Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman

He threw off the blanket and rose, walking to the window and opening it wide for the fresh air. The cold breeze swept over him, jarring him further. He breathed in the crisp air, relishing the icy clean feel. No smoke. No voices screaming in terror. Nothing here but the peaceful countryside in the middle of the night. The trees blotted out a lot of the stars. The moon rode low on the horizon, its light dancing on the shimmering surface of the lake, a sliver of which was visible from the window.

He gripped the sill and fought the remnants of the nightmare. It was hauntingly familiar. He’d had it often enough since that fateful day. Gradually the echoes of frantic screams faded. The horror receded. The soft normal sounds of night crept in.

Long moments later he turned to get dressed. There would be no more sleep tonight.

Once warmly clothed, he went to the motorcycle and climbed on board. A ride through the higher mountain roads would get him focused. He knew he was trying to outrun the demons. Nothing would ever erase that day from his mind. But he couldn’t stay inside a moment longer. The wind rushed through his hair; the sting of cold air on his cheeks proved he was alive. And the lack of smoke was life-affirming. It was pure nectar after the hell he’d lived through.

Driving on the curving roads required skill and concentration. One careless moment and he could go spinning over the side and fall a hundred feet. The hills were deserted. No homes were back here, no one to see him as he made the tight turns, forcing the motorcycle to greater speed. He still felt that flare of exhilaration of conquering the challenge, his skills coming into play. At least he had this.

It was close to dawn when Cristiano approached the village. He’d made a wide circle and was heading back to home. A hot cup of espresso sounded good right about now.

He settled in on the road that curved around the lake. Soon he’d turn for the short climb to the family cottage. Then he smelt it.

Smoke.

His gut clenched. For a moment he thought he imagined it. He drew in a deep breath—it was in the air. Where there was smoke, there was fire. He slowed down and peered around. No one would have a campfire going at this hour; it was getting close to dawn. There, stronger now. To the left, near the lake.

For a moment indecision gripped him. Each breath identified the smoke as it wafted on the morning air. Forest fire? Building fire? He stopped the motorcycle, holding it upright with one foot on the ground. Every muscle tightened. He couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed. Where were the village’s firefighters? Why wasn’t someone responding? Had the alarm even been sounded?

Seconds sped by.

Instinct kicked in. He slowly started moving, lifting his foot from the ground as the bike picked up speed.

He spotted a flicker of light where only darkness should be. He opened the throttle and raced toward the spot. In a moment, he recognized where he was—near the Bertatalis’ row of cottages beside the lake. The flickering light came from the last one—the one Mariella and the baby were in!

He gunned the motor and leaned on the horn. In only a moment, lights went on in the Bertatalis’ main house. He didn’t stop, hoping they’d see the fire and respond. Seconds counted. Smoke inhalation could be fatal long before the actual flames touched anyone. Stopping near the cottage, he threw down the bike and raced to the door. He could see the fire through the living-room window almost consuming the entire area. The roof was already burning with flames escaping into the night. It would be fatal to enter that room.

Running to the back, he tried to figure out which window was the bedroom. Pounding on the glass, he heard no response. He hit his fist against the glass, but nothing happened. Quickly looked for anything to help; there—a large branch of a tree had fallen. Praying the baby was not sleeping beneath the window, he swung it like a bat, shattering the glass.

Smoke poured out. He could see the flames eagerly devouring the living room through the open bedroom door.

“Mariella,” he shouted, levering himself up on the sill, brushing away glass shards, feeling the slight prick of a cut. He coughed in the smoky air.

“Huh?”

The sleepy voice responded. He jumped into the room and quickly assessed the situation. The door was open, the flames visible through the roiling smoke. Time was of the essence.

“Get up,” he yelled, slamming shut the bedroom door, hoping it would hold the flames until he could get them out of the room. Where was Dante? He searched for the baby by touch in the smoke-filled room. There, near the wall, a cry sounded. He snatched up Dante and looked for Mariella. She was not responding. Had she already been overcome by smoke?

Stepping quickly as the crackling sounded louder, he found her still in bed and dragged her up.

