Love's Story

by Christner, Dianne; Billerbeck, Kristin;

  “Sure.”

  She removed her hat and a puddle of water ran down the brim. She wrung it out and placed it back on her head, to the obvious amusement of the bull. She threatened him with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Do you use it?” she asked.

  “You’ve seen our operation.”

  “I think you could do better.”

  “I don’t strip the land clean. We only cut what we intend to use.” He shrugged. “But I suppose you’re right.”

  “Have you investigated conservation methods?”

  “Nope. I’ve left that up to you.”

  “Would you, given the chance?”

  “What chance?”

  She took another swallow of coffee in hopes her teeth would quit clattering enough to finish the business at hand. “I have information. If you would read it, there might be some things you could apply to Bucker’s.”

  “I’ll look at it. But just so you know, I don’t make all the rules. I’m not the owner of this logging organization.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  “You’re shivering again.” The black-haired bull cast a worried glance past Meredith, then heaved himself up to look outside. “We need to find you a place to spend the night. You won’t be going back to town in this.”

  Meredith’s helpless gaze watched the relentless downpour.

  “Maybe one of the married men can take you home.” He rubbed his chin and turned back toward her. “Course you aren’t the most popular reporter around here anymore.”

  “I…” Meredith stopped midsentence when the bull jerked the tent flap open to admit an excited logger.

  “Got a minor accident.”

  Seeming to forget his castaway, the bull hunched his shoulders and tramped into the rainstorm behind the logger.

  Meredith clambered to her feet and sloughed off the blanket as if it were a chain and ball. She had just enough good sense to grab her drenched coat and drape it over her head before she raced after him.

  Through the fog and sheets of rain, she saw two injured persons being helped into the bunkhouse. She caught up to them with a gasp.

  One of the injured men looked like Thatcher. As Meredith let her coat slip to the ground, her world suddenly shrank to the size of a bunkhouse, a blur of damp canvas, rivulets crossing a mud floor, rows of cots, and an injured man who meant everything to her.

  The bull ordered, “Go get Curly.” He was the closest thing to a camp doctor.

  Meredith pushed through the haze. “Let me see Thatcher.”

  “You can’t come in here.”

  She gave the bull a look that was mostly a flash of raw fear and hastened to Thatcher’s side. A blood-soaked arm lay draped across his chest, where a large, jagged piece of wood skewered his coat sleeve to his arm. When Meredith saw the problem, she almost fainted.

  “We’ve got to get his coat off and get the blood stopped.” The room quieted under her words.

  Her gaze swept over the other injured man, whose arms hugged the shoulders of two able-bodied loggers. “Help him to a cot.”

  Thatcher groaned. The bull winced when Meredith yanked her blouse out from her trousers. The silence in the room thickened, as the men watched her rip a strip from the bottom of her blouse.

  The bull lay his hand on Thatcher’s shoulder. “Be still,” he said in his most gentle authoritative voice.

  Meredith gave him an appreciative glance. Thatcher’s eyes closed, his face pale and his lips parted. “Let’s get his jacket off first. Do you have a knife?” Meredith asked.

  The bull helped Thatcher sit forward so Meredith could remove the garment. Then he lay back. They used a knife to cut the material away from the arm. Next they cut his shirt away, and Meredith tied the strip of cloth tight around his upper arm.

  “I can see to him if you want to get the other injured man’s foot propped up.”

  The bull nodded.

  Meredith leaned over Thatcher and whispered, “The bleeding has stopped some. Try not to move your arm.”

  His eyes flickered open. “I feel dizzy.”

  “Just rest if you can.”

  At that moment, Curly burst into the bunkhouse. He strode past everyone to a cot, from beneath which he removed the camp’s leather bag filled with medical supplies. He leaned over Thatcher and said to Meredith as he probed the injured area, “You’ve done just right, Miss Mears.”

  Meredith stepped back from the cot, and the room gave an odd spin. She rubbed her arms and began to tremble. One of the loggers explained to Curly how the accident happened.

