A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (32 page)

Business. All business.
She had to focus. She couldn’t have Matthew coming to Defiance with this
situation over the Oriental Flowers unresolved. He would try to take over, but
the theft of her property could not go unanswered. On the bright side, Phoebe,
Melissa, and Bonnie, the Kittens, were adequate replacements for the auctions.
Not as profitable, but they were filling the theater every Saturday night.

Sit tight. Easy for him
to say.

If Smith still had no
word on where those girls went, Delilah didn’t think she was going to wait for
Matthew. She needed to show him she could handle things here. It was time,
past
time, for McIntyre and Logan to learn a lesson about interfering in her
business.

Puzzled by the
flickering light in the darkness just ahead of him, Emilio pulled Matilda to a
halt.
What was that?

Suddenly the light
flared brighter, sizzled to life, and streaked across the open ground of the
mine’s storage yard like a squirrel running with a firecracker. It raced
forward, sparking and smoking, as fast an arrow toward . . .

He looked ahead to
where the mysterious light seemed to be heading. A red shack labeled
Explosives
!
Not far beyond that, the mine entrance. His heart hammered in his chest as he
put two and two together.
No time to snuff it out.

“Get out!” Emilio
jerked his revolver free and fired off all six shots as he and Matilda ran for
a lone ore cart sitting on the tracks to the mine. Solid iron. It might save
them . . . “Get out!”

The fuse burned toward
the shack, like a runaway train. A few men appeared at the mine’s entrance.

“Run!” he screamed at
the confused miners, “Run—”

The storage shed
exploded in a blinding, roaring fireball. The concussion knocked Emilio and
Matilda down and they slammed into the ground. Emilio went skidding in the
gravel, his forehead ricocheting off the ground as dirt filled his eyes and
mouth. A shower of shrapnel rained down on him. He curled up into a ball,
protecting his head, and tried yelling for Matilda. He couldn’t hear his own
voice, only a piercing ringing that threatened to split his skull in two.

Almost immediately, a
second explosion lit up the night, rocked the air, and shook the ground, but
for Emilio a strange darkness closed in, blurring his vision. The ringing in
his head became a deep rumble. It clambered up from the earth below, rolling
over him, sweeping him away with the darkness.

Logan raced to the
mine, along with scores of other men in town who had heard the explosion. He
didn’t know where the mine was, and it didn’t matter. The blazing sky led the
way.

McIntyre stood in the
midst of the burning, smoldering landscape, waving, and shouting orders like
Hades emerged from the Underworld. Men scrambled to do his bidding.

“Find Danny! Get those
shovels! Start digging at the entrance! Let’s get a fire brigade going and put
these buildings out!”

Apparently the mine
entrance had collapsed. Miners were injured, possibly trapped. Men needed to
dig and dig
now
. McIntyre spotted Billy and Logan and called them over. “We’ve
got injured men. We need teams of two to take them to Doc’s. I need the rest of
these men moving debris from the entrance.”

As he was talking, the
color drained from Billy’s face. McIntyre and Logan followed his gaze. At
first, Logan didn’t see it, then the carnage dawned on him. “That’s a dead
horse.”

Billy swallowed. “It’s
Emilio’s
horse.”

McIntyre slapped Billy
on the shoulder, “Let’s find him,” and called to Logan as they ran, “Get these
men digging at the entrance. The mine manager is unlocking the shed to get more
shovels and picks.”

Moving the timber
beams, twisted iron rails, rocks, and dirt from the entrance was a slow,
painful exercise. Logan’s hands bled from clawing at the jagged edges of rocks
and metal. Debris shifted, pinching fingers, slicing flesh, and drawing blood.
Still, he and the other men worked with urgency, even desperation, moving
deeper and deeper into the entrance. The pace was agonizingly slow.

Logan prayed hard without
ceasing, but not aloud. With his recent downfall, he had no right to let these
men working beside him think he considered himself . . . holier
than they were. He was no preacher. He was just a man, a fallible, flawed,
weak-minded man humbly asking God to show some mercy and grace to the miners
buried beneath this rubble. He certainly was not a man worthy of giving spiritual
guidance.

The first miner they
found was dead. A beam had fallen across his chest, crushing him. The next four
men came out in rough shape, but alive, and teams rushed them on makeshift
stretchers to the doctor’s office.

