A Little Town in Texas

by Bethany Campbell

  Mel leaned his forehead against hers. “And your heart was broken.”

  “Into a zillion pieces,” she admitted. “Split into atoms. I swore I’d never chase anybody again. Or even care for them very much.”

  “He was always on your mind?”

  “In different ways as I got older. Yes.”

  “Will he be there forever?”

  She put her hands on either side of his face. “No. From now on, it’ll be you. Always on my mind.”

  A flurry of pebbles rattled down, and some hit the fire, making it sizzle and hiss. Outside, she heard a boulder roll thunderously down the slope, and the clatter of smaller rocks tumbling in its wake.

  She tensed, and so did he.

  It should seem foolish to talk of always at such a time. But it seemed right. She lifted her lips to press them against his cheek. He held her tight.

  SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, Kitt dozed uneasily, her head on Mel’s shoulder. From time to time she made small, apprehensive murmurs in her sleep.

  Mel was glad she could sleep at all. He’d close his eyes, but sinister noises kept him awake: the inexorable driving of the rain, the scattershot sound of pebbles dropping from the ceiling like warnings.

  Worst were the strange, dim moans of the cave itself. He’d sworn to protect Kitt, but he realized there were forces too strong for him to fight. It was humbling. Too damn humbling.

  But then, as the sky grew faintly gray, the rain slowed. It became almost gentle. And then it stopped.

  He wanted to breathe easier, but he knew the great cliff was a riddle of life and death. If its primeval layers and slabs of rock stayed still, Kitt and he might escape. If they shifted…

  Mel held her, and as he watched the sky lighten, he did something he hadn’t done since childhood: he tried to make bargains with God. He bargained with all his heart and soul.

  Then, he heard the distant thut-thut-thut of a helicopter. He was certain of it. And it seemed to grow closer.

  Mel shook Kitt awake. “’Copter,” he said, gripping her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered in confusion. “’Copter,” he repeated with urgency.

  He sprang to his feet, snatched up the blue blanket, and sprang to the entrance of the cave. He yanked more foliage out of the way and began to wave the blanket with all his might.

  If he looked down, he saw only desolation. Everything Fabian had built had vanished or turned to wreckage. The wet ground looked as if a thousand bulldozers had scraped it into an utter wasteland.

  So he didn’t look down. He looked up. And far away, he saw it, the helicopter, only a speck in the sky, but flying closer. Then Kitt was beside him, laughing and crying and waving the red blanket like a flag.

  NICK BELYLE DESCENDED out of the sky like a delivering angel. Except that angels don’t swear.

  “How in bloody hell did you get here?” he yelled. He had to bellow like an elk to be heard over the roar of the chopper’s motor. Its noise was as deafening as the land-slide’s.

  Nick dangled from a flexible ladder lowered from the helicopter. His position looked more dangerous to Mel than his own and Kitt’s. If J. T. McKinney made a wrong move, Nick would be smashed against the cliff like a bug against a windshield.

  “Take the girl! Take the girl!” Mel screamed at him. “Her ankle’s hurt. She can’t climb that thing!”

  “What?” Nick screamed back.

  Mel cried out even louder for Nick to take Kitt. He shouted until his throat felt raw as meat.

  Nick swung back and forth before Mel’s eyes, a surreal figure, doing an airy dance with death. The wind from the helicopter’s blades blew the leaves at the cave’s entrance until they bent backward. It whipped through Kitt’s long red hair so it streamed like a flame behind her. It slapped Mel’s bare chest, made him squint his eyes.

  Back and forth went Nick, the air current flapping his shirt and tangling his black hair. He pointed to his belt with one gloved hand. Mel saw Nick wore a safety harness of some kind. He was pointing to a second harness clipped to his belt, then to Kitt.

  Mel could no longer make out what Nick was yelling. He could only understand that Nick would throw the second harness, that Kitt should get into it, and somehow the men would get her into the ’copter. But in the meantime, Nick went to and fro, an erratic and fragile pendulum.

  He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, Mel thought with wondrous illogic. The daring young man on the flying trapeze.

  Nick mouthed words that Mel could not hear but could read. “I’m going to throw this. Don’t miss it, asshole.”

