Chapter Ten

Amelia went every day to take meals to Cal and make sure he took his meds on time. He was getting better. The antibiotics worked fast. Too fast. He got up and tried to walk and the wound started suppurating. So Amelia called the doctor.

But Micah Steele was out of the country. So she called Eb, and was told to try a local doctor, Copper Coltrain. She thanked him, hung up and had a panic attack. Copper was known in Jacobsville. Very well known. For his temper and his attitude.

On the other hand, she had to do something. Cal refused to go to the emergency room, so it was call the doctor or trust to luck.

"Don't worry," her grandfather said when told about Cal's stubbornness. "I've got this." He picked up the phone and punched in numbers.

Amelia was amazed at how easy he was with the man on the other end of the line. Obviously, he wasn't scared of the redheaded doctor.

He hung up. "He'll swing by after he makes rounds at the hospital. About one," he added. He grinned. "I had to bribe him, though."

"I heard. Two slices of chocolate cake...?"

"Oh, I thought we might give him three. After all, you've got the ingredients to make more...?"

She just laughed.

She let her grandfather go over to Cal's when the doctor arrived, carrying several slices of cake in plastic wrap in a grocery bag. It wasn't that she was afraid, of course.

She chided herself for her cowardice. If she couldn't face down one doctor, how was she going to face down people in college in San Antonio when she started classes in two months? And how was she going to deal with the public if she got a job using her new skills?

That was in the future, she reminded herself. She'd worry about that problem when she had to. Being shy was a lifelong issue. It had kept her free of boyfriends—well, except for Ty Hardin, who'd been in her high school graduating class. He'd signed on with Eb Scott's group as a merc. She'd only seen him once since then. He had a crush on her that wasn't returned. He was a nice guy. Clean-cut, smart, a gentleman. But her heart was pointed in another direction, despite the hopelessness of it.

A few minutes later, her grandfather came up the steps. The doctor was just driving away.

"He said it's not anything to worry about unless it starts pumping out blood or...well, Cal's okay. He put on a temporary bandage, just while it's closing. He'll be fine."

"Thank goodness! I'd have driven him to the emergency room—assuming the truck would crank—but he refused to go. It's beyond my powers to forcibly dress a tall man and carry him bodily to our precarious method of transportation," she added with a grin.

He chuckled. "I see your point. You did the right thing. Although," he added slowly, "you might wait a couple of hours before you go over to check on Cal."

She stared at him. "Any particular reason?"

"Well, until he stops cussing would be one."

She pursed her lips. "Okay. I'll go make something edible."

"Good idea."

She went into the kitchen and didn't see her grandfather smothering laughter.

It was late when she went back to check on Cal. Her grandfather had been doubled over with acid reflux. He had medicine for it, but it wasn't working. Finally, he mixed up some baking soda in water and drank it, and he said it worked. But he looked bad. He was pale and his shirt was palpitating where his heart was.

"You need to go back to the doctor," she said firmly.

"It's just heartburn," he assured her. "I had a physical only last month. That's when he recommended these tablets for the reflux. You take them for ten days and they work. But not on the first day. You have to use the chewable tablets until they do work."

"Oh. Okay," she said, relieved.

He grinned. "I'm fine. A lot of people have this problem. It's why I can't eat spicy foods or drink alcohol. Maybe that's for the best."

"About the alcohol, sure, but give up spicy foods?" she moaned. "I can't live without the occasional taco or fajita or chimichanga!"

"I know. I miss them."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to enjoy mine enough for you, Granddaddy," she promised.

He just smiled.

Cal was sitting up in bed reading a book on his cell phone when she walked in. He gave her a glare that could have set fire to kindling.

"Now, now," she said before he could speak, "let's not jeopardize our potato soup and chocolate cake over a little matter of the doctor coming out to see you."

The glare didn't subside. "You didn't even come over while he was here, you chicken."

"I know his reputation," she said. "Nobody ever said I had to sacrifice myself for a friend. And I am keeping one nicely fed and medicated." She smiled.

He drew in a breath. "Honest to God, I thought I was back in grammar school. That man...!"

"He's a very good doctor. Everybody says so."

"His bedside manner would do a cobra proud!"

"I like cobras," she said. "They're really cool to look at."

"You wouldn't like to be bitten by one," he pointed out.

