Читать книгу Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart онлайн | страница 21

He could feel the heat of the fire behind him. Hear the shouts of other first responders, everyone trying to fight their way through hell. Screams of the dying, distorted shadows as the flames flared and waned. He could smell the smoke and dust as clearly as he had when his helmet shattered.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Which way was out? Which way lay sunshine and fresh air and life itself?

A shout sounded louder than the rest. Something bounced on his thigh and Cristiano blinked, looking down at the rubber ball that rolled away from where it had struck him. Two boys raced after it, their laughter and shouts echoing in the square.

He looked around. Mariella was pushing the stroller toward him. The priest was standing on the stairs leading into the old church smiling at the children who played around the fountain. The sun shone in a cloudless sky. A pastoral scene, one of peace and tranquility and the very fabric of life.

Taking a breath, he hoped he could keep his mind in the present. He’d thought he had these flashbacks under control. It had been days since—

“Hello,’ she said as she approached, that wide smile holding his gaze.

No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Only Cristiano knew he’d had another flashback—thankfully brief this time. He never knew when they’d come, how debilitating they’d be. This one had passed quickly. Because of Mariella?

He didn’t want her to know. They’d spend some time together today, enjoy each other’s company and then he’d take off for the cottage, the bolt-hole he’d claimed when he had been released from the hospital. No one in his family had known he’d been injured far beyond the ankle that had broken.

“Are you all right?” Mariella asked when she reached the motorcycle, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Sure.” He needed to change that subject quickly. “How do you know Father Andreas?”

“We just met. He was walking by and I showed him my friend’s picture to see if he recognized her. He didn’t.”

She drew it from her pocket and held it out to Cristiano. He took it. The laughing expression on the unknown woman’s face tugged at his heart. This was the young mother who had died. She didn’t look as old as Mariella. Did Mariella feel the same tearing grief he felt whenever he thought about his friend Stephano? Did she regret time wasted when, if she had only known the future, she would have changed what she did in the weeks, days left before her friend’s death?