A Wedding in Apple Grove (12 page)

If the roar of the freight train moving at killing speed didn't keep him up nights for the rest of his life, Doyle's next words would. “Coach, help! Hawkins can't swim.”

Dan wiped the water from his eyes and struck out toward Doyle who was trying to reach his friend. He swam past Doyle and dove under the surface, reaching and praying.
God
help
me
save
this
boy.

The water was clear and he saw Hawkins a few feet away. Adrenaline pumping through his system, he reached Hawkins, yanked him to the surface, and swam for the shoreline, never once breaking the silent chant in his head praying for help.

He dragged Hawkins out of the water and turned him on his stomach, pushing on his back to force the water out of his lungs.

“I've got it from here.” Sheriff Wallace took over while Dan stood up and started back toward the water.

“You all right, Doyle?”

“Yeah,” Doyle said, wiping his hands over his eyes. “I couldn't swim fast enough.” Their gazes met and Dan saw the tears pooling in the boy's eyes. “I thought he was gonna drown.”

Dan shook his head. “Sheriff Wallace is coaxing the river water out of his lungs.”

Doyle sat down on a rock next to his friend and shook like a wet dog. Dan let the boy watch in silence. These two had a very important lesson to learn. If Doyle thought Hawkins still might die, it might shake them up enough to face some hard truths—the biggest one being friends don't let friends talk them into diving off a railroad trestle bridge.

The wail of a siren was getting louder, but Dan didn't look away; he concentrated on willing every ounce of strength left in his body into that of the Hawkins boy. Drained, he didn't notice at first when Hawkins moaned, but he did when the boy puked up every bit of river water he'd swallowed.

Sheriff Wallace sat back and wiped his forearm across his forehead. “Hang on, help is on its way.”

The scene was soon swarming with emergency vehicles. The EMTs had pulled up right behind one of the deputies. When the boys were bundled up and tucked in the back of the ambulance, Mitch walked over to where Dan stood looking out over the water.

“You saved their lives, Dan.”

“But did I put the idea in their heads in the first place?”

“Did you know we had a railroad bridge spanning the river?”

He shook his head. “But I can't help but feel—”

“Relief. Say a prayer of thanks for God's help rescuing those two and quit blaming yourself.”

Dan's voice was thick with emotion; he cleared his throat and asked, “Does it always feel this way?”

“Hell no,” the sheriff answered. “The outcome's not always this positive. Brace yourself, Dan.”

Dan grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and started to wring some of the water out of it. “For what?”

“The onslaught—heroes are not forgotten in Apple Grove.”

***

“Mulcahy's, Meg speaking.”

“Oh my God, Meg! Did you hear?”

Meg took a moment to stretch her back; working bent over was almost as hard as working over her head for any length of time. “No, what's up, Gracie?”

“Cindy just called—it's all over town!”

Meg was ready for a break after replacing gnawed-on wire, so she sat down on the Smiths' attic floor and waited for her sister to get around to telling her. “What is?”

“Daniel Eagan is a hero!”

Meg's heart stuttered in her breast. She didn't want to appear too eager, but she definitely wanted to know what her sister was talking about. “What happened?”

Gracie relayed the tale of Dan's driving out to the railroad trestle bridge and then pulling Charlie Doyle and Tommy Hawkins out of harm's way. Before Meg could process the news, her sister added, “He saved Tommy from drowning.”

It was a good thing Meg was sitting down, because that last comment knocked the wind right out of her.

“Meg? Are you still there?”

“Um, yeah, yes. I'm here.” She paused for a moment and then had to ask, “Gracie, do you swear you and Cindy didn't cook this up?”

“On a stack of Bibles, Sis.”

The impact of the news was a little scary. “What were the three of them doing out at the bridge anyway?”

“Cindy didn't know. I'm going to call Peggy and Katie in a minute, but I had to tell you first.”

“Thanks, Gracie. See what you can find out and call me back. I just finished up here and am headed back to the shop.”

“In case you were wondering, there's an impromptu get together at Slater's Mill in about an hour.”

