Rescuing the Heiress (18 page)

M
ichael had assumed Tess and her father had left the area because he no longer saw either of them. Smoke billowed, whirled and eddied, sometimes thick, sometimes mere wisps. Always it burned eyes and lungs. And always it filled in just when he thought he was about to see through and discern more about what was going on in the distance.

It didn't matter to him directly, of course. He didn't dare leave his post. He merely wanted to see how the nozzle men were faring and tell if his ongoing prayers for their success were being answered.

A gust of wind off the ocean caught beneath the wide, back brim of his hat and lifted it off his neck to the extent allowed by the chin strap. Michael pivoted to brace himself. The smoke ahead parted momentarily.

Far up the hill he thought he caught a glimpse of movement, of a denser gray merging with the smoke. The flash of reddish tresses and the whipping of a woman's
skirt disappeared rapidly into the cloud. Could it be her? Would she be that foolish?

Taking the chance that his conclusion was right, Michael shouted, “Tess! No.”

Every instinct within him was screaming that he must chase after the woman, must somehow bring her back even if she wasn't Tess. He knew he didn't dare. His specific skills were not only invaluable, they needed every hand they already had on scene and more if they hoped to make any difference in the progress of the fire. He had sworn allegiance to the fire brigade. He could not turn away. If he did, hundreds more might die as a result.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, “Tess!” at the top of his lungs. “Tess! Come back.”

The smoke darkened as if night had fallen and closed like a malevolent fist around the retreating figure, hiding even the most basic shadows as if they had never been there. As if he'd only imagined witnessing the love of his life disappear into the bowels of the inferno.

Michael moaned. His heart and soul cried out. He began to weep, silently but openly, until he was barely able to focus on the crucial gauges positioned right in front of his face.

 

Tess trusted her intuition to guide her through to her goal. It did. By the time she reached the estate grounds she was coughing so badly she couldn't catch her breath. Her eyes were red, swollen and burning.

Shooting pains in her ribs, caused by the intense
exertion, doubled her over. She refused to give up or turn back. Clutching her waist, she wrapped both arms around her torso and staggered on toward the stables.

The roof above the main part of the structure was already cresting with flames. Horses snorted. Whinnied in fright. Tess followed the sounds to locate her mare and the others she'd come to rescue.

She was overcome with relief to discover them all outside in a paddock instead of locked away in their stalls.
Hallelujah!
She wasn't going to have to brave fire in the barn to rescue any others.

She shut her eyes for an instant and breathed a heartfelt “Praise God.”

The frantic animals were galloping in circles in the paddock, moving as a herd in hope of escape the oncoming flames. She could certainly understand their fear. Hers was palpable. And growing to the point where she was nearly beside herself.

“Easy, easy,” she said, struggling to control her trembling, dampen her wheezing cough and speak to them calmly.

It was readily apparent that tone didn't matter. Those horses were not about to listen to anyone. Clearly none were calm enough for her to catch and bridle either, let alone hope to ride. She might as well have tried to throw a saddle on a wild mustang.

There was only one sensible thing to do. She unlatched the gate to offer the animals their freedom, praying that their survival instincts would be strong enough to carry them to safety.

“Here! Look!” she yelled before breaking into paroxysms of coughing and grabbing her ribs again with her free arm.

She waggled the open wooden gate back and forth to help them spot it through the haze. Her mare was the first to dash through. The others followed.

When the last horse had raced past, Tess came to her senses and took stock of the situation. The stable building was already a total loss and the house was about to join it. Fire was consuming the eucalyptus foliage above the lawn as if it was part of a line of oil-soaked torches rather than the beautiful green-and-gray shade trees she remembered.

Paroxysms of coughing shook her till she could hardly stand, let alone think of fleeing.

She fell to her knees in the dirt.

“God, help me,” she muttered as smoke burned her eyes and stole the last of her sight. “What have I done?”

