Rescued By The Firefighter. Catherine Lanigan
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eyes open, blinked and squirmed out of Rand’s arms.
“You’re safe,” Rand said. “Here, put this oxygen mask on. It will help you with the smoke inhalation.”
“I’m fine.” Chris pushed Rand’s hand away.
“Wear it!” Rand ordered and then clamped the mask over Chris’s face and put the elastic strap over his head, making sure the back was secure.
“Rand!” Another shout came toward him along with the sound of many boots crunching over the burned ground. Ted McIntyre and Manny Quale stood shoulder to Nomex-suited-shoulder in front of them.
“You found him,” Ted said, pointing with his gloved hand to Chris.
“He was up that tree.” Rand looked at Chris, who was staring at the smoking forest floor.
“I’ll go back for the paramedics,” Manny said.
“I’m fine,” Chris said sternly as he ripped off the mask, shoved it back to Rand, and marched away from Rand, Ted and Manny. “See?” He swung his arms as he walked away from them.
Both Ted and Manny looked back at Rand.
“What? No ‘thanks’?” Ted asked.
Rand shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, he didn’t want to be rescued.”
“Oh,” Manny said. “One of those.”
“Afraid so,” Rand answered.
They walked out of the smoking forest after Chris.
* * *
BEATRICE LOOKED DOWN at her right ankle as she sat on the gurney in the ER. “Acute metatarsal fracture?” she repeated to Dr. Eric Hill, the ER doctor who was documenting her injury into a laptop computer on the counter to her right. A nurse with streaks of purple and pink in her midlength hair was inputting more information into another computer with a larger screen on a wheeled cart.
“Correct,” Dr. Hill replied. “Which means you broke the long bone in your foot. The one that attaches the ankle to the toes. Luckily the bones are aligned and don’t need surgery.”
“Will I have to wear a cast and use crutches?” Beatrice swallowed hard, thinking of all the camp chores, the climb to her cabin and supposedly easy things like helping the kids dress in the mornings. Such simple chores, these daily bits of her life, but they made her days rewarding. She’d have to put the crutches down each time she wanted to hug a child.
Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back.
“I’d rather not go that route,” he said.
“Seriously?” She brightened. “But you said the recovery time is six to eight weeks.”
“It is. But we can outfit you for an air boot. I prefer it to a cast because it has a reservoir that can hold ice-cold water around the injury for as much as six hours. Right now, I want the swelling to go down and ice is the answer. More than any medication. And overmedicating can lead to bleeding and that’s not good, either. In a week, I’ll start you on some exercises with that foot.”
“Exercises?”
“Easy things at first. Well, they sound easy to the uninjured. And make sure to keep the foot elevated as much as you can. Keep your weight off of it. The air boot will help a lot with redistribution of weight.”
“Good.”
He rose and looked at her with more empathy than she’d seen in anyone’s eyes in a long time. “Those burns on your back are going to sting for a few days, but could be worse. You’ll need to apply aloe vera and an antibiotic cream for a week to ten days. Take two Tylenol and three Ibuprofen for pain. And you’ll probably want to get a haircut.”
“Smells pretty bad, doesn’t it?”
“Like burned hair.” He gave her a faint smile and continued. “We’ve put loose gauze over the burns for now. Do you have someone who can change the bandages for you every day?”
“Uh, sure. Cindy or Maisie at the camp...”
“Great. I want to see you in my office a week from today. I’ll have the nurse here set up an appointment for you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You take care, Beatrice. I’m glad the camp is unharmed.”
After setting up the appointment, the nurse wheeled the trolley with the computer out of the ER bay, giving Beatrice a wide smile as she said goodbye.
“Dr. Hill, before you go. Could you tell me more about Eli and Chris?”
“They’re both fine. Eli was more frightened than injured. Chris is suffering from mild smoke inhalation. The firefighter who found him administered oxygen. He’s got a cough, but frankly, considering all he’s been through, he’s done remarkably well.”
“It’s a miracle,” she said, more to herself than to the doctor.
“The fact that he climbed a very tall tree and stayed far above the fire and smoke helped. He was high enough that the air was at least somewhat clearer. That was smart thinking on his part.”
Given his past, it didn’t surprise her that Chris was resourceful. His intelligence wasn’t the issue, however. He’d been closed-off, quiet and seemingly resentful at camp. She was sure he just needed to be loved. But he’d be gone from camp soon, and she couldn’t guarantee he’d get the care he so desperately craved.
“It’ll be a few minutes for the nurse to get all the release papers and instructions. You just rest for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, pulled back the curtain that hung over the sliding glass door and walked away.
As Dr. Hill left, a sandy-haired young man in surgical garb and a white lab coat entered the room. He carried a drawstring bag that looked almost as big as Santa’s sack. “I’m here to fit this boot on you,” he said.
“Of course.” Beatrice smiled, and the man went quickly to work.
The black-and-gray air boot looked like something an astronaut would wear to walk on the moon, Beatrice thought, as the man very gently lifted her injured foot and slid the boot into place. His fingers flew over the straps, making certain the boot fit comfortably. Beatrice eased herself off the gurney to try the rocker bottom of the boot, which was supposed to improve her gait. He explained how to use the ice-water feature, then instructed her about donning and doffing the boot and how to clean and maintain her new “friend.”
“This boot is my favorite,” he said. “I used it when I broke my ankle. I was back to fast walking in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? The doctor said six to eight weeks for me.”
“Oh, sure. That’s total healing time. But I can’t live without running. The docs let us ease back into our normal exercise fairly quickly.”
“Well,” she said, grinning, “then this is exactly the boot I want.”
“Great,” he said and handed her a card. “Here’s the number to the ortho department. Call us if you need.”
The young man left and Beatrice leaned her hip against the gurney as she rocked her foot back and forth in the boot. She lifted her knee, but felt a stabbing pain when she did.
Wincing, she glanced up and saw him.
He was leaning against the doorjamb. Gone were the Nomex suit, goggles and gloves. The helmet. She noticed his thick, dark, nearly black hair first. A hunk of shining, slightly damp hair hung over his strong forehead. His jawline looked like it had been carved from granite. In fact, everything about him was strong. He didn’t need a firefighter’s suit to make his shoulders wide; his presence filled the doorway, the room, the expanse between them. He wore a black short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched over biceps that could only have been built by hours in a gym. His black jeans fitted close to his narrow