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LIFE SAVER
Leah Stevenson was a trained fire fighter, and all she knew when she battled her way through the smoke and flames was that there were lives to be saved.
Now two innocent children were trapped inside a burning house, and Gil had trusted her to rescue them. Gil, the one man who believed in her, the man who had broken through her defenses and touched the woman inside. No matter what it cost her, she couldn’t let him down. She had to get through the choking, terrifying darkness; somehow Gil’s love would bring her out again.
Too Near the Fire
Lindsay McKenna
Dedicated to:
Lt. Gary “Apache” Amato, who taught me the ropes of firefighting and Firefighter Paul La Neve, who saved my life at a structure fire and The firefighters of West Point Volunteer Fire Department, who opened a new chapter in my life and To all the courageous paid and volunteer women firefighters who battle not only blazes but for their right to save lives equally as well as their male counterparts
Author Note
Dear Reader,
To say I like being a firefighter is an understatement. Serving the people of Ohio, being able to protect and help them, is my greatest thrill. Ohio, for me, offers everything I’ve ever wanted: horseback riding, fishing, lots of trees and plenty of lakes and rivers. It also brought me together with Leah.
Leah Stevenson is the love of my life. Until I met her, I didn’t feel much like living—just surviving. I’d lost my first wife three years earlier, and the will to live sort of got sucked out of me. Firefighting became more than a way of life for me—until Leah stepped into my life that day at the Baybridge Fire Department.
Leah embodies Ohio: kind of reserved and humble, yet filled with a rich sense of self that doesn’t need to be flaunted or bragged about. Ohio and Leah are about a quiet sense of integrity and timeless values that have not broken down with time. It’s not hard to love them both.
Gil Gerard
Table of Contents
One
The sunlight was brilliant, making Leah squint as she walked out of the shade and around the corner of the two-story redbrick firehouse. The weather was typical of mid-June in Ohio: the humidity matched the high temperature. Her shoulder-length hair was drawn back severely from her oval face. Leah had learned from experience to knot her dark, walnut-colored hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck to keep it from interfering with her fire fighting duties. She slowed in front of the huge garagelike doors that housed the fire engines within the bay, her gaze lingering on the lime-colored trucks. They were all Darley engines, and she recalled with some relief that as a student at the Ohio Fire Academy, she had learned pump procedures on them. Well, at least she was familiar with the equipment—that was one thing in her favor.
Stepping into the office, Leah met a dispatcher who was attired in a light blue, short-sleeved shirt and navy gabardine slacks. Her heart dropped when she saw him scowl. She put on a smile and said, “My name is Leah Stevenson. I’m reporting for work. Is Chief Anders in?”
“Yeah, just a minute,” he growled, and paged the chief. He slowly looked her up and down and Leah silently endured his scornful appraisal. Groaning inwardly, she shoved all her fears, anxieties, and questions to the back of her mind. Right now she had to try to walk a tightrope with Chief Anders. He had opposed her even more strongly than the city administrators who had fought her being hired as a member of the fire department.
Anders came in the other door, his leathery face devoid of any expression. “Stevenson?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come with me.”
Leah swallowed against the lump forming in her throat and followed him through the quiet bay. She looked off to the left as they walked by a small kitchen. Three firemen looked up with curiosity as she and the chief passed by the door. The shuffle of feet and the scraping of chairs could be heard seconds after their passing. Leah could picture all three of them craning out the door to get their first look at the “lady” fire fighter. Adrenaline surged through her, adding to her shaky feeling.
Anders motioned her into his small, cluttered office. The chief was in his late fifties, a tall spare man who looked more like he belonged behind the wheel of a tractor in some cornfield than here, Leah thought. He was thin and the nervous energy that flowed through him set her on edge as he began to pace behind his dilapidated oak desk.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
Leah sat on the edge of the chair, her back ramrod straight, and carefully placed her purse on her lap. Her heart was hammering as if she were laboring up an eight-foot aerial ladder with an air pak strapped on her back. This was the real war. The ordeal of completing the basic two-hundred-hour fire fighting course at the academy would be child’s play compared to the psychological battle that lay before her now. Her thoughts were interrupted by Anders.
“You got your way, Ms. Stevenson,” he growled, stopping to glare across the room at her. “The mayor says I either take you into the department or our city loses its federal funding. I’ve been a fireman for thirty years and I ain’t ever seen a female fire fighter. No woman can do this job. I don’t give a damn how great your grades were at the academy or how many of your instructors swear by your abilities.”
“All I ask is that you let me have a chance, Chief.”
“All you’re asking me to do is risk the life of one or more of my men so that you can prove me right,” he hurled back.
Her throat ached with tears but she refused to allow her emotions to overwhelm her. “Chief, I’ll be the first to quit if I ever put anyone’s life on the line. That’s a promise.”
Anders stood there regarding her silently for a long, tense minute. “It only takes once, you know. What if you’re in a structure that’s on fire and your partner’s air pak suddenly quits functioning and he can’t get oxygen? What are you gonna do? Go screaming for help like some dizzy broad?”
“No,” Leah replied with a great deal more calm than she felt. “We would buddy breathe off my tank and get out of the building as quickly as possible, Chief.”
“Sounds great on paper,” he snorted, folding his hands and resuming his pacing. “But saying it and doin’ it is two different things, Stevenson.”
Leah managed a small breath of relief. Good, at least he had dropped the Ms.