  “They fell off a stand. Ran that limb right through his arm. Looks to me like the other broke his leg.”

  A rush of nausea swept over Meredith, and she fumbled around, looking for her coat. But something else caught her eye. From where it lay, it must have fallen out of Thatcher’s pocket. She stooped to pick it up. As dizzy as she felt, she had to concentrate her focus.

  It was the picture of a woman, a lovely woman. A steel band of dread constricted her chest. She cast an apprehensive glance at Thatcher and turned the photograph over. The back contained an inscription: “To my husband, with all my love, Colleen.” When the full meaning hit, the elegant handwriting scorched her palm.

  Another quick glance showed Curly pouring some whiskey down Thatcher’s throat. Thatcher choked, coughed, then lay back.

  Thatcher’s married?

  Curly poured some of the whiskey over a knife and lowered it to Thatcher’s arm. Meredith averted her eyes.

  The bull looked at her oddly. “Miss Mears. You’ve done enough here. Let’s get you to a fire.”

  Dazed, she nodded. Her foot hit Thatcher’s discarded coat. She looked at the bloody heap and tried to remember its import. Her stomach lurched. Then she remembered.

  The photograph.

  She stooped on unsteady legs and slipped the photograph inside a pocket; then she reached for her own coat and stood up. The room swirled, and everything went black.

  Meredith awoke to a crackling fire. Her body sought its warmth, and a strong grip on both her upper arms lifted her to a sitting position.

  “Easy, now.” The bull kept a wary eye on Meredith as she looked about the room.

  “I’m glad you came around. Had me worried.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Mess hall. You still look rather green.” The bull shouted, “Cook! Can you keep an eye on Miss Mears?”

  “Sure.” The cook narrowed his eyes at her, then returned to his work.

  I guess Cook reads, Meredith mused as she eased herself closer to the fire.

  “Dry out here until I come back for you,” The bull said and started to leave, but turned back. “You’ll stay put, won’t you?”

  “I’ll stay.” She shuddered.

  The cook peeled potatoes and ignored her. Time passed, and a sense of normalcy returned to Meredith, so she tried to start up a conversation with him.

  “Do the men always work in the rain?” she asked.

  Cook gave her a hard look, then said, “Ya. They’ll probably get the lung fever, but they wouldn’t want to miss a day of pleasure, killing trees.”

  Ooh. He bites, too, she said to herself.

  She turned her attention back to the fire. The photograph. Thatcher’s kiss came to mind, his claim that he would marry her. But he can’t be married. She thought about the puzzle. Maybe he’s a widower.

  Before she could sort it out, the bull returned with a tall blond man who didn’t glare at her like the potato peeler.

  “The Swede lives nearby. You can stay at his house.”

  Meredith assessed him. “Even if he’s gentle as a doe, I’m not staying with him.”

  The blond logger’s lips twitched. “I have a wife. She’d be grateful for your company.”

  Meredith shrugged. “Sorry. I’m too miserable to think. Much obliged.”

  A thin, rosy-cheeked woman stood in the open cabin door. “I saw you coming through the woods. Hurry inside. My, it’s
nasty.”

  “This is Miss Mears, the reporter from town. She’s feeling poorly and needs shelter for the night.”

  “Glad to have ya,” The young Swedish woman said. “You’re welcome to what we have.”

  Meredith surveyed the room. There was a bed at one end and a table and two mismatched chairs at the other. A fire burned in a black box stove, the only cheery fixture.

  “Will you be staying at the camp then?” The woman asked her husband.

  “Ya. I’ve got to go back right away.”

  Meredith went to the stove to warm up and give them some privacy.

  When the woman returned, she was alone. “I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

  “I hate to put you out.”

  “It’s no bother. It’ll be nice to talk to someone from town. Don’t get in much.”

  Meredith felt grateful for the woman’s kindness. It would be good to get her point of view regarding logging and living in the woods.

