Diamond Mine (2 page)

Eight years later…

Sultry sounds of an unknown musician filtered over the air waves, mingling with the clacking of keyboard keys. In her sixteen-by-ten foot space, her sanctuary, Hannah typed. Ensconced behind these walls, she had created some of her best work.

A mug decorated with cover art from a previous novel graced the oak desk. The aroma of hot chocolate and melting whipped cream permeated the air.

Glossy black-and-white photos goaded her on. In this moment,
he
was hers. Socialite dolls, step aside.

As her muse kicked in, the story unfolded.

Kahlea obeyed her father
'
s wishes. The marriage
ceremony
to the dark knight lasted on
ly
a few minutes. When it was over, she was thrust upon a horse and forced to ride.

As evening waned
,
she rode with nary a word of complaint. Her
new
husband looked over his shoulder
and
his lips
drew
into a frown.

“
We stop here,
”
said Rory.

The men grumbled as they set up camp. Kahlea dismounted, placed a hand to her aching back, and walked toward the growing fire.

Logs evenly spaced provided a place to sit.
Before her was a hole filled with rich dark earth. Sifting through it, something sparkled. She looked closer.

“
What have you found?
”
asked Rory as he appeared behind her
.
H
is hot breath
struck
her neck.

“
A diamond,
”
she answered, breathlessly.

Hours later Hannah sat back and reviewed what she'd written.

The rework of the manuscript was shaping up nicely. The hot chocolate stung her tongue and she fanned her face. A sigh parted her lips as she studied the screen. The cursor flashed. Her fingers posed over the keys. She stalled.

She closed her eyes and waited. Where were the words she looked for? Outside a storm raged. Lightning struck the ground, thunder rumbled across the sky, and sheets of rain struck the house. Hail pummeled the porch, causing an eerie sound.

Light came through the window and reflected off one of the photos above her. The faded photo was several years old.

Rory Chance. Her old flame, her muse, the driving force behind everything she wrote, smiled back at
her
. The socialite, his fiancée Monica, clung to him like a leather jumpsuit. She had read all about Rory and Monica. Pictures of her hanging all over him graced the English society pages. The smile that once graced his lips appeared more like a sneer with each new hopeful glance.

Hannah convinced herself the photo was a fake. Rory didn't really want to be on the arm of a beautiful woman who leered at him like a hungry animal. He didn't really want to be in the forefront of the British media. Fame and fortune accidentally fell upon him at his grandfather's demise. As his heir, Rory, a young British soldier, inherited a company, several houses, and unmentionable wealth.

Even with all the advantages awarded him, he'd refused to give up his post in the military. For months, foreign newspapers bombarded the people with stories about Rory and his soon-to-be marriage to the young woman. On and on they droned of how right the couple was together, how perfect a fit they appeared to be.

As the wedding plans progressed, Hannah's mood changed and her writing became affected.

Staring at the photo once again, Hannah drew in a deep sigh. After this article, she'd canceled her subscription to the foreign papers. She'd stopped searching for news. Better to just live in the past with the Rory she remembered.

Memories of Rory Chance came to mind and she laughed. The sound reverberated off the paneled walls, coming back to her empty heart. Silent tears slipped from her eyes and she grabbed a tissue.

She knocked the glass case and quickly reached out and grabbed it. She picked it up and turned it over and over, allowing it to catch the light.

Her mother had laughed at her for keeping it, but she didn't care. The rock held special meaning to her.

She and Rory had been digging for the last rosebush when…

“
Hey, what is this?
”
he asked as the shovel made a pinging sound.

“
Let me see.
”
She jumped in the hole with him. Inches separated them and she blushed.

He moved a strand of hair behind her ear.

“
I think you tricked me so I
'
d get in
here
with you.
”

“
Hmm, a good idea
,
but no, I really found something.
”

She climbed from the hole and he handed it to her. It was a white rock. The sunlight caused it to
sparkle
like a thousand diamonds.

“
Look, Rory! You
'
ve given me my first diamond!
”

They'd laughed about their discovery for days. It had even led to him calling her Sparkles. Her mother declared it was quartz and therefore worthless. But to Hannah, it was a reminder of their time together.

Trill sounds of a warning bell blared. In a few hours her agent would call for a progress report. Enough daydreaming and fantasizing. It was time to get back to work.

Hannah tapped the keys, the rhythmic motion helped with her flow...

Kahlea closed her eyes and silently moved her lips.

Rory walked
around
and sat beside her.
“
What are you doing?
”

Startled, she jumped.
“
Praying.
”

“
Sor
r
y
,
no one is going to save you.
”

She
batted her thick
lashes.
“
Who said I was praying to be rescued? I am thanking the Lord for a blessed day of travel, no more
,
no less.
”

Then he said, he said
…

“What does he say?” Hannah drummed the desk. What was wrong with her?

The rumbling of the storm had woken her early. When she sat at the computer, she'd known exactly what to say, and now it was just gone.
Poof
, just like that.

Pacing the room, she tapped her finger to her chin. Rory needed a witty comeback. Something witty, a special phrase only he would use. What was it?

