I sure wish we had mornings off instead of afternoons.” Meghan tied a voile scarf over the top of her hat and under her chin. Digging for her gloves, she glanced at Natalie. “Are you sure you want to come with me? You could take a nap. I’ll admit you look a little better since you’ve been working at the soda fountain, but you still don’t look any too robust.”
Natalie shook her head. “It’s much too hot to try to sleep. At least in the automobile there will be a breeze.”
Meghan threw her bag on the seat and went around to the front of the car to turn the crank. Getting permission to use the hotel’s transportation hadn’t been easy. She’d had to prove her driving skills not only to Mr. Stock, but to Mrs. Gregory as well. Only the fact that she wanted to go door to door appealing for Red Cross money swayed them in the end. The engine sputtered to life, and she hurried around to slip behind the wheel.
“Where are we going first?” Natalie raised her voice to be heard above the rattling.
With one hand on the wheel, Meghan dug in her bag for the map Mr. Weeks from Claypool’s Department Store had drawn for her. “We’ll drive north along the river for about ten miles and stop at places along the way back toward town, then, if we still have time, we can swing south and hit a few places in that direction.” Though one place on the map she intended to give a wide berth. No way would she stop at Caleb McBride’s. Having his name on the quilt would mean sure disaster when it came time to auction it off. In fact, if folks knew he’d contributed, she likely wouldn’t get another signature at all.
That white feather. Why hadn’t he stood up for himself, given his reason for not enlisting? At least had the fortitude to…what? What did one expect from a coward? It was like asking a lemon tree to produce apples.
Why? Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? Even with concerted effort she couldn’t eradicate him. He’d said he wanted nothing to do with her, she knew she wanted nothing to do with him, and yet, he occupied far too many of her thoughts and dreams.
Natalie trailed her hand out the window, cupping the breeze. She laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. At least the road was fairly smooth, though the dust they raised coated everything. Perhaps Meghan should’ve taken Mr. Stock up on his offer of driving goggles.
Flat, sandy desert stretched out on both sides of the road, though on their right, a greenish-gray smudge marked the brush that grew along the riverbank. When she’d reached the farthest noted point on Mr. Week’s map, she turned in along a narrow, rutted path toward a house in the distance.
“How’d it go at this one?” Natalie poured some water from the jug they’d brought with them onto her handkerchief and dabbed her throat and swiped the back of her neck. Her cheeks bore pink blotches, and the hair at her temples clung to her skin. The car roasted in the sunshine.
Taking the jug, Meghan let some of the lukewarm water trickle into her mouth. She wrinkled her nose, both at the tepid fluid and the reception at the house. “Pass. She’s got no money and too many mouths to feed.”
At most of the houses along the road the answer was the same with varying degrees of animosity. Some were apologetic, some antagonistic, and in all, she garnered only two donations. Four dollars. With each stop, the temperature rose and Meghan’s spirits fell.
“Don’t be discouraged. It’s four more dollars than you had before.” Natalie shifted on the seat and pulled her blouse away from her skin. “Maybe we should call it quits for today. It’s hot enough to melt rocks. It’s got to be well over a hundred degrees, and there’s no shade out here.”
A dull headache had started at the base of Meghan’s skull. “I’m not ready to give up yet. There’s still the south road. Things might be better there.”
Natalie passed her the water jug. “There’s not much left. Maybe we should be done.”
“No.” She shook her head, surprised when a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I can drop you off at the hotel if you want, but I can’t afford to wait another week to go out again. I don’t have many afternoons off between now and when the quilt needs to be done.” Lifting the water jug, weakness made her arms tremble, and water sloshed onto her chin and ran down her neck. The momentary coolness jarred her, and she blinked. Almost immediately, evaporation set in, leaving her parched.
She gripped the steering wheel and pointed the nose of the car south. The clock was ticking. They only had a couple more hours before they had to have the car back to the hotel. She pressed on the gas pedal. “When we get done, I’m going to go hide in the basement refrigerator, and I don’t care if Mrs. Gregory finds me. If we weren’t so rushed for time, I’d do it now.”
“Before we hide in the cold store, I think we should stop for some ice cream at the soda fountain. I’d love to get a cold-food headache and shiver a little bit.” Natalie consulted the map. “There are six places marked on here.”
“So five more stops.”
“Six.”
