Trouble At Lone Spur (25 page)

Suddenly the two women locked eyes above the child’s auburn flyaway curls.
No.
Liz backed away from the smile that was at once mocking and challenging. A smile reminiscent of Dustin’s after one of his pranks. Wheeling, Liz stumbled out beyond the crowd to where the air was fresh. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. The ex-Mrs. Spencer had no intention of leaving when this came to an end.

Surely she was wrong. Under the circumstances, her nerves were frayed and everything seemed colossal, out of perspective. Gil would never take Ginger back, would he? That was a question Liz intended to ask the first chance she got.

The chance eluded her all afternoon. Time and again, Liz saw Gil climbing out of the shaft, but whenever she managed to get to his side, Ginger and Rusty reached him first. Liz couldn’t bring herself to interrupt.

News coming out of the pit wasn’t encouraging. Once, they drilled through a layer of rock into wet loamy soil. Twice, the pipe they put in to shore up the mud slid on them. Frustration ran high, tempers short.

The one time Gil did come to the tent for coffee, he was besieged by reporters, and Liz never got close to him. For a second their eyes made contact. His looked so bleak, so utterly dismal, Liz couldn’t have said anything to add to his stress if her life depended on it. She loved him. Had told him so, and he’d more or less said the same. For now, it would have to do. For now, Dustin needed everyone’s devotion.

“Are you okay?” Nan Littlefield stepped behind the table to relieve Liz.

“Fine.” The word sounded brave, but didn’t fool Nan.

“I hope you aren’t letting the witch of Crockett County get you down. She has more gall than a flock of turkeys. You aren’t worrying about the possibility of Gil taking her back, are you?”

Liz shook her head.

“Good. ‘Cause she’ll show her true colors before long. Her kind always does.”

“It’s Rusty I’m worried about, Nancy. He’s eating up all the attention she’s giving him.”

“Step easy there, gal. I overhead that viper tell Kyle Mason you were alienating her from her sons.”

“It’s not true! I told Gil the boys needed to see their mother more. Mr. Mason didn’t believe her, did he?”

“Men are fools for a pretty face and a wiggly butt.”

“He did believe her.” Liz looked stricken. “What’s to say Gil won’t be hoodwinked by the same…attributes?”

“Attributes? Hmph. Fancy word for the crock of bull that woman’s peddling. But Gil’s sampled it all before.”

Liz laughed at that. “You do have a way with words, Nan. And you’re right. I should trust Gil. It’s just…when you love someone, you don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Off with you, missy. Why don’t you go take this tray of coffee up to the platform? Our beauty queen won’t dirty her jeans to climb up there. I haven’t met a rancher yet who doesn’t appreciate it when his woman pitches in with the chores.”

“Really? I thought you just said they like pretty faces and wiggly butts.”

The older woman gave a wicked smile. “Time you learned that a rancher’s wife has a passel of talents up her
sleeve…and, urn, in other places.” She winked and shoved the big metal tray into Lizbeth’s hands.

People parted automatically to let Liz through. Jarvis greeted her with a heartfelt sigh. Liz knew the big man had taken very few breaks in the many hours since this ordeal began. His eyes were red-rimmed. The stress was beginning to tell.

“I got nine grandkids about that little duffer’s age,” he said in answer to Liz’s suggestion that he take a break. “I keep seeing their faces. Time’s running out.”

“No.” Liz thrust the tray into the hands of his assistant and grasped his arm. “Don’t even think it. Where’s Gil?”

“Just comin’ up. That lad’s gonna kill himself if he doesn’t ease up.”

Liz turned in time to see Gil crawling off the sling on his hands and knees. His face was ashen and his sides heaved.

“We busted through the well,” he gasped as Liz and Jarvis rushed to his side. Gil flopped over onto his back, struggling for air. “I was too far below him to get a grip on his leg. The well’s narrower than we thought. Can’t be more than fourteen inches in diameter.”

