Strong and Stubborn (7 page)

Outside, they found not only Granger and the lady Michael already thought of as Granger's woman, but also the girl who must be related to her. As they drew closer, the girl spoke.

“Mr. Lawson is off to the areas where the men are working today.” She sounded winded. “They'll meet up with us at the mines.”

“You're not going to check on Braden?” Granger's girl looked surprised, and Mike found himself wondering who Braden was.

“No. He shouldn't have let Lacey go into the mines.” The girl held up her hands as though to stave off any disagreements. “I know he couldn't actually stop her, but he didn't even argue with her the way he's been arguing with us about anything and everything else.”

“All right.” The beauty at Mike's side handed the girl a shovel and turned away, squinting toward the sunken-in mountain.

“Do we know which entrance they took?” Granger looked the same way. “To my recollection, there are two, but I don't even know which one was the most cleared out from the first rescue.”

“Southern,” chorused the three women in response, and Mike wondered why the women would know that when the man didn't.

“Do you hear something?” The dark-haired beauty inclined her head to the side, as though listening for a faraway sound.

Everyone waited, almost holding their breath, as though whatever she heard might make the difference between finding their friends alive or facing failure. After a moment she shook her head.

“I must have imagined it, but for a moment I thought I heard Decoy.”

“Decoy?” This time Mike couldn't reign in his curiosity. He powered on with the rest of them as they headed toward the mines, but his own mind raced far ahead—or behind. Everyone here knew far more than he did, and he didn't like bringing up the rear.

“Mr. Dunstan's dog,” the young one answered. “And since Mr. Dunstan is the one who took our friend Lacey to the mines, it was probably just wishful thinking on Naomi's part. Because if Decoy's nearby, then they probably are, too… .” Her explanation faded away at the sound of frantic barking, coming from not too far ahead.

When a massive creature came tearing around the bend, Mike was glad he'd asked; if he hadn't been told that Decoy was nothing more than someone's pet dog, he might well have reached for his pistol. The beast was, quite simply, the largest animal he'd seen off a farm or outside of the circus. And it wasn't in a good mood.

The thing had to stand about four feet tall—at least that was Mike's best guess, since what he now identified as a brindled Irish wolfhound came to a stop several yards ahead. Agitated, the dog bounced about, prancing almost in place and shaking its huge head from side to side. The dog's message couldn't be clearer:
Hurry up!

“He's alone.” One of the women gave voice to the chilling truth no one really wanted to acknowledge. If their friends weren't with the dog, then their fears proved correct: the mines had taken them.

“We haven't lost them yet.” Naomi urged everyone on, frustrated beyond reason by the way they'd all stopped to stare at Decoy. “The dog isn't the specter of death. If anything, he's telling us that Dunstan and Lacey are still alive. He's not crouched down, slinking around and whimpering. He's telling us to get a move on!”

At that, the others perked up visibly. They surged forward, filled with a renewed hope Naomi prayed wasn't false. As they drew closer to Decoy, the dog let loose an anxious howl and turned tail. He bounded up the mountainside a short ways then stopped and resumed what Naomi would call pacing if the beast were human.

As though reading her thoughts, Decoy raced back toward them, gave a sort of urgent growl, and darted back up the mountain. Again, he stopped to perform what Naomi decided to call the “I'm waiting for you to catch up, you slowpokes” dance. Somehow the dog's confident insistence that they follow him seemed comforting.

The troupe of them dutifully carried on their part in this dance, following the dog's lead up toward the mines. When Decoy began doing his impatient prance near the eastern entrance, Granger gave a grunt of … of what, Naomi couldn't be sure. In truth, she didn't decipher grunts very well, but it sounded like a good one.

Then again, maybe she was grasping at straws—anything to keep hold of the idea that they could still save Lacey when things looked increasingly bad. The closer they drew to the mountain, the more damage they could see. Boulders from much higher up had toppled from their lofty perches, knocking loose chunks of earth and smaller stones as they tumbled down the hillside. They left furrows in the dirt behind where they skidded to a halt. Dust hung heavy in the air, and Naomi reached for one of the bandanas she'd stuck in her apron pocket. Tying it around the lower half of her face made her feel oddly like a bandit, but maybe that was only fair. After all, she was trying to take something precious from this mountain.

She heard another grunt, this one conveying irritation. When she looked back at the newly sealed entrance to the mines, Naomi realized why Granger sounded so dissatisfied. Decoy had sidled to the left and back, almost out of sight. The dog was leading them to the other mine entrance—which was that much farther to go and that much more time they lost. Naomi stifled her own annoyed grunt, reminding herself to be thankful that the dog was pointing the way.

“Better to go the long way to the right place than start digging in the wrong one.” She said it to raise her spirits as much as everyone else's. She fell, as she so often did, into prayer.

Thank You, Lord
, she praised,
that Dunstan trained him so well
. Her silent conversation with her creator continued, falling into the rhythm of her steps. The prayer might not be formal, but it was heartfelt.
If he were a typical dog, we wouldn't trust Decoy's guidance today. You use all things to further Your plans, and I only ask that You find as much use for me today as You have for that dog
.

She drew as deep a breath as she could manage through the thick covering of her folded bandana and stepped aside when she couldn't fight the need to cough. The new man hesitated until she stepped back toward the main path, but Naomi was pleased to see the others pushing forward as swiftly as possible. She hurried to catch up, skirting around a giant boulder and almost tripping in the process.

