Part 12 (2/2)
”From Mark White, who heard it from Aaron's dad. I guess you know they work together at the sawmill. I was in Davenport's when Mark came in with his hand all bandaged up. He said he lost a little skin off his middle finger on a saw blade.”
”'A little skin,' huh?” Kate gave a short laugh. ”He lost the end of his finger, down to the first knuckle.” When Sam shot her a startled look, she added, ”It could have been a lot worse. It's always amazed me that we have as few serious accidents as we do at the mill.”
The lines on Sam's forehead came together in a familiar scowl. ”Like the one at Sadler's logging camp last fall?”
”My, my, you did get an earful at Davenport's, didn't you?”
”Mr. D. said a tree fell on some guy, but that he died because the medevac chopper was delayed.”
”That's not really true. The helicopter made record time- forty minutes-but it wasn't fast enough.”
Sam was silent for a moment, then growled, ”This town ought to have its own chopper.”
Kate laughed at the impossible notion. ”Wouldn't that be nice? But the whole county put together couldn't afford it.” She understood now why he was so concerned with the health of the people around him, but she knew from personal experience that obsessing over all the things that might go wrong did no good.
When his scowl deepened, she said, ”I hear you were at Cressie and Steve's on Wednesday.”
”What? Oh . . . yeah.” His reply was reluctant, but he let her divert him; and, gradually, his expression cleared. ”I met Steve at Gibson's Garage, and he invited me out.”
”He said the two of you talked planes.”
Sam lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug.
”I think he really enjoyed talking to somebody who appreciates flying,” she added. ”All he gets from Cressie about it is fretting.”
”Yeah,” Sam chuckled, ”I noticed. But after this week she'll have to find something else to fret about. Some guy in Pittsburgh is buying the Mentor, and Steve's flying it down to him on Tuesday.”
”That's a shame. He's worked so hard on it.” Kate sighed, then asked, ”Why didn't you tell him that you're a pilot?”
Sam's gaze flashed to hers. ”Did you?”
”No. I figured if you'd wanted him to know, you'd have told him.” When he looked away, she continued, ”Do you not want people to know?”
”It doesn't matter.”
His reply was almost curt, and it was clear that it did matter. She gave him a puzzled look. His gaze was focused on the road ahead, his features set in a stony expression she recognized all too well.
”Listen”-he slowed to make the turn into Steve and Cressie's driveway-”Cressie said they were taking Francis to see the audiologist on Thursday. Do you know how they made out?”
Kate knew he was deliberately changing the subject, but this was not the time to press him.
”I hear it was, shall we say, an interesting visit,” she replied, smiling. ”The doctor spent three hours trying to prove that Francis' nerve damage hasn't completely repaired itself, but he finally had to admit that it has.”
One corner of Sam's mouth quirked upward. ”Must have been frustrating as h.e.l.l. Did he give them an excuse?”
”No. He said he's never seen anything like it and has no idea why it happened. And they don't care.” She tilted her head, studying him as they pulled to a halt in the side yard. ”That pleases you, doesn't it, them not knowing?”
”It pleases me that they don't care. They're not looking for explanations. They're willing just to accept . . .”
”The gift?” she finished for him.
Sam frowned, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other on the stick s.h.i.+ft. ”I wish I thought it could always be that easy.”
Then, giving his head a quick shake, he said, ”But I don't want to talk about anything weird today. I just want to enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne”-his gaze skimmed over her-”and looking at you.”
Without giving her time to respond, he hopped out and started around the front of the Jeep, headed for her side. She watched him, thinking she was going to enjoy looking at him, too. But she also thought about what he'd said-that he wished it could always be that easy.
Was it unreasonable for him to want to remain anonymous to those he healed? Given what his life had been like recently, it seemed not only reasonable but essential. Sam was right in thinking he needed time to get used to being a bona fide healer, time away from the demands people were bound to make of him, however understandable those demands might be.
How long, though, would he be able to keep his awesome gift a secret? Not forever, that was certain. Yet, while he was learning his limits and growing accustomed to his new powers, what would the burden of keeping the secret be like for those he'd entrusted with it? Those, for instance, like her. She'd be more than willing to protect him from discovery in whatever way she could. But would he let her? Or would he look at any protection she might offer him as a slur against his manhood?
She had a suspicion she knew the answer.
Protective thoughts were running through Sam's mind several hours later as he sat next to Katie at the dinner table in Steve and Cressie's big farmhouse dining room.
