Christine

A gentle hand on my shoulder startled me. I looked up, surprised to see Travis’s green eyes regarding my solemnly. No, not Travis, my tired brain finally registered. Grant.

“Any word?” he asked.

I looked past Grant to see Justin settling into the seat next to me. The old cowboy looked out of place in the hospital. His face —an older version of Travis’s, I realized —was pale. He had deep shadows in his blue eyes.

“They took him for a CT scan a few minutes ago to check for damage to his internal organs and for bleeding in the brain. He hasn’t woken up yet.” My voice cracked and next to me, Justin took my hand. “They’re watching his heart because he took a bad blow to the chest and if he develops bruising or swelling in the pericardium, the rhythm can—” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, then lowered my arms and met Grant’s gaze. I finished in a whisper. “His heart can stop.”

Justin’s hand tightened spasmodically, and I turned mine over to clasp our palms together. Grant slumped in his seat and let his head roll back against the wall.

* * *

Waiting was always the worst. I took a small measure of comfort that this time the subject of my vigil was actually receiving medical care, rather than waiting for rescue that would never come.

I even found myself laughing when Grant shared stories about growing up as Travis McGee’s baby brother. I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone with the lighthearted optimistic act, but he seemed to need to keep talking.

When Grant finally trailed off, Justin stood, stretched. “I never was a good one for waiting. I saw something looking like it might pass for a coffee machine on the way in.” He clutched his hat by the brim as if it was the only thing holding him upright. “If—” He broke off awkwardly.

“We’ll find you if we hear anything,” I promised.

When he was gone, Grant looked up into my eyes, seeking answers. Though he didn’t voice the question, I understood he wasn’t looking for me4 to give assurances if there were none.

“The testing can take a long time,” I said. “Best case will be by the time the tests are done, he’ll be awake and surly because he wants to go home, but his mental status will be clear. He’s going to hurt for a while.”

Grant said nothing. Without a doubt he’d recognized my omission of the worst case scenario.

“Why did they put a tube down his throat?” he finally asked.

“He was choking on his blood.” I spoke quietly, maintaining outward calm I didn’t feel. “It was just to help him breathe.” And in case his throat swells closed.

“Is he going to die?” Grant blurted. His face displayed stark terror, mirroring what I felt.

I could only offer a helpless shrug. “I don’t know.” A tear slid down my cheek, followed by another one. With a sniff, I cleared my throat and dashed the wetness from my face. “Grant, that was a horrific beating. A lot of hate went into it. Your dad told me how you lost your mother but this hatred of Bull’s… it feels like more. It runs deeper. What happened between them?”

“You have to ask Ry.”

With a determined shake of my head, I glared at him. “No, you don’t get to put me off. I’m asking you. Travis said there were things I needed to know, things he wanted to tell me. He would have told me tonight. That’s what he was coming to my place to do. But we never got the chance to talk. So I’m asking his brother to help him out here.”

Grant stared indecisively for a minute. Then he gave in. “Bull and his parents are convinced Trav killed Bull’s brother, Mac. And I think —at least a little bit —Trav accepts the responsibility.”

“No,” I whispered in dismay. “What happened? Was there an accident?”

“We all called him Mac but his name was John, Johnny when he was younger. Somewhere along the way, Trav called him Mac and it stuck. Mac decided Mac MacKay sounded cool.”

I blinked in surprise. Mac MacKay?

“Copy you, 9-Bravo. Who am I speaking with?”

“Mick-” More static, then, “Mic-key.”

Frowning, I stared across the waiting room. The stark white walls, lined with pictures of the mountains, spun out of focus, replaced by a messy dispatch station, a notebook with messy handwriting.

I jotted the name into my notes. “Mickey, you’re breaking up badly. How many do you number? How long have you been trapped?”

