Strong and Stubborn (9 page)

“Lacey!” Granger's woman called a stop to everyone's hard work.

Michael halted his pickax and held his breath, praying they would hear someone answer her. He knew it wasn't likely—every single man, woman, and even dog working against this wall of stone knew they fought fate. There were simply too many unknowns.

Were the people they sought—Lacey and Dunstan—even alive?

If they lived, were they awake and in condition to respond?

And if they were so fortunate, how far back were they?

Even given the perfect combination of circumstances, there was every chance the pair was much deeper in the twists and turns of the mines. There was no telling how many mounds of collapsed mountain they may have to get through before nearing the couple. Worse, there was no telling whether they had enough time to save them. Air might run out. A critical support might buckle.

Despite Mike's fervent prayers otherwise, the expedition was practically drowning in doubts. He imagined he could smell the sour scent of despair mixed amid the dust. They needed a reason to keep hoping—they needed a sign that God was working alongside them.

“Lacey!” The two women yelled in tandem, forcing their voices through the cracks. But nothing came back. Not so much as a moan.

“Oh God.” Naomi sagged against the boulder, where she'd been working alongside the hunter's dog. She tugged the bandana—now encrusted with dirt—away from her face, and Mike could see her lips moving in soundless prayer. Dust caked her face, save where tears cut clear paths down her cheeks. Her eyes closed in supplication.

“Dunstan!” Granger's woman kept on screeching. “Are you there?” When she stopped, it seemed as though the mountain swallowed all sound. Despite the impossible odds, everyone still hoped to hear—

“Esh!” came a muffled female cry. “Eve wherin ear!”

“Yes!” Naomi clutched at the other woman. “Evie, they're in there!” The two wrapped each other in a dancing, circling hug.

“Donut drag he live on.” The man's deeper tones came in echoes, difficult to decipher. “Sum of ewe want him down if you ax to.”

Granger frowned, repeating the sounds in a furious whisper before his brow eased. “Don't let Draxley leave town.” The rest of it seemed a greater challenge. “Hunt him down if we have to?”

Mike gave a quick nod. Once sounded out, without the distance and the interference, the words made perfect sense. Except for the fact they had no idea why Dunstan would want to hunt Draxley down.

“He won't go anywhere.” Granger took care to speak slow and loud—apparently not caring that everyone could hear. “Draxley's just outside the mines, head crushed by a boulder from up the ridge.”

Shaken from their hushed expectation, the men began murmuring to one another. Mike picked up on their shock—but he noticed no one seemed broken up over the loss of the town telegraph operator. Added to Dunstan's directive that they hunt him down if necessary, Mike pieced together an unflattering portrait of the man—as well as a few suspicions. A telegraph operator had no business lurking around the mines—on the very day Dunstan and Lacey decided to investigate. So what were the chances that this second cave-in was a coincidence?

Mike shook his head and kept his musings to himself. Who wanted to hear half-fledged theories from someone new in town? Nobody. If he turned out to be wrong, he looked insolent and self-aggrandizing. And if he turned out to be right … well, in that case, Hope Falls had enough to worry about without adding in a know-it-all.

The strike of a shovel against a nearby rock demanded his attention. Everyone else was looking at Granger, waiting to be sure the conversation with their trapped townsmen had ended. Everyone, that is, except Naomi. It seemed as though Granger's pronouncement shook loose her fears. The people trapped inside the mountain could still be crushed. She gripped the shovel handle with gloves torn enough to show the blood beneath, working feverishly to break through the wall still separating her from her unfortunate friends.

Mike knew he should do the same, should attack the rocky barrier with equal enthusiasm and twice her strength. His hands tightened around the pickax he'd been using to dislodge larger rocks and lever them away. Beneath his leather work gloves, he felt the ridges of the handle where the new tool had yet to be worn smooth by hours of friction. Calloused as his own hands were, the rougher surface hadn't registered until he spotted Naomi's gloves.

