Strong and Stubborn (8 page)

“You know him.” Mike didn't press, but spectacles weren't a common item in a mining camp. Or a sawmill for that matter.

Granger nodded. “Only two men in town wear glasses, and Cora just sent one of them off to fetch the axmen.” He used the spectacles to gesture toward the corpse. “That leaves the telegraph operator, Draxley. But for the life of me, I can't figure out why a man scared of his own shadow would be strolling around up here.”

Mike saw that the wolfhound had tracked them and was now circling around the women, whining loudly and butting his head against their skirts in an attempt to herd them back to the mines. For all that the others trusted the dog, and it seemed well trained and admirably determined to rescue its owner, Mike didn't like the situation. He straightened up and started toward the women.

“Maybe Dunstan and the missing girl have the answer.”

When the men finally joined them, none of the women could find words to ask about the body below. Naomi knew because she tried and failed to form a question. Part of her didn't want to know any details beyond the horrible sight already emblazoned on her mind. But the larger part needed to know something—anything—about what was going on. Maybe there was some clue to help find Lacey.

“Well?” For the first time, Naomi understood the appeal of one-word sentences. They moved fast and left no room for anxieties.

“It's Draxley.” Granger didn't mince words, just pulled out the broken spectacles as evidence. “Or a stranger new to town.”

Naomi sagged in relief—if she hadn't been holding on to Cora and Evie, she might have humiliated herself by sliding straight down to the ground. But shame swiftly chased away any relief.
A man is dead
, Naomi chastised herself, noticing that the other women looked as guilty as she felt. They, too, must have welcomed the news that the crushed corpse wasn't Dunstan, who should be protecting Lacey.

“Lawson's fine, so I think it must be Draxley.” Cora came to her senses first. “No one new's come to town since Dunstan.” She slid a glance toward Mr. Strode, the newcomer, and faltered. “Until today. But no other glasses.”

Decoy butted his head against Naomi's skirts and issued a pleading whine. The gesture inspired Naomi's gratitude. Once they'd established it was (most likely) Draxley beneath the boulder, her thoughts turned right back to Dunstan and Lacey. But she couldn't see any graceful way to pull attention away from a dead man.

So when the dog prodded them back toward the caves, Naomi tugged her bandana back over her nose and mouth and made haste up the mountainside. Peripherally, she was aware when Cora spoke briefly with Evie and turned back toward town, but she didn't catch the reasoning behind it. Nor could she work up any curiosity.

As the entrance to the mine came into sight—or rather, what had been an entrance less than half an hour ago—fear spiked higher than ever. Dust hung heavy in the air, but even if it were clear as a mountain stream, Naomi would have had difficulty drawing breath. Where there used to be a tunnel, a heap of stone and earth cascaded from higher up the mountain all the way to the ground. The debris mounded high enough Naomi couldn't tell whether it had merely sealed off the mine or if the mine utterly caved in upon itself.

The sides of his chest heaving like bellows, Decoy leaped atop a medium-sized boulder and began frantically clawing into the gravel and dirt sealing it in place. Naomi rushed up beside him, scuffing her leather gloves as she grabbed smaller stones and heaved them out of the way. She heard Evie come alongside, helping with a too-heavy stone, while the men set to work on the other side of Decoy.

“Lacey!” Her shriek bounced around mountain rock, shrill echoes obliterating any chance of hearing a response from within. Naomi bit her lip and dug in with even more fury than before. Where were the men? If anyone should be coming to help rescue Lacey, it was all the lumberjacks she'd brought here by writing that blasted ad.

It felt as though hours passed before a dull thudding preceded the woodsmen. Using chisels and ax handles, pickaxes and shovels, they attacked the shifting mass of rubble with a vengeance. More than once Naomi fought silly little battles with men trying to dislodge her from her post. Her sharp elbows rewarded a few who reached for her arms. One unfortunate soul who misguidedly tried to grab her waist discovered just how sturdy her boots were. And, as occupied as she was, Naomi found herself slightly disgruntled that no one tried to move Evie or even Decoy from their stations.

Although
, she conceded,
every man here knows they'll lose whatever hand they put on Jake Granger's fiancée, so Evie won't be bothered. As for Decoy …
Naomi wouldn't try her hand at ousting the wolfhound from his digging site. The dog dug like a … well, a beast.

In some distant, practical portion of her mind, Naomi knew the burly lumberjacks only wanted to help Lacey and Dunstan. Even worse, she acknowledged that their methodical use of strength and leverage would move things along faster than her frantic scurries.

But ceding her spot would feel like giving up on Lacey, and Naomi knew she'd cling to these stones like a barnacle until they found her cousin. Besides, the rhythm of scraping and digging, pushing and pulling, shoving and dislodging small pieces of the mountainside was the only thing drowning out her frantic worries.

Time scraped by, measured in fistfuls and shovels of dirt and a steadily growing pile of stones and boulders pushed away from the entrance of the mine. Eventually the thick grit of dirt and stone dust became a natural part of breathing. Naomi kept scrabbling at the stone separating her from her cousin, eyeing the progress they made. At what point should she shout again? Had they made enough headway for Lacey and Dunstan to hear voices through the blockage?

How could she keep on if she called and Lacey didn't answer?

