Megan's Hero (The Callahans of Texas Book #3): A Novel

by Gillenwater, Sharon

  “It’s a good thing we’ve been doing lots of walking lately, Baby.” Heading north, Megan struck out toward Callahan Crossing, stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the remaining hailstones. Surely a car would come along and give her a ride into town. Unfortunately, that might be a while. She hadn’t seen more than five cars since she left San Angelo.

  Trying to ignore the big, aching bruises on her thigh and arm and the dozens of other lesser pains that were reporting in, she marched down the road. Hopefully she’d find a house right around the curve up ahead. If she didn’t, she’d keep going.

  God had saved her, and she wasn’t going to wimp out on him now.

  2

  Will Callahan pulled out from the Callahan Ranch onto the two-lane highway and headed south. He and his family had watched the tornado for several minutes before taking shelter in the storm cellar. A faint smile touched his face. Even though he was thirty-two years old, when his father ordered them to get into the cellar, he obeyed. He argued with Dub on occasion, but when they might all blow away wasn’t the time.

  Thankfully, the twister missed all the houses in the Callahan compound. That was what he and his brother and sister called their cluster of homes around the ranch house. Since the tornado had run parallel to the highway, none of the other structures on the ranch were affected either. The twister had dissipated before reaching any of the homes or farms to the north of the ranch. Will wanted to see what kind of damage it had done in the pasture, mainly whether or not it had destroyed any of the fence.

  Cattle were curious animals and always considered the grass greener on the other side of everything. If there was a gap in the fence, they were bound to wander through it, wind up on the highway, and cause problems for the rancher and drivers.

  He also wanted to make sure no one traveling along the road had run into trouble from the storm. It wasn’t likely, but he’d feel mighty bad if someone needed help and he hadn’t bothered to check.

  Half a mile down the road, large hailstones dotted the roadway. There wasn’t a lot, but it was good-sized hail. The storm had passed through over half an hour earlier, so it had already melted some. They hadn’t had any hail at the house.

  After pulling his cell phone from the pouch on his belt, he called his dad. “Looks like we had at least baseball-sized hail starting about half a mile south of the gate. I can see patches of white in the pasture far from the road, so we’d better have Buster and Ollie check on the cattle.”

  “I’ll call them,” said Dub. “How’s the highway?”

  “Slick in spots. It hasn’t been too bad so far, but the hail is getting thicker now.” He spotted someone in the distance walking along the highway. “I see somebody on foot. I’ll go see how I can help.”

  “Holler if you need us.”

  “Yes, sir.” Will laid the phone in a tray on the console.

  The pedestrian was a woman. She was really hoofin’ it considering she had to pick her way through the mess on the road. When she saw him, she stopped and waved her arms. He slowed down and pulled off the highway near her.

  She was five-two at the most. Maybe in her early twenties. Mud covered her legs, part of her arms, and the front of her clothes—at least what her big brown purse didn’t hide. If he were a wagering man—which he wasn’t—he’d bet next Sunday’s dinner that she’d taken shelter from the tornado in the bar ditch.

  It appeared she hadn’t made any attempt to wipe off the mud, and he figured he knew why. Somewhere down the road they would find a car with the windows smashed out. As Will shut off the engine, she lifted the long purse strap over her head, and the sunlight glistened in tiny sparkles on her arm. Glass.

  He opened the door, eased out of the truck so he wouldn’t slip on a piece of ice, and walked around the front of the pickup. She clutched her purse with both hands. He had no doubt that if she sensed danger she’d take a swing at him with that big bag and knock him silly.

  Oh, man, she’s pregnant! She watched him cautiously and tried to catch her breath. He hoped she was breathing hard just because she’d been walking. He couldn’t tell if her top was one of those stretchy things some women wore when they were carrying a baby, or if the rain and mud had glued it to her body. Either way, it clearly revealed her very round stomach. Will was no expert on expectant ladies, but he guessed she was about five months along.