And now that he'd seen, Mike couldn't convince himself to turn away and get back to work. There was no way of knowing whether Naomi herself realized the damage—the woman was obviously caught up in the rescue and not giving a thought to taking care of herself. Before they heard the answering call, how long had it been since she'd paused for a breath? When was the last time she drank from her canteen? Mike didn't know, but he knew it had been too long.

Why hasn't anyone else noticed? Someone needs to look after the woman
. Common sense warred with a surge of protectiveness, cautioning that it wasn't Mike's place to step forward.
She only turned to you earlier out of shock and grief
. To take care of her now would signal an undue interest and arouse suspicion.

He couldn't afford to start off on the wrong foot with the residents of Hope Falls. It would jeopardize his chances of bringing Luke to the isolated safety of the town. And as much as it went against the grain to leave a woman hurting, Mike couldn't risk it.

Lord, You've answered many prayers from these parts today, and I'm going to add one more to them. If You can give me an opportunity, any window to stop Naomi from shredding her hands without sacrificing my son's future, I'll gladly make use of it
.

As he had many times before, Mike lamented that prayers weren't often answered immediately. He'd never manage to figure out the whys and whens of God's work, but he knew God heard him. Sometimes that had to be enough while a body waited for a clearer response.

With a sigh, Mike turned his attention back to the challenge he could handle. Women, with all of their complications, were beyond Mike, but some of his frustration eased with the work at hand. He wedged his pickax beneath the next stone and prized it loose. Too large to roll aside without endangering another worker, the rock had to be hefted over to the makeshift pile of larger rubble.

Setting his load down, Mike glimpsed a figure making its way toward the work crew. He squinted and realized it was the third woman he'd met—the one related to Granger's woman. He'd noted when she left, but now Mike had a moment to wonder where she'd gone. The girl clipped along at a rushed pace, clutching something in her hands. Whatever she carried, she obviously thought it important.

Too bad I'm not settled enough to be more involved
. A powerful curious streak coursed through him, and Mike knew he wouldn't be able to satisfy many of his questions that day. The girl's message would be for a select few. Most likely Granger and the women.

Ah!
That wasn't just a girl rushing up the hill—it was the opportunity he needed to get the shovel out of Naomi's hands!

Mike moved quickly, heading over to let Granger know of the girl's impending arrival. When the other man and his woman stepped away from their work and went to meet the newcomer, Mike sped over to where Naomi chipped away at the packed earth wedging several rocks in place. So intently did she work, she didn't hear him clear his throat. She didn't so much as slow down her furious pace.

“Miss?” Mike raised his voice but didn't yell at her—the last thing he wanted to do was try to grab her by the arm or waist. He'd watched from the corner of his eye when the lumberjacks joined in. The small skirmishes as Naomi protected her place made him smile at the time. But now he knew she wasn't going to take it kindly when he interrupted her work. So he called a couple more times.

The woman wasn't going to make it easy on him; she kept right on working. When it was clear she couldn't hear him, Mike knew he'd run out of options. He was going to have to take away her shovel.

S
he's alive! Lacey's alive!
Naomi rammed the metal lip of her spade into the densely packed dirt cementing a slew of rocks in place.
It didn't even sound like she's hurt!
Again and again she thrust the shovel against the barrier, grinning as the debris began to loosen.

Of course, they'd barely managed to decipher Lacey and Dunstan's words at all, much less pick up on any tones of distress. If Naomi stopped to think about it, the fact Lacey didn't attempt to carry on a longer conversation could be seen as troubling. The Lacey Lyman that Naomi knew and that helped Mother would be shouting through the barrier, demanding details about Draxley's death. But for right now, Naomi refused to stop working long enough to think about it.

She took up the rhythm of striking and pulling back, chipping away at the chaos before her. The incredible noise enveloping the mountainside didn't distract her. Every sound of tool against earth or stone sang the praises alive in her heart.
Thank You, Lord
. Her shovel thunked against packed dirt.
They're alive
. A scraping clang as she hit stone.
Thank You, Jesus!
A dull thud then skittering pebbles as she pulled back.
They're right on the other side
.

