Bear of a Honeymoon by Laurie Carter

Author:Laurie Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781988281629
Published: 2018-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Claire's visit was a big boost. Along with the tray, she carried messages of concern from all and sundry, and a report that Reno was recovering nicely. Pottering around like a dotty granny, she fussed over adequate supplies of juice, tissues, and blankets. She administered my evening dose of antibiotics, refilled the cat dishes, scooped litter, plumped pillows, and admonished me to eat everything on my plate.

As though that were a worry.

But, in spite of her ministrations—or maybe because of them—I was starting to feel all in. A full stomach finished the job. When she puttered off with her debris-laden tray and assurances that breakfast would likewise be delivered, I snuggled into bed, feeling only marginally chagrined that my only companions were four-footed and furry. Then the lights went out.

The bedside clock read seven-oh-oh when my eyes next opened. Daylight confirmed a.m. I'd been unconscious more than thirteen hours. A long, hot shower did wonders, though my head still felt like a cotton ball receptacle, and my forehead thermometer still registered fever. Padding out to the kitchenette, I foraged for OJ, which eased down my morning prescription and another round of Aspirin. I was headed back to bed when Dudley and Nell reminded me of further responsibilities. There's nothing more insistent than a hungry cat— unless it's two hungry cats.

Anyway, when breakfast was arranged to their satisfaction, I returned to the bedroom, collecting the TV remote on the way. Even though I understood, this lack of word from Matt was really getting under my skin. I knew only too well how demanding a story could be. It was reasonable to expect him to be buried. But forty-eight hours had shot by since he got on that plane. I'd received only that one text and, according to Brooke, there hadn't been any calls through the switchboard. The first she and Dan knew of his absence was my explanation at the hospital. They'd heard news about the train derailment, of course, but hadn't had reason to make a connection.

And I'd been pretty much incommunicado. It was time for an update. I switched on the set and fiddled channels until I stumbled onto the story, which wasn't too tough. Despite world events, the derailment was major news. A grave-faced anchor I recognized as Pamela di Angelo read the lead.

"Complications are piling up in the Montana train derailment," she announced, in a tone pitched to match her expression. "Since early Wednesday morning, work crews have been struggling to contain what experts are beginning to describe as an environmental disaster. Mountain terrain was already hampering efforts to stop the seepage of crude oil into the Middle Fork Flathead River that divides Glacier National Park from the Flathead National Forest. But the sudden onslaught of a late-season blizzard has made conditions close to impossible. Reporter Wesley Carver is standing by in Essex, Montana," she continued, as split-screen graphics brought up the image of a media-faced African American clad in Gortex all-weather gear, braced against wind and driving snow at the edge of what appeared to be a busy railway yard.

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