A Father Beyond Compare

This rescue had just become that much more complicated

He could look into the space that held the driver’s seat. A seat that was underwater. The driver’s back was hunched into the corner of the windshield, but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.

Two sets of huge, dark and terrified eyes stared up at Tom.

Tom smiled. “Good to see you guys,” he said calmly. “About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn’t it?”

The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Oh, yes…please!”

That smile touched something deep in Tom’s heart.

Dear Reader,

“Fish out of water” scenarios are brilliant for either revealing or developing a character. They can show others what they’re made of or discover strengths they didn’t know they possessed. I used one of these in A Father Beyond Compare to give my child-phobic hero, Tom, a chance to learn something about himself when he offers to care for a small boy. This small boy, Mickey, is the son of my heroine, Emma, and I gave both of them a “fish out of water” scene to start with, as well. Or maybe that should be a “fish in water,” seeing as I hurled their camper van into a rain-swollen river and then trapped it on debris in the middle of the torrent.

Please let me know if you’ve enjoyed the kind of drama that my SERT series has provided because I’d love an excuse to revisit this team of emergency response personnel and follow them into the kind of tension that can easily filter into their more private lives.

Happy reading,

Alison

A Father Beyond Compare
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IMMINENT disaster could be seen in the rear-view mirror but there was absolutely nothing Emma White could have done to prevent the accident.

Not when it came from behind like that. When she hadn’t even seen the small truck following her camper-van down the long hill towards the bridge.

A one-way bridge.

The signs further up the hill had been perfectly clear. Arrows indicated that the traffic coming from the opposite direction had the right of way on the narrow old wooden bridge that spanned a canyon through which a large river coursed.

Emma had approached with due caution.

She was, after all, in an unfamiliar country, driving a heavy vehicle that required a far greater stopping distance than the compact hatchback she was used to driving. That distance was further compromised today because the roads were still slick after recent rain.

Her caution had been justified. There was a car coming towards them, well over halfway across the bridge and travelling swiftly. Emma was waiting her turn to move. Her hands were on the steering-wheel and, instinctively, when the sharp forward jolt occurred, she pulled down hard on the wheel to try and prevent a head-on collision as her car was shunted towards the oncoming vehicle.

Mickey was sitting in the front seat beside her.

Any mother would have taken the same protective action without thinking.

The jolt had been unexpectedly powerful, however. Forceful enough to jar Emma’s foot from its position on the brake. With the wheels now turned away from the road, they were suddenly on the brink of a worse disaster than a head-on collision.

The ground sloped away—too close to the verge of the road. The river snaked along the bottom of a very deep gully and the sides were steep. The bridge had been situated at its narrowest point, which meant there was no margin between the swiftly flowing, rain-swollen river and its banks.

Nowhere for the van to come to rest in relative safety, having careered and then rolled on its enforced detour from the road. The bone-crunching shock of hitting hard ground suddenly changed as the van slipped into the water. But the soft rocking was far from comforting. The van was still moving.

Picking up speed as the current teased and then clutched at a new toy. Filling with icy cold water as the river tried to claim it completely. Being dragged out into a set of boiling rapids.

Being tipped, inexorably, upside down.

‘You must be out of your mind!’

‘It could work.’ Tom Gardiner spoke patiently, not at all surprised by his partner’s reaction to the idea.

‘No way. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘It’s a calculated risk. I’m prepared to take it.’

‘It’s not justified, mate. They’re probably dead, anyway.’

The two men, both paramedics attached to SERT—Specialist Emergency Response Team—peered down from the hovering helicopter.

It certainly appeared pointless to risk their own lives to help the victims involved in this scenario. Way below them, towards the middle of the swift and rain-swollen river, they had a clear view of the reason they’d been scrambled. A campervan had apparently missed a sign informing the driver to give way on a single-lane bridge and had careened off the road. The van had been swept far enough into the canyon to make access virtually impossible from the ground.

The tangle of debris that had caught the van’s chassis and halted its journey included some hefty logs but it was on the edge of a strong current. At any moment it could be caught and pulled clear to tumble and roll in the deadly river on its seaward path. The distance it had already travelled made the survival of its occupants debatable but the fact that it was still afloat enough to roll if it did swivel clear of the obstruction was uppermost in Tom’s mind as he surveyed the scene.

‘They’ve still got a fair bit of air in there. They could be alive.’

‘It’s only the side door that’s accessible. If they’ve got their safety belts on they’ll be long gone. The driver must be completely under water.’

‘Maybe not. We don’t know how long it’s been that far under.’

‘The witness said it was rolling in the water.’