“No, five. I’m not stopping at Caleb’s place.”
“Are you sure? How will he feel if he knows you stopped everywhere else but not his place?”
She shrugged, concentrating on keeping the car in the center of the road. “He said he didn’t want to see me anymore, and the feeling is mutual.”
“What?”
She squinted. Heat waves shimmered on the horizon, obliterating the distance. The road worsened, bouncing and jouncing them, kicking them from rut to rut. “He won’t be hurt if we don’t call. He’ll be relieved.”
None of the first four houses produced any subscriptions. The last one she wanted to visit lay on the far side of Caleb’s property. Was it even worth it to go that far? She checked her timepiece against the map. They could make it there and back to town in time if they hurried.
She blinked, trying to clear her eyes. Black spots encroached at the edge of her vision. She shook her head. What was wrong with her? Was she getting sick?
“Meghan?” Natalie gripped the door with one hand and braced her other hand on the dashboard.
She sounded as if she were standing at the end of a long hallway, miles from Meghan. “Huh?”
“There’s something wrong with the car. Look.” She took her hand off the dash to point at the hood. Steam leaked around the edges and through the vents in the black metal. Slowly, Meghan pulled to the side of the road and the car bumped to a stop. She turned off the motor, though it took her a couple of tries to find the ignition. Wobbly didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Maybe it was something she ate?
“I shink…” She tried again. “I think we overheated the car.” Why did her head feel like it had been stuffed with pillow ticking?
“Meghan.” Natalie grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Waves of nausea sloshed through her middle, and the black spots in her vision grew bigger and closer together.
“Meghan, what’s wrong?” Natalie’s voice got slower and farther away as darkness claimed her.
Caleb leaned forward in the saddle, relishing the breeze pressing against his chest and fluttering his shirt. Though it was a bit on the early side for his evening ride out into the desert, he’d been so restless at the house he thought he might go crazy. Joshua’s mother had come by for a visit, and he’d wanted to give the mother and son privacy. With him in the house, Mrs. Hualga wouldn’t say a word.
His mount, a sturdy sorrel with plenty of stamina and very little speed, cantered over the hard-packed sand at a steady pace.
“You’d be better off on a bridle path back east, teaching youngsters at some riding school, old boy.” Caleb patted the gelding’s sweating shoulder. But in another week or so, he and his corral mates would be on a train headed to Fort Riley and the next stop on their journey to the war zone.
Pulling his mount back to a trot and then a walk, Caleb removed his hat and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. The ground sloped upward away from the river, and clumps of dusty brush dotted the landscape. The temperature hovered somewhere in the midnineties, down a dozen degrees from that afternoon, but still scorching. As they topped out on the rise, he made out the dark, wavering smudge of Needles in the distance.
From here, he could see just how isolated the town was, a small dot on the map, an island in a sea of sand and cactus. Insulated. They protected their own, and they were none too accepting of strangers. If one hadn’t been born in Needles, or one didn’t work for the railroad in some capacity, inclusion and acceptance into the community was a fairytale wish.
A tumbleweed bounced across the road, and the placid sorrel merely flicked his ears and studied it, never breaking stride. Caleb watched it roll and spin until it disappeared down the far side of a sandbank. He was so much like that tumbleweed. Needles hadn’t embraced him, and as soon as the war was over or the need for horse-trainers for the cavalry ended, he’d brush the dust of this town off his boots, climb aboard the train, and head somewhere else. No ties, no roots…he shook his head…no home.
No Meghan. He’d seen the look of disappointment, of embarrassment, when that woman had handed him that feather. Though Meghan had held out and taken his part longer than he’d thought she would, in the end the opinions and accusations of the people of Needles had drawn her away.
As he had known they would. He’d been a fool to think otherwise. And he’d rather she turned away from him for a reason that wasn’t true than to have her know about his shameful secret and reject him because of it. He’d lived through that once with Patricia. He didn’t know if he could live through it again.
Enough feeling sorry for himself. Things were as they were, and there was nothing he could or would do about them. He was alone by choice and inclination. Even if the town of Needles had embraced him like a long-lost son, he’d still want to move on, to be alone. It was safer, for his heart and his peace of mind.
On the verge of turning back to the house, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Squinting against the sun and cupping his hands at his temples, he strained to see. A dark object wavered on the road ahead. Big, like an automobile, but no dust plume followed it. Who would be stopping out here in the desert in the late afternoon? It was hot enough to fry a stove lid over easy.
