"I don’t think so Marilyn." Dylan, seated at his desk with his back to the door, spoke into the phone. He tugged impatiently at the collar of his blue shirt and shook his head.
From the doorway, Beth glanced at the clock. Almost nine. He didn't waste much time.
Not fair. She'd given up all rights late Saturday afternoon when she told him what she was planning to do. But she short-circuited the recriminations, as she'd done all weekend. It was the only way she could live with her decision.
Making as much noise as possible, she entered the office. He swiveled in his chair immediately. When his eyes locked on hers, Beth tried to steel herself against the wrenching sadness she saw there.
That she had caused.
"No, I don't think so," he repeated into the phone. "I need to go. I'll call you."
Beth tried not to cringe. He'd call Melanie or Missy or Marilyn now. He'd smother them with tenderness and make breathless love to them. Her head began to pound with images of Dylan with another woman. Her stomach roiled. Dropping her bag to the floor, she bolted to the bathroom and fell to her knees at the toilet. She was violently ill, shaking all over. When she was done, she sat back on her haunches and buried her face in her hands.
A rustling sound made her look up. Dylan stared at her for a minute, then knelt beside her and drew her onto his lap.
It was too much. She began to cry, deep, racking sobs that filled the small space. He smoothed her hair. She felt a kiss she didn't deserve on the top of her head. Finally she quieted.
"I didn't make a date with her." His voice was gravelly.
"You will, though. Someday."
"Don't think about it now. We'll both be stronger by then."
Beth drew back and stared at him. "Why are you being nice to me? I thought you'd—" Tears welled again.
He wiped them away with rough fingertips. "I love you, Beth. I'm afraid I will for a long time."
"I love you, too."
His eyes misted and his hand crept to her stomach. She didn't—couldn't—push it away this time. He pressed gently. "I love both of you."
She started to speak.
"No, don't say anything. I promised myself I wouldn't keep pressuring you about this. It's your decision." He eased her away and stood, then reached down, grasped her hand and tugged her up. She swayed on her feet. "You shouldn't be here," he said, steadying her.
She stepped back to stand on her own. "It's the recruits' last week. I have responsibilities."
He nodded. "Are you all right now?"
"Yeah. I'll splash some water on my face and brush my teeth."
"I'm going to go talk with Ben." His eyes said, I need to get away from you.
When she came back out to the office, she headed to her desk. On the way, she noticed Dylan's truck collection. His toys. She detoured to them. Slowly she fingered the shiny chrome and bright red paint. Someday he'd share this collection with his child. Eventually he'd have one with someone else. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would he want his daughter to be a firefighter?
No, stop, don't do this. It won't help.
Only one thing would.
She crossed to her desk, found her address book and dialed with shaky hands before she changed her mind.
A female voice on the other end said, "Westside Women's Center.”
"Yes, I'd like to make an appointment to see Dr. Halliday."
"Dr. Halliday is out of town until next Monday. If it's an emergency, I can set you up with Dr. Johnson."
"No, no, I need to see Karen."
The woman hesitated. "We have a cancellation for Tuesday, December twenty-first.”
"Fine. I'll take it.”
The woman asked the pertinent questions as Beth blanked her mind. "Ms. Winters, what's the nature of the visit?"
Beth cleared her throat "A pregnancy termination."
"Oh. Well the doctor will need to talk to you before then."
"Fine I'll call her on Monday." Swallowing hard, Beth put down the phone. She closed her eyes and dug her knuckles into the lids. When she opened them, she saw Dylan in the doorway. His mouth was a hard slash of agony in his face. The skin was taut across his cheekbones. He watched her for a moment, then turned away and went down the hall.
Beth stared after him. She wished she could just sleep all day like she'd done yesterday. Though she'd had horrid dreams, reality was worse. Images came to her from the nightmares—Janey's face on Christmas morning, then Janey falling into the frigid lake. Tim, when they'd first made love, then Tim's big, masculine hands clawing at the ice. Somewhere during those long hours, Tim's face had metamorphosed into Dylan's face. He was holding Janey, tossing her up in front of the Christmas tree.
Beth stood abruptly. Nine-thirty, the clock said. She had a meeting at ten. Hurrying, she climbed the stairs and made her way to Reed's office. The door was open, but he was on the phone.
"Maybe, Tina. I'm not sure." He smiled, and despite her preoccupation, Beth watched him curiously. She knew nothing about his personal life.
