you never did as you were told. Always tearing about the place like a little wild thing. Never could keep you in one place. But I realized something.” He took her by both shoulders and fixed her with that intense, unblinking stare.
“What?”
“I never should have tried.” He shifted his feet, looking nothing like the powerful visionary who’d faced down Congress. “I let you down once, letting you get taken. I didn’t want to fail my daughter again.”
“Oh Dad.” She curled her hand around his forearm, savoring his familiarity, the citrusy scent of his aftershave, the nervous energy he always radiated. “You never failed me. I just need more—”
The Night Belongs to Fireman Page 31
