Max settled Phoebe between his knees, her back tucked against his front.

The cellar wasn’t huge, but Max didn’t expect to be there for long as the fire was moving so fast. The only question was, would they still be here after it had roared through?

The lack of space meant they couldn’t sit face to face, and for that Max was grateful as he knew he’d find his growing awareness of one very womanly woman too distracting. Phoebe was strong and brave and warm and vulnerable, all at once. And he’d never met anyone like her.

The wind increased in intensity as they waited. The roof timbers creaked and groaned under the roar of the fire. The flames would be leaping from treetop to treetop, threatening to devour the house. And them along with it. If the fire took hold they didn’t stand a chance.

Phoebe half turned towards Max and buried her face in his shoulder. Involuntarily he wrapped her in his arms, silently offering comfort. She felt good nestled against him, head tucked to one side. She was a perfect fit.

Suddenly the house gave an almighty shudder, and then lay silent. Had the impossible happened? Had they escaped?

Emily Forbes is the pseudonym of two sisters who share both a passion for writing and a life-long love of reading. Beyond books and their families, their interests include cooking (food is a recurring theme in their books!), learning languages, playing the piano and netball, as well as an addiction to travel—armchair is fine, but anything involving a plane ticket is better. Home for both is South Australia, where they live three minutes apart with their husbands and four young children. With backgrounds in business administration, law, arts, clinical psychology and physiotherapy, they have worked in many areas. This past professional experience adds to their writing in many ways: legal dilemmas, psychological ordeals and business scandals are all intermeshed with the medical settings of their stories. And, since nothing could ever be as delicious as spending their days telling the stories of gorgeous heroes and spirited heroines, they are eternally grateful their mutual dream of writing for a living came true. They would love you to visit and keep up to date with current news and future releases at the Medical™ Romance authors’ website: http://www.medicalromance.com.

Recent titles by the same author:

WEDDING AT PELICAN BEACH

THE SURGEON’S LONGED-FOR BRIDE

A MOTHER IN THE MAKING

EMERGENCY AT PELICAN BEACH

Dear Reader

Every woman loves a Mills & Boon® romance—and who could resist a firefighter as a hero? We certainly couldn’t. So when gorgeous firefighter Max Williams strolled onto the page, we didn’t even try to resist giving him his own story.

More importantly, our paramedic heroine Phoebe didn’t stand a chance against Max’s charms when he sauntered into her life, arriving to run the local country fire station in the middle of a burning hot Australian summer.

Max and Phoebe’s story is set in South Australia, in the Adelaide Hills: hills that are covered in dense bush, with quaint little towns nestled into the valleys. Summers there are extremely hot; the bush turns tinderbox brown, water is scarce, and bushfires pose an ever-present danger, pitting people against the elements. This battle happens all over our vast continent—not surprising since in places it’s no less wild or dangerous than when European settlers first arrived 230 years ago. What is amazing is that Mills & Boon has existed for 100 of those 230 years. It’s an incredible achievement, and we are thrilled to be part of the Mills and Boon success story—a success that has made it possible for us to reach readers around the world.

EMERGENCY: WIFE NEEDED is the first book in a two-book series. We had so much fun with Max and Phoebe, we couldn’t say goodbye. Luckily, Ned Kellaway, Max’s firefighter buddy, proved irresistible, and his story will be on sale early next year.

Our editor fell in love with Max, and we hope you do, too. So here’s to Max, and to all our readers, and here’s to Mills & Boon Medical™ Romances sweeping women everywhere off their feet for the next hundred years and beyond.

Love

Emily Forbes

EMERGENCY: WIFE NEEDED

BY

EMILY FORBES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book would not have been possible without Glen, AKA Cookie, our real-life firefighter, whose fabulous inside information was only surpassed by his ability to slide down that pole with such panache.

Thanks also to Tim, the dashing lead singer from the Dirty Strangers, for providing the inspiration for our rock god hero, and to James, for playing the role of our personal publicity guru with natural flair.

This one’s for the boys!

CHAPTER ONE

PHOEBE WILSON parked the ambulance at the intersection of the Hahndorf and Woodside roads, overlooking an almost dry riverbed, as her partner sent a message back to the station, advising they were in position.

The wind howled around the ambulance, carrying with it the sound of sirens as other units were dispatched from the stations throughout the Hills area. A red glow lit the horizon to the north where the fire service crews were trying to subdue the raging beast that was the bushfire. The fires, already burning for almost twenty-four hours, were steadily consuming the land lying between them and Hahndorf. The forecast maximum temperature for today was a blistering forty degrees and the angry north wind, combined with tinderbox conditions following one of the driest winters on record, made perfect conditions for fuelling bushfires.

The knowledge made calm acceptance of their instructions to sit and wait difficult. Yet here they were. Sitting. Waiting. Both of which were a stock-standard part of the job, although not so easy today.

They were on one periphery of the bushfire, the first in line to treat any casualties the fire crews might bring out to them. In theory, Phoebe and her partner were on their days off but all emergency personnel had been called in. The bushfires were threatening homes and lives and it was all hands on deck. Or at least all hands ready and waiting to be on deck. Phoebe searched for her Discman as her partner, Steve, organised his newspapers. As usual he’d brought the form guide for the horse races and The Trading Post along to help kill time.

‘What are you looking for this week?’ Phoebe asked, nodding at The Trading Post.

‘Old clocks for Dutchy to restore while he’s out of action.’

‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, enquiring after a collegue. ‘Have you spoken to him lately?’

‘He’s OK. His ankle’s feeling good, the pins seem to be holding it all together. He’s still peeved about the accident happening in the first place, especially as he’s the health and safety rep for the fire crews.’

‘But it’s not like he was the one who slid down the pole wet.’ Phoebe suppressed a laugh. The accident hadn’t been funny but the mental image she got whenever she thought about it was. A firefighter shooting down a wet pole at high speed was like a slapstick cartoon. ‘He didn’t know Tiny had been stupid enough to slide down when he was wet.’

‘No, but it was an accident that could have been avoided.’

‘Most of them are.’

‘Yeah, I guess. Have you seen the new signs at the top of the pole now?’

Phoebe nodded. The new signs instructed the emergency personnel to use the stairs, not the pole, if they were wet.

‘I still can’t believe the loss of traction created enough force in a one-storey slide to fracture his ankle.’

‘Unless you can slow yourself down using one foot as a brake, you slide down pretty fast. Dutchy’s got a fair bit of weight behind him—it’s like trying to stop a freight train. He probably hit the floor at an awkward angle and his ankle couldn’t take the pressure.’

‘His replacement should be here tomorrow. Max Williams?’

‘That’s what I’ve heard.’

‘Let’s hope he fits in all right. It’ll make it tough otherwise—we’re such a tightly knit unit.’

She glanced out of the window as Steve buried his nose in his papers. The strong north wind was carrying fingernail-sized particles of ash to them and she watched as they drifted around the ambulance. Despite the mask, which covered the lower half of her face, the smell of the burning bush filled her nose. She didn’t know what made her more nervous, sitting in a stationary ambulance on the edge of a bushfire, shrouded in thick brown smoke, or having a French test looming tomorrow.

She was less prepared for the second event, woefully prepared. Pulling a face, she plugged the headphones into her Discman and slipped them into her ears. It looked like any last-minute swotting would have to be done now.

‘What’s with the long face?’ Steve laughed as he looked up from the paper. ‘Aren’t your endless courses meant to be your downtime? Your fun?’