"I don't usually do anything on Christmas Eve. All right, I'll think about it." Again he smiled. "Fine, I'll let you know." When he put the phone down, he stared at the floor.
Beth sucked in her breath. She recognized the look, the struggle on his face. She knocked gently. "Reed?"
The expression was gone when he glanced up. Beth knew that tactic, too. "Beth, what can I do…" He stopped speaking when he got a good look at her. "Something's wrong."
"Do you have a minute?"
"Of course. Come in and close the door."
Shutting out the rest of the academy, Beth made her way to Reed's couch. Even the welcoming atmosphere of his office didn't soothe her today. "I have a favor to ask," she said.
"Shoot."
"Dylan." She stopped. Cleared her throat. "Dylan's going to need some help." She threw up her hands, then let them fall listlessly to her lap. "I don't know how to tell you this, but I've got to, for him."
"Just say it straight out. I can help you both."
"No one can help me, Reed. I thought Dylan could, but I was wrong." The psychologist waited. "We aren't getting married."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm pregnant.”
Uncharacteristically, he showed surprise. Then he frowned. "Usually marriage is a good idea, then."
"I can't have it."
Again, the surprise, and some sadness. "Do you want to tell me why?"
"I had a child once. You didn't know that. She died. I can't risk something like that happening again. I won't."
"Oh, Beth, I'm sorry." He paused. "Would you like to talk about the circumstances? We might be able to find some alternatives. See things differently."
She shook her head. "I don't want to see things differently. I want to get past this. And I want you to help Dylan deal with what I’m going to do.”
"Have you told him? About the baby?"
She winced at the word. "Yes. And my plans. He's devastated, of course. But I have no choice."
"There's always a choice."
"I can't survive that kind of loss again, Reed."
He glanced at the phone. His face was full of empathy when he looked at her. "We can survive a lot more than we think."
Nervous, she stood. Stuck her hands into her pockets and paced. "No, not this. I only came here to ask you to help Dylan through the process. He's having a rough time today. It’ll get worse. He won't tell you any of this to protect my privacy, but he'll need you."
“I’ll be there for him."
"Thanks." She headed to the door.
"And for you, too," he called after her. She stopped. "As I said, I can help, Beth."
Without turning back, she shook her head. "No you can’t, Reed."
* * *
Dylan was in the bay at eleven-thirty ostensibly checking hoses, but he needed the fresh air to clear his head. He hurt so much inside he wanted to die.
He still couldn't believe what had happened in the past few days. Pounding his fist on the rig, he leaned his face against the cool chrome. How could she do this? How?
"Dylan?" He glanced up to find Francey a few feet away.
Struggling for composure, he finally faced her. "Hi. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you." She stepped closer. "You look awful."
"Wild weekend."
Francey cleared her throat. "Dyl, I know."
His eyes widened. "How can you possibly know?"
“Beth told me and Chelsea. Actually we did the pregnancy test Thursday with her."
Slowly he nodded. "Did she tell you everything?"
The grim look on his best friend's face doused any flicker of hope he might have been secretly harboring. Francey knew Beth better than anyone. She'd know if Beth was really going to do this awful thing. "Yes. I know it all."
Francey stepped even closer and opened her arms. His defenses crumbled, and he went into her embrace. When his shoulders started to shake, she awkwardly led him behind the rig to relative privacy. He accepted the comfort for only a few minutes, then pulled back and swiped at his cheeks. "Sorry."
"It's worth crying over."
Dylan sighed, leaned against the truck. "I'm going to leave the academy right after graduation. I already talked to your dad this morning. I'll go back to any station house that has an opening, but I've got to get out of here."
"I understand."
"France?"
"Yeah?"
"When she does this, when she has the—" He couldn't say the word.
Francey nodded, indicating she understood. Her eyes teared up, which made his moist again.
"Don't let her do it alone. She thinks she can handle this, but it'll kill her. You and Chelsea go with her."
Francey swallowed hard. "Of course we will." She stared at him. "You're quite a guy, Dylan O'Roarke."
"Apparently not enough for her to risk this."
"I'm so sorry."
"Me, too."
* * *
On Friday, December 17, Beth sat on the stage next to Lou Giancarlo and Eric Scanlon wearing her RFD issue navy blue dress uniform, hat and white gloves.