Curious, he heeled the sorrel into a lope. As he approached, the heat waves resolved themselves into a dusty black car at the side of the road. Car trouble? A lost tourist? This road saw about as much traffic as the vegetable tray at a pie social. Only one more ranch lay beyond his, and Wilbur Frame was even more of a recluse than Caleb tried to be, always pottering among the rocks, prospecting for who knew what. Except for Joshua’s mother and Major Alexander, Doc was the only person who ever drove this far out of town. This car was much too big to be Doc’s battered old runabout, and Joshua’s family didn’t have a vehicle.
Someone huddled beside the car, and uneasiness tightened the back of his neck. Something was definitely wrong. He jabbed the sorrel in the ribs, wishing now he’d chosen a more fleet-footed mount.
The mass beside the car resolved itself into two people as one of them stood and shaded her—it was definitely a her—eyes. When she spied him, she waved her arm, beckoning him before kneeling beside the other figure once more.
The car was big, and as he approached, he recognized it as belonging to the El Garces. The kneeling girl was Natalie Daviot. A flash of red hair from the prone figure had his heart clogging his throat. He pulled his horse up a few paces away and swung from the saddle.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing out here?”
Natalie, her normally pale face raspberry red in the heat, looked up. “The car overheated then Meghan passed out, and I don’t know what to do.” She fanned Meghan’s face with her hand.
“Where’s your water?” He unclipped one of his canteens from his saddle and unscrewed the cap. Kneeling beside Natalie, he touched Meghan’s skin. Paper-dry, and her pulse leaped under her jaw.
“We ran out.” She pointed to the empty jug on the running board. Her movements were slow, as if the heat had taken all of her energy and will.
“That’s all you brought with you?” Cupping the back of Meghan’s head, he raised her up, gently bringing the canteen to her lips. “How long have you been out here, and what on earth possessed you to head out into the desert by yourselves without enough water to wet a handkerchief?”
Meghan’s eyes rolled, and she sputtered as the water hit her tongue. Mumbles that became words leaked from her dry lips. Her eyelashes fluttered, revealing her green eyes clouded and disoriented. “Lars. Hold on, Lars. I’ll get that ambulance. I love you, Lars.” She went limp once more.
Lars? Who was Lars? A shaft of jealousy ripped through him. He’d been a double-fool. No way a girl as pretty and lively as Meghan would be unattached, and he’d never asked her, partially for fear of what she would answer. He chose to hide his disappointment behind anger.
“What are you doing out here with no water?” His barking tone made Natalie jump.
“We were gathering subscriptions for the Red Cross. Is she going to die?” Her eyes reddened but no tears leaked out. She was probably too dehydrated. And she had no idea of the danger they had put themselves in.
“I’ve got to get Meghan back to the house, and I need your help. Get my horse.” He lowered Meghan’s head once more and tipped the contents of the canteen over her hair and splashed her face and throat. Natalie drew his horse close. He wanted to curse his weak leg as he contemplated the logistics of getting Meghan onto the horse and mounting behind her.
But it had to be done. If he didn’t get her temperature down, she was going to die.
“Unhook that other canteen.” He tucked his hand behind Meghan’s shoulders and scooped behind her knees with his other. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled against the side of the car. Heat from the blistering metal shot through his thin shirt, and he jerked away. “Help me get her into the saddle.”
Between them, they managed to get her situated, though she was no help at all. She lolled and sagged, unconscious and unresponsive. Using the running board as a mounting block, he scrambled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning her back against his chest.
Though he hated to leave Natalie behind, he had no choice. His horse couldn’t carry three, and he had to get Meghan to help as soon as possible. “Don’t leave the car. Stay in the shade and make sure you drink the entire contents of that canteen. I’ll send someone back for you as soon as I can. Don’t stir a step, you hear me?”
“Just take care of her. I’ll be fine.”
The ride to his house, though less than two miles, seemed to take forever. Thankful for the sturdy sorrel who seemed not to notice his double burden, Caleb prayed as he hadn’t prayed in a long time.
Please, Lord, don’t take her. She’s so young and full of life. She hasn’t hardly even started to live, and she’s got such big plans. Please, Lord, don’t take her.