  He nodded politely and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Ma’am, do you need me to take you to the hospital? I can get you there faster than if we call for help.”

  She shook her head. “There’s a man hurt in a semi about a mile down the road. The tornado blew his truck over and into the pasture. The windshield is gone, so I could talk to him and touch him. He has a nasty bump and cut on the side of his head. It was bleeding really bad, but I found a T-shirt caught in a bush. I folded it up and held it against his head until the bleeding stopped. He thinks his leg is broken, and he probably has a concussion. He’s kind of drifting in and out of consciousness.

  “His radio isn’t working, and he didn’t know where his cell phone was. Probably got blown away like mine.” Pleading filled her golden brown eyes. “He’s a lot worse off than I am. You’ve got to help him.”

  “We will. Let’s get you into the truck and turn on the heater. You look cold.” He gently put his arm around her, careful not to brush against the glass on her arm. Surreptitiously counting her breaths, he guided her toward the passenger side. Her breathing was normal for someone who had been walking as fast as she’d been. She was trembling, but he knew it wasn’t only from being chilled.

  Dozens of small cuts and trickles of dried blood dotted her arms and legs, along with a lot of tiny glass fragments. He didn’t see any bad cuts, but she had a large bruise on her arm and another on her thigh. Smaller bruises were showing up everywhere. They’d probably be a lot darker by tomorrow. “Did you lose your car in the tornado?”

  “My minivan flipped over beside the highway. I’d pulled off because of the heavy rain. Then the hailstorm hit. When I saw the twister, I laid down in the bar ditch.”

  “Good for you. I’ve heard those instructions all my life but never had to do it.”

  “Me either, until today. Moving warmed me up some, but I’m still cold.” Her clothes were soaked but not dripping, and her short, curly brown hair was only damp. So she’d been walking for a while.

  When he opened the door, she laid her purse on the floor. With his hand hovering behind her in case she needed help, she put one foot on the running board, grabbed hold of the handle on the dash and the one above the door, and hoisted herself up, easing onto the seat with a wince. She grimaced when she leaned against the seat back.

  “Do you have glass down the back of your blouse?”

  “Nothing big, but there must be some slivers caught in the material. Mostly I just feel like I’ve been beaten up.”

  Will frowned. Something in the way she said it indicated the comparison came from firsthand knowledge. “You have been.” This time by hail, glass, and debris from the tornado. But who had done it before? “Do you mind if I check your pulse?”

  “Why?” The guarded expression was back.

  “So I can relay the information to the sheriff’s dispatcher.” He shrugged and smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “I’m a volunteer fireman, and that’s what we’re trained to do when someone has been hurt.”

  “Okay.” She held out her arm.

  Placing his index and middle fingers over the pulse in her wrist, he counted each beat, timing the process with his wristwatch. “Strong and a little fast, but that’s understandable.” It was also slightly irregular, and that worried him.

  When he released her arm and handed her the seat belt, she lifted one brow. “I could have told you that.”

  “Yeah, you probably could’ve.” He smiled and walked around the front of the pickup and quickly got in. Starting the engine, he turned the heater on high but left the fan off. “It needs to warm up.”

  He che
cked behind them and pulled out onto the road, then picked up the phone and dialed 911. “Hi, Lisa. Will Callahan. We had a twister come through out here.”

  “Dub called to alert us. He said everybody at the ranch was fine.” The dispatcher at the sheriff’s office was an old family friend. As were a lot of people in Callahan Crossing.

  “We are. But I’m told it overturned a semi south of our place. The driver has a probable broken leg and concussion. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

  “Okay. Hang on a minute while I make the call.” He heard her give the radio call, then she came back on the line. “Anything else?”

  “I picked up a young woman on the highway. She’s pretty battered, bruised, and drenched—and pregnant.” He glanced at his passenger. “She got caught in the hailstorm and is covered in glass. No serious cuts, but many little ones. She has a couple of big bruises and a bunch of smaller ones. Her pulse is strong, a little fast, and a bit irregular, but nothing extreme.”