  The insult galvanized Mel. He caught the harness on the first throw. Anything less, and Nick would have mocked him through eternity.

  Kitt objected and gestured that she didn’t want to go without him. The cacophony from the chopper ripped away the sound of her voice. He ignored her protests and strapped her into the harness. He gestured to Nick that she was ready, and Nick gestured to someone above him.

  The helicopter tipped so that Nick practically swung into the cave’s mouth. He shortened his hold on the rope and gestured for Kitt to come to him.

  Mel screamed, “Jump!” He screamed it so loudly that something seemed to tear in his throat. He didn’t want to push her, and he didn’t have to.

  As if she had no fear, Kitt leaped into space toward Nick.

  And missed him.

  She plunged down, three—four feet until the rope jerked tight. Nick, his own harness snapped to the ladder, leaned out and pulled her up toward him, inch by inch. Nick’s jaw was tight, the tendons in his neck stood out, and Mel could see the agonized strain in his body.

  The helicopter had tipped away from the cliff’s face again. Mel stood as if frozen. He watched as the woman he loved hung in that harness like a parachutist in trouble. But her head was thrown back in determination, and damned if she wasn’t hanging onto that rope for all she was worth.

  She was being carried farther and farther away from Mel. He watched, helpless, as his brother hauled her up and at last had her in his arms. He saw Nick clip Kitt’s harness to the ladder and give another signal to the unseen person above.

  The ladder began to ascend up into the belly of the helicopter. Kitt clung to Nick, and Nick held her with all his might. When she disappeared, Mel knew she was safe. He fell to his knees on the wet rocks, and his eyes stung with tears of relief.

  He wanted them to take her away, to get her somewhere out of harm’s way, far from the mountain. But the helicopter kept hovering, making feints back and forth.

  Then for the second time, the ladder began to descend. Nick was on it, swaying in space again. They were coming back for Mel.

  He yelled for them to go away, to get him later, but the ladder lengthened, the chopper and its ear-splitting noise drew nearer.

  In a few moments, Mel was strapped into the harness that had held Kitt.

  Then he was in space, falling toward oblivion.

  And then he was in his brother’s arms, being drawn skyward.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  KITT, SHOWERED, her hair freshly washed and dried, sat at the McKinneys’ kitchen table while Cal rebandaged her ankle. She wore a green terry-cloth robe of Cynthia’s that was too big for her.

  Her body ached everywhere, but she hardly noticed. She was too dazed with happiness at being alive and in a wonderful, ordinary place like a kitchen. And Mel was near. Sam Russell, Lynn’s husband, was patching him up in a back bedroom while Lynn searched for clothes to fit him.

  Now Kitt greedily downed her third helping of pancakes and bacon, and drank her third cup of cocoa. She was ravenous for butter, syrup, chocolate and sugar. The taste of it all was blissful.

  The kitchen was crowded, and at Kitt’s feet, Cal was in high spirits, recounting the rescue. “Oh, hell, it was great,” he said. “Daddy’s tryin’ like hell to hold that chopper steady, and Nick is hangin’ from the ladder like Jackie Chan.”

  J.T. gave his son a narrow look. “And you—hanging out the door and
trying to coordinate us. Most of the time all I could see was your butt. Your best angle.”

  “It is mighty cute,” Cal said, unfazed. “And Ol’ Nick’s swingin’ back and forth. Could have smashed right into that cliff just like Wile E. Coyote in a Roadrunner cartoon. Kersplat!”

  Shelby winced, and Nick put his arm around her. “Please,” he said to Cal. “Don’t put it like that. That’s the same image I kept having. Smacking into that rock like a wrecking ball.”

  “An Acme wreckin’ ball,” Cal said cheerfully.

  “You could have been killed,” Shelby Belyle said, her face pale.

  “Naw, honey,” Cal said, adjusting the bandage. “Not with Cool Hand Daddy at the controls.”

  J.T. looked pleased in spite of himself. Cynthia stared at him accusingly. “I’ve begged you to sell that helicopter. You could have crashed into that cliff yourself. I don’t ever want you in that thing again—ever.”

  But J.T.’s face went stern. “They may need me to go up again before the day is out. If they do, I will.”

