Deep in the Heart (28 page)

John Thomas ran forward, praying that he would not see bits of Samantha revealed beneath the earth. He breathed a sigh of relief as Rebel dug a paper from the grass instead.

“What did you find, boy?” he asked. The paper was wadded, and he held it only by the corners so as not to ruin whatever prints had been left on it. Carefully, he pulled out the worst of the creases until he could read what it said.

“My God!” he groaned softly, then motioned for Monty to come running. “Look! It’s a note from Sam. She said she was going shopping in New Summerfield with Claudia.”

He caught his breath against the tide of emotion that swamped him. His hand shook slightly as he carefully handed the paper to Monty. “Bag it as evidence. Sam probably never knew I didn’t get it.”

Monty slid it into a plastic bag. Every piece of evidence they garnered was one more knot in the rope they wanted to put around Claudia’s neck.

“If anything has happened to Samantha, this is all the proof we need to show that Claudia Smith was in on it,” Monty reminded him.

John Thomas turned away, unable to look at the undisguised sympathy on his deputy’s face. “Search, Rebel. Find Sam.”

The dog was still running, nose to the ground. At his master’s insistent tone he increased his pace as if sensing the urgency of his task.

Except for the grass and trees, the homestead on which they had parked was dead, evidently abandoned long ago by its owners after too many years of bad luck. John Thomas stared intently beyond what was left of the fence row. But there was nothing to see other than the ever-present trees, knee-high grass, and the blue sky above.

Rebel’s loud bay startled both men. Each turned from their individual search to look toward the dog who was near the dead tree, barking into the grass.

“Damn you, dog,” John Thomas muttered. “If you’re barking at anything four-legged and furry, I’ll have your hide.”

They converged on the area where Rebel had taken a stance. The closer John Thomas came, the more certain he was that Rebel was onto something. His heart began to pound and he began to run. Afraid to get closer and see Samantha’s lifeless body lying bleeding and broken in the grass, afraid not to look for fear he’d miss the chance to save her.

“There’s nothing here,” Monty said, as he reached the area first. “I don’t see a thing that—”

“Get back!”
John Thomas yelled, as he knelt by his dog. “It’s an old well. You just missed stepping on one of the covering boards. See?”

“Well, I’ll be,” Monty said, and took a step backward, aware of how close he’d come to walking on top of that board and falling through.

And then the same thought occurred to both men at the same time. Suddenly they were both on their knees, removing the scattered boards and brushing away the grasses at the edge of the well.

John Thomas took a deep breath and leaned over. It had to be done, and if anyone was going to find Sam, it was going to be him.

“Oh, Jesus!” he said, and nearly died on the spot. Even from here he could see the top of her head and the pale yellow blouse she was wearing. “Samantha! Sam, honey, can you hear me?”

But she didn’t move, and the faint hope he’d had of finding her alive lessened with each beat of his heart.

“Go get the car,” he yelled, pointing back to the squad car parked beyond the old yard. “Get the rope out of the trunk, and hurry!”

In less than a minute Monty was back, parked only a few feet away from the old well while John Thomas lay on his back beneath the front of the car, frantically tying the rope to the frame.

“I’m going down,” he said, as he tied the other end of the rope around his waist. “Back up until the rope is taut between us. When I start inside, drive forward to lower me down. Go slow. When you hear me yell, you stop. I’ll let you know when to pull us back up.”

“Yes, sir,” Monty said.

He could only marvel at the calmness with which the sheriff was working, knowing how sick and afraid he must really be inside. It was at that moment that Montgomery Turner saw what made a good lawman. It was putting personal emotion aside to do what must be done.

“Deputy, when you get in the car, let them know we found her, and get me an ambulance here ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and backed up the car until John Thomas waved his hand.

He watched as the sheriff tested the rope around his waist and then steeped toward the well. Monty held his breath as John Thomas disappeared into the hole. Then, remembering his other orders to call for help, he grabbed the radio as he put the car into gear and began to move.

