How to Tame a Wild Fireman (30 page)

“The firefighter from the barn?” The paramedic barely looked up from his quick, efficient field-­splinting of Megan’s leg.

“That’s the one.”

“Sure, we can handle two, as long as he can use a jump seat. Stay right where you are, mister. We’ll be back in a minute.” They rolled Megan onto the gurney and trotted with it toward the ambulance. Candy ran alongside, while Megan gave them a brave wave.

“We’ll see you at the hospital, Megan,” called Lara.

She turned back to face Patrick. “You’d better do exactly what that paramedic said. Don’t even think about moving.”

“Why would I want to go anywhere when I can just stand here and gaze at my beautiful fiancée?” He winked, a flash of vibrant blue in his weary face. The firefighter still supporting him smirked.

Lara’s face heated. Before she could explain her reckless announcement of their nonexistent marriage plans, Big Dog shouldered her aside. He looked more agitated than ever.

“Weren’t you supposed to be keeping the place safe from fire?” he thundered at Patrick.

Lara gave an outraged gasp.

“We were doing just fine before you came back,” Big Dog said. “Soon as you showed up, another wildfire hits. Then the barn catches fire. I don’t know what kind of firefighter you are, but that’s not what I call a good record.”

Patrick’s jaw went tight as a drum. Lara knew he was fighting not to rise to the bait. He must be exhausted and hurting, and now to have his father dump his usual harsh blame on him—­it was too much.

If he wouldn’t respond, she would.

“You take that back,” she ordered Big Dog. “Megan would have died if Patrick hadn’t been in that barn. It would have collapsed on top of us. Right?” she appealed to the other firefighter.

“Quite likely.” he nodded, with that dry manner of his. “That’s why he stayed back.”

“It wouldn’t have been on fire in the first place if not for Patrick,” growled Big Dog.

“I suppose he’s responsible for the weather?” Her anger rose, and her voice along with it. “No rain in eight months, that’s his fault? He started that wildfire, that’s what you’re saying? Even though he was in
Mexico
? Do you blame everything on Patrick, by default? Just like with Liam. The accident
wasn’t
Patrick’s fault. This fire wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault! Ever! It’s unfair and it’s wrong and you should take it all back, right now.” Her voice rang through the yard, warring with the sounds of the firefighters gathering up their gear and the paramedics getting Megan settled into the ambulance. “Your son is incredibly brave and tough and caring. He’s a real-­life hero, and if you aren’t proud as hell of him, you’re completely insane.”

She fixed her gaze on Big Dog’s reddening face, sparing a moment to worry if she was inciting a stroke. Would the rescue ambulance have room for three Callahans? What the hell. It was time someone told Big Dog the truth.

Big Dog swung his face down to hers. “What’s it to you, little hippie chick?”

She refused to back down, meeting him practically nose-­to-­nose. “I’m a
doctor
, not a hippie chick. And you know what? I know you’re trying to insult me, but it’s not working. I’m proud of the Goddesses. At least they’re nice to ­people. They’re even helping
you.
” She gestured wildly at Janey, who was across the yard, chanting to the three frightened mustangs tied to a tree. “And what’s it to me?” She poked him in the chest, hard. “I love Patrick, that’s what!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

F
ortunately, no one had much time to react to Lara’s spontaneous declaration, as the paramedics chose that moment to help Patrick into the ambulance. He was either exhausted or simply stunned by her reckless words; he accepted the ride to the hospital without complaint. The paramedics bundled him into the van, the other firefighter ran to help his crewmates with the cleanup, and Lara was left to face Big Dog Callahan on her own.

But he seemed distracted, scratching his head and staring after the ambulance. “Everyone left?”

Lara gazed at him, puzzled. His rage had subsided, replaced by the same confusion she’d seen earlier. Surreptitiously she checked his breathing; it seemed fine. “Your wife went with Megan and Patrick to the ­hospital.”

“And Liam?”