Stretching her legs as much as the cramped confines of the front of the ambulance would allow, she simultaneously poked him in the ribs. ‘I’ve got a test tomorrow and this time I want to blitz it.’

‘After you bombed out in the last one, Little Miss Competitive?’

Turning up her nose, Phoebe ignored him and waved a hand at the smoke billowing across the bush in front of them. ‘I’m not sure if my lecturer will accept a bushfire for an excuse. He’s already decided I’m a lousy student.’

‘Are you?’

‘Afraid so, so bug off and let me cram.’ She hit the play button and tried to tune out Steve’s attempts to distract her by counting to ten in French. Again and again. At least she’d remember her numbers tomorrow. Maybe.

She parroted back the phrases which she’d hoped by now would be familiar but which for some reason had decided to jumble in her brain, and while she recited she watched, almost mesmerised, as the dark smoke danced and swirled, the wind tugging the air and giving it a life of its own. Even within the close confines of the ambulance she could taste the smoke. It coated her tongue and any time she drank from her water bottle to wet her throat, the taste was tainted by the odour of the smoke. The sun was a hazy orange ball hanging in the sky, obscured by the smoke. It was almost midday yet the light suggested it was much later in the afternoon.

Phoebe tried to concentrate on her French. The man on the disc was conjugating verbs and she realised she was supposed to be repeating the words in the pauses. She could listen to a French accent for ever without tiring of it. Today it had the added bonus of blocking out the noise of the fire, but if she didn’t concentrate she’d never pass tomorrow night’s test. Since joining the ambulance service a little over a year ago she’d become skilled at making the most of her idle time, something she hadn’t had much experience with in her past life. Then every minute had been accounted for and she’d been permanently stretched to her limits. She increased the volume and began repeating the words.

She glanced out her window again as she muttered to herself. A few feet to her left a second ambulance was parked. She could see Bluey lying back, eyes closed, as he catnapped while Ken read. Everyone had their own way of killing time. Looking back towards the river, she thought the smoke was getting thicker. It was almost a solid wall and the lights of the emergency vehicles bounced off it, reflecting red and orange, mimicking the flames. Her heart rate increased as she imagined the fire heading in her direction. This wasn’t the first bushfire she’d attended but it was, by far, the most formidable and she closed her eyes as she tried to get her imagination under control.

Steve nudged her in the side, attracting her attention. His hand was on the volume control for the two-way radio and she removed her headphones to listen to him.

‘Pete Brady’s been injured. The firies are bringing him out to us.’

The Onkaparinga River in front of her formed the south boundary of the Bradys’ farm. Their house and most of the sheds were less than five kilometres from where the ambulances were parked and she wondered again just how close the fire was. Apparently the firefighters had burnt a fire break on the other side of the river but the smoke was now so dense she couldn’t see that far. All she could hope was that the break was large enough to stop the fire, but she doubted it. She couldn’t imagine that a fire that burned with such fierce intensity would hesitate at this pitiful excuse of a river and give up the fight.

A red Metropolitan Fire Service car emerged from the smoke, its headlights and rooftop emergency lights piercing the gloom as it drew up alongside the ambulances. Phoebe and Steve took a quick gulp of water before repositioning their face masks and scrambling from their vehicle, ready to assist.

The fireman had his door open and was already helping Pete from the car. Pete leant heavily on the other man and hobbled the few steps across to Phoebe. She quickly moved to Pete’s right side, taking some of his weight. The firefighter nodded at her in acknowledgment and she felt a flicker of recognition as she met his gaze.

She turned away, concentrating on getting Pete safely to the ambulance, focussing on her job. It was unlike her to be easily distracted yet she couldn’t help risking another glance.

He wasn’t familiar, she was sure she’d never met him before, so why did she feel like she had?

He was tall, at least six feet two inches. She was nearly five feet ten herself and he was definitely several inches taller. His thick, dark brown hair curled slightly over his ears and at his neck and was currently covered with a layer of soot. Goggles were hanging around his neck, drawing her eyes to his well-defined jaw, but it was his eyes, so dark they were almost black, that had sent the shiver of familiarity through her.

Pete stumbled, catching his foot on a small rock, and Phoebe and the fireman both tightened their hold on him. The fireman flashed a smile at Phoebe, his teeth startlingly white and perfect, and she caught her breath and almost stumbled herself.

What was it about this man that affected her like this?

She let out the breath she’d been holding and tore her gaze away as Steve asked a question.

‘What happened?’

‘We found Pete just outside one of his sheds. He’d fallen into a rabbit hole and twisted his knee. He’d dragged himself to the shed. He’s suffering from smoke inhalation as well.’ His voice was deep and he spoke with a South Australian accent, his vowels more rounded and English-sounding in comparison to her own east coast Aussie twang.

‘Thanks. We’ve got it from here.’ Bluey took over and got Pete settled on a stretcher before pushing it into the ambulance.

‘What’s it like out there?’ Steve asked.

Out of the corner of her eye Phoebe could see Bluey hooking Pete up to the oxygen and a saline drip but her attention had again drifted to the firefighter and she couldn’t seem to tear herself away.

‘Not good. The fire’s several kilometres wide and this wind’s not helping. We haven’t got it under control but it hasn’t broken the containment lines.’

From his erect posture to the carriage of his head through to his strong voice, he exuded confidence. In fact, since he’d arrived on the scene she hadn’t worried about the fire. Everything seemed more controlled now.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He nodded at them both before turning back to the MFS car. As he walked away Phoebe realised she didn’t know his name and then wondered why that mattered. She had other things to worry about. She hopped into the ambulance and began to examine Pete’s knee.

‘Anyone know if Kerry and the girls got out OK?’ Pete was asking after his family.

‘We haven’t heard of any problems but I’ll check on that for you,’ Steve replied. ‘Would they have reported in at the police station?’

‘They should have—that’s always the plan.’

‘No worries, then. I’ll find out.’

Phoebe ran her hands over Pete’s knee. It was quite swollen and tender on palpation over the medial aspect and seemed quite unstable when she tested the cruciate ligament, but he didn’t complain of pain with that test.

‘Looks like you’ve done some ligament damage, probably involving your cartilage, too, and I suspect your anterior cruciate ligament is ruptured.’

‘That went a long time ago,’ Pete said. ‘An old football injury. But the pain on this side is new.’

‘I reckon you’ll live but you won’t be fighting any more fires today.’

‘What about the house?’

‘The MFS and the CFS are there, you’ll just have to trust them to do their jobs. We need to get you back to town,’ Phoebe said as she wrapped an icepack around his knee before checking his oxygen sats.

‘Kerry and the girls are fine.’ Steve reported. ‘Kerry’ll meet you at the hospital. Ken and Bluey will take you in—they’re due for a break.’

The two-way radio crackled into life as Phoebe tightened the straps to secure Pete to the stretcher. Steve took the call, interrupting Phoebe. ‘We gotta go. Bill Chappell’s had a suspected heart attack.’ She raced back to the other ambulance, jumping into the passenger seat as Steve turned around, heading up the hill, heading into the smoke and towards the fire.

‘Where is he?’

‘Still at home. We can get through past Pete’s place.’ The reduced visibility hindered their speed and Steve turned the siren on to alert any other vehicles to their presence.

Once again, Phoebe was aware of her heart rate increasing with every metre they advanced towards the fire. She knew from the emergency services controllers that they weren’t in any immediate danger yet the conditions were making her nervous. She took a deep breath but that only made matters worse as she got a lungful of smoke-tainted air. She took another long drink of water and tried mentally reciting her French verbs. As a distraction technique it was quite successful and she was just beginning her second run-through when Steve turned into Bill’s driveway.