“Lacey!” Apparently having waged the same battle with herself, Evie called out before Naomi could bring herself to try again. At the sound of her voice, everything ground to a halt, waiting for a response as she called again. “Dunstan! Are you in there?”

S
omebody tell me what the hell is happening!” Braden's yells welcomed Cora to Hope Falls long before she reached the buildings.

“Stop swearing, you miserable, self-centered fool!” Cora knew she shouted at Braden to siphon away some of her frustration and worry, but the man deserved it. “You've been a wretch for weeks on end, and I won't listen for another minute. Right now we need to help Lacey and Dunstan, so your tantrums will have to wait!”

“Where's my sister?” he roared back, face shockingly pale beneath his dark hair. Braden leaned forward as though trying to escape the bed, and Cora noticed that his knee was bent farther than he'd managed even with the doctor that morning. “Where's Lacey?”

Oh, so now you care about your sister? Where was this concern when you let her go to the mines?
Cora bit her tongue hard to hold it back. Blaming Braden for not being able to stop Lacey was like blaming a farmer for not stopping a tornado as it ripped through his cornfields—ineffective at best and downright dangerous at worst.

“We don't know.” The words tasted every bit as bitter as those she'd just swallowed. Her best friend was either dead or trapped in a collapsed mine—just like Braden had been a few months before.

“Don't tell me what you don't know.” Oddly enough, his snarling comforted Cora. So long as Braden kept on snapping and shouting at her, things seemed almost normal. “Tell me what you
do
know!”

“I know you need to stop cursing, shouting, sulking, and demanding, Braden Lyman.” Cora matched his glower. “If you're going to help Lacey, I need you calm enough to think properly.”

“Is she in the mines?” Fear made his pupils so large his eyes looked black. His hand groped for hers for the first time in months. “Tell me my sister isn't in the mines, Cora. Tell me she's okay.”

“I—” Cora gave a hard swallow, but the tears won this time. She gulped out the words anyway. “I can't tell you that. No one's seen Lacey or Dunstan since they left for the mines, and we all know that means she's in some kind of trouble.” Otherwise Lacey would be rushing like a whirlwind trying to make sure everyone was all right.

Braden closed his eyes, so still it looked as though he wasn't even breathing. When he opened them, Cora could see he'd banked his fear with determination. “Do we know which entrance they used?”

“Eastern.” Cora pushed pencil and paper into his hands, giving him not only a purpose but something tangible to hold on to while he faced his own memories of the mine collapse. “I assume they thought they might find more evidence on the side not facing town.”

“That's the side where I—” His throat worked for a moment before he changed the wording and finished, “—they pulled me out of.”

“I know.” Cora tapped the paper to keep his attention away from whatever horrors lurked in his memory. “Can you draw the tunnels? Do you remember at all which ones were cleared after the collapse and which were left alone? Once we get past the blockage at the entrance, we'll probably need to go farther inside to find them.”

“God help me.” Braden's eyes shut, and Cora knew he wasn't swearing this time but genuinely asking for help. “I don't know which branches they would have cleared out before they reached me. I know what they absolutely would have needed to clear to get there, but the rest … I just don't know.” His knuckles went white. “If I could be there—I could tell you. I'd know just by looking.”

“Your memory can go where you can't,” Cora urged. “Braden, you can still be our guide. Think. When they emptied the tunnels needed to reach you, they shored up the supports, didn't they? So the strongest places are the only ones Lacey and Dunstan found access to—and the only places we should look. You can help us find them!”

Cora held her breath as Braden's pencil crawled across the page, first hesitantly then with more confidence. A web of lines spidered away from a single entry point. When Braden's hand stopped moving, Cora leaned close to peer at his makeshift map.

Her heart sank at the number of tunnels winding away from the entrance, deep into the mountain.
It's more of a maze than a mine
.

“Impossible.” Braden's mutter echoed her fears, making Cora raise her eyes to meet his. But he wasn't looking at her. He tapped the pencil against the page before crossing through lines with dark Xs. “Lacey and Dunstan couldn't have gone this way.”

He only meant one tunnel
. Relief had Cora sagging into a chair beside the bed as Braden considered his sketch.
It's not impossible!

“We started to close off this tunnel a week before the collapse. Found a footwall, decided it was safer to make a transverse passage to the highwall and pull it out from above. Less falling debris that way.” He muttered obscure technicalities to himself, crossing out various branches. “Down here, groundwater kept rising. We made it a sump, to funnel drips from other areas.” He cocked his head to the side and marked out another passage. “We had to abandon this adit when we hit a deep fissure—highly unstable. After the collapse, I wondered if we should have stopped sooner.”

The admission caught Cora's attention, but Braden fell silent. Cora watched him studying the drawing but wondered what else he was sorting through in his mind.
How terrible for him, to shoulder responsibility for the tragedy. And now, when he begins to hope it wasn't his fault, he'll feel responsible for Lacey's fate
.

“Here.” He thrust the paper toward her. “It's all I can do.”

“Thank you. We won't be going in blindly—and with as much as you've crossed out, we won't waste time.” Cora gave him an encouraging smile, not daring to reach for his hand a second time.

“Go on then.” His irritable dismissal had her speeding to the door so fast she almost didn't hear the rest. “But come back.”

She clutched the paper to her chest, refusing to turn around and invite the tears again. “You already know I will. I always do.”