Rescued by the Firefighter: A Clean Romance

By Catherine Lanigan

He saved her life…

But will he destroy her dreams?

Firefighter Rand Nelson is tall and handsome and has literally walked through an inferno for Beatrice Wilcox. He’s a hero…and that’s exactly the problem. Beatrice knows all too well the risks of loving a man with a dangerous career. But when Rand’s report threatens her beloved children’s camp, Beatrice can’t refuse his offer of help…even though she knows they’re both playing with fire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Heartwarming
• Release date: Nov 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781488085413

Catherine Lanigan

The first time author Catherine Lanigan ever submitted a manuscript was to a creative-writing professor during her freshman year of college. Following a terse review of her work, he squinted his eyes, grimaced, and told her point-blank, "Your writing stinks, you'll never make a living as a novelist...but I'll make a bargain with you.... I'll get you through this class if you promise never to write again."Catherine still remembers the impact of that crushing blow. Fortunately for her hundreds of thousands of fans worldwide, that moment was the spark that ignited a graceful determination which fuels her remarkable career today.One of the publishing community's most prolific and eloquent literary voices, Catherine Lanigan is the author of over 15 books, including the wildly popular Romancing the Stone and Jewel of the Nile, which preceded the blockbuster films of the same names.In addition to the commercial success of her books, Catherine Lanigan's work strikes a profound visceral chord with her readers. Many of them write her frequently, sharing deeply personal insights about their own lives and why they are inspired by the female characters in her books.Catherine Lanigan's protagonists are self-empowering women who, despite stunning obstacles, build an internal arsenal of wisdom, courage, and dignity that enable them to finally be true to themselves. They embrace change with aplomb, grit, and grace even though deep down, they may be frightened stiff.For Catherine Lanigan, these are the characteristics of a real heroine, a woman who, given a certain set of circumstances, makes choices that enrich who she is inside, and as a result, the world around her. This passionate perspective comes from a powerful place of experience. The trials and triumphs of her characters are engraved with her own initials.Unfulfilling marriages, the tragic birth and loss of a child, single parenthood, financial struggles, career disappointments, personal and professional betrayals, and her self-made rise as an author comprise the fertile soil of her own life from which Catherine creates her stories."I would like to believe that for each woman who picks up one of my books, if her life is in turmoil or chaos, something in the book will help guide her through the turmoil," says Catherine Lanigan. "I hope my books are a catalyst, a gentle yet firm push, in the right direction."On a lighter note, Catherine Lanigan is as recognized for her culinary acumen as her literary achievements. In each book, Catherine features her own unique recipes throughout the stories. Cooking is often a segue from one scene to another, with key characters concocting succulent dinners, scrumptious desserts, and naughty late-night snacks. At the end of every book, readers are given an address where they can write Catherine directly to obtain the recipes. In fact, her Epicurean adventures have become so popular, that she is currently in the process of finishing a cookbook.Catherine Lanigan was born and raised near Chicago, Illinois. She currently lives in Houston, Texas.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Indian Lake, Indiana

July

THE SUMMER NIGHT sounds of chirping tree frogs and cicadas drifted through the open screen window of Beatrice Wilcox’s sixty-year-old log cabin. Loving the wildlife melodies, she closed her eyes, her weary body spent from a long day with ten rowdy, sometimes frustratingly taciturn children and preteens.

But running this camp was her dream. She wanted to create a summer idyll for kids who faced challenges in their young lives, as she had when she’d been a camper herself as a child.

But how to pay for it? Worrying over money often kept her awake at night. Tonight being no exception.

She kicked the old patchwork quilt off her body. Then she flung her forearm over her brow. She was still wide awake.

Breathing a sigh, she sniffed the air. And froze. Then sniffed again.

It...can’t be.

Curling through the screen was pungent smoke. Not the smoke from a cigarette or cigar, or the acrid, bitter smoke from a country farmer burning garbage. This was clean smoke. The kind from burning vegetation.

Beatrice bolted upright in her bed, her eyes wide. She tossed aside the sheets and swung her legs to the rag rug she’d made herself that covered the painted concrete floor.

No!

Going to the window, she cranked the casement window open wide. The smell of smoke was unmistakable. Not a fire. Not now. Not ever!

