Chapter Seventeen #2
Instead, she stayed beside Delly and did what was needed there.
Samuel was carried toward town on a makeshift stretcher, pale but alive.
Mrs. Dawes came running, half wild with fear, and nearly collapsed when Jeb told her the shoulder was bad, but the arm remained.
Dr. Paine met the stretcher with his black bag and a face grim enough to silence even Mrs. Hanford.
The men stood in small clusters afterward, breathing hard. Lottie’s hands were sandy. Her skirt was ruined. Her heart had not yet slowed.
Then Delly turned toward Jeb.
The whole beach seemed to notice at once that something besides the accident had reached its breaking point.
Lottie did not mean to listen, but her sister’s voice carried.
“I love you, Jebediah Simms.”
Jeb stared at Delly as if the words had struck him harder than the falling beam.
Around them, men shifted, trying not to stare and failing thoroughly. Delly kept talking. Lottie stood ten feet away with sand in her shoes and tears rising again, because her sensible sister had finally done the most reckless, beautiful thing in the world.
She had said what was true while it could still cost her. Jeb answered.
Lottie could not hear every word, but she heard enough. Wanted you since the dock. Loved you longer than I had courage to name it. If you are asking whether I still want you, yes.
Then he asked if he could kiss his wife.
Olsen gave an awkward cheer before anyone could stop him. The beach burst into relieved laughter. Men suddenly found reasons to haul lumber, gather rope, inspect nails, and become fascinated by sand.
Jeb kissed Delly in front of God, the lake, half the logging camp, and every Busy Bee who had arrived in time for the best part.
Lottie cried outright. Cornelia found her and handed her a handkerchief without comment.
“I have one,” Lottie said, accepting it anyway.
“I thought you might require reinforcement.”
Across the beach, Cecil stood apart from the laughing men. He had watched Jeb and Delly too.
Lottie knew it before his gaze found hers.
For a moment, there was no crowd between them. Not a beam, nor preacher’s words. Cecil studied her from beside the plank he had helped lift, his hand hanging at his side.
He had seen it.
Love under pressure didn’t take over.
A love that called a wounded man back to himself and trusted him to act.
Lottie wiped her cheeks. Cecil took one step toward her, and her breath caught. Suddenly Luke clapped him hard on the shoulder and said something that made Cecil look away. The moment folded back into the noise of the beach.
It had existed, and Lottie felt steadier for having seen it.
Later, when the beach had emptied somewhat, and the beam had been hauled back where it belonged, she found Cecil near the water washing sand from his hand. He shifted his shoulders when he heard her approach, but he did not turn.
“Your hand,” she said.
“It held.”
“I saw.”
He dipped his fingers into the water, then winced at the cold.
Lottie wanted to kneel beside him, but she stayed where she stood.
“Samuel will keep his arm,” she said.
“Aye.”
“Jeb knew what to do.”
“Your sister brought Jeb back.”
The words settled between them. Lottie looked toward the part of the beach where Delly and Jeb had stood together, their confession still seeming to warm the surrounding air.
“She did not save him by standing in front of him,” Lottie said.
“No.”
“She stood near enough for him to remember himself.”
Cecil looked down at his hand in the water. “You make it sound simple.”
“It did not look simple.”
His mouth drew tight.
Lottie stepped closer. “I understand something now,” she said.
He wouldn’t look at her. “What?”
“I cannot drag you into courage.”
His gaze lifted then. The pain in it was immediate.
“I cannot argue you into choosing me,” she said. “There are not enough times I can kiss your hand to make you believe it is beautiful. I cannot stand in front of your fear and command it to step aside.”
“Lottie.”
She held up her hand. “Let me finish. I can stand near and tell the truth. I refuse to call fear by prettier names, and, Cecil Peterson, I cannot do your choosing for you.” She looked at his disfigured hand in the lake water, then back to his face. “I will not try anymore.”
“You are done with me, then,” he said.
“No.” His breath caught. “I am done chasing you.”
Cecil stood slowly.
He was very close now. Too close for a conversation that was supposed to be sensible. His wet hand hung between them, dripping lake water into the sand. His left hand lifted, almost to her cheek, then stopped halfway.
Lottie did not move.
The air between them tightened as Cecil’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her foolish heart rose to meet him, though she had told it not to. He did not kiss her. Instead, he closed his eyes and lowered his hand.
“I do not know how to be the man who walks forward,” he said.
“Then start with one step.”
His eyes opened.
“That is all Jeb did,” she said. “One command. One breath. A single plank lifted because it had to be lifted.”
Cecil looked toward the place where the beam had fallen.
“Your hand held,” she whispered. “So did you.”
His remaining fingers flexed once. A shout came from up the beach, calling Peterson.
Of course.
Wild Rose Ridge had a gift for interruption.
Cecil looked over his shoulder, then back at Lottie.
“Go,” she said. He hesitated. She smiled, though it hurt. “I am not going anywhere.”
The words reached him, then he turned and went to help the men with the ropes, walking not quickly, not away from her, but toward what needed doing.
Lottie stayed by the lake and watched him go.
Behind her, Delly laughed through tears at something Jeb said. The sound was new and familiar at once.
Love had not made her sister safe.
It had made her brave.
Lottie looked down at her own hands, still sandy from holding Samuel’s. She had meant what she told Cecil.
She would not chase him now.
On the Fourth of July, if he still could not step forward, she would speak the truth in the open and plan to leave Wild Rose Ridge.