by Vella Munn
Calley laughed at herself. She ran her hand over her eyes, but the intensity was still there. “I do tend to foam at the mouth at the way the grizzlies have been mismanaged. I’m not sure I could speak without ranting. I tried to get Mike to present those arguments himself, but he said that those in charge of bear management weren’t receptive. They were convinced that the methods they were using to manage grizzlies was working. Mike didn’t fight hard enough. He gave up,” she said softly. “It’s only now that they’re seeing the error of their ways.”
“Are you saying the problem has been solved?” Dean asked.
“Of course not,” Calley said emphatically. “What I’m saying is that finally the park management is seeing that there is a problem. I just hope it isn’t too late to save the grizzlies there. Mike should have tried harder. Made them listen.”
“He gave up,” Dean said.
“Yes, he gave up! Don’t let me get started on that,” Calley begged. “I really don’t want to talk about Mike or bring up some of the classic arguments we had. It’s a dead issue.”
Because in a few short days Dean had learned how to read most of Calley’s emotions, he understood her need to put Mike out of her life. Dean was aware that there’d always been something in Mike that sought the path of least resistance. Mike presented his points logically but backed down when opposed. It might have been an admirable trait for a politician, but someone charged with the responsibility of maintaining a fragile ecosystem had to have the guts to lock horns with opposition and apathy. Much as Dean admired Mike’s expertise as a biologist, he understood why he hadn’t lasted in the position Dean now held. There wasn’t enough iron in Mike’s spine.
And Calley was a steel-tempered woman. She deserved better.
By the time the day was over, Dean hadn’t changed his mind about Calley’s competence. If there’d been any lingering doubt that she was capable at her job, that was dispelled under a cloudless sky. With Steve and Melinda back, the decision was made that they would break up into two groups in order to cover more territory. Although he realized that Steve and Melinda might be tired of each other’s company, Dean insisted on having Calley travel with him.
It would have been easier to pair her with Steve. Dean couldn’t look at her without being reminded that Calley was the one not haunted by the past. The one with rare guts. As long as she was around, Dean couldn’t deny that there were things he hadn’t resolved and that wouldn’t release him until he’d faced them.
But Dean didn’t want to spend the day without Calley. In two days they would be leaving; they might never be able to recapture what existed between them on the Flathead. He wanted to walk behind her as she plowed her way up a hill. He remembered the sensual, if unconscious, way she lifted her shirt away from her breasts when the day’s heat bore down on her. He wanted to watch her do that again.
Calley had said almost nothing in the two hours since they left camp, and that bothered Dean. He searched his mind for a casual way of breaking the silence, but everything he came up with sounded artificial. He’d resigned himself to being ignored and accepted her grunt of approval when he indicated they might have a better view if they scrambled up a slope consisting of loose shale. At that point Dean insisted on breaking trail. That way he could find what solid footing existed and then turn to give her a hand if she needed it. Calley accepted his steadying hand once, but it was obvious that she wanted and needed nothing more than that from him. With a resigned sigh Dean concentrated on reaching the top some hundred feet above them.
He was digging his heel into the thinly layered rock when Calley’s startled cry tore through him. At the sound he whirled around in time to see her tumbling head over heels down the hill, arms flailing in a futile attempt to stop herself.
“Calley!” he screamed. He bounced on his toes and slid down the shale after her. Before he could reach her, Calley slammed into a boulder near the base of the hill. The sound of her body hitting unrelenting rock sickened him. She sighed softly and went limp.
Dean knelt beside her, his heart hammering in his throat. Damn. He’d insisted on tackling the stupid hill and now—damn! If she was badly injured, he’d never forgive himself. “Calley,” he whispered. “Calley.” He touched the side of her neck, breathing only when he’d found the strong pulse there. She was alive, but he was afraid to turn her over. Had she hit the boulder with her face? Were there broken bones? How was he going to get her out of here? “Can you hear me?” he asked, aware of how insane his question must sound. Whether she could hear was the least of it, and yet he needed to hear her voice so badly that his need had become a physical pain.
