Miracles. Part 12

Ten.

Kate began the week thinking she'd see Sam again before Sunday, but as the days pa.s.sed, hope dwindled. A broken arm, a sawmill accident, the arrival of the overdue medical supplies, a day spent in Matchwood talking to Alison Lenox's science cla.s.ses about prenatal development, and two ten-hour days of office appointments prevented her from sneaking in even a short visit to the cabin. Everywhere she went, though, gossip about Sam's trips into town aroused her curiosity and made it harder to wait to see him.

Bert Andrews at the post office said Sam had come in on Monday to mail a letter to Detroit. Floyd Gibson, Scott's father, reported that Sam had brought his Jeep into the shop for work, and Ed Davenport said he'd been to the store on Tuesday for groceries and again on Wednesday for bait.

Bait? As in fish? Was Ed sure of that? Absolutely.

On her way to baby-sit for Cressie and Steve on Thursday evening, Kate tried not to worry about Sam forcing himself to catch fish that made him sick, only to prove he still could. Yet it seemed he'd not only caught fish but had taken them to Cressie's the previous evening.

Kate wondered if there was a problem at the cabin that had brought him out. No, Cressie said, it had been a social call. The instant Sam walked in the door, Francis had corralled him into building block towers and playing airplanes. That Sam seemed happy to oblige a two-year old had impressed Cressie no end.

Sam had impressed the daylights out of Steve, too. The man knew his planes, Steve said. They'd talked aviation history from World War One to the present, until Cressie had begged them to stop. Had they flown Steve's plane together? Kate asked. No, it had been too dark. Come to think of it, Steve said, he hadn't heard Sam say whether he actually had a pilot's license. Kate bit her tongue, wondering how much Sam wanted people to know.

In any event, Steve planned to see to it that Sam got up with him in the Mentor on Sunday. He and Cressie both were glad Kate had invited Sam to join their family gathering-a "meet the new baby" party that had expanded to include a surprise celebration of Francis's recovery. Kate was glad, too, that she'd invited Sam, since he was responsible for half of her family's good fortune.

By Friday afternoon she was sure she wouldn't make it until Sunday without seeing him. Then her last office visit of the day-an hour spent with Lynn Nielsen-ruined her half-formed plans to take dinner out to the cabin that evening.

"Lynn, why didn't you call me yesterday, or have Erik come get me?" Kate handed Lynn a Kleenex and waited for her to blow her nose.

The pregnant young woman had come in without an appointment and had been a bundle of anxiety as she told Kate she'd wakened the previous morning bleeding. Terrified that something was wrong with her baby, Lynn started crying the instant Kate had located the baby's healthy heartbeat with her electronic fetoscope that put intrauterine sounds on speaker. With the exam over and her tears winding down, Lynn was feeling rea.s.sured.

Kate, however, was not.

"I know I should have come in or called." Lynn wiped her nose and wadded the tissue in her fist. "But the radio's broken, and Erik didn't finish installing the stove in the lodge kitchen until ten last night. Then he fell asleep on the couch. Besides, it wasn't much bleeding, and it stopped after a couple of hours. And I figured if"-the tears welled up again in her blue eyes- "if something was wrong with the baby, it was . . . too late. So, I . . ." "So you worried all night and waited until Erik got home with the truck this afternoon to bring yourself in."

Lynn nodded. "Nothing is wrong with the baby, is it?"

"Not that I can tell," Kate replied, opening the Rolodex on a corner of the desk. "But you're going to need a sonogram. And if I can get Dr. Logan at the hospital, I'd like to send you down there now."

"Tonight?"

"Hm-mm." Kate picked up the phone and punched in the number. "You go home and get Erik to drive you, though. And it might be a good idea to take an overnight bag, in case Dr. Logan wants to keep you."

Lynn's mouth dropped open. "Keep me? You mean, at the hospital?"

Tucking the phone under her chin, listening as it rang in Adrian Logan's office, Kate looked at the distraught young woman sitting in the chair alongside her desk. If Lynn went into labor at thirty-three weeks, her baby might survive-if the infant received immediate neonatal care. And if the conditions that might have caused the bleeding didn't become acute when Lynn was an hour away from the hospital.

When Adrian Logan's answering service picked up, Kate left a message. Then, turning to Lynn and seeing her young patient's anxious look, she reached across the desk and took her hand.

"Lynn, bleeding this late in a pregnancy isn't good. Maybe it'll turn out to be something minor. Maybe you can stay with your parents in Ironwood." She raised an eyebrow in warning. "But if Adrian Logan thinks you should be in the hospital, you're going to have to listen to him."

Lynn frowned. "So you really think this could be serious?"

