Across A Thousand Miles. Nadia Nichols

truck, his booted feet sticking out into the snow. “Well,” Sam said, hunkering down on his heels and peering beneath the truck’s frame. “How does she look?”

      “She looks like a broken U-joint to me,” came the muffled reply. “As a matter of fact, she looks just as broke today as she looked yesterday.”

      “You’ll need to jack her up,” Sam suggested mildly.

      “Damn straight, and if I had a jack I would, but this old truck of Brian’s doesn’t seem to be blessed with one, and to tell you the truth, I think I’d rather be horse-whipped than ask Rebecca Reed if I could borrow hers.”

      “Well, now, son, I don’t see why that should bother you. Rebecca’s a good woman.”

      There was a thump, a grunt of pain, and then, with much wriggling, Mac squeezed out from beneath the truck and sat up. A thin trickle of blood ran from a gouge over his left eyebrow. “I’m sure she is,” he said, rubbing the wound and smearing it with grease. “But that woman dislikes me and I don’t blame her. We’ve hardly known each other two days and already I owe her a lot of money. I’ve never owed anybody anything in my entire life. It’s no wonder she thinks poorly of me.”

      “Oh, now, she don’t think bad of you.”

      Mac laughed. “Well, if she doesn’t, she sure puts on a good show.” He climbed to his feet and brushed the snow off his pants. “I can’t do anything without getting the hind end of this truck off the ground. I better just bite the bullet and go ask if I can borrow her jack. She probably has three or four of ’em, all heavy-duty monsters capable of lifting a Mack truck.

      “She has at least two that I know of,” Sam agreed. “I’ll ask her, if you want.”

      Mac shook his head. “Thanks. I’ll do it. Her opinion of me can’t get much lower.”

      They both heard the approaching truck at the same time, and moments later Rebecca’s old red Ford lumbered into view, plowing up a wave of snow before it. She cut the engine as she drove around Mac’s truck, opened the cab door and dropped to the ground. “Gosh! I thought for sure you’d have it all fixed by now,” she said.

      “Couldn’t jack her up,” he said. “Couldn’t find the jack…”

      “Ah,” she said, nodding calmly. “Well, I’ve got one. A good heavy-duty one.” She turned and walked back to the truck and Mac watched her, admiring the way she moved, her self-possessed grace, wishing more than anything in the world that he could do just one thing right in this woman’s presence. He saw her struggling with the heavy jack and moved to help her.

      “This is great!” he said as he took it from her hands. “This’ll do the job. Thanks.”

      “You’re bleeding,” she said.

      “Bumped my head.” He turned back toward his truck. In a matter of minutes the vehicle was jacked up enough for him to crawl beneath it with his tools and spare parts spread on an old blanket beside him.

      “How about a light?” Sam said.

      “Oh, he doesn’t need one,” Rebecca said. “He told me he could work blindfolded, he’s that good.”

      “Well, there’s a headlamp on the front seat,” Mac said. “if you wouldn’t mind passing it to me.”

      He heard her footsteps march up to the driver’s side. She wrenched open the door. Long pause. “I don’t see any lamp.”

      “Look under the stuff on the passenger’s side,” Mac called out, picturing the horror in her beautiful eyes as she beheld the heaps of trash in the cab of his brother’s truck. “It’s buried in there somewhere.”

      She climbed into the cab, and as she did so, the truck began to move.

      “Hey!” Mac shouted. Seconds later the vehicle shifted just enough for the jack to kick out from beneath the bumper. The back of the truck banged down hard, making him cry out as the air was driven from his lungs. He tried to move but couldn’t. The undercarriage of the truck pressed against him as one of the tires slid more deeply into a rut.

      “Mac? Mac! Are you okay?” he heard her ask as her feet hit the ground.

      “I’m fine,” he managed. “But…I’m kind of…pinned… under here…”

      “Help me, Sam!” Rebecca sounded scared. “We’ve got to get this thing back up! Chock the front wheels again, front and back! Hurry!” Mac heard the frenzy of coordinated movements as they got the jack under the rear bumper and worked the long handle. The rear of the truck rose slowly, and he felt the pressure against his chest ease, though breathing was still difficult. “I think that’s enough!” Rebecca said. “Mac? Can you move at all?”

      “Yeah,” he said, the word more gasped than spoken. “I’m fine. I just got wedged in a little too tightly.” He slowly inched his way out and just as slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked at her…and felt as if he were gazing into the face of a beautiful angel that was drifting slowly away from him and into a gathering darkness.

      “Mac?” Rebecca said, and then caught him as he slumped forward into her arms.

      “WELL, BILL MACKENZIE, I think you’ll live,” Sadie Hedda said, corralling medical paraphernalia into her bag. “You’ll be a little sore, but that’s to be expected after being squashed by a truck. You’re young and strong and in very good shape. Your blood pressure is stable, and I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding. Like I said, you have at least six cracked ribs and some pretty impressive bruising, so you’ll be laid up for a while, and we’ll have to keep the ribs taped. But I don’t see any long-term complications unless you do something foolish, like puncture a lung.” Sadie shrugged into her parka and tucked her flaming mane of shoulder-length hair beneath a thick fleece hat. Her broad freckled face broke into a smile, and she reached to give Rebecca’s arm a squeeze, walking with her to the door. She lowered her voice to a barely audible murmur. “Jeez, Becky, you landed yourself a live one here! He’s one handsome son of a gun!”

      “He’s not mine,” Rebecca said stonily. “How long does he have to stay in bed?”

      “If I were you,” Hedda advised, “I’d keep him there as long as possible.”

      “Sadie! I’m serious. My first clients of the season are coming to stay in this cabin very soon, and I need to do a lot of work on it before they arrive. I can’t have it tied up as a hospital! Shouldn’t we transport him into Dawson?”

      “He’d be better off not moving. He’ll need a week of bed rest, followed by another three weeks of recuperation.”

      Rebecca stared over Sadie’s shoulder at the man who lay on the lower bunk on the cabin wall opposite the woodstove. He apparently felt her gaze and turned his head to meet her eyes. In the soft glow of lamplight his eyes were unreadable. She felt a twinge of guilt, but after all, she had a business to run.

      “Look, Sadie, I’ll have to take him into Dawson. He’ll get a lot more attention at the clinic. I have too much work to do here.”

      “Well,” Sadie said, “it’s up to you, of course. I understand how things are. Can you possibly keep him here for two days? Yes? Good!” She pulled on her mitts and reached for her bag. “Becky, I wish you all the best, but I have to go. Roady Dan’s woman is expecting any moment now, and I promised I’d stay near my radio phone.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, Bill MacKenzie, and no getting out of that bed to fix your truck!” she said. Then, with Rebecca on her heels, she exited the guest cabin and walked to her pickup truck.

      “Thanks for coming so quickly, Sadie,” Rebecca said. “I appreciate it.”

      “No problem. Keep an eye on him, Becky. He’s just the sort to try and crawl out of here under his own power. He really shouldn’t be moving around at all for a while.” With a cheerful wave, the nurse practitioner and