love-to-the-rescue

Love to the Rescue

Contemporary Romance

The idea for this story came when my brother was studying to become an EMT and

many hours spent listening to him explain various training techniques.

"Units required on East Jeffries at Inkster, Code Three."

The disembodied voice droned from the two-way radio between the seats of the ambulance where Benjamin and Kim sat. "Multiple vehicle, serious injuries. There's an officer on scene, respond." With minimal static, the voice stopped.

Ben picked up the mike, pressing the button. "ALS Unit sixty-three responding, ETA six minutes."

Kim flipped on the flashers and siren, and the unit sped through an intersection where "rubberneckers" sat craning for a glimpse.

Blue and red lights flashed from the top of the police cruiser on the scene. People staggered from the wrecked vehicles, shocked but otherwise unhurt. A van had been crushed on one side, and the nose of a compact car had rammed into a concrete overpass support. To Ben, it looked like a war zone.

He had jumped from the squad before it rolled to a stop, and pulled open the side panels of the unit, when a middle-aged officer approached him.

"The driver of the van has a dislocated left shoulder and a possible broken right ankle, no other occupants," the officer said. "The driver of the small car is unconscious, no response."

The distinct roar and hum of a fire engine filled the late afternoon air as it thundered down the expressway.

Ben grabbed his equipment case and neck brace. Kim headed to the crushed van, her gear in hand, so he turned toward the compact.

The front window had flown out, shattering against the cement, and the doors had buckled on impact. The car looked like an accordion.

Giving the driver's door a hefty jerk, he knew it wouldn't budge. He went around to the other door and it opened with a howl of protest. Folding his wide, six-foot frame into the front seat of the little car proved to be another kind of challenge.

The driver, her head tilted back against the seat, appeared to be a young woman. Her breathing was steady, but her pulse was rapid. "Hello, ma'am," he said, "My name is Benjamin, and I'm here to help you."

Her legs, exposed by the skirt she wore, had a few minor lacerations, probably caused from objects flying around the small space on impact. He ran his hands along them, checking for breaks. Everything felt intact. He did the same with her arms, again finding only minor wounds.

Then he looked at her face, so close to his own, and his heart skipped a beat, the same way it had the first time he'd seen her walking down the high school hallway so many years ago. No!

His mind raced when he saw the large gash between her temple and cheekbone. Blood seeped slowly from the wound, the swelling beginning to distort the smooth skin of her lovely face.

"It's all right, Clare, I'm here now," he whispered. "I'll take good care of you."

The crunch of metal ripped through the air as the firefighters went to work on the vehicle. After removing the door, John O'Keefe stuck his head in the opening. "Hey, man, you okay?"

Ben looked at his friend, not bothering to hide his emotions. "Be real careful with this one, John," he replied. "I know her."

They worked with an efficient familiarity born from a decade of friendship, and in minutes had Clare out of the car and into the ambulance. A second unit arrived to transport the other driver.

As Ben climbed in back with Clare, John said, "I'll see you back at the station." Then he closed the doors.

"Let's roll," Ben said to Kim, then turned his attention back to Clare.

He started an IV and put a gauze pad over the wound on her face. She moaned, trying to turn her head away.

"Clare, can you hear me?" he said, his insides twisting. She looked pale as death, with the exception of the dark purple bruise that colored her face from her auburn hair to her jaw. Come on, Clare! his mind screamed, though his voice remained calm. "Open your eyes and look at me."

"H-hurts," she whispered, her eyelids flickering open.

"I know it does," he choked out. His throat constricted painfully as he stared into her unfocused green eyes. He had only a moment to prepare himself before she realized she couldn't see.

She tried to turn her head toward his voice, but the neck brace prevented the movement. "Where am I?" she asked, struggling against the gurney straps. "I can't see!"

"Lie still now," Ben said, pushing her back down. "Please, Clare, you're going to hurt yourself."

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"Ben. I'm a paramedic."

His answer seemed to satisfy her and she lay quietly while he checked her pulse and blood pressure. "Can you tell me if you have any pain, other than your head?"

"My ribs hurt."

He felt along her abdomen and torso and she moaned when he found two broken ribs. In his opinion, a small price

to pay for having worn her seat belt. If she hadn't had it on—don’t think about what you would have found, he thought.