  That earned him a slight frown. “Respiration sounds clear, deep, and also a little fast. But she’s walked a mile or so. The tornado flipped her van over, but she took shelter in the bar ditch. She’s the one who told me about the trucker. I’ll put the phone on speaker so you can talk to her.” He pushed the speaker button and laid the phone on the console.

  “What’s your name, honey?” the dispatcher asked.

  “Megan Smith.”

  “You were in the tornado?”

  “It went right over me. I got away from my van and lay in the ditch.”

  “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. Do you have any other injuries besides the cuts and bruises? Did any big debris hit you?”

  “No, ma’am. A lot of small rocks and dirt. Probably some small branches. I didn’t stick my head up to see what was pounding me.”

  Megan’s hand lay protectively on her stomach. The quicker an EMT checked her out the better.

  “Are you having any bleeding or contractions?”

  “No. I’m just cold, wobbly, and woozy.”

  Will frowned. Could she be going into shock now that she wasn’t focused on saving the trucker’s life? He reached over and curled his fingers around her wrist, finding her pulse. She shot him a questioning glance.

  “Will, can you check her pulse again?” Lisa asked.

  “Doing it right now.” He paused until he had taken the count. “It’s still strong at her wrist and has slowed down a little, though still irregular. Her skin is cold but not clammy.” He lightly ran a finger over her forehead before placing his hand back on the steering wheel. “Not sweating. I don’t see any symptoms of shock.”

  “Good. How far along are you, Megan?”

  “Twenty-eight weeks.” She took a deep, shaky breath, drawing Will’s attention again. Her voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. “Could being in the storm have done anything to my baby? It hasn’t moved around or kicked since before the tornado, and Sweet Baby is usually pretty active.”

  Sweet Baby. So much love in those words.

  “I don’t think it would have harmed your baby,” Lisa said gently. “But we’ll have the medics check you out thoroughly too. As for being wobbly, you probably need to eat something. That’s speaking as a mother of six, not as a medical authority.”

  “I had some peanut butter before I started walking. But that was a while ago. I brought the jar with me.”

  Will interrupted. “I have some energy bars. Would that be good for her?”

  “Yes. And lots of water. Maybe some juice if you have it.”

  He motioned toward the glove box and nodded for his guest to help herself. To his relief, she wasn’t shy about following his suggestion. “I don’t have any juice, but I’ve got some bottles of water.” He spotted the truck in the pasture beside the road, the path of the tornado extending for at least a mile beyond it. “We’re at the semi, Lisa.”

  “Call Johnny and give him an update on the driver. Dalton and the fire truck are on their way too.”

  “You’ll need a big tow truck.” He scanned the scene as he pulled off the highway again. “And another truck to haul lumber. It’s a mess out here. I’ll let Dad know what’s going on. They can be here directly to help.”

  Will parked off the road but away from the wreckage. He left the engine idling and cranked up the heater fan. His guest was resting her head against the back of the seat and devouring a chocolate-covered power bar. “Are you okay?”

  “Getting better.” She glanced at the truck, her forehead wrinkled in worry. “Wave if you need any help.”

  He nodded and opened the door. “You rest and eat. Have as many of those as you want.” He noticed she’d set a half-full sports bottle in the holder in the console. “There’s more water in a box on the floor behind your seat. Do you want a bottle?”

  “No, thanks. I have another one in my purse. I’m good for now.”

  Will paused a few seconds and studied her as she folded up the power bar wrapper and tucked it in the small plastic garbage bag hanging from the heater knob. As his grandpa used to say, she had gumption. Grandpa had admired that in a woman.

  So did he.

  3

  After grabbing a pair of leather gloves from a pouch in the door, Will stepped down to the ground and stuffed them in his back pocket. The sun had come out, raising the temperature and melting the hail faster.

