The Firefighter's Christmas Promise
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Tanya Agler
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CHAPTER ONE
WITH THE CLOSING happening yesterday on the future Mountain Vista Soccer Complex, the air around Becks Porter seemed that much sweeter. Good thing, too, since she’d sunk every penny of her life savings into the venture. This North Carolina property, perfect for six outdoor fields alongside the prefab building that contained enough room for four indoor ones, was hers and hers alone. The future was now.
Becks dug her ground cleats into the grassy field closest to the majestic view of the Great Smoky Mountains that sold her on the location. From here, the gentle slope, now stark with gray branches of oaks and maples awaiting that first blanket of snow, gave off a peaceful vibe. She inhaled one more breath before exhaling into her metal whistle for the sheer joy of hearing the echo. Then she texted her staff she was on her way to join them for her first official meeting on the actual premises. With Thanksgiving a memory and Christmas on the horizon, parents would be seeking ways for their preteen children to run off steam throughout the long winter months, and grandparents would be searching for presents more unique than the usual colorful sweaters or lava lamps. Becks had the perfect answer for them. A gift certificate for soccer lessons at the new complex run by a former professional player, the only one of its kind in the area.
She contained her excitement at entering the building situated a fair distance away from the indoor soccer facility. While she’d have loved for the buildings to be closer together, the offices of the one-time industrial facility were made separate so the heavy machinery wouldn’t disturb employees. Someday she might be able to change that, but not today. With the utilities turned on this morning, the planned facility upgrades would commence in earnest so the first sessions would take place as scheduled in late January. Still, who’d have guessed a steel mill could be converted to an indoor soccer facility with a little money and a lot of imagination?
Becks proceeded to the closest gathering space. Her newly hired staff of four sat in metal folding chairs around a makeshift table. She had already been hard at work on the new website, registration, and coaching strategies with three of her employees throughout the day. The fourth had spent his time on assessing renovations.
“Thank you for going on this journey with me. With hard work and a vision, the Mountain Vista Soccer Complex will be one of the top ten soccer academies in the Southeast, if not the nation, by this time next year.” She outlined the agenda for the rest of the meeting and led off with Stan the groundskeeper.
Stan, who was in his late fifties with a baseball cap and a brown flannel shirt and dusty jeans, ran through his extensive list of tasks that needed doing. Becks opened her mouth to ask a question, but he’d only paused for a breath. “I spent all morning inspecting this building. Started the afternoon in the indoor soccer facility. Plenty that needs doing.”
She waited another minute, and this time he had finished. She turned to her assistant, Sharlene.
“Any word from Kick, Goal and Score yet?” Becks asked. “The partnership with them is key to getting more signups from the parents of tweens and teens all over the region.”
Part of her business plan depended on aligning the complex with an established company with a track record of coaching successful players. Known for their aggressive approach, Kick, Goal and Score promoted themselves and their affiliates extensively. They also helped organize summer soccer camps and travel leagues for the best of the best rising talent. In return for exclusive rights to her complex, they’d pay her more than enough for her business to thrive.
Sharlene pulled out her phone. “Stacy, Wallace Key’s assistant, emailed a few minutes ago. She’s coming on Friday.”
Doing a mental happy dance, Becks turned her attention back to Stan. “It’s Tuesday. That gives you three days. Will you have the goals set up and that hole filled in?”
He removed his cap and scratched his bald head. “Thought I had a month to finish everything. Can’t guarantee the goals. I have the supplies ready. Fixing that hole is my top priority, but it won’t happen if I’m sitting around talking. I’d best get to work if you can do without me.”
“Not a problem.” Becks thanked him while he replaced his cap and ducked out of the room.
“If it’s okay, I have to be going, too. My daughter’s arriving with my little grandbaby in an hour. Have I shown you my latest pictures?” Sharlene raised her cell phone for them to see the photos and express polite admiration, although Becks was confident Sharlene’s grandson couldn’t hold a soccer ball to Becks’s daughter, Pippa.
Tonight she’d take Pippa out for tacos to celebrate getting the business officially up and running.
“Anything else, Sharlene?” Becks asked.
The older woman fluffed her gray hair and then lowered her phone. “I’m working hard on an opportunity that’ll raise community awareness, but I’ll fill you in later.”