He hadn’t corrected me. It was just a weird fluke that the name was so similar. Mick Mickey was just so close to Mac MacKay that my memory was playing tricks. Right? Could he have actually said “Mac MacKay?” The radio connection hadn’t been great. I shook my head. No, that would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t it? To end up in Mick’s hometown? I had gone looking for his description of a place with plains and forest nearby. And what were the odds I would stumble onto another person in Wyoming with such a similar name who was also dead?

“Christine?”

I forced my attention back on Grant. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

“So I noticed.” He sat still, his head angled, just looking at me. I shifted under his scrutiny, wondering if he had any idea how like his father he was.

Finally he picked up the story again.

My heart broke for the battered sixteen-year-old. And for the not-quite-man who’d tried to rescue his abused cousin, in the process turning his back on his family, rather than involving them in something that would only bring on more MacKay wrath.

“How did Mac die? Why does Travis feel responsible?”

“After they did a tour in the army, Travis and Mac became firefighters,” Grant said.

I nodded as things began to fall into place and I blew out a relieved breath. Not the same man. “Right. Allan Cross said Travis fought oil fires.” I busied my hands by flipping through a magazine without looking at it.

“He did for a while, before Mac came of age and they joined the army together,” Grant explained. “But this was after they left the army. They mustered out at Fort Irwin. Ended up in L.A.”

My hands stilled in mid-flip. A chill started in my chest, rippled out to my arms, down into my belly.

“Apparently someone from their army unit got them into the training program for L.A. City Fire Department.”

I shivered.

“You’re pale. Are you okay?”

Drawing a deep breath to shore up my nerves, I nodded and whispered, “Go on.”

Grant stood and began pacing in the tiny, deserted room. “Mac’s whole life, what Trav did, Mac did, too. My brother was his hero.”

My heart squeezed just a little for Grant. Clearly Mac wasn’t the only one who’d always looked up to Travis. “But just because Mac decided to be a firefighter, too… that doesn’t make his death Travis’s fault.”

“They were partnered up,” Grant explained.

Little pinpricks began to crawl along my skin like thousands of unseen insects. Setting the magazine down, I rubbed my arms, trying to dispel the feeling.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” I said quickly. “How —how did Mac… die?”

“Earthquake,” Grant answered. “You remember the big one in L.A. about seven years ago?”

“Oh, man. No…” I couldn’t keep the shaky warble from my voice as the room began to spin. “I remember.”

“They were clearing a building after a gas explosion when it collapsed. Mac died when—Whoa!”

Bones and muscles melted into a puddle, and I slid off the chair. White and beige floor tiles rose up toward my face.

* * *

“That was a strong one,” Mick said.

“A strong what?”

“Aftershock. Feel it? It’s still moving.”

I looked around the room. Coworkers were manning the other boards. All was silent. And still.

“Aw, damn,” whispered Mick. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

I instantly recognized Lysander’s line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “It can,” I insisted. “It will, Mick!” Tears welled.

“Angel… I’m sorry. I think —we could have had something good—”

Crashing and crunching sounds came over the comm, followed by a burst of static and then nothing. Not even the hiss of open air. The connection had been abruptly severed.

“No!” I shouted in frustration. Around me, other dispatchers stared openly. Two of them averted their stares, murmuring and shaking their heads.

Frantic, I worked the buttons on the outdated radio system, trying to reestablish a connection, but the link remained silent.

“It’s okay. His battery died, that’s all,” I told myself.

One by one, the clock ticked off the minutes of radio silence.

I stared at my console, willing it to light up again. But when it did, it was just an outside call, and one of my coworkers picked it up.

“They got through!” someone shouted.

“They made contact,” said Kate at the next workstation. I listened to the report, one hand on the link in my ear. But as the happy grin on my face began to fade, dread gripped my heart.

Then the chaplain was at my side.

“No!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you say it. I was just talking to him. He was fine!”

“They got through a few minutes ago,” Chaplain Hindson said gently. “I’m sorry. They were both gone when search and rescue got to them.”