Two men working to Logan’s
left lifted a good hundred-pound stone, paused, exchanging troubled glances, then
chucked it aside. One knelt down. Logan saw the expression of concern, then
pity. The man looked over at Logan. “Preacher?”

He handed off his rock
to the man behind him and scrambled over the mounds of rubble. “Yes?”

The man stood. “He said
he’d like you to pray with him.”

Without waiting for a
response, the rescuers moved to a different pile of debris. Logan gritted his
teeth. Everything in him wanted to refuse. He was not worthy to pray with
anyone, but he stepped around a large rock . . .

The lanterns, faint
though they were, clearly showed the man’s injuries. Half his skull was badly
crushed and blood glittered in his scalp, glistened on his face.

God, I can’t do this
 . . .

Yet even as he prayed
that he dropped to his knees beside the man. He took his hand, mingling their
blood. “Hey, can you hear me?”

The man’s lips moved,
but no sound came forth. One eye did manage to open and look toward Logan, but
not at him. “Sorry,” he barely croaked out.

Sorry?
Logan peered closer at the man. “What are you sorry f—” He pulled back. He knew
that crazy eye. He knew this man. “Smith?”

He nodded slightly. “Me . . .
I did this . . . Didn’t mean for . . . no one to
die.” He gurgled and foamy blood dribbled out the corner of his mouth.

Logan ran through all
the things Smith had done. Attacking Two Spears, vandalizing the church,
murdering
Big Jim Walker . . . and now the mine. This man had a lot to
answer for and was moments away from it . . . could Logan watch
him die without saying a word? Without giving him hope for redemption? Could he
sit back and watch him slip into hell?

The thought terrified
him for Smith’s soul, and his own.

Desperation seized him.
“Smith, I know I fouled up. I reckon I’m about the worst witness for Jesus you’ve
ever seen, but who I am doesn’t change who God is.” He leaned closer, unable to
fight the tears filling his eyes, or slow his pounding heart. “I believe you’re
gonna see death any second now. Where do you want to spend eternity?” He
clutched Smith’s hand tighter and tried to get past the knot swelling in his
own throat. “Please, let me tell you about the God Who loves you, Who died for
you . . . Who wants to forgive—” His voice broke. “Who wants to
forgive you, welcome you home. Do you want that peace?”

After only an instant
of hesitation, Smith squeezed Logan’s hand.

 . . . and,
once again, a preacher bowed his head to pray.

“Quick, put him in
there.”

Billy and a man Hannah
didn’t know hurried to deliver Emilio into examination room one. She gasped as
they passed by her. Burn marks singed his clothes, holes burnt all the way
through peppered his shirt. A deep cut sliced across the top of his shoulder
but more worrisome was the blood trickling from his right ear.

She was no doctor. What
if he was seriously injured?

What if he had a skull
fracture?

Oh, God, I need Your
help now. Please don’t let him be hurt badly
 . . .
and please give me the knowledge I need to help him
 . . .
she looked out the window at the glow in the sky . . .
and
anyone else who may be hurt.

Hannah examined Emilio
and determined with reasonable comfort that he had a ruptured eardrum, probably
a mild concussion. Soon other victims started arriving and filled the entrance.
“I’ll be right back, Emilio.”

He didn’t stir and it
pained her to walk away from him.

“What can I do first?”
Mollie asked as she slipped in the front door.

Hannah rolled up her
sleeves and surveyed the new patients covering the floor. She could have
fainted with relief at her friend’s voice. “Can you clean Emilio up, put some
gauze over his ear, and pick the splinters out of his hide?”

Mollie nodded and
hurried into the room.

Moving forward with all
the confidence she could fake, Hannah checked out the four men brought in on
stretchers. Broken bones, deep lacerations, a concussion, but nothing life
threatening . . . so far. Unless she couldn’t get their bleeding
to stop.

“Mollie,” she called
over her shoulder, “hurry with Emilio if you can. I need eight more hands out
here.”

Before the night was
over, Hannah had stitched wounds, set bones, immobilized limbs, and wiped the
brows of eight men. She’d shouted orders to Mollie and Naomi, and put Two
Spears to work cutting bandages.