On that happy thought, something ruined her rhythm. Or rather,
someone
. Naomi glowered at the huge hand that snagged on the handle of her spade. Unwilling to waste time arguing, she tightened her grip and tried to dislodge the disturbance by shoving.

The spade didn't budge. Naomi found herself having to take a huge step forward to keep her balance, stubbing her toes in the process. Gritting her teeth against the sudden streaking pain, she readjusted her hold, keeping one hand above the interloper's and putting the other below it. Then she tried again. She pushed. She tugged. She even tried to wiggle the thing loose, but no luck.

“Let go,” she ordered. Didn't the man know he was
in her way
? Finally acknowledging that the man couldn't be sidestepped, Naomi decided to look trouble in the eye. She needed to tilt her head back to manage it.
When did trouble get so good-looking?
The inane thought made her scowl fiercely as she tried to intimidate the new man in town. And repress a sudden memory of crying on his shoulder.

“Sorry.” He loosened his grip but tightened it again when she would have snatched her shovel away. “I tried calling, but you didn't hear me. I thought you'd want to know your friend came back.” A strong jaw tilted over to where Cora joined Evie and Granger.

“Oh!” Naomi would have dropped her spade if the man hadn't continued holding it. “I wouldn't have noticed. Thank you!” She reached down to grab her skirts, raising them enough so the fabric wouldn't hamper her steps while she raced over to her friends.

“Wait.” His other hand shot out and circled her wrist, startling Naomi with the sudden warmth and familiarity of the motion. His daring left her breathless, unable to do more than stare at the sight of his broad, dusty fingers clamped around her small wrist. As she watched, he gently turned her palm upward, placing a clean bandana in her grasp before releasing her completely.

Only then did Naomi realize she'd worn her leather riding gloves—the thickest pair she owned—clean through. The tatters rubbed against his bandana while tiny pinpricks of red appeared on the green field of fabric, slowly blossoming into a field of crimson.

As the stain seeped into the fabric, its meaning sank in. Suddenly she identified the pulsing in her palms as the throb of pain. It sharpened when she clenched her fingers over the bandana, trying to hide the damage she'd done without even noticing it.

“Here.” He produced a black bandana from his back pocket, unfolded a knife, and sliced it neatly into two bandages.

Naomi watched, thunderstruck, as he draped the pieces atop the crook of her elbow and pointed her toward the women to have her hands bandaged. She stammered her thanks and left before she could waste more time making an even bigger fool of herself.

By the time she reached the Thompsons, Granger left to get back to work. Naomi drew a deep breath to clear her head and pasted a smile on her face when the other women noticed her. She didn't want them to worry, but Naomi couldn't very well bandage her own hands.

Cora's smile far outshone Naomi's weak attempt, clearly rejoicing in the news that Lacey and Dunstan were alive and in reach. Her friend's delight rekindled Naomi's own thankfulness. Compared to the miracle of today, what did it matter she'd waged an absurd war, wiggling her shovel at the new man in town? What did it matter that she'd ruined her gloves and blistered her palms? Gloves could be replaced, blisters healed, and embarrassments faded.

So Naomi hugged Cora and Evie and listened as Cora waved a hastily sketched map and explained what she'd been doing. Apparently, Braden dug deep in his memory and rendered the layout of the mine, indicating which passages Lacey and Dunstan might access.

“If they weren't right on the other side of the landslide, this would have been our best hope of finding them.” Cora carefully folded the paper and slid it into an apron pocket. “I'm glad we don't need it, but I'm just as glad Braden made this.”

Naomi nodded. “It couldn't have been easy for him to face his memories. Not just of his own time trapped in the mine but all the dreams and hard work he put into planning and building this place.”

They all stood in silence for a moment, considering how selfless Braden had been. Naomi was sure she wasn't the only one hoping this was a sign that the curmudgeon who'd taken over her cousin would be departing soon. She'd missed the old Braden.

“Granger said it will be a couple more hours before the men get through,” Evie ventured. “We're torn between staying up here and helping or going back to town. The men will be ravenous after this kind of work, and the least they deserve is to have supper.”