Authors: Kat Martin
Andy Johnson kept his revolver aimed steadily in her direction, but even if he’d been unarmed, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to run. She’d lost weight since she left California, and the laudanum—she figured that must have been what Chuck used—had left her weak and out of sorts.
She wondered if Ren knew she’d been kidnapped. Probably not. He’d gone away on his honeymoon. It was doubtful he’d left word where he could be found. Even if he did know, she wasn’t sure he would come. He had a new set of responsibilities now. He was a married man.
For the first time in days, her mind felt something besides numbness. Wretched loneliness for Ren. Even her forced marriage to Chuck didn’t distress her as much as the thought of Ren with Melissa.
“Why do we have to stay here?” she asked, wishing he’d let her go back to the house. “Why in God’s name are we here at all?” So far she’d been able to keep her mind off her fears, been able to keep the walls from closing in. Having someone with her, knowing she could get out, and being able to see, even just a little, had kept her in control. God help her. If Chuck ever discovered her fear of dark, confined places, he wouldn’t even need the laudanum. “Look, Mrs. Dawson, I just follow orders.”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped.
Andy Johnson smiled for the first time. “You know, I think you and yer husband feel just about the same way toward each other. What you need is a good man.”
She rolled her eyes at the repugnant thought.
Andy looked at her as if she were a morsel of dessert. “I’ve seen your breasts,” he told her, and she felt the prickle of a new kind of fear.
“They’re beautiful, all white and creamy. And so round. Just the kind a man loves to touch.” He left his perch and moved toward her, still pointing the gun in her direction.
“You’d better get away from me,” she warned. “I’m Chuck’s wife, remember?”
“You just told me not to call you that. Besides, Chuck says you’ve been with Morgan. He thinks you’re a whore, but I don’t.” He ran a slender hand through her thick mass of hair. “I think you’re beautiful.”
Elaina felt her stomach roll. She focused her eyes on the light as his fingers touched her cheek. Her weakened condition, her fear of dark places, and her revulsion for the thin little man combined to overwhelm her.
“Get away from me,” she ordered.
“Bet you didn’t say that to Morgan.”
Elaina felt a pang at the sound of Morgan’s name. Dan Morgan the gunman. Ren Daniels, San Francisco gentleman. She loved both sides of the man, always would. She felt Andy’s fingers tighten around the back of her neck, felt his too-moist lips suddenly thrust against hers. Struggling to free herself, she pounded her fists against his chest. He laid the revolver aside as he pushed her down on the blanket and rolled on top of her.
Groping for the gun, her fingers clawed the earth, but the weapon was too far away. She had to stay calm. She relaxed a little, letting his hand slide up her leg, his probing tongue invade her mouth. Then she bit down as hard as she could.
Andy screamed and rolled off her. When she sat up, he glared at her murderously. “You could have just said you didn’t want to.”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.” Determinedly she climbed to her feet. She could feel her strength already beginning to wane, but she didn’t dare risk letting him get close again. Watching him warily, she waited for just the right moment.
“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he said, wiping blood from his tongue with the back of his hand. “I thought you were a nice girl.” His eyes searched the tunnel floor for the gun. “Maybe Chuck was right about you, Duchess.” He spotted the revolver and leaned over to pick it up just as Elaina charged into him, hurling their two bodies into the dirt. They landed with a resounding thump against the rotting timber, Elaina’s ribs hurting unbearably, the snap of the dry wood echoing off the walls of the tunnel.
Andy Johnson grabbed for the gun, but she knocked it from his hand. When it hit the ground, the gun went off with a thunderous bang.
Elaina swallowed hard. She knew the next sound. Her mind would never forget it. A slow, deep rumble that echoed and grew.
“The mine’s caving in! We have to get out of here! Which way do we go?”
Andy Johnson ignored her, the terror on his face even more distorted by the dim light of the kerosene lamp as he picked it up and ran toward the entrance of the mine. Elaina grabbed up her skirts and ran along behind him, dodging falling rocks and grinding timbers.