‘He also said he thought he saw a woman and a child in the front.’ Tom was getting impatient. He leaned further out the side door, blinking as enough of a blast of icy air sneaked around the edge of his helmet visor to make his eyes water. He twisted his head to keep the target in view as the helicopter did another slow circle. ‘I’m going down to check.’

‘And what happens if you do find someone alive?’

‘I’ll get them out.’

‘No. You’d try and get them out and probably join them in the ride downstream. We can’t attach a winch line to keep that thing stable, Tom.’

‘I know that.’

‘And there’s no way of getting a line out from shore. The fire boys haven’t arrived yet. And we’ll need some boats and divers on scene.’

‘It’s going to be too late by then.’ Under normal circumstances Tom was inclined to err on the cautious side himself but the fact that there could be a woman and child involved here made it seem like a copout to be cautious. ‘I can at least go down for a look. If there’s no sign of life, it’ll take the urgency out of things a bit. What do you say, Terry?’

The pilot of the rescue chopper had worked with SERT for years now. A lot longer than Tom’s relatively new partner. Tom not only trusted the pilot’s opinion regarding any safety issues in the air, he knew he would get the encouragement he needed to go the extra mile to help someone in dire need. The middle-aged pilot had just become a grandfather. He was a soft touch.

‘Go for it,’ Terry said. ‘Winch conditions are good. Just don’t attach us to anything down there. I don’t fancy getting my feet wet.’

Neither did Tom but that was exactly what happened as he neared his descent target. His boots dragged in the surface of the river and filled with icy water.

‘Hey, I said minus two, not ten!’ he complained to Josh via the helmet radio. ‘I’ve got wet feet!’

‘Sorry, mate.’

‘Take me up a bit and then see how close we can get. I can’t see a thing yet.’

Except for the ominous speed that made the eddies around the pile of debris look like white-water rapids. And the deep grey-green that advertised the depth of the river channel that was running alongside the obstruction.

The big square white van had an incongruously cheerful rainbow stripe painted along its side. It was bobbing slowly but something underneath—the front axle, maybe—had caught firmly on a thick branch. That branch belonged to a large tree that the earlier storm must have uprooted.

‘Looks reasonably stable,’ Tom relayed. ‘I want to stand on the side door and see if I can get a view into the front compartment.’

From where he was hanging now, he could see the passenger’s side window and a portion of the wind-screen. The side window was shut tightly but light reflecting on the glass made it impossible to see through. The nose of the vehicle pointed down and another log was jammed against the front door. Even if there was someone trying to open that door from the inside, it would be a pointless struggle.

The roar of the helicopter drowned out the sound of rushing water as Tom drifted slowly sideways but he could feel the cold spray of wind-whipped water on his cheeks. His feet touched the side of the van and he bounced slightly as it bobbed. He shook his head to clear droplets of water from his visor, leaning forward, trying to see into the side window at least.

And then he saw it.

A hand. Pressed against the glass. Small fingers that seemed to try and then fail to find something to hold onto.

A child’s fingers.

A child who was still alive.

‘Contact,’ Tom said tersely. ‘We’ve got a live one here.’

‘Hell!’

Tom wasn’t sure if it was Josh or Terry who expressed the frustration they now all faced of trying to do anything more in the immediate stage of this rescue mission. What on earth could they do?

If the van had been stable, they could have winched the victims up to the helicopter, but when the van could be swept away at any moment, it was far too dangerous to have a line that could potentially pull the chopper down.

How long would it take the fire trucks to arrive? The land-based teams had been dispatched at the same time as the SERT paramedics but they had to travel a long way by road. The fire service appliances had the lines to secure an unstable vehicle but someone would have to abseil down the side of the gully to get near the water. The boat rescue team would also be needed. And the team of police divers in case it all went wrong.

It would all take far too long.

‘I’m unhooking,’ Tom informed his colleagues.

‘Tom! No!’

It was too late. Tom had snapped open his winch hook as he’d spoken and he now held the line out to one side, signalling for Josh to retract it. A muttered curse echoed in his helmet from above but the line snaked upwards out of harm’s way.

The smooth side of the van was now a skating rink. Sleek wet metal that tipped gently one way and then another. Tom dropped to his knees as he felt himself sliding, his gloved fingers sweeping in a rapid arc to catch the handle of the door to the back compartment.

And then he was lying flat on the side of the van, aware of the tense silence within his helmet and the sound of the helicopter outside it, hovering as its crew watched with trepidation. Were they already planning to follow Tom’s path downriver when he got swept away? Hoping he might get to shore at a point where they could winch him back to safety?

