After a minute of painful silence, Vivian got up and left him there. She loved her brother. It devastated her to realize how much she’d hurt him lately. And that was nothing to what she’d done to Natalie. She could never make up for what she’d cost Natalie and her brother. But she wished she had the chance to try.
Natalie, meanwhile, had settled into a small apartment near the school. She’d interviewed for the position and after a few days, she was notified that she had the job. The teaching roster had been filled for the year, but one of the teachers had come down with hepatitis and couldn’t continue, so there was a vacancy. Natalie was just what they wanted for the third graders, a bilingual teacher who could understand and communicate with the Hispanic students. She was glad she’d opted for Spanish for her language sequence instead of German, which had been her first choice. It had been one of only a few good moves she’d made in her life.
She thought about Vivian’s painful visit and the admission that she’d lied to Mack about Natalie and Whit. So Mack knew, but he hadn’t tried to stop her. He hadn’t phoned or written. Apparently she didn’t even mean that much to him. He must have meant all the terrible things he’d said to her on the street, where everyone could hear him.
Part of her realized that it was for the best. He’d said that he didn’t want marriage or an affair, which could only have led to more misery for both of them. It was just as well that the bond was broken abruptly. But their history went back so far that she couldn’t even conceive of life without Mack. And when Vivian was herself, they’d had such wonderful times together, along with Bob and Charles. Natalie had felt as if she belonged to the Killains, and they to her. Now she was cut adrift again, without roots or ties. She had to adjust to being alone.
At least she had a job and a place to live. She’d found work with a temporary agency for the summer so that she could save up for a few additions to her meager wardrobe for the beginning of school in August. She would survive, she promised herself. In fact, she would thrive!
But she didn’t. The days turned to weeks, and although she adjusted to her new surroundings, she still felt like an outsider. When she began teaching, she was nervous and uncertain of herself, and the children knew it and took advantage of her tentative style. Her classroom was a madhouse. It wasn’t until one of the other teachers, a veteran of first days on the job, came to restore order that she could manage to teach.
She was taken gently aside and taught how to handle her exuberant students. The next day was a different story. She kept order and began to learn the children’s names. She learned to recognize other members of the staff, and she enjoyed her work. But at night, she lay awake remembering the feel of Mack Killain’s strong arms around her, and she ached for him.
By the second week of school, she was beginning to fit in. But on the way home she passed a small basketball court and noticed two boys who looked barely high-school age pushing and shoving each other and raging at each other in language that was appalling even in a modern culture. On a whim, she went toward them.
“Okay, guys, knock it off,” she said, pushing her way between them. Unfortunately she did it just as the hand of one boy went inside his denim shirt and came out with a knife. She saw a flash of metal and felt a pain in her chest so intense that it made her fall to the ground.
“You’ve killed her, you fool!” one of them cried.
“It was your fault! She just got in the way!”
They ran away, still arguing. She lay there, feeling a wetness on the concrete around her chest. She couldn’t get air into her lungs. She heard voices. She heard traffic. She saw the blue sky turn a blinding, painful white....
Mack Killain was downloading a new package of software into his computer when the phone rang. It had been a busy summer, and the unwelcome bull roundup was under way, along with getting fattened calves ready for market and pulling out herd members that were unproductive. He’d worked himself half to death trying not to think about Natalie. He still did. She haunted him, waking and sleeping.
He picked up the receiver absently on impulse, instead of letting the answering machine take over, still loading his program while he said, “Hello?”
“Mack Killain?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. Hayes at the Dallas Medical Center,” came a voice from the other end of the line.
Mack’s heart stopped. “Natalie!” he exploded with a sense of premonition.
There was a pause. “Well, yes, I am calling about a Miss Natalie Brock. Your name and number were on an accident card in her purse. I’m trying to locate a member of her family.”
“What happened? Is she hurt?” Mack demanded.
“She needs immediate surgery or she’s going to die,” the doctor said frankly, “but I have to have written authorization for it, and she can’t sign anything. She’s unconscious. I have to have a member of her family.”
Mack felt his heart stop. He gripped the receiver tightly. “I’m her cousin,” Mack lied glibly. “I’m the only relative she has. I’ll sign for her. I can be there in two hours.”
“She’ll be dead in two hours,” came the sharp reply.
Mack closed his eyes, praying silently. “I’ve got a fax machine,” he said. “I can write out a permission slip on my letterhead and sign it and fax it to you. Will that do?”
“Yes. But