I closed my eyes against the burn of tears. He hadn’t wanted me to cry. I stopped breathing, drowning in a tsunami-sized wave of pain. I’d known this was a possibility; worse, it had been the likely outcome. But I’d never given up hope. And now… I had no more hope to hold onto. Mick had no more hope. He was gone before I’d ever had a chance to really get to know him. Drawing a deep breath, I forced my eyes open.

“Thank you for letting me know.” I forced the words through stiff lips as I checked my watch. The digital readout swam into focus: 7: 21. Tears, I refused to succumb to, burned my eyes as I made a final notation in my log: Duration of contact 23: 57: 00.

Numb to everything, ignoring the stares and the whispers around my, I pushed past friends and strangers and stepped into the parking lot. Alone, I set loose the hot tears.

* * *

Grant’s face, even paler than it had been earlier, hovered above me, his green eyes clouded with worry.

“You think you can sit up, girl?” Justin’s gravelly voice brought me to the present.

I tried to piece my revelation together. “Not Mick. It was Mac. Mac MacKay.” I pulled in deep breaths of air, not interested in meeting the floor so up close and personal again. “Mac…” I tested the name on my tongue, finding it foreign after years of him being Mick.

“I’ll go get help,” said Grant.

“No!” I said sharply. I sat up, took Justin’s hand and let him pull me to my feet. “I’m, um, I’m good. I, ah, need to tell you something.”

Justin cupped my elbow and helped me back to my seat. I smiled and assured him I was fine.

“I was an EMT dispatcher for Central L.A. during that quake. We all did rotations on both sides of the job.” I drew a shaky deep breath, blew it out. “I was the dispatcher who sent them —Travis and Mac —into that mess. I… met Mac right before he died. We were going to go out. I had —feelings for him. I knew he was from Wyoming, but I didn’t know exactly where. But he’s the reason I came here.”

Grant’s brow drew together. “You knew Mac?”

I nodded, brushing at the tears burning my eyes. “I didn’t know he lived here. I didn’t know exactly where he lived. He talked about Wyoming a lot but in general terms. He loved it here, missed it so much. I came here to see the Red Desert because he mentioned the sunsets were amazing.”

Grant exchanged a puzzled look with his father before turning his attention back to I. “If you didn’t know where Mac was from, how did you end up here?”

“I stopped at Valentine’s for some dinner. I was so tired of driving around, knowing no matter where I went, I wasn’t going to find Mac. Tom had a help wanted sign behind the bar and suddenly I just wanted to put down roots. Pine Haven seemed as close to anything Mac had described as anything else.” I spread my hands, helpless to explain why Pine Haven had felt like coming home. I picked at the hem of my dress, frowning at the rusty smear across my lap that didn’t quite blend with the fabric’s pattern. Travis’s blood.

Grant crouched in front of me, stilling my hands. He searched my face, speaking softly. “Trav doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t know you were seeing Mac.”

I shook my head slowly, still feeling dazed. “I don’t see how he could. I didn’t realize it myself until you told me the story.” I stared at the bloodstain. It would never come out. I’d never be able to wear the dress again. Not that I really wanted to.

Grant squeezed my hands. Releasing one, he reached up and placed his thumb beneath my chin, in a gesture so like Travis’s, that fresh tears welled. Gently he raised my face to meet his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

“It’s mind-blowing… weird …all the coincidences, the connections. Suddenly everything feels very complicated.”

“We’ll all get through this, Christine. You and Travis love each other.”

But doubt had become a constant companion recently, and once again it crept over me, invading my mind, dispatching reason into exile. Would they really get through it? Or would they end up each other’s painful reminder of the past?

“Family of Travis McGee?” A green-clad doctor with thinning gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses stood in the doorway.

When the three of us looked up, he closed the distance between us.

“Mr. McGee is stable. His injuries are severe but not life-threatening. He’s a lucky man. Only he looks like he was run over by a truck. He’s more exhausted than anything else. He woke up for a few minutes but he was agitated, so we had to sedate him. He’ll probably be out the rest of the night. You can all see him for a couple of minutes. Then you can take turns sitting with him, one person at a time. Maybe when the sedation wears off, he won’t be as agitated if he sees a familiar face.”