  Cynthia clearly didn’t approve, but she didn’t argue. It was just as well, for a few minutes later, Sheriff Jackson phoned and asked J.T. to fly over the Comanche Hills area. There were rumors of marooned hikers on the other side of the creek’s lower branch.

  Cal, of course, would not miss the action. This time Ken joined them, but Nick stayed behind with Shelby. Nora, Cynthia and Serena went to the helipad to see their husbands off.

  Kitt was left alone in the kitchen with Shelby and Nick. Shelby had her arm around Nick’s waist, as if afraid to let him go. She stared up adoringly at him, and he returned her look. Kitt suddenly felt like an intruder.

  “I—I think I’d like to lie down,” she said to Shelby. “If you’d just help me to the sofa or somewhere…”

  “Of course,” Shelby said. She came, slipped her arm about Kitt’s shoulders and helped her to stand. “Nora said to take you to her house. You can have the guest room.”

  Kitt didn’t object. She rose and discovered her knees were unpleasantly shaky. She leaned on Shelby, took a small step, but staggered.

  “Let me help,” Nick said, taking a step toward her. But at that moment a figure appeared in the doorway—Mel. Kitt’s mind seemed to grow clear and turn fuzzy at the same moment, and her heart vaulted with emotion.

  He was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and an unbuttoned yellow Western-cut shirt over a white T-shirt. He had a bruise on his forehead, and white tape held gauze in place over the cut on his face.

  The bandage ran from his upper lip to the outer edge of his cheekbone. It made him hold his mouth in a rigid line, but she could read the depths of his blue eyes.

  I love you, he said to her in silence.

  I love you, she replied in silence.

  Between them stood Nick, his body taut. He looked his brother up and down. “Where are Sam and Lynn?” he asked, voice brusque.

  “Outside,” Mel said stiffly. “Sam’s going with the others.”

  The two men eyed each other almost warily. Kitt sensed the complex bonds and tensions that ran between them.

  Mel said, “You’re not going this time?”

  Nick didn’t answer immediately. The silence grew awkward.

  Shelby spoke. “I didn’t want him to.” Her tone was both apologetic and defiant.

  Mel lifted one dark brow as if to say so what do I care?

  Nick said, “I need a rest break. Hauling your ass out of trouble nearly gave me a hernia.”

  Mel’s expression went scornful. He looked as if he were going to say something edged. But he didn’t. Instead his eyes glittered with unshed tears. He stepped toward Nick, and Nick stepped toward him.

  The two men almost fell together. They embraced.

  “Thanks,” Mel muttered in a choked voice. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Nick said. But he held him fast.

  THE PHONE RANG. The men jerked apart like two fighters coming out of a clench. The four people in the kitchen looked uneasily at one another as the phone shrilled again.

  Shelby left Kitt’s side and picked up the receiver. Kitt, her ankle still wobbly, clung to the back of the kitchen chair. Mel came to her, put his arm around her with an air of rightful possession. He tried to smile, but the bandage wouldn’t let him.

  Kitt rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the chin, just under his mouth.

  “It’s for you,” Shelby said to Nick, but Mel barely heard. He looked at Kitt in her dark green bathrobe, with her cloud of fiery hair. Her face was pallid. She wore no makeup, she had a Band-Aid on her forehead, and he’d never seen anyone as beautiful.

  “You all right?” he asked. His throat still felt choked, and the tape slightly distorted his words; his voice sounded strange in his ears. But, Lord, how her blue eyes did shine with love, and he knew that look was for nobody else in the world. It was for him.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was unsteady. She raised her hand and touched the bandage. “And you?”

  “If you’re fine, I’m fine,” he said, taking her hand in his. He bent and touched his forehead to hers. He sighed, closed his eyes, and just savored that she was here, she was safe, she was safe, and, oh, God, yes, she was here and he was touching her.

  He didn’t know how long they stood like that. His brother’s voice jarred him back to reality. “Hey, Caveman. You—Fred Flintstone. You’ve got a phone call.”

  Mel opened his eyes and drew back reluctantly from Kitt. He frowned in puzzlement at Nick, but Nick’s face gave away nothing. He simply held the receiver out to Mel.