"Welcome all of you to the graduation of the Rockford Fire Department Fall Recruit Class." Chief Talbot smiled at the audience. "And now I'd like to introduce the candidates."
Beth stood as the graduates marched military style down the aisle of the auditorium, their own blue dress uniforms sporting brand new RFD patches. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she avoided looking at Dylan, because every time she did, she wanted to cry. Which was about all she'd done for the past week.
After the RFD color guard posted the colors and the Pledge of Allegiance was recited, Chief Talbot gave his surprisingly humorous opening remarks. Beth forced herself to relax. They'd done a good job with this class. All the graduates were well trained and would make excellent firefighters.
That Hoyt Barnette had dropped out was a disappointment, but he'd told Reed in his exit interview that he believed in his heart he wasn't meant to be a firefighter. He was considering becoming a teacher, mostly because of O'Roarke, he'd said.
Don't think about him. Don't think about the situation.
The words had become a mantra she repeated several times a day. A tactic for survival, one she knew very well from when Tim and Janey died. She'd never planned to use it again.
"We'd like to show you some shots of what the class went through these thirteen weeks," the chief told the audience. "A picture says it better than any of us can."
Lights dimmed, and Beth sat back. She loved this part of the ceremony, so she was unprepared for the wave of nostalgia when the shots came on, backed by the music from the latest Star Wars movie. Beth watched the images of the last three months—roll call, the first time the recruits donned their SCBAs, the tunnel-like maze with a trapped Harriet, driving the truck, the smokehouse. All the while a narrator told the audience what was happening. "The recruits have learned many new skills and a new vocabulary—rig driving, pump operation, making a hydrant, using a K-12 saw, laying line and rappelling."
A picture of Abbott hopping off the Genesee Street Bridge came on, then one of Battisti cutting through a roof on an empty house, another of Frank crawling into the smokehouse and the words written on the wall, "If you can read this, then it's not smoky enough in here." Cleary appeared, too, in top shape as she shimmied up a rope at the end.
The instructors' turn came. Giancarlo with his famous pose, hands on hips, scowling at Abbott. Eric Scanlon, with his devastating smile, on the bottom of the aerial ladder where he would demonstrate proper climbing techniques. Chuck Lorenzo was next, holding up numbers to indicate scores on RTR's.
And there was O'Roarke wrestling with hose, wrapping a broken arm, ducking around Tully on the basketball court. When a photo came on of Beth facing Dylan across a desk, both with arms braced on the top, staring each other down, she sucked in her breath. The recruits cheered, but they didn't know that this story no longer had a happy ending.
Slowly, her hand crept to her stomach. Why, God, why? she thought bitterly. We could have been happy.
* * *
Dylan wanted to choke on his tie when the clips of Beth began—leading the morning exercise class at six, demonstrating the use of the oxygen canister, a rare photo of her smiling. Just looking at her hurt. Would he ever get over her? Damn, damn, damn.
After the pictures, Talbot introduced Ben Cordaro. "The RFD is rich with history and with pride," Ben began. "And it is with that pride that I will swear in the fall recruit class. Will the recruits please stand and repeat the oath after me."
The recruits donned their hats again, stood and repeated Ben's words in unison. "I, firefighter—say your name—do hereby pledge and declare that I will support the constitution of the United States and the constitution of the state of New York and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the position of firefighter of the Rockford Fire Department according to the best of my ability."
With a rush of nostalgia Dylan remembered giving his oath, the pride he felt at finally achieving his goal. He never thought anything could make him happier than firefighting. He'd been wrong.
Despite his will not to, he sneaked a glance at Beth. She was pale, and makeup couldn't conceal the smudges beneath her eyes. He was shocked to see her hand resting on her stomach. Protecting his baby?
No, of course not. In four short days, that baby wouldn't exist.
He turned to see Wanikya, class valedictorian, approach the podium. The young man thanked Chief Cordaro for making minorities' and women's entry in the RFD smooth. He told a few stories about how the other recruits pulled him in despite his reserve. He credited the fairness and integrity of the instructors.
The last event was a recruit video scrapbook. The camera showed still photos of each recruit with their words of thanks superimposed over the pictures.
Ace Durwin smiled into the camera. "I'd like to thank my wife for supporting me at forty-eight in this new career. It's gonna be good, honey."
Brady Abbott credited his buddies Ryan Quinn and Austyn Myers for getting him through, and mentioned how important teamwork was.