Maureen Chappell met them at the front door and gave them a quick summary of Bill’s medical history as they made their way to the lounge room where their patient was slumped in a chair. His breathing was shallow, his complexion grey and his skin was coated with a sheen of perspiration—in short, he didn’t look the picture of health.

Maureen had told them Bill was complaining of left chest pain, extending down his left arm. Phoebe administered a quick dose of GTN spray under Bill’s tongue while Steve recorded his obs.

Phoebe unbuttoned Bill’s shirt and applied the sticky electrodes for the portable ECG machine as Steve ran an oxygen line to the mask he placed over Bill’s mouth and nose. Together they set up a saline drip and while Steve waited to see if Bill’s condition stabilized, Phoebe returned to the ambulance to fetch the stretcher. Bill had suffered episodes of angina in the past and the safest place for him at the moment was in hospital.

The return trip to Hahndorf, with Phoebe driving, took less than twenty minutes but in that time several fire engines passed them on the road as they headed out to the fires. Each time one passed by Phoebe found herself looking into the trucks, looking for a glimpse of the unknown fireman.

After delivering Bill into the care of the nurses at the hospital, Phoebe and Steve returned to the station for their scheduled break. The combined fire and ambulance station was one block from the hospital on the edge of town, but even as they travelled that short distance Phoebe continued to search the streets for the tall, dark fireman. She knew she was being ridiculous. He wouldn’t be wandering the streets, he’d be out there, risking his life to save others, but the idea she might never see him again filled her with unexpected despondency.

Steve parked the ambulance and Phoebe stretched as she climbed from her seat. She was filthy, tired and hungry but she knew a shower was pointless as she’d be back out in the heat and smoke soon enough. Dumping her language discs and textbooks on a table, she headed straight for the change rooms. Ripping open the Velcro closures on her fireproof jumpsuit and stripping down to her singlet top, she decided she’d have to be content with a quick wash. Feeling slightly refreshed, she left the top of her suit dangling from her waist as she walked along the passage back to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. Her stomach rumbled at the thought and she was so focussed on her mission she didn’t look where she was going and collided with someone in the passage.

Hands reached out to steady her and she started to apologise, but when she saw who it was the words caught in her throat. Tall, dark and way too attractive.

He was back.

CHAPTER TWO

‘SORRY.’ Phoebe eventually managed to murmur an apology.

‘My fault. Are you OK?’ His eyes ran over her body. She knew it was his reaction to the collision but it made her heart race all the same. She cursed her fair skin as she felt a blush steal across her cheeks. She was never normally at a loss for words but she just stood there, staring at him. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Phoebe searched for a reply. His hands were still holding her upper arms, making coherent thought difficult. ‘No, no.’ Her gaze met his and again she felt a sense of familiarity. He held her gaze. Was there a flicker of recognition from him too or was that her over-active imagination?

His lips parted, he was about to speak. She knew she hadn’t sounded convincing but she wasn’t hurt, only momentarily stunned. ‘I’m fine. Really,’ she said as she stepped back, forcing him to release her so she could flee to the kitchen where there was safety in numbers. She knew she was being completely absurd, running away from the very person she’d been trying to find all afternoon, but until she could get her ridiculous reaction under control she couldn’t be trusted around him. Not if she didn’t want him to think her a complete idiot.

She headed for the first familiar face she saw. Ned.

‘Hey, Phoebes, how’s it going?’

Phoebe deliberately kept her back to the change rooms so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch for him.

‘Not bad so far, touch wood,’ she replied, tapping her knuckles against the tabletop. ‘Where’ve you been today?’

‘The other side of Mt Lofty. It’s pretty hairy over there.’ As an experienced firefighter, if Ned thought a situation was dangerous, Phoebe knew it must be bad. ‘I’m heading back in a minute.’ He glanced over Phoebe’s right shoulder, then reached out to shake someone’s hand.

‘Max, buddy.’ His grin was broad. ‘I wasn’t expecting you this early.’

The mystery fireman was here. Only he wasn’t a mystery to Ned.

Max and Ned merged together in a bear hug. Phoebe saw a flash of blue followed by tanned arms, bulging biceps and dark hair curling at the nape of a strong neck.

The hug over, there were claps on backs and broad grins, illustrating the reunion was a happy one. ‘I’m not officially on deck till tomorrow but you know how it is with fires like this. The more the merrier.’

‘Phoebe, this is Max. We did our basic training together, he’s our relieving station officer, covering for Dutchy. Max, this is Phoebe. We live together.’

Max held out his hand, accompanying the gesture with a broad smile, flashing his perfect teeth again. ‘Nice to meet you officially, Phoebe.’

Phoebe took his hand. His grip was firm, his palm smooth and cool to the touch.

‘Hello, Max.’ His name suited him and she nearly told him so but fortunately came to her senses just in time. He was looking at her so intently again she couldn’t hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes and focussed on his chest.

He, too, had stripped down to a singlet but she was willing to bet he looked ten times better in his than she did in hers. Broad shoulders protruded from his top and while his neck wasn’t muscle-bound his arms definitely looked as though he spent time lifting weights. She had a weakness for good arms on a man. His singlet top didn’t disguise a well-toned abdomen either. There wasn’t an unnecessary ounce of weight on him.

She glanced down at her own once-white singlet, which was now an unattractive shade of brown, thanks to the fires. Her breasts, which she was convinced were one cup size too large, were doing their best to escape. She raised her eyes again to discover he was watching her, looking amused, as she stood frowning at her grubby top.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker. ‘Attention, attention, 262 and 263 responding to fires west of Lobethal.’

‘That’s me,’ Ned said. ‘I’ll catch you both later.’

Phoebe went up on tiptoe, kissing Ned’s cheek. ‘Be careful.’

Max was watching her again. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. Phoebe shook her head. ‘Can I get you a sandwich—ham and cheese?’

She nodded then berated herself as he went to the kitchen. He was upsetting her equilibrium. She never had ham sandwiches. She didn’t even like ham. But she accepted it with thanks when he returned, not wanting to give him any more reasons to think she was a complete fool.

Phoebe sat at a table, pushing a pile of books out of the way to make room for her sandwich. Max pulled out a chair, not waiting for an invitation, not thinking he needed one.

‘How long have you and Ned lived together?’

‘About eighteen months.’

‘So it’s serious, then?’ He and Ned hadn’t caught up much in recent times but it surprised him that Phoebe had never been mentioned, even in passing.

Phoebe frowned at him, her fair eyebrows coming together and creating a little crease in her forehead. ‘Serious?’

‘Living together for that long, it must be, right?’

‘Oh. We don’t “live together”,’ Phoebe said, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. ‘We share a house. Separate bedrooms.’ She took another bite of the sandwich she seemed not to be enjoying.

‘Jumping to conclusions.’ But even as he spoke, he knew there was no way the thought of sharing a bedroom with Phoebe hadn’t entered Ned’s mind. His reputation as a playboy hadn’t been without basis and Phoebe certainly wasn’t hard on the eye. Tall and blonde, her figure was athletic, with long lean limbs. And she filled out her tank top in all the right places. As if Ned hadn’t noticed!

Maybe she and Ned had had a fling—who was to say otherwise? He tried to get his mind off that topic. It wasn’t any of his business.

