Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (71 page)

Dylan returned, wiping his hands on a towel. He raised his eyebrow in a silent “everything okay?” expression.

Karla shrugged in answer to his query. She couldn't honestly say if everything was okay—it sure didn't feel like it was. “Dad...”

“Why are we sitting here? The shop's on higher ground for crying out loud!”

“Dad, please don't wait. They're saying it will only get worse.”

As if God were backing up her point, another loud boom of thunder seemed to shake the whole world. “Okay, I suppose you're right. I'll sandbag the back door and we'll head on in.” Karla didn't like the way his words sounded like bracing for battle. “See you in half an hour or so.”

Chapter Eighteen

K
arla seemed to crumple in on herself, as if all the courage she'd mustered over the past hour had fled at the sound of her father's voice. She looked up at Dylan with the cell phone in her hand, and he felt another little bit of his heart give way.

“They're getting out of Grandpa's house.” She swallowed hard. “It's safer here.”

“That's good,” he said softly, unsure whether touching her would make things better, or simply send her to pieces. She'd been holding up so amazingly well under a terrific strain. “They will be safer here.”

In truth, he didn't know that. The street behind the shop had all but become a waterfall, and he'd had to pile up even more towels and plastic bags against the back door. When it came time to refuel the generator—if the machine even stayed running with all that moving water around it—it'd be like tipping a barrel of water down the back hallway. He needed to be here to help, so it was a good thing he wasn't on duty at the firehouse. “Hey, try not to worry. This isn't the first flood in Gordon Falls. People know what to do.”

“Yeah.” She wrung her hands on the artsy apron she wore.

Keep her busy until Karl and Kurt get here.
“Half the shift is heading over to eat breakfast.” He put his hand on her back, steering her in the direction of the tables out front. “The other half will swap out in half an hour—unless there's a call.”

Together they walked out into the front of the shop, now a collection of people in various levels of soaked and afraid. The communal sense that this was no ordinary storm had begun to permeate the room. “The firefighters will be coming over in a minute,” he announced. “Let's get ready to feed them.”

It was exactly what Karla needed—she kicked into gear, organizing preparations and setting out dishes. When the ten men came sloshing through the door, Karla had food hot and ready. Karl's was serving as the town hub the way it always had, and Dylan felt a glow of admiration for the little dynamo of a woman at the helm. He knew from experience that feeding ten hungry firemen was no small feat. Even Jesse, the best cook in the firehouse, had offered his compliments for the huge meal Karla set out.

For a while, the room was filled with companionable chatter, the camaraderie of everyone caught in the storm. All that stopped when the signal came. The room quieted instantly. Dylan pushed out a breath and a prayer along with it—things had just officially gone from bad to worse, and Karl and Kurt were still out there.

“What's that?” Karla asked, catching on to the growing unease among the townsfolk. “It can't be a fire... It's not coming from the firehouse, is it?”

Dylan held Karla's gaze as steadily as he could. “That's the signal that they're closing the floodgates.”

“Haven't done that in years,” Violet said. “That can't be good.”

“Can't be good” was an understatement. The floodgates closed off Route 20, the main route in and out of Gordon Falls. Deploying the floodgates meant that the river was projected to rise and keep rising. Dylan had never actually seen it done, but he knew the mechanics and, more importantly, the implications. What was on this side of the floodgates would be saved from the worst of the flood. What was on the outside, however, was another story.

His boats were outside the floodgates. People's homes were outside the floodgates. The highway was outside the floodgates. And while the town wasn't entirely cut off when the gates where shut, access was hampered enough to make a real difference. It took an hour longer to get into town if help had to arrive from the other direction.

“It's a precaution,” he said, mostly for Karla's benefit. “It works well. I've seen the photos.”

Violet Sharpton caught his eye, silently mouthing “Karl,” with a grave look on her face. His house was on the other side of the floodgates.

“I remember back in '72 before the gates,” Yorky, who'd lived in Gordon Falls his entire life, said over his plateful of eggs. “The way the water went through town...”

“Hey,” Dylan cut him off with a cheerful tone to mask his sharp glare, “not really a good time for those stories, don't you think?”