“The cottage is on fire,” he said as calmly as he could, trying to get through to her. He heard the sirens. Finally. Fear closed his throat as he looked overhead. An explosion paralyzed him. Was the tunnel caving in? Were there more bombs? Why wasn’t his breathing mask working? He coughed in the smoke and moved toward the opening, pulling her with him. Echoes of men and women’s screams sounded. The baby began screaming. Where was the little boy? Where was Stephano? Who could have done such a thing? How long did they have until everyone was safe?

“Cristiano?” Mariella’s voice broke through. She coughed as she stumbled beside him. “What happened?”

“Don’t know. Get out.” They had reached the window and he scooped her up until she had her feet out the window, then pushed her gently until she jumped free. One leg over the sill, Dante in his arms, he didn’t hesitate. A bright show of sparks and fire exploded as part of the front roof collapsed. Jumping free, he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the cottage, the baby wailing in his arms. Past and present merged. Cristiano didn’t stop running until he recognized the lake. Mariella kept up with him, coughing in the cold air.

The village volunteer firefighters were on their way. The sirens pierced the dawn air. Cristiano fought to keep his mind focused on the present, to be by the lake, to ignore the clamoring of his mind to relive the terror of a day in May.

In only moments the fire engine stopped, men scrambling to positions. Leaning against a tree, Cristiano stared at the fire, his throat tight. Tonight had not ended in tragedy.

“All my things,” Mariella said, watching as the bedroom seemed to blossom with fire. “My laptop, my clothes. Dante’s clothes. How could this happen?” She had tears running down her face. A moment later she was coughing again, shivering in the dawn light.

He pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulder, the baby screaming in his arms. “They are only things. You and the baby are safe, that’s what’s important.” He offered up a quick prayer that he’d been able to save them. He’d faced his worst fear and come through.

Stephano and so many others hadn’t been as lucky.

He watched the fire devour the cottage. In only moments it was completely engulfed in flames. He could feel the heat from where they stood.

She shivered again and he looked at her. The fire gave plenty of illumination. Shrugging out of his jacket, he wrapped it around her and handed her the crying baby. Her feet were still bare and must be freezing in the cold. Without a word, he picked them both up and headed toward the Bertatalis’ main house. His ankle felt stiff, but it held. With grim satisfaction for the healing his body had done, he stepped carefully on the uneven ground, swinging wide around the burning cottage.

She coughed and tried to comfort the crying baby.

Signora Bertatali stood on the porch of her home, tears running down her cheek. When she saw Cristiano carrying Mariella and the baby, she hurried over.

“Thank God they are safe. Cristiano, thank you. Let me take the baby,” she said, reaching out for Dante. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I saw the fire from the road and came to get them.”

Mariella flung one arm around his neck. “I was asleep. Cristiano woke me up. How could the fire start?” She coughed again so hard, he almost dropped her.

“Try to take a deep slow breath. You’re suffering from smoke inhalation.”

“I don’t know how this could happen. Oh, my dear, when I realized it was our cottage I feared the worst. Paolo has gone to help the firefighters. We’ll know more after they tell us. Come, inside where it’s warm. Did you leave the stove on or something?” Signora Bertatali asked, leading the way to her home. The warmth after the cold dawn felt wonderful. The baby stopped crying when in the light, blinking around, still looking as if he’d begin again in an instant.

“No. I turned it off after dinner,” Mariella said.

“Oh, your poor feet. They’re cut. Let me get some cloths and towels and take care of that,” Signora Bertatali exclaimed, hurrying into the back bathroom, still jiggling the baby, trying to comfort him.

“I had to break a window to get into the bedroom. The living room was engulfed with flames when I arrived,” Cristiano said, lowering Mariella down on a chair and kneeling in front of her to examine her feet as she began coughing again. She drew his jacket closer. A deep cut with a glass shard still in her left foot was bleeding; there were minor cuts on her right foot that had already stopped.

“This looks as if it needs stitches,” he said, taking one of the towels Signora Bertatali brought and, after pulling the glass out, wrapped her foot.

The next while was chaotic. More volunteers arrived. Then the ambulance from Monta Correnti. Mariella and Dante were loaded up and taken to hospital while Cristiano stayed behind.

“I’ll come to the hospital soon,” he said as they drove away.

