Just a Kiss Away (40 page)

Shifting a little, she looked around the cave again. She didn’t like being in here all alone. The cave had a sinister atmosphere. It was dark and dank-smelling, and when the thunder rumbled from the storm outside, it echoed like drums through the hollows of the cave. White steam, like smoke from the fires of hell, floated along the back of the cave, where a small cauldron of a mineral pool bubbled up from within the dark depths of the mountain.

Sam had told her they were lucky. The cave was high in the mountain, which he’d said was an inactive volcano. Her stomach had dropped at that news. The minute he’d said it was a volcano, she’d had an image of hell, of red-orange fires bursting up from the very place where they had sought refuge. She turned and eyed the steam from the pool, expecting the devil himself to come bubbling up on a bed of lava any minute.

A twig cracked behind her. She whipped around. The black silhouette of a man with a huge horned head stood at the entrance to the cave.

She screamed.

“Dammit to hell, Lollie! It’s me, Sam!” He walked into the firelight.

“Awwwwk! Damn Yankee! Sam’s in hell! Get a shovel!”

“Medusa!” Lollie stood up as soon as she spotted the bird, wings open, perched on Sam’s head.

“Get her off me, would you?” Sam dropped a bag onto the cave floor.

Lollie lifted her arm, and Medusa flapped and hopped onto it, then walked up to her shoulder and nuzzled her ear. She rubbed the bird’s head. “I’m so glad you found her.”

“I didn’t find her. She found me. Swooped down like a bat and pulled half my hair out.” He rubbed the top of his head, then muttered, “I should have known that flying back to the camp was too logical. She
is
a female.” He looked at them for a moment, then added, “I don’t know how she found us.”

“Awwwk! I-ah once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, like Sam, but now I see . . . Awwwk!”

He scowled. “Keep it up, bird, and we’ll have roast fowl for dinner.” Sam squatted down beside the bag he’d brought inside.

Lollie looked at it and realized it was the canvas tarp from the cart. He peeled it back, and there were a few of their supplies.

“Some of the supplies washed up at the end of the canyon. There’re a few cans of peaches, only one can of beans, this pot, a blanket, and here’s something you’ll be happy about. Your satchel.”

He held up the small canvas bag containing her few personal items: soap, comb, and so forth. He tossed it to her.

“I also found this oilcloth bag.” He held up the blue drawstring sack. “I’m not sure what’s inside. It wasn’t something I packed in the cart. Must belong to someone else.” He fumbled with the ties. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be something we need inside.”

“Sam . . .” Lollie recognized it immediately, even before Sam jerked it open and spilled the contents into his hand. “Peanuts?” He groaned.

“Jim slipped the bag to me when he gave me Medusa.” Medusa flew down and took a nut, then waddled over to the tarp.
Crack! Chomp! chomp! chomp!

Sam winced, shook his head as if someone had just punched him, then laid out the other things he’d brought back. “There were some melons and mangoes—there’s a whole grove on the other side of the canyon—more bananas, and your personal favorite.” He held up a handful of red berries and grinned.

She crossed her arms and gave him a look that said she didn’t think that was funny.

“And, my personal favorite,
ubi.”
He held up a handful of long brown-skinned roots.

“What are you-bees?” She scowled at them.

“Yams. Sweet potatoes.”

Crack! Chomp! chomp! chomp!

“They go great with roast bird.” Sam glared at Medusa and tossed the potato in his hand as if weighing it to throw. The bird just ignored him and cracked open another nut.

“What’s in the bottles?” Lollie leaned over to try to see them better.

“Nothing important.” Sam jerked the tarp over them.

“Those weren’t whiskey bottles, were they?” She frowned, then turned back to him. “Did you have whiskey in that cart?”

“For medicinal purposes, and to keep us warm.”

“I thought blankets kept a person warm.”

“Not this one.” Sam held up the blanket and started wringing the water out of it. He laid it on a rock outcropping near the fire and turned back. “You hungry?”

“I ate some bananas. You go ahead.” Lollie watched the rain fall outside. It still came down in sheets. Remembering how fast the water had hit them, she asked, “Will we be safe in here?”

“We’ll be fine. This is high ground.” He went back to unloading the bundle. “The potatoes will take a while to cook. Maybe you’ll want something by then.” He turned back and began to stack some rocks near the fire.

“What’re you doing?” Lollie leaned over his shoulder.

“Heating the rocks to cook the potatoes.”

“Oh.” She straightened, watching him stack the flat rocks on the fire. She leaned closer to get a better look, and he suddenly stopped, slowly turning to look up at her. She was so close to his head that their noses almost hit when he turned.

She smiled. “Hi.”

He looked away and rubbed his frowning forehead for a minute as if trying to think of something.

“Did you forget how to do it?” she asked, wondering why he’d stopped.