“Yeah.” Yorky was smart enough to catch Dylan's meaning. “Better not to tell that one, huh?”

The siren's wail died down, but the conversation in the shop didn't truly pick up. It was more like a cautious murmuring between the customers. Had Karla figured it out yet? She looked scared, eyes darting around the room, listening hard. He found himself waiting for some huge sound, as if one could hear the great metal boom of the gates shutting from miles away. Dylan had no idea if that was true, but he imagined the sound might make anyone's blood run cold. He sent up another silent prayer that God would protect Gordon Falls, and looked up to notice Violet's and several other heads bowed in what he could only assume was the same.

Karla went very still. “Grandpa's house is on the other side, isn't it?”

He couldn't let her train of thought go there. “But they are on their way here—remember? They'd have gotten to this side of the gates by now, I'm sure of it.”

“Grandpa's slow. What if the drive was blocked? Or a tree went down? What if they're not?”

Dylan gripped her shoulders. “It's only a ten-minute drive—I'm sure they made it inside and they'll walk in the door any second. But if by some chance they ran into trouble, remember that your dad and grandfather have lived in Gordon Falls for a long time. They know what to do in a flood. They'll find whatever high ground they can and they'll be okay.”

Karla pulled her cell phone from her apron pocket, flipped it open and dialed. From where he stood, Dylan could hear the three-toned signal indicating a dropped call. She tried again as he looked at his own phone, but the storm had impeded service. He could see the fear building in her eyes. “If they're not here soon,” he offered, “I'll go look for them.”

Keep her busy.
Dylan picked up the coffee carafe and handed it to her. “Go do what you do best. They'll be here. Think how proud your grandfather will be to come in and see Karl's up and running in a storm.” When she didn't move, he nudged her forward. “Go on.”

The door pushed open, a burst of sound and water that snapped every head in the room toward the direction of the door, and a soaking wet Jesse Sykes stood in the entrance. “Second shift, on its way.”

With that, the firemen currently in the room hurried to finish their breakfast. The shop was filled with noise again as firefighters piled dishes and said goodbye to the other customers, who wished them well as they went back to the firehouse. Dylan was glad for the burst of activity to keep Karla occupied.

Dylan took Jesse aside. “What's the word?”

His pal lost his usual carefree expression. “Eight feet or higher over the next two hours. I sure am glad Charlotte is up at Chief Bradens's house with Melba and Maria—that house is one of the highest in town.”

Eight feet.
The floodgates were ten feet. They would hold out the worst of it unless the water surged. And water running over dry ground had a habit of surging. “We'll just pray the gates hold, then.”

“Only...” Jesse's expression said everything his words did not.

Dylan felt a chill settle deep into his gut that had nothing to do with wet socks. “Only what?”

The fireman shook his head. “I...well, I can't confirm anything.”

“Sykes, what?”

“Chad says he's worried the gate won't actually hold.”

Chad Owens was the fire inspector, and as such had many connections to the various town hall departments. He was also known to be a stickler for codes and ordinances—a man in charge of public safety who took his job very seriously. “What do you mean ‘not hold'? That can't be true.”

“Chad told me they found some rusting in the hinges and the anchor bolts last year. Nothing drastic, and with budget cuts and all, they elected to put off the repairs until next year. This was supposed to be a dry summer and all.”

Dylan looked at the sheets of water sluicing down the front windows. The storm had grown so strong that he could no longer make out the firehouse even though it was just on the other side of Tyler Street. All the steel in the world wouldn't do any good if it didn't stay bolted to the massive concrete wall that held it in place. It was hard to imagine the water gaining that much power, but then again, was it? Hadn't he just spent an hour lashing down his boat against just such a force? Suddenly the extreme precautions didn't feel so extreme. “If that gate goes...”

“It won't be pretty. Chad went down there with a couple of other guys from public works to check it out, but who knows what they'll be able to tell in this mess?”

Dylan looked out across the room to see Karla staring at the shop entrance, visibly willing her father and Karl to walk through the door. She jumped—as did half the room—when a large crash came from the back door.

