Jasper Mountain (27 page)

Milena shivered, pulling her blanket closer around her shoulders, grateful for the canvas bag and treasures from the store. She breathed heavily, not used to the altitude. She’d journeyed through the remainder of the night and made it to the back side of Jasper Mountain. On this side, the mountain didn’t seem quite so imposing. The ground she traveled rose well above Jasper, and more mountains surrounded her. No spirits wandered here. She imagined no one else on the earth existed, and after the last few days, she found such a daydream comforting.

Suddenly, the black of the sky solidified, gathered into a roiling whirlwind, a storm of clouds circling into a funnel. She frantically searched for cover. Then paused. She felt no threat from the cloud. No tempest announcing the onset of a storm. Puzzled, she kept watching. The cloud pulled in on itself, the edges coming closer and the cloud growing thicker, taller, swirling faster and faster until it towered. A high funnel, the kind that if it touched the earth, it destroyed everything in its path.

No warning came to her, no air surged, yet she clearly saw the spinning mass and heard its whispering howl. As instantaneously as the funnel came into existence, the mountain inhaled and sucked it deep within. The cloud shrank until it no longer existed.

No, not a cloud, she realized. Bats. Thousands of bats.

They were leading her to sanctuary, inviting her within the mountain. The bats were her welcome. They revealed the threshold, and Milena stepped forward, she hoped, to a place of wonder, where mountain spirits danced and magic sang.

A tentative rap sounded at the door. Isabella stood.

“Come in.”

Isabella noticed Beth’s eyes, huge, on the verge of tears. She approached the desk, limping slightly. Isabella struggled to reinforce her wavering determination.

The girl tried not to cry, her lips tense in her bruised and scraped face. Best to move quickly, Isabella thought, to strike at this situation, immediately. No preamble, no questions, no explanations. And certainly no compassion. She’d never get through this otherwise. She wasn’t about to allow anyone, not even her dear Beth, to chip away at the foundation of the Boarding House.

“You were at the cribs yesterday.”

Beth flinched like she’d been struck. The wariness in her eyes sharpened into panic. She shook her head. “I … Isabella, I—”

“Miss St. Claire.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice small, hanging her head like a child waiting punishment.

“There is no explanation I will accept. Don’t waste your breath. Or my time.”

Beth’s head snapped up, her eyes growing ever wider in a face draining of color.

Isabella continued. “Pack your things. I want you gone inside the hour.” She did not miss the irony of the situation. If Victor was the least bit interested in Beth, this scene would play out much differently. The way things stood, the girl had no value to Isabella, to the Boarding House. Especially with the taint of the cribs clinging to her. Isabella must, at all cost, keep out anything cheap and tawdry. She had a sanctuary to protect. For herself and her ladies.

The girl had turned herself into a liability, one Isabella could not afford.

“Please, Miss St. Claire, I can explain. It’s not what you think,” Beth said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me, have you honored your contract with Mr. Creely? Have you remained faithful to him?”

Beth’s face finally crumpled in the wake of tears. They fell, an answer. The only one Isabella needed.

She inhaled deeply and hardened her resolve. “Get out.”

“I love him.”

“Victor?” Isabella asked, surprise rushing through her.

“Digger. That’s who I went to meet.” Angrily, Beth swiped her tears away. “It’s Digger I betray. Every time. Not Victor.” Another tear spilled down her cheek. “And you. I betrayed you. For that, I am sorry.”

Closing her eyes, Isabella willed her chest to quit hurting. There it was again, that bothersome heart of hers. It kept rearing up, insisting she feel. But damn it, didn’t she tell the girls a thousand times not to become attached? Not to care? And above all, not to love. Men didn’t love; they weren’t capable of such a thing. Men used, and the sheer joy of this business was using them right back.

Isabella opened her eyes when she heard the rustle of skirts. Beth opened the door to leave. A small sob clung in the air. Isabella opened her mouth to call out to Beth, bring her back. Give her another chance. But the cribs. The cribs! And Digger. A miner. A filthy, stinking dirt-hound.

She simply had no choice in the matter. None at all.

Paint, she decided. Yes, begin another painting. This time, a beautiful sunrise, bursting with color and light. A lovely herd of deer in a distant meadow. And in the front? A hunter. Yes, that was it. A woman hunter. What was the name of the goddess? The one who both hunted and protected? Diana?

Isabella smiled to herself, her calm once again in place. No tempest. No feeling. No hurt, the pain in her chest gone. Yes, she would paint Diana, the huntress with a bow and arrow. At the feet of the goddess, a fawn with an arrow through its heart. A baby deer, ignorant of any danger, separated from the rest of the group, inviting predators and giving away the location of the herd. A fatal mistake, leaving Diana no other choice.

And the sweet herd of deer, continuing to graze in the gentle light of dawn, blissfully unaware of any danger. But, no matter. The huntress would protect them.

Isabella sighed. Another masterpiece in the making. Really, she was amassing quite a collection. She rose and fingered her key as she walked to her parlor. Her easel called to her from the corner of the room, and the promise of her new painting lured her to begin its creation. She returned to bolt the lock at the door.

Nothing could get in.

Amazing what a man could accomplish in a night. Jack walked to the mine, proposal in hand. Only a bit late. He’d sent Dig on with explanations to his team. He didn’t think anyone would fault him for trying to figure out what happened to Stoop. In fact, his actions might actually garner some trust from his men. Then again, maybe not.

