Chapter 35 Bridget
Bridget hung up the telephone and wanted to scream.
Red had it all wrong and it was her fault.
Her fault he’d left for a job who-knows-where, and her fault Claire had to rescue Beth Henshaw.
Now Red thought Claire had left him when that was nothing close to the truth.
She hadn’t been able to explain it all to Red after she heard that click on the party line.
She’d bet her bottom dollar it was Pete Henshaw listening in.
Now she had to get to Riverside before Red did something stupid.
She checked the duty roster, then called the upstairs extension. Beckett answered in a sleepy voice. After some begging and promises, Beckett said she’d be down in a few minutes. “Don’t tell Larkin,” Bridget warned. “She’s on the warpath after that fire alarm fiasco.”
If Larkin knew she was leaving the floor without permission, Bridget could kiss her recommendation—and the job at Mayo Clinic—goodbye.
Bridget hung up and pulled open the closet where the nurses and doctors stowed their personal items. Dr. Sampson’s jacket hung on the hanger where he’d exchanged it for his white doctor’s coat.
She slipped her hand in the pocket and fished out his keys.
His shift wasn’t over for hours, and by that time she’d be back.
She was almost to the front door when a voice as sharp as broken glass stopped her in her tracks. “Reilly, where do you think you’re going?”
Bridget turned around slowly to face Larkin, who stood in the waiting room with a thunderous expression. “I have a family emergency.”
“And you may go when your shift is over, in”—Larkin looked at her watch—“one hour and fifty minutes.”
“Beckett is covering for me,” Bridget offered without much hope.
Larkin stared at Bridget as if daring her to walk out that door.
Bridget wavered, the job at Mayo and her apartment in Rochester teetering on the precipice of Larkin’s disfavor.
But Claire . . . her sister. Her best friend.
Bridget had made such a hash of things. Claire had been heartbroken about Red .
. . and what she said about Mother proved just how distraught her sister was.
Bridget had to fix this mess. She let out a long breath, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.
The light-green Thunderbird was the only car in the parking lot. She slid into the driver’s seat and stared at the steering wheel for a long moment. She’d seen people drive plenty of times. It couldn’t be that hard. Then why was her heart hammering like she was about to take off in a space rocket?
The key went into the ignition, and she turned it.
The engine roared to life. “So far, so good,” she said, putting her trembling hands on the steering wheel.
She moved the gearshift into drive and tapped one of the pedals.
The car shot forward. She panicked and jammed her foot on the other pedal.
The car jerked to a stop. This would work.
She’d drive to Riverside, talk to Red, and drive back.
She just hoped she wouldn’t meet any other cars on the road.
Five minutes later, the Thunderbird crept out of Mammoth Hot Springs toward Madison Junction.
The speedometer said she was going twenty-five miles per hour.
That seemed fast, so she let off on the gas a little.
The road was—thankfully—almost empty this late at night.
The full moon had risen, and the river gleamed in a bright ribbon beside the road as she concentrated on staying in her lane and considered what she would say to Red.
Claire wasn’t leaving him. Whatever was going on between them, they could work it out. She just knew it. Not because of the novels she read where the happy ending was guaranteed, but because she knew Claire.
She pushed down on the gas pedal and the speedometer crept up to thirty.
Claire was the bravest person Bridget had ever known.
She’d gone to teachers’ college in Moorhead, then learned to drive so she could teach thirty miles away at Tara School, even though Dad already got a job for her at Willmar Consolidated.
But no, she wanted to teach in a one-room schoolhouse and that’s what she did.
She braved snowstorms and ice and fought the school board tooth and nail to keep Tara open despite yearly threats to shut it down and bus students to Willmar.
Claire Reilly had been a force to reckon with.
But Claire Wilder . . . Claire Wilder was a wonder.
Not only did she have a baby in this wilderness, she knew how to shoot a gun and fish and even cook wild animals. She rode a horse—a horse!—and did her own laundry and drove a truck.
And Red.
It was hard not to admire him at least a little. He was just as brave and capable as Claire—whether it was shooting an elk to feed his family or changing a diaper—and wasn’t that about as romantic a hero as she’d ever read about in her books?
Bridget had always wondered what it would be like to be brave like Claire. To go on her own adventure like the nurses in her novels. The closest she’d come to making that a reality was the Mayo Clinic in Rochester but that grand plan had just gone up in smoke.
The full moon lit the road before her, as she took the road west toward Norris Junction and drove a tiny bit faster.
She was going to have to apologize to Red.
She never should have made that promise to Dad.
And what Red had said about her father—that he’d made himself the center of their lives—she’d given that a lot of thought.
Dad had spent the last twenty years taking care of his girls—protecting them—and maybe he didn’t know how to stop.
As much as she hated to admit Red was right, maybe it was time for Dad to let go of his tight hold on Claire.
And time for Red and Claire to hold on to each other with all their might.
Because wasn’t that what all the romance books were really about?
That love—real love—was worth fighting for?
Maybe it sounded a little corny, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Bridget passed the deserted ranger station at the edge of the park and slowed to a crawl to make the right-hand turn up highway 191 toward Riverside. She was glad the intersection was deserted, because she couldn’t find the turn signal.
She was picking up speed again when the Thunderbird’s headlights illuminated a lone figure on the side of the road. She knew that cowboy hat and the lanky silhouette. She stomped on the brakes and came to a screeching halt. “I told you to stay put,” she said.
“Where did you . . . ?” He stared at the Thunderbird.
“Doesn’t matter right now.” Bridget fumbled, then remembered how to put the car in park. “Get in. I have to talk to you.”
Red opened the passenger door and sat down heavily on the leather seat. “Where is she, Bridget? I went to the Depot and to all the motels in West.”
“Listen, Red. It’s not what you think.” She filled him in about Beth Henshaw, shivering in the cool night air. She’d left the hospital in her uniform and without even a sweater. “Claire isn’t leaving you. She’s getting Beth to her parents in Idaho and then she’ll come right back.”
There. That should settle things. She might be able to patch things up with Larkin if she got back quick.
In the light of the dashboard, she saw Red’s clenched jaw and stony expression.
What was wrong now? Red should be relieved.
Claire was helping out a friend and then she’d be back, and they could iron out their differences.
She slapped at a mosquito. “I couldn’t tell you on the phone because of the party line.
For all I knew, the Henshaws were listening in and I didn’t want them to know where Beth was going. ”
Red twisted in his seat to face her. “Why should I believe you?”
Bridget’s brows came down. Of all the nerve. Here she’d kissed her recommendation goodbye and he was accusing her of lying to him? Before she could summon an indignant reply, he opened his door and walked around the car to the driver’s side. “Move over.”
“What?” She scooted over as he got in. He put the car in gear and was driving before she’d even settled in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”
“To Ennis. To find Claire and Jenny,” he said. “I’m not going home without them.”