His Virgin Wife: The Wedding in White / Caught in the Crossfire / The Virgin's Secret Marriage

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 quickly, please. Here’s our fax number.”

Mack jotted it down. “I’ll have it there in two minutes,” he promised. “Don’t let her die,” he added in a tone as cold as ice before he hung up.

His hands shook as he stopped the loading process and pulled up his word processor instead. He typed a quick permission note, printed it out on ranch letterhead, whipped out two pens before he found one with ink, signed it, and rushed it into the fax machine. In the time he’d promised, he had it on the way.

He cut off the computer and picked up the phone, calling a charter service in a nearby city. “I want a Learjet over here in ten minutes to take me to Dallas. Don’t tell me you can’t do it,” he added shortly. “I’ll be waiting at the local airport.” He gave the location and hung up.

There was no time to pack. He went barreling out of the office just as Bob and Charles came in behind a stunned Vivian.

“What’s going on?” Vivian asked in concern, because Mack’s face was white.

“I have no idea. But Natalie’s in a Dallas hospital about to undergo emergency surgery. I had to sign for her, so if anybody calls here and asks, we’re her cousins.”

“Where are you going?” Bob asked.

“To Dallas, of course,” Mack said impatiently, pushing past them.

“Not without us, you aren’t,” Charles told him bluntly. “Natalie belongs to all of us. I’m not staying here.”

“Neither am I,” Bob seconded.

“Where one goes, we all go,” Vivian added. “I’m the one who caused all this in the first place. Natalie needs me, and I’m going. I’ll make her listen to my apology when she’s well.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you. Get in the car. I’ll lock the door.”

“How are we going to get there?” Vivian asked as she herded her tall brothers outside.

“I’ve got a charter jet on the way.”

“Flying,” Bob told his sibling. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I like flying,” Charles agreed.

“Well, I don’t,” Vivian muttered. “But it’s quicker than driving.”

She piled into the front seat with Mack while the two boys got in back. All the way to the airport, Mack drove like a maniac. By the time they arrived, the three passengers had held their collective breaths long enough to qualify as deep-sea divers.

They spilled out in the parking lot at the small airport. The jet was already there, as the charter service had promised, gassed up and ready, with its door open and the ladder down.

Mack didn’t say a word until he shook hands with the pilot and copilot and got into the back with his sister and brothers. Until now, he’d had the organization of the trip to keep his mind off the danger of the situation.

Now, with hours with nothing to do but think during the flight, he recalled what the surgeon had said to him—that Natalie could die. He had no idea what had happened. He had to know. He pulled the cell phone he always carried from his pocket and, after checking with the pilot that it was safe to use once they were in the air, he got the number of the Dallas hospital and bullied his way verbally to a resident in the emergency room. He explained who he was, asked if the fax had been received and was told that Miss Brock was in surgery. They had no report on her condition, except that there was at least one stab wound and one of her lungs had collapsed. The resident was sorry, but he had no further information. Mack told him an approximate arrival time and hung up.

“A knife wound?” Bob exclaimed. “Our Nat?”

“She’s a teacher,” Vivian said miserably. “Some students are very dangerous these days.”

“She teaches grammar school,” Mack said disgustedly. “How could a little kid stab her?”

“It might have been someone related to one of the little kids,” Charles offered.

Vivian brushed back her blond hair. “It’s my fault if she dies,” she said quietly.

“She’s not going to die,” Mack said firmly. “Don’t talk like that!”

She glanced at him, saw his expression and put her hand over his. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

He averted his face, but he didn’t shake off her hand. He was terrified. He’d never been so frightened in all his life. If he lost Natalie, there was nothing in the world to live for. It would be the end, the absolute end of everything.

Chapter 9