“No.” His shoulders stiffened for a moment, and she thought she might have heard him counting under his breath, but before she could comment, he’d taken his knife out of his belt and handed it to her. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Surely.” She smiled, happy to help him.

“Take this knife and go over there . . . way over there.” He pointed toward the small pile of branches he’d gathered earlier.

She looked to where he pointed.

“And cut some of those leafy branches off the wood,” he instructed. “If they’re left on they’ll smoke too much when we burn them.”

“Okay.” Off she went to the pile of wood. She lifted a branch and sawed the twigs off, one after another. Before too long she had a whole stack of leafy branches, and all of the firewood was leaf-free except a couple of large branches. She could hear Sam at work near the fire, could hear the clunks as he stacked rocks.

She frowned at her hands, all sticky with sap and pitch. She tried to wipe them on her pants, but the stuff just smeared, making her hands even stickier. Even the knife handle had some of the sap on it. Over her shoulder, she gave Sam a guilty glance. It was his knife, after all. But she was just doing her job, so what harm was a little sap? She figured it would come off, somehow. Whistling “Dixie,” she picked up the next hunk of wood, a fairly heavy one, and tried to hack off the leafier branches. No luck.

The sap got stickier with the warmth and dampness of her sweaty palm. She wiped her hand on her pants and tried again but couldn’t seem to get it right. Finally she pinned the wood between her bent knees, held the knife in both hands, and whacked at the branch.

It worked. She turned the wood and did it again, and the small leafy branch cracked and fell to the cave floor. She finished that piece and picked up the last one, pinning it between her knees, too. After all, why mess with a successful method?

She raised the knife high and hacked downward. She missed and cut a chunk out of the base of the branch.
If at first you don’t succeed . . .
She raised the knife high. It flew right out of her hands.

Oh, darn!
She turned to look for the knife.

It was in Sam’s right shoulder.

Shocked, she stared at him standing less than ten feet away and staring down at the knife protruding from his bleeding shoulder.

“Any bastard stupid enough to give Lollie LaRue a knife deserves to get stabbed,” he muttered and slumped to the floor.

“Sam!” She ran to him. “I’m so sorry! So sorry!” She knelt beside him, patting his cheek. “Please, Sam, wake up, please.”

She scrambled around and lifted his head into her lap. “Sam? Sam?” She looked at his pale, dry lips, looked at the knife stuck in his bloody shoulder, and started to cry. She had to do something. She tried patting his cheeks again, only harder, then thought of what he would do in this situation. She slapped his cheek lightly. “Wake up, Sam!”

Nothing.

“Sam? Sam?” She popped his cheek again. “Wake up, you damned Yankee!”

He stared up at her.

“Sam! Oh, I’m so sorry and so glad you’re awake. What can I do?”

“Pull it out.” His voice was raspier than normal. “The knife?” she whispered, horrified.

He took a shallow breath. “No, all my teeth.” He closed his eye. “Of course I mean the knife.”

“Now?”

“Before next year would be nice.”

“All right, all right.” She grabbed the handle. “How do I pull it out?”

“With your hands.”

“No, I meant is there anything special I should do?”

“Don’t think, whatever you do. I doubt I could take that.”

She grabbed the knife, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled out the knife.

“You can open your eyes now.”

She did. Bright blood seeped through the cut in his shirt. Her stomach lurched. Her eyelids grew heavy.

“Don’t you faint, dammit.”

Her eyes shot open at the sound of his voice. “I won’t.”

“Get me the whiskey.”

“I don’t think you should drink right now, Sam.”

“Get the goddamn whiskey. Now!”

“Okay, okay.” She gently laid his head down, then scrambled over, grabbed the bottle, and hurried back to his side.

“Give me a drink.”

She pulled out the cork and lifted the bottle to his lips. He took a few gulps.

“Now pour some on the wound.”

She frowned at him.

“Just do it.”

She did, and it was all she could do not to drop the bottle when he sucked in a pain-whistled breath. She sat there helplessly watching him take slow, deep breaths.

Then he opened his eye and looked at her. “Lift me up a little.”

She raised him up.

“More,” he rasped. “So I can see the wound.” She shifted so her body held him up.

“Pull the shirt aside.”

She did as he asked.

He looked down and said, “Okay, put me back down.” She did.

“Give me some more to drink.”

She lifted the bottle, and he chugged down some more whiskey.

“That’s better. Get some kind of cloth to press against the wound to slow the bleeding.”

Slowly she lifted his head off her lap and gently settled him back on the floor. She rushed over to the blanket, grabbed it, and hurried back. She knelt next to him and pressed a corner of the blanket against his wound. She started crying again.

“Would you stop crying all over me? You’re getting me wet.” He opened his sleepy eye and gave her a long look, then a bit of a smile. “Don’t worry, Lollipop. I’ve had worse.”

“But I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m going to sleep now. You press that against it and it’ll stop bleeding soon. It should have some stitches, but . . .” His voice tapered off.