Trevor Tully grinned boyishly at the camera. He said, "I'd especially like to thank Lieutenant Dylan O'Roarke for teaching me not only what it takes to be a good, safe firefighter, but also what it means to be a man. He's been like a father to me."
Father. Dylan's stomach knotted.
It cramped mercilessly when Connie Cleary's pictures flashed on. There were several shots of her and Beth. Over them she said, "I haven't had a mother in ten years. I'd like to thank Beth Winters for filling that void in my life and for helping make me the woman I am today."
Dylan groaned inwardly, wondering if he could get through this ceremony, never mind life without Beth.
You can do what you have to do, Dylan, sometimes better than you think you can.
Will I be able to do this one? he asked Grandma Katie silently.
There was no answer.
Dimly, he was aware of the rest of the program. At the end, he went through the motions of congratulating all the new firefighters and posing for endless pictures. He managed to stay on the other side of the room from Beth until Frank took his hand and dragged him to the large Maltese cross backdrop on stage. "I'd like a picture of you and Ms. Winters, Lieutenant."
Cleary had brought Beth.
Weakly Beth smiled at him. He tried to smile back.
"Get in close," Frank said innocently. "Come on, Lieutenant, slip your hand around that special woman in your life."
He felt Beth stiffen.
"Easy," he whispered, sliding his arm around the waist he'd never expected to touch again. "Let's not spoil it for them."
"Of course." Her voice was full of tears.
"Now, guys, smile pretty for the camera."
His heart breaking because he couldn't have the woman who fit beside him like Eve did Adam, Dylan smiled.
* * *
The Monday after graduation, the academy was empty of the recruits and much of the staff was on vacation. Though she felt physically drained, Beth had come to work because she couldn't stay home any longer. Over the weekend she'd questioned if she was losing her mind. She'd been unable to sleep, assailed as she was by doubts and inundated with images of the graduation.
He's been like a father to me. I never had a mother. Father. Mother. Father.
Beth thought she would scream if she didn't get away from herself. Intending to catch up on the mounds of paperwork, she entered the office. And caught her breath.
The room had been swept clean of Dylan's things. His area was like the shell of a house hollowed out by fire. His desk was cleared off. The boom box was gone—and already she missed the blare of his music. Everything had been emptied from the shelves except his fire trucks. As she crossed to his side of the room, her foot nudged an empty box on the floor.
"I didn't think you'd come in today."
She whirled around. He was at the doorway, windblown and beautiful in jeans and fire department sweatshirt. His square jaw was tight, and his eyes were bloodshot.
"I have paperwork."
"I'll be out of here in a minute. Just one more box to go."
"No hurry." Her voice was scratchy.
She went to her desk as he crossed to the trucks. Opening her bottom drawer to stow her purse, she felt her eyes mist.
She glanced at Dylan. His head down, he carefully wrapped a truck in newspaper.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she drew the two presents out of her drawer and strode to his desk, as morose as a pallbearer. "I, um, got you these for Christmas."
He looked up from where he sat but didn't reach for the gifts.
"You don't have to take them if you don't want to."
"They're the first Christmas presents you've bought in twenty years, aren't they?"
Silently she nodded.
Taking the brightly wrapped packages, he opened the larger one. Despite the misery in his eyes, he smiled. "Where did you get it? It's unavailable."
She looked at the Washington DC l/64th Seagrave Tractor. "Yes, I know. I had a friend in New York track one down after I saw the advertisement in a flyer on your desk."
"It's beautiful." He stared at her. "Thanks."
"I ordered it a while ago. Since I'd teased you so much about your toys, I wanted to show you I accepted that side of you." Her voice cracked on the last phrase.
He didn't answer, just coughed to clear his throat. He picked up the little square box. "Two?"
"Yeah. This one's more personal."
His hands shook as he tore open the small gift. Tenderly he drew out the medal. And smiled with recognition. "Saint Luke. The patron saint of EMS."
He turned it over. His badge number was engraved on the back. He didn't look at her right away, just lovingly traced the numbers. Finally, he raised his eyes and handed her the medal.
As if performing a sacred rite, she took it and looped the chain around his neck, letting the gold pendant nestle near his heart. She bent and kissed the top of his head. "Be safe, Dylan."
When he said nothing, she turned and went to her desk, carefully avoiding watching him pack the rest of the trucks. He finished in ten minutes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him carry the box to the doorway. He set it in the hall. Then, he got his coat from the closet while she pretended to look in the file drawers.