Picking up the two-way mike, Ben informed the hospital of the situation. When they arrived, the technicians rushed Clare away for a CAT scan, leaving Ben standing there, dazed.

Everything had happened so quickly, yet in slow motion. He had done the job he had been trained to do; now he felt drained. The adrenaline rush that had sustained him at the sight of an injured Clare released him abruptly and he sank into one of the chairs in the emergency waiting room, oblivious to the people staring at him. He didn't care about them, his mind was in the past...

Clare skimmed her fingers over his closed eyes to the square line of his jaw. They lay facing each other on a blanket they'd spread beneath a big maple in the park. Ben thought his heart would beat him to death when her trembling fingers feathered across his parted lips. Opening his eyes, he did some exploring of his own.

Her soft cotton dress hugged all the right places, hiding just enough to make him crazy. His hand rested on the slight flare of her hips, squeezing gently as he covered her lips, taking her breath into his mouth with a kiss that carried him to the edge of sanity.

He was jerked back to reality when the laughter of children playing penetrated the fog of his brain. Lifting his head, Ben looked into smoky green eyes and nearly decided he didn't care who was around.

Then Clare closed her eyes, and he watched in shock as a single tear slipped beneath her lashes to roll down her cheek, disappearing into the curtain of her hair...

"Ben?"

The inquiring voice brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes to see a green-scrubbed doctor. "You've been waiting to see Clare Grayson?"

"Is she okay?" he asked, following her from the room.

"She has a concussion and brain swelling, which is putting pressure on the optic nerve, resulting in partial blindness. We're hoping as the swelling goes down, her vision will return." They walked into the ICU. "We'll be watching her throughout the night to make sure there's no brain damage."

After the doctor left him, Ben sat in the chair beside Clare's bed. Years ago, he'd lain awake nights thinking about Clare in her bed. This wasn't the way he'd pictured her. The machines hummed and beeped, quietly broadcasting her vital signs.

She hadn't changed. The years had simply added maturity and fullness to her beauty.

Picking up her hand, he linked his large fingers through her slender ones. No rings, he thought, brushing his lips against the smooth translucent skin. Until this moment, he hadn't realized what it would have been like knowing that Clare had married another man.

Even after ten years of silence this woman still had the power to tie him in knots. His thoughts drifted again to that day at the park...

Ben had pulled her tight into the comfort of his arms, wondering what he had done to upset her. Her passion had equaled his own during that kiss.

"I'm moving," she said, her voice muffled and low. "I applied to an arts college and I've been accepted."

"Where?"

"Texas."

The hand he held twitched and clasped his own, jerking him from the bittersweet memory.

"Clare?"

Her mouth moved into a painful smile. "You're here," she said. "I thought I'd dreamt you." Turning toward him, she blinked her eyes, trying to focus on his face.

"What more could a man hope for?"

"It's frustrating to see only blurred forms, though I'm thankful for that much."

"Don't try so hard," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Why?" she said, then must have realized how rude it sounded, because she added, "I mean, thank you for staying, though you must have more important things to do."

Rather than confessing who he was, Ben decided to keep his identity to himself, at least for the moment. "You were pretty banged up. I wanted to stick around to make sure you were going to be all right."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing serious," he said. Then it dawned on him that he didn't really know. He had never checked in with Kim about the other driver.

She tried to smother a yawn, but it wouldn't be stopped. "They have me on something for the pain," she said, laughing softly. "It's starting to kick in."

"Go ahead and sleep. It seems I've neglected some of my duties."

"Will you be back?" she asked drowsily. "You seem familiar somehow."

The nurse on duty appeared in the door. "Mr. Learner, it's time for you to leave," she said apologetically.

Ben looked at Clare. Her brows drew together as she fought the effects of the drug, trying to concentrate. "What did you say your name was?" she asked, filling him with dread.

"Ben."

He didn't think it was possible, but he watched as her skin paled even more. But the drug overpowered her and she lay still against the pillow.

"Ben," she whispered.

Standing outside Clare's room, Ben debated whether to go in or not. He knew that her vision had returned during the night and her doctor had discharged her. Though he had changed considerably over the years, he didn't doubt she would recognize him.