Meg sighed; she was really tired and had been looking forward to heading home to a hot shower and a cold beer.

“Dan's a real hero. Are you seriously thinking of not going?”

Meg's tired brain cleared.

“I'm not sure what time I'll get there, but I will definitely be there. Thanks for telling me, Grace.”

“What are sisters for? Hey, that's Peggy calling right now. Gotta go!”

Meg pulled into the parking lot behind the shop and her driver's side door swung open. Honey B. Harrington was working up to a full head of steam. Before Meg could protest, Honey reached in, pulled her from the truck, and spun her around and then started to pat her back as if searching for something. “Girl, I thought you had a backbone. Where the heck did it go?”

Meg burst out laughing. “Only you would dare to ask me that, Honey B.”

“You are so getting in the shower right now and going over to Slater's Mill with me. You got that?”

Meg wanted to tell Honey B. that she'd already decided she was going but knew better than to open her mouth when Honey B. was getting ready to kick ass and take names. She nodded.

“I'm picking you up at the house in twenty minutes,” her friend told her. “So be ready.” Meg had her toolbox in hand and was opening the back door to the shop when Honey B. called out, “You are going wear something other than a ratty old T-shirt and your farmer jeans tonight!”

“It would serve you right if I showed up in a pair of my dad's jeans.”

Honey narrowed her eyes at Meg and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “You are going to wear whatever I bring with me.”

“We haven't shared clothes since high school.”

“Don't worry. By the time I get done dressing you up, you'll look great.”

When she spun around on her heel and walked away, Meg just shook her head. “That woman is bossier than me.”

“You know it, Sis,” Caitlin said as she held the door open for Meg.

“I'd hate to be on her bad side,” Grace said.

Meg sighed. “I hope she brings a cotton T-shirt for me to wear.”

Her sisters grinned and ushered her into the shop. “I'll put away your tools,” Caitlin offered.

Twenty minutes later, right on the dot, Honey B. honked the horn as she pulled into the driveway at the Mulcahy house. Meg answered the door in her bib overalls and ripped Guinness T-shirt. “Well, Honey B., what a surprise.”

Her friend smiled and tossed a pair of jeans and a silky shirt at her. “Get dressed. We don't want to be late.”

Meg grumbled, “Can't we be fashionably late so I can catch a catnap?”

Honey pushed Meg toward the bathroom door and sympathized. “I'm tired too, but we don't want to miss out on our first chance to plant the seeds of doubt in Mitch Wallace's pea-brain.”

“I thought we were going to support Dan.”

“We are,” Honey B., told her. “It's a side benefit that I can get underneath Mitch's skin at the same time.”

Meg wiggled into the jeans and sucked in a breath in order to zip them. “I don't think I can breathe in these.”

“Doesn't matter as long as you look good. Besides, we used to wear the same size. I'm guessing you just started wearing a bigger size when you started working for your Dad full-time—not that you needed to.”

Meg frowned at her reflection; the jeans definitely looked different. She wasn't used to such a snug fit. “I'm not sure, Honey B.”

“I'm coming in.”

Meg let her in and shook her head. “I don't think I'll be sitting down tonight, either.”

“Put this on, and for heaven's sake, take your hair out of that ponytail.”

Meg shimmied into the figure-flattering silky shirt and was surprised at how it changed her appearance. The fabric clung to her figure and flattered her shape, rather than hiding it. “I don't look like myself.”

“And that, my dear friend,” Honey B. said, “is the point. Are you ready to kick some butt?”

“I thought the point was to cheer for our new local hero.”

“We will, and he deserves all of the attention he'll be getting tonight. Besides, it's high time somebody else did something heroic, other than our intrepid sheriff.”

“You sure about this?”

“Dead sure.”

“All right, I'm ready.”

Honey shook her head and reached for the elastic band holding Meg's hair away from her face. “Now bend over and shake out your hair.”

Meg did as she was told and had the shock of her life when her hair fell softly against her neck. The woman looking back at her had flushed cheeks and tousled hair—it definitely looked like she'd just climbed out of the backseat of some guy's car. “I look—”

“Totally hot, my friend,” Honey said, taking Meg's hand. “Let's go.”

