LINDA O'BRIEN, Romance Author: HIS FORBIDDEN TOUCH preview at The Romance Club

MonaVie

Drink It ~ Feel It ~ Share It

A powerful explosion shattered the quiet summer afternoon. China cups rattled in Gertrude Johnson’s cupboards, the dozing cat scurried for cover, and Mariah Lowe, who was bandaging Gertrude’s sprained wrist, jumped.

In the eerie stillness that followed, Mariah held her breath and waited, praying silently, as the mantel clock ticked off the seconds.

The alarm sounded moments later, a high mournful wail that turned her blood to ice. Quickly, Mariah finished wrapping the woman’s wrist and closed her medical bag. "I’ll check on you tomorrow, Mrs. Johnson."

Mariah joined other women pouring into the street -- wives and mothers -- as they hurried toward the limestone quarry. Dynamite explosions were common occurrences at the quarries. But this one was much too loud. Something had gone wrong.

Mariah caught snippets of the women’s conversation as they hurried along, some talking about her: "Thank the Lord she’s come home."

Mariah forced her thoughts to the situation at hand. Two serious accidents had already occurred at the Jefferson quarry in the past month but, fortunately, no one had died. The Jefferson, like its sister quarries, the Washington and Lincoln, was mined with dynamite. The men who set the charges were experts; serious injuries were rare, which made this explosion all the more troubling.

Mariah hadn’t yet returned to town when the first two accidents happened, and for that she was grateful. Since her return, she had carefully avoided the quarries and the man who ran them. The thought of having to see Jake Sullivan again was too upsetting.

An image of Jake as he had looked ten years before flashed through her mind. Tall and broad-shouldered, with gleaming black hair and mischievous dark blue eyes, he’d been a bold, handsome daredevil with a passion for adventure. Nothing had been too risky for Jake Sullivan.

How she had loved him! At the age of sixteen, Mariah had never felt such a deep connection with anyone until Jake had come along. Four years her senior, she’d trusted him implicitly; she couldn’t have imagined life without him. He’d been her confidant, her advocate, and her heart’s true love.

Mariah knew it was inevitable that they would meet again as a doctor she could hardly avoid it ? but the thought of seeing Jake now strained her already taut nerves. She steeled herself. She had work to do. Nothing could distract her from that.

Mariah paused at the crest of a hill to survey the tragic scene below. Half of the hillside had been cut away, exposing a sheer wall of limestone that fell twenty-five feet to the immense quarry floor. Wooden derricks jutted skyward on each end of the floor, and the horses that operated them pranced nervously nearby.

In a corner near the wall three bodies lay amidst a huge rubble of stone. All that made them identifiable was their bloodied, torn clothing. Nearby lay others who’d been injured by flying debris.

Mariah started down the ramp, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth to keep out the choking dust. Why had she come back? She’d been perfectly content working in the hospital in Chicago. There she’d been anonymous. Here she was Doc Lowe’s daughter, the second child of the man they’d worshiped. Charles Lowe had devoted his life to caring for the stone workers and their families, as well as fighting for their causes. Now the people assumed she would do the same.

It wasn’t that Mariah didn’t love the picturesque town, with its wooded hills, sparkling creek, and underground caverns. It just held too many painful memories for her. She was back for only one reason: her father had requested it on his death bed. And being the dutiful daughter, she’d come home to step into his practice. It was his bag she carried now. But she was reluctant to take up his sword.

Mariah pushed through frantic women searching for their loved ones and men milling around in shock. She knelt beside a young boy of about ten years of age, lying close to the dead bodies. Blood oozed from his ears and eyes as he moaned in pain. He didn’t respond when Mariah spoke to him.

She examined him quickly, then called over her shoulder, "I need bandages and water. Someone fetch a cart! Does anyone know this boy?"

One of the stone workers crouched beside her. "This is Willy Burton, our water boy. His pa is over there." He nodded toward one of the dead men.

A women dropped to the ground on Mariah’s left, rocking back and forth as she sobbed hysterically beside another body, "It’s my Clyde; I know it is. He was wearing that shirt this morning. Oh, Lordy, he’s dead, he’s dead!"

As women gathered around to comfort her, another came rushing up with an armload of cloth followed by a man with a bucket of water. "Is Willy all right?" the woman asked.

"Poor little tyke" the woman said. "His ma died two years back and he ain’t got no relatives here. Someone’s gonna have to take him in now that his pa’s gone."

Mariah had trained herself not to show emotion when she was doctoring, yet she could feel the sting of tears behind her eyelids as she wiped the blood from the child’s face. Willy didn’t know it, but he had just become an orphan. "I’ll take him to the dispensary. Is someone bringing a cart?"