“Sam, honey, can you hear me?” John Thomas’s voice was rough and shaky, echoing within the small, enclosed space as he bounced and scooted his way down the shaft. But she didn’t move, and wouldn’t answer, and his hopes fell.

She heard his voice. But she’d heard it before and it hadn’t been him. All during the night she’d heard him over and over, calling her name, but every time she looked up, expecting to see his face, there would be nothing above her but the night sky and a thousand glittering eyes. At the sight, Samantha had sobbed broken-heartedly. It had seemed to her as if all the eyes of Texas were looking down at her and still none could see her. It was going to be too late. No one could save her.

Later, she’d realized that it was stars she’d seen and not eyes, but even the stars had seemed faint, too distant to wish upon, too far away for dreams. Besides, she knew it was too late for wishes to come true. She’d come to terms with dying. It was her heart that kept having the problem. It didn’t want to give up on Johnny Knight.

And Johnny Knight hadn’t given up on her. When his feet suddenly bumped her shoulder, he scrambled to push himself away from the wall of the well, fearing that he’d land on her instead.

“Come on, Monty, a little lower, a little—
Stop!
” he yelled.

He found himself standing in several inches of water and straddling her legs.

With shaking hands, he reached down, touching the side of her face, half expecting to feel the chill of death beneath his fingers. But even though it was cold, supple flesh gave way beneath his touch.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he crouched in the cramped space, moving his hands frantically across her body in an effort to find her injuries. When he looked up to gauge the distance he’d come, he had no doubt that she had them. It was a long way to fall.

She moaned. The touch on her body was familiar. The voice that reverberated against her eardrums made her cry out in pain. She couldn’t bear to be taunted with his ghost like this again. She closed her eyes, certain that once again, just like before, the image of John Thomas would disappear and she’d come to only to find herself still hurt and alone…and dying.

“Don’t try to move, darlin’,” he said softly, as he lifted her to her feet. “Let me do all the work. You just keep breathing for me, Sam. Don’t leave me now!”

He heard her gasp as her knee gave way, and he quickly slid his arms around her, letting his body bear all her weight as he prepared her for the trip out.

Monty was on all fours, peering down into the darkened well, trying to see past the sheriff to the woman in his arms.

“Sheriff?” he yelled down.

“She’s alive, Monty. Thank the Lord, she’s alive. Haul us up, man, and be easy. I can’t tell how bad she’s hurt.”

The whoop came from Monty. The bark came from Rebel, who’d heard his master’s voice from deep in the ground. In seconds the car was in reverse as Monty began a slow but constant pull on the rope.

John Thomas pressed her head firmly beneath his chin. With one hand against the back of her neck to keep her immobile, and his other arm wrapped as tightly around her as he dared to hold, they began the ascent. As the rope grew taut and the ride began, he locked his legs around the lower half of her body, using himself for the buffer needed to get them both up the narrow shaft.

Soon the earth gave up its prey as John Thomas’s head appeared above the hole. His shoulders came next, and the hold he had on his lady would never have loosened had the ambulance not appeared at that moment, bouncing its way up the rough, uncharted path with several patrol cars leading the way.

“Thank God,” John Thomas said, as he felt solid ground beneath him. He rolled onto his back with her on top, still using himself to keep her immobile.

“Sam, darlin’, can you hear me?”

She didn’t answer, and when the chill of her body began seeping into his own skin, he willed her some of his own warmth and strength. His hands shook as he traced the bloody paths across her face and arms, and he knew in that moment how fragile life was, and how dear she was to him.

He’d never wanted to kiss a woman so bad in his life, and never been so afraid to do so. There wasn’t a place on her that looked safe to touch.

“I love you, Samantha Jean. Don’t you leave me now,” he whispered, and satisfied himself with the life he still held within his hands.

Samantha felt the warm, steady beat of a heart beneath her eardrum, heard the familiar rumble of his voice, and knew that if she’d died and gone to heaven it was okay, because Johnny was already there waiting for her. And if she hadn’t, if Johnny had truly come, then he’d done as he promised. He’d saved her life. She would have to wait until later to know for sure. Right now there was a big black hole in her mind, just waiting for her to fall through.