 

A hand clamped firmly on Michael's shoulder gave him a start. He wheeled. It was Chief Walters.

“It's over,” the chief said. “We're shutting down and falling back. We've lost two of the pumps in the line and there are no replacements.”

Rubbing his face against the sleeve of his heavy coat, Michael hoped his despondency didn't show. Truth to tell, he felt as dead as the earthquake and fire victims he'd seen lying in the streets. He'd stayed at his post and done his duty no matter what. So had the others. But it
hadn't been enough. All their pride in the fire brigades had been for naught. San Francisco lay in ashes. And so, he feared, did his heart.

Walters peered at him. “You look awful.”

Trying to subdue a shudder, Michael pointed. “I—I saw a woman run into the smoke a few minutes ago. It looked like Tess Clark.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

“You think it was her though, don't you?”

“Yes.” Pointing to the automobile, he saw that Gerald Clark was still resting beside it, apparently ill, while several passersby tended to him. “She and her father drove up together. Their car stalled. The last I saw of her she was over there with him.”

“She's the woman I saw riding with you on the rescue wagon yesterday, isn't she?”

Michael nodded, fighting to control his emotions and barely succeeding.

To his surprise, Walters choked back a sob. “I haven't told anyone else this. I lost my wife in the quake.”

Clapping a hand on the chief's shoulder, Michael said, “I'm so sorry,” identifying with the man's grief far more than he liked.

“Go,” Walters ordered suddenly. He gestured with one arm and gave Michael a push with the other. “Go find her if you can. I'll take care of shutting down your engine.”

The enormity of the other man's selflessness in the wake of his own deep personal loss touched Michael
to the core. God might not have dispatched a guardian angel to answer his prayers but He had certainly acted when He'd sent the chief.

“Thanks,”
Michael shouted, beginning to race up the hill as if all his weariness had suddenly been replaced with an unending supply of strength and stamina.

He knew where he'd last seen the shadowy figure. And he knew the basic layout of the Clark estate. If it had been Tess who had disappeared into the smoke he'd find her. Or die trying.

 

Tess's basic instincts told her to get away from the buildings so she began to crawl, feeling her way along the ground. It was impossible to tell in which direction she was heading so she simply tried to locate enough air to sustain life.

It wasn't easy. Every time she thought she was in the clear, the wind shifted and bore down on her, as if it were a ruthless pursuer, intent on stealing her last breath and rendering her helpless.

Prayer, as she'd always practiced it, was impossible. She could barely breathe, let alone whisper a suitable appeal, so she let her thoughts cry out to God for her.

Mostly, she repeated, “Father, help me,” over and over, with a few pauses for uncontrolled fits of coughing and vows of repentance. Could she expect an answer? Did she dare beg God for rescue after recklessly putting herself in such an untenable position?

Tears of sadness and physical pain bathed her eyes and wet her lashes. They dripped into the dust, sometimes
landing atop the backs of her hands as she felt her way along inch by inch. At least she'd saved the horses. Or at least she thought she had. Releasing them had been the most logical option. If she'd had more time she might have tried to climb aboard her mare and let it choose a route of escape for them both. Now, it was too late.

Closing her eyes, Tess bent forward to rest her forehead on her clasped hands. Everything was becoming blurred, surreal, even the roar from the flames that were devouring the house. All she wanted to do was rest. Sleep. Let her weary mind carry her away from all this.

Suddenly, something stung the back of her neck. It felt as if a hot poker had been shoved into her hair!

Pain jolted her into alertness. Grabbing at her head to beat out the smoldering embers, she inhaled. Got a good breath. And let out a piercing scream.

 

Michael heard her screech and his blood chilled. It
was
Tess he'd seen walking into the smoke and she was hurt.

He braced himself, cupped his hands and answered with, “Tess! Where are you?”

No answer came. Peering in the direction he thought the noise had originated, he forged ahead.