His prayer muscles were as atrophied as his left leg. Though he had long ago asked Jesus to be his Savior, he had a hard time not resenting the fact that God had chosen to send infantile paralysis his way and cut him off from the love of a family. Since Patricia’s rejection and the move to Needles, there were some parts of his heart that were as dry as the desert around him. His spiritual life had been gathering dust.
A wavy blur appeared in the distance, resolving itself into house, sheds, corrals, and garage as he approached. Thankfully, Mrs. Hualga and Joshua still sat on the front porch. He rode straight to the nearest corral and swung down. Meghan toppled off into his arms.
Joshua pounded across the dirt yard. “What happened? What’s Meghan doing out here?”
“Get the truck out of the garage. The hotel car broke down on the road and there’s another girl out there. I need you to drive out and get her. Ask your mother to come here and help me with Meghan.” He hitched her higher into his arms. “And open the corral gate.”
Not bothering to hide his limp, he crossed the corral to the sunshade and lowered Meghan, clothes and all, into the water trough. Getting her cooled off was his first priority. Her hair floated in the water like red seaweed, and her face was deathly pale.
Mrs. Hualga stooped beside him and put her hand on Meghan’s chest. “Her heart is racing.”
“What else can we do?” He looked up into her brown, impassive face, so like Joshua’s.
“Keep her there. I will be back.” She padded toward the house.
The truck sputtered to life and rattled out of the garage.
“There’s another girl, not as bad off as Meghan, but she’s going to need help, too.” Caleb called after Mrs. Hualga, who raised her hand in acknowledgment but kept walking.
Something nudged him between the shoulder blades, and he turned on his knee. His horse clopped over and stuck his muzzle into the trough. Caleb grabbed the reins and pulled him away. After running in the heat like he had, the last thing he needed was a bellyful of water. He should be walked until he was cooled off, rubbed down, and brushed. But there wasn’t time. Meghan came first.
“Lars?” she whispered.
“Can you hear me?” He cupped the back of her head, wiping her cheeks and forehead with his wet fingers. “Meghan?”
No response. Even her lips were white. Her freckles stood out, and her skin was as silky as a baby’s. His suntanned, work-roughened hand seemed so coarse in comparison. But she was so still. So deathly still.
Who was Lars?
Mrs. Hualga returned. “Bring her to the house.”
He lifted Meghan, streaming water and still unconscious, into his arms. He jerked his chin toward his horse. “Please tie those reins to the fence. I’ll take care of him when I get her inside.”
His leg radiated weakness, and afraid he would stumble and drop her, he shuffled his foot along the ground, not daring to lift it lest it buckle under him. He’d done too much today, taxed his twisted limb too far. Soon it would be a knot of cramps and twitches. If Mrs. Hualga noticed his halting gait, she said nothing. He got Meghan into the house and into his bedroom. Mrs. Hualga had pulled back the thin blanket, and Caleb lay Meghan on the sheet. Joshua’s mother bustled in and elbowed him out of the way.
“What can I do?”
“See to the horse. Then bring water and newspaper and thermometer. You have ice?”
“I do.” An old-fashioned icebox that went through ice at a ridiculous rate. He usually bought a block of ice when he went into town for groceries, then raced like a madman back home to get it into the insulated compartment in the top of the icebox before it turned to water. Thankfully, he’d gotten groceries the day before. There should be at least half a block left. A block tended to last about three days, and after that, he made do with powdered milk and canned vegetables and fruit until his next trip to town.
“Bring broken ice.”
He tended to his horse, stripping the saddle and bridle and haltering the animal. Tying him to the fence in the shade, he left a single bucket, a quarter full of water where the horse could reach it. When Joshua returned, he’d send him out to finish the job. He swung by the tool shed for a hammer.
Working the pump in the kitchen, he filled a pitcher and a bucket with water. The box of medicaments on the linen closet shelf gave up the thermometer. Outside his bedroom, he tapped on the door. “Here’s what you wanted. I’ll bring the ice as soon as I can.”
Please, Lord, don’t take her. Why isn’t she waking up? Why was she so stupid as to be careening around the desert in that car? It was that quilt. That stupid signature quilt. She was like Don Quixote, charging around, heedless of danger.
He hefted the dripping block of ice out of the icebox and set it on a kitchen towel. Wrapping it tightly, he picked up his hammer and smashed away until he’d reduced the block to manageable chunks.