“Shit!” Jarvis threw up his hands, saw Liz and apologized.

“That’s okay.” She shrugged his apology off. “Is fourteen inches bad?”

Jarvis paced and rubbed his crew cut with a beefy hand. “We’ll have to expand the balloon below him at the juncture to keep him from slipping. Go in above him with the hydro-drill. It’s our best option.”

“Won’t work. The shaft he’s in is sunk in the middle of that damned rock. It would take us hours to angle up and drill through it. He’s getting weak, man—I don’t
think he has hours.” Gil turned away, but not before Liz saw him blink back tears. In fact, there wasn’t a dry eye among the men who gathered around the platform. Men who’d given their all and now saw hope slipping away.

Jarvis closed his eyes and rubbed at them with callused thumbs. “There must be somebody small enough to get through that dad-blamed hole. Got a circus playing in town? We need a skinny contortionist.”

“What about me?” Liz stepped up, forcing the man to open his eyes.

“You a contortionist?” The driller’s eyes lit up until Liz gave a shake of her head.

Gil reached for her and spun her around. “No, Lizbeth. You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s pitch-black in the cutaway. There’s no room for a breathing pack. You’d freeze up. Do you understand me? There’s not enough air down there to light a candle.”

Liz shivered. Nausea rolled over her at the thought of being confined. Fear gnawed at her insides. But they were talking about Dustin—Gil’s son. It looked to Liz as if she was the smallest adult around. “You have a better idea, Gil?” she asked quietly.

“Ma’am, if you’ll pardon me for saying so,” another driller said, “you aren’t any bigger than spit. It takes more than guts to get even a weak kid on a backboard and haul him out. It takes muscle.”

She looked the speaker right in the eye. “I’ve been a farrier for six years. I pack my weight in iron every day, and I can throw a cantankerous horse when I have to. If you’ve got a better plan, tell us. Otherwise, get out of my way. I love that boy, and I’m going after him.”

G
IL SCRAMBLED
to his feet. “Lizbeth, no. You don’t know what it’s like down there. It’s blacker than night. Scary as all hell.”

“I’ll wear a lighted hat. Gil, I want to do this. I
have
to.”

“No.” He gripped her hard.

Jarvis eyed them both. “Duke it out, you two. Fast. Otherwise, we’ve gotta drill some more. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Liz gently disengaged herself from Gil’s grasp. She grabbed a hard hat and tightened the cinch. Her nerves stretched tighter than guitar strings. Six years’ worth of fear screamed through her head, taunting her. Calling her all kinds of fool.

“Take off your necklace, your watch and that belt,” said one dirt-streaked driller, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “You hafta crawl both ways on your belly. You don’t wanna wear anything that’ll snag. I’ve done this type of rescue once—in a mine. Take it slow and don’t freeze up.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Ginger and Rusty pushing their way into the front row of onlookers. Nan came from the other side holding fast to Melody’s hand. A hush sank over the crowd.

“I’d like a word with my daughter, then I’ll be ready.” Liz wanted to get on with it with as little fanfare as possible.
She didn’t want anyone talking about the possibility of freezing up. Already her insides lumped like lead.

Dusk swooped in even as Liz hurried to meet Nan. Ginger’s gaze skipped over Liz as she yanked Rusty into the circle of light. “What’s going on?” Ginger demanded. “Why has the drilling stopped?” Her voice rose shrilly. Liz tensed, then forced herself to relax.

A man readying the backboard told Ginger that Liz was going down the shaft and across the cut to rescue Dustin.

Ginger flew into a rage. “I won’t have it! I want a paramedic. A professional, not some amateur. Oh, my baby! My baby’s going to die!” she wailed, pointing a finger at Liz, who’d just bent to give Melody a hug. “It’s her fault he’s in that well.”

“Shut her up!” Jarvis roared. He stormed off the platform and hustled Lizbeth up the steps toward the sling.