The Morgans were good people. They laughed a lot and teased each other with affection, and they'd made him feel welcome without a lot of fuss. He'd gotten considerable pleasure out of seeing their happiness over Francis and was glad Steve and Cressie had saved the announcement for today, so he could share the excitement. Yes, generally speaking, he liked the Morgans just fine.
Except for one thing: He was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut about the way they treated Katie.
Oh, they cared about her. In fact, they practically wors.h.i.+pped her. And that was the problem. It was a toss up, who competed hardest for her attention-Cressie, Kyle, Josh, Kyle's two kids, or Francis. Sam had a feeling that if Katie's other siblings and their children had been there, they'd all have wanted their nickel's worth, too. On subjects ranging from the advantages of buying a bigger house to the best way to can tomatoes, Katie was the last word.
Watching her, he had to give her credit for the way she handled them. She never criticized, she praised every success to the hilt, and she never outright told them what she thought they should do. Mostly, she just listened, which made them feel important. And that was fine, except that while they were feeling satisfied with themselves, none of them stopped to think about what Katie was getting out of the deal-which didn't look like a h.e.l.l of a lot, since n.o.body thought to ask her how she was or what she'd been up to lately.
Katie's dad wasn't any help, either. John Morgan was an amiable sort of guy, in his late fifties, Sam guessed, robust and healthy-looking despite the sliver hair and the weathered lines in his face. He didn't say much, but he showed Katie a certain deference, a quiet, adult respect that didn't extend to his other children. She was his daughter, yet he treated her like a peer. Which only made matters worse.
The in-laws were better. Steve and Kyle's wife, Judy, acted like they were used to the routine and had learned to tolerate it. They didn't solve the problem, but at least they didn't contribute to it.
In all fairness, Sam realized n.o.body was being deliberately inconsiderate. They just didn't think. Katie was the predictable influence in their lives, the one who came through for them every time, the one they turned to for approval and all that good stuff. And she was incapable of refusing them.
Well, h.e.l.l, he knew what that was like, didn't he? Yes, and he wanted to say, ”All right, gang, that's enough. You've had your piece of her. Now, I'm going to take her home and . . .” And what?
Keep her safe. Somehow protect her from her own inability to say no, and from poor, needy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who couldn't solve their own problems and wanted her to hold their hands.
He had never in his life asked anybody to solve his problems for him. His father had expected him to handle things on his own, and there hadn't been anybody else to ask. Maybe, a long time ago, when he was very young, he'd wished he had somebody to give him what Katie had given her siblings. He hadn't had a mother when he needed her, and that was too bad. But it was too late; he didn't need one anymore. And he didn't know what to make of a tableful of adults acting like they wouldn't know what to do if Katie wasn't there to tell them. Especially since it wasn't true-they were all doing fine, as far as he could see.
It made him want to laugh when he looked across the table at Kyle, Katie's oldest brother, and caught the territorial challenge in the younger man's eyes-a look that had appeared when she introduced them. Sam understood what was going on. Kyle's suspicious gaze flickered to Katie, then back to him, and the message in Kyle's eyes couldn't have been plainer: ”You better watch yourself, dude, if you're thinking about messing with my sister.”
Sam kept his expression impa.s.sive. Okay, so maybe he did want to mess with Kyle Morgan's sister. In the past few hours, though, his guilt that he wasn't doing Katie any good and should stay away from her had undergone a surprising transformation. At least, he thought, he wasn't asking her to solve his problem. And he sure as h.e.l.l expected to give her back something for what he was asking her to give him. In fact, her pleasure was getting to be more important to him than his own.
Holding Kyle's dark gaze, his face giving away nothing, Sam blinked lazily. At the same time, under the table, he reached to find Katie's hand, lying in her lap. She was talking to Judy, sitting to her left, and he heard her breath catch when he touched her. She didn't pull away, though. And, without missing a beat of her conversation, she gave him a quick smile and turned her hand over so he could entwine his fingers with hers.
A corner of his mouth twitched as he let his gaze slide away from Kyle's. Watch it yourself, buddy, he thought. You might think the lady belongs exclusively to all of you, but I think she's got other ideas.
When it came time to do the dishes, Sam wasn't surprised that Katie got up and quietly began clearing the table-and that no one followed suit. He looked across her empty chair and saw Judy biting her lower lip, her eyes darting over the long table, laden with twelve people's dirty dishes. Cressie was telling her something about a bell choir concert in Wakefield, but she interrupted Cressie to speak.
”Kate, I'll be there in a minute to help.”
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