Rugged and Relentless (7 page)

Lacey patted her shoulder. “I bought several books about sawmills and logging—even scientific treatises about the types of trees we’ll find. At first, we’ll need to look after Braden and make more finite arrangements while creating a transport system to the mill site. All that gives us time to learn the ins and outs before the mill goes
up and becomes operational.” She paused, welcoming the surge of hope and confidence filling her at the thought. “Time we’ll also use to meet and marry the men we’ve asked for!”

“You asked for good things”—Cora tapped her pencil against the table—“but overlooked something rather important.”

“What?” All three of them chorused the question at once.

“Something we take for granted until it’s gone.”

“We can’t take anything for granted until we have it,” Lacey pointed out. She couldn’t let anything ruin this now, when they’d come this far.
We’re so close to the greatest adventure of our lives, and there’s nothing I take for granted about it!

“Husbands among them.” Evie’s wry smile didn’t seem to lighten Cora’s mood. “Though I don’t see how we can take for granted someone we select so carefully. What more could we need?”

“Just one thing.” A tear trickled onto the paper as Cora blinked, obviously thinking of Braden as she added one word to their list. “Health.”

Braden thrashed against the straps binding him to the bed, fighting against the warm, floating haze of the morphine as it beckoned him back to sleep.

“No!” The protest came out as little more than a feeble croak, rasping past his dry throat.
Confound them!
Didn’t they know the waking pain could be borne until he lost consciousness without the drugs? Better that than the fog of the medicine, where memories waited to ensnare him the moment he slept.

Licking his cracked lips, he tried again, but the doctor already seemed far away, the room blurred around the edges. Now the sharp streaks of agony racing from his legs began fading to the bearable ache Braden knew signaled unbearable dreams—but he couldn’t stop them any more than he could stop the cave-in.…

Hushed voices, words he couldn’t make out but understood anyway, brought Braden around the corner to the newest offshoot of the mine.
Known only to himself, Owen, and a handful of others, it promised to be the biggest strike Hope Falls had ever seen. Even in the muted glow of lanterns sulking for fresh air, the vein sparkled with the promise of dreams made real. He lifted the light so Eric could see that golden stripe continuing on into the wall—where they’d not yet excavated
.

Safety first. Always.

The geological surveys hadn’t been completed, and until they were, Braden wouldn’t give the order to proceed. He grinned
. We can afford to wait.

Besides, it wouldn’t be much longer. He expected to hear back any day now—though Owen urged him to wait until they hired security and half a dozen other unnecessary measures he argued were vital to safeguard the site. Once things went public, his partner insisted, they’d be dealing with claim jumpers
.

“All the more reason to get started as soon as we’re cleared.” Eric’s assessment matched Braden’s, though he kept his voice low. One tunnel over, workers mined as usual. No need to attract attention to the offshoot
.

Approaching footsteps spurred Eric and Braden to move forward, blocking the vein of gold ore from view, until they saw Owen’s flushed face. It wasn’t unusual for his face to turn red from the exertion of climbing into the mine and traipsing around in thin air—Owen held up more of the business end of things—so Braden thought nothing of it
.

“Why are you here?” Dismay sharpened the question to a cry. “Both of you! You shouldn’t be here!”

“You’re the one who’ll attract attention, Owen.” Braden tugged the furious man deeper into the tunnel. “Calm yourself.”

“No. You didn’t listen to me—” Whatever else Owen planned to say was drowned out by an incredible roar as the mountainside was torn apart. Wooden supports buckled, stones tumbled, and dirt rained until it gave way to clouds of dust coating Braden’s face, mouth, throat … and his very soul
.

Cave-in.

While it lasted, he prayed for it to end, but in the silence, he heard
the screams, shouts, and cries of injured men the next tunnel over
. Oh, Lord … what have I led them to?
It wasn’t until he heard a moan but couldn’t move toward the sound that Braden realized his legs were pinned beneath something. His hands told him it was a wooden support burdened by rock and earth.

I can’t feel my legs.
It didn’t seem to matter. He lay, time measured by ragged breaths and unrelenting thirst. His men grew quiet. Braden strained to hear them, but silence steadily won until he prayed for even the screams and sobs from before
. …

Light assaulted his vision the moment he opened his eyes, flooding him with reassurance that the nightmare had ended. Braden gasped. He felt his heart thudding from the strain of the ordeal. Felt the leather straps holding him to the bed—tangible proof that the nightmare may be over, but it had been real.

