Megs stopped recordingand slipped the cafeteria receipt she’d been using as a bookmark between the pages, laughing to herself. “They all seemed afraid of me for a while after that. Not one of them ever tried to grab my butt.”
As for those papers, Mitch had eventually learned the truth.
It touched her in a way she couldn’t quite explain to read about Mitch’s protectiveness toward her. He’d been there for her almost from the day she’d met him, watching out for her and supporting her as a climber. He’d always been good at reading people, but she’d had no idea how well he’d read her.
“You were right. I was terrified that you all would learn my secret—or that the rangers would kick me out of the park. He just wanted to warn me about all of you. He told me you weren’t law-abiding young men and that you all would take advantage of me in ways I couldn’t yet understand. I guess he thought I didn’t know about sex.”
She’d still been a virgin, but she hadn’t been innocent. Her stepfather had stolen that from her. The bastard.
Megs let that thought go, slid her fingers between his, a smile on her face. “You know what else happened that day? I realized that you liked me, and that was the beginning of my crush on you. You were the first man to stand up for me.”
It sounded a little pathetic when she put it like that. A girl falls for the first adult man to treat her with respect and dignity. But when she’d never experienced such kindness from a man before, how could she help but be drawn to him?
“I didn’t know the ranger who’d frisked you had grabbed your meat.” She laughed. “I wondered why the guys spent the next week or so joking about the size of your dick. I guess I can’t really blame them. You were pissed—and probably a little embarrassed. I will admit that itdidmake me curious.”
She learned that Gridwall was a draft dodger that day when he’d come down from his bolt-hole among the boulders, pumped up on adrenaline and proud of himself for once against sticking it to the man. When he heard all that had happened, he’d started calling Megs “our little murderer,” which she much preferred to “the blonde.”
“I always wondered how Dean became friends with Gridwall—the good-hearted Vietnam vet and the drug-using draft dodger. You told me that they represented for each other the road not taken, and—”
A knock.
“Lab.” A young woman entered, a cart of phlebotomy gear with her.
Megs stood. “You’re here for a blood draw.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Megs understood now why they’d put in that subclavian line. Mitch’s veins would be a mess with all these blood draws and all the IV meds.
She took advantage of the moment to go to the restroom and get a cup of coffee. When she returned, she found the hospital chaplain sitting at his bedside, praying in silence. Then he looked up, and she saw his nametag.
The Rev. Kurt Calder.
Oh, my God.
Dean’s son.
He was grown up now and obviously some kind of pastor or priest. He was also the clear image of his father—same dark hair, same brown eyes, same mouth. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a little boy, no more than five or six years old.
He saw her, stood, a smile on his face. “Hi, Megs. I hope you don’t mind my coming. When I heard what had happened, I had to come see you, even if you didn’t request me. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course. I’m so glad you stopped by. You’re tall, just like your father, and you look so much like him.”
“I hear that a lot.” Kurt stood, motioned toward the chair. “Please sit. I’ll get another chair.”
He returned a few minutes later with an extra chair and sat near the foot of Mitch’s bed. “I’m really sorry to see you again under these circumstances. I’ve wanted to get in touch with you and Mitch for my entire adult life to thank you for keeping my father’s memory alive. I wish I hadn’t waited until now.”
His words, so unexpected, made Megs’ throat go tight.
She waited until she was confident she could speak without her voice breaking. “Your father was a good man—and a good friend.”
Kurt seemed to take this in, then he met Megs’ gaze. “How is Mitch?”
“You don’t have to be a chaplain with me, Kurt. If you want to talk about your dad, that’s fine. I’ve been thinking about the old days a lot.”
Kurt was quiet for a moment, clearly a deep thinker like his father. “The hardest thing for me is that I barely remember him. He was away so often, and I was only six when he died.”
In those words, Megs sensed a lifetime of loss. She recognized it because she shared it. Dean had been one of her best friends.