  Mel crossed the kitchen, took the phone. He realized that his back hurt, his legs hurt, and his shoulder hurt. He leaned against the door frame, ran his hand over his eyes and said, rather rudely, “What?”

  “What do you mean ‘What’?” demanded an irascible voice. “Whatever happened to ‘Hello’?”

  Fabian. Mel straightened up as if an electric bolt had shot through him.

  “‘Hello’ got drowned,” he said. “Your lousy lake over-flowed. You own two and a half thousand acres of frigging disaster.”

  “So I heard,” Fabian said in a snide voice. “And please don’t say you told me so.”

  “I told you so.”

  “I also heard you disappeared for a while. Inconsiderate of you.”

  “Thanks to you,” Mel retorted, from between set teeth. “I’ve nearly been killed by lightning, flood, cave-in, rock-slide and falling from a helicopter.”

  “Have you left out anything?” Fabian asked acidly. “Vampire bats? Cannibals? Killer bees?”

  “My life, however, is nothing,” Mel shot back. “You almost got a journalist killed. I imagine you’ll be reading about it soon in Exclusive magazine. Unless, of course, she becomes part of the enormous class-action suit that’s certain to be filed against you.”

  “Who reads Exclusive magazine?” sneered Fabian. “Nobody but the ladies who lunch and their pansy friends. Let her write away. Let her sue away. It doesn’t concern me. And it doesn’t concern you.”

  Mel’s scorn turned to an ominous puzzlement. “It doesn’t concern me?”

  “You are off this case, off this project. Permanently. Destroy your files and get back to New York.”

  Mel took a deep breath. “I see. Because you’re sending the real bully boys down here. Let me tell you something, Brian. These people will fight. They’ll fight to the end. They’ll—”

  Fabian interrupted him. “They’ve got nobody to fight. I’m declaring bankruptcy on Bluebonnet Meadows. I’m dumping the place. It’s unlucky. It’s brought me nothing but grief.”

  Mel felt as if he’d been hit on the head with a large oak plank. His ears rang, and the kitchen went out of focus. “What?” he said in disbelief. “Where did this idea come from?”

  “Your mother,” Fabian said bitterly.

  “My mother?”

  “Is there an echo in this phone? Yes, your mother. I had to fly to Atlanta, hold her
hand all night long. Me, in all my suffering. She was hysterical. Over you. And where were you? Camped out in some cave with your new girlfriend. While your poor old mother thought you were drowned. Floating dead in the wild water. And it was all her fault. Ergo, it was all my fault. I’m a monster. I’ve set her sons against each other and drowned you like a puppy. Blah, blah, blah. She’d sold her soul to the devil, i.e., me. Good Lord, it was like an opera. She did arias. Hours of them.”

  “What’s this got to do with Bluebonnet Meadows?” Mel frowned.

  “Along about two or three in the morning,” Fabian snarled, “when the guilt trip was like Star Trek, making me go where no man has ever gone before, your mother says, ‘Promise me if he’s alive, you’ll sell that place. Pledge that to me. Make that a sacred oath to the Virgin.’”

  Mel shook his head to clear it. “What? But what if I’d died? Were you supposed to keep it in penance?”

  “How do I know? She asked me to promise, I promised. You do not reason with a person in that state. Now that she knows you’re alive, she’s told me to get you and your brother to make peace.”

  Fabian paused. “You and Nicky—just—make it up. Nicky says it’s not impossible. This is right? You could be friends again?”

  Mel stole a glance at his brother. Nick, his arm around Shelby, watching him, his face stiff and unreadable. Mel tried a tentative smile in spite of the tape. It must have worked. Nick smiled back, almost in the old way.

  Mel looked away, embarrassed by another show of affection, even one that small. “Yeah,” he told Fabian, “It’s not impossible.”

  “Fine. Excellent. Jim Dandy. Go bond with him. Build some model airplanes or something. Collect Pokémon cards. Play pirates. Whatever.”

  “We’ve played pirates for years—for you,” Mel countered. “And don’t be flippant. You’re in trouble down here. You’re going to be sued to hell and back. I don’t know what the property damage comes to, but—”

  “Screw it,” Fabian said, weariness in his voice. “I’ll settle out of court.”