He wasn’t going to get swept away, dammit. Not before he’d checked out the owner of those small fingers anyway. With an immense effort he dug his fingers behind the handle and pulled, heaving the door outwards.

It opened. The door snapped back and Tom slid far enough to touch a wing mirror with his boot. The metal attachment was fortunately strong enough to take his weight and, using it as an anchor, Tom was able to pull himself back by gripping the top edge of the door. And then he could see inside the compartment.

The water level came at least halfway up and the surface was awash with debris. Clothing. Cooking utensils. Maps. And…a teddy bear.

Ignoring the mental alarms sounding stridently, Tom twisted his body, hooking his legs into the gap he had created in the side of the vehicle.

And then he slid inside the floating campervan. As his feet found a solid point well beneath the water level he pulled the door closed again behind him in the hope of preventing the swirl of disturbed water outside filling any more of the interior.

With a silent prayer to whatever forces might have the power to keep the van exactly where it was for the time being, Tom manoeuvred himself to face the front of the vehicle.

‘Hello,’ he called. ‘My name’s Tom and I’m here to help. Can anyone here me?’

‘Yes!’ The sound was somewhere between a word and a sob. A feminine sound. ‘Help us…Please!’

‘That’s what I’m here for.’ Tom took a slow step through the thigh-deep water, no longer aware of the chill. Between the front seats of the van was a window-like gap in the wall that separated the seats from the back compartment. Light from outside made that gap glow in comparison to the gloom of the space Tom was in. It also made it easy to head in the right direction.

‘What’s your name? Are you injured?’

‘I’m…Emma.’

‘And you’ve got someone with you?’

‘Just my son…Mickey.’

The owner of those small fingers, then. ‘Hey, Mickey,’ Tom called. ‘How’re you doing?’

The only response was an adult groan. ‘Don’t try and stand on me again, Mickey. It…hurts…’

‘Sorry, Mummy.’

‘Are you injured, Emma?’ Tom pushed a sodden pillow to one side as he took another step forward.

‘I’m…not sure.’

Both Emma and her son had an intriguing accent. An appealing, soft lilt that evoked an image of something British. Possibly rural. The fact that these people were in a foreign country triggered something else protective in Tom. They would be terrified in any case but being away from home had to make this all that much worse.

‘What’s hurting, Emma?’

‘My foot mainly…it’s kind of trapped under something. And my leg. The steering-wheel’s sort of bent.’

Tom groaned inwardly. This rescue had just become that much more complicated. Any visions he’d had of balancing on the side of the van and miraculously being able to get the victims winched to safety before land-based back-up arrived went out the window. Trying to do an extrication on a trapped person in this vehicle was going to need back-up in spades. And even then it was going to be dodgy.

He had reached the gap in the wall. He could look into the space that held the driver’s seat.A seat that was under water. The driver appeared to in a crouched position, her back hunched into the corner of the windscreen but her upper body was well above the water. Clutched in her arms was a very small boy who almost disappeared into the protective circle of those slim, bare arms.

Two sets of huge, dark, terrified eyes stared up at Tom.

Tom smiled. ‘Good to see you guys,’ he said calmly. ‘About time we got this spot of bother sorted out for you, isn’t it?’

The terror in the larger set of dark eyes changed to something approaching incredulity and then, amazingly, the woman’s lips curved into a wide smile. ‘Oh, yes…please!’

That smile touched something deep in Tom’s heart. This was one brave lady. Maybe it was a front to try and reassure her small son but that didn’t make it any less courageous. And courage was a quality that Tom valued very highly.

He smiled at the small boy. ‘G’day, Mickey. How old are you, mate?’

‘Go away,’ Mickey told him. ‘I don’t like you.’ He burst into tears.

‘It’s all right, honey.’ Emma’s grip on her son tightened noticeably but Tom could see the grimace of pain as Mickey wriggled. ‘Tom’s here to rescue us. It’s all right. Remember your manners.’

‘But I can rescue you, Mummy. I was going to open the door but I’m too short and I don’t want to stand on your sore bits again.’

‘No, don’t stand on Mummy’s sore bits,’ Tom said hurriedly. ‘I know I look a bit scary, Mickey, but I am here to help. You and Mummy. Do you have any sore bits?’

‘No.’ Mickey’s face turned from where it was buried against his mother’s neck. ‘I’m four.’

Tom blinked, trying to make the connection, but then realised Mickey was answering a much earlier question.

‘Wow. You’re old.’

‘I’m not old. I’m big.’

