Yesterday's Roses (31 page)

“But you did.”

“Not from any conscious effort on my part,” he ground out bitterly. “In time you'll want a man who can perform his duty properly.” And in time she would probably grow to hate him because he couldn't function like a real man.

“That man is you.”

He raised one eyebrow in question.

She nodded vigorously. “You see, Mr. Parrish, as your doctor, I have a theory about your so-called problem.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. By your own confession, you've deprived yourself of sexual release for an unhealthy period of time. I read an article in one of my medical journals on the subject of sexual abstinence in men. It supposedly affects a man very badly. It makes him likely to lose control at the slightest provocation. Even in his sleep. Were you aware of that?”

Jake chuckled at the seriousness of her expression. “I've been known to soil a few sheets recently. Especially when I've been dreaming of you.”

“My point exactly.” She nodded with satisfaction. “It seems to me that you've had enough provocation tonight to make any man lose himself. If the article was correct, you should be better able to control yourself next time.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged one shoulder. She could be right. But what if she wasn't? It was an awful thought.

Her hand snaked lower until she found his now flaccid sex. Almost immediately he began to rouse.

“There's one way to see if the theory is correct,” she whispered, teasing his earlobe with her teeth. He hardened in her palm. “It's called research, Mr. Parrish. Care to be my subject?”

With a growl, he surged his arousal against her hand. “Willingly, Dr. Gardiner. I place my manhood in your very capable care.”

And through thorough research, Dr. Hallie Gardiner proved her theory correct.

Chapter 19

Jake couldn't remember the last time he'd been this furious.

Damn that Hallie Gardiner!
he cursed silently for the hundredth time that morning. She'd given him a taste of paradise last night, and like a starving man fed an exquisite feast, he'd been left hungering for more. Far more.

Damn her to hell! How dare she steal away like that?
But dare she had. When Jake had awakened that morning, fully aroused and eager to resume the previous night's activities, he'd found himself alone in his big bed. It hadn't improved his mood any to discover that Hallie had fled the house at dawn.

Tightening his jaw with determination, Jake urged his horse on. The blood bay gave a whinny of protest before picking up the pace and sending the barouche flying at head-spinning speed.

Jake eyed the animal sourly. Blasted beast's hide is the same color of copper as Hallie's hair. Then he let out a humorless grate of laughter. Yes. But unlike his willful Mission Lady, this particular redhead has the good sense to do as she was told. And so would Miss Gardiner when he finally got his hands on her.

Scowling fiercely, Jake rounded the corner with a neck-breaking recklessness that almost upset the carriage. The light vehicle careened dangerously on two wheels for a moment before miraculously righting itself again.

Had it been his lovemaking that had put her off?
he wondered, going over every pleasurable detail in his mind.

After his poor start he'd done well enough, making love to her two more times. Hell. If her screams of ecstasy were an accurate indicator, the prim Miss Gardiner had enjoyed herself every bit as much as he had. And though his intimacy-starved body could have loved her a few more times, he could tell that she was getting sore. So when she curled up next to him, her head cradled on his chest, he contented himself with the simple joy of holding her close. After all, there would be plenty of opportunities in the future to take care of his own carnal needs.

Or so he had assumed.

Jake's head snapped up as the morning stillness was shattered by the sound of wildly clanging bells, and he instantly became alert to his surroundings.

Fire? Pulling his horse to a halt, he scanned the horizon, narrowing his eyes against the sun's glare. Insidious billows of smoke made great black smudges against the pure azure of the rain-washed sky and hung in the air like an ominous pall.

Fire … at the edge of Chinatown
, Jake thought, mentally gauging the distance to the darkly rising cloud. A tendril of uneasiness snaked down his spine. The Mission House was located down there. It stood in an old section of the city where the buildings were flimsily constructed of cheap wood and where the living conditions could only be described as overcrowded. If not quickly contained, a fire in that area would spread from building to building quicker than a message through telegraph wires.

Making a loud clicking sound between his teeth, Jake gave the reins a smart slap and the horse lurched forward to resume its brisk trot. Of course, just because the fire was near Chinatown didn't necessarily mean that the Mission House was in danger. Damned unlikely, actually. Nonetheless, he found himself urging his horse to pick up its pace.

As he turned down Sacramento Street, Jake could see orange flames shooting high into the sky and his eyes began to water from the heavy smoke. All down the street were lines of fire engines, each one manned by a group of burly men intent on pumping water from a hydrant almost two blocks away. The thick rubber hoses, which were linked together to form a water line that ran from engine to pumping engine, lay writhing against the cobblestones like furious black snakes.

