Love's Story

by Christner, Dianne; Billerbeck, Kristin;

  She pulled her knees up and leaned against the tree until her chest quit heaving. Her foot throbbed. With the back of her hand, she swiped at her face. Her finger caught in her hair. The pins had fallen out, and it was tangled. She must have lost her hat with her horse. She tried to stop hiccuping.

  What should I do?

  As far as she looked, there were trees. The road was somewhere behind her, but so was the bear. Should she crawl back in that direction? Could she stand the pain if she did?

  Jonah arrived in Bucker’s Stand and wondered what the commotion was about. Seemed there was always something going on. He was surprised that Meredith was not in the midst of it, getting the story. As he drew his horse up, he saw what the men were crowding around. It was Meredith’s horse.

  The bull rushed toward him. “Is she with you?”

  “You mean Storm?”

  “I’m talking about Miss Mears, the reporter. Her horse came in without her.”

  Jonah dismounted and ran his hand over the horse’s neck.

  “He’s been running. Must have thrown her. But I should have seen her. She would have waved me down.”

  “Unless she’s knocked out.”

  “Still, I should have seen her.”

  One of the men in the group was a stern-faced Thatcher. “I’ll go search for her.” He stalked away.

  “I’m coming, too,” Jonah said, swinging back onto his mount.

  Thatcher nodded, and Jonah waited for him to return with his own mount.

  By noon, the two men had ridden nearly back to town, and they still hadn’t found any sign of Meredith.

  “Why don’t you go on to town?” Thatcher said. “Maybe she walked back. I’ll double back the way we came, slower this time. If I don’t find anything by the time I get to camp, I’ll form a search party. If you find her, send word right away.”

  Jonah nodded. “Good luck. She’s a feisty thing, but I’d sure hate for her to have to spend the night alone in these woods.”

  “Pray,” Thatcher said.

  He turned his mount and started back. He kept the pace slow and studied the sides of the road for any indication of Meredith.

  Thatcher swallowed back the bile that pushed its way into his throat. If she was there, he would find her. He kept on with his diligent search until he was about halfway between town and the logging camp. Then he saw it. The tracks ran off the main road, probably why he’d missed them before.

  “Whoa.”

  He dismounted, led his horse by the reins, and investigated the area. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened. Meredith’s horse had stomped the ground, then veered off the road into the thickets. He found where Meredith hit the ground. But where was she? He tied his horse up to a tree and gave a thorough search of the area, calling out her name.

  “Meredith!”

  He’d make a circle and let his eyes search the woods, then down the road and beyond. He asked himself, What made the horse buck? If it were a wild animal, he might have noticed it from a distance. He walked back to the road, covering it for a short distance. There it was. Bear tracks! No wonder Meredith wasn’t there. She must have run from the bear.

  Thatcher hurried back to the place where Meredith had fallen from her horse. He’d follow her tracks. Panic rushed over him. By the tracks, he soon discovered that the bear had two cubs. A bear protecting her cubs was a dangerous thing, even for an armed man, let alone a woman without any means of protection. He and his horse scrambled through the woods as fast as he could go without losing the trail.

  Just when he thought the bears’ tracks were not going to cross Meredith’s, he saw them. The bears were following her. His mind went numb with fright, but his body pushed forward. And then he stopped, a wave of relief washing over him. From the looks of things, the bears gave up the chase and ambled off in another direction.

  He looked toward the road. It was several miles back by now. Presumably, Meredith was lost in the woods, probably in hysterics. He had to find her before nightfall. He made a vow to himself that he would.

  Thatcher pressed on, following Meredith’s trail of broken twigs and indentations from trodden rocks. The area was plush, which made the tracking tedious. Once he lost her trail, but found it again. At one point, when Thatcher thought he recognized a fallen log, he worried that he was going in circles.

  Then he heard the sobs.

  “Meredith?”

  Chapter 19

  Meredith couldn’t crawl out because it hurt too much. Dark shadows and creepy sounds pressed all around. Someone called her name. She cried out weakly, “Jonah?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here! Over here behind a tree!”

  She crawled toward the sound of her rescuer’s voice. Her head peeked around from the trunk of a huge tree. Her face was dirty and tear streaked; her hair hung wild over her shoulders.

  “Thank God. Meredith! Are you hurt?”

  “Thatcher,” she gasped with relief. “Yes. My ankle.”

  “Hold still.”

  She nodded, and his heart lurched with sympathy. As he reached the tree, he slowly knelt down until they were face to face. “It’ll be all right now.”

  She nodded again and hiccuped.

  Ever so gently, he moved toward her, mildly surprised when she threw herself into his arms, best as she could with her hurt ankle. Meredith clutched tight onto the back of his shirt. Her sobs became convulsive, and he pulled her close.

  “You’re safe now. Everything will be all right.”

  After what seemed like a very long time, she started to speak. Her words tumbled out in spurts.

  “Bear. A bear. Big bear.”