The whole mess wore him down. When he went to the Nugget Hotel to question the miners about Stoop, they weren’t especially forthcoming. Jack pieced together enough to understand Stoop’s disappearance was similar to Tom’s.

Jack walked across the yard to the front office. Time to talk to Victor, make him understand and stop operations for a thorough search. Organize teams to map the tunnels. Jack worked out the entire process. His proposal would make the mine much more productive in the future. The only cost to production: two days. Two lousy days. He’d documented the time, the expense of a shutdown, and extended the savings over the next year. Surely, Victor and the investors would agree to a few days of stopped operation for an increase in efficiency.

Then again, maybe not.

Jack knew the missing miners in the equation didn’t matter to Victor or the officers. But Stoop and Tom mattered, damn it.

He was ready for Victor to punch holes through his proposal, but he was more sure about this than anything he’d ever done. As he approached the main office building, he slowed, trying not to let his newfound confidence erode. Tom and Stoop couldn’t afford it.

Jack opened the door. The front office, a wide and shallow room, shouted functionality. Desks lined the walls, and housed the officers, the self-proclaimed planners and thinkers. The inhabitants all looked up. Almost in unison, they returned to their work when they saw who it was, dismissing his existence. Another thing Jack was sick and tired of seeing, the arrogance of these men. The way they looked down at the workers who were the backbone of the business.

Turtle did acknowledge Jack’s presence, wrinkling his nose like he smelled something foul. Edmund Blum, the mine’s accountant, at least nodded to Jack before returning to busily scratching away at his ledger.

Behind the columns of officers, an ornately carved door stood in the center of the far wide wall, like a portal of wonders. The entrance to Victor Creely’s office. A door few ever entered.

Edmund looked up again, sighed, and rose from his desk, a thin pipe of a man with black hair and eyes. He looked like a human version of Poe’s raven. The young man appeared much older than his years, just like the miners. Perhaps the burden of numbers and profit for Victor was a difficult job, too.

“Jack, can I help you?” The man’s voice drew out, tired. For a moment, Jack felt a kinship. He relaxed his shoulders, and the painful throb in his neck faded.

“I need to see Victor,” Jack answered, hoping his familiar use of the mine president’s name would bypass any need for further explanation. It did not.

“And what may I tell him this is regarding?”

“This is regarding the mine.”

Edmund smiled thinly, like he wore his britches too tight. “I need a bit more detail than that.”

“I’ll save the details for Victor. Thank you.”

The accountant pursed his lips. “Well, discussion with Mr. Creely will be a bit difficult.”

Despite Jack’s earlier empathy for the man, frustration took hold. Enough was enough. He took a step forward. “Listen, Blum—”

Edmund retreated and his eyes widened. “Jack, Mr. Creely is indisposed.”

The statement took Jack completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“What it usually means. Indisposed.”

Tired of excuses, lies, and being put off, Jack pushed past the accountant. Summoning whatever fortitude was left in him, he swung open the president’s door.

Victor’s office was empty, the mahogany desk sitting alone in the center of the room, surrounded by deeply stained wood paneling. Paintings, pastoral scenes dotted the walls with tranquility.

Jack spun around. “Where is he?”

Edmund smirked. “Are you having difficulty hearing this morning, Jack? I told you. Indisposed.”

Jack headed for the accountant, who scuffled back, beyond the threshold. Before Jack had the chance to say another word, shouts punched through the air, coming from the headframe. The shrill of the lifting engine cut off. Yelling rose in pitch and fever. Turtle rose to his feet. Jack changed direction and just about catapulted across the office when the door slammed open.

“Somebody fetch the doc, and right quick. Jack, you’d better get out here. The platform collapsed. Your entire group was on board.”

P
lenty of times, Jack imagined the mountain was a creature consuming him. At this moment, he almost believed it, and this time the mountain not only devoured his body but his soul. He dropped another few feet, rope burning his palms. Below him, a thousand-foot fall. Pete controlled his lifeline. If that wasn’t a test in trust, Jack didn’t know what was.

Pete explained the incident to Jack. The platform had started to split just when it reached the collar. Miners scrambled off. Only one didn’t make it off in time, a boy not big enough to push his way to safety.

If Mouse fell to the bottom, he’d been killed, no question. The only hope was that the kid caught the mouth of a tunnel. Jack swallowed back fear, and clung to the thin hope like he clung to his rope. He tried not to see visions of a little boy, hurt. Broken. Tingling pushed behind his eyes. No time for tears, not even the kind that didn’t fall. Mouse needed him like he’d never needed him before.

Miracles happened. He’d seen plenty after the ranch fire: Leno and his family, Willow. But miracles were in short supply in Jasper. He willed Mouse to be alive. More, he believed the boy was alive, believed it with everything in him.

Jack dropped another several feet, gripping the cable tighter. If he wasn’t all tangled up in rope, he’d kick himself in the ass. He’d been tied up with his stupid proposal and then ran off to the Nugget Hotel without a second thought for anything, especially not the child sleeping in his bed. Mouse could take care of himself. No surprise the kid rose, made his own breakfast and went to work to do his job. Seven years old, and this was his life. While Jack postured with Edmund Blum and battered down the door to an empty room, his team had been on the way up in preparation for a blast. Mouse, usually glued to Jack’s side, had been at work due to a sense of responsibility way beyond his years. His reward? He’d fallen, the latest victim to the mine.