Liam?
How was she supposed to answer that one? Shouldn’t Patrick be the one to tell Big Dog they’d seen his younger son, and that he was living in sinful bliss with the family’s former housekeeper in a ramshackle cottage in Baja?

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Liam’s doing well. We saw him. He sent you a letter. Patrick will give it to you when he’s back from the hospital.”

Big Dog nodded, his gaze drifting to the buzzing activity around the barn. The firefighters were gathering up their ladders and hoses. Janey was tending to the still terrified horses.

After all the drama, Mr. Callahan looked like a confused old man. Guilt tugged at her conscience. Maybe she shouldn’t have yelled at him, despite the awful things he’d said to her.

“Would you like a ride to the hospital?” she asked him softly. “I’m headed that way.”

“
No
. No. You can’t make me go to the hospital. No one can make me do anything.” As he took a stumbling step backward, his expression of pure, cornered dread rang a bell in Lara’s mind. She’d seen that look before. On Mr. Kline’s face when his family first brought him in. And suddenly everything came clear.

Big Dog’s weathered face held the terror of a man who knew he was losing his grip on reality.

She ran through the symptoms of early stage dementia. Change in personality, or, more often, a strengthening of preexisting personality traits. Confusion about time and place. Memory loss. Challenges in solving problems. Agitation. All of them amplified by his forceful personality. She hadn’t spent enough time with Big Dog to know firsthand if he had all or most of the symptoms, but she’d bet if she talked to Candy and Megan, the diagnosis would be clear. She should have recognized it long ago, but her history with him had gotten in the way.

She put her hand on his arm, half-­amazed that he allowed it. “You’re right, Mr. Callahan. But Patrick and Megan might like to see you.”

He focused briefly on her, as if not quite sure he recognized her. More bits of information cascaded through her mind.
Firing the servants
. He probably didn’t want anyone to witness his confusion.
Anger
. For a powerful man like Big Dog, loss of control must have been infuriating.

What should she do now? He ought to be evaluated, but she was probably the last person he’d trust to do it.

A firefighter came toward them, removing his helmet as he walked. Lara recognized him from the barbecue as Farris. “Barn’s a loss,” he told them. “Unsafe to enter. I don’t know how Patrick managed to get that beam wedged in there, but it should hold for now. Best to tear it down as soon as possible.”

“What happened?” Lara asked him. “There was some sort of explosion.”

“Yeah, there was. Pedro thought he got a whiff of cigar smoke. If someone left a cigar in there, it could have started a slow smolder and eventually ignited one of the gas cans. There were a few stored in the back, looks like. Not the best way to stockpile gasoline.”

Lara stole a glance at Big Dog, who got a hunted look. He was the only one who smoked cigars. That would mean that Big Dog himself had started the fire. And why was he keeping gasoline cans in a barn? Some kind of paranoia?

“So you’re saying this fire had nothing to do with the wildfire?”

“No. Someone did a heckuva job clearing the brush. Looks like the wildfire’s going to miss this place entirely.”

“Patrick.” Lara wanted it on the record, before witnesses. “Patrick’s been here clearing brush for a few weeks.”

“Tell him he did a good job.”

“We’ll do that.”

Big Dog was frowning again, looking at the ground and kicking at a rock. “Where’d Patrick go?”

“He went to the hospital. We should go too, Mr. Callahan. I’m sure Megan and Patrick would love to see you. And your wife needs you.”

Surrendering, he allowed her to lead him to Patrick’s truck. She noticed that his shirt was still damp from his time on the roof, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Her patient, Mr. Kline, was often oblivious to his own personal hygiene. She added that to her running mental tally of the symptoms she’d noticed. Fatigue made dementia symptoms worse, and the poor man was definitely exhausted.

She helped him into the passenger seat, wondering at her own choice of words.
Poor man?
Was she really feeling sorry for Big Dog Callahan, terror of the state of Nevada and his own family? Now that she suspected dementia, she could only look at him as a patient. Whether he liked it or not.