‘Mmm.’ Tom was happy to agree. He needed to win this child’s trust—as quickly as possible. A plan was formulating in his head as he used the time this conversation was taking but it was hard to try and sound relaxed. ‘Are you here on holiday with Mummy?’

‘We’re having an adventure.’

‘You sure are,’ Tom agreed dryly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t plan to have this bit of it, though.’

Mickey screwed his face up into lines of deep consideration. ‘No. This was a nanksident.’

‘Do you remember what happened?’ Tom was leaning in more closely now. He could feel the edge of the wall digging into his abdomen as he peered down. He didn’t want to frighten Mickey by reaching an arm in just yet. A terrified and uncooperative child could ruin what he was planning before it even became a possibility. He also wanted to check Emma out. Right now he was trying to see how well she was able to breathe but Mickey’s small body made it difficult to assess the movement of her chest wall to get an impression of a respiration rate. His question was designed to try and find out whether either of these victims had been knocked unconscious at any point.

‘There was a big bump,’ Mickey told him. ‘And Mummy said we turned into a boat.’

‘There was a bridge,’ Emma said. ‘One lane. And there was…a car coming…so I stopped.’

‘You stopped?’ Tom was noting how many words per breath Emma was managing, which seemed to indicate at least some degree of respiratory distress. He couldn’t help the note of surprise in his own voice. That wasn’t what the witness had told the emergency services.

‘Of course I stopped.’ Emma was indignant. This was good.A seriously injured person wouldn’t have the energy to sound that indignant. ‘Do I look like some sort of idiot?’

‘No.’ Tom’s response was rapid. And sincere. Even with thoroughly wet hair plastered in dark strands around an overly pale face, Tom could see fine features and bright eyes that advertised intelligence.

‘We got bumped,’ Mickey added. ‘I told you that.’

Tom was clearly the idiot here but he needed to clarify the information. ‘From behind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Josh?’ Tom’s query was brief. ‘You hearing any of this?’

‘Enough,’came the response from within his helmet. ‘Will pass it on to the cops.’

‘Who’s Josh?’ Emma asked.

‘My partner. He’s up in the helicopter, waiting for me to get you out.’

‘Waiting for you to get out more likely,’ came Josh’s voice. ‘Get a move on, Tom.’

‘How on earth are you going to get us out?’

‘I’ll take Mickey first.’ Tom had to hope he’d won a level of trust by now. ‘You want to go for a ride, Mickey?’

‘No.’

‘You have to, sweetheart.’ Emma spoke urgently. ‘It’ll be my turn after you.’ Those huge eyes were on Tom now and the silent plea was heartbreaking. Emma was far from stupid. She knew how much danger they were all in and how much harder it was going to be to rescue her. Tom could actually feel her gathering her determination to save her child. She spoke even more firmly. ‘Mickey? Listen to me, darling. You have to do exactly as you’re told.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. You do what Tom tells you to do or I’m going to have to get cross.’

‘Can you stand up, Mickey?’ Tom tried to sound encouraging. ‘Carefully, though, so you don’t hurt Mummy.’

‘No-o-o.’ The small face was as frightened as the voice.

‘It’s a bit hard for…him to stand up.’ Emma had a distinct wobble in her voice now.

‘My legs only work sometimes,’ Mickey said.

Tom frowned, trying to assimilate the new information. Mickey had said nothing hurt but he did seem very small for his age.

‘Disability?’ he queried succinctly.

‘Mild spina bifida,’ Emma responded. ‘Just starting to walk…with callipers.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

Emma shook her head. ‘Other than no leg strength, he’s perfect. Aren’t you, darling?’

This time the smile wasn’t for Tom. It was for a child who was very clearly deeply loved. Emma was pressing a kiss to Mickey’s wet head and Tom could see the way she screwed her eyes shut, forcing back tears.

‘No problem, then.’ Lower-limb weakness wouldn’t make any difference as far as rescuing Mickey went. And Tom wouldn’t have to worry about being kicked in the shins by a terrified child. He leaned further into the compartment. ‘Just put your arms up, Mickey. I’m going to pick you up.’

Emma had to peel two small arms from around her neck. ‘Be a good boy,’ she told Mickey. ‘Love you.’

‘I love you, too, Mummy.’

Mickey was sobbing but he held his arms up to Tom. It wasn’t hard to pick the small child up but easing the burden through the gap was a little trickier. The van rocked and a dreadful scraping noise could be heard as it moved against the logs.

‘Mummy!’ Mickey wailed.

‘It’s all right,’ Tom said loudly. ‘Just hang on, Mickey.’ He poked his head back through the gap just for a second. ‘I’ll be back very soon,’ he told Emma.