What would the real Rory say?

“Monsieur Rory? Monsieur? Are you up?” A timid voice floated through the cracked door.

Rory rolled over in the small bed, shifting the thin mattress. The banging continued for several minutes. If he covered his head with the thin blanket, would it block out the noise?

Unfortunately, it didn't. Sighing, he pushed up on the bed and grunted. “I wasn't, but I guess I am now.”

The door opened further and a nervous child entered. “Good. My name is Simon. Father Thomas needs your help in the garden.”

“At this hour?” he questioned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Oh, yes.”

“But the sun is barely up,” said Rory in amazement. What could the old man possibly need from him?

“Yes, yes, best time to work in the garden. Not as hot.” Arrayed in a long, flowing, brown cassock robe, Simon walked away. It was a mystery to Rory how the child did so without falling flat on his face.

Swinging his leg off the side of the bed, he sat upright. Rory moved his neck from side-to-side and listened to the popping noises. “I don't know if penance is worth this,” he mumbled.

“Excuse me, I didn't hear you,” said Simon, moving his head around the door facing.

Rory pulled on the sock and felt for the snap. The prosthetic leg slipped on the end and snapped in place. Rory stood using one hand to balance himself against the wall. “No worries, just direct me to where I need to go.”

Simon nodded. “Oh, yes. Follow me.”

South Africa was vast and beautiful but poor and dangerous. Many children lived on the streets or in orphanages, often starving. Some were lucky enough to be taken in by the church. The joy which resided within this boy was such a rarity. Rory wished he had a way to bottle it and sell it. Then everyone in the country would have a chance at happiness.

Rory's gait was awkward, but the longer he walked, the more comfortable he became. Ignoring the strange feel of the prosthetic as it settled against his skin, he pushed himself to keep up.

The garden, on the southern side of the monastery compound, provided not only food for the residents but also pleasure. On this fine morning, several elderly men stood around a tree. Their fingers tapped their chins in thought.

Rory stopped beside Father Thomas and mimicked their pose. When they neglected to notice, he dropped his hands to his side and asked, “What is so important you need me right now?”

Without glancing at Rory, Father Thomas said, “We must move this tree.”

Rory arched his brow. “Move
this
tree?”

“Yes, this tree.”

“Why?”

“Because the shade it creates is blocking my roses.”

“Well, of course, we can't have that, now can we?” muttered Rory.

Father Thomas frowned. Rory cringed. Perhaps he wasn't getting off to the best start. He really did wish to atone for his sins.

“Sorry, Father. I'll be glad to move the tree. Do you have the tools to cut it down?” he asked.

“No, no, Rory. You misunderstand. I do not wish for you to destroy the tree. I wish for my rosebushes to have more sun.”

“So you want more sun on the bushes but I can't destroy the tree?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Do you want me to trim the limbs?”

“Oh, no. You mustn't do that.”

“Then you want me to move a twenty-foot tree?”

“If that is what it takes, then yes.”

Rory threw his hands into the air. “That is impossible.”

“All things are possible—”

“Not moving this tree. You ask too much.”

The pages shot one at a time from the printer.

Hannah skimmed the words. Angrily she wadded them into a ball and threw it in the wastebasket. Distancing herself from the desk, she paced the room and ranted out loud.

“The agent will send this back in a heartbeat.” Her voice deepened with mimicry. “
It is a good story but where are the
‘
ayes
'
and
‘
nays
'
?
Whe
n
is your time period?
Where are your commas?
You need to try again, Hannah
.” Back to her normal tone, she continued, “I've had successes. Why can't I do it again? Why does it have to be so hard every time?”

Sighing, she looked out the window. Beads of water formed a line on the screen. “Maybe Rory falls in love with the non-complaining Kahlea and they marry, and he stays with her and they have tons of babies.” She threw her arms skyward. “This is hopeless.”

Hannah picked up the phone, held it to her ear, and listened to the dial tone. Courage to take the next step finally found her as she dialed the number.

On the other end a man answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mike. Is Tonya there?”

Michael Thomson, or Mike, worked for the government. Sometimes she fantasized about his job…

Ropes dangled from tall trees as he swung from limb to limb. Feet landing securely on a branch, he would wrap his arms around Tonya, whisper in her ear and whisk her away to his house in the trees.

At other times, Mike was surrounded by beautiful women swathed in glamorous ballgowns. A black ear piece shoved in his ear, thick plastic glasses concealed a camera, as he sought out an enemy to place them behind bars. Or maybe he—

“Yeah, I think she is putting Mikey to bed. Let me get her.”

Noting the time, she felt like kicking herself. She tried to get out the words
I
'
ll
call back
,
but Mike had already left. She was in trouble now, she had promised not to call so late.

Tonya Thomson had been her best friend for years. Whenever something was on her mind or worrying her, Hannah called her. Recently, however, they'd made an agreement, and at this moment, she was breaking it.

Tonya arrived on the line huffing and puffing. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. Why does something have to be wrong?”