He fell asleep on the way to the hospital, his body shaking with long, loud snores. It took her a while to get used to the Hulk’s stiff clutch and oversensitive brakes. She couldn’t wait to tell Patrick that his vehicle was just like him, stubborn and hard to handle. Smiling at the thought, she placed a call to Adam, who’d started in the neurology program before switching to family medicine. In a low voice, she quickly ran through what she knew about Mr. Callahan’s recent behavior. “Sounds pretty classic,” he said. “No one in the family has suspected something like this?”

“No. I think they’re too afraid of him. He’s a very . . . well, domineering type of person.”

“Kind of like his son?”

“Cheap shot, Adam.”

“Sorry. Do you want me to ask around about neurologists in Nevada?”

“That’d be great.”

When she hung up, Big Dog was awake. “Something’s wrong with me,” he said, with perfect lucidity.

Drat.
She should have waited until he couldn’t overhear. “Possibly. But if we catch it early enough, there is medication that can slow it down. I was just talking to a doctor in San Diego, where I work. He’s going to ask around and find someone local for you.”

He laid his head back against the seat. In profile, his resemblance to Patrick stood out more. Same strong nose, same cheekbones. Same stubborn jawline. “Comes and goes, you know. Like walking on quicksand.”

Lara’s breath caught. Was he actually confiding in her . . . trusting her? She chose her words carefully. “I’ve heard others say the same thing. You’re not alone in this, Mr. Callahan. It’s important to get evaluated as soon as possible. You can learn to manage the symptoms, and doctors can help with treatment. But your family’s going to need to know what’s going on.”

“Not your business,” he barked.

Lara tightened her grip on the steering wheel of the Hulk and tried to channel Patrick’s strength. Brave, tenacious Patrick, who’d kept an entire barn from crashing down on them. This difficult, short-­tempered man, was his father, and he deserved her absolute best.

“They need to know, sir.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants, which made her wonder if they were sweaty, and if he was nervous. What would it be like for someone so powerful to admit to something as terrifying as dementia symptoms? He must have felt so alone. Her heart went out to him. She knew all too well what being alone felt like. More than anything, he needed someone he could trust.

“But I won’t do anything until you’re ready,” she said.

That seemed to calm him, though he said nothing else until they reached the hospital.

In the hospital parking lot, Lara took his arm since he still seemed shaky. He didn’t object to her support, which gratified her. Had he forgotten she was the hated hippie chick from the Haven? Had she finally crossed over in his mind to legitimate citizen or even medical professional?

Or perhaps he knew he needed her at the moment.

Candy met them in the lobby. She didn’t seem to notice anything odd about the sight of her husband arm in arm with the girl he’d wanted to ban from the property.

“Patrick’s asleep,” she told them. “They treated him for dehydration and cracked ribs, but they found no internal bleeding.”

Lara hid her overwhelming relief behind a professional nod. No need for the Callahan family to have any more part in her personal drama with Patrick. “And Megan?”

“She’s awake. Six weeks in a cast, but overall she was lucky. You all were.”

Big Dog pulled his arm from Lara’s and announced, “I’m going to see Megan. Candy, you stay here and listen to Lara.” He shot Lara a meaningful scowl.

“No, Mr. Callahan—­”

“Please,” he barked. She’d never heard him say “please” before. “You spoke your mind the last time. Do it again now.” He trundled off in the direction Candy had come from.

Lara gaped after him. After treating her like crap all these years, now he wanted
her
to break his news to his wife? It had to be done, and she was happy he realized that, but surely it would be better coming from him, or his doctor. But as she met Candy’s questioning gaze, she realized that she was exactly the right person.

Like it or not, she held a unique place in the Callahan family.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private, Mrs. Callahan?”

“You look exhausted, my dear. When’s the last time you ate?”