‘Just look after Mickey.’ Emma couldn’t hold back a sob. ‘Please.’

Tom took a step through water that was several inches deeper than when he had gone the other way only minutes before.

‘Josh? Send the nappy harness down, mate. Pronto.’

‘You know what you’re doing, Tom?’

Tom grinned. ‘Hope so.’

It was a hair-raising operation. Tom had to hold a terrified and wriggling child as he opened the side door. Mickey’s legs might be hanging rather limply but he was making up for the physical deficit with a wiry little upper body and two very active arms. Tom found a foothold on a part of one of the bunk beds that allowed him to stand just half out of the van. It wasn’t until he saw that the winch line was within reach that he started the most dangerous part of his plan.

With Mickey firmly grasped under one arm, he climbed onto the side of the van, grabbed the hook and clipped it on. Mickey was struggling too hard to try and put his legs into the nappy harness and it would have been too big for him anyway, so Tom just held him even more securely.

‘Bring us up, Josh.’

As his feet left the side of the van and they dangled in mid-air, the terror was enough to make Mickey go limp all over, apart from two small arms that were wound so tightly around Tom’s neck that it was hard to breathe. It proved a problem when they reached the open door of the helicopter and Josh leaned out to take the child. Mickey wouldn’t let go.

‘I’ve got to go and get Mummy,’ Tom shouted into the small ear. ‘You have to go with Josh.’

There was no time to try and reassure him. This was a dodgy enough transfer anyway when there was no extra line to protect the child. Tom held his breath as he felt his partner’s hands take hold of Mickey. He had to let go and hope that his precious burden made it safely into the interior of the helicopter. His heart was still pounding as he saw Josh deposit the child into a seat and try to shorten a safety harness enough to be useful.

‘Mickey’s got spina bifida, Josh. Any lower-limb paresis is normal.’ He leaned back on the skid. ‘Let’s move. Winch me down again.’

‘ETA for the boats and fire crews is only ten minutes, Tom. Wait for back-up.’

‘No.’ Looking down between his feet, Tom could see that the van’s position had altered slightly. ‘This won’t take long.’

How much had Josh and Terry overheard through his communication equipment? Did they know that Emma was trapped? Had they noticed the change in the van’s position on the debris?

Was he mad to even think of going back? Of course he was. But Tom could see Mickey staring at him and he could only think of the larger version of those terrified dark eyes. Of a brave young mother who was alone and praying for rescue right now.

He tried to keep his tone upbeat. ‘Can’t leave a job half-done,’ he said. ‘And if the boats are on the way you probably won’t even need to winch me back up.’

‘Wind’s come up a bit,’ Terry said. ‘I’m not sure about this, Tom.’

‘We’ve done it once. We can do it again.’

‘You really sure you want to try?’

Tom looked at Mickey again. Then he looked down at the swirling river and the van that contained his mother.

‘Oh, yeah…I’m sure.’

Terry grunted. Josh shook his head as he turned to the winch control panel and his voice sounded resigned.

‘Checking winch power. Clear skids.’

Terry’s permission was equally reluctant but it came nonetheless a second later.

‘Clear skids.’

With a final glance and a thumbs-up signal for the tiny boy looking lost inside an adult-sized harness, Tom began his second descent.

Looking way downriver from the vantage point of his altitude, Tom could see vehicular activity on a stony shore where the canyon widened again. Red and blue lights flashed and figures could be seen emerging from the four-wheel-drive rescue Jeeps. Large black rafts were carried on trailers.

They weren’t even in the water yet but at least they were nearby. If the worst happened and the van got swept away, Tom would just have to find a way to free Emma and then keep her afloat until a boat reached them. It wasn’t an impossible task.

It couldn’t be.

Unhooking his winch cable as his feet touched the side of the van felt no less horrible despite the practice run. The metal seemed more slippery and the van less stable. Tom’s fingers missed the handle on the first sweep and he was aware of a very unfamiliar sensation too close to panic. It was impossible to take a deep breath to steady himself with the amount of water splashing around him. If he missed the handle on the second try he would have to aim for the wheel and his weight on that might be enough to tip them all towards disaster.

When he caught the handle and the door slid open of its own accord Tom realised just how much the van’s position had changed and there was no relief to be found in gaining access. Had Emma managed to keep her head above the water level? Was she still conscious?

‘Emma! Can you hear me?’ Tom waded through the water and debris, almost falling in his haste to reach the gap. He ignored the rocking of the vehicle—the silence he could detect around him was far more ominous.

‘Emma!’