Now that the situation was under control, he watched from a distance until the fire was out. The adrenalin was wearing off. He could hear Stephano calling him. Feel the darkness closing in even as the sun broke on the horizon.

Retrieving his motorcycle, he roared off once more—trying to outrace the past.

Chapter Three

MARIELLA braced herself against another bump as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. Dante cried until she picked him up to cuddle, trying to hold him around the oxygen nodules they both wore. He grew quiet at that and snuggled against Mariella. “Oh, sweet thing, we almost died.” Tears pricked her eyes. She caught a sob. How could the cottage catch fire? And why had there been no alarms to alert them of the danger before it was too late? The first she’d known of the emergency was when she heard Cristiano calling her name. Smoke had filled their room and she’d almost passed out trying to get out of bed and to safety. Breathing had been almost impossible.

The next thing she remembered was stumbling into the yard with Cristiano while Dante cried. Thank God he was safe. They both were.

Her head pounded and her eyes watered again. Coughing, she felt she could not draw a full breath. A weight seemed pressed against her chest.

“We’ll have you to hospital in just a short while. They’ll bathe your eyes and continue the oxygen until morning,” the EMT said, handing her a tissue to wipe the tears.

The baby had settled down, looked as if he was going back to sleep. She kissed his cheek, so grateful. Mariella wished she could drop off as he did and forget everything—if only for a few hours. Who would think such things happened while on holiday?

Once they reached the hospital, nurses swarmed around the ambulance. One gently took the baby, promising to take good care of him as she whisked him away to be seen by a doctor. Another helped Mariella into a wheelchair and pushed her quickly into the ER. It was quiet except for the two of them. In a short while a doctor had cleaned the cuts and stitched up the one on her left foot.

“Where’s my baby?” she asked.

“He’s in Pediatrics, on oxygen. A pediatrician has checked him out. Except for smoke inhalation, he seems fine. You can see him soon.”

Mariella nodded. She already missed him. She needed to see again that he was all right. But patience was called for. For the first time she had a moment to think. Cristiano had saved them. She had no idea how he’d happened to be there, but she thanked God he had been. He was a hero. Without his intervention, she and Dante could have died.

After she’d been seen by the doctor, she was conveyed to a semi-private room by way of the pediatric ward. Once satisfied Dante was safely asleep, she allowed herself to be taken to her own room where she insisted she could bathe herself. After a quick shower, she gladly lay down, with oxygen, and tried to sleep—but the horrors of the night haunted her. What if Cristiano hadn’t arrived? She and the baby could have been burned to death. What had caused the fire? What had brought Cristiano there at exactly the right time? It was much, much later before she fell into a fitful sleep.

Mariella stood by the window of the hospital room in the late morning gazing at the beauty before her. The gardens of the hospital gave way to the view of rolling hills that gave this area so much of its beauty. She knew the lake lay beyond her view. From her vantage point she saw only the edge of a bustling town and the distant serene countryside. The village was hidden behind a fold in the hills and no trace of smoke marred the crystal-blue sky.

Everyone went along with their daily lives. She had lost clothes and her laptop. And her photo of Ariana. Dante had only the sleeper he wore when they were rescued. Her livelihood depended on connections with her clients. She had to get another computer soon. She had backup files at home, so wouldn’t totally start from the beginning. But this would certainly put a crimp in things.

The few hours’ sleep she’d managed made her feel refreshed. She needed her wits about her to get back on track. Maybe she should consider returning to Rome immediately. But she wasn’t sure when she’d have another break in her workload to look for Dante’s father. If she didn’t do some checking now, people would forget. Maybe they already had. But she owed it to the baby to find out anything she was able to.

Even with oxygen she still used she felt as though her lungs were on fire and it was difficult to breathe. Still, things were improving—she could go several minutes without the racking coughs.

She was declared healthy enough to be discharged, with a follow-up visit scheduled for a few days later.

She hurried to the pediatric ward, limping slightly because of the stitches in her left foot. She slowed in surprise to see Cristiano staring at the babies in the nursery.

“Cristiano?”

He turned and smiled when he saw her, giving her a critical look. “How are you today?”

