Page 108 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“I’m going to dig you out then. Hopefully there’s enough loose stuff to get you some space.” A light was now shining directly in her eyes. She squeezed them shut. The sounds of grunting and digging kept her company. When she opened her eyes again, Fred was there, his dear, wonderful, smudged, exhausted face so close to hers that tears began flowing down her cheeks.

“You’re here,” she said weakly.

“Yup.” His cheerful tone left no room for the hysteria that threatened to burst free. “I missed you. Thought I’d drop in for a visit.”

“Don’t make me cry too much,” she warned. “Because if I start I won’t stop.”

“Please don’t do that, the last thing we need down here is mud.”

She smiled, making cracks in the dust that coated her face.

“I want you to hold this flashlight for me,” he told her. In one hand, he held a slim flashlight and a hand shovel. “Can you do that?”

“Of course.” Mildly insulted, she took the flashlight into her trembling grip, then used both hands to steady it.

“You’re lucky your father buys such expensive office furniture,” Fred said, eyeing the cracked mahogany overhead.

“He didn’t. This desk belonged to my mother.” That reminder made more warm tears trickle down the sides of her face. Her mother’s desk had saved her life. So had Inga. So had Fred. So had her father, and Marsden. So much had conspired to save her; never again would she waste a single moment being anything less than fully alive.

“Hey. No crying. It looks like there’s plenty of soft stuff around your legs. I’m going to pull myself forward so I can dig at it. Keep the flashlight aimed at your feet and keep trying to pull your legs free. As soon as you can, we’re headed out. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He inched forward, his body pressing against hers. Maybe it ought to make her feel even more claustrophobic, since the two of them were wedged together in an incredibly slim slice of space. But it didn’t. “Fred?”

“Yeah?”

With her voice roughened by plaster dust—or deepest truth—she whispered, “There’s no one else in the world I’d want to be in a confined space with. Only you.”

At first he didn’t answer. When he did, the words seemed to be ripped straight from his heart. “Well, that settles it, then. You’d better marry me.”

“What?” Little shockwaves of elation traveled from her heart through every bruised limb of her body. “You want me to marry you?”

“More than anything.” He gave a little cough, as if trying to clear dust from his throat. “Funny how I can barely see a foot in front of me, but everything else is perfectly clear. I love you, Rachel, and I’d rather stay under this desk with you than be anywhere else without you.”

Her throat closed up over a swell of emotion. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t answer.

Fred filled the silence. “I’m even on my knees. How many guys propose while they’re flat on their stomachs under four feet of rubble?” He inched further forward, so his lower ribs were pressed against her face. She tilted her head so she could breathe and, more importantly, not miss a single word that he said. “I probably should have picked a different moment. Like with flowers instead of a shovel.” Grunting with effort, he moved his arms above his head to jab at the debris with the shovel.

“No.” She felt his body flinch. “I mean, no, it’s the perfect moment.”

“Your face is shoved into my stomach. How can it be the perfect moment?”

“Because we might not have another one.” She hurried past that possibility. She and Fred were going to have lots of moments. Her headstrong side would make sure of it. “And because the answer is yes. Yes, I want to marry you. As soon as possible.” She rubbed her face against his belly. “How’s it going down there? Are my limbs intact? I’d really like to be able to walk down the aisle at my wedding.”

“Already planning the wedding, huh?” He grunted with the strain of digging with no leverage. “Women.”

“Hey, I’ve got to think about something while I’m lying here like a sardine in a can.”

“Try thinking about moving your legs.”

She tugged her right leg toward her chest. It came free easily, but more debris tumbled down to fill the space. Wincing, she felt some of it collide with her other leg. “Better keep digging unless you want a one-legged bride.”

“I’ll take you however I can get you,” he told her between grunts. “But you’re not losing a leg on my watch. Your dad would kick my ass. He might refuse to let me marry you.”

“Oh no. Dad has nothing to do with this. Did you know that I told him I’m not taking his money anymore? I’m no longer a rich girl. I’m on my own. I really think I can make the Refuge work and pay myself a salary. It might take me a little while, but I know I can do it.”

“Of course you can. Anyway, I can support us. And if we live at my house, the Sinclair kids can take care of security.” She giggled, thinking that sounded like pure heaven. Fred loosened some of the debris still pinning her left leg. His body felt so good against hers, so alive and warm and breathing.

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