Spinning around, she shoved her feet into her sneakers and grabbed her cell phone off the varnished tree-stump table.

Please don’t let it be one of the cabins. Or the kitchen! She raced out to her front porch, the wood screen door banging behind her. The yellow bug light on the front porch did a good job of keeping the mosquitoes and flies away, but unfortuntely gave little illumination. She leaned over the wide log railing that extended down the four steps to the gravel path that served as her sidewalk.

The camp consisted of ten sturdy small log cabins, with five on either side of the main dining hall and activities center. Up the hill at the end of the five cabins was a larger cabin that housed the male counselors, though right now there was only the one. Beatrice’s cabin was on the left side after the five girls’ cabins and a larger cabin for the female counselors.

Her eyes scoured the little cabins and the main hall. She saw nothing amiss.

Walking farther down the path, she stopped abruptly as a crimson glow illuminated the side of her face. She turned toward the forest that stretched for acres across the country road. Oh, no!

Forest fire.

The summer had been hot and dry with barely a sprinkle of rain in the past month. The Weather Channel had said it was the driest summer in Indian Lake history. This was Southern California weather, not northern Indiana weather. July was known for heat in Indiana, and even soared over one hundred degrees, but seldom did the region get this dry. In recent weeks, the corn was withering on the stalks. The leaves of the soybean crops were already turning golden six weeks ahead of normal.

She punched in 911 on her phone.

What is your emergency? the dispatcher asked.

Fire! I’m at Indian Lake Youth Camp. Up Highway Thirty-Five. There’s fire in the woods across the road. It’s been so dry, I’m afraid the fire could move fast and head right for us.

She looked around and saw the light in Maisie and Cindy’s cabin switch on. Cindy had just turned twenty-two, and though a year younger than Maisie, she possessed a child’s boundless energy. She was pulling a light sweatshirt over her head as she rushed out onto her porch.

Beatrice beckoned to Cindy, who started running toward her, her sneakers digging into the gravel with purpose.

Cindy’s streaked blond hair was clipped up on her head into a thick spike, making her look just like Cindy Lou Who from the Grinch cartoon. There was nothing comical about the fear in Cindy’s face, however. She pointed to the fire. This is a nightmare.

It is, Beatrice replied, still listening to the dispatcher.

The units have been sent. They’re on their way, the dispatcher said.

Thank you, Beatrice said and hung up while simultaneously grabbing Cindy’s arm. Cindy was shaking.

Cindy, look at me. This is no time to panic. We have to get the kids up and dressed. Then you and Bruce need to take them to St. Mark’s.

St. Mark’s? Cindy’s voice cracked.

Yes. You remember, right? Beatrice asked firmly. Beatrice knew she could do this.

But Beatrice was their leader. She was responsible for these children. Their lives might depend on her tonight.

More than the danger the fire posed to her beloved camp, it was the children she cared about. Each child was a gift to her. She took special care to learn their needs and idiosyncrasies, their fears and their delights.

When misgivings about money turned to dark moments, when she wondered why she’d placed all her dreams into this black hole of continual and costly restoration, she reminded herself it was for the kids, whom she cared about as if they were family.

Cindy...

St. Mark’s! I remember. Father Michael offered his activity hall in case of any emergency. Cindy brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek. This definitely qualifies.

Yes, it does, Cindy. Wake up Bruce. Believe me, it takes a bomb to get that guy up. You and Bruce wake up the boys. Maisie and I will take the girls’ cabins. Get everyone to the dining hall first, then hustle them into the SUVs and drive them into town.

What about you?

I have to stay here. It’s my camp. Now, go!

As Cindy raced off to Bruce’s cabin, Beatrice waved to Maisie.

Maisie had put on jeans, sneakers and a light hooded pullover. She held up her cell phone as she ran toward Beatrice. I’ll get the girls.

While Cindy was all emotion, hugging the kids, giving them encouragement, Maisie was the organized, Excel-sheet-minded counselor who kept the kids in line. She also helped order the food and had their consumption quantities down to the number of tiny boxes of raisins and bars of soap they would need each month.

Yes. Good thing I filled up the SUVs’ gas tanks yesterday. We are good to go, Beatrice replied as they went to the first girls’ cabin.