Unable to drive any further, Jake reined in his horse and jumped from the carriage. Grabbing a loitering youth by the shoulder, he shouted, “Where's the fire?”

“Someone dynamited the Mission House. Blew those nosy Mission Ladies to kingdom come.
Ka-boom!
” The boy flailed his arms in the air to illustrate his point. But before he could further embellish his tale, his audience of one had taken off down the street toward the raging inferno.

Putting all good manners aside, Jake pushed his way through the crowd. With every step, he could feel his panic rising closer and closer to the surface of his tightly controlled calm, threatening to crack the strained facade at any moment. Never had he been so afraid … not even when he'd faced his own death. And losing Hallie now would kill him in ways that would make him pray to die. Without her love, his life would once again become a meaningless blur of minutes, days, months, and years—time to be filled but never savored, his only companion loneliness.

Damn it! No! Hadn't he lost enough already?
Surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to snatch away the only piece of heaven he'd found on this earth?

None too sure of God's mercy, Jake frantically elbowed aside another onlooker. As he pushed his way through the last of the human barricades, the Mission House came into full view.

The upper floors were engulfed in flames, as was the north side, which was where the infirmary was located. Shards of glass from broken windows glittered like teardrops among the sooty rubble on the sidewalks, and the smoke, thick and black like flowing oil, poured from the empty frames. The whole second floor was a wall of incendiary orange from which drifted cinders that fell like scalding rain. And even at this distance Jake could feel the shimmer from the heat.

Like a sleepwalker he stepped into the nightmarish scene, mindless except for one thought: he had to find Hallie.

Panicked Chinese girls ran back and forth, babbling to the Mission House workers who sought to calm them. On the south side of the house, a red-uniformed fireman stood on a ladder, pulling a young girl out of a flaming second-story window. Volunteers holding tangled lengths of hose were shooting torrents of water into the blaze, shouting orders at one another in an attempt to be heard above the roar. And it seemed as if hundreds of women swarmed in the streets, but none of them was Hallie.

Terrified, Jake shoved his way through the crowd. Over and over again he shouted her name, desperately scanning the throng for a glimpse of her bright hair. He stopped to ask several of the workers if they had seen her, but they either stared at him, too stunned to reply, or merely shook their heads no.

As he elbowed deeper into the melee, Jake heard someone call his name. Hope surged in his heart as he whipped around, and then it died as quickly as it had been born. It was Davinia Loomis who was hurrying toward him.

The normally neat-as-a-pin mission directress looked as unkempt as an unmade bed. Her hair was falling about her face in sweat-soaked straggles, and her gown, once a festive red, was streaked with soot.

“Where's Hallie?” Jake shouted, rushing to meet her halfway.

Davinia shook her head, wincing as he grasped her arms in a bruising grip. “I thought she was with you.”

“Then she didn't come back here?” His hope was reborn.

“I don't know. I've been out since dawn making my calls.”

Jake let his hands fall to his sides with a grunt of disappointment.

Davinia scratched at her head, mystified. “You say she went flitting off? Odd. It's not a bit like Hallie to behave so irresponsibly. Perhaps—” Then her brows drew together in a fierce scowl. “Jake Parrish! What did you do to the poor girl now?”

Jake shook his head impatiently. “Later. Now, who would know if she came back here?”

“We could ask Marius. He's been here all morning.” Davinia straightened her bent spectacles to study the faces around her. As a very thin Chinese girl flew past, she hollered, “Mary!”

The girl came to an abrupt halt, staring fearfully at the scowling man by Missy Loomy's side.

“Have you seen Reverend DeYoung?”

The girl shook her head.

“It's all right, dear,” Davinia coaxed. “This is Mr. Parrish. He's looking for Dr. Gardiner. Have you seen her?”

Jake forced a smile to his face as he nodded at the girl.

“Docta tell Mary light parlor. Docta—she go to big hole. Get songbook.” Mary bobbed her head, pleased by her English recital.

“Big hole?” Jake looked to Davinia for an explanation.

“The cellar.”

Wanting to scream with frustration, yet not wanting to scare the girl, Jake asked, “When was the last time you saw Dr. Gardiner? Have you seen her since she went down to the cellar?”

The girl cocked her head to one side and looked at Davinia, puzzled. Patiently, Davinia repeated the question in Chinese. Shaking her head in response, the girl chattered something back. Davinia's face turned ashen at her reply.