She fell, just as the first of the rescue team got to her side.

“Is she alive?” the paramedic asked.

John Thomas had to take a deep breath before he could trust himself to answer.

“Yes, thank God.”

When they started to roll her from his body onto the stretcher, his gaze connected once again with the medic’s. “I don’t know how she’s still alive, but you’ve got to do your bit to keep her that way.”

“We’ll do all we know how, and then some, John Thomas. Now let her go.”

Reluctantly, John Thomas gave her up.

He bolted to his feet as they strapped her down, then ran beside the stretcher as they carried her to the waiting ambulance. When they transferred her to the gurney and then into the ambulance, he beat the paramedics inside.

Monty was without orders, but he knew what had to be done. He whistled sharply. Rebel came running. Seconds later they, too, were on their way out.

Flashing lights and screaming sirens made a path through the denizens of the meadow. An armadillo made a run for his hole as a hawk took off from the highest branch of a tree in search of quieter hunting grounds. A jackrabbit bounded across the path of the lead squad car as a terrapin came to a rambling halt and pulled his head and feet into his shell, hoping for the best.

In minutes the abandoned homestead was nearly silent, just as it had been before the arrival of man and the death that seemed always to follow. There was little to show of the drama that had unfolded upon it over the past twenty-four hours except a couple of men from the FBI who were gathering evidence. Slowly the grasses sprang back from the impact they’d suffered, pointing their long, slender stems toward the sun that was climbing to its zenith overhead.

Late that afternoon, as John Thomas sat watch by Samantha’s bedside, waiting for a sign that would tell him she was on her way back to him, Montgomery Turner walked into the room.

John Thomas looked up at his stark white face and red-rimmed eyes, and suddenly remembered the dying fiancée.

“Sheriff.” Monty kept swallowing over and over in an effort to get out his request without breaking down.

“I’ll need to be gone for a couple of days.”

It was the pain in his eyes that told John Thomas the waiting was over for the young woman who’d been taken off of life support.

“Damn, Monty, I’m so sorry.” He looked down at Samantha, lying still but alive beneath the covers, and felt sudden guilt for being happy.

“Don’t think that way,” Monty said quietly, sensing the path that the sheriff’s thoughts had taken. “Some things are just meant to be.” And then his mouth twisted as tears flooded his eyes. “In a way, it all seems right.”

“What do you mean?” John Thomas asked.

“On the same day that my Lissa gave up on living, your lady did not. I guess it’s true that the strong survive.” He walked out of the room without looking back.

John Thomas sat down in his chair and lifted Samantha’s limp hand to his cheek, curving it to fit around his face as if she were doing it herself.

“And you are strong, aren’t you, Sam? Whatever hell she put you through was still not enough to make you quit. I’m so proud of you, darlin’. Do you hear me, girl? I’m so damned proud of you, I could cry.”

And he did.

15

W
HITE WALLS LACKED IMAGINATION
. John Thomas cursed the hospital’s lack of ingenuity, and wished for something abstract to occupy his thoughts. Anything but this flat, blank wall that mirrored his own mind too completely for comfort.

He paced the hallways of East Texas Medical, anxious for a verdict from the doctor. Earlier news had been unsatisfactory. He desperately needed a progress report that he could live with.

She had broken ribs. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Her concussion was serious but not life threatening. It gave him a headache just thinking about it. She’d just missed pneumonia, and it was the doctor’s studied opinion that she would have been better off if she’d just broken her leg instead of the torn muscles and ligaments she’d suffered around her knee. John Thomas’s teeth ached every time he took a step, thinking about the misery she’d suffered alone in that well.

“Damn that woman to hell,” he muttered, thinking of Claudia Smith.

A nurse hustled by and glared at him. He flushed, embarrassed that he’d been overheard, yet unwilling to let go of his anger and frustration until Samantha woke up and at least acknowledged his existence. After that, he just might survive.

“Sheriff.”

John Thomas spun, then all but pounced on the doctor who had just come out of Samantha’s room.

“What is it, Doc? Is she worse? Did you get the results of her X rays? When will you know something?”