Jessica and Susan Kettering were two sisters from Chicago whose parents were in Europe for work. The girls were living at the camp for a month, and Beatrice had gotten to know them well.

The girls, ages six and eight, both had amblyopia, or lazy eye. They refused to wear their eye patches on corresponding eyes at the same time. Thus, Jessica’s patch was on her right eye for six months, and Susan’s patch was on her left eye. In addition, they both had myopia and couldn’t read or see objects up close. Their glasses were thick and cumbersome for many of the sports, but their lighthearted attitudes overcame their personal struggles. Beatrice admired their closeness; they were always holding hands and helping each other.

Jessica awoke first. What is it, Miss Beatrice? She rubbed her eyes.

Jessica was thin and short, and had cropped auburn hair. She looked like a little ladybug to Beatrice, because she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. Bruce and Cindy are going to drive you kids into town.

But why? Susan asked, putting her glasses on before she sat up in bed. She lifted her little arms to Maisie.

Maisie leaned down to the girl. Beatrice didn’t know what it was about Susan, but she had a way of melting Maisie’s analytical heart.

As Maisie whisked the child out of bed and to the floor, Beatrice pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over Jessica’s head. She held out a pair of pull-on pants.

Once these two are dressed, Maisie, take them to the SUVs. I’m going to the next cabin. Belinda and Sherry are older. They can meet you at the SUVs. Then I’ll get Aubrey and Anna.

Got it, Maisie said, tying Susan’s shoes. In fact, you should go now. I’ll help Jessica with her shoes.

I can tie my own, Jessica said proudly. It’s okay, Miss Beatrice. I can help Maisie with Susan, Jessica insisted. She’s my sister.

Beatrice felt her eyes sting with tears and a lump invade her throat. Jessica was so precious to her—if those flames came anywhere near...

You’re such a help, Jessica. Beatrice leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

Maisie stood upright, her eyes darting to Beatrice. You did call Father Michael, right?

Sucking in a deep breath, Beatrice halted. She’d been so concerned about getting the kids out of danger, that she’d skipped a step. I—I...

It’s understandable, Maisie said, her eyes going to Beatrice’s back pocket, where she kept her phone.

Beatrice yanked the cell out of her pocket and found Father Michael’s number.

He picked up on the first ring.

Bless you for answering so quickly, Father Michael. It’s Beatrice Wilcox at the youth camp. I need your help.

Name it, he replied.

Beatrice had only just started her explanation when Father Michael stopped her. He was already on his way to the church’s activity hall to turn on the lights and fans. I’ll have everything ready.

He hung up.

Maisie, are you sure you’re all right here? Beatrice asked, knowing that the girls’ eye conditions caused them to stumble and trip a great deal in addition to their having trouble dressing.

I’m fine. We’re fine, Maisie assured her.

Beatrice shot out the cabin door and paused for a moment to see Bruce taking two of the younger boys to the large black SUV. Bruce! she shouted.

It’s A-OK! Cindy is checking the last cabin.

Good... Beatrice’s voice trailed off as she glanced across the road. Flames snaked along the ground. The mounds of dry pine nettles around the trees sparked like tiny fireworks as they ignited. Then the tongues of fire wove up and around the tree trunks, following the growth of poison ivy and clinging vines.

In the distance she heard sirens pierce the summer night. At the sound, she felt the first burst of hope since she’d breathed in the smell of smoke. Hurry, she breathed.

Racing to the SUV, she found Bruce belting in nine-year-old Joshua Langsford. Joshua had tears in his eyes.

Are we going to be all right, Miss Beatrice? the dark-haired boy with the leg brace asked.

She ruffled his hair and wiped his tears away with her fingertip. Yes, sweetie. Bruce is taking you all to Father Michael’s church hall. You’ll stay there until the firemen put the fire out. He and Cindy will stay with you all night. Maisie will drive in later and help bring you back when it’s safe. Don’t you be afraid. You’re a brave boy, Joshua. If you can survive all the pain from your leg surgeries, you can do this. You help Bruce with the younger boys, okay?

Okay, Joshua replied, pursing his lips and slamming his back against the seat.