She looked around the floor. "I hope you aren't planning to drive that point home...?"

"I don't keep cobras!"

"Our deputy sheriff has an albino python," she said. "It weighs a hundred and ten pounds and it's absolutely gorgeous! It has yellow-and-white-patterned skin and red eyes!"

He rolled his eyes. "I never would have figured you for a woman who liked snakes."

"Well, I don't. I mean I don't like all of them. Especially rattlesnakes. I almost got bitten by them twice." She shivered. "But black snakes and king snakes are okay."

"Why?"

She made a face. "Because black snakes aren't dangerous and king snakes eat poisonous ones."

"How do you know all that?" he wondered.

"Ty Hardin. He was in my graduating class." She made another face. "He had this awful crush on me. I laid awake nights finding ways to avoid him. I mean, he's nice and all, but he just isn't my type."

He cocked his head. "What is your type?"

She sighed. "That gorgeous man who played in Game of Thrones," she said. "The blond one who lost his hand."

"He was a...!"

"Please." She stopped him. "There are ladies present."

"Oh, yeah? Where?"

Now she was glaring.

"Okay. Sorry." He sighed. "And I guess you were right about calling the doctor. He said it wasn't an emergency, but I needed to slow down trying to get back on my feet. Rome wasn't built in a day."

"It really wasn't," she pointed out. "The more you try to rush recovery, the more you'll set it back."

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asked, "because that's exactly what he said." He laid his head back on the pillow. "I guess you're both right. I just feel useless lying here. I've got a hundred books, and I don't want to read any of them."

She held out her hand for his phone. Her eyes popped. "What do you do with this thing, just call people and read books? There are no weather apps, no earthquake apps, no news apps, no mahjong, no solitaire... This is just pathetic!"

He was staring at her. "What?"

"Mahjong. It's my favorite game. And I love solitaire."

"I used to play that with a deck of cards."

"Now you can play it online."

He grimaced. "I guess a few apps wouldn't kill me," he said. "And I like games. Go ahead. Load it up."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it."

She grinned and pulled up the Apps app.

She'd created a monster. Now all he wanted to do was play solitaire. He played it between bites of supper and while he was supposed to be sleeping. He played mahjong, too, and loved it once he got the hang of it. He added other games, as well. It kept his mind occupied while his body was healing, and Amelia didn't have to fuss so much.

Meanwhile, Amelia's grandfather's heartburn seemed to be getting more frequent, despite the medicines he was taking for it. With a little coaxing, she convinced him to phone his doctor's office and make an appointment. There were plenty of medicines that worked for that condition. He just needed the right one.

Cal improved day by day once he was convinced that trying to rush his recovery was doing his body no favors.

The wounds healed enough that he could stand to wear sweatpants, which meant he could get around the house and out onto the porch. He mentioned driving and Amelia went through the roof.

"I'll check with the doctor first," he promised. And muttered, "Anything to keep peace," under his breath.

She grinned. "I'm a pest, I am."

He laughed. "You are. But a nice pest. And you really can cook!"

"Thanks. It's just basic chemistry, though." She didn't mention making bombs. Her grandfather, while giving away no secrets, had told her in confidence that certain things shouldn't be discussed around their neighbor.

A stranger came to see Cal one day, loaded him into the car and drove him away. He was gone until almost dark. When Amelia went over to take his supper, after his visitor left, he told her what was going on. Not all of it. Just what he was comfortable confiding. It was going to upset her, and he didn't want to do that. Not now.

"I'm thinking about going back into police work," he explained at the table while he ate the delicious spaghetti and garlic bread she'd carted over. "In San Antonio, where I worked before," he added.

She almost sighed aloud with relief. "You're not going to try to go back out with Eb's group?" she asked.

Her tone told him things she wouldn't. He smiled gently. "No. Other peoples' wars should be left to their citizens."

"Good for you." She smiled. It hadn't occurred to her that he might want to live where he worked, and he wasn't going to burst any bubbles. Not yet. When he was ready to leave the rented house and move into the apartment he'd already put down a deposit on—then, he'd tell her.

He was able to get around very well. Amelia was ready to sign up for her college classes and get on with her future. She was reluctant, of course, because it was going to take her right out of Cal's future. She had to work harder by the day to hide her growing love for him. He didn't want it. He'd even made vague references to not wanting to be tied down for a long time yet.