Sharlene headed for the door and Becks stayed behind with her two other employees, a married duo who served in various roles, including the director of training and registrar respectively. Becks clutched the soccer ball next to her laptop bag and bounced it on her knee. “Up for a quick practice session?”
Dante Jones nodded while his pregnant wife, Amara, shook her head. “I’ll watch while you two kick the ball around.”
“We won’t be long. I have to pick up Pippa from day care in half an hour.”
Outside, Becks went through her stretching routine while Dante made sure Amara was bundled up, wrapping her scarf around her neck twice for good measure. Once upon a time, Becks’s former fiancé, Carlos, had done the same for Becks, but he’d broken off their engagement rather than support her dream of becoming a professional soccer player, and the less she thought about Pippa’s father and her ex-husband, Jack, the better.
She and Dante got started but within seconds, Becks navigated the ball past the former collegiate star and kicked it so it sailed into the goal area. Her knee might be sore tomorrow morning, but it was nice to know she still had it.
Her phone rang, and she stopped. “It’s my lawyer, Penelope. I’d best take this.” Had she forgotten to sign one of the forms at the closing? “Hi, did I accidentally sign something as Becks instead of Rebecca?”
“You remember that matter you referred to me a couple of months ago? The one regarding Pippa?”
Becks gripped the phone, not liking the tension in Penelope’s usual cautious tone. “Hold on a second. This sounds serious.” Becks begged off to Dante and Amara, who confirmed they’d be at the complex bright and early tomorrow. “I’m back.”
“Do you have a minute to drop by my office today?”
Stan stomped her way, and he didn’t look happy. “Can you hold that thought? Sorry.” Becks joined Stan, who muttered something under his breath.
He stared at her through slitted eyelids. “Did you inspect the property before you signed those papers?”
“I toured the buildings with the seller, who assured me everything was up to code.” But it wouldn’t have mattered. This property was the only one in her hometown of Hollydale or the surrounding area that fit her price range with sufficient acreage and square footage. “I bought the property as is.”
He removed that too-familiar baseball cap and scratched the top of his head. “Your wiring’s shot in parts of the indoor facility, and the sprinkler system needs updating around the second and third fields.”
It could be worse. Somehow. “Can you fix that? Or will I have to subcontract the work?” The extra cost might make opening on time difficult, and her business plan didn’t have that much wiggle room. “How many changes are we talking about anyway?”
While money was tight, the players, whether five or ninety-five, came first. She wouldn’t compromise anyone’s safety.
“I’m heading to Farr’s Hardware now. I’ll give you a ballpark figure tomorrow, but it’s not going to be cheap.” He stormed off before she could ask any more questions.
Penelope’s voice calling Becks’s name reminded her of her lawyer’s presence on the line. Becks brought the phone back to her ear. “You have my full attention.”
“Drop by my office as soon as possible. My paralegal has already left for the day so come on back.”
Becks had gone from elation over closing on her dream property to concerns over impending repairs in her immediate future. She’d have to prepare herself for whatever Penelope had to tell her.
Less than a half hour later Becks’s mouth dropped. She reread the order from the California judge allowing Jack to have joint custodial rights. “Please tell me this isn’t so. He’s coming this Saturday to take her for the whole month of December?” Becks felt empty as if someone had sapped her strength. “I live in North Carolina now. Can we appeal to the court system here?”
“No. Your legal state of residence with Jack at the time of the divorce was California. They have jurisdiction.” Sympathy shone in her friend’s brown eyes.
“Give me some hope, Penelope. She’s only two years old. She’s never been separated from me before, especially not at Christmas. She doesn’t even know Jack.”
Becks could say the same thing about herself and this latest stunt of his. After he lied and lied before admitting his infidelity, she’d immediately flown back to Hollydale with Pippa in tow and started divorce proceedings. Since she hadn’t forged ahead with a prenup, he’d taken half of her career earnings.
Never again would she fall off the deep end and feel so vulnerable.
“As your friend, I know how badly he hurt you, and starting a custodial battle after two years apart from Pippa doesn’t help my low opinion of him.” She set the stack of papers on the desk next to her glasses and met Becks’s gaze. “As your attorney, however, I have to tell you that the judge’s reasoning is airtight. You’re going to have to let her go.”