  As the woman went after the clothes, Meredith wondered, Is this what it would be like to be married to Thatcher? A hut in the woods? She shuddered, and her thoughts ran rampant. Maybe Thatcher is already married. If so, what was he running from that even took him away from a loving wife? And how could he kiss me and speak of marriage? I shall never marry you, Thatcher Talbot, if indeed you are not already married. Then a more poignant pain, Will Thatcher be all right? His wound could be quite serious if it became infected.

  “Here you go, Miss Mears. You look a mite green. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, Meredith woke to the sound of rain and a rooster crowing.

  “Morning.” The greeting came from the cheery woman bent over a pot on the black stove.

  “Morning.” Meredith threw her legs over the side of the bed and looked out the one tiny window.

  “Your clothes are dry. They’re at the foot of the bed.”

  Meredith knew she could never stay cooped up in the small, dreary cabin, regardless of the rain. As she fastened her pants, her stomach rumbled.

  The woman smiled. “You must be hungry. Slept like a log.”

  Meredith pulled out one of the mismatched chairs. “There was an accident in camp, a friend of mine. It made me sick. That was after I got soaked from the storm. Thanks for letting me stay over, but I feel fine now. If you’ll just point me in the right direction, I’ll go on back to camp.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “An accident? My husband didn’t say anything about an accident.”

  Meredith waved her hand. “Minor injuries. I’ve just a weak stomach is all.”

  “Oh.” The woman didn’t look convinced. She placed a plate of eggs in front of her guest. “You sure you want to walk to camp in the rain? Through those woods?”

  “How far is it? I know we came by horse, but it didn’t seem so far yesterday.”

  The woman swept a worried glance over Meredith. “Two miles. There’s a path worn ’twixt us and the camp.”

  “See then. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll easily find my way.”

  “I hoped you might stay a spell. We could visit.”

  Meredith hated to crush the woman’s hopes. “Well, maybe I will. Just a spell.” The woman instantly brightened, and Meredith tasted the eggs. “Mm. This is delicious.”

  The woman joined Meredith at the table. “Are you really a reporter from the city?”

  Meredith answered her questions. After a while, she asked, “You have a privy?”

  The woman giggled. “Out back.”

  Once Meredith returned to the cabin, she said, “Now that I’m already wet, I really should head back to the camp. The rain is a mere drizzle.”

  “I thought you’d come back with that in your head. It’s been real nice talking with ya.”

  “My pleasure. Thanks for everything.” Meredith felt awkward. She hesitated, then gave the slight woman a hug. “Maybe, I’ll see you in town.”

  The woman nodded. “I hope so. Take care, now.”

  By the time Meredith took her leave, the rain was a mere mist, and the path was easy to follow, though eerily remote. Meredith kept a brisk pace, eager to leave the shadows of the deep woods and reach camp.

  When she reached the bull’s tent, he asked, “You’re riding back to town in this?”

  “I’ll go slow. I can’t sit around here for days.”

  “I suppose I could loan you a slicker.”

  “I’d much appreciate that. How’s Mr. Talbot doing?”

  “He’s got a fever. If you’re going to Buckman’s Pride, would you mind sending the town doctor back? I was going to send someone in.”

  “I’ll go right away.”

  The bull nodded, went to the back room of his tent, and returned with a slicker. “A mite big, but it’ll keep you drier.”

  “It’s perfect. Thanks.” He helped her slip into it before she left.

  Meredith got her horse from the stable and checked to make sure her portfolio was still safe in her saddlebags. Then with words of encouragement, she eased the beast out into the drizzle. “Let’s go home, boy.”

  Three hours later, Amelia Cooper bustled Meredith into the shelter of her warm kitchen, shaking her head. “I was worried about you, child.”

  “No need. I spent the night with a logger’s wife.”

  “I hoped as much.”

  “This morning I had to get the doctor. Mr. Talbot got a nasty puncture wound in his arm, and another man broke his leg.”

  “How awful.”

  “Did you know they work in the rain?”

  “Yeah.” She looked out the window at the drizzle. “My husband used to do the same.”