Calley’s body was limp. He gripped her fingers, but there was no response. If it wasn’t for her pulse, he would have thought her dead. Damning himself once again, Dean bent his head close to hers, trying to catch the rhythm of her breathing. The gentle sound returned warmth to his veins. Cautiously he touched first her temple where hair and flesh came together and then made contact with her forehead.
“Calley. Can you turn over?”
“No.”
The barely audible whisper was the most welcome sound he had ever heard. Dean placed his hands on her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I’m here, darling. You’re going to be all right. Calley, I want to turn you over, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. Can you feel anything? Have you hurt your neck?” Could she tell how scared he was?
“I feel rocks poking into me. This is not fun.” Calley slid her right hand under her body and attempted to turn over. The effort ended in a pain-filled groan. “Bad idea,” she gasped.
“What is it?” Dean knew his fingers were digging into her shoulder, but he couldn’t help himself. How could she possibly joke at a time like this?
“My side hurts.” Her voice was muffled. “I think I did something to it.”
“Please let me try to turn you over,” Dean suggested. “I’ll take it easy. I promise I won’t hurt you.” When she didn’t respond, he gently rolled her over. Calley’s face was dusty, her hair snarled around her face and neck. The buttons of her shirt had pulled open, revealing a soiled bra. She was beautiful.
“Hi.” Calley winked.
“Hi, yourself.” Reverently Dean brushed the dirt away from her mouth. He kissed her long and deep, not caring how much of his inner emotions he was giving away. He’d been so scared. Regaining his equilibrium was going to take time. “You’re a mess.”
“I kind of figured that. The rocks are killing me,” she said through tight lips. “There’s one digging into my spine.”
“Do you think you can stand up?” he asked.
“I’m not so sure, Dean,” she whispered. When she continued, her voice was a little stronger. “I’m no expert at this sort of thing, but I think maybe I broke my rib.”
She was so calm. Later he could marvel at her calmness, but for now he simply accepted it. At least he didn’t have to worry about her going into shock. Without bothering to ask her permission, Dean unbuttoned what few buttons remained intact and pushed aside her shirt. He could see the ugly swollen welt rising over a rib on her right side. Fortunately the skin wasn’t broken, but what he knew about first aid told him that if the rib was broken it might be pointing inward. “I’m going to have to hurt you,” he said, hating what he was going to have to do. “I can’t tell what the damage is if I don’t touch you there.”
“I kind of figured that, doctor.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Be gentle with me.”
“This is no time for a wisecrack, Calley. This is serious business,” Dean reminded her. He was putting off the moment when he’d have to touch her, arguing over something that didn’t matter.
“What would you like me to do? Cry?”
Yes. Cry. Fall apart. Let me know you need me. Dean wanted those things to happen because that’s what past experience told him people did when they were hurt. But despite the pain in Calley’s eyes, she was breathing calmly, trying to turn her head so she could observe the injury herself.
He tried a joke. “You could faint.”
“Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was at recess when they were giving fainting lessons. Are you going to sit there all day, or shall we see what the damage is?”
“I should have a bullet for you to bite,” Dean observed as his fingers made the first faint contact. Calley tensed as he continued his exploration, but other than shutting her eyes when he found the tip of the broken rib, she made no indication that she’d done more than bruised herself.
“It’s broken, isn’t it?” she asked when he was done.
“I’m afraid so.” Damn! He didn’t want her hurt. Not her. “But I don’t think it’s a complete break. More like a crack. I don’t think it’s going to cause any more trouble than it has already.”
“It’s caused enough,” Calley pointed out. “How are we going to get back? I’m really not up to a marathon.”
“I’ll carry you.”