That last ember of hope was snuffed out, and Becks wrapped her thick gray sweater around her.
If the best lawyer in Hollydale, if not the entire state of North Carolina, said Becks’s case was futile, she’d have to meet Jack at the airport and deliver their daughter to him. Once again, Jack had won.
Somehow Becks would face the holiday season without waking up to Pippa’s joy on Christmas morning.
“Thank you for telling me in person.”
Moments later, Becks sat in her car, staring at the steering wheel, numb and hurt. Part of the reason she was opening this soccer academy was as a means to provide for her daughter so Pippa wouldn’t have to depend on Jack’s low amount of child support. Without Pippa at the dedication and first kickoff next month, the joy of bringing her dream to life seeped out of her.
WITHIN SECONDS OF the alarm sounding in the station, Carlos Ramirez tugged on his big black boots, followed by his pants and hood. His firefighter gear went on in less than a minute, but his father, Roberto, the fire chief of Dalesford County, emphasized safety above speed. That was wise advice that Carlos tried to heed every time he suited up.
For now, however, every moment counted, and Carlos grabbed his turnout gear and sat on his pack in his seat on the first engine. Sirens confirmed the second was close behind. He finished closing his coat and let the adrenaline take over. While he hadn’t visited the Mountain Vista Soccer Complex yet, several of the firefighters, including the three on his crew, had discussed forming a team for a friendly game against the local police. Just after midnight, less than eight minutes since the call came into the station, they arrived at the scene. Already the dense acrid smell of smoke permeated the air.
Carlos could only make out one window of the commercial building that had smoke billowing from it, with flames licking the air. From his vantage point, the sprinkler system didn’t seem to be functioning. That would make the team’s evening that much harder, but he’d faced worse before.
Ned Grayson, the battalion chief, barked out orders, and the crew got to work.
Carlos’s chest tightened before he let instinct and training kick in. He took up the first connected hose and entered the building. The firefighters from the second engine were searching for anyone or thing in need of rescue. So far, it seemed as though the building was empty. With the crew’s combined efforts underway, he focused on fighting the smoke and flames around him and aimed his hose at the base of the fire. He swept the water in an arc from side to side.
In an instant, the smoke changed color from a billowy gray to a fierce black. The heat intensity dialed up a notch, noticeable even through the thick protective layers that covered his body. He adjusted the spray and soon the flames flickered low. Still, the sheer volume of smoke impacted visibility.
“Clear out.” A voice came through his headset. “Let the remainder of the fire burn itself out.”
“Negative on that. Confinement is near,” Carlos said into his mouthpiece, careful to keep the spray of water pointed at the dwindling fire on the AstroTurf covering.
“Copy that, Ramirez. Stay the course.” The battalion chief’s voice came over the frequency and issued other orders.
His vision blurred. Carlos stayed low on the AstroTurf until he found his path blocked. He considered backing up when something crashed behind him. Pivoting, he found a wedge of ceiling had broken off. He tried going around the obstacle, but more debris lay in front of him and soon he lost his footing. His legs became entangled in a web of rope, the goal, he realized too late, and he landed hard. His body jarred from the impact. In his fourteen years as a firefighter, he’d only suffered minor scrapes yet the instant pain throbbing in his ankle and up his thigh let him know that this was something more serious.
Carlos spoke into the headset. “Grayson, are the EMTs still here?”
“Affirmative.” Static cut through Grayson’s connection. “Do you require assistance?”
“Negative.” At least he hoped that was the case. The last thing he needed was ribbing from being unable to navigate around a simple net and goalposts. Just to be sure, Carlos stood and put weight on this injured leg. To his surprise, he could do so. Whether it wasn’t so bad or simply adrenaline keeping him upright remained to be seen. “Concerned about my ankle.”
“Get out of there. The rest of the crew can handle what’s left.” Ned’s order came through the headset. “Bukowski, cover Ramirez.”
Carlos limped until he reached the door. With the fire out and visibility restored, the rest of this night would be straightforward, except for the cog he’d placed in the wheel.
Ned and a paramedic, Mason Ruddick, met him at the entrance.
They attempted to carry him to the ambulance, but Carlos waved them off. “I can walk.”