Please God, don't let me cry while he's here. Let him leave first.
"Beth." When she turned, he was in his leather jacket and holding a large, square package in his hand. "I debated whether to give you this."
She stared at him for a moment, then reached for the gift. In slow, precise movements, like she did everything else, she untied the ribbon, undid the tape, opened the box.
And gasped. Inside were two dolls, so lifelike she thought they might speak. One was a replica of Dylan—dressed as he'd been the night he got the Firehouse award. Even the shock of black hair on the doll's forehead fell the way his did. The boy doll was holding hands with the girl doll—who, of course, looked like Beth. She was decked out in the green strapless gown, right down to the shawl she'd worn that night.
Beth's eyes blurred, but she fought the blaze of emotion. She said only, "This was the first night we made love."
He smiled sadly at her phrasing. And she realized it hadn't been just sex after all.
"Where did you get them?" Beth asked.
"Mrs. Santori made them. I took your dress and my tux to her, along with some pictures." When Beth didn't respond, he continued, "I thought we could start your collection again, start new, I…" Choked up, he couldn't continue.
There was a long silence. She placed the dolls in the box and covered them. "Thank you." A pang shot through her when she thought of putting these dolls in the chest with the others, never to be seen, never to be enjoyed. To ease the clutch in her heart, she said, "You have your Immaculate Conception party tomorrow."
“I do.”
She stared at him. His eyes dropped to her stomach.
"I overheard you on the phone. Your appointment's in the morning."
She nodded.
"Take it easy for a while. After."
His kindness hit her like an emotional sledgehammer. She looked away.
He stood where he was for a moment, then came around the desk and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Take care, Winters."
She stared at the floor. "You, too, O'Roarke."
Thank God he shut the door on the way out.
Placing her head on the desk, she gave in to the sobs.
She didn't know how much time had passed when she heard a knock on the door. Reed pushed it open. "Beth?"
Sitting up, she wiped at her eyes.
He crossed to the front of her desk. "Can I do something?"
She shook her head.
"Dylan told me to come down."
A fresh bout of tears accompanied that news. Reed circled the desk, knelt next to her and ran a soothing hand down her shoulder.
When she finally pulled herself together, she said, "I can't stand this."
"Then maybe you’re doing the wrong thing to do."
"Is it? How would I know?"
For a minute his face got bleak. Then he said, "Let's talk about your situation. I can help, Beth."
* * *
The frigid December wind blew Beth's scarf around her face as she approached the small cemetery plot. The graves looked different covered with snow. She adjusted the burlap she'd placed on the rosebushes earlier this year. Then she dusted off Janey's grave and lovingly traced the letters of her daughter's name. She did the same for her four parents. Finally she reached Tim's grave.
Kneeling on the hard, unyielding ground, she cleared his headstone.
Hi, Bethy baby.
Hi.
You don't look so hot.
She shivered. It's only eight degrees, you idiot. She stared at the grave.
You're sad.
I can't do this, Tim.
Of course you can't, sweetheart. You could never get rid of that baby.
But how can I take the chance again?
Life's one big crap shoot, Bethy.
Beth swallowed hard. I talked to Reed Macauley. He said I have choices. I can get stronger.
Good advice.
My job isn't enough anymore.
Of course it isn't. You need Dylan. And another family.
Beth waited before she said, He probably hates me.
He loves you more than life itself, just like I did.
Oh, Tim.
No, now stop. You've been given a second chance. To love and to have another child. My girl would never blow that.
Do you think I can do it?
I know you can. And he'll help you.
Beth placed her hand on her stomach. Lovingly she caressed it. After a moment she stood to go to the car where Reed waited for her.
Hey, Bethy, baby?
Yeah?
Bring him along next time. I wanna meet this guy.
She smiled at the grave. You're on, Tim.
* * *
The huge auditorium had been decorated by the students of the Immaculate Conception School. Festive greenery drooped in places, big uneven snowflakes dangled in the air, and a Christmas tree sported lopsided ornaments. There were red and green signs everywhere in a childish scrawl. They announced, We love our firefighters, Keep our firefighters safe, and Firefighters are the best.
As the students wound up a last off-key verse of "Frosty the Snowman," Dylan smiled at them from the podium. Imperfect children in an imperfect world. All of them were afflicted with Down's syndrome. The school, founded thirty years ago, took them at any age and all levels of retardation. And loved them. Just as Dylan would have loved—
No. Don't think about that.