"Yes, it really could be." Kate explained the basics of several conditions that might have caused the bleeding.

Lynn thought a moment. Then her lips thinned in a determined look. "All right. I appreciate your calling Dr. Logan for me, but I can't go down there until Tuesday."

Kate shook her head. "You shouldn't wait that long."

Hesitating, Lynn chewed on her bottom lip, but an instant later, she insisted, "I can't do it sooner. I have to talk to Erik. If I'm going to have to be in the hospital, it'll mean . . . well, there are things we'll have to work out."

Kate spent the next fifteen minutes trying to change the young woman's mind, but she finally had to give up. She was arguing with a brick wall. "At least promise me that you'll go home and go straight to bed," she said. "And stay there. I don't want you to get up except to use the bathroom."

"I promise," said Lynn promptly. "And if the bleeding starts again, I'll . . . I'll send Erik in if the radio's still not working or . . . well, I'll do something."

Kate wasn't satisfied with the arrangement, but later, when she talked to Doc about her day's appointments, he a.s.sured her that he'd check on Lynn over the weekend. That helped a little.

It was nine o'clock when Kate got home, and she was too exhausted to do more than eat a bowl of cottage cheese and go to bed. When the phone rang at 3:00 a.m., she groaned but woke up quickly as a frantic David Graff told her that Laura was in labor and didn't think she'd make it to the hospital. Laura was right. Kate got to the Graff's twenty minutes before Isaac was born. His father was proud. Laura was elated, if a little staggered at how quickly the whole thing had happened.

Kate left their house smiling, at 6:00 a.m.-and went home to cry herself to sleep.

Would it ever end? Would she ever have any peace from the conflicting emotions that plagued her every time she delivered another woman's baby? She was thrilled for Laura and David; it always made her a little euphoric to partic.i.p.ate in what she thought of as the core experience of life. But it also hurt. She'd thought it would get better, that being a midwife would help to satisfy her unfulfilled needs, but with every baby she delivered, it was only getting worse.

Kate spent all day Sat.u.r.day cooking for Sunday dinner. It solved the problem of what Sam would do when faced with Cressie's baked ham. It was also good therapy. Seeing Sam might have been better therapy, but she was in rotten shape, and she didn't want their next meeting to occur when either one of them was an emotional wreck. She wanted them both to be at their best-and for the day to be normal.

Actually, she wanted everything to be perfect, and when Sunday finally came, it gave every sign of living up to her wishes.

Standing at her front door on Sunday afternoon, Sam looked lean and tall and sinfully s.e.xy, dressed in khaki slacks and a dark brown shirt, with his sun-streaked hair swept back in careless disarray. Kate was certain her expression conveyed her thoughts when his mouth sloped into that a.s.sured, wicked grin. His eyes traveled downward, taking in the ma.s.s of waves falling around her shoulders, the skin exposed by the deep lace collar of her white blouse, and the curve of her hips beneath the soft, clinging folds of her flowered skirt. When his gaze rose to caress her features, his grin had softened to a warm smile. His eyes spoke of shared intimacies.

"I missed seeing you this week," he said.

"I missed seeing you, too," she returned.

"You look pretty. All soft and s.e.xy."

She blushed, as she was sure he wanted her to, and murmured a nervous thank you.

His smile took on a hint of teasing. "I hear you've been busy."

"I hear the same about you."

"So, let's swap local gossip while we ride. Otherwise, I'm going to kiss you. Then it'll be a while before we leave, and I want to get you out of here before the phone rings or that radio crackles and we end up losing the day."

Kate's dimples appeared as her lips curved upward. "That won't happen. Doc's on call until tomorrow."

"Don't give me that stuff," Sam replied. "After what I've heard this week, I think you've got a bigger problem than I do with knowing your own limits."

She didn't like to admit it, but given her emotional state the day before, she was afraid he might be right.

It was a gorgeous day, full of warm sunshine and yellow daffodils and the clean smell of spring. With the Jeep's top off, Kate relished the breeze whipping against her skin as they rode. And when they pa.s.sed the old McCarron place-an abandoned farmhouse she had always loved-she got a rush of spring fever seeing the pink dogwoods blooming among the weeds on the front lawn.

"So how did you make out with Aaron Spencer and his broken arm?" Sam asked. "I hear he fell out of a barn loft."

"He's lucky he didn't break his neck," she muttered. "I think his mother is hoping the cast will slow him down, but I doubt it. He was quite a handful at the hospital."

"You went with him?"

"Yes. And don't look at me like that. Doc already yelled at me for it, but Nancy's two months pregnant and throwing up all the time, so I drove them down. But how did you hear about Aaron?"

"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 shift. "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 sunshine"-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 worshipped 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."