Barbara McCauley: Where There's Smoke...

She reached out, felt the comfort of Shane’s large hand closing over her own.

I’ve got you….

She heard Shane’s voice, felt his arms lifting her out of the ashes and rubble. He’d carried her down a ladder, covered her body with his to protect her. Stayed with her.

That was all she could remember. Nothing before that moment he’d scooped her up in his arms, nothing after he’d climbed into the ambulance with her.

As the pain eased, she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his furrowed brow.

“Shall I get the doctor?” he asked quietly.

“Now, see here.” Derrick smoothed a hand down his tie. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but my sister’s been through a terrible ordeal. I would appreciate it if you would—”

“Mr. Barone?” A redheaded nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your parents are on the phone at the desk. They asked to speak with you.”

Derrick glanced at Shane, then Emily. “I’ll be right back. If you need anything—”

“I’ll be here,” Shane said evenly.

Derrick frowned, then followed the nurse.

“You…saved me,” Emily murmured.

“You mean just now, or earlier?”

“Both.”

He smiled down at her. “Do you remember me?”

“The fire… You carried me out….”

When she started to cough, he squeezed her hand. “The doc says you’re going to be fine, but you’ve sucked some smoke into your lungs, which is going to make them burn for a day or two. And since a ceiling came down on your head, I suspect that’s gotta hurt, too.”

She nodded, then reached up and touched the bandage taped high on her temple. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us. You were the only person in the building when it caught fire.”

“Building?”

“Baronessa Gelati.” When she did not respond to the name, Shane lifted a brow. “Where you work.”

She closed her eyes, felt the pounding in her brain start up with renewed vigor. Why couldn’t she remember?

“Mr. Cummings.” A blond woman wearing a white doctor’s coat and black skirt came into the room. “I believe I sent you home.”

“I was on my way, Doc.” His expression innocent, Shane stuck his hands into his front pockets and stepped away from the bed. “But when I saw Miss Barone was conscious, I thought she might be able to tell us how the fire started.”

The doctor threw a dubious glance at Shane, pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose, then looked at Emily. “I’m Dr. Tuscano. How’s that head of yours feeling?”

“Like it’s trying to hatch,” Emily said weakly.

The doctor smiled. “I had to give you a few stitches along your hairline, but they should heal without a noticeable scar. We’re giving you pain medication in your IV right now, but if you do well through the rest of the night, we’ll take you off in the morning. Other than the laceration on your head, some bumps and bruises and a little smoke in your lungs, you’re in great shape considering your ordeal.”

“Shane saved my life,” Emily whispered.

“I believe he did,” Dr. Tuscano agreed as she made a note in Emily’s chart. “Your family will be very happy to hear you’ll be all right.”

“My family?”

The doctor paused in her writing and glanced up. Frowning, she set her chart down and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket. “You don’t remember the accident?”

“No.” Emily winced at the light the doctor shone in her eyes.

“Do you know who you are, where you live?”

Who she was? The pain in her head spiraled. She gathered from the conversation her name was Emily Barone. But she didn’t know who she really was. Nor where she lived. “No.”

“Hmm. A mild concussion, but nothing severe.” Dr. Tuscano slipped the flashlight back into her coat pocket and picked up the chart again. “Except for your parents, who are on their way here now, you should have no more visitors.”

“Dr. Tuscano—” the redheaded nurse stuck her head back in the doorway “—you’re wanted on line three. Dr. Heaton.”

“Be right there.” Smiling, the doctor patted Emily’s hand. “I’ll be here in the morning to check on you. We’ll see how you feel after a good night’s rest.”

Emily watched the doctor leave, then slowly turned her head toward Shane. He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands still in his pockets. She saw the worry in his gaze, had the strangest desire to touch his cheek, to comfort as much as to be comforted.

“I better go,” he said after a long moment. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

But she wasn’t all right. She didn’t know who she was, or what had happened to her; she had stitches in her head and an IV stuck in her arm.

She felt like a child. Alone and frightened. The only person she knew, the only person she could remember, was Shane. She didn’t want him to leave. She knew if he were here that she would be all right, that she could go to sleep and nothing would happen to her.

“Thank you for coming.” She silently cursed the tears burning her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Frowning, he moved closer. “Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”

“No.” She turned her head away. “I’m sorry. It’s silly.”

“What’s silly?”

“I thought maybe…if you wouldn’t mind…”

“What?”

“Could you…” She turned her head back to face him. “Could you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and reached for a chair and sat. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I could do that.”

“Thank you.”

She knew he was watching her, but it didn’t make her feel self-conscious. It made her feel safe.

She welcomed sleep, was certain that when she woke, her world would make sense again. That she would remember. Her eyelids grew heavy, and with a soft sigh she let the darkness wash over her.

In the spring, tourists came to Boston Harbor Marina in droves. Wearing their hats and sunscreen and fancy digital cameras with long-distance lens, families of sightseers converged on the docks. While dads clicked away, moms held on tightly to impatient little hands more eager to test the water rather than look at it. They ate foot-long hot dogs from Arnie’s Dog Cart at the end of the pier, ice cream cones from a vendor nicknamed Marty the Mariner, who entertained his clientele with stories of mermaids and ghost ships, then they took a two-hour tour of Boston Harbor.

From the deck of his sailboat, Shane watched the first tour bus of the day pull into a parking lot on the other side of the marina. A great place to visit, he thought, taking a long sip from the mug of steaming black coffee in his hand.

An even better place to live.

Half the year he lived in an apartment over his uncle’s pub, the other half he lived here in the marina. He’d used the money from his mom’s life insurance policy to buy the Free Spirit, a thirty-six-foot single-mast sloop. Marjorie Cummings had loved the ocean, had enjoyed the sailing trips her son had taken her on before and even after she’d fallen ill. Shane liked to think that he’d made her smile when he’d bought the boat and moved in.

Damn, but he missed that smile.

The sound of a powerboat pulling away from its slip caught his attention, and he lifted a hand in greeting as The Sea Breeze passed by. She was a pretty little yacht. Built for show as well as speed. And while Shane admired the shiny chrome and custom paint, the fancy boat with all its bells and whistles and oversize stateroom was simply not his style. What would he do with all that space? he thought in amusement. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife, though a few of the women he’d dated had made it clear they’d be happy to change his marital status.