Love's Story (10 page)

The next morning Meredith thanked Jonah repeatedly when he said he would accompany her, although he was careful not to make her any promises. When they reached the camp, Josiah Jones, the bull, tipped his hat at Meredith as she rode past his tent.

“You are in a fine mood today, sir,” she said, after she dismounted.

“I want to thank you for your article. It boosted the morale mountain high.”

“I only wrote the truth, the way I see it.”

“The men will soon be in to eat. You'll see for yourself.”

The loggers entered the mess tent in twos and threes, all vying for Meredith's attention.

“Won't you join us, Miss Mears?” asked one of the older lumberjacks. “You, too, Jonah.”

“Don't mind if I do.” Meredith tried to ignore the stench of working bodies as she and Jonah joined him at a long table. The loggers shoveled in food as if their innards were empty, yet they managed to keep up a conversation.

“Here to write another one of your stories?” The older man asked.

“I'd like to add a bit to the last one, if I could get your help,” she gestured to all of those seated about her. She could tell by their grunts, grins, and nods that they would help if they could.

“If I were to ask why you do it, why you jeopardize your life by working at such a dangerous occupation, what would you say?”

“So's a pretty reporter women can ask us questions,” one quickly replied.

She smiled.

Another piped up, “Don't know how to do nothing else.”

Meredith grabbed her portfolio and fumbled for a paper and pencil. She wrote while the responses flowed without pause.

“Once you see these trees, you can't never leave them.”

“There's glory in these trees.”

One younger man, who reminded her a lot of her stepbrother, Charles, said, “Got a mother who needs the money.”

“Got a wife and kids,” another said.

“Working the trees chases the demons out of you,” offered a fierce-looking man.

“It's the smell of the woods,” Silas said.

“Came west looking for gold. Ended up here instead.”

“Wanted to see the West.” The phrase was familiar, as was the voice, and Meredith looked up at Thatcher Talbot. She swallowed when Jonah reached down for his camera and slipped away from the table.

“And is the West better than the East?”

“It's different,” he replied.

Meredith tried not to concentrate on his handsome features. She pressed hard on her pencil until the lead broke. “Oh no.”

“Here, let me.” Talbot's hand brushed against hers and sent a flurry of sparks through her arm. With expertise, he withdrew a small knife from his belt and began to whittle the writing tool.

A guilty stab pierced Meredith, but she squelched it. “Thank you.” She retrieved the pencil from Talbot, with a small gasp, for there was another jolt of physical awareness. She hadn't distracted him long, but Jonah gave her a nod.

A bell rang, and the loggers stampeded out of the mess hall. Meredith stuffed her supplies into her portfolio and smoothed out her riding skirt.

Thatcher Talbot had moved away, and now he leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, waiting for her.

She gave him a weak smile.

“On behalf of the camp, thanks for that article.”

“It was just the truth.”

“The truth sounds lovely, coming from you.”

“What a nice compliment.”

His eyes were soft like suede; his hair hung in boyish waves across his forehead. “I'll bet you get plenty of those.”

“Whatever happened to that rude man I once knew?”

He chuckled as they left the mess hall together. “‘I'd rather be hung from a rope and dragged by my heels through these here woods than be escorted by the likes of you.'”

“You'll do.”

He slapped his thigh with his hat as, together, they burst into laughter.

Meredith experienced a sense of wonder at Talbot's personality transformation and felt as if she were falling under a spell of charm. Such magical eyes.

“I have to go out to the field. Are you coming?”

“Hmm? Not today.” She patted her portfolio and gave him a final smile. “I have what I came for.”

He nodded. “Another time, then.” She watched him walk away, sorry that he was such an enigma, sorry she was pressed to investigate him, worried over what she would find.

“Ready to go?” Jonah asked.

Back at his studio, Meredith helped Jonah process the photographs he had taken at the camp. Once they were hung to dry, she inspected them.

“Here, Storm. This one of you with all the loggers would be a good one to show your grandchildren some day. Want to buy it?”

“It's a moment I'll never forget.” She sighed. “It was like being the belle of the ball.”

His eyes twinkled with a mixture of pride and amusement. “You brought some light into their lives.”

Meredith's tiny hand brushed away tears. “And they to mine.”

Jonah said softly, “I was only teasing. You may have it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't cry, missy.”

“I'm not.” She sniffled as she turned to the next photograph. It was the one of Thatcher. “It's good.”

“Should give you the information you are after.”

“Do you think I should send it to Asa?”

“Maybe you need to set your mind at ease about him so you can…” His voice trailed off.

“Can what?”

“Like him.”

“Oh.”

Once the photographs dried, Meredith needed to make her decision. Jonah was right. She must know. With decisive movements, she prepared the photograph and package she would mail to Asa, along with a note:

All she could do, Meredith determined, was wait to hear from Asa. In the meantime, she should put Thatcher Talbot from her mind.

T
hat night Meredith slept poorly and dreamed of Talbot just before she awoke. She dressed and went straight to her typewriter. When her wastebasket spilled over with crumpled wads of paper, she sighed and pushed away from her desk. Maybe if she went for a walk, the morning air would clear her head. She found herself strolling up the town's main street.

It was a pleasant morning with blue sky and fluffy clouds, a melodious string of birds roosted on the cobbler's hitching post, and a smattering of town residents went about their daily rounds. One, Beatrice Bloomfield, bustled out of the bank's main entrance, her head bent over an armful of packages. When she recognized Meredith, she gave a start, then a terse greeting before she swooshed away in her chic day dress.

At least it wasn't a total snub. I'm making progress.

Meredith crossed the street, drawn to her favorite store, the dress shop and milliner. The little yellow hat with the green ostrich feather still beckoned from its window display.

Across the street, Thatcher Talbot strode toward the bank, his mind occupied with the news he had received at the camp: One of his old acquaintances was in town. However, his thoughts shifted when he spotted the fascinating reporter, slightly bent and peering intently at something inside a store window. Thatcher lingered over the delightful vision, his back against a hitching post and his arms and legs casually crossed, until she entered the shop.

Meredith positioned the little yellow hat with the green ostrich feather on her head while the dressmaker secured it with pins.

“Take a look in that mirror. You look pretty in it.”

Meredith moved to the cheval mirror. “It's exquisite.”

“Would you like to see the matching gown?”

“I have a gown from New York that matches perfectly.” Meredith dallied over her reflection until, with a final sigh, she removed the hatpins. “Actually, I'll need to sell a few more stories before I can afford this hat. But if someone doesn't beat me to it, I'll be back for it. It caught my eye the very first day I came to town.”

“That's how it goes, my dear. Once something strikes your fancy, you must have it. I hope it's here when you are ready to purchase it.”

“Yes, so do I. Thank you.”

Meredith exited the dressmaker's and made a quick assessment of the street only to catch a glimpse of a man who resembled Talbot.
What would he be doing in town on a weekday?
Unconsciously, she found herself trailing after the man across the street. Still unsure of the man's identity, she watched him enter the bank. She loitered, window shopping, and waited for him to reappear. The owner of the general store happened to be sweeping in front of his store, so she engaged him in conversation, where she could keep a watchful eye on the bank.

After a time, the man came out of the bank.
It is Talbot. And he's with another man.
She was surprised to see both men attired in Eastern suits of clothing. Her curiosity intensified; a small voice inside her chirped,
I told you he was suspicious.