His guilt over not identifying himself last night had been replaced by stubbornness. No matter what had caused her to leave in the first place, there was no reason she had to stay down there for so long. She'd left knowing he was attracted to her. Had even given him a taste of what it would have been like with her. He'd never gotten so much as a letter from her.

With more force than warranted he pushed open the door. Startled by his entrance, Clare stared at him, her green eyes wide and a bit wary. Pulling a chair beside the bed, he straddled it, folding his arms along the back.

"How are you feeling today, Clare?" She looked much better, though the bruise discolored the entire side of her face.

She ignored his question. Instead her gaze wandered over his face, making him tense in the hard, wooden chair and expend more than a little willpower not to twitch, as it stopped briefly at the small scar beside his mouth before moving down to his chest and arms covered by the dark blue uniform shirt. He watched as the flush crept up her neck and cheeks when she noted the changes he had demanded of his body.

"You cut your hair." She said this with such wonder, Ben couldn't help but laugh. In school, his dark blonde hair had fallen to his collar and over his ears—a far cry from the close-cropped style he wore now.

"Did you think everything would be the same?"

Hurt flashed briefly in her eyes. "Of course not, it was just time for me to come home."

In the weeks before the move, Ben and Clare had had many heated arguments. He'd stubbornly claimed that she didn't need to go, that there were schools around here. And she'd held firm that she needed to do this for herself.

"Speaking of home," he said, "are you staying at your parents' place?"

"No, I have an apartment in Plymouth, over a gallery."

"Is your Mom coming for you?"

"Actually," she said, "I was going to call a friend; my parents are on a cruise."

Ben bit his tongue to keep from asking about said friend. "I'll take you home."

She seemed to struggle with this, but only for a moment. "Thanks."

Clare sat quietly beside him in the roomy pickup during the drive from the hospital. He couldn't believe how nervous he was, making a conscious effort to relax his vise-like grip on the steering wheel.

"My place is on the way to Plymouth. Do you want to see it?" He wondered what she would think of his small house.

"Sure," she said, then added shyly, "as long as you're not going to give me some line about etchings."

"Not an etching in the whole place," he promised with a half smile.

A few minutes later, he drove through a small suburb outside of the city of Plymouth, and noted Clare's curious expression as she took in the nicely kept rows of single-family homes.

"You have a house?"

"Yeah, I bought it last year." Pulling into the driveway, he tried to see it through her eyes. Cape cod with tan siding and slate shutters. He gave silent thanks that he'd been able to get the lawn cut the other day, and had even managed to trim up the shrubs. Clare stepped out of the truck, moving slowly but without much difficulty.

"Ben, it's beautiful!"

Taking her hand, he led her to the front door, nervously fumbling with his keys. This is it, he thought, the point of no return, as the door swung open silently.

She proceeded over the threshold and he held his breath. He knew the instant she saw it.

"My God." To a stranger, the whispered phrase would have sounded almost reverent, but Ben knew it was uttered with pure amazement. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders. He knew what she saw, because it greeted him every time he came through that door, welcoming him into his home.

The work had been done as a mural, its muted tones touching him now as they always did. Clare's hands had painted this, not brushes, but her own fingers, swirling gold and red with flesh, pulling from the canvas life and hunger, leaving behind a heartbreakingly accurate portrait of a woman and a man, wrapped in each other, not just touching, but straining to be one.

"I have more," he said quietly, "but this is my favorite."

Turning in his arms, she leaned against him. "That's the reason I came back. I couldn't get you out of my head or my heart." She placed her hands on his chest, as if the feel of his rapidly beating heart was reassuring. "I found myself, but I discovered that without you I'm not whole."

"Clare, when I saw you in that car yesterday—" He broke off, not sure where he was going. "Even after all the stupid things that I said to you, I could never get over you." Pressing the hand that rested over his heart more firmly against him and closing his eyes, he whispered, "I love you so much, my heart aches with it."

When he opened his eyes, he saw the love he'd felt for so long, reflected back at him from emerald eyes that shimmered brightly. He caught her tears with his fingers, wiping carefully over her injured cheek. "I love you, Clare Grayson," then he touched her lips with his own in a slow, gentle kiss.

The End