She coughed, then smiled as she came up to him. “Much better. Doctor said I can go home and come back in a few days for another checkup.” She looked into the nursery. “Is Dante in there?”

“No, these are newborns. Look how small they are.”

She noticed the four babies and smiled. “Dante was tiny like that when he was born. Now look how big he’s grown.”

He turned and studied her again. “You really okay or are you pushing things?”

“I really will be fine. Let’s find Dante.”

Mariella was wearing clothes lent to her by a nurse on the night shift. Her feet didn’t bother her much. The cut on the left gave her a bit of a limp, but the doctor had assured her it would heal quickly with no lasting damage. The scruffy slippers she wore needed to be replaced, too. Her mind spun with all she needed to do.

Cristiano led the way into the pediatric ward and in seconds they were in the room with the baby.

“The pediatrician made his round a short time ago,” the nurse said. “Your baby’s ready to go.” She smiled at both of them. “He’s a darling child. So attentive. But I know he misses his parents.”

In a moment Mariella stood by the crib. Dante looked up at Mariella and gave her a wide grin. Lifting his arms, he came up easily when she reached out to pick him up. She held him closely, relishing the warmth of him in her arms. Her heart swelled with love. For a moment she almost broke into tears thinking about how close she had come to losing him. He was her precious son. The last link to her dearest friend. She gave silent thanks for his safety.

She turned to Cristiano. “You did a wondrous thing saving us. How could I ever thank you?” Mariella took a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of baby powder and baby shampoo.

“Just get well fast. I’m glad I was there.”

“And knew what to do. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.”

“Don’t. Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’m not a big fan of hospitals.”

As soon as they stepped outside he steered her to the black sports car parked nearby. Eying it dubiously, she asked, “Do you have a car seat for Dante?”

“The hospital is lending us one until you buy another. Then we’ll bring it back. First thing, you need some clothes. Not that the outfit you’re wearing doesn’t have a certain cachet,” he said, opening the door and pushing the passenger seat forward to access the baby’s seat.

She laughed, then broke into coughing again. “Thanks. Nothing boosts a woman’s ego more than compliments—” She stopped abruptly, before saying from a man she cares about. She had only just met the man. Taking the opportunity to end the statement while she put Dante into the carrier, she vowed to watch what she said in future.

Dante was oblivious to any tension. He babbled away in baby language and patted Mariella’s face. Tangling his fingers in Mariella’s long hair as she leaned over fastening the straps, he pulled.

“Ouch. You have to stop doing that,” Mariella said with a laugh, grabbing his little hand and kissing the fingers. “That hurts!”

“He seems in fine form,” Cristiano said.

Mariella smiled. “Seems as if no harm done. He’s not even coughing.”

Once she got Dante situated, she turned to Cristiano, so glad he’d come for her. “I have a million things to do. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Who else?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Who else indeed? She had no one except friends in Rome. If he was willing, she’d take all the help she could get.

“I have no identification—it burned in the fire. Along with all my money. I guess the first stop should be the bank, to see if I can get some cash.”

“If not, I’ll advance you some. Come on, it’s breezy, let’s get going.”

Fifteen minutes later Mariella sat in a branch of her bank, talking with a manger to verify her identity and get money. Dante sat in Cristiano’s lap, reaching for things on the manager’s desk. He patiently pulled him back each time.

“That takes care of that,’ the manager said as he hung up his telephone. “I’ll get my secretary to bring you the money, and a temporary check book. You’ll get imprinted checks sent to your home.”

“Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

The speedy transaction had been facilitated by Cristiano. The manager knew him and his family.

Once Mariella had money, Cristiano drove to a department store where she could get all she needed. He knew his way around Monta Correnti, for which she was grateful.

First purchase was a stroller for Dante, and a baby carrier. Once she no longer had to carry him, she felt better able to cope.

“Get a few things for him. I’ll watch him, then, while you get your things,” Cristiano suggested.

“You are a saint to do all this for me,” she said. “I’m not sure I could have managed on my own.”

He reached out and brushed back a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. The touch sent shockwaves running through her body. She smiled shyly and wanted to catch his hand and hold onto it, gaining what strength she could from him. But she kept still, treasuring the touch of his fingertips.