“Hell and damnation! Hallie never returned from the cellar!”

Desperation, raw and powerful, infused every fiber of Jake's being. The thought of his Mission Lady trapped in the cellar, alone and possibly hurt, was devastating. He had vowed to keep Hallie safe, to protect her … always. And even if he died trying, it was a promise he intended to keep.

Grabbing hold of Davinia's arms again, he growled, “The cellar. Where is it?”

“It's too dangerous. Let me get the firemen.”

Punctuating each word with a sharp shake, Jake hissed, “Just-answer-the-damn-question!”

Davinia hesitated for a moment before replying, “Through a door beneath—ouch! my arm!—the stairs in the entry hall. Wait!”

But having gained the information he needed, Jake was already halfway across the lawn. As he disappeared through the open front door and was swallowed up by a seething bank of smoke, Davinia whispered, “Please, God. Go with him.”

Heedless of anything except his need to find Hallie, Jake hurled himself through the door. As he pushed himself into the hallway, he was met with a suffocating wall of smoke that rendered the close space as dark as a moonless midnight. The heat was almost paralyzing in its intensity, and as he drew in a gasping breath, the air seemed to scorch his throat all the way down to his lungs.

With his throat burning painfully and his eyes tearing from the smoke, Jake began to grope his way along the wall beneath the stairs. Like a blind man memorizing the planes of a loved one's face, his fingertips explored every nook and cranny. Nothing.

Hacking for air, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled beneath the nebulous black cloud, which hovered a couple of feet above the floor. To his everlasting relief, he found the wood planking cool. The fire hadn't yet reached the cellar below.

But not for long,
he cautioned himself. Above his head, Jake could hear the crackle of timber as the ceiling caught fire. Through the smoke, he could see the flames beginning to drip down the walls. From across the narrow corridor came the ominous groaning of the doors as they bent outward, threatening to explode from the pressure building up within the rooms.

Panic slugged him deep in his belly. Any minute now those doors would be blown apart and the corridor would become a raging holocaust from which he would be unable to escape. It would be over.

Dizzy from smoke inhalation, his lungs screaming for oxygen, Jake ran his palms along the wall. Somewhere upstairs he could hear an explosion of glass. Time was running out.

Then his fingers caught onto a ridge and he felt the outline of the door frame. From behind the opposite wall, he could hear a sound like a scream of a twister, growing louder and louder with every passing second. Frantically, Jake fumbled for the knob. If he didn't find the damn thing soon, that shriek would be the last sound he'd ever hear. It would be his death knell.

His guardian angel must have been sitting on his shoulder, for as soon as the morbid thought had entered his mind, Jake's hand clamped around a bulbous shape. With a hoarse shout of victory, he tore the door open.

Just as he lurched to his feet, the opposing doors burst outward into the corridor. In a roar of deafening noise, the rooms behind him lit up and the explosive pressure pitched him forward down the stairs.

Down he tumbled, his body slamming helplessly against the walls, striking every step with agonizing brutality. It seemed as if he was falling in slow motion, as if it was taking forever to reach the bottom. Finally, after falling what seemed like a mile, he landed on the hard cellar floor with a loud
thump!

Wincing with pain at every movement, Jake rolled onto his back and tested his limbs for injuries. Though nothing seemed to be broken, he could feel blood oozing from a cut on his temple.

“Hallie?” he whispered, struggling to rise to his knees. But his throat was too swollen from the smoke to produce much more than a croak, and his voice was barely audible, even to himself.

When he tried to suck in a deep breath to clear his throat, tears of pain sprang to his eyes. His airways felt as if they were blocked by red-hot chunks of coal, and he was unable to do much more than just gasp. The tiny trickle of air that he did manage to inhale made his lungs burn as if they were being seared with a branding iron.

Dizzy from a lack of oxygen and impossibly sore from his fall, Jake staggered to his feet. It was through sheer force of will that he remained standing. Clutching a barrel for support, he stared about the room, momentarily disoriented.

Though the filthy window high on the wall was designed to let in the sunshine, the thick smoke outside obscured the light, dimming it to a feeble haze. Gradually, however, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he was able to make out the details of his surroundings.

It was a small space, overcrowded with a jumble of boxes, crates, and discarded furniture. Jake glanced toward the cellar door nervously. The flames from the corridor were already licking at the top steps. All it would take would be for one spark to come shooting down the stairs, and the whole area would burst into an inescapable pit of fire. They would be trapped.

“Hallie,” Jake rasped, his effort making him double over in a paroxysm of coughing.