As Mariah rose to oversee the boy’s move, a full-bearded, red-haired man on her right said in a low, gravelly voice, "This accident shouldn’t have happened." He glanced over his shoulder, as though he feared being overheard. "They’ve been working us too hard to finish the road. It’s greed, pure and simple, that caused this blast."

She turned as a foreman ran over. "Doc, one of the dead men is Edmund Watts. He was touring the quarry today as part of his campaign."

Mariah drew in a sharp breath. Edmund Watts was a candidate in the upcoming senate race. His opponent was Senator Hugh Coffman, one of the owners of the quarry. "What caused the explosion?"

"All I know is we were on the far end of the floor loading stone on the wagons," the foreman told her. "Pickner, Burton and Pullins were over here giving Mr. Watts a demonstration on how to set the charges, and the danged thing just blew. They wouldn’t have used percussion caps or a detonator for a demonstration, and there’s no way it can go off without `em."

"But it did go off, didn’t it?" Mariah snapped. She closed her eyes and shook her head, appalled by her reaction. "I’m sorry."

The foreman ignored her outburst. "Willy was standing by his pa when it happened. He might be able to say what caused it."

The bearded man rumbled in her ear, "They’re working us too hard, I tell you. You gotta do something, doc."

Mariah bristled. How many times had she heard someone tell her father that? And how many times had her father charged off to do battle for them? Had it ever changed anything?

"Inform the sheriff of Mr. Watts’ death," she replied crisply. "He’ll have to notify the family. Let’s get Willy to the dispensary. Has someone sent for the undertaker?"

At the mention of that name, a jolt went through Mariah’s body. She hadn’t seen Jake yet, but she knew he was there. Every fiber of her being sensed him. "No, I am not going to talk to Jake." She ignored the man’s stunned stare.

Sam Pullins, an old friend of Mariah’s father, lay on the ground, covered by a blood-soaked blanket. Widowed years ago, Sam had worked his entire life as a stone man.

"Mariah," he croaked weakly, reaching out a trembling hand as she knelt beside him.

"Lie still, Sam. I’m going to help you." But when Mariah peeled away the covering and saw the gaping hole in his middle, she knew there was no help for Sam. Quickly, she opened her black bag, searching for the bottle of laudanum to ease his pain.

"Explosion ---" He licked his lips and tried to finish, but his words came out in a weak rasp. Mariah put her ear close to his mouth.

She lifted her head to stare at him. But before she could ask questions, his hand fell away and his head rolled to the side. Mariah immediately checked his pulse, then listened for a heartbeat. Slowly, she pulled the blanket over Sam’s head. Her own bowed in silent prayer for the lost lives and the grieving families.

But as she prayed, Sam’s words echoed in her head: "Not an accident." Surely she had misunderstood him. The alternative would be unthinkable.

Around her she heard the wails of mourning women, the frightened sobs of children, and the low, rumbling voices of concerned men. Then that haunting, gravelly voice whispered, "This shouldn’t have happened. You gotta talk to Jake, doc."

Mariah kept her head bowed and hands folded, pretending not to hear. She had no desire to see, let alone talk to Jake.

But when she opened her eyes and raised her head, he was standing not ten yards away, watching her. And despite everything that had happened because of him, Mariah was shocked to discover he still had the ability to make her heart skip a beat.

Jake stood now with legs braced and arms folded, as though expecting an attack. He was as ruggedly attractive as she remembered, except for the stony set of his features. When she saw the look on his face, her eyes narrowed and her insides roiled in fury. That cold, dispassionate expression was the same one he’d worn the day of her brother’s funeral, the last time she’d ever seen Jake.

Jake’s whole body tensed as Mariah crossed toward him, her stride brisk and purposeful. He knew she’d come home two weeks ago, but he’d managed to avoid her, knowing she’d just as soon not see him. But the sure sway of her shapely hips was enough to remind him of the spunky, green-eyed, sixteen year old girl he had loved so fiercely he’d vowed to marry her come hell or high water.

As she drew closer, Jake wasn’t surprised to see that she’d only grown more beautiful over time. A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded those eyes he remembered so well and covered her honey blonde hair, except for stray wisps that brushed her neck. White powder from the blast dusted her straight little nose and cheeks and smudged her long navy skirt and shoes. She’d rolled back the long sleeves of her shirtwaist, exposing forearms streaked with blood. Her hands were balled into angry fists at her sides.

Jake unconsciously touched the scar across his right cheekbone. How ironic that an accident had brought them together again.

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