Filling his lungs was impossible. He managed to barely gulp enough air to shout out from time to time. He stretched his arms ahead of him, feeling his way and nearly blinded by the stinging smoke.

Knowing Tess, she would have headed for the stables,
he reasoned. The first thing she'd said when she and her father had arrived was “The horses.”

“Tess! Answer me.”

Heavyhearted, totally spent, Michael tripped. Stumbled. One hand touched the ground. The other…

He'd found her!

Grabbing the slim shoulder where his hand had landed, he gave it a shake. “Tess! Wake up.”

Unspoken prayers rose from the depths of his soul.
Please, God. Let her be all right.

Still, she didn't stir. Didn't respond.

A flicker of fire caught his eye. There was a glowing ember in her hair!

Michael closed his hand over the fire, ignoring the singeing of his own flesh. Water. Where was the closest water?

Squinting into the drifting smoke, he spotted what he thought was the large trough he'd used when tending the team. That would more than suffice.

He had to temporarily let go of her hair in order to stand and gather her into his arms. In three long strides he'd reached the side of the wooden trough.

Without further thought he plunged Tess's whole body into the water, then briefly pushed her head under, too.

Tess popped up out of the water flailing, sputtering, dripping and gasping. Her words were hoarse and unintelligible but they were still the most wonderful sounds Michael had ever heard.

He reached for her. Pulled her partially into his arms without letting her leave the trough. “Easy. Easy. You
were on fire,” he said brokenly. “I had to dunk you. Thankfully, it also brought you to your senses.”

She threw her arms around his neck and began to sob with an intensity beyond anything Michael had ever experienced.

His emotions were no more stable. Holding her close, he wept against her dripping hair and thanked God they'd been reunited. In moments, he realized that they were not yet safe. Far from it.

“We have to go,” he said, recovering his senses enough to begin to assess the situation. “Can you tell which way the street lies?”

Tess shook her head. “No. I got terribly turned around. Then I fell and…” Clinging tighter, she was wracked with renewed sobs and coughing.

“Pull yourself together,” Michael ordered. “Think. After you let the horses loose, which way did they run?”

“I—I—I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. You're sitting in their watering trough. Use that to get your bearings.”

Straightening, she peered into the thick air. “I can't see a thing.”

“Neither could those horses but I'd trust their judgment over mine any day.” He got to his feet and helped her climb out of the water. Her clothing and hair were soaked and dripping, which was exactly the way he wanted her to be. “Now, which way?”

Tess sagged against him. He knew she was nearly
spent but he needed her advice if they hoped to find sanctuary.

He tightened his grip around her shoulder and insisted, “Tess. Come on. You can do this. Which way did they go?”

Slowly lifting her arm as if it weighed tons, she pointed. “That way.”

Michael stopped himself from asking if she was certain. At this juncture there was no use delaying. If she was mistaken and they fled into a worse conflagration instead of a safe zone, they would meet death together.

His jaw clenched. No. That would not happen. They would get through, somehow. God had brought them this far. He would not abandon them now.

 

Tess's head was swimming. She still wasn't sure whether Michael's presence was a figment of her imagination or if he was truly there. She even doubted the chill of her wet clothing at first. The last thing she recalled clearly was falling to her knees and folding her hands in preparation for meeting her Maker.

The rest of the time was a blur. Her legs felt as limp as the ribbons that bound her mother's journal. If this was all imaginary, then perhaps she would soon see Mama face-to-face in heaven.

At her side, she sensed the strength that was Michael. Blinking, she looked up and saw the beard stubble on his chin. This could
not
be a dream. It was far too real. There was fire and smoke all around them. She could
barely see him, let alone discern their path. Where were they going?

Coughing, she managed to say his name, “Michael?”

“I've got you. We'll make it,” he replied.

“I'm so sorry.”

His hold tightened. “Let's get out of this mess first. We can talk about other things later.”

“I love you,” Tess said before breaking into more paroxysms of coughing.