It'll Be An Adventure (Masters of the Shadowlands #15)(68)
Author: Cherise Sinclair

 

One last strap and there. “Haul away, Saxon.”

 

She held the child to her, taking courage from his warm weight. His tiny whisper came to her ears—“Mommy?”—and she almost broke into tears because she couldn’t promise him his mother had made it out.

 

She kissed the little boy’s cheek as he lifted out of reach.

 

“Got him,” Saxon yelled. “Safe and sound.”

 

As she listened to them handing off the child, she bent to pet Sherlock and give him all the praise she could in a voice that cracked with each word. “Yes, yes, you did so good. You’re a great dog.”

 

A second later, the harness came back, and she strapped it around the dog, tilting him to go up vertically. “Haul away.”

 

Sherlock barked in excitement as he started upward and saw Saxon.

 

And then she was alone. The darkness around the pool of light from her helmet seemed to be moving closer, and the sound of the shifting rubble, the groans and squeaks grew louder.

 

Only it wasn’t her imagination—it was getting louder.

 

The rope and harness dropped down to her, but Saxon yelled, “Murphy, it’s going to collapse. Just grab on tight, and let’s get you out.”

 

She closed her hands on the harness and rope. “Ready!”

 

They lifted her with a jerk, far faster than the boy, and she rose even as the whole area shuddered. The top started to give way. Rubble fell around her. A chunk of concrete hit her left arm, and she cried out at the blast of pain, barely managing to keep her grip.

 

Then her head was through, a jagged shard cutting her face. As she was pulled through the narrowed space, sharp edges rasped the skin from her arms and back. Her hips caught on pieces of wood, and Saxon frantically yanked loose the fragments, as Bert yanked her up mercilessly.

 

Her tough cargo pants ripped, and she bit back a scream. Then she was through, and Saxon was lifting her to her feet.

 

“Thank fuck. Let’s go.” He put an arm around her waist, holding her up as he maneuvered as fast as possible across the unstable rubble. Sherlock limped on three legs at his feet. Bert and a firefighter came with them.

 

Well ahead of them, another rescuer carried the boy.

 

Behind her came the screech of metal and the bottomless grinding of tons of concrete. The entire area shook.

 

What remained of the building they’d been on collapsed entirely under the bridge’s debris.

 

But they’d made it to the edge, to safety. Dust billowed into the air, making them all cough.

 

With a groan, Saxon pulled her into his embrace, carefully avoiding her arm that was hurting like hell. His arms tightened almost painfully. “Fuck, woman, that was way too close.”

 

She let him take her weight, holding him just as hard. Under her cheek, she could feel his heart thudding fast. Hers was just as fast, and she was shaking like a leaf in a high wind.

 

Whining, Sherlock pressed against her legs from behind.

 

“I’m okay, Sherlock.” She freed a hand to ruffle his ears.

 

And she was okay. She really was.

 

Tears stung her eyes…because she’d been pretty sure she was going to die in there. “Th-thanks for getting me out so fast, milord.”

 

“Any time.” He ran a hand down her hair. “You saved the boy, Murphy. Now, let’s get you looked over.”

 

“And Sherlock. He’s hurt too.”

 

Saxon kissed her lightly. “And Sherlock.”

 

Near the triage center, a woman shrieked, “Mason. My Mason!” Followed by a blood-streaked man, she charged forward.

 

A moment later, she was kneeling with the little boy in her arms, crying. The father dropped to his knees to hug them both.

 

Murphy pulled in a long slow breath, and Saxon leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You did that.”

 

“We did that. All of us.” And she would never, ever forget this moment.

 

 

 

 

 

Stubborn little submissive.

 

Saying the ERs would be overwhelmed, she’d refused to go to one for tending—and he’d brought her here to his place.

 

As she drank a cup of hot tomato soup, he carried his mug away—out of her hearing to make a call.

 

Returning, he smiled at her. “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

 

Her soft brown eyes lit. “Please. I feel like I rolled in dirt.”

 

He chuckled. “Me too.”

 

After shutting her inquisitive kitten out of the bathroom, he carefully helped Murphy out of her clothes and into the shower.

 

As he stepped out, the water came on and she made a pained squeak. Poor baby.

 

Leaning on the sink, he rubbed his gritty, dirt-encrusted face. Fuck, he was tired.

 

And she was past that. At least, she’d agreed to come here so he could help her.

 

“Saxon?” Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.

 

“I’m here.” He stripped off his own clothes.

 

“I…I don’t think I can walk well enough to go back tomorrow.”

 

He blinked, not even having considered returning a possibility. Of course, she would. “None of us will be going back, sweetling. Both you and Sherlock are on the invalid list.”

 

“But…”

 

He dropped his dirty clothes into the laundry basket. “We did our part, and now the FEMA teams are here with better equipment and a lot more experience in this kind of disaster.”

 

“Oh.” That was a sigh of relief. Yeah, she was hurting.

 

Neither of them would be searching tomorrow. He had surgeries lined up all day, and it wouldn’t be right to cancel them if he could help it.

 

At least she wouldn’t be alone. Not if he knew the Shadowlands crew.

 

As he stepped into the shower, he saw she was using the gentle rain setting. Good choice. The water still probably hurt like hell. “If there’s an inch of you that’s not scraped, then it’s bruised.”

 

“That’s pretty much what it feels like.” Her big brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “Help?”

 

“Always.” From the bruising and gashes down her left arm, it was a wonder she could move it at all. One long slice needed stitches, but at least the grit was getting washed out.