Her voice halted his train of thought. ‘You’ve had a hectic introduction to the town.’

‘It was my choice to start early. I like a bit of drama—gets the adrenalin going.’

‘Is there enough drama today to keep you satisfied?’ She was smiling at him but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. He could tell she wasn’t sure about him, yet he’d swear there had been sparks between them from the moment they’d met. Or was that exactly why she wasn’t sure?

‘I reckon today just about covers everything.’ He eyed the pile of textbooks in front of Phoebe. ‘But it looks as though you’re expecting a few quiet moments.’ He spun the pile of books around, reading the title of the top one. ‘French for Beginners. Are you planning a trip?’

‘No. This is my latest craze, learning French. I’ve got a test tomorrow.’

‘Êtes-vous assez fort en Francais?’

She looked at him with a bewildered expression. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you just said. It was French, right?’

They both laughed then and he said, ‘I asked if you were any good.’

Phoebe buried her face in her hands then reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘I guess you already know the answer, but I’ll see if my vocab stretches so far. Non.’

Her smile reached her eyes, she seemed to relax, and Max had to remind himself to act casual and not stare. She’d be attractive no matter what she did, but when her face was graced with a smile—a real, honest-to-goodness laughing-at-herself smile—she was, purely and simply, lovely. Her eyes were pale blue, but in an unusual, not insipid, way and framed by dark eyelashes, which contrasted with her fair eyebrows. When she’d smiled and even now there was a sparkle in them that hadn’t been there before and he knew it was egotistical of him, but he liked the idea he’d been the one to add the extra sparkle. Despite the noise and the crowd in the kitchen, they might have been the only two people there. Her smile had totally captivated him.

‘I’m obviously a total disaster,’ she answered. ‘Can you really speak French or are you pulling my leg?’

‘I can speak it, though I’m getting rusty. I haven’t had much of a chance to exercise my linguistic skills lately.’

She blew some hair off her face and looked downfallen. Adorably so. ‘Did you learn French as a child? Apparently it’s much easier then, and I’m clinging to the hope that that’s why I’m so bad at it, not just that I’m bad, full stop, and too old!’

She didn’t look more than twenty-five but he knew better than to comment on a woman’s age, especially one who was a relative stranger. ‘I spent a few years in Canada.’

‘In the French provinces?’

‘No. In Saskatchewan. I did an exchange program through the fire department. I dated a French Canadian girl for a while—she taught me.’ She’d taught him a few other things, too, about human nature in particular, and he could feel his blood starting to boil at the thought of how foolish he’d been. But it had been a lesson well learned.

‘Do you have any tips to pass on?’ Phoebe’s question brought him back to the present.

‘I watched lots of French movies. It’s a great way to test comprehension and work on the accent.’ He said the words as if in an ad.

Phoebe laughed and her face lit up again. Again, too, he felt that warmth inside that told him he was the one who’d put that light in her eyes. ‘A likely excuse. I’ve always wondered what men see in foreign movies, and an improved accent isn’t high on my list of reasons.’

That was a smile he could very quickly get used to. She had little lines at the corners of her eyes—perhaps she was older than she looked—but rather than detract from her looks the lines gave her face more character. ‘I can’t speak for all men but in my case it was purely educational.’

She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m not doubting you, I’m sure it helped your linguistic skills no end.’ She was laughing again. Her laugh was infectious. So much so that he wasn’t leaving here until he knew he’d see her again outside work. He wouldn’t usually act this quickly—he’d learnt his lesson there—but something about Phoebe was different. Different enough to make him seize the moment, at any rate.

‘Are you up for a deal?’ She cocked her head to one side, clearly interested. ‘If you play tour guide for me, I’ll help you with your French.’

‘Won’t Ned be expecting to be playing host?’

‘I know exactly what sights Ned would have on his itinerary: the pubs and clubs and anywhere else he might find the under 25s. I’m assuming you’d know a few other places of local interest.’

‘A fair assumption.’

‘We have a deal?’

‘I’ll think about it.’ It hadn’t been a rebuff, her mannerisms said she was relaxed enough, but he was still a little surprised. He’d expected her to agree, not because he was arrogant but because he was sure she’d reacted to him in the same way he’d reacted to her. There was something there. Or was he reading the energy between them all wrong? ‘I have to get going,’ she was saying as she stood, gathering her books. ‘I need to make a phone call. Thanks for the sandwich.’

‘Je vous en prie.’

‘Ah…’ She stalled, clearly drawing a blank and frustrated with herself for doing so. ‘I know that one, truly.’ And she clenched her free hand in a fist and shook it at herself. ‘All right, I give up.’

‘ “ You’re welcome.” That’s what it means. And it’s in the dialogue on page one of your workbook, I saw earlier, so I’d imagine you’ll need that for your test.’

She shook her head, gloom falling over her face and making her eyes darker. ‘I’m done for.’

Then she rolled her eyes, shook her head and left him to his thoughts.

Perhaps a stint in the country would be more enjoyable than he’d anticipated.

‘Attention, attention 261 and 81 responding to an MVA.’

‘Sorry, Mum, I have to go, they’re paging me.’ Phoebe hung up the phone after saying goodbye, relieved to find all was well on her parents’ small land holding on the outskirts of town. So far, at least. She raced back to the ambulance bay, shrugging the top of her jumpsuit on as she went.

‘What have we got?’ she asked Steve, deciding that was quicker than checking her own pager.

‘MVA on Jungfer Road. The car’s left the road and apparently there’s someone trapped inside.’

Phoebe jumped into the driver’s seat, waiting until Steve had buckled his seat belt before pulling out of the station, siren blaring. A fire engine was in front of them, leading the way. As they drove further out of town the visibility worsened and Phoebe had to concentrate in order to keep a safe distance between the ambulance and the fire engine while still keeping them within sight. The emergency broadcaster was giving them regular updates on the state of the fires, including where they were burning and in which locations people needed to be making decisions about staying or vacating their properties. Residents of Lobethal were being advised to evacuate now. Jungfer Road was one road that remained open and provided an exit route for those residents. As the ambulance got closer to the turn-off Phoebe drove more cautiously in order to avoid the steady stream of cars coming from the opposite direction. She wanted to put her foot down, she felt the need to get to the crash site as quickly as possible, but she couldn’t risk being involved in an accident of her own.

In front of her she saw the flashing left-turn indicator on the fire engine. She flicked her own indicator on, slowing further to take the corner. They drove on for a few minutes but as they approached one of the few bends in the road Phoebe saw a car pulled off to one side. A man climbed out of the car and waved them down. The fire engine pulled over and Phoebe brought the ambulance to a stop behind it.

She jogged past the fire engine, concentrating on getting to the witness to get any information he might have but still vaguely aware of the fire crew already at work, opening hatches and retrieving their equipment. Aware too that Max was among them.

She stopped beside the man’s car. ‘He’s down there.’ The elderly man’s voice was muffled by the hand towel he was holding over his nose and mouth to protect himself from the hot, ash-strewn air. He pointed with one hand over the embankment and Phoebe looked in the direction he had indicated. She could see an old yellow sedan at the bottom of the slope, its front crumpled around a huge tree.

‘I went down there, but I couldn’t get any response. Do you think he might be dead?’

They had no way of determining that from where they stood and Phoebe assumed it had been a rhetorical question.

‘Did you see the accident?’

‘No. My wife and I were travelling behind that car but I lost him as he went around the bend. He was driving pretty fast considering the conditions and I guess he lost sight of the road in the smoke. I thought I’d better wait to show you where the car was—it’s not easy to see.’