“I’ve got the ice.” He tapped on the bedroom door once more. A rattling rumble came through the open front door down the hall. Joshua returning with Natalie. Mrs. Hualga called for Caleb to enter. She straightened from the bed, studying the thermometer she’d just removed from Meghan’s mouth.
“What does it say?”
She shook her head. “It’s bad.”
He studied the glass tube. The mercury hovered near the one hundred and four degree mark. His mouth went dry.
“Newspaper?” Mrs. Hualga took the ice bowl from him.
“I forgot it. I’ll be right back.” Meghan lay swathed in wet sheets. Her bare arms and lower legs stuck out, and her lashes fanned her cheeks. She was so still, he had to concentrate for a moment to make sure she was breathing.
“Go get the newspaper.” Mrs. Hualga’s sharp voice uprooted his feet.
Joshua and Natalie came up the front steps, the boy with his arm around the young woman’s waist. Caleb snatched the newspaper off the front hall table. “Bring her in here. We can treat them together.”
Natalie’s face was still an alarming shade of red, and more worrisome, she wasn’t sweating a bit. Mrs. Hualga tut-tutted, sent the men from the room, and took over.
Caleb leaned against the wall and took his weight off his left leg. “Thank you for bringing Miss Daviot.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I pray they’ll both be all right.”
“Ma’s dealt with heat sickness before.” Joshua stuck his hands into his back pockets, shifting his weight. “Anything I can do?”
For a moment Caleb couldn’t think. His entire being was focused on Meghan. “I left my horse tied up in the corral. He should be cooled out enough to turn in with the other horses. Then I want you to drive to town and get the doc. Stop by the hotel and let someone know where the girls are and that we’ll bring them and the car back as soon as we can.”
The bedroom door opened once more. “Come, I need you.” Mrs. Hualga grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.
Natalie lay beside Meghan, draped in damp sheets. She gave a weak smile and raised her fingers an inch off the bed. Meghan didn’t stir.
“More water.” Mrs. Hualga was a woman of few words. She held up the bucket. “And towels.”
As Caleb manned the pump in the kitchen, the truck rattled out of the drive once more. Joshua might be prickly and defensive, but he was a young man who could be counted upon in an emergency. What would he have done today without the Hualgas? Balancing a stack of towels in one hand and the bucket of water in the other, he limped down the hall.
She took the towels and bucket and pushed him into the chair beside the bed. “Here.” He found himself clutching the newspaper. Did she expect him to read it?
Rolling her eyes, she folded it in half. “Fan.” She moved the air over Meghan’s face, and then dipped a cloth in water to moisten her skin. “Water, then fan.”
Natalie raised her head from the pillow, but Mrs. Hualga pressed her small, brown hand against Natalie’s shoulder.
“Lie still.” She bustled out and returned with a drinking glass. Ice clinked, water poured. “Drink.”
Caleb dipped the edge of a towel in the bucket of water at his feet and trickled it over Meghan’s arm. Mrs. Hualga took a section of the newspaper and began fanning Natalie.
After an eternity, a groan escaped Meghan’s cracked lips, and she stirred. “My head.”
“Shhh.” He clasped her fingers and gently pressed them into the mattress. “You have to be still.”
Her lashes fluttered, and confused, pained green eyes appeared. “Caleb?” She blinked, squinting. “Where am I?”
“You’re at my house. Your car broke down in the desert.”
She stiffened. “Natalie?”
“Easy. She’s right beside you. Joshua’s gone for the doctor.”
Mrs. Hualga nudged his elbow. “Make her drink.” She held out a glass of water. “All of it. Then more, but slow.”
He pressed the glass to Meghan’s lips, letting sips of water trickle inside her mouth. Slowly, aware of her headache, he eased wet strands of hair off her cheek and temple. On the far side of the bed, Mrs. Hualga tucked a towel-wrapped bundle of ice behind Natalie’s neck. She quickly fashioned two more bundles and slipped them under Natalie’s arms.
“Here, like that.” Thrusting a bundle at Caleb, she pointed to Meghan’s neck and arms. “Keep fanning.”
The color subsided from Natalie’s face and returned to Meghan’s over the next half-hour. Pulses slowed, breathing became more regular, and the knots in Caleb’s muscles began to relax. Perhaps they were out of danger.
