Rescued by the Firefighter. Gail Gaymer Martin

shook her head. “I’m surprised my parents had me.” As the words left her, she grew silent, her expression reflecting her shock that she’d said that much.

      He sat glued to the seat, his lips pressed together, unable to think of anything safe to say.

      “I’m sorry, Clint. I’m sure that sounded crude, and I’m surprised I said it.”

      “Maybe you needed to.”

      Paula tilted her head as if weighing his comment. “You may be right. I tend to hold in things until they explode.” Looking uneasy, her attention drifted toward a couple of new guests who’d arrived. She dragged in a lengthy breath. “I should explain, I suppose.”

      He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he grasped his drink and leaned back in the chair, giving her time to decide what she wanted to say. Her expression created an unexpected ache. He’d suspected she buried things she didn’t want to deal with or think about. Her comment proved he’d been right.

      “I was never close to my parents. My dad split when I was still young. I hardly remember him, and my mom led a guarded life, one that didn’t involve me. I don’t think she ever said ‘I love you’ to anyone.”

      His chest constricted, air escaping his lungs. Everyone needed to be loved. He’d grown up hearing those words from his parents, and he knew that Jesus loved him. The childhood song swept through his mind. “I’m sorry, Paula. The words ‘I love you’ are precious.”

      She nodded without looking at him. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all of this.” She looked away for a moment.

      “I like getting to know you.”

      “Really?”

      He nodded, aching from the look on her face. “My life wasn’t perfect, either. Not by a long shot.”

      She studied him as if to make sure he meant what he said. “Thanks.” She raised her shoulders.

      He waited.

      Her shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of her past.

      “I’m here, Paula.” He tied down the other words longing to be spoken.

      Her head turned toward him like a weather vane in a faint breeze.

      When her eyes met his, he spoke those bottled-up words. “And I’m listening.”

      A wash of questioning rippled across her face before she took a deep breath. “I moved away from home as soon as I could. Took some college classes and worked a job to help pay for an apartment I shared with a couple of girls. When I finished my associate degree, I got a full-time job and took courses to work on a bachelor’s degree, but I never finished.” She shrugged. “It’s difficult working and going to school. I was dead tired all the time. I decided to put the dream to bed for a while.” She shifted and focused on him. “As life goes, I never went back to college.”

      “That happens. I started classes at Michigan State, but then got the firefighter bug. College isn’t necessary for the job, although it can help someone move up in the ranks. I plunged ahead, passed the written, physical and medical exams, and then earned my certification as an EMT.”

      “I’m impressed.” She lifted her plastic cup and took a sip.

      “Don’t be. It’s a job someone has to do, but I love it. Saving lives and helping people in trouble gives me an opportunity to do what I believe is important. You know the old saying, ‘What would Jesus do?’”

      Her head inched upward. “Should I be honest?”

      His eyebrows raised, and he forced them down. “Please.”

      “I don’t know what Jesus would do. That’s another part of life I missed out on.”

      “Religious training?”

      “My mother wasn’t a believer, I suspect. No Sunday school or church. Nothing.”

      “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be a believer. That’s something in the heart, not always in the home.”

      Her expression darkened.

      Concerned, he leaned forward. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I just meant that my faith deepened as life went on. I was born into a faith-filled family so I saw it in action, but it didn’t deepen until I experienced life and saw faith acted out each day.”

      “I suppose.” She stared into the distance for a moment, then continued. “I’m surprised Neely and Ashley have a religious foundation. Their mother and mine were sisters. Maybe if I’d had that kind of upbringing, my life would have been different.”

      “Hard to say why siblings aren’t always the same.” The urge to encourage her to study and grow in faith stirred through him, but he feared the results. “Maybe their dad was the influence.”

      A faint grin etched her mouth. “Probably was. Uncle Fred’s down-to-earth, funny and very thoughtful. He’s quite a character.”

      “He is. I get a kick out of—”

      “Pizza.” The word rang out as Devon came through the back door, holding a number of Jet’s Pizza boxes, while Ashley made room on the picnic table. “Time to eat.”

      Eating was the last thing Clint wanted to do. Paula had opened up, spilling out some of the hurts and situations that had molded her into the person he wanted to know better. But as others headed toward the table, Paula rose, and he followed, letting the subject drop. He sensed there was much more to tell, but today he’d made a little progress in getting to know the woman who’d become the center of his thoughts. Thoughts he couldn’t control. Ones that demanded attention.

      Pizza restricted their conversation, leaving him with the undaunted urge to rescue Paula from the hurts and damage from the past. He sat unmoving, the desire growing in his mind. He’d rescued many from flames and other tragic situations.

      But this was different. Was rescuing Paula even possible?