So, she told herself, she'd go along and hope that he'd keep in touch with her and her grandfather. It wasn't hopeless. There was always hope.

Life, at the moment, was going along at a nice, easy pace. Which meant, of course, that disaster was hiding around the corner.

One morning, two days before her grandfather's doctor appointment, he complained of heartburn at the breakfast table. While she was getting the baking soda he'd asked for, he keeled over out of his chair and hit the floor, stone dead.

It was amazing, she thought, how numb and cold you felt when a crisis happened to you. It was like going on autopilot. She phoned 911, thought about the process she'd need to go through—everything from the clothes she'd need to take to the funeral home, to arranging the funeral, to phoning her great-aunt, seeing a lawyer about probate, even checking the status of the house's equity. She thought about all that while she sat on the floor beside her still grandfather and talked to him, telling him how much she loved him, how much he'd meant to her, how she was going to miss him.

She choked up and the tears came about the time the ambulance arrived. They examined him, started CPR, tried the paddles. Then, after a long and futile effort, they loaded him up in the ambulance, and called in for orders. Amelia told them she'd follow them to the hospital. They just looked at her with pity. They all knew the end of this tragedy.

"I know," she told them, and managed a smile. "I'll call the funeral home."

The female EMT just nodded and smiled at her before the door closed.

Cal's car was gone. Now that he could drive again, he often took off just to look around. He said he needed to get his mind off things.

She managed to get the truck cranked and drove to the hospital. They told her, of course, what had happened. It was a massive heart attack. If her grandfather had been in a room in the hospital, they couldn't have saved him. She thanked the EMT for trying—because they were getting ready to go on another call when she passed them on the way in—and the EMT hugged her.

"I lost my dad last year," she told Amelia. "I know how it is."

"Thanks," she whispered, and managed a smile.

That night she'd already phoned the lawyer's office for an appointment and called her great-aunt with the news and been told that she'd be down the following afternoon to help. Oh, joy, she thought, I'll never escape her.

She'd be pressed to go home with her great-aunt, she knew that already. The house had been reverse-mortgaged, but unknown to her, her grandfather had sold it months ago to keep finances going. Worse, his bank accounts were almost empty. She cursed herself for not realizing how things were, and not getting a job after her graduation from community college.

She wouldn't be able to afford the rest of her education now, not unless she inherited a fortune—fat chance—or was lucky enough to have people at admissions overlook her dismal SAT scores. She knew the material, but tests shook her. She never did well on them.

So here she sat at the table, too sick at heart to cook, with no money, no home and, worst of all, no Granddaddy to tell her, "Sugar, it's going to be all right."

The thought just dissolved her in tears.

While she was crying her eyes out, she didn't hear the front door open. She felt a pair of strong arms pull her out of the chair and hold her close, rocking her while she cried.

"I only just heard. I'm sorry I wasn't here," he said tightly. "The one time you really needed me, and I let you down."

"It's all right," she said, swallowing grief. "I got everything done. I have to take Granddaddy's clothes over to the funeral home, but I'll do that tomorrow."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I can't," she said in a whisper. She drew in a breath. "My great-aunt's coming down tomorrow from Victoria. I wish she was here now...!"

"You don't want to be alone."

"Isn't it silly? I don't believe in ghosts, and I know Granddaddy would never hurt me. It's just..."

"I know. It's that there might be ghosts."

She nodded and nuzzled her cheek against his warm strength.

"I'll stay with you tonight."

She looked up.

"Nobody will know," he teased. "The lights are still on in my house and they're on an automatic timer. My car's in the driveway. Unless you're expecting company at this hour, it will be our secret."

"Nobody's coming. They'll come tomorrow with food. The church always does that when somebody dies."

He scowled. "They bring food?"

"Yes. Everybody brings something, even if it's just biscuits or a vegetable dish or fruit or a roast." She smiled. "It's for the family, so everybody can eat without having to cook."

"What a nice custom."

"It is."

"How about digging me out a pair of your granddad's sweatpants for the night? We were the same build. And I know he wouldn't mind," he added gently.

She smiled. "No, he wouldn't. He was fond of you."

"I was fond of him. He got me through a rough patch of my own."

"He said it helped him, too." She pulled back reluctantly. "I'll find you something." She paused. "Thanks, Cal."

