With Valor And Devotion. Charlotte Maclay
for him to breathe as the rest of the fire crew got the flames under control. Mike flashed his light around. If the sense of loyalty between Randy and his dog was mutual, Suzie wouldn’t have gone far.
And she hadn’t. The dog was tucked under a makeshift bed that was little more than a cot. Who were these people who were living in an otherwise vacant house, Mike wondered. And where were Randy’s parents?
The dog didn’t react when Mike pulled her out from under the bed. A medium-sized dog of indiscriminate breeding, she lay limply in his arms as he lifted her. Mike couldn’t tell if she was still breathing or not.
“Come on, Suzie. If you die on ol’ Randy, it’s gonna kill the kid.”
He made it back to the window, climbing out awkwardly with the dog in his arms, then walked to the front of the house. Randy spotted him immediately.
With a cry that was so filled with desolation it nearly broke Mike’s heart, the boy pulled away from the paramedic who’d been working on him and ran through the weed-filled yard to Mike.
“Is she dead?” he sobbed.
“I don’t know, son. I really don’t know.” Mike continued walking toward the paramedic truck with the dog in his arms, Randy clutching his leg as if he and the boy were surgically attached. “You got any oxygen, Brett?” he asked the paramedic.
“For the dog?”
“Suzie’s real important to Randy. Let’s give it a shot.”
Brett shrugged. “Whatever.”
They all knelt together in what was a prayerful circle—Randy and Mike holding the dog, the paramedic cupping an oxygen mask over the dog’s muzzle. Tears of grief streamed down the boy’s face. If truth be known, Mike had a few tears in his eyes, too. As a kid he’d never been allowed to have a dog—not even a mutt like this shaggy-haired combination collie-terrier-and-who-knew-what-else. At Randy’s age, Mike would have cheerfully done chores for a year in any of the foster homes where he’d lived if they had let him have a dog of his own. It had never happened.
Suzie’s tail twitched.
“She’s alive!” Randy hugged the dog so tight, Suzie whined.
“Easy, son,” Mike said, and coughed. Gently, he rested his hand on the back of the boy’s head. “Let her catch her breath before you squeeze her to death.”
The paramedic backed off with the oxygen and smiled. “Looks like a good rescue to me.”
“Yep.” But Mike still wondered where the boy’s parents were, and why he’d been in the house all alone. The fire had been suppressed, nothing but the lingering smell of smoke as the crews mopped up. And still there was no sign of a family member or even a baby-sitter.
Brett said, “We’re going to transport the boy. He needs to be checked out for smoke inhalation.”
“You hear that, Randy? They’re going to take you to the hospital. You get to ride in an ambulance. Pretty cool, huh?”
Even as the dog was licking his face, the boy’s eyes were wide and distrustful. “What about Suzie?”
“Somebody will take care of her. She’ll be okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.” When the boy still looked skeptical, Mike said, “I went back in and got Suzie, didn’t I?”
That seemed to convince Randy. He gave his dog another hug, burying his face in Suzie’s fur. “You be good, Suzie. I’ll come back and get you as soon as I can.”
Setting Suzie on the ground where the paramedic could grab the dog’s collar, Mike hefted the boy into his arms. “You want me to fix it so the guys in the ambulance use their siren?”
Randy’s expression brightened. “Can you do that?”
Mike grinned. “Sure. Firefighters can do anything.” He took off his helmet and plopped it on Randy’s head.
“Cool,” the boy said and settled comfortably to ride on Mike’s hip to the ambulance.
“Hey, Mike,” Brett called after him. “You’d better get checked out at the hospital, too. You were in that house a long time. You could have some inhalation problems.”
Mike looked at the paramedic in surprise. He’d been coughing a bit but he didn’t think he’d sucked in too much smoke. No big deal.
But then, there were a lot of good-looking nurses who worked at Paseo del Real Community Hospital. He might as well drop by to see how they were doing.
THE PHONE woke Kristin McCoy at 1:02 a.m. Groaning, she rolled over and stared at the instrument. Unless it was a drunk who’d dialed the wrong number, a call at this hour did not bode well. At the very least it meant she’d drawn the short straw tonight as the Immediate Response Social Worker for Children’s Services assigned to handle emergencies.
Moments later she discovered that was the case. A child in the hospital, no parents or guardians in sight. She’d be acting in loco parentis for the boy and trying to figure out where he belonged.
Dressing hastily, she brushed her unruly auburn curls into a loose ponytail and got in her car for the drive to the hospital. Suddenly a wave of grief swept over her, blindsiding her like a tsunami. The dark streets, the stillness of the hour, had triggered a memory of another time, a frantic drive to the hospital, ambulance siren blaring. Fear clawing at her with razor-sharp talons, so painful she thought her chest was being ripped open.
Her baby. Just two months old. Not breathing. His soft skin icy cold to the touch. His sweet little body limp. How was it possible? He’d been fine only hours before, despite a runny nose. Laughing at her. Squirming, feet kicking while she changed his diaper.
Bobby! A victim of SIDS—Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Dead before he’d had a chance to really live.
Her throat clogged, and she had to blink away the tears that blurred her vision. Six years and the grief still hadn’t gone away. It lay there in her gut, twisting through her at unexpected moments. When she saw a child the age Bobby would have been if he had lived. When she heard an infant cry with a desperate hungry sound. Or simply when she woke to find her arms empty of the burden she had so lovingly carried.
Dear God, she missed him so much!
Forcing her anguish aside, she focused on the nearly empty streets of Paseo del Real en route to the hospital. Forced herself to think of something mundane. Something that didn’t tear up her insides and make her want to weep.
A college town in central California just east of the coastal range of mountains, Paseo del Real’s population had exploded during the eighties and nineties as people fled the Los Angeles area in search of a quieter lifestyle. They’d brought with them traffic congestion, miles of tract houses, and most of the problems of big cities—including abandoned children, Kristin mused as she pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.
She angled her Volkswagen convertible into a spot near the emergency entrance. The lot was only half full at this hour, mostly vehicles of employees working the eleven-to-seven shift.
Inside, a couple with an infant were waiting in the lobby, an older man was dozing nearby. Kristin waved to the security guard who was lounging against a faux-granite pillar in the center of the room and went through the automatic doors to the nursing station. Adrian Goodfellow was the charge nurse on duty, a woman with brassy-blond hair, a quick silver smile and a heart made of gold.
“Understand you have someone for me, Addy,” Kristin said.
The nurse looked up from the chart she’d been checking and gave a bright smile that lit her eyes. “Sakes, woman, this is Saturday night. Why aren’t you out on the town having a high ol’ time?”
“Same reason you’re here. I’m working.” Both she and Addy were single, but despite Addy’s twelve-hour shifts, she managed