Lara tried to remember; it must have been in Mexico, a lifetime ago. “Let’s see what the cafeteria is like.”

The hospital cafeteria’s atmosphere and food smells instantly made Lara feel at home. Going for comfort food, she piled her tray with french fries and chocolate milk while she gathered her thoughts. She picked a table in the corner where she and Candy could have privacy.

“Mr. Callahan,” began Lara, when they were seated. “Well, he wants me to tell you something.”

“I already heard the firefighters talking about it. You and Patrick are getting married. I must say I’m very pleased to hear it.”

“No, that’s not–-­ What? You’re pleased?” That was impossible. She stuck a fry in her mouth. Nothing like a french fry to smooth over moments of confusion.

“I think you’re adorable together. He’s clearly crazy about you. I just hope you appreciate him. The Callahan men are notoriously difficult, you might say. But they’re worth it, for the most part.” Candy stabbed her fork into her chopped salad. “Breaks are sometimes needed, of course.”

“Mrs. Callahan—­”

“Candy, please. You can’t call your mother-­in-­law Missus. It’s too confusing.”

Lara groaned silently. What impossible tangle had she set into motion with her reckless confrontation of Big Dog? “Nothing’s exactly set in stone as far as that goes. What I really wanted to talk to you about is your husband.”

Candy paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Cal?”

“I wish I’d picked up on this sooner, but I think his personality change . . . well, not so much change as . . .” How to put it?

“Worsening?”

“If you will. It may actually be a sign of something neurological. I suspect it might be early stage,” God, this was hard, “dementia.”

Candy’s fork clattered to the table. She covered her mouth with her hand.

“This is not a diagnosis,” Lara said quickly. “All I’m saying is that he should be assessed by a specialist. They’ll do a thorough physical and neurological examination. Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet, but if that is what’s going on, there are a few treatments to try. They can give him medication to slow down the process, and anti-­depressants that can help his mood. The important thing is to see a good doctor as soon as possible. Early diagnosis is extremely helpful. I should have a referral soon.” Since Candy still seemed to be in shock, she kept talking, trying to keep her tone calm and reassuring. “I know some excellent neurologists in San Diego, and they’re going to get some names for me. I know this is a shock, but if there is an identifiable neurological change under way, that can actually help all of you learn to cope with it better. Not that you haven’t been coping, but—­”

“Shh.” With quiet dignity, Candy put her hand over Lara’s. “Thank you. Really, thank you. It’s better to know. I learned that with Liam.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. Lara felt overwhelmed with sympathy for the other woman. Two of her children in the hospital, the other far away, and now this bombshell about her husband.

“I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what to do.” Candy shook her head. “There was nothing I
could
do, the way he was acting. But if he’s willing to see a doctor . . . .”

“He may still fight it,” Lara warned. “He’s terrified. He might change his mind about all this, and I expect he’ll blame me. You know, the hippie chick who sold him out.” She could just imagine the fireworks. They’d make his rooftop standoff with the fire department look tame.

Candy was watching her with a look that made Lara self-­conscious. She busied herself with her mini-­carton of chocolate milk.

“You’re very brave, aren’t you?” Candy said.

“Me?” Lara thought that description fit Patrick far more than it did her.

“After Liam’s accident, you were the only one who dared to tell Big Dog that he wasn’t being fair to Patrick.”

“Well, he wasn’t.”

“Of course he wasn’t. But you were the only one who said it out loud. You kept saying Patrick should be allowed to see Liam.”

“I knew how close they were. I thought it would help Liam to have him nearby. And Patrick was going out of his mind.”

“You care about ­people. You take care of them, and you say the things that need to be said. It’s a rare quality. No wonder Patrick’s so taken with you. You’re quite similar, I believe.”

“Hardly. Tough firefighter, pale-­faced doctor.”

“Nonsense. You’re beautiful. I always thought so, even when I only saw you in black. Patrick’s a lucky man. You must love him, to get involved in our problems like this.”