The harsh glare of day taxed his eyes, the only admissible cause for the tears he couldn’t wipe away. The doctor ordered his arms bound so he didn’t convulse in his sleep and perhaps damage his spine. Or so he said.

Braden knew the real reason. They’d trussed him so he couldn’t free himself to begin the work of rebuilding his strength until they deemed him healed enough. He’d heard them talking—confident that the morphine pulled him under long before he’d stopped fighting it—saying he’d never have use of his legs.

But they’re wrong
. His fists clenched, because if there was one certainty in his future, it was that Braden Lyman would walk out of Hope Falls.
For every man who didn’t
.

Even so, he’d never be whole again. He didn’t harbor any illusions about that—which was why he’d set Cora free. Braden closed his eyes, refusing to picture her.

She needs better than a cripple who’ll at best always have a limp and a chip on his shoulder
, he reminded himself.
Cora deserves a man who didn’t lose everything when his investment collapsed on top of him. Someday she’ll appreciate the choice I made for us both. Now she can have any man she wants
.

Wanted:
3 men, ages 24–35.
Must be God-fearing, healthy, hardworking single men
with minimum of 3 years logging experience.
Object: Marriage and joint ownership of sawmill.
Reply to the Hope Falls, Colorado, postmaster by May 17
.

Jake stared at the ad in disbelief for a good minute before giving in to the chuckle trapped in his chest. A second read, and the chuckle expanded to a full-blown guffaw. Obviously, someone with a well-developed sense of humor had far too much time on his hands. Satirizing the way miners and lonely settlers mailed away for brides provided a good laugh.

He flipped through the rest of the week-old paper he’d unearthed from beneath the seat, searching for an addendum to reveal the real reasons behind the ad. The first time, Jake assumed he’d missed the explanation. By the second time he scoured the rag, he’d drawn an altogether different conclusion.

He threw back his head and howled long and hard at the realization the paper somehow left it out entirely.
Without the addendum, there’ll be fools who buy into the idea and respond
. The image of the mysterious debutante deluged with marriage proposals made Jake wish he had time enough to track down the printer and discover the author’s identity.
Then again, the thing’s old enough they most likely printed a retraction in later issues. It’d be interesting to find out
. …

The shrill blast of the train’s whistle as they pulled into Durango reminded him of his true purpose.
I’ll have time for entertainment after I find Twyler
. He set the tattered paper aside and headed for the door long before the train screeched to a halt. He ignored the scroll-worked metal stairs. Why wait when a jump would do just as well?

Jake started walking the moment his boots hit the dirt and
didn’t stop until he hit the saloon. The area swarmed with the frantic activity of a booming town—all hurry and hustle with no way to sort things out.

The perfect place for a man like Twyler to lose himself when he got word I’d been tailing him
. A grudging measure of—not respect, he’d never respect anything about the man who’d killed his brother and stolen his good name—acknowledgment set Jake’s jaw.
The more difficult the prey, the sweeter the victory when I bring him in. Better yet, it reaffirms that Edward wouldn’t be taken in by anyone easily. It took a master
.

Jake strode into the saloon, not looking right or left, simply making his way to the bar and plunking his knapsack down. To the casual eye, he’d seem unconcerned and oblivious to his surroundings. Few would suspect he’d taken in the entire place as he opened the doors. He knew which tables were filled, where the piano stood, and which end of the bar he could find the barkeep’s shotgun under if he needed it. This last he’d learned from the way the man’s gaze often strayed there.

No one would guess—and that’s just the way Jake liked it.

     FIVE     

I
don’t like it,” Evie announced. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“We know, dear.” Cora patted her hand. “You might have mentioned it a few times this morning already.”

“You saw the way they handled it!” She knew she should stop worrying.
Or, at the very least, stop making the others listen to it!
But Evie couldn’t help herself. Her fists clenched into balls so tight her knuckles ached. “It was all I could do to keep from marching over there and—” She caught the looks on her friends’ faces and amended, “All right, all you three could do to keep me from marching over there.” A smile tugged at her, and she gave in. “Thank you, all, for that.”

“You’re welcome.” Naomi answered for the group. “When they dropped your stove, my heart fell right along with it.”

“They make it hard work to damage cast iron.” Now Evie hastened to reassure them. Her worrying was one thing; her friends’ fretting was quite another.
I won’t think about the crack in the enamel facing. There’s nothing to be done now
.