Cindy came rushing up with five-year-old Ricky Sanders, the youngest child at the camp that week. He was a foster child, hoping to be legally adopted by his new foster parents, and was Cindy’s personal favorite. Did one of you get the Dunning boys?

Eli and Chris are in the last cabin, Beatrice replied. I thought you were getting them.

I was... Cindy hesitated, looking at Ricky. She put Ricky in his child’s seat and belted him in. She turned away from the boy so that only Beatrice could hear her. Nearly in a whisper Cindy said, They weren’t there. That’s why I thought one of you might have gotten to them already.

What? Chills spread over Beatrice’s body faster than any fire could eat a dried leaf.

Tell Maisie to check the common areas. I’ll do a sweep of their cabin.

Beatrice had been a runner all her life. Track. Five-k races. She’d won them all, but never in her life had she run as fast as she did now toward the last boys’ cabin. She flung open the door.

Eli? Chris? she shouted. Their bedcovers were pulled back, but the boys clearly hadn’t been in bed for a while. She ran to the small bathroom, which had been the most recent one to be modernized. Right now, though, the last things on her mind were tile, plumbing or the new toilet she’d found on sale. The bathroom was empty.

Eli! Chris! she shouted, going around to the back of the cabin. Thinking the boys might have gone down to the lake past their curfew, she ran down the grassy slope. The cabins were outfitted with motion lights that illuminated the area like daylight for her.

The little lake was placid with a ribbon of silver moonlight gleaming across the surface. No one was on the diving raft. No one on the short pier. No one hid near the kayak rack or the beached canoes.

She ran back to the driveway.

She whispered to Bruce, They weren’t there. Take these kids to Father Michael’s. Cindy will drive the other SUV. I’ll keep Maisie here with me while we keep looking for Eli and Chris.

You’re sure?

She nodded. Call me when you get there. I have to know the kids are safe.

The screams of the sirens grew louder.

Bruce climbed in the SUV and started the engine. Beatrice walked back to the second one and gave Cindy a thumbs-up.

As they drove away, Maisie jogged up to Beatrice. I’ve just checked the kitchen and the activity room. I can’t find Eli or Chris anywhere. Where on earth could they be? she asked.

Beatrice heard fear trembling in the raven-haired girl’s voice.

I don’t know.

The sirens wailed to an earsplitting level as they barreled down the country road.

Beatrice looked at the fire. It was clearly raging now. She was glad the gravel road put distance and a natural fire barrier between her camp and the fire.

Then her mind recognized a figure standing behind a wall of flame on the other side of the road.

Eli! Eli!

Beatrice ran into the fire.

CHAPTER TWO

BEATRICE HEARD MAISIE scream for her to come back. But if anything happened to Eli or Chris, Beatrice’s life would be over. She’d never handle the guilt or the sorrow.

Smoke filled the air, but the heat was so intense, Beatrice couldn’t smell it. For that she was thankful, because she hadn’t thought to cover her nose and mouth. She hadn’t thought about protective clothing, either. Not even a long-sleeved shirt. She still wore one of her lake-water-blue youth camp T-shirts and the navy shorts that she slept in every night. She was ill-prepared for saving anyone.

Eli! she called.

From between a curtain of flames on either side of him, little six-year-old Eli stood frozen to the spot, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Miss Beatrice!

Don’t move, Eli! I’m coming to get you!

I’m scared! He started to take a step.

She kept running, dodging puddles of smoldering pine nettles, hoping her sneakers didn’t melt from the heat. Even if they had, she wouldn’t have stopped. Nothing would stop her. She had to save Eli.

Fortunately, Eli was wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt. Even in the heat of the day, Eli always claimed he was cold. She didn’t doubt it. He was so thin. The kind of thin that broke her heart and made her want to cook his favorite dish, spaghetti, for him—at every meal.

He also wore jeans and high-top sneakers. Eli never went anywhere without his high-top sneakers. He was determined to become a basketball player in the NBA someday, and though he was of average height for his years, he was the kind of kid who would think himself tall.

This was Eli’s third week at camp, which was due to the good graces and hard efforts of Zoey Phillips, the director of Indian Lake Child Services.

Eli and his brother, Chris, who was ten, were new to foster care. Their father had recently been sent to prison for drug dealing. Their mother had simply abandoned them in an upstairs apartment over an antiques store on Main Street. She’d told the boys she was going out for groceries, but three days later, she hadn’t come back. It was Eli who had called the police, hoping they could find his mother.