He was right. The thick smoke was obscuring everything, limiting visibility to less than a hundred metres and, coming from the direction they travelled, they could easily have missed the wrecked car.

‘Do you have any idea who’s in the car?’

‘No. Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘Can we get going now, do you think?’

Phoebe could hear a slight tremor in the old man’s voice. He’d done the right thing, what his conscience had demanded of him, and now understandably he was getting nervous about the approaching fire. Phoebe was nervous, too.

‘Of course. Thanks for your help.’

He hurried to his car, still clutching the towel to his face.

Phoebe looked around her. Cars continued to travel past but for once they didn’t have to work with a crowd of onlookers, the imminent danger from the bushfire was taking care of curious spectators. The fire crew and Steve were already at the vehicle, assessing the situation. Phoebe hurried down the slope, slipping a little on the dry undergrowth with its layer of fallen gum leaves.

The car was a total wreck. The driver’s side was wrapped around the tree, the bonnet virtually non-existent now as it was so badly compacted. The windscreen was shattered but access through there was limited as the tree blocked the opening. From what Phoebe could see, it appeared as though the steering-column might have crushed the driver’s chest, pinioning him to the wreck. She very much doubted he’d survived the accident.

She saw Max hand the spreaders to Mitch before coming to her side. Both of them silent, watching, waiting for the firies to get access to the vehicle.

Max spoke first, verbalising her thoughts. ‘I don’t reckon there’ll be much you can do for him even if he is alive.’

There were no signs of movement from within the car and no response to any of their calls. The doors were too badly damaged to be opened so Mitch smashed the back passenger window directly behind the driver, but even that caused no reaction.

As soon as the window was shattered Steve reached through the gap. Phoebe saw him put his hand on the driver’s shoulder, heard him ask a question, seeking a response. Nothing.

Steve moved his hand over the driver’s neck and Phoebe knew he was checking for a pulse. He cocked his head to one side in concentration.

‘I’ve got a pulse. Weak and irregular but he’s still alive. We need access now!’

Max picked up the crowbar Mitch had dropped at his feet and hurried around to the passenger side of the car to smash the unbroken windows while Mitch started cutting through the pillars supporting the roof. It would take Mitch a few minutes to get them access. Minutes this young man might not have.

Phoebe could hear Steve talking to the youth even though there was no response. She felt extraneous and looked for something useful to do. She skirted the tree, the tree that had done all the damage, wondering if there was any way she could get into the car. Was there enough room for her to squeeze through the broken windscreen into the front seat?

No way would she fit. To get through that hole she needed to be about five feet four and weigh eight stone. Not five feet ten and buxom.

Max had smashed the windows on the near side and Phoebe looked at the shattered glass scattered over the seats and littering the floor. A handbag lay on the floor, covered in broken glass, its bright colours incongruous in the wreckage. Phoebe’s gaze travelled over the handbag across to Steve. He’d stepped back from the driver, giving Mitch room to cut through the metalwork.

Phoebe’s subconscious drew her attention back to the handbag, suddenly working out what was so strange. She stepped back from the car, searching the ground around the crash site.

‘What is it?’ she heard Max’s question.

‘There must have been someone else in the car. A girl.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a handbag on the floor. Why would he have a handbag? We’ve got to find her.’

She moved to the front of the car. A flash of bright blue in the undergrowth to her left caught her eye. She wondered how she’d missed it as she’d first skirted the tree.

It was a sandal.

And the sandal was on a foot.

Phoebe’s eyes travelled up from the foot, following the line of a jeans-clad leg.

‘Over here.’

Max was beside her.

The top half of the body was partially hidden by a straggly shrub and Phoebe stepped forward. It was a girl. She was lying on her stomach but her face was turned towards them, her head at an unnatural angle, her sightless eyes staring into the sky.

‘Her neck’s broken.’

Phoebe squatted down beside her, force of habit making her check for a pulse even though she knew it was futile. She took her fingers from the girl’s neck, reaching up to close her eyelids.

Max looked back to the tree and the destroyed car. ‘She must have been flung out on impact.’ He stretched out his hand, offering to help Phoebe up. ‘Come on, there’s nothing you can do for her now.’

Phoebe took his hand. The contact was comforting, his warmth reassuring after touching the lifeless body of the young girl at their feet. In the background Phoebe was aware of the noise of the jaws of life crunching through metal as Mitch cut open the car.

‘Are you OK?’

She nodded, an automatic response, but actually she was far from okay. Unnecessary deaths always gave her a mix of emotions. She couldn’t remember the last time any of her colleagues had asked if she, or anyone else, was affected by what they dealt with at work. Death was an inevitable part of their job but it didn’t mean they were unaffected by it. It never got any easier but no one really talked about it. She didn’t need—didn’t want—to talk or think about it either. She knew from experience she just needed to keep moving. To stay busy.

Despite the heat of the day she felt a chill as she moved away from Max’s side. Keep moving, stay busy. Max was right. There was nothing she could do for this girl but hopefully they’d be able to save the driver.

The firemen had peeled back the roof of the car along the driver’s side and were just removing the front door. Steve was still talking. ‘Just about there, mate. Hang on.’

The moment the door was gone Steve was back in place, his hand under the driver’s chin, supporting his head, feeling for the carotid pulse. The youth’s face was surprisingly undamaged. He had a cut above his eye but that had stopped bleeding and Phoebe knew why even before Steve spoke.

‘We’ve lost him.’

Now the car had been opened up they could see the massive abdominal injuries the lad had suffered. Looking at those, Phoebe was surprised he’d still been alive when they arrived.

Steve let the driver’s head go and stood, turning to speak to the policemen who’d just arrived. Max and his crew began gathering their equipment, preparing to return to the fire front. Returning to their task of saving the living.

Phoebe climbed back up the slope with them, part of her wishing she could leave too. Leave this scene of death and destruction. Leave with Max.

Instead, she dragged a Jordan frame and a sheet from the ambulance and made her way back down the slope, waving a hand in farewell to the firies.

With Steve’s help she lifted the girl onto the Jordan frame and covered her with the sheet. Two policemen helped them carry her to the ambulance where they put her on a stretcher and slid her into the van. The police would arrange to collect the car later—the driver would have to be cut out of the wreckage and their resources were already stretched because of the bushfires. Phoebe didn’t like leaving the driver behind but with the fire crew gone she didn’t have any way to get him out of the car. She had no choice.

She closed the ambulance doors and climbed into the passenger seat beside Steve. Ash was falling around them as they drove away, coating everything with a fine layer of grey, a suitable colour in the circumstances, and how many more fatalities they’d see before the fires were extinguished.

The atmosphere in the ambulance as they left the hospital was subdued. Neither of them liked delivering casualties. Steve was driving so Phoebe picked up the handset of the two-way to notify the station they were back on the road.

‘This is Hahndorf 81—we’re just leaving the Hahndorf Hospital. Where would you like us to head? Over.’

‘Hahndorf 81, please return to the station. The fire has broken containment lines and all non-essential units are being withdrawn from the area. I repeat. Please return to the station. Over.’

Phoebe glanced at Steve. ‘Fat lot of good we’ll be, sitting at the station,’ he said.

‘My thoughts exactly, but I don’t suppose we have much of a choice.’

‘No. But I’d rather be out doing something than sitting around, twiddling our thumbs,’ Steve said as he turned into the main street.