“You could have managed, I have no doubt. But why do it on your own?”

She nodded, knowing he’d made a special effort to help her. From comments Signora Bertatali had made, Cristiano had not left Lake Clarissa since he had arrived. She didn’t know why he made an exception for her, but she was grateful.

“Next should be food for the baby. Once he’s ready to eat, he lets everyone know in no uncertain terms—crying his head off.”

“I bow to your assessment.”

Mariella enjoyed shopping, the easy banter that grew between them. She held up baby clothes for his approval, which he gave after much mock deliberation.

“It really doesn’t matter that much,” she said, laughing at his posturing about the perfect outfit for Dante. “He’s a baby. He doesn’t know or care what he wears.”

“Hey, he’s special. He needs to make a statement—he’s cool and he knows it.”

She laughed again. Who could have suspected the devastation of the fire could lead to such a fun day-after? “I’ll be sure to take pictures so he’ll know when he’s older.”

Cristiano cocked his head at that. “Do you have a camera?”

“It burned.”

“We’ll get another.”

“All the pictures I had on it are gone, too.”

“All the more reason to make sure you start snapping new photos, so those won’t be missed.”

Her coughing was the only flaw in the day. She bought enough clothes to take care of a few days, shoes that didn’t hurt her foot, and cosmetics—a definite necessity when she saw her face in the mirror. She probably should think about returning home to Rome. But she was enjoying every moment with Cristiano. She didn’t want to think about being practical just yet.

Cristiano stood outside the dressing room, waiting for Mariella. Dante had been fed, changed, and was now asleep in the stroller. Idly he pushed it back and forth, but the baby didn’t need soothing, he was out for his nap.

Glancing around the department store, he noted he was the only man, except for an elderly gentleman talking with his wife. If he’d ever suspected he’d be watching a baby this October day, that would have surprised him. Yet he couldn’t imagine letting Mariella and Dante face this alone.

She came out of the dressing room wearing jeans that should have been banned—they made her figure look downright hot. The long-sleeve pink top highlighted her coloring and made her eyes seem even brighter silver. He could look at her all day. It wasn’t just her looks that made it easy on the eyes. Her innate optimism shone from her eyes. He wished he could capture some of that for himself.

“Okay, I’ve gotten all I need, just have to pay for everything,” she said, with a bright smile at him and a quick check for Dante.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, watching with appreciation as she walked away. Those freckles across her nose called to him. He wondered if she liked them. He’d heard from his sister when growing up that most women did not want freckles. He found them enticing. In fact, the more he saw of Mariella, the more he found enticing. She was pretty, sexy, and nurturing. He liked watching her with Dante. The baby seemed as fascinated with her as Cristiano was. “Probably a male thing,” he murmured to the sleeping baby.

“All set,” she said a moment later.

“Let’s eat. You have to be hungry after all this and I know I am.”

“Great. Where? Oh, dumb question, you probably always eat at your family restaurant.”

Cristiano felt the comment like a slap. He had not been to Rosa for a long time. He’d been avoiding his cosseting family as much as he could, not wanting their sympathy over his injuries, and especially not wanting them to learn of his torment.

Excuses surged to mind. “I thought we’d eat closer to where we are. Rosa is across town. Then we need to get you two back to Lake Clarissa.”

“Why? Where am I going to stay?”

“You could stay with me,” he said. Then stared at her as the words echoed. Was he totally crazy? He’d been avoiding people to keep quiet about the flashbacks. He could not have anyone stay at the cottage. The first night he had a nightmare, the secret would be revealed.

“Thank you, really, but I can’t stay with you. If the Bertatalis have another cabin available, maybe I’ll stay a bit longer. I probably ought to return to Rome.”

“Don’t go.”

He felt the intensity of her gaze. He could almost feel her mind working as she considered staying.

“Maybe for a few more days. I have no picture of Ariana to show around, few clothes, no computer.”

“I have one you can use.”

She slowly smiled. It was all Cristiano could do to refrain from leaning over and kissing her right in the middle of the department store. He caught his breath and forced himself to look away. Had he gone completely round the bend? He’d never felt such a strong desire to kiss a woman before. Obviously complete isolation was driving him more crazy than he already was.