The doctor began to lead the way but hesitated in the doorway. “He kept —asking for Bluebell. We thought maybe he was experiencing expressive aphasia but he insisted he was saying what he meant to say. He wants someone to make sure the Bluebell is safe.”

Tears broke free and streamed down I’s face. “That’s me. He’s talking about me.”

* * *

Justin insisted I sit with Travis. “He asked for you. It’s you who’ll be able to ease his mind the most.”

I couldn’t let go of Travis’s hand. With it cradled in mine, I noted the faint bruises on his knuckles and the raw abrasions, which were already scabbing over. The tube had been removed, once the bleeding from his nose had stopped choking him. Now his breathing was deep and even. His face was hard to look at. Even cleaned up, he still looked like he’d run headfirst into a wall. The stitched-up C-shaped laceration just below his left eye was going to leave a scar. His eyes were closed in deep, drug-induced sleep, but I didn’t think they would open very far even if he was awake.

He’s alive.

“I know it’ll be awhile before you can ride but I want to race across the plains with you. I want to go out at sunrise and get home just as the sun’s going down.” I had no idea what, if anything, he heard, but I kept talking. “I want to go camping in the mountains with you and stay in the cabin up there. I want to make love with you at night with all the stars above us.”

His hand moved in mine. “Stay,” he whispered weakly. Then he drifted off again.

I kept talking. Every so often he would surface from the darkness that gripped him. It never lasted longer than a moment. His words were slurred and thick, difficult to understand, but it was always the same plea to stay with him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

When he grew agitated, I gently rubbed the sensitive spot on his temple with my thumb. “I’ll wait right here. I promise. I’ll wait until you come back to me.”

* * *

Travis

Hanging at the edge of consciousness, I didn’t want to wake up. I could listen to her talk forever. Her words painted the color into my dreams.

“I want to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world,” I mumbled. My mouth was stiff; my tongue felt swollen. The words came with difficulty. “My girl. Stay with me. Don’t go away, please. Please don’t go again.”

Her promise to stay with me sounded like it was coming from the other side of a wall as I sank into the blessed blackness again.

* * *

I fought to resurface at the sound of the familiar voice. She was here. Promising to stay. With a mighty effort, I clawed and pushed my way out of the void. Frantic, I searched the room with eyes that didn’t want to focus. A figure sat next to the bed. She held my hand, stroking the pain away from sore knuckles, making assurances that she would stay; she would be there. With agonizing slowness, my vision cleared, the room brightened. Little flares of light seared along my optic nerves, each flash a hot needle stabbing into my eyes. As my vision began to normalize, the pain behind my eyeballs diminished. The room gradually whirled into focus. My eyes settled on the woman next to my bed.

“Hey, you,” I croaked.

My brain finally kicked into first gear and I registered Christine’s face, Christine’s clear, amazing eyes looking at me with… love, I realized. Christine was making promises and talking about the things she wanted us to do together.

I tried to smile, but my aching lips turned the action to another exercise in torture. It had been Christine sitting with me, talking to me. If my head was a little disappointed, my heart was doing handstands with pure pleasure. My girl with the amazing eyes was waiting for me to wake up. I flexed the hand she held and she stopped talking.

“You… waited for me,” I whispered. I tried to clear the hoarseness from my throat. It felt like I’d walked for days across the desert with no water. “My… Bluebell. You didn’t… disappear.”

“I’ll never leave you, Travis McGee.”

Relief bathed me in warmth. She was safe. She was there, not going anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Bluebell. Sorry about… the fight at your place.”

Exasperation heightened the color on her face. “You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot. I won’t tell the boss about the fighting. This time.” She leaned over and gently kissed my cheek.

Tears shimmered in her eyes. Tears I wanted to wipe away, only I couldn’t move my arms.

“You rest now.”

Her warmth spread through me, I tried to smile again, but the effort of keeping my eyes open was becoming too much. I gave in and let sleep overtake me.