‘I guess people either get out to us or they don’t. They won’t risk more lives by sending us into a no-go zone,’ Phoebe said, as Steve parked the ambulance and she hopped out. ‘I’m just going to the control room. I want to see what the situation is for myself.’

The control room was crowded. It seemed as though many people had had the same idea. If they couldn’t be at the scene of the emergency they still wanted to feel involved. Knowing what was going on, even if it was only via a telephone and a fax machine, was preferable to feeling totally useless.

One wall was covered with a large-scale map showing an aerial view of the Hills zone, red markings indicating the area where bushfires were burning. Three separate fires were marked and if the north wind kept up, two of the three fires would be threatening their region, two too many. One fire was already within ten kilometres of Hahndorf, albeit on the other side of the Onkaparinga River.

Phoebe turned to leave the control room. There was nothing she could do there. She saw Steve beckoning to her over the heads of the crowd.

‘What’s up?’ she asked as she met him in the corridor.

‘A call’s just come through. An eighteen-month-old child with breathing difficulties. His parents are too frightened to move him because of his condition so they called for us.’

‘I didn’t hear anything over the loudspeaker.’

‘We’re not being dispatched.’

Phoebe frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘Where’s the house?’

‘Six k’s out of town, this side of the river but in the direct line of the fire.’

‘Can we get to them?’

Steve nodded. ‘The road’s still open but—’

‘We’ve been told to stay put.’ Phoebe finished the sentence and Steve nodded. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

‘I’m in. Are you?’

Phoebe wasn’t the type of person who regularly broke the rules but this wasn’t a rule as such, more a recommendation. She nodded at Steve, both of them already heading to their ambulance, the decision a foregone conclusion.

Minutes later, after being berated over the radio by their team leader for disobeying orders, Phoebe pulled into a dirt driveway lined with tall dark firs. The ambulance’s suspension took a beating as they bounced over the potholes in the approach to the red brick cottage. It was a pretty house, surrounded by large lawns and well-tended garden beds that pressed hard up against its walls, but with the dark clouds of smoke rolling in over the bush, like the wolf lurking in the shadows of a story book cottage, the atmosphere was sinister.

Phoebe parked the ambulance in the curve of the driveway. A blast of hot wind caught her in the face as she opened her door. Tiny particles of dust and pollen blew into her eyes, forcing their way behind her sunglasses. She narrowed her eyes as she and Steve grabbed their gear and headed for the porch, the crunch of gravel underfoot barely audible over the roar of the wind. The light was eerie, glowing with the colours of fire, bright in contrast to the backdrop of a dark and ominous sky.

The front door opened and a man stepped out to meet them, shaking their hands in a distracted fashion, looking not at them but at the smoke looming over the bush.

‘Malcolm Watts, Benji’s dad. He’s through here,’ he said, beckoning them in and casting a last look in the direction of the fire. It was still out of sight but they all knew it was just over the hill. ‘The wind’s all over the place, I don’t like the look of it.’

Phoebe had to agree and when the front door slammed shut behind them, closed by the force of the wind, she shuddered at the finality of the sound. Malcolm led the way into a sitting room where a toddler was lying wan and pale on the couch, his blonde head on his mother’s lap. The child’s skin was almost translucent in the way of infants and young children and his mother was stroking the damp yellow curls back from his forehead. Her focus was entirely on her son. She was oblivious to their arrival.

And it was too much like Joe. This could have been her. That had been her, her cheek resting on the velvet roundness of another’s little cheek, running fingers through sweet-smelling, soft curls, heart swelling with the impossible sweetness of such a love.

Come snuggle Mumma, Joe. How much do I love you?

Mostly it was OK. Mostly the past didn’t rush at her like this, making her breath catch in her throat, her lungs constrict with sudden remembrance. But sometimes…

‘Phoebe?’

Steve was already at Benji’s side, calling to her, casting a glance to hurry her along.

It wasn’t Joe and it wasn’t her. She’d had that life, a long time ago. She had a new one now, she was another person to the one she’d been. There was no turning back the clock. Sometimes her memory didn’t obey the rules, but she had to. And she always did.

She didn’t miss a beat, heading straight over to introduce herself to Benji’s mum, Marg, noting at the same time how the little boy’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, each exhalation a struggle with a tight wheeze. Steve was already setting up the oxygen cylinder, slipping the mask into place, adjusting the straps until he had the fit right over Benji’s nose and mouth. As he moved on to the physical exam, speaking softly to the child, Phoebe questioned Malcolm and Marg about Benji’s health history. Benji appeared unfazed by Steve, a stranger, rolling up his top and pressing a stethoscope against his chest. It was a further sign he was a very sick little boy.

‘Definite obstruction of the airway, difficulty exhaling.’ Steve announced his findings as he continued the examination.

‘You say he’s been sick these last few days? Wheezing getting worse?’ Phoebe asked.

Malcolm nodded and Marg said, ‘We didn’t take him to the doctor because last month he had the same thing and they said they couldn’t do anything—it was just a cold and a slight upper respiratory infection, nothing major. But then this morning he started to wheeze a lot. It’s been getting worse. He was crying and now he’s settled, but he still can’t breathe.’

No point now in explaining he’d not settled but become exhausted. His condition had deteriorated, not improved. ‘The wheezing hasn’t happened at all before? Your doctor hasn’t mentioned asthma?’

‘No, nothing like that. We thought he had a cold and we’d stick it out here. We’ve done it before and it’s always been fine. But we didn’t have a child then.’

‘We should have left. The smoke’s made him worse.’ Marg’s voice cracked with barely restrained feeling as she spoke. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is it asthma? Is it the smoke?’

‘The hospital will have to give you the answers, but it’s likely he has undiagnosed asthma. The smoke or the harsh wind whipping up the pollens and dust are all likely triggers. Wheezing in small children is more likely to be from a cold induced by a virus rather than asthma per se, but Benji’s symptoms suggest it’s much more than a simple cold.’

Steve was continuing to monitor Benji on the oxygen. ‘He’s not responding as quickly as I’d hoped.’ Phoebe looked at Benji, whose lips were now faintly tinged with blue.

‘Nebuliser?’

Steve nodded and Phoebe extracted the nebuliser equipment, setting it up with well-practised hands, running the Ventolin with the oxygen. The ventolin rose, smoke-like, up through the mask and Benji inhaled it, submissive throughout.

‘We’ll need to take him to hospital.’

‘Aren’t we meant to stay put?’ Marg asked. ‘That’s why we called the ambulance and didn’t leave before.’

‘Yes, theoretically, and for the same reason we weren’t meant to come out in the first place, but the best place for Benji is the hospital. One of you can ride with us or you can both follow. That is, if you’re coming.’

‘Of course we’re coming,’ said Malcolm, adding, ‘Do you want to grab some things, Marg?’ He touched her on the arm, the gesture of intimacy and affection jabbing Phoebe in the heart, although she covered it by packing up their equipment. She’d had that, too, that closeness with someone, that sense of being on each other’s side.

Or had she? Had it really been like that with Adam before it had all fallen apart?

Malcolm called after his wife, breaking into her thoughts, ‘Bring the fire-box, too, just in case, honey.’ Marg’s eyes widened at that. It seemed that in her anxiety over Benji she’d forgotten for a brief moment about another danger lurking on the horizon.

As Marg collected her thoughts and left the room a new sound intruded.

‘Sirens.’ Steve and Phoebe spoke in unison.