Near dawn, as the sky
turned gunmetal gray, Hannah washed her hands at the sink and took a breath.
Patients littered the doctor’s office, from the examination rooms to pallets on
the floor. No deaths. Not in this group, and she praised God for His mercy.
Billy said they were digging hard and fast at the mine entrance, because twelve
men were unaccounted for.

A sudden desire to weep
nearly overcame her. She was tired. She hadn’t stopped to think or feel. She
had reminded herself over and over to recall everything Doc had taught her.
Deal with the serious wounds first. Stop the bleeding. Prevent shock.

Had she done enough?
She surveyed the swollen, bruised faces of her patients. Had she done
everything right? What if she’d made one mistake? What if infection set in?

“Hannah.” Naomi dropped
a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder. “You did absolutely wonderful here.”

“I’ll second that.”

Billy quietly shut the
front door behind him, navigated the handful of men on the floor, and
approached her. “I watched you in here through all this. Every time we brought
one in. You were,” he shrugged, “flawless.”

“Well,” Naomi backed up
a step. “I think I’ll go check on Emilio.”

Billy gave her a polite
smile as she backed away, but he beamed at Hannah. Dirt filled in the fine
lines around his eyes, matted his hair. His white shirt was torn in places and turned
a filthy brown from dirt. He looked exhausted, yet he glowed.

“Are you proud of me?”

“Ah,” he splayed a hand
on his chest, “you have no idea how proud. You are something special.”

She looked down at the
floor. “So, maybe I should keep nursing? You won’t drag me into the mercantile
or the hotel?”

“What? No.” He lifted
her face. “Why do you think I’ve been hiring all this help? Were you worried
about that? Is that why you wouldn’t let me pin down a wedding date?”

“When we’re married, I
should go where you want me.”

“I want you right here.
This town needs you, especially till we have a doctor.” Laughing, he hugged her
tight. “So that’s what this was about. I thought it was Emilio.”

“Emilio?”

“I thought you were
having second thoughts about me.”

Hannah laid her head on
his chest. “I love him, but not the way I love you.” She felt Billy stiffen. “I
love him like, not a brother, exactly, but not a lover, either.” She snuggled
into him. “You’re the only man I’ll ever want, Billy Page. Ever.”

The light of day
revealed the mine explosion’s devastation. McIntyre paused from the rescue work
to absorb the destruction.

The fireball had
obliterated two storage buildings, blown the glass out of the office building,
heavily damaged the mill, and littered the ground with rubble for hundreds of
square yards. Worst of all, the main entrance to the mine had collapsed. Tons
of debris now blocked at least twelve men inside, if it hadn’t killed them
outright.

Alive or dead, no one
knew.

The rescue effort might
take days.

Dusty, hands bleeding
from digging, clawing, and hacking at the rock with pickaxes, dozens of men
continued working with desperation to save their friends. McIntyre prayed they’d
make it.

Fighting exhaustion, he
trudged back into the mine entrance. He somberly slapped a few men on their
backs, and joined them again in wrestling rocks from the tunnel. They tossed
them into the mine cart or wheelbarrow, whichever made its way closer to them.

Every now and again,
the digging would stop and the men would listen for signs of life. Then Logan,
McIntyre, and a few others would pray, and start work again. After each pause,
McIntyre sensed their hope dwindling.

Wearily, he wrestled a
fifty-pounder up into his arms . . . but stopped when he heard
the rumbling. “Get out!” He tossed the rock back and spun toward the entrance. “Get
out!”

The ground shook. The
mountain roared. Timbers and rocks rained down. Men screamed and scrambled for
the light. They burst forth from the entrance, dogged by a crashing cacophony
of collapsing earth. Dust belched from the mine. Coughing, wiping debris from
his eyes, McIntyre searched for Ian.

He found him, doubled
over, coughing.

“It’s getting worse,”
his friend choked out. Ian had warned that if one particular section of
metamorphic rock went, the whole mountain might come down on their heads. He
straightened, wiped the dust and sweat from his face with a bandana. His expression,
downcast, weary, spoke volumes. “She’s too unstable, lad. We send any more men
in there, I dunna think we’ll get them out.”

Desperate, McIntyre
seized his friend’s shirt. “What am I supposed to do? There might be men in
there alive!”

Ian clutched McIntyre’s
hand. “Out here they
are
alive.”