“Hurry!” They rounded a bend in the tunnel, and Elaina glimpsed sunlight. They just might make it. Then she heard Andy’s frightened scream, saw a wall of dirt and debris fall from the ceiling to cover his body, and hurled to the ground atop the trembling earth. Covering her head with her arms to ward off the rocks and debris that fell like hailstones from the roof of the tunnel, she forced herself to breathe the stifling, dust-filled air.
For a moment she lay unmoving, trying to blot out the grisly image of Andy’s thin body being crushed under tons of debris. Then she forced herself to sit up.
Blackness. Nothing but terrifying, mind-twisting blackness, so dark she couldn’t even make out her own hand. She shuddered, a tremor running the length of her. Her heart pounded and her chest constricted against the suffocating, dirt-filled air. How much time did she have before she ran out of oxygen? Could she last till they found her? Would they even bother looking? Maybe this was what Chuck had planned all along. She grasped the wall of the tunnel, feeling the crumbling dampness, laboring just to stay upright on the tunnel floor.
She could feel it coming—the heart-stopping, mind-numbing fear. Soon she would be paralyzed, frozen with her terror of the darkness, the mine rats, the decay, the stench of death—only this time her nightmare was real.
Chapter 29
W
ITH AWFUL, GUT-WRENCHING
clarity, Ren recognized the mounting rumble coming from the mine. He raced toward the entrance, praying Elaina would come running out of the mine ahead of the wall of debris, but he knew it was already too late.
By the time he reached the main tunnel, it was completely sealed off, and Ren knew a despair greater than anything he’d ever dreamed. He stifled the cry in his throat. Too late! How could he be too late? It was impossible. Unthinkable. It couldn’t be happening to them again!
He forced himself under control, forced his mind to think clearly. He knew she was in there. Chuck had said so, and even if he hadn’t, Ren could feel it in his bones. Either Dawson had planned the cave-in or someone had accidentally done something to set it off. Whatever the cause, it would take a mammoth effort to open the mine. He had to get help.
A few long strides carried him to the emergency bell. He tugged the dangling cord, and loud clangs issued from the bell’s wide mouth. The eerie sound, which signaled death and destruction, sent shivers down his spine. The bell could be heard all the way to the patch town. There it would be echoed by another similar bell outside the general store so that every miner for miles around would be alerted to the cave-in.
In minutes men began to arrive at Blue Mountain. Each took one look at the still dust-smoking rubble and knew what had happened. Some of the men looked at him distrustfully, but he held his ground. He waited until twenty miners, milling and muttering among themselves, surrounded him; then he climbed atop a coal car and asked for their attention.
“I want to thank you for coming. As you can see, there’s been an accident.” He could hear the slight quaver in his voice and willed himself to subdue it.
“What are you doing here, Morgan?” a burly miner wanted to know.
“Yeah! Why should we help you? Who’s trapped in there anyways? None of us was working today.”
Ren fought down his anger, fought to keep his control. Every second was important, every minute could mean the difference between life and death. But without the miners’ help, seconds wouldn’t matter.
“First of all, my name’s not Morgan. It’s Daniels. Reynold Daniels. My father was Ed Daniels. Some of you may remember him—or me.” Ren pulled off his hat, hoping someone would recognize him.
“I remember Ed.” It was Josh Colson. “But Ren was killed. He and his brother been gone nine years.”
“Take a good look at me, Josh. Elaina McAllister dug Tommy and me out of that mine nine years ago. Now she’s buried in there. She needs our help.”
“Are you tellin’ me our duchess is in there?” a German miner wanted to know.
Ren knew everyone in Carbon County would have read about the duchess, but he was surprised at the pride in the miner’s voice as he laid claim to her for the others.
“What the hell would she be doing in there?” someone asked.
“Chuck Dawson put her in there,” Ren said. “It’s a long story. Right now the most important thing is to get her out.” Colson eyed Ren strangely. “By God it
is
you, Ren. I’ll be damned! Well, men, what are we waiting for? Let’s get the duchess out!”
There were cheers of agreement and the shuffling of booted feet as the men moved toward the toolhouse. In minutes they were shoveling, readying coal cars to receive the dirt and debris, and more men were arriving. Word of mouth and the small boy now ringing the bell were quickly spreading the news of the cave-in.
Ren made his way to the head of the crew.