“See you at the shop, Pop!”

“You look lovely, Megan.”

She frowned and her father's smile widened. “The image of your mother.”

“Except for the hair,” she grumbled, knowing he was only trying to make her feel better.

He bent down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Try to have a nice time and don't get home too late.”

“Pop, I'll be going back to my apartment, remember?”

His frown was fierce, but his words gentle. “See if Wallace will escort you home.”

“Pop!”

“Never mind. I'll call him myself.”

“He never changes.”

Honey B.'s smile was wistful. “I wish my father were here to worry about me like that.”

“Are you going to visit your folks this year?”

Her friend shook her head. “I can't afford the time away from the salon. Maybe in a year or two.”

“They really like living in Florida, don't they?”

“Yeah.” Honey B. grinned. “Who would have thought it was possible?”

“Not me,” Meg answered as they walked to Honey's car.

***

Meg felt Honey B.'s hand in the middle of her back as she stood in the doorway to Slater's Mill. She'd always loved this place. The knotty pine paneling on the walls, the tables scattered across the wide expanse of the old mill, and especially the mile-long bar on the second floor kept the younger crowd from going out of town to find places to congregate. She'd spent time upstairs and knew it would be busy later on tonight.

She inhaled and sighed. “Charcoal broiled burger with cheese, hold the onions, and pile on the cheesy fries!”

Honey B. was laughing when they heard someone calling to them.

“Honey B.! Meg!” an elderly voice called out. “Over here.”

Meg saw Miss Trudi and Mrs. Winter at a table in the corner and started walking, avoiding the crowd at the center of the room. “Hello, ladies. How are you tonight?”

The two were positively vibrating with excitement. “Have you heard?” Mrs. Winter asked.

“Can you believe it?” Miss Trudi added. “Only in town a few days and already my grandnephew is a hero!” She fanned herself with a paper napkin embossed with an etching of the mill in its earlier days, and motioned for Meg and Honey B. to join them.

Meg pulled over a chair from another table and sat down. “I've heard bits and pieces of the story, but not the why of it. What were those boys and Dan doing on that bridge?”

Miss Trudi's eyes were so bright, for a moment Meg wondered if the older woman was feverish.

“I hear tell,” Miss Trudi began, “that the boys were discussing those idiotic Smolinsky brothers from the football team who borrowed Ned's cherry picker and stacked the tires on the school's flagpole—”

“And then tried to climb it and had to be rescued!” Mrs. Winter finished for her.

“What is it with boys that they are always trying to outdo one another?” Miss Trudi asked.

Meg shook her head. “I only have sisters.”

Honey B. tapped her on the arm and pointed toward the crowd surrounding a table in the middle of the room.

There were a bunch of bruisers from the football team, the entire soccer team, and their dads in the group—as well as a few women. “Men,” Meg said. “Probably telling tales like the one about the large-mouthed bass that got away.”

Miss Trudi patted Meg on the hand. “Now, dear, you know they love stories of derring-do.”

Mrs. Winter nodded in agreement. “Dan's rescue is such a dashing tale.”

Meg nodded. “It is. Too bad about the other night—”

“What night?” Miss Trudi asked.

Meg felt her cheeks growing warm as she tried to backpedal and keep from confessing that she was turned inside out with frustration not knowing who Dan had been cooking for the other night.

“Don't just sit there like you swallowed a mouthful of castor oil,” Mrs. Winter said. “Tell us.”

Meg looked at Honey B., who was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. She sighed and gave in. “Dan was cooking a special meal for someone the other night. Whatever he'd put in the oven smelled delicious,” she admitted, “but it was the single red rose he'd laid across the plate that's been keeping me up nights.”

Miss Trudi and Mrs. Winter shared a knowing look. Meg didn't want to know what that might mean—well, she did, but she wouldn't admit it. Honey B. distracted her again when she tapped her arm a second time. Meg looked over in time to watch the McCormack sisters, Cindy Harrington, and Beatrice Wallace working their way through the growing crowd.