‘It’s the CFS siren. The fire must be getting closer,’ Malcolm told them. Phoebe shot a look at Steve, wondering if they’d been foolish coming here. But it was too late to worry about that now. They needed a new plan.

‘Where’s your phone, Malcolm?’ Phoebe asked him. ‘I’ll just let the hospital know we’re coming in.’

‘The phone lines are down. We just managed to call 000 before they went and we don’t have mobile reception here.’

‘I’ll use the ambulance two-way, then,’ Phoebe said, leaving in what she hoped was an efficient manner, trying to quell the mild panic fluttering about in her belly. ‘Back in a moment.’

As she stepped from the house, the first thing she was aware of, after the screaming of the siren, was the hot wind blasting her left side. It had swung around.

Windy days had always unsettled her and coming out into this gale was extremely unnerving. The wind had increased in intensity and buffeted her as she struggled across the driveway. Trees were being bent double by the force of the wind and she made herself keep walking, leaning into the wind, fighting her instinct to return to the safety of the house. She had to find out what the situation was—they couldn’t afford to be trapped on the road.

The howling of the wind was battling with the shrieking of the siren, the cacophony of noise clashing in Phoebe’s head and making her want to scream in frustration.

She made it to the ambulance, tugging open the door and clambering into the front seat. She picked up the radio but the external noises were so intrusive she knew she wouldn’t be able to make herself heard. She put her sunglasses on top of her head and massaged her temples. A flash of light in the rear-view mirror caught her attention. A fire engine was coming up the driveway behind her.

It came to a stop two metres from where she sat.

Four fire officers climbed out and Phoebe knew them all but had eyes for only one.

Max was back.

Which, judging by the immediate pitch in her belly as she took in the broad bulk of him, was a good thing.

Except the three other officers had swung immediately into action, and there was a major fire raging somewhere nearby. So, not so good?

She climbed out of the ambulance and waited as Max issued directions to his men before coming to her, his strides making short work of the distance, his gait giving no indication of the heaviness of the protective clothing all the firemen wore. He wore his helmet but had his visor up and over one shoulder he’d slung an oxygen cylinder. He looked like a man in control.

‘Max! What’s going on?’ Over Max’s shoulder Phoebe could see his crew working in an efficient but hurried manner. Two were unrolling hoses while the third was taking more oxygen cylinders from the truck.

Max answered her question with one of his own. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘There’s a little boy inside, suffering a serious asthma attack. We’re just about to take him out to the hospital.’

‘Not right now you’re not. You need to get back inside.’ Phoebe felt Max’s hand in the small of her back as he tried to guide her in the direction of the house.

‘I need to get Benji to hospital.’

‘Phoebe, I don’t have time to argue. You need to listen to me.’

A trickle of sweat snaked its way down her spine. ‘What’s happening?’

‘This wind change has whipped the fire back on itself and it’s heading straight for us.’ Max took a few seconds before he answered. ‘The road’s been cut off. You’re not going anywhere.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘PLEASE, tell me you’re kidding.’

‘I wish I was. Go inside.’ He pinned her with a look that said this was non-negotiable. ‘I’ll be there shortly.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Our job.’

Phoebe saw Max nod towards his men and suddenly realised he didn’t have time to convince her—she had to do as he asked. She nodded, spun around and headed for the house.

Once she was gone Max turned his attention back to his crew, relieved to find they were well prepared.

‘Cookie, you and Mitch get started on wetting down the house, check the gutters and get any roof sprinklers going. Nifty and I’ll take the BA gear inside and check out the situation there, then we’ll be back to give you a hand.’

Cookie and Mitch nodded and Max left them to it. He grabbed his helmet from the front seat before picking up a couple of cylinders and the breathing apparatus face masks and racing indoors.

Inside was a complication he hadn’t anticipated until he’d seen Phoebe and the ambulance.

Civilians.

His crew had been using the property’s dam water to refill the fire engine’s water tank when they’d been alerted that the fire had swung round. Their only option had been to retreat to the house but Max hadn’t expected to find it occupied. His first responsibility was to his crew and their safety but his second responsibility was to try to ensure there were no fatalities. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage that but he was determined to do his best. He now had eight other people depending on him.

He left Nifty with Malcolm, knowing he could trust him to sort out the practicalities of things like ladders and sprinklers while he did a quick check of the house, looking for the safest place, knowing there was going to come a time, probably sooner rather than later, when they’d all need to go to ground and hopefully sit out the fire. What he didn’t know was how successfully they’d be able to do that.

He finished his inspection and made his way into the lounge where Malcolm, his family, Phoebe and Steve waited. Waited for direction from him.

Phoebe was the first to speak. ‘What can we do?’

Max thought it was highly unlikely that anything they did inside the house would improve their odds but telling them that would be counter-productive. He needed everyone to stay calm, or as calm as possible, and in all probability that meant keeping them occupied.

His gaze went to the little boy lying on the couch. ‘How’s Benji doing?’

‘His oxygen sats are improving. He’s stabilising.’

That was some good news. If his condition wasn’t deteriorating, that would help to keep everyone else calmer.

‘All right. We’re already starting to see spot fires from embers blown ahead of the fire front. That’s the biggest danger to the house at the moment. Embers can get blown through small cracks so you need to soak towels and block up any gaps under doors and windows. Windows can crack and break with the temperature changes so all the curtains need to come down and furniture needs to be moved away from windows to reduce the chance of flammable materials igniting if embers do come in. You’ll need to keep checking the house, watching out for any gaps or embers. Grab as many dry woollen blankets as you can find and pile them by the cellar stairs. There’s a ladder under the manhole but one of us will check the ceiling cavity for embers.’ He looked around the group, noting their attention was firmly fixed on him. ‘OK, is that clear?’

‘Close doors and windows, take down curtains, wet towels into gaps, blankets. Got it.’ Phoebe repeated his instructions.

No one seemed to be panicking—that, at least, was a good sign. ‘Right. I’ll leave you guys to it but we’ll be back inside before long.’ He tried to convey a confidence he was having trouble feeling. In his opinion the odds weren’t in their favour but luckily no one asked him that. Did they all assume they’d be OK or didn’t they want to ask because they were scared of what they might hear?

Max left them to it and Phoebe’s confidence followed him out the door. She had to force herself to concentrate and remember the tasks he’d allocated. Doors, windows, curtains. What had he said about the ceiling? She looked up. She’d never have considered checking the roof space, and wondered what other direction danger would come from.

‘Steve, why don’t you keep an eye on Benji, seeing as you’ve been monitoring him? I’ll do the patrol,’ Phoebe said. She knew she was asking partly for selfish reasons. She wanted to feel as if she had some control over events and was making some sort of contribution towards keeping everyone safe. ‘Malcolm, can you show me where the towels and blankets are? Then we can sort out the house.’

Malcolm quickly directed Phoebe to the linen closet, bathroom and laundry and they divided the house into two and started wetting towels and shoving them under the external doors and windows. Phoebe then filled up as many buckets and other assorted containers as she could find with water and left them at strategic points in each room, ready to extinguish any embers should it be necessary.

Malcolm was filling the last few buckets so Phoebe started taking down curtains. As she moved around the house, she was able to catch of a glimpse of the fire crew. Despite the fact they were all covered from head to toe, including flash hoods and goggles over their faces, topped by helmets, she knew when it was Max, the sheer size of him giving him away even before she saw his easy gait and powerful stride. He was still extinguishing spot fires with the hand-held water sprayer. Surely he couldn’t continue doing that for much longer as, much as she hated to admit it, even she could see he was fighting a losing battle.