“Then I’ll stay for a few more days.”

A man in his situation couldn’t ask for more than that. At least not yet.

When Cristiano drove into the village by the lake, Mariella felt her stress level rise. The horror of the fire rose the closer they got to the resort. She wondered if she could ever fall asleep without fearing a fire would consume her lodgings.

He stopped the car near the Bertatalis’ residence. The charred remains of the cottage could be seen clearly in the daylight. How had the fire started?

Signora Bertatali must have heard them as she threw open her door and rushed out to Mariella.

“Ah, Signorina Holmes. You are back.” She hugged Mariella, baby and all. “I am so thankful. And the baby, he is well?” She greeted Cristiano and insisted on all coming into her home.

“We are devastated your cabin burned. Aye, when I think of what could have happened without the swift intervention of Cristiano. You will stay with us at no cost, we insist. That such a thing could happen is not acceptable. The fire chief thinks the heater’s wiring overloaded. All are being inspected before we rent out another space. The electrician is here even now. I am so sorry. When I think of what could have happened—”

“We’re fine, signora.”

Cristiano nodded at her acknowledgment, staying near the door.

“Our insurance will cover everything. Please say you’ll stay a little longer. We do not want you to remember Lake Clarissa with the horror from the fire. Do let us make it up to you. My husband has a contractor going over every inch of every cottage. They will be totally safe. I guarantee it. Please stay.”

Mariella looked at Cristiano. “A day or two,” she agreed.

“I am so grateful you are safe. And your baby. Come, let me prepare some tea and you sit. Please, come into the kitchen.”

Signora Bertatali bustled around asking question after question. How did she feel? Did she get enough clothing?

“We are all so fortunate you saw the fire,” she said to Cristiano. “How did you from your grandfather’s cottage?”

He explained he’d been riding. Mariella wondered why he’d gone riding in the middle of the night. Not that it mattered. Thanks to him, they were safe.

Signora Bertatali poured the hot tea and sat at the table across from Mariella and Cristiano. Dante began fussing and Mariella reached into the baby bag to bring out a bottle. In short order it was ready.

“Let me. You drink your tea,” Cristiano said, reaching for the little boy. Dante was light in his arms. For a moment Cristiano saw the baby he’d rescued. How was that child doing all these months later? He would have to see if he could find out.

“Thank you.”

“And you, Cristiano, your family will be even more proud to learn of your rescue of last night. After that terrorist attack in Rome. I shiver every time I think about it.”

He had no comeback. He didn’t care if his family never knew of last night’s fire. He was content to know he’d been able to function as his training had prepared him. No fear except for the woman and child.

Once Dante had been fed and changed, Signora took them to the cottage right next door to the Bertatalis’ home. It had been completely checked out and declared safe. Cristiano unpacked his car and brought in all her new clothes while Mariella put the baby down in the new crib.

Too tired to think straight, she thanked him and watched as he left, then fell on top of the bed and pulled over a blanket. Before she could mentally list any of the many steps she needed to take, she fell asleep.

The next morning Cristiano sat on the flagstone patio in front of the cottage and read from the latest manual his commander had sent him. Still technically on disability leave, he had plenty of time to keep up with the latest information and his commander agreed, sending him updates and reports to keep him current.

He heard a sound and looked up, surprised to see Mariella walking down the long graveled driveway. The sun turned her hair a shimmery molten gold shot through with strands of copper. She wore dark trousers and a sweater, though the afternoon was warm for October. He hadn’t expected to see her here. How had she found the cottage? Not that it was hidden, lying right off the main road.

“Buongiorno,” she called in greeting.

“Hello,” he said, rising as he placed the manual face down on the small table. He hadn’t expected her to make the long walk up a hill with a cut on her foot. Where was the baby?

“I came to say thank you for saving us,” she said.

“You did that yesterday,” he said, watching as she walked closer. He could see no lasting effects of the fire. Only the faintest hint of a limp showed.

“I know. I just wanted to see you again.” She gave a shy smile and the effect on his senses was like the sun coming out after days of rain. For a moment, he felt elation. Then common sense intruded. He’d asked her to stay in Lake Clarissa, she had. Now she probably wondered why.