She pulled up short in front of Gil. “Isn’t there anyone else?” he asked, sounding desperate.

Behind her, Jarvis snorted. “Not who can wriggle into a fourteen-inch shaft at the other end. Gotta hunch your shoulders and reach up to grab him, missy.”

Fighting off an icy wash of fear, she nodded.

Gil barely touched Lizbeth’s chin. “I’ll go on TV like I did to get the drill. There’ll be someone. I’ll fly him in.”

Liz ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Don’t you trust me, Gil?”

“With my life. But—”

“Then trust me with Dustin’s.” She wrenched her eyes from his anguished ones and stepped around him.

Gil gazed at her narrow back. He hated this feeling of desperation. He was a man who liked to protect the ones he loved. Spinning on a muddy boot heel, he stalked to
the platform’s edge and scooped up Rusty and Melody. Within seconds he rejoined Liz, leaving Ginger raving to anyone who’d listen. And there were some. Newsmen whipped out cell phones so fast one would think war had been declared.

Just standing there, peering down into the rescue pit, made Liz’s stomach roll. “Gil.” She faced him squarely. “If anything happens to me, anything, uh, you know,” she whispered, “notify my folks.” Quickly she reeled off the name of her parents’ thoroughbred farm. “If you have to call, go easy. It’ll be a shock.” Liz vowed that when this was over, she’d tell them about Mel.

“Lizbeth. For God’s sake, it’s okay to back out.” Gil touched a curl that had escaped the hard hat.

“No. I’m going.” Jaw clenched, she swung out onto the monkey board.

Gil set Rusty down and lurched to grab the cable. “I’ve been all the way to the juncture. It’s the pipe where Dusty’s lodged that’s skinny. If you don’t think you can squeeze in and out, get the hell back here immediately. We’ll drill up through that bedrock and open a bigger hole closer to him. I mean it, Lizbeth. Don’t take chances.”

“Mommy?” Melody’s whimper expressed an anxiety that linked all the volunteers clustered around the winch. The rustle of the wind and the squeak of the winch blended with the pump that ran oxygen to Dustin. Over that rose Ginger’s raucous protest.

Gil had never felt so frustrated, so powerless, but he knew by the look in Lizbeth’s eye that objecting was useless. “Lizbeth…dammit. Here. Wait. Take my lucky piece.” Digging into his front pocket, he pulled out the golden spur that had belonged to his grandfather. Its tiny
diamonds winked as he kissed the warm gold and shoved it into her hands.

Gil’s back was to Ginger. However, Lizbeth saw the twins’ mother break off her tirade and glare at Gil. “I’ll give it to Dustin,” Liz promised, hoping to avoid a backlash. She might as well have saved her breath for Ginger raged. To top it off, Gil leaned out as far as he could and gave Lizbeth a kiss no one could misinterpret. As the volunteers broke their silence to whistle and clap, Ginger’s cat-eyes narrowed dangerously. Liz withstood the full impact.

Oblivious, Gil stepped back and gathered both children in his arms. He hugged them tight as Liz began her descent. She stood no taller than the backboard on which someone had strapped a thin blanket and a large tube of lubricant jelly.

The monkey board spun and Lizbeth sank out of sight. Gil’s heartbeat thundered wildly. He wanted to snatch her back, but he couldn’t. Dustin had now been in the well approximately thirty-two hours. Oh, the drillers talked about children who’d survived longer, and Gil knew that Lizbeth was strong and capable—but it wasn’t right. None of it. He felt like howling at the moon. Not wanting the kids to witness his frustration, he lifted them off the platform.

Neither child wanted to leave, but Gil insisted on escorting them back to wait with Nan Littlefield. He needed to stay near the shaft—unencumbered—in case…He refused to finish the thought.

Morris clapped him on the back and Nan squeezed his hand. “God bless,” she murmured. “I hope you know you have a treasure in that woman.”