She finally got all the curtains down and did another check of the doors but the waiting was awful. The fire was coming—coming straight for them unless, by some miracle, the wind changed again—and she found herself wishing it would hurry up and arrive. Or at least that something would happen to distract her from this feeling of waiting for the inevitable and being the only one with nothing productive to do about it.

As she stood there, wishing for something to happen, the lights went out. In the sudden darkness she could see the glow of the fire more clearly. The only source of light was coming from the brightly burning bush and in the sudden darkness, and accentuated by the silence, the wind sounded more ferocious and Phoebe started to feel more than slightly nervous.

Embers were flying through the air now, igniting spot fires all around the house as they landed. She watched as a spot fire burnt brightly a few metres from the house. Max appeared, dousing the fire, extinguishing it as quickly as it had started. He saw her in the window and gave her a thumbs-up before striding out of sight, leaving her alone to her strange, solitary watch.

She grabbed a torch and paced through the house, moving from room to room, checking on Steve and Benji, double-checking the wet towels and topping up water basins. The sky was black now and she could see flames jumping from treetop to treetop on the next ridge, could hear the dreadful sound of the fire roaring like a wild animal as it devoured everything in its path. It was close now, too close, and still Max was outside.

Phoebe stopped pacing in the kitchen. The windows here faced east and looking out she could see a towering wall of fire racing across the land. The spot fires were inconsequential now in the face of the ferocity of the main blaze. She scanned the garden for Max as she stood at the sink, filling bottles of water, but could see no one. Where had they gone?

Watching the fire approach, Phoebe couldn’t believe they were safe in the house. Surely the fire would destroy everything in its path? It was far too late to make a run for it. The wall of flame was greedily seeking out any fuel—undergrowth, trees and hay bales alike were being consumed.

She jumped as the outside door opened and four firefighters swarmed inside. They were all carrying oxygen cylinders and breathing apparatus. Three didn’t stop, just headed through the kitchen before peeling off in different directions, two to the front of the house and one to the ladder in the manhole. The fourth put down his load before removing his goggles and flash hood. Max. His hair was curling and damp with sweat. He wiped one forearm across his brow, leaving a dark streak of soot and sweat on his skin.

Phoebe passed him a water bottle and he took a long drink as she went to the back door to shove the wet towel back into the gap. She caught Max’s expression as she stood up. He obviously thought she was wasting her time.

‘That’s not going to help, is it?’

‘No.’ Max shook his head and for the first time since the bushfire had started Phoebe was truly afraid.

‘How long have we got?’

‘Ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘Get everyone down into the cellar and stay there.’

‘Are we going to be OK?’

Her pale blue eyes were enormous, their unusual colour accentuated against the dust coating her nose and cheeks. Max checked his impulse to wipe the soot from her face. Forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand, a dangerous job that really needed his undivided attention, he replied to her question.

‘I honestly don’t know.’ As he answered he saw Cookie reappearing from the manhole. Cookie gave him a thumbs up before making his way to the cellar steps in the passage outside the kitchen. Max counted heads as people retreated to the relative safety of the cellar. He knew there were no guarantees they’d get through this. If the house became engulfed by the bushfire, their chances were pretty low, but the cellar was their best option.

Seven people, carrying an assortment of blankets, oxygen cylinders, torches and water bottles, disappeared from view.

‘Time to go.’ He picked up the last two cylinders and nodded towards a torch and a water bottle sitting on the table. ‘Might as well grab those, too.’ He had a quick glance at his watch—4.05 p.m.—before checking the room one last time. He didn’t expect to be in the cellar for long. The fire was moving so fast it wouldn’t take long to pass by. The only question was, would they still be here after it had roared through?

He ushered Phoebe in front of him towards the cellar. As they reached the doorway a loud explosion occurred, startling them both. Phoebe jumped, the beam of her torch lighting up the passage ceiling, and Max collided with her.

‘What was that?’ She turned to face him, a look of terror on her face.

‘Gum trees, I expect. They heat up in the fire and they explode.’ Max didn’t tell her that quite often that would be how the fire spread.

Another explosion got Phoebe moving again and Max followed her down the stairs.

The cellar wasn’t huge and the floor space they had at their disposal wasn’t much bigger than a hospital lift. The others were already sitting on the floor in a semi-circle, Mitch, Steve, Cookie, Malcolm, Marg and Nifty. Benji was lying in Marg’s lap, opposite Steve.

Despite the fact the cellar was several degrees cooler than the rest of the house, it was still hot. Max knew his thick fireproof clothing didn’t help matters but he was reluctant to remove his jacket, its protective qualities were too important. His crew were all still wearing their full kits, too, and the others had thick woollen blankets over their shoulders. Everyone would be feeling the heat.

Max wrapped a spare blanket around Phoebe, taking care to leave a decent portion of it around her shoulders. ‘Pull this over your head if I tell you to.’

She nodded, and he could sense the nervous tension running through her. Her shoulders were tense, her back rigid, but, like all of them, she was maintaining a calm façade.

He put his oxygen cylinder on the floor and sat in the only free space at the base of the stairs, pulling Phoebe down with him. Each member of his crew would need to share their tank with a civilian—the reason Mitch, Cookie and Nifty had positioned themselves where they were.

Max checked his watch again—4.10 p.m. the fire front must be almost on them. It was becoming more difficult to breathe as the fire sucked all the oxygen from the air. They needed to conserve their energy and that meant keeping their chatter to a minimum. He held up the auxiliary mouthpieces and spoke to the people huddled around him.

‘We’ll share our oxygen with you—you’ll need to breathe through these mouthpieces. Just breathe normally through your mouth, regular breaths.’

Max settled Phoebe between his knees, her back tucked against his front. The auxiliary line was short and the lack of space meant they couldn’t sit face to face and for that Max was grateful as he knew he’d find that too distracting. He opened the valve on his cylinder, pulled his mask over his face and then handed the auxiliary mouthpiece to Phoebe.

He checked the room—from what he could see in the torchlight, everyone appeared to be breathing comfortably. They might not need supplementary oxygen but Max figured the unusual activity gave everyone something else to concentrate on and would hopefully serve to keep their minds off the bushfire.

Phoebe shifted her position slightly, the movement momentarily pushing her bottom further into Max’s lap, before she settled into a more comfortable spot. One that didn’t leave her pressed into his groin. The cellar might just be large enough to accommodate four firefighters, four adult civilians and one child but it wasn’t big enough for him to escape his growing awareness of one very womanly woman.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place, although he wasn’t complaining. Since this was the situation they were in, at least he was the one who had the opportunity to reassure Phoebe. Then again, maybe it was a cruel joke. They were in a situation he was all too aware could spell death for all involved, he was holding a woman he was seriously attracted to, and they were stuck in a cellar with a mob of other people, meaning there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about acting on his attraction. He looked around for a distraction, anything to get his mind off the round firmness of Phoebe’s backside as she shifted again to tuck the blanket underneath her.

But there were no other distractions. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. The breathing apparatus made conversation impossible so there was literally nothing left to do except sit and think.

He checked his watch for the third time—4.20 p.m. Fifteen minutes had passed. He’d give the fire another five minutes before checking the situation. By then they’d either be safe or—He didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Phoebe’s blonde hair was shining in the dim light, reflecting the meagre light of the torches. She looked golden and perfect, epitomising everything that was good in the world, and he promised himself then and there that if they survived the day, he’d ask her out.

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