He shrugged. "Small town, big family," he said gently.

She smiled.

It was comforting, having Cal in Granddaddy's bedroom next door. She thought she'd sleep without any effort. She couldn't. She worried about the future. She cried silently at her loss. She tossed and turned, and still the tears came.

The door opened and closed. Cal eased into bed beside her and pulled her against his bare chest. "I thought it would be like this," he said quietly. "I couldn't sleep, the night after...well, before I got shot."

She pressed close, aware that her thin cotton gown was letting her feel far too much of his warm, hair-roughened muscular chest. It made her feel shivery all over, and it wasn't with fear. She caught her breath.

He heard that. He felt something, too—the sudden hardness of her nipples against him, even through the cloth. His big, warm hands spread on her back and became caressing.

He had to keep his head. He told himself that while he felt all of him go rigid with the most intense desire he'd ever felt in his life. She was innocent. She was a virgin. He'd come in to comfort her, not to seduce her.

But he'd wanted her for, oh, so long, and here she was, warm and tender and clinging, and he was only human.

She felt him turn her, felt his weight on her. She was going to protest until his mouth gently covered hers and explored it in a slow, expert manner that made her into a limp cloth. His hands smoothed away the gown, and it was wonderful, the feel of them on her bare skin. She caught her breath as they moved slowly from her silken back onto her rib cage, with just his thumbs smoothing over the underside of her breasts.

She'd never done anything intimate with a man. She had no experience at all that would help her save herself. The feelings were too new, too explosively passionate. She hadn't known that she was passionate until she felt his leg easing between both of hers, and his mouth deepening the kisses until they were invasive and hungry and overpowering.

It had been cool in her bedroom, but now it was hot. She moved under him, her leg sliding over his, her mouth answering the passion she felt in his. Her short nails dug into his back as his mouth shifted down onto her breasts and smoothed over them, causing sensations that arched her back and brought helpless moans out of her throat.

After that, it was impossible for him to stop. It had been a long time between women, and Amelia was the most delicious morsel he'd ever tasted. She was butter and cream, exquisite.

He ate her like candy, from head to foot and back again. By the time she finally felt his body against hers without the intrusion of fabric, she was his willing partner. She moved with him, lifted for him, clung and arched and held him even when the flash of pain stiffened her against him.

She recalled vaguely that he'd asked if she was okay, if she wanted him to stop, and she'd put her mouth on his and lifted again and again to the slow, hard thrust of him in a nonverbal answer.

It was a feast of passion. They went from one position to another, all over the bed, almost onto the floor, clinging to each other, drowning in kisses, feeling ecstasy build until it exploded in both of them, and they cried out together as the sweet, sweet anguish of fulfillment left them shuddering in each other's arms.

For lazy minutes they lay together, gently touching, without recriminations, without regrets. Until inevitably, he turned to her and kissed her again. And she turned into his body and welcomed him as if it was the first time, all over again. Until they, finally, slept.

She was under the covers, back in her gown, when the door opened, and Cal came in with a cup of coffee.

"I can only cook snake, at the moment," he said gently. He sat down beside her, putting the cup on the bedside table. He brushed the long, soft blond hair back from her face and just stared at her.

She stared back, robbed of words. It had been the sweetest experience of her life, although she was very uncomfortable in unmentionable places, and too shy to say so.

"I want you to promise me something," he said quietly.

"Okay."

"I want you to go to the pharmacy and get the morning-after pill," he said. "I was reckless, and I'm sorry. It's been a long time, and I wasn't prepared."

"I can do that," she said, trying to sound sophisticated.

He drew in a sigh as he looked at her. She was beautiful, he thought, without makeup, without artifice, and it wasn't purely physical beauty. She was unique in his whole life. He smiled gently.

"I'm not ready for undoable things," he began.

She reached up and put her fingers softly against his mouth. "I know all that. It's okay."

It wasn't, but she was a good actress.

He looked relieved. "All right, then. I'm going to go home and start getting things together..."

"Together?" She felt the shock all the way to her feet.

He grimaced. "I wasn't going to tell you yet. I'm sorry, it slipped out." He took a breath. "I'm signing back on with San Antonio PD. They have an opening. I put a deposit on an apartment there. I'm moving to the city. I'm sorry, Amelia. I wasn't trying to hide it. I just thought..."