Rusty darted off the minute Gil set him down. The adults saw he’d rejoined Ginger.

Gil rubbed at the tension clamped to the back of his neck. “
Buried
treasure if my darling ex-wife has anything to say about it.” A thin sigh escaped his lips.

“Why would she?” Nan scowled.

“Come on, Nancy. She’s the twins’ mother. You know the courts are biased in favor of mothers.”

“Then they have a different definition of one than I do.”

Morris looped an arm around his wife’s neck. “Melody’s ready for dessert. Pris Naylor just brought in a whole tray of brownies. Let Gilman get back to business, Nan. I, uh, we have a little pitcher with big ears.”

Gil nodded, happy to let Morris deal with his wife.

“Mark my words, Morris Littlefield,” Nan hissed. “That hussy’s up to no good.”

“Who, hus-hussy?” Melody asked, tripping over the unfamiliar word. “Do you mean my mommy?”

“Told you,” Morris said, motioning Gil to take off.

Nan turned to Melody. “Land sake’s no, child.” She grasped the small hand. “I can practically taste those brownies. Can’t you?” Waggling her brows at her husband, she made a beeline for the food table.

Grateful not to be caught in the middle, Gil left his good friends and all but raced back to the platform.

D
EEP IN THE BOWELS
of the earth, Liz might have enjoyed the humor in being referred to as a hussy if she hadn’t been shaking in her boots. Hussy would be preferable to the names she called herself. Names like coward. Chicken. Or Dustin’s favorite, wuss. Overhead the winch creaked and moaned. The cable swayed. Near the bottom the air grew oppressively close. When darkness swallowed her, Liz fought nausea and rising hysteria.

Closing her eyes, she held tight to the memory of Gil’s last kiss. She conjured up how he’d looked just now, his strong arms circling both kids.

As the monkey board bumped to a stop, she envisioned how happy they’d all be when she returned with Dustin.

Through a fog, Liz accepted a few words of advice from the paramedic Jarvis had recently stationed at the bottom. At once she crawled into the cross-over tunnel—and nearly passed out. It was as if she’d zipped herself into a sleeping bag, body, head and all. Fear clawed at her insides. No one had said it was like being in a grave. Her throat closed. She nearly fainted, until she remembered that Dustin had been trapped for more than thirty hours. Shuddering, Liz stiffened her spine. After another delay, she crept onward.

Before long, her eyes burned like fury. Yet she was afraid to blink lest she lose the thin beam of light attached to her hat. Lord, she thought she’d known darkness before. But night was nowhere near this black.

As she paused to haul in a deep breath, her lungs seemed to shrivel. A ribbon of fire burned the length of her esophagus. Panicking, she froze, tried to scream, but couldn’t. She felt dizzy. Time drifted in slow motion. Caught in the throes of vertigo, Liz lost the signal rope Jarvis had told her to affix to the backboard so the waiting paramedic could help pull Dustin out. She scrabbled around trying to find it. No use, it was gone. And the light on her cap didn’t penetrate far enough into the blackness of the cave to find it. Bile welled, along with a crushing terror. Without signals, she and Dustin could both be trapped forever.

Gradually she got hold of herself. Ten feet. They said the tunnel was ten feet long, for crying out loud. Babies
passed through the birth canal into a much scarier world. Now she was getting punchy. She might have laughed, if only she could breathe. Somewhere she’d read that air was weightless. Not true. It weighed a ton. It wouldn’t hurt this much if an elephant sat on her chest. But her fears loomed larger than elephants. Lord, oh, Lord, she felt sick. What if she vomited?

Fighting off hysteria again, Liz gave herself a hard mental shake and eventually snaked forward on her elbows. She paid scant attention to jagged rocks that tore through the fabric of her sleeves and into her flesh. Soon she lost track of time. Ten feet seemed to turn into twenty. Forced to stop and pant like a puppy, Liz almost gave up twice. Each time the image of Gil’s face drove her on.