Despite the activity surrounding the two engines, someone on the sidelines caught Carlos’s attention. It was as if the breath had been sucked out of him as he caught sight of Rebecca Harrison for the first time in years. While she preferred the sportier nickname of Becks, she’d always be Becca to him. His first love and the only woman he’d ever asked to marry him.
With her crystal blue gaze focused on the building, he was unsure whether she’d seen him. Her bright red hair was still styled in a short cut that framed her heart-shaped face. Did those fifteen freckles still grace her nose or had time added to that number? A bright blue anorak covered her tall, athletic body, only a few inches shorter than his five-ten frame. When she’d worn heels to their prom, they’d been eye to eye. They’d continued dating while she’d attended college, and he’d proposed right before she graduated. They’d set a wedding date until she decided North Carolina wasn’t for her.
“Ramirez? I need to check you out now. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Mason tugged at his arm. “Ned and I can get you to the ambulance faster if you wind your arms around us. Or you can stay here while I bring the stretcher to you.”
“I’m good.” Carlos freed his arm and removed his headgear. “This is probably nothing. Get the exam over so I can help with the cleanup.”
“I have to fill out an incident report so let Ruddick do his job.” Ned brooked no argument, and Carlos turned his attention away from Becks toward the ambulance.
Carlos settled on the stretcher and pulled off his boot. As soon as his ankle was free, it swelled and the bruising became apparent. A sprain was going to mess up the firefighter’s annual exam he had scheduled only months away. If he couldn’t perform his most basic job tasks by then, would his job and any future promotions be in jeopardy?
Mason poked and prodded along the top of Carlos’s foot, and Carlos braced his hands on the stretcher. Anything to keep from crying out from the pain shooting through his foot and lower leg. “Already hurt that much, huh?”
Carlos should have known he couldn’t fool Mason, who was a straight shooter and a great paramedic. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Even so, his mind was already racing. For four generations, at least one Ramirez followed in the family footsteps and chose this profession. With his two sisters choosing other careers, he’d been the one Ramirez to embrace the call. Carlos couldn’t see himself doing anything else. He loved everything about being a firefighter, especially helping people when they were most vulnerable.
“Save the strong talk, Carlos.” Mason opened his medical bag and then continued his evaluation. “First, I’m checking the arteries in your foot and leg. Good. No damage there.”
Carlos sucked in another breath, and Mason’s partner, Jordan Bonetti, slipped on an oxygen mask, preventing Carlos from talking. After a minute of more prodding, Mason removed the mask and brought out a chart. “On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level?”
He considered playing down the injury, but, under Ned’s and Mason’s watch, Carlos couldn’t. “Now that you’ve touched it, about a six.”
Mason removed Carlos’s right boot and touched the side of his ankle. “Your left ankle is significantly warmer, and the skin color is already mottled. There’s no bone sticking through the surface, but until you have X-rays, I can’t tell for certain whether it’s a sprain or broken. Can you wiggle your toes?”
Carlos attempted and gave up. “Hurts too much.”
Mason turned to Ned. “I’m taking him to Dalesford General. I’ll follow up with you for your incident report.”
“Appreciate it.” Ned patted Carlos’s shoulder. “I’ll update the fire chief. He’ll inform the rest of your family.”
Carlos didn’t doubt that his father would break the news to his mother and sisters, same as he knew his mother would believe him on death’s door until she saw him for herself. “It’s just a sprain.”
The ambulance doors closed, but not before he glimpsed Becca.
Who was he kidding? He had no right to think of her as Becca. Toward the end, she’d made it clear she was Becks to everyone, including him.
He kept repeating his mantra that this was only a grade-one sprain throughout the ambulance ride and subsequent X-rays. In spite of his words, his ankle appeared more swollen and bruised with every passing minute. In no time, Carlos was back in the ER, unaccustomed to being on this side of the treatment table. He didn’t like it one bit.
Dr. Wang strode in, concern written on his brow. “Eventful night, huh?”
“Give it to me straight. Is my sprain a grade one or a grade two?” Carlos feared a grade three sprain, as that would indicate ligament damage, the worst-case scenario. One little trip and fall and bam. His firefighting career could be over in the blink of an eye.
“It’s not a sprain, Carlos.” Dr. Wang tucked his tablet under his arm and met Carlos’s gaze. “Your ankle’s broken.”