Ruthlessly suppressing his emotions, he picked up the mic to play his annual part as emcee. "Those songs were terrific," he said, "only Rudolph, here, is really bothering me." The students laughed as a costumed Rudolph nudged Dylan once again. "No, Rudolph, I don't kiss in public. Now get away."
Rudolph pretended to cry.
"Kiss, kiss." The kids cried out and clapped their hands at the ongoing disagreement between Dylan and Rudolph.
"All right, only if I can tell my jokes."
The audience moaned at the mention of the corny Christmas puns Dylan would recite. Dylan gave Rudolph a big smacker on his bright red nose, and the little ones cheered.
With theatrical flourish, Dylan spoke into the mic. "What did the Italian angel say to the shepherds?" After a moment, he answered, "Pizza on Earth."
Again, laughter.
"What does a reindeer get on the beach?" A dramatic pause. "Sandy Claws."
More laughter.
"What did Santa say to Mrs. Claus when asked about the weather?" Quiet. "It looks like rain, dear."
Dylan felt better after the jokes. Seek joy in what you give, not in what you get, Grandma Katie used to say. And she was right, once again,
"I'd like to call Sister Sara up here to say a few words."
As tradition had it, the director of the school came to the stage. "This party goes back thirty years," she began.
Dylan listened, blanking his mind. When it began to wander, he forced himself to remember the parade that morning—fire trucks decorated with wreaths, Santa waving, horns blowing, the excited faces of the children as soft snowflakes drifted onto their noses and hair. He'd always wished he had kids at Christmas. He could have had one next year.
In spite of his vow not to dwell on Beth, he glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. Her appointment had been at nine. There would be no baby next year. The thought turned his stomach, so be focused on the one hundred and fifty active and retired firefighters who'd paraded into the auditorium minutes ago. He glanced toward the kitchen, staffed by Ben Cordaro and some of his old buddies from the line. To the side in the cafeteria, other RFD personnel were setting up for lunch, where each child was assigned his or her own personal firefighter.
"…and every day, we pray to God to keep our firefighters safe." Sister Sara ended her talk.
Be safe, Dylan.
His hand went to the spot over his chest where he wore his St. Luke medal. Funny, he'd lost Beth, but he'd be safer now than he was before he met her—he'd learned the preciousness of life.
Dylan took the stage again and called the clowns. Dressed in turnout gear, they mimicked firefighters with hoses that didn't work and turnout pants that kept falling down. He was heading out to change into his Santa costume when he saw Francey and Chelsea enter the auditorium.
So it was over. Jagged pain ripped through him unlike any he'd known before. He swallowed hard and strode offstage.
Minutes later he was handing out presents to each child, which took the edge off his anguish. As each young person was escorted by one or two firefighters, Dylan chided himself for not being thankful for what he had. When Francey and Chelsea brought up their child, he smiled at them through his beard.
They didn't look sad. As a matter of fact, they were grinning. Strange. He knew Francey well. She couldn't have gone through that with Beth this morning and come out unscathed.
A child on his lap distracted him. As he asked her what she wanted for Christmas and if she'd been good, and gave her a special gift picked out just for her, his mind went on red alert.
His heart almost stopped when the last child came to the stage. A three-year-old girl named Ellie, wearing a red velvet dress and a big red bow in her hair. She was a favorite of the fire department because her father was a smoke eater who'd died in the line of duty. Dylan was pleased to see Ellie but shocked at the adult who lovingly handed her to him.
Beth. She’d dressed as she'd been at graduation, in the navy blue RFD uniform. But the outfit hadn’t snagged his attention. Her face had. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked totally at peace.
What did this mean?
While he was ostensibly giving his attention to Ellie, his mind whirled. He didn't want to get his hopes up. But how could she have just erased her own child from her life, then come here to celebrate the birth of the Christ child? How could she bear to look at all these children who were lovingly cared for by their parents despite their disability?
She couldn't.
Finally the gifts were gone, and each firefighter took his child by the hand, accompanied by parents, to the cafeteria. The auditorium emptied.
Beth was gone, too.
He sighed. Maybe it had been wishful thinking. Maybe he'd just wanted to believe she hadn’t gone through with her plans. But he sure as hell was going to hunt her down and find out. He hurried off the stage to the men's faculty bathroom. He'd change in there so no child would accidentally stumble on Santa's transformation into a firefighter.