Meghan didn’t mention Lars again. In fact, she said nothing, just lay on the bed, drinking when told and not opening her eyes.
Footsteps clomped on the front porch, and Doc Bates came into the bedroom. “What have you girls been doing to yourselves?” He adjusted his glasses and set his medical bag on the edge of the bed. Opening the bag, he rummaged, making glass clink. Gripping his thermometer, he rounded the footboard and went to Natalie, his brow wrinkled. “Open.”
Resentment jabbed his ribs that the doc would automatically go first to Natalie.
“Doc, it’s Meghan who was passed out. Don’t you think you should check her first?”
Meghan clasped his hand. “Don’t. I’m all right.”
He leaned close to her ear. “But you were worse off than Natalie was. Your temperature threatened to blow the end of the thermometer right off.”
“But then you helped me.” Her voice still sounded too weak and slow for his liking. Meghan was a firebrand, a crusader, and righter of wrongs. She was full of life and movement and color. To see her so still and unresponsive had jarred him more than he’d realized. Her fingers entwined with his as her eyes closed.
Doc read the thermometer, shook it down, and stuck it back in Natalie’s mouth. “Joshua should be here soon. I came in my own car, and I believe he was going to stop at the hotel. Caleb, step outside so I can do a thorough examination of both these young ladies.” Doc took his stethoscope from his bag. He looped it around his neck and lifted Natalie’s wrist to check her pulse. “I think, thanks to the good nursing they received from Mrs. Hualga, that they’re both going to be just fine.”
Caleb leaned against the hallway wall, as drained as a leaky bucket.
Joshua joined him there. “I stopped by the hotel on the way out of town. That French chef fellow sent a block of ice, and Mr. Stock said not to rush back. Make sure the ladies are going to be fine first.”
“What did Mrs. Gregory say?”
“I didn’t see her, thankfully.”
“Probably just as well. What did you do with the ice?”
“Stuck it in the icebox.”
“Great. Let’s bust it up and make some more cold packs in case Doc needs them. And I could use a cold drink. How about you?” He clapped Joshua on the shoulder and followed him to the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, Doc and Mrs. Hualga joined them. “Ah, iced tea, just what I need.” Doc rubbed his hands together.
Caleb poured. “What’s the verdict?”
“They’ll be back to their old selves in no time. For now, they need rest, fluids, and no more gallivanting around the desert in the middle of a summer afternoon. What on earth were they doing out there?”
“It’s that ridiculous quilt.” Caleb rubbed his fingers down his glass. “They were looking for donations for a signature quilt Meghan’s making to raise funds for the war effort.”
Doc pursed his lips. “A worthy cause, though I’d think they’d be more sensible about their timing. Not even a Gila monster would stir in this heat.”
“It might be a worthy cause, but if they’d have died out there in the desert—” He broke off. Now that they were out of danger, the enormity of their folly smote him. Someone needed to explain to them, to Meghan in particular, how stupid they’d been.
Meghan dozed and woke, dozed and woke over the next couple of hours. Doc checked on her, as did Mrs. Hualga, dousing her skin with water, forcing her to drink, taking her temperature. Natalie lay beside her, sleeping peacefully. If only Meghan could drift into a deep slumber and forget the pounding in her head. She ran all the metaphors for headache she could think of through her mind, but none seemed adequate to describe the pain in her skull. At last, some strength returned, and she forced herself to sit up and reach for her dress draped on the foot of the bed.
“You should lie still.” Natalie rolled over and sat up slowly.
“So should you.” Fumbling with the buttons, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “My head is killing me, and lying there thinking about it isn’t helping.” Nor was thinking about how little she’d accomplished in the way of procuring donations and signatures for her quilt. The one thousand-dollar goal seemed further away than ever.
“We should be thankful God sent Caleb McBride to rescue us. You could’ve died out there.”
“We both could’ve.” Meghan didn’t know how she felt about Caleb’s rescue. Part of her got all warm and swimmy thinking of him bearing her away on his horse—if Natalie’s recounting could be believed—like some gallant, brave knight of old. Another part of her cringed and skittered about. After what she’d witnessed in town with him refusing to stand up for himself, to give an accounting of why he hadn’t enlisted, she couldn’t help but be disgusted. How could a man be so brave and yet cowardly at the same time?