She could see what he'd thought. It was all over his face. She had a crush on him, and he didn't want to hurt her. He still didn't. But he wasn't a forever-after man, and he wasn't ready to settle down.

"It's all right," she said. "You'll be okay. And San Antonio is a nice city."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's nice if you don't do police work there," he replied.

She shrugged.

He frowned. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he said, struggling for the right words. In fact, he was confused and uncertain, and trying to understand why. He felt guilt as well, because she'd been innocent, and he'd taken something that she'd most likely saved for marriage—if women even did that sort of thing these days.

"It takes two people to make mistakes like this one," she said simply and didn't notice the flicker in his eyes. "No worries. I'll take care of everything."

The words hurt. He wasn't sure why. He got to his feet. "If you ever need me," he began.

"Thanks," she said. "But I'm moving, too. The house was only Granddaddy's for his lifetime. It goes to a Realtor now. I'll probably stay with my great-aunt until I get signed up for college."

"That's right. Your major is going to be chemistry, right?"

"Yes." It was a lie. She couldn't afford college. There were grants, of course. She'd have to start late or wait until spring. But that wasn't his problem.

"Well, thank you for taking care of me, when I needed it." He drew in a breath. "I've got a big bankroll..."

"If you offer me money, I'll hit you," she said, and her dark eyes flashed.

"I wasn't going to. Not the way you mean. But if you need help with college..."

"That's nice of you. But I have scholarships," she lied, and smiled.

"Oh. Well." He drew in another breath. "You take care of yourself. I'll see you at the funeral."

"Okay."

He paused at the door, his back to her. "I had good intentions, Amelia. I really did."

"I know that."

He paused again, half turned. Then went out and closed the door. She waited until she heard the front door close before the tears fell.

Her great-aunt arrived in great glory the next afternoon. By then, Amelia had washed the bed linen and her gown. She wished it was as easy to wash away the shame. She'd meant to go to the pharmacy. In fact, she did go. Old Mrs. Smith was at the counter, and she just couldn't work up enough nerve to ask her grandmother's best friend for a morning-after pill.

So she went home and the truck wouldn't crank, so she couldn't drive to San Antonio to get one, either. She called the local shop and had them take it in, only to be told it would be a couple of days at least before they could even get to it, but the mechanic thought she'd blown up the engine—there was an oil leak that she hadn't discovered, and the oil pan was empty. He said gently that it would be cheaper to buy another vehicle than to fix it. She said she'd think about it.

Then her great-aunt walked in, and there was no more time to try and do anything about her reckless night. She'd worry about it when she had time, although she didn't think it was the right time for anything to happen. She hoped it wouldn't. Even if it did, she could never tell a man who didn't want her something like that. She had too much pride. She'd messed up her life royally, but it had been because she loved him so much that she couldn't help herself.

The funeral was well attended. The house was full of food, which she'd invited friends in to help them eat. Her great-aunt, not the most social of people, was touched by the kindness, and by the friendly people who found her interesting. She didn't dress rich, so they took her for a relative in bad financial shape, like Amelia. It made her beam, to find out that people could like her when they thought she was poor. It amused Amelia, who saw a whole new side of her rambunctious relative.

Cal did come to the funeral, but he had a woman with him. Amelia recognized her at once. It was the woman who didn't like sick people, who'd come looking for Cal that one time.

It made her sick to her stomach to see how quickly he'd tossed her aside for the city woman. But she put on a good show. She greeted them after the graveside service and introduced her great-aunt and her plans to move to Victoria. Edie, condescending until she saw the great-aunt's chauffeured limousine, was suddenly all smiles and charm when Amelia finished hugging friends and joined the older woman at the car.

"All the best, Amelia," Cal said, forcing a smile.

She forced one, too. "I wish the same for you...both," she said, including Edie. She avoided his eyes as she slid into the limousine just ahead of her great-aunt.

Cal was feeling more guilt than he'd expected. Amelia had been closer to him than anyone in his whole life. He'd seduced her and then ignored her, and now he'd paraded Edie in front of her. He didn't know why. He hadn't meant to hurt her so much, and at such a time. He knew she loved him. It was blatant.

He also knew that he was a bad risk. Maybe it was best to make her regret what they'd done during that long, sweet night, so that she could move on. He just hadn't known that it would hurt so much.