Shay learned that the fire had been caused by an explosion in a furnace that had ripped through the walls and ceiling of the complex with rampant destruction. Black, oily smoke had filled exit hallways. Ceilings had collapsed, blocking people's escape. Those who had survived were numb with the shock of having lost all their possessions.
Shay worked endlessly through the night, doing what she could to comfort body and soul. For those who had arrived shivering and half-clothed, their garments having been burned or torn away, she provided warm blankets. Other women of the church prepared and served a hearty soup. Drawing upon what she'd learned in a Red Cross course on emergency aid, Shay bandaged those injuries that weren't serious enough to warrant hospital treatment. She massaged life back into fingers and toes that had been exposed to the freezing cold.
Continuing reports from the site of the fire became more grim with each passing hour. The number of casualties rose as firemen finally got the flames under control and began digging through the wreckage. The hospital was reportedly filled to overflowing with burn victims.
Shay issued orders like a general, sang lullabies, and prayed. She seemed to be everywhere at once, answering hundreds of questions, giving assistance to all who required it.
When one of the women became hysterical when her husband's body was reported found, she called the Catholic priest to come. She was grateful when the rabbi of the local synagogue arrived to comfort those who were asking for him. When Mr. Griffin's brows rose with disapproval, Shay ignored him. Ian would have done the same.
She managed to sleep for a few hours in the early morning before the survivors began to stir. Her back ached with weariness, and her temples throbbed when she rose, but she was smiling gently as she coaxed a three-year-old crying for his mother to eat a scrambled egg. She was holding the child on her lap, pushing a bite of egg through quivering lips, when she saw Ian standing in the doorway.
Their eyes locked across the room, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop. Tears of gladness filled her bleary eyes. He was there. Things would get better.
He wended his way through the cots the National Guard had provided after Shay had demanded them. He squatted down beside her chair. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."
"We've managed, but I'm so glad to see you." Her lips were quivering.
Ian ran a comforting hand over the child's curly head. "Where's his mother?"
A tear rolled down Shay's cheek. She shook her head. "Both his parents. His grandmother is coming for him when she can get here."
Ian nodded. He took the child's hand and pressed it to his cheek. He closed his eyes tightly. Shay had never loved him more than at that moment. Finally he opened his eyes and stood up. "Many of the roads are still blocked with snow. I rented a car the minute I got your message and drove all night." He touched her cheek almost shyly. "How are you?"
She shook her head to dismiss such a silly question at a time like this. "They need you now, Ian." She nodded toward the other people in the crowded room.
He nodded. "I'll see you later."
By the end of the second day, the basement had been cleared of people. Shay could have gone home, but after assigning a crew to restore the basement and return borrowed equipment, she set about gathering up clothing for people who had survived. She visited those in the hospital who were able to have visitors. She tracked down vacancies in other apartment complexes for those who had been left homeless.
Ian buried the dead and comforted their families. He worked tirelessly with a crew clearing out the wreckage, trying to locate personal belongings that might be salvaged. The weather cooperated. It was still bitterly cold, but there was no more snow.
Celia and John called and offered to come and help.
Shay and Ian urged their parents to stay home. They went their separate ways in the mornings and returned late in the evenings to eat the dinner Mrs. Higgins left in the oven and then fell exhausted into bed. They couldn't deal with guests underfoot—even guests willing to help.
Within a week things more or less returned to normal. Shay returned home from the hospital early one afternoon and suddenly realized that nothing required her immediate attention. She laid wood and kindling in the fireplace, prepared a salad to go with the pot roast Mrs. Higgins had cooked that morning, and set the table in the dining room. Those chores done, she went upstairs to shower and change.
She was in the kitchen, watching for Ian's station wagon to pull into the driveway, when the telephone rang. Her agent's voice came as a complete surprise. He had called to tell her that Zavala wanted to use her, but that he wanted to have another session. He was pleased with her, but the pictures he'd taken didn't satisfy him.
Shay took a deep breath. "I hate to do this to you," she said, "but I don't think I'll do this one… I know, but— Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I want to work with him… I don't care, he wasn't professional and threw about six temper tantrums while I was there. I don't need that. I was paid for that session only, not for the job itself, so he can't use the photographs without my permission. Besides, there's another reason, one more important… No, it isn't that. I'm going to have a baby… No, I'm thrilled— No, I don't think so unless it's a really special job… Perhaps. I'll have to talk to Ian about it… Okay. I'm sorry about the Zavala thing… Thank you… Goodbye."
Pensively she returned the telephone receiver to the wall hook. There, it was done. And she felt no sense of loss. With a secret smile on her face she turned—and saw Ian standing in the doorway. She froze. For long moments she tried to read his mood and couldn't. Finally she said lamely, "I didn't hear you come in."
His eyes roved over her face like darts seeking a target. He still wore his coat, muffler, and gloves. A puddle of melting snow wa
s forming around his boots. "You're going to have a baby?" he asked huskily.
She nodded, feeling a pang of anxiety. Would he be pleased?
But her worries were unnecessary. He stumbled toward her, dropping his outdoor wear, letting the pieces fall where they may. He reached out to touch her, hesitated, pulled his hand back, and looked down at her stomach, which was as flat as it had ever been.
She smiled tenderly. "You can touch me. As a matter of fact, I'd be pleased if you would."
"Shay," he said in a way that made the word part apology, part relief. He drew them to the wall, leaning his shoulder and head against it and laying a sensitive hand on her abdomen. "A baby," he whispered. "Our baby." His hand pressed tenderly. "Shay, I've been so miserable," he admitted.
She turned her face into the collar of his shirt, pressing her nose into that triangle at the base of his throat and breathing deeply of the masculine scent she loved. "I have, too. I've wanted you so much. Missed you, missed the closeness we had."
Keeping one hand pressed to her stomach, he tilted her head up with the other. "It's been so long, I've almost forgotten what it tasted like to kiss you."