His brother’s call had angered an already resentful Chris. Chris had an iceberg-sized chip on his shoulder. He’d worshipped his father and copied his arrogance and cocky attitude.

From their first day in camp, Chris had posed one problem after another to Beatrice and her counselors. Beatrice believed the boys needed—craved—attention and caring. Eli was bright and genuinely a good kid. Chris rattled her nerves from breakfast to lights out. She was amazed the two were genetically linked. Bruce had tried to get through to Chris, but Chris had so far only stonewalled him. Beatrice believed Chris’s heart was broken, but she hadn’t the first idea what kind of glue would mend him.

Once the boys left her camp, Beatrice feared she would never see Eli or Chris again once the system sent them to a proper foster home. They’d likely be split up and sent out of the county.

As the flames jumped from tree to tree, Beatrice kept her eyes on Eli and his outstretched arms. She leaped expertly over a burning log, miraculously evading the flames. She kept running.

Stay still, she warned as she drew closer to Eli.

The fire had made daylight of the forest. It was hard to imagine that it was night. Flames shot out of forty-foot-tall dead pine trees that should have been felled years ago.

A pine tree about seventy yards away exploded like a cannon. The sound frightened Eli so much that his feet left the ground when he jumped.

Miss Beatrice! Help me!

She continued toward him but an enormous branch swooped through the air with a hissing sound and thudded in front of Beatrice.

She slammed to a stop before falling over the branch. The smell of it was pungent. The odors of pine, flame and smoke mingled to form a forbidding fragrance.

Like flaming needles, the sparks from the logs shot into the air and seared the skin on her arms.

She simply brushed them off, not feeling a thing.

Everything about her had turned to ice, except her heart. It was beating through her chest as if it knew she was going to die this night, and had to beat its last moments as hard and powerfully as it could to make up for all the years she would lose.

Eli’s face was covered in tears and snot when she finally reached him. She scooped him into her arms and crushed his face into the crook of her neck. I’ve got you now, she said comfortingly. Nothing bad will happen to you.

You promise? His voice was muffled as he burrowed his head into her throat.

I do.

How can you promise? We’re both going to die.

No, we won’t, she said sternly. Didn’t you just see me jump?

Huh?

I was state champion in high hurdles for my girls’ team in high school.

He hugged her tightly. I’m sorry for this.

It’s not your fault, Eli, she said. But you shouldn’t have been out here. That’s why we tell you to stay in your cabins at night. The forest can be dangerous.

He lifted his face from the shelter of her neck. I’m sorry, he repeated.

She looked around. The fire is getting stronger. You hang on to me and I’ll get us back.

I can walk, he protested.

"No. And I mean it. You stay with me. Understand?" She had him in her arms. There was no way she would let him go. For this moment, she felt in control, though her brain told her that she had just done about the most unthinkable act of her life.

The heat of the flames had increased, and perhaps she was allowing her senses to register something beyond her fears for Eli. She finally felt the burns on her arms, but she willed away the pain. She lifted her foot to start back to the camp when a second tree blew up.

This time she was the one to jump. She rocked back on her heels. Cinders filled the air. Branches flew overhead and landed behind her. When the pieces hit the ground, the earth shook beneath her feet like an earthquake.

Eli screamed. The sound of his terror clanged in her head like discordant and mournful bells.

She realized that she didn’t hear the sirens any longer. Had the trucks arrived? Or had it been her imagination all along that they were on their way? Had she imagined the dispatcher’s words? What other mistakes had she made in this nightmare? Would she be Eli’s hero or the cause of his death?

From somewhere, she found a thread of solid strength that bolted up her spine and empowered her arms. She pulled Eli close to her chest. We’re going to make a run for it, she said decisively.

We can’t leave...

What? Why?

We have to find Chris.

CHAPTER THREE

RAND NELSON PULLED his fire engine to a stop in front of the camp and stared over the steering wheel in disbelief at what he was seeing: a woman running toward the fire.

No way in...

He jumped out the driver’s door, his heavy leather-booted feet hitting the ground with a thud. He grabbed his thermoplastic helmet off the console,