A tap sounded on the door, and Natalie finished buttoning up her blouse before opening it. Caleb stood in the doorway, his weight shifted on one leg as it often was. Meghan’s stomach muscles tightened, and she looked away.
“Are you sure you two should be up?” He stepped inside, his boots rasping unevenly on the floor.
Natalie balled up the sheets they’d been wrapped in and gathered soggy towels. “I’m fine, but I think Meghan should stay in bed.”
“We should get back to town. Mrs. Gregory will be having a fit already. And Mr. Stock must be wondering where his car is.”
Caleb took the bedclothes from Natalie and dumped them into a basket beside the dresser. “Don’t worry about these. I’ll tend to them. There’s iced tea in the kitchen. Do you want me to bring you some?”
“No, I’d like to go out and say thank you to the doctor and to that young man who came to get me out on the road. What is his name?”
“Joshua. Joshua Hualga.”
Natalie disappeared, and Meghan became acutely aware that she and Caleb were alone in his bedroom. She bent and picked up her shoe, her head throbbing and a bit of dizziness swirling at her temples.
He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about rushing back to town. Joshua told Mr. Stock where you were when he fetched Doc out here. As for the car, Joshua and I will drive out there and refill the radiator once the sun goes down, and we’ll see that it gets back to the hotel.”
She nodded, her insides swooping. “Natalie tells me you came to my rescue again. Thank you. That’s twice you’ve saved my life.”
Shrugging, he leaned against the dresser. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Thanks to you and Joshua’s mother.” Weakness flowed through her arms, and her shoe weighed a ton. She forced herself to tug it on and planted her foot on the floor to work her toes all the way inside.
“It was a close-run thing. You were babbling and passing out. You scared about ten years off my life.”
She’d scared herself. “I’m sorry. The car overheated, and I guess we did, too.”
He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. “What were you doing out there in the first place? You could’ve been killed.”
“I know. Good thing you came along. We were near to roasting.” She tried to keep her tone light, to push away the fear of nearly dying. “It’s hot enough to bake a lizard.”
His brows slanted downward, and his mouth hardened. “This is no joking matter. As much trouble as you are always in, you need a full-time keeper.”
Jamming her foot into her other shoe, she straightened. “I do not.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple, regretting her loud tone.
“Yes, you do. You’re always leaping before you look, expecting others to pull you out of your troubles and save your neck. When are you going to grow up and realize the world is a dangerous place?”
“I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?”
He crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her up and giving her a shake that, while not rough, awakened a new wave of agony in her head. “I want you to promise me you’ll never be so foolish again. I want you to stop taking risks. You’re so busy tilting at windmills and charging fortifications, you don’t stop to think of the danger you put yourself in. And this time it wasn’t just you. You could’ve killed Natalie, too, and what for? For a blanket? Because you want to get in good with the Red Cross and Mrs. Gregory and make a big name for yourself by raising a thousand dollars, you’re willing to put yourself and your friend in jeopardy.”
Stung by his harsh tone, she spit back. “How dare you speak to me about taking risks? At least I’m not afraid. You won’t enlist. You won’t even speak up for yourself when someone calls you a coward. You just stand there and take it.”
Anger sparked in his eyes, and something else, pain, a deep hurt that had her regretting her harsh words even as they flew from her lips. That is, until he spoke again, wounding her, accusing her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You rarely do. Instead of getting the facts, you jump to conclusions and leap into the fray. My reasons for not enlisting are my own. I’m entitled to my secrets, just as you are yours. You’ve kept things from me.”
“What secrets have I kept from you?” Surely he wasn’t talking about Natalie’s marriage. He couldn’t know about that, and why would he care if he did?
“What about Lars?” He curled his lip.
Meghan blinked. “What about him?”
“You said you loved him.”
“Of course I love him.” She bunched her forehead. “Are you sure you aren’t the one who had too much sun?” When had she talked to Caleb about Lars? As a rule she didn’t say much about him, but she didn’t exactly make a secret of having a brother “over there.”
“And I bet he’s a soldier.”
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “He is. He enlisted right away. While I long for him to come home, and I’m afraid for his safety, I’m so proud of him, of his courage, I could burst. He’s the reason I’m raising the money for the ambulance. And I don’t care what it costs me. If he can be brave and sacrifice, so can I. He’s a real man who knows his obligation to his country and those he loves. He’d never shirk his duty. He’s no coward.”