  He set her at arm’s length and looked into her swollen eyes. “I know. I saw her tracks. But she’s gone. You’re safe.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her, and she pulled away from his hold. “I was so frightened. I stepped in a hole, and then I was helpless.”

  “Can I have a look at your ankle? Lean against the tree and get comfortable,” he instructed.

  Meredith leaned her back against the trunk of the tree and stretched both legs out in front of her.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “This one.” She pulled her pant leg up past her ankle, but her boot covered the injured area.

  “This boot will have to come off.” He began to unlace it and gave it a gentle tug. Meredith released a small moan.

  “It might hurt some,” Thatcher said.

  She nodded and closed her eyes.

  He saw her pinched lips and the way her back pushed hard against the tree as he worked the tiny foot free from the boot.

  She released a sigh.

  Thatcher probed the injured area. “Does this hurt? This?” After a careful examination, he said, “I’m no expert. I can’t say if it’s broken or just bruised or sprained. But it’s swollen. You won’t be walking on it.”

  She glanced at his horse.

  “You can ride out, but not tonight,” he said.

  “What do you mean not tonight?” Her words sounded frantic. “I can’t stay in these woods.”

  “Meredith. It’s getting dark. We’ve gotten turned around. I’ll need the sun to guide us out of these woods. It’s best we camp here tonight and ride out in the morning.”

  Meredith listened to Thatcher as he prepared camp and started a fire. He still favored his injured arm.

  “I wish I’d thought to bring more provisions,” Thatcher said. “But I have a few things in my saddlebags so we won’t starve.” He pulled out a canteen, tin cup, small tin pot, and coffee. He also had some dried meat. “First time you camped out?” he asked.

  “No. We camped out between San Francisco and Buckman’s Pride.”

  “That’s right. Silas said he brought you over.”

  “After you refused.”

  “Like I said the other night, you are a reporter.”

  When the coffee was ready, Thatcher gave her the tin cup first. “Try this.”

>   “Mm. Good.” She watched him and wondered what secrets he harbored. Finally, she said, “So I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. A fine pair we make, except you have the advantage. I’m injured.”

  He gave her a look of reproof. “You have no reason not to trust me. I would never harm you.”

  “Nor lie to me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. But I suppose every man has things he doesn’t want to talk about.”

  “Like that picture you carry?”

  His face looked puzzled.

  “The one that you carry in your pocket.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The one of the beautiful woman? Colleen.”

  “Oh, that.” He sloughed it off. “I forgot all about that. How did you know about her?” His voice sounded defensive.

  “It fell out of your coat the day you hurt your arm.”

  It took a moment for that to settle. “You’re jealous. Aren’t you?”

  “How absurd. Of course, I am not. It just goes to show why I cannot trust you or the things you say. I don’t believe any man could forget that he carried a picture of his wife.”

  “She’s not my wife. The woman is nothing to me. She’s my friend’s wife.”

  Meredith rolled her eyes and shivered.

  “You’re cold. Let’s see if we can move you closer to the fire.” He rose and reached for her arm.

  Meredith raised her arms to fend him off. “I can manage.” She handed him the empty tin cup, then hobbled closer to the fire.

  Thatcher made a seat of small timber and leaves for her to sit on by a stump. “Better?” he asked.

  Meredith did not reply, choosing to sulk.

  Thatcher prepared the small amount of food that was available. Soon he offered her some jerky. “This will help.”

  With a loaded look, she accepted the peace offering. It tasted good.

  As the night grew darker and the sounds of animals and forest creatures grew louder, Meredith dropped her prejudices against Thatcher.

  “Do you have any weapons on you?” she asked.

  Thatcher pulled out a knife from a pouch he wore on his belt. “Just this.” Meredith frowned.

  “And the fire of course. It will keep the wild animals away.”

  Thatcher rose and went to his horse. He returned with a woolen blanket. “It’s strange that it can be cold this time of the year,” he said.

  “Amelia says it’s because we’re so close to the ocean.”

  “Autumn’s just around the corner. We’ll stay warm if we share this.”

  Meredith looked at the blanket draped over his arm and nodded. She already wore his jacket. It would be selfish to take his blanket, too.

  He added more wood to the fire, then sat next to her and placed the blanket over them, their shoulders touching.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  His lips pinched together, and his face looked pained. He remained silent, and they watched the flames of the fire.

  After a long while, Thatcher said, “I meant what I said.”

  “About what?”

  “Wanting to marry you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Why not? Don’t you like me, Meredith?”

  She wanted to shout no, for her heart knew that she could not love a man whom she could not trust. There was still the issue of the photograph. But she did like him—too much. She changed the topic.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Followed your trail.”

  “No. I mean why you? Where’s Jonah?”

  “Jonah arrived at camp about the time we found your horse. He and I went looking for you together. I sent him back into town.”

  “Did the bull send you after me?”

  “I came because I was worried about you. Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

  “But…”

  Meredith’s face warmed, and she felt him leaning closer. His arm slipped around her back. She pushed him away.

  “This is not proper. We cannot talk about this now, here alone.”