  He had worked several accidents, though he’d been first on the scene only once. Standing by the pickup, he surveyed the area. No downed power lines. Truck engine off. He sniffed the air—no fuel leaks. They were well off the road, so there was no danger from passing cars and plenty of room for the emergency vehicles when they arrived. No obstacles hanging in the mesquite trees or on the truck that could fall on them.

  He removed a first aid kit from behind the backseat and paused long enough to pull on a pair of nonlatex gloves. He called the ranch as he picked his way through the rubble of broken lumber, tangled fencing, mesquite limbs, and debris that came from somewhere else, including a badly dented aluminum water trough. Will quickly explained the situation to his brother, Chance, and ended the call as he walked around the cab of the truck.

  The big rig lay on the left side, with the driver lying against the cab door. The cracked windshield had popped out and was about twenty yards away in the pasture. He checked for oil or other fluid leaks. Nothing to cause a problem.

  Will recognized the injured man. Ted made regular hauls from San Angelo to Callahan Crossing, delivering lumber for the houses Chance built.

  “Cavalry’s arrived,” the driver mumbled.

  “Just the scout. But the cavalry is on the way.” Will knelt beside the opening where the windshield used to be and set the first aid kit on the ground beside him. He didn’t think he’d need any of the bandages in the kit, but it paid to keep it handy.

  The truck had landed hard, breaking off the rearview mirror and crumpling the left fender and bumper. The side of the cab lay on the ground at a slight angle. “How ya doin’?”

  “Leg’s busted. Ribs hurt. Whoppin’ headache.”

  “It’s no wonder, considering the size of that goose egg on your head.” His shirt and the door panel between the window and armrest were soaked with blood. “I’m going to open your shirt and see if you’re bleeding anywhere.”

  He quickly but gently unsnapped the front of the western shirt and checked for injuries. “I don’t see any big cuts. Just some little scrapes.” But he was going to have some nasty bruises. “All this blood must have come from your head.”

  “A purty little gal stopped it.” A faint frown creased his brow. “Or did I dream that?”

  The bloody shirt was tucked underneath his head. “You didn’t dream it. She’s the one who told me about the wreck. She’s in the truck, warming up and having something to eat.”

  “Good.” Ted’s eyelids drifted closed, and Will wondered if he’d passed out. But he looked at Will again, pain and worry clouding his eyes. “She hurt? Can’t re
member.”

  “She got caught in the hailstorm, but I don’t think she has any bad injuries. The medics will check her out too. I need to ask you a couple of questions that will give them an idea how you’re doing. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Ted Bentley.” He frowned at Will. “You know that.”

  “Yes, but I wanted to see if you did. Do you know where you are?”

  Ted’s frown deepened and he glanced past Will at the lumber scattered about. “Goin’ to Callahan Crossing.”

  “That’s right. Do you know what day it is?”

  “Sunday?” the trucker asked hesitantly.

  “No, it’s Thursday. Do you remember what happened?”

  Ted pondered the question, started to shake his head, and winced.

  Will quickly leaned forward, put a hand on each side of the man’s head, and held it still. “Don’t move your head until the paramedics tell you it’s okay.” He looked down at Ted’s twisted leg. Definitely broken, but there was no sign of additional blood anywhere. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Thunderstorm. Pulled off the road.” He paused to take a few shallow breaths. “Rain let up. Got goin’ again.” He paused again, frowning. “Big hail. Angel woke me up. In a heap of pain. Did I have a wreck?”

  “Yep, with a tornado.”

  “No kiddin’?”

  “You need to lie still so I can check your pulse, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Will was worried. The trucker had grown paler as they talked. He moved one hand and gently placed his fingers on the side of Ted’s throat and counted the weak pulse. Fifty-five beats a minute. He sure hoped the medics got there pronto.

  “Still tickin’?”

  “Yep.” Will checked the pulse in Ted’s wrist. It was the same. Good. Not sweating, but he was breathing fast and shallow. He laid his hand lightly on Ted’s chest, counting his breaths. “Does it hurt when you breathe?”

  “Yeah. Ribs. Did I have a wreck?”