Wanderlust Creek and Other Stories by Elisabeth Grace Foley

the close
of this speech, had turned abruptly away from him—almost
unsteadily, as if she were faint, with one hand over her mouth.
    He looked back at her. “Something
wrong?”
    Jim Reid blew out a long, slow breath, and
opened his eyes. “Kinda glad you came through, Nolan.”
    Dave Nolan looked down at him, his hat
pushed back on his head, his brown eyes honest but puzzled. “Hey,
Jim,” he said. “How do you feel?”
    He glanced at Callie, who still stood with
her back to him, some strong emotion evident from her bowed head
and tense shoulders. “What’s going on here, anyway?”
    Jim let his own eyes travel meaningly to
Callie, and back to meet the young rancher’s quizzical look. “Why
don’t you figure it out.”
    Nolan looked at the girl again. “Callie?
What’s the matter?”
    She half turned toward him, hugging herself
as if trying to hold back something that could have been laughter
or tears. “I thought it was you,” she cried. “I thought—it was
you!”
    Dave Nolan stared at her for a minute—and
then slowly a light came up in his face, a light that was more than
just comprehension. He moved over close to Callie, who had turned
her back on him again and was weeping muffled sobs into the palm of
her hand.
    He put his hands on her arms. “Why’d that
bother you so much?” he said gently, but with a half-tender,
half-exultant smile trying to show on his face, and creeping a
little into his voice. The only answer was another sob. He leaned a
little closer. “You don’t have to be shy about telling me…You see,
I don’t mind at all…”
    Hesitantly, Callie lifted her head—slowly
turned it to look over her shoulder, into his eyes—and then spun to
face him and hid her face against his shoulder, and he put his arms
around her.
    Jim Reid directed his eyes up toward the
roof of the mine and pursed his lips into a soundless whistle,
which he maintained for several verses of an imaginary tune.
    Presently a few broken fragments of
sentences became audible from Callie: “I thought that—because of
the cattle—I was just sick over it. I didn’t want to believe it,
but—”
    “You poor kid,” said Dave Nolan, who showed
no inclination to let her out of his arms anytime soon. “Why didn’t
you just ask me?”
    “I was too scared. I—oh, I can’t tell you
all about it now.”
    “That’s all right,” he said affectionately,
permitting her to emerge, her hair somewhat crushed and disordered
but her wet eyes shining. “Leave it till whenever you want—we’ll
have lots of time to talk. Anyway, we’ve got to get Jim looked
after.”
    “Got to agree with you,” said Jim, and they
both started and looked toward him a little guiltily as though they
had forgotten his presence. “I didn’t like to mention it, but this
leg of mine is gnawing at me like a guilty conscience.”
    “We’ll have you out of here in no time,”
said Nolan. “Callie, you want to stay with him while I ride down
and find Thorsden and his boys?”
    Jim, noticing Callie’s slight hesitation,
grinned and said, “That’s all right. Go along with him; I’ll be
fine by myself. I’m getting so’s this old place feels just like
home.”
    “I really should be getting home,” said
Callie regretfully. “Pa’ll be wondering what’s happened to me, late
getting meals two days running.”
    “Sure, I understand,” said Dave Nolan before
Jim had a chance to speak. “Go ahead. And then—can I come over and
see you later?” Their eyes met for a second, and Callie nodded
yes.
    He grinned suddenly and shyly at her, as if
he could not help it, and said—more to Callie than to Jim—”I won’t
be long.”
     
    * * *
     
    The fire had died down, leaving it chillier
in the mine, though there was just enough light left from the coals
to see by. Jim dozed feverishly from time to time, though the pain
in his leg kept him from dropping off to sleep completely. He was
more relaxed, though, now that the sense of uncertainty