  His voice was low. “You didn’t answer me. Don’t you like me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re right. Some other time. Let’s try to get some sleep.” He leaned back against the large stump and closed his eyes.

  Meredith felt abandoned. But she knew that it was best this way. She closed her eyes and told herself that she was fortunate he had found her, fortunate she wasn’t alone in the cold and in the dark. She poked Thatcher.

  “Humph?”

  “Do you think we should sleep?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us keep watch or something?”

  He sighed. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Promise?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Chapter 20

  Meredith burrowed her face into her pillow. Unconsciously, she shifted her leg in an attempt to alleviate some obscure pain. Slowly, as if coming out of a deep hibernation, her senses returned, her surroundings, the distressing events of the past twenty-four hours, the pain in her ankle. She had spent the night in the woods.

  Her eyes started open. It was no pillow she was intimately nuzzling, but Thatcher Talbot’s broad shoulder! With a jerk so severe that a jolt shot from her injured foot up through the tips of her hair, she pulled herself upright.

  “Ouch.” She sucked in her breath.

  Her brown hair clung to Thatcher’s shoulder. She passed her hand through the wisps to clear the sizzling air between them.

  With startled amusement, Thatcher said, “At last the princess awakes. My turn to sleep now?”

  A pang of guilt gripped Meredith. He had been on watch all night while she slept. She squirmed into position. “Just hand me that knife of yours, and you may sleep as long as you like.”

  He chuckled. “That won’t be necessary.”

  To Meredith’s humiliation, Thatcher rose and tucked the blanket over her, before going to the fire. He jabbed the coals, and sparks shot into the air.

  He must have replaced the wood throughout the night.

  “I can’t believe that I actually slept,” she said.

  “I can. You were exhausted.”

  He fiddled with a canteen and coffee preparations.

  Meredith felt a growing alarm. “I need to find a private spot.”

  Thatcher swiveled around on his haunches, gave their surroundings a sweeping gaze, and strode over.

  He scooped her into his arms. “Up you go.”

  “You don’t need to carry me.”

  “No trouble. Here you go.” He set her down behind a cover of trees, then cleared his throat. “I’ll go back to the fire. Holler, when you’re ready.”

  She pinched her eyes shut from embarrassment. This cannot be happening to me.

  When she opened them again, he was gone from sight. She finished with her toilet, and an idea flashed across her mind to see if she could hop back to camp. But she discarded it. Any method she used would be equally belittling.

  “Ready,” she called.

  His impersonal manner led her to wonder if he was going to throw her, sack style, over his horse. Rather, he lowered and released her, and with a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary tone, said, “Coffee should be ready.”

  The hot tin felt good in Meredith’s hands. “Thanks.”

  “You’re mighty welcome.”

  “For everything. For finding me. You don’t understand how hard this has been for me.”

  “Don’t try so hard, Meredith.”

  She gripped the cup. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s my pleasure to help. You’re a likable person. Just because you have a cruel father doesn’t mean others don’t accept you.”

  Her chin jutted upward. “I try hard because I want to succeed.”

  “Maybe.” He studied her. “You are a good reporter. Do things because you want
to, not to please others.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “I guess, maybe I do.”

  Meredith watched him kick dirt to douse the fire.

  “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said.

  “None taken,” she said.

  “Ready to go home?”

  “Mmm, yes.”

  Thatcher finished packing his gear, then carried Meredith to his horse. “You ride. I’ll walk. If we keep the sun to our backs, we should find the road again.”

  Meredith certainly didn’t know which direction would lead them out of the deep woods.

  “Oh…” He took something from his saddlebags. “You might want this.”

  “My hat.”

  He shrugged. “Found it along the trail.” He gave his saddlebags a pat. “Got your boot in here, too, for safekeeping.”

  She gave him a grateful smile.

  An hour passed.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” Thatcher said.

  By midmorning, they intercepted the road.

  Meredith gave a joyful cry. “This road never looked so good.”

  “How’s your ankle doing?”

  “It hurts, but I’m getting used to it. How about your arm?”

  “It doesn’t bother me much. But if you don’t care, I wouldn’t mind joining you up there.”

  She did mind, but how could she refuse him? She shrugged. “I just want to get home.”

  He effortlessly swung into the saddle behind her, then gave his horse a gentle nudge. “Let me know if the pace is too hard on you.”

  Her ankle ached at the increased jostling, but Meredith didn’t tell Thatcher. She only wanted to get home, off this horse, and away from this man whose arms wrapped around her. She appreciated his rescuing her, of course, but their close proximity only hindered her resolve to stay emotionally detached.

  They reached Buckman’s Pride before noon. Thatcher slid off the horse and led her through town, which bustled with its usual activities.

  Please don’t let Mrs. Bloomfield see me like this, thought Meredith.

  Only her eyes moved, assessing their progress and hoping against all hope that they would remain anonymous—parading, as it seemed to her, through town.

  Thatcher looked tense as he returned nods and greetings.