Calley laughed, stopping herself when the laugh registered in her rib. “That’s a tall order. I hate to have to admit this, Dean, but a hundred and twenty-five pounds gets pretty heavy after a couple of miles.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that? I’ve taken all the first-aid courses anyone needs.” Dean winced at the harsh way his statement came out. He wanted her to turn everything over to him, to let him make all the decisions. But that wasn’t Calley. She wasn’t a leaner. “We’re going to need to immobilize that rib before we can do anything else. Are you sure that’s the only place you hurt?”
“Except for needing a pillow, I’m in pretty good shape,” Calley observed. “Of course, I could use a bath.” She turned her head as far as possible in both directions. “We’re going to need some bandages. There’s a jacket in my backpack.”
Dean couldn’t argue with Calley’s logic. Although he hated leaving her long enough to retrieve her backpack, it was obvious that she wasn’t going to panic if left alone. A minute later he was back. He pulled off his T-shirt so it would serve as a cushion over the injury itself and used both of their jackets to hold the shirt in place and to restrict movement of the rib. He tried to rebutton Calley’s shirt, but it barely fit over the extra layers. He was slipping back into his own shirt when she giggled.
“Oh! I shouldn’t have done that,” Calley admitted. Her eyes were bright with sudden tears. “Laughing hurts. I was just thinking that this is taking the concept of cleavage to ridiculous lengths. Somehow I don’t feel very seductive. How far from camp are we, anyway?”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Dean repeated. By degrees he helped her to her feet. At one point the color left her face, but other than closing her eyes again, Calley gave no indication of what she was feeling. He knew he was causing her pain when he hoisted her onto his back, but she held on to the backpacks now draped over her neck and managed a soft “Hi ho, Silver” when he started.
The trip back to camp took close to two hours. By the time they reached the clearing, Dean was drenched in sweat, and his legs ached, but his discomfort was a vague thing pushed to the back of his mind by his concern for the woman who now felt as if she were part of him. He was aware of her femininity and temporary dependence on him, but even more consuming was his admiration for the woman he’d called “darling” a little while ago. If nothing else, Calley was courageous.
Dean dropped to his knees near his tent and waited for Calley to stand. Then he stood and gripped her shoulder to help her keep her balance. Her face was pale, her lips tight. But before he could ask her how she was, she reached up and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Well done.” She sighed. “You must be exhausted.”
“What about you?”
“I haven’t had to do anything but hold on,” she pointed out. “You did all the work.”
Even when Melinda started fussing over her, Calley continued to maintain that her rib was a minor consideration. She argued that there was no reason for them to abort their research a day early on her account. “We can just slap on an Ace bandage and I’ll be fine,” she argued as Melinda was removing her boots. “That’s all a doctor will do, anyway.”
“Will you shut up!” Dean spat out. “There’s no reason for you to play superwoman. No one believes a word of what you’re saying, anyway. You’re going to need to be X-rayed.”
Calley sighed. She was sitting on a log Steve had moved next to an evergreen. Her back was resting against the tree, her face still whiter than Dean liked. “I know that, Dean. I just feel so guilty. This has really messed things up.”
“Don’t.” Dean wasn’t going to touch her. His feet hurt, and the mug of cold water Steve had brought him was making him lethargic, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how much worse things could be. He pulled himself to his feet and came to stand beside Calley, who was still seated on the log. Bending down, he gently wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. Her head rested against his waist. She’d trusted him to bring her safely out of the woods. He’d never had anyone place their safety in his hands that completely before. It was a good feeling and helped to balance the scale between them. “All I want is to get you to a hospital.” That wasn’t entirely true. They’d lose something precious when they left the woods behind.
“I’d rather have a shower.” Calley sighed. Her father had always called her bull stubborn, the original stoic. With Dean’s arm around her she no longer felt a need to prove herself. And yet she wanted to tell him a little of what she was made of. “This isn’t my first broken rib,” she went on softly. “I had a horse when I was growing up who thought it great fun to take the bit in his teeth and take off for a tree with a low branch. Usually I’d be able to cling to his side and not get knocked off. Usually.”