“Like me, you mean. Why don’t you come out and say it? A man like me would never be worthy of a girl like you.” A look of tortured anguish twisted Caleb’s face, so near her own. His fingers tightened on her arms, and as if he couldn’t help himself, his lips came down and claimed hers, hard and insistent, as if his frustration had finally outpaced his normal, tight control.
She forgot about her headache. She forgot about being angry. She forgot about everything. The kiss started out fierce and angry, but in a split-second it changed to something else altogether. His lips were wonderfully warm, his skin raspy as his whiskers brushed against her cheek. He smelled of sunshine and horses and hot desert air. Her hands crept up his shirtfront and edged around his neck. His hands spanned her waist as if to steady himself, and then found their way around her, bringing her tight up against him.
This is wrong. This can’t be happening. Stop it! Like a scream, the thoughts echoed in her head.
Balling her fists, she shoved against him, breaking the kiss.
Immediately he pulled away, letting go of her waist and stepping back. His chest heaved, and his eyes glowed hot.
Her own breath came in gasps, and hot shame swirled in her ears and up her cheeks. What kind of woman was she to allow a man who insulted her one moment to kiss her senseless the next? “How dare you? You want me to say right out what I think? All right, I will. Caleb McBride, you disgust me. You avoid going to war when every able-bodied man in the country is answering the call. You hide out here on this barren spit of land training horses to go into battle. Horses that will show more courage in one day of wartime service than you will your whole life. And you take money from the same government you are afraid to fight for. It’s despicable. You, sir, are a coward, and I wish I had a whole fistful of white feathers, because you would deserve them all.” Her hand rose and smacked his cheekbone. “Don’t ever come near me again.”
Cupping his offended cheek he stepped back another pace, stumbling and knocking his shoulder against the doorjamb. His face had gone white under his tan, and a bleak, cold remoteness had replaced the heat in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t. A person can only take so much sanctimonious claptrap, and I get enough from Mrs. Gregory and the rest of this two-bit town. When you get back to Needles, be sure to congratulate your head waitress. She’ll be so proud to know you’ve turned out just like her.”
He left her, and she sagged back onto the bed, holding her face in her hands. Her head threatened to split in two. And why shouldn’t it? Her heart was already shattered.
Caleb avoided the kitchen and headed to the back porch. What had he been thinking? His cheek stung from the impact of her hand, and his pride stung from the acidic accusations she’d hurled at him. In spite of all his warnings to himself, he’d allowed himself to spin dreams about Meghan Thorson, about how she would be different from every other woman he’d ever met. About how she might be the one to heal those broken places in his heart and love him in spite of his faults and flaws, his infirmities and insecurities. About how together they could be the family he’d always longed for. And he’d allowed those dreams to override his common sense to the point that he’d actually kissed her. Not just a peck either.
His chest still lurched in breaths of hot summer air, and weakness raced along his limbs. For an instant, for a suspended moment in time, everything had been perfect. Anger had fallen away. They’d stopped being adversaries and melded together in a giving and taking that had started a firestorm of longing raging in his heart and opened realms of possibilities he’d only dreamed of before.
But it had all come crashing down, as it always did when he dared to risk his heart.
She hated him. She thought him a coward. She was so enamored of soldiers and the Red Cross and her cause, she would never see him as anything but a yellow dog.
Not to mention this Lars fellow, whom she admitted outright that she loved. Lars the brave soldier who had enlisted the moment the call went out. Who was probably at this very moment covering himself with glory on a European battlefield.
He leaned against the weathered siding and smashed his heel backward into the gray boards. Pain shot up his leg, but he didn’t care, bashing his foot into the wall again and again. He gripped handfuls of hair, gulping in breaths and striving for some semblance of control.
Why? Why, God? Why did You destine me to be a cripple? Why can’t I be whole so I can prove I’m no coward? Why can’t I be a real man and win the love of a woman? Why won’t You let me be worthy?
Sinking to the porch floor, he rested his crossed arms on his good knee and let his useless foot sprawl on the boards, pressing his forehead into his wrists. He never should’ve kissed her, and yet, he hadn’t been able to resist the need to claim her, if only for a moment. And though he might regret a lot of things in his life, he knew he’d never regret giving in to that overwhelming impulse. It changed everything, and yet it changed nothing.
She loathed him. And who could blame her? He loathed himself.