  Meredith followed Amelia’s gaze and sneezed. “I see Jonah is in his studio.”

  “Yes.” Amelia looked at her with concern. “Would you like to take a hot bath before you change into dry clothes?”

  Meredith sneezed again. “That would feel good.”

  By the time Meredith’s bath was over, her body had succumbed to the start of a cold and fever. Earlier, she had hoped to do some writing, but now all she yearned for was her own bed.

  Late that afternoon, Meredith awakened to a knock on her bedroom door. She raised up on one elbow and pulled the blankets tight. Her ears buzzed, and she could hardly breathe.

  Come in.

  The door opened, and Jonah’s bald head popped in. “Mrs. Cooper gave me permission to check on you.”

  “Come on in.”

  Jonah entered, balancing a tray of hot soup, which he placed on her desk. “How are you?”

  “Ugh. Stuffed up. Got caught in the storm yesterday.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Got a good story.” She eased herself into a sitting position. “And a job for you.”

  Jonah straddled a chair and listened to her explain how she would like some photographs of the mill and logging camp, shots that showed the implementation of conservation methods.

  Jonah liked the idea. “As soon as this rain is over, I’ll do it. But for now, you’d better eat this soup. We’re invited to a dinner party in a few days, and you’ll need your strength.”

  “Whose?”

  “Mrs. Bloomfield’s.”

  “Ugh.” Meredith sank down into the bed sheets. “Maybe I’ll take my time recuperating.”

  Jonah chuckled. “Get back up here and eat this.”

  Meredith ate a few bites and then begged him to leave. After that, she slept until the next morning. Amelia served her breakfast in bed, and Meredith fell back asleep. But by afternoon, she rose and dressed. It continued to rain, so she pulled a cozy blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her while she worked at her desk.

  The next day, the sun finally shone. Meredith mailed her stories off to McClure’s and stopped by the newspaper office.

  “Here’s your retraction. I think you’ll like it.”

  Charlie looked over the article that praised the local mill and logging camp for their high sta
ndards and told how they rose above the normal tides in lumbering.

  “This is perfect. Though it’s not exactly a retraction, I believe it will please the townsfolk, especially the part about their fierce and commendable loyalty to the local lumbermen.”

  “I’m not doing this just to make the town happy.”

  “Why are you?”

  “It’s just the truth,” she smiled. “And I was pleased to discover it.”

  “It makes me proud of our town.”

  “Here are two more articles. One’s entitled, ‘Bad Weather Doesn’t Stop Loggers,’ and the other, ‘Tribute to a Logger’s Wife.’”

  “Looks like we’ve got enough to do your column for a few weeks,” he said with approval. “That’s good, because I’m going to be traveling for a couple weeks.”

  “Oh? Where?”

  “San Francisco. My sister’s getting married. Frederick will be in charge of the office.” He leaned close. “I know you two don’t get along very well, so this is perfect. You won’t even have to come around until I get back.”

  Meredith felt hurt. “Have a good trip.”

  When Meredith returned to her room, she started another article for McClure’s and wrote another letter questioning Asa about Thatcher Talbot. Even with her work, she could not get the man off her mind. She knew that she should not get emotionally involved with a man who could be a criminal, could be married, and even if neither of these were true, could provide nothing more than a tiny cabin in the woods for the woman he married.

  But she could not deny the attraction she felt toward him. She worried over his injury. She thought about his smile, his brown eyes, handsome face, dark wavy hair, and mustache.

  No, she told herself. I must forget about him. He is not right for me. I am a city girl. He is a… What are you, Thatcher Talbot?

  The next day, Meredith still brooded over Thatcher. If she rode back out to the camp to check on him, it would be too obvious. If she asked the town doctor about Thatcher, he might question her motives.

  I’m a reporter. That’s my motivation.

  Within the hour, she was outside the doctor’s office. The door swung open easily, and she looked about. The front room was empty, but she heard some noises in the room beyond. He might be with a patient, she reasoned, so she found a chair to wait.