In a T-shirt, Santa pants and hat, he was teetering on one foot trying to tug off a boot when the door opened.
And there she was. She snicked the lock, reminding him of the retirement party when he'd cornered her in the john.
She had committed to him that weekend.
His pulse beat like a thousand drums. "What are you doing here?"
She arched a brow. A mischievous brow. She'd unbuttoned her coat, and a soft white blouse peeked out. "You've been after me for months to participate in this event. You got some complaint now, O'Roarke?"
"Ah, no, Winters. None at all." He looked at her stomach. "How did the appointment go?"
She stepped closer, her eyes sparkling. "Good. Though Dr. Halliday was really pissed off at you."
"At me?"
"Uh-huh. She wanted to know why the father of my baby missed the first prenatal visit.”
His stomach dropped to his knees and he grabbed the edge of the sink. "Beth, are you saying…"
She covered the distance between them. She took his hands in hers, then brought them to her stomach. "I couldn't do it, Dylan."
He blinked twice and swallowed hard. "Do you mean you’ll have the baby? For us?"
"Yes, I do."
Filled with joy, he caressed her abdomen with reverence, then tugged her to him. He just held on to her, tightly, breathing in the scent of her.
After a few moments she drew back. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Forgive me. I was confused, and scared." She gave him a watery smile. "I'll have your baby. I'll try to be the woman you want, the woman you need."
"Oh, Lizzie," he said, gently brushing his knuckles down her cheek. "You are. I just wanted all of you."
"You got all of me." Her hand went to her abdomen. "And then some."
"Well," he said, drawing her close again, "Grandma Katie said I could have it all if I had faith."
She nestled her head on his chest. "Then I'll have faith, too."
Outside, the bells of the Immaculate Conception Church chimed out over the school grounds. Dylan took that as a sign from above. He looked heavenward and pictured Grandma Katie and Tim Winters smiling down at all three of them.
oOo
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Did you read RISKING IT ALL without crying? Even in the revision and proofreading stages there were certain sections I couldn’t go through without bawling. How about the scene with the dolls around Beth when she tells Dylan about Janey? Or when she goes to the cemetery? They did me in.
Regardless, I hope you grew to like these characters for a lot of reasons. I found creating Beth to be fascinating. Why she’s so tough, so rigid, needed careful plotting. Of course, I knew why before I started the book, though she turned out to be tougher than even I imagined. Her criticism of Dylan does not endear her to readers. But as I got further into the book, and an understanding of Beth’s background dawned on me, I felt bad for her and, putting myself in her place, I realized I’d do the same things as she did. I knew also she wouldn’t go through with her plans at the end, but as I wrote, I was still nervous she would. (I guess I’m one of those crazy writers.)
Dylan, on the other hand, was easy to create. Cocky, self-assured, he knows his allure and capitalizes on it. Never once did I dislike him, and I hope you as readers didn’t either. When he cries by the truck with Francey, then tells her to go with Beth on the doctor’s visit that’s destroying him, he won my heart. In many ways, Dylan is the ideal man. Who does have flaws. His risk-taking needs to be curtailed, and he eventually does that for Beth. And she agrees to commit to him, too. By the way, I went with my favorite firefighters to one of those real-life Christmas parties for children when I researched this book. Witnessing it was emotional and satisfying.
Again, I thank all those firefighters who took me into the firehouses, their homes and their hearts for years as I tried to learn everything I could about being one of America’s Bravest. Know these books, and all the Hidden Cove books, would not be nearly as accurate and exciting and emotional as they are without them.
Read on to hear about Jake and Chelsea and Delaney and Reed in the remaining Rockford Fire Department books.
Kathy Shay
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Don’t miss the rest of the books in the ROCKFORD FIRE DEPARTMENT series.
She saves him from a fire, then steals his heart without even trying. When white hot attraction kicks in, sparks fly!
She’s the only woman he can’t charm. He’s the only man she can never love.
He was the most upstanding lieutenant in the department, until he made a critical error in judgment that almost ended his career. And she’s a mistake just waiting to happen.
She’s a feisty counselor of troubled teens. He’s the fire department psychologist who’s trying to outrun his demons. They clash at every turn.
To browse Kathryn’s impressive list of titles go to http://www.kathrynshay.com/books/.