“What happened?” Not again. Dean didn’t want to think about Calley and pain anymore.
“The tree was harder than me. So, as I recall, was the ground.”
Dean had met women who wouldn’t be seen dead with pine needles in their hair, dirt clinging to their torn blouses, who would never have gotten on the back of a headstrong horse or tried to scramble up a shale hill. Calley wasn’t anything like them.
Seeing that now did something to him. It no longer bothered Dean to think about her getting knocked off a horse or suffering a broken rib. That was what Calley Stewart was. He didn’t want that changed.
She was so precious—indeed, unique. He wanted to explore what she was more than he had in their brief time together, maybe even to tell her some things about himself. Dean resented the presence of Steve and Melinda. He wanted Calley to himself. But he couldn’t have that.
No matter what his emotions, he had to load up the pickup and the jeep and get Calley back to civilization.
After resting for a few minutes, Dean joined Steve in the task of dismantling camp. Melinda stayed with Calley. As soon as the men were out of sight, Melinda helped Calley out of her soiled shirt. “You’re really going to have to clean up before I let you come to my wedding,” Melinda teased as she started removing the makeshift bandage. “Dean’s T-shirt? The whole thing sounds pretty intimate to me.”
“Don’t I wish,” Calley whispered. She held her breath while Melinda deftly wrapped an Ace bandage tightly around her middle. “He was in such a bad mood this morning that I wasn’t sure I wanted anything to do with him. I’m surprised he paired us up.”
“Are you kidding?” Melinda didn’t try to hide her surprise. “You didn’t see the look on his face when the two of you stumbled into camp. He was so worried it was ridiculous. I thought you were at least dead. He hates the idea of you being hurt.”
Calley sighed. “I know he does. He was more worried than I was when I got hurt. That’s why I can’t understand his mood this morning. I mean—” She paused, testing the wisdom of saying anything more. “Sometimes things can be so right between us. Sometimes I think he knows what I’m thinking even when I don’t say anything. He called me darling; I don’t think that was just because he was scared for me.”
“I kn
ow he feels something special for you. The signs are certainly there.”
Calley shot Melinda a look of gratitude as Melinda helped her into a clean blouse. “You make it sound pretty simple. It isn’t.”
Melinda shook her head. “I know that. Nothing that goes on between men and women is.”
Calley had reason to mull over what Melinda had said once she had been loaded into the pickup and they were on their way. She hated having to leave Bigfork but had hoped that the long trip would give her and Dean the opportunity to talk.
She was wrong. At least she was for the first hour. She had to concentrate on cushioning herself against the shock of the truck bouncing along the dirt road, but Melinda had made sure that her rib was pretty well immobilized. At length she relaxed. However, other than asking her if she was comfortable, Dean didn’t seem to care.
Calley mulled that over, looking for answers she could accept. She tried to tell herself that Dean must be exhausted. That would explain his silence. She tried to tell herself that he had an aversion to injuries and was determined to steer clear of any further mention of it. But a man with a scar on his side was no stranger to pain.
Finally the silence between them became too much. Calley’s head was pounding; her stomach rumbled from the missed meals. She wanted someone to pat her on the head and say the kind of things mothers say to injured children. It was, she knew, a childish emotion, but as night fell, Calley decided there was nothing that drastically wrong with indulging herself. She slid over to the middle of the seat and rested her head on Dean’s shoulder.
She was thinking about hot chicken soup, a fluffed-up pillow and her mother’s soft humming when Dean spoke. “We’re going to be able to wrap up this study in another week or so. If the funding comes through, we could be doing the same thing in Alaska before the month is over. And there’s another short project in the wind up there. My guess is we’re going to be pretty busy between now and winter.”
That was the first Calley had heard of moving the base of operation farther north. She’d assumed that they’d simply continue what they were doing within the continental United States. “What funding?” she asked without bothering to open her eyes.