After finding her balance, Naomi looked down to see what had caught her. It hadn't seemed as solid as stone, but nothing grew roots this far up the rocky terrain. Maybe it was a rucksack or Lacey's cloak and they shouldn't be following Decoy to the other entrance after all. A thick layer of dust coated everything, but a closer look erased any doubts. Naomi swallowed a scream and backed away, bile clawing at the back of her throat and stealing her voice and leaving her alone with her gruesome discovery.

Pinned beneath the biggest boulder she'd ever seen, obscured by the debris of a mountain's convulsions, protruded a pair of legs.

M
ike noticed the way Naomi—as the youngest girl had called her—withdrew into herself as they walked along. Before she'd been determined, anxious, and practical by turns. Now
preoccupied
seemed the best word to describe her trek. With her face half hidden beneath the bandana she used as a mask, Mike couldn't tell whether Naomi strengthened her resolve or sank deeper into her worries.

When a short fit of coughing stopped her progress, she'd still thought to move aside. Obviously she wasn't about to slow things down. After he passed her, Mike hesitated, waiting for her to come back on the path. When she moved, he continued on around a turn. He wanted to wait for her but didn't want to make her uncomfortable. A few steps later Mike realized she still hadn't followed.

So he went back for her. Awkward or not, he needed to make sure she was all right. Mike went back around the bend, gaining speed when he spotted her. Half bent over beside a large boulder, with her breath coming in short, uneven gasps, she was in trouble.

Mike's first thought, looking into her wide, frightened eyes, was that she was choking. It sounded like she was still drawing air, so something must've stuck in her throat… . There was only one thing to do. He slapped his hand against her upper back, hard enough to dislodge whatever was blocking her airway. The thump of the blow made him wince—nothing but this could have made him strike a woman.

Mike peered at her. The woman remained doubled over, but the strange little gasps stopped. Fear gripped him—had he shifted the obstacle and made the situation
worse
? She wasn't speaking… .

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright, yanking the bandana down. She gave a strangled-sounding hiss and jerked away, eyes narrowed. Yep, the lady looked angry, but since she was breathing again, Mike didn't care. He wanted to hug the woman.

“What are you
doing
?” Her indignation effectively doused his triumph. “Do you usually swing first and ask questions later?”

“You weren't choking.” Now he sounded as foolish as he felt.

“No.” The outrage vanished in a blink, replaced by tears as she looked back toward the massive boulder. “I just couldn't …” She swallowed visibly, struggling to explain and finally giving up. She gestured toward the base of the huge rock. “Over there.”

Fighting back a terrible suspicion over what would so upset this woman, Mike moved over to look. What he saw made his own lungs stop working for a minute. Beneath the stone stretched the bottom half of a man's torso and his legs. A closer look revealed a hand covered in dirt, outstretched in a silent plea for help.

No blood caked the ground, but Mike knew the man's head had been crushed instantly. Without knowing what else to do, Mike gathered a grief-stricken Naomi in his arms, shielding her from the horrific sight. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed, unable to keep a brave face in the sight of a man's destruction.

Mike sent up wordless prayers, half-formed hopes for the man's soul and supplication that the other missing person—the woman—hadn't met the same fate. He'd gotten the impression that it was the missing girl whom Naomi held close to her heart. But a look around the area revealed nothing to suggest a woman had died there.

Reluctantly Mike eased Naomi from his arms. They needed to fetch the others and form a new plan. He cleared his throat to say as much but found it unnecessary when the others came storming into view. From their fast pace and the looks on their faces, concern for Naomi had won out over irritation at the delay—but barely. And as they saw her standing there, evidently unharmed, they slowed.

“He's dead.” Naomi's announcement brought them to a stop.

Granger's woman started shaking her head. “We don't know that, Naomi. Now's not the time to become hysterical and lose faith—we might still find both of them safe and sound and waiting for us.”

“She said
he
, not they.” Mike gestured toward the crushing boulder and defended Naomi as best he could. “She's far from hysterical—though she has every right after what she found.”

By the time he finished his sentence, Granger reached the boulder—and its victim. Other than an audible swallow, he kept calm and collected. “Ladies, hold off. There's no sign of Lacey, and no one should see this unless there's a darn good reason.”

It looked like the young one wouldn't follow his instruction, but Granger's woman caught her arm and held her back. After some furious whispering, the young one decided to hold her piece. But Mike was inclined to attribute her change of heart to Naomi, who'd started up the trail to wait with the women. When she reached the others, they engulfed her in embraces and reassurances, all the while casting fearful looks toward the boulder below.

Now that Naomi was in good hands and out of harm's way, Mike returned his attention to Granger. The other man bent down for a closer look at the corpse. A puzzled frown creased his face, letting Mike know something was wrong beyond the obvious. But what?

“Let's hear it.” Mike hunkered down and waited. Whatever Granger was thinking, it looked like he'd need a sounding board.

“Dunstan—the man who went to explore the mines—is a hunter. A mountain guide.” Granger gestured toward the corpse's boots. Even coated in dirt and rocks, they had a stacked heel and rigid stiffness. “I've never known him to wear anything but leather boots worn so soft even a deer couldn't hear him move through the forest.”

Mike swiftly realized what Granger was trying to say. “You're thinking this isn't our guy.” He waited for a curt nod of agreement before taking it to the next logical step. “Do you know him?”

“Hard to say.” A moment later Granger quit musing. He narrowed his eyes and considered a small lump in the dirt around the vicinity where the man's head should be. “What's that?”

It turned out to be part of a pair of spectacles, broken at the nose and the lens shattered within a thin gold rim. Granger palmed the piece, gave those boots a considering glance, and shook his head. Whatever he was puzzling over, it must not add up.