He’d been doing ranch work, digging post holes, pitching hay. His muscles were hard and his body lean, but nothing could have prepared him for the grueling, backbreaking labor of clearing the mine entrance. He’d forgotten the blisters, the screaming muscles, the heat and the stifling air. Shovel after shovel of the heavy dirt and coal were tossed over work-hardened, muscular shoulders into the waiting coal cars. When each car was filled to capacity, it was rolled away and another was brought to take its place. Once the men could dig their way into the tunnel, mules would be hitched to the cars. Luckily their stable near the entrance had been spared.
Ren put his back into his work, but kept his thoughts carefully controlled. Few words were spoken. Every ounce of effort was put toward the singular task of clearing the entrance to the mine.
Ren’s thoughts were of Elaina. He prayed she wasn’t hurt. Prayed she’d been able to elude the tons of rock that filled the tunnel. He knew what it was like to be trapped; he remembered the awful, terrifying fear of being buried alive—if she was alive. He refused to acknowledge the possibility of her death. He would know if she was dead, he told himself. Somehow he would know.
He shoveled harder, pushing himself beyond the limits of his endurance. More coal cars were loaded and rolled away. Men hauled in timbers to shore up the opening as soon as the space was cleared. Miners spelled one another. Women arrived to carry water and supply the men with food to keep their strength up.
“Better rest a spell,” Josh Colson warned. “You’ll be no good to her if you work till you drop.”
Ren mopped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He’d discarded his shirt after the first hour and worked in his breeches and boots. “Not yet, Josh. But I’ll be careful. Thanks.”
A nagging memory kept him working: the sight of Elaina McAllister huddled on the floor of the potting shed, her eyes blank, her body trembling with terror, plagued by her desperate fear of the darkness, of being trapped in dark places. Now her worst nightmare was real. What would it do to her? Would her mind be able to cope with the long hours alone in the mine? Or would the terrible fear cost Elaina her sanity? Ren swallowed the lump in his throat and hoisted another shovelful of dirt. Please, God, let her be all right.
Twelve hours of bone-crushing, backbreaking labor. Twelve hours of not knowing whether Elaina was alive or dead, whether she had enough air to breathe, whether she was injured or bleeding, whether she was still sane.
“We found something, Ren,” Erik Winston, a miner from Ren’s old crew, called out to him.
Ren’s heartbeat quickened. He made his way through the throng of dirty, sweating bodies to where Erik waited. The miner held a lamp near the ground and pointed. Two booted feet protruded through the dirt and coal dust. The rest of the man’s body lay buried under hundreds of tons of debris. “Got any idea who he is?” Erik asked.
Ren just shook his head. His throat was so dry he couldn’t speak. If this was the man who had taken Elaina into the mine, wouldn’t she be with him? If she was anywhere near the man, hers would surely be the next body uncovered.
“Why don’t you sit down a minute?” Erik said. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m all right,” Ren told him, his voice thick. “I’d better get back to work. ”
Erik nodded, understanding Ren’s need to keep busy. Every miner had experienced the same kind of agony at one time or another while waiting endlessly for news of a loved one or waiting behind a mountain of debris, hoping and praying to be found before it was too late.
The digging seemed interminable, hour after agonizing hour crept by, each one longer than the last, yet no one complained. Every man focused his total effort on piercing the insurmountable barrier that lay before him. It was dark outside, though within the tunnel there was no night or day, only the blackness. At least the cool night air brought a little relief from the heat.
Ren heeded Josh Colson’s warning and paced himself. He was sure the big redheaded man knew more about mining than anyone else at Blue Mountain. He was glad to have Josh alongside him to direct the rescue operation.
More hours passed. Ren’s hands were bloody, his face and torso black from the dust and the coal. His mind had long ago blotted out the pain in his aching body; he refused to acknowledge its existence, denying it as he did the possibility of Elaina’s death.
They dug for two more hours, some miners from Hazleton having arrived to spell those who’d been working without pause through the long hours of the night. Ren refused to quit. As long as he was able to stand, he would keep working.
“We’re through! We’ve broken through!” The cry sent shudders of relief—and dread—the length of him. He rushed to the right side of the tunnel where several miners were digging furiously, the tiny hole growing with every shovel full of dirt.