Just when she thought they’d lied about the length, she reached the hole they’d cut into the well casing. The air there was marginally cooler, but fetid.

At this point she was supposed to signal with a solid yank on the rope. Since that was out, she called to Dustin. Her voice caught and rasped out in little more than a grainy whisper. Once again her lungs seized, and Liz succumbed to a fit of coughing.

“S
HE LOST THE ROPE
,” the young paramedic hollered up to Jarvis as he reeled it in. “What do you think that means?”

“Shit!” The experienced driller slammed a fist against the winch. “It means if she’s not dead in there, she’s gotta push the kid out without help. How much did we figure he weighs?”

“Seventy pounds, give or take a few,” someone behind him said.

“And she weighs, what? Ninety? A hundred? Dammit all to hell!”

Gil returned in time to hear the exchange. “She’s no weakling. You should see her at her forge,” he said, wanting to shake the men who looked doubtful. “She’s tough,” he reiterated through clenched teeth. “All muscle. And she’s
not
dead!” he shouted, daring anyone to argue with him.

Jarvis slanted Gil a sharp glance even though he was more than half-cloaked in night shadows. “I wish we could be sure of that, son. You don’t by chance have a private channel to the Almighty? If so, it’ll save me gettin’ more gray hair.”

“How much time did you allow for her to reach Dusty and get out?” Gil ignored the churning in his gut.

“An hour max.” Jarvis ran a hand over his head and shrugged. “Damn, I shouldn’t have listened to her. I knew it was a long shot. Rogers,” he yelled at a dirty driller, “get over here so we can come up with plan B.”

“No.” Gil stayed him with a slash of his hand. “We’ll give her the full hour. I don’t wear a watch,” GO said. “Who has the time?”

Jarvis flipped out a beat-up pocket watch. “Half-past eight,” he said.

“Expect her by nine,” Gil stated firmly. “It’s a good omen. Dustin came into this world at nine-o-two, squalling his head off.” The memory of how he’d felt when Dr. Stevens placed his firstborn in his arms brought tears to Gil’s eyes and a decided catch to his voice.

“I’m impressed you remember the exact time. Most guys don’t even know the date,” said one husky driller.

Jarvis straightened away from the hole. “Me, I only know that nine is the number of grandkids I got. In my book that makes nine a doubly good sign. Nine it is.
We’ll wait.” He picked up a thermos and poured Gil a steaming cupful. “When this is over, son, you and me’ll celebrate with something stronger than this rotgut coffee.”

Gil agreed. But he’d never been one to like waiting, and with both Lizbeth’s and Dustin’s lives hanging in the balance, this wait was pure torture.

“Hey,” shouted one of the doctors assigned to monitor Dustin’s vital signs. “I hear some sort of scratching in the shaft. Sounds like mice.”

“Mice, or one damn brave lady,” Jarvis yelped, running heavily toward the man holding the equipment. Gil wasn’t two seconds behind him, oblivious to the hot coffee sloshing out of his cup.

Jarvis listened a moment, then handed the earphones to Gil. “Sounds like she’s slathering that old pipe with lubricant unless I miss my guess.”

Straining, Gil thought he heard a faint scrape. “Shouldn’t we hear them talking? Lizbeth…Dustin,” he shouted down the hole. “Hey, guys, answer up!”

Everyone strained to hear. Nothing but an occasional scratch, scratch wafted back.

Jarvis placed a gnarled hand on Gil’s arm. “Your boy’s getting tired, Spencer. And I expect the lady’s short on air.”

“How short? It’ll take a lot of oomph to drag Dustin back across ten feet of rock.”

“We may want to kick down a wee bit more oxygen. What do you say, Joe?” Jarvis deferred to the doctor who manned the oxygen tanks. He nodded and fiddled with a gauge. “Seems to be a lot of space between noises. I just don’t know.”

Tension built on the platform as the men waited out the hour, and hoped.