“They came in the back!” Karla said, dashing toward the delivery door at the same time Dylan turned to do the same.

* * *

It wasn't Dad and Grandpa coming through the back door. It was a ferocious surge of water. The sight sent such a jolt of fear through Karla that she had trouble pulling in a breath. “Dylan!”

He darted ahead of her and began wrestling with the door, pushing it against the wall of water that had come in when some heavy box from the back alley had been thrust against the door and knocked it open. Just the slice of outdoors she could see though the closing crack didn't look like a street at all; more like Niagara Falls. “We're flooding!” She lunged for one of the large bags of flour on the shelf behind her, grunting with the effort but determined to do whatever it took to save Karl's. She crammed it against the door once Dylan finally got it shut, then immediately reached for another one. Water was everywhere, bubbling under the door and spreading in a dark predatory puddle down the narrow hallway toward the customer tables and chairs. It felt as if the water were a living thing hunting her down.

“Pile anything you can,” Dylan said after they'd shoved all the flour bags up against the door. He was soaked for what must be the fifth time, and she could hear fear in his voice for the first time. She could also hear the same fierce determination to fight back that was rising in her own chest. Karl's could not,
would not
go down on her watch. The shop was going to stay open as a haven in the storm that it had always been. She was endlessly grateful that she could see the same conviction in Dylan's eyes as they began pulling anything hefty off the pantry shelves.

“The front door is lower,” she called as she began piling syrup cans atop boxes of biscuit mix, “why is it coming in here?”

“It's runoff coming down the hillside. The front door will get hit with standing water as it rises.” Dylan took a short ladder used for getting items off the higher storeroom shelves and shoved it against the door that had pushed open. “This door is getting the force of the water rushing down off the dry valley slope.”

He stopped for a moment, taking a quick survey of what they'd built and what was left to use. “I'll try to rig a stronger brace later. The generator is still running because I moved it up high, but once it runs out of gas, we're done. I won't be able to get out there and refuel it. For that matter, I don't even know if the gas can is still out there.” He wiped his hands down his wet face. “At some point the water wins, you know?”

For a moment the back room was quieter, even though the wind buffeted the shut doors and the doomed generator still kept up its courageous surging rattle. “What are we going to do?” Karla almost didn't allow herself to ask the question, not wanting to give in to the panic it incited, but she needed to hear Dylan's answer.

He took her by the shoulders, his eyes fierce and steady, even though he was still panting from the effort of building the makeshift dam. “You and I will do everything we can.” He uttered it slowly, deliberately, like a promise.

He'd said “You and I.” She'd never been more grateful for such words ever. “Dylan...” She couldn't decide how to finish that sentence.
Thank you? Help me? I'm scared?
Gratitude warred with worry and fight and fear all at once. He'd smeared a smudge of dirt from his forehead down across one cheek, and she reached out to wipe the muck away from his eye.

His eyes fell closed at the touch of her fingers, and the transparent show of emotion jolted through her. It was the same connection she'd felt as they danced, but that was all about fun and this was something much deeper. Everything boiled down to such an alarming focus. So much of what she'd thought mattered didn't really matter. Not today. Not right now.

She reached up and kissed him on his cheek. Softly, hesitantly, not even sure what she was doing or why. She felt his whole body react, heard his breath catch and his fingers tighten their grip on her shoulders. She felt him turn toward her and wait just the smallest of seconds, as if deciding whether to give in or pull away.

She knew instantly the moment he made his choice, as though the seconds—and they must have been mere seconds—stretched out far longer. Something rushed through him, something she could feel building and releasing as if—and this was the worst of all metaphors—a flood had been released. Truly, it had that much force as it washed over her and his mouth was on hers with his arms slipping around her. The power of his emotion was astoundingly strong, only with no force or danger. Instead, she felt a surge of safety and connection, as if she had found something secure to hold on to in a tidal wave of fear.

Something sloughed off her, as if she'd effortlessly shed the resistance they had both put up over days, or weeks, or probably since that first cup of coffee. She felt herself clinging to Dylan—not out of weakness but out of paired strength. Out of the recognition that they were stronger together than either one could be alone.