As he grasped Jenkins by the collar and jerked him up on his toes, Retta’s voice broke into his fury. “Harrison, don’t.” She ventured closer, placing her free hand on his arm. “Let me dig a bit deeper, first. Please?”
Slowly, Harrison released Jenkins, watching as he plopped his flabby rump into the nearest chair, sagging as if all the air had just been sucked out of him. “All right. But I’m taking the book.” He plucked it from the desk and placed it under his arm.
Jenkins raised a hand as if to stop him, but Harrison’s low growl kept him from spouting any further protest. “Lambert won’t like this,” the fat bastard muttered.
“Lambert can come see me if he’s bothered by anything.” Harrison took Retta’s elbow gently. “Come on, let’s go.”
~ ~ ~
Halfway to the wagon, Frank hailed them, hurrying across the rutted street from the mercantile, his boot heels clicking on the boardwalk.
Addie raised her head from Retta’s shoulder. “Unca Fank.” She held out eager arms.
“There’s my girl.” Frank swung her up, resting her little bottom on his shoulder, and she clutched his hair in two tiny fists.
“Um, she might be a bit wet, Uncle Frank,” Retta cautioned, though she had a feeling he wouldn’t care. The elder Carter had fallen hard for his niece, and a damp pair of bloomers didn’t seem to bother him.
“Aww, she’s fine,” he assured her, before turning to his brother and lowering his voice. “Listen, that south shaft really doesn’t look right. I sent Dub and Clem down to check deeper, and Clem’ll stand guard tonight. Nell’s got the boys digging sand.”
“Sand?” Retta asked, puzzled.
“For sandbags. Never know when you might need some, and those Washburn runts think they’re in hog heaven if they can muck around in sand. They’re having a fine old time.” Frank jiggled Addie up and down, making her shriek and hiccup in excitement. He slid her off his shoulder and onto one muscled arm, ignoring the faint splotch she left behind. Retta shook her head, glancing toward Harrison.
“Let’s get her home so I can clean her up.” She indicated Frank’s shirt. “Sorry, I should have taken her to the necessary while we were in the bank.”
“You went to the bank?”
She nodded as she took her daughter from Frank and propped her on a hip. “Harrison wanted me to examine the account ledger.” At Frank’s questioning brow, she continued, “We found, uh, maybe we should hurry, Harrison.” She grimaced at the warm wetness Addie unleased on her poor skirt. “Addie just, well, you know.” She stared beseechingly at both men, trying to hold her soggy-bottomed child away from the soaked garment.
“Right.” Harrison took her arm and headed toward the wagon. “Frank, meet us at the ranch.”
“Be there shortly.” Frank strode across the street toward his tethered horse, as Retta settled herself and Addie next to Harrison on the wide seat. He took up the reins and clucked to Copper, sending the big horse into a jerking trot.
They made good time on the way back, arriving before Frank. “I bet he went to the main mine first,” Harrison mused, as he guided Copper into the barn and jumped from the seat. He swung first Addie, then Retta, to the ground. “I’ve got to deal with the wagon.” He pressed a swift kiss to Retta’s cheek.
“I’ll make coffee,” she promised, guiding Addie toward the house. As she hurried her daughter to the kitchen to clean her up, Retta wondered if Frank would be as amenable to her taking over the accounts for Carter Mines, as Harrison.
~ ~ ~
A soft whimper jolted him awake, and Harrison sat up in bed, confused for a moment, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The pup, needing to go outside?
Another whimper. No, that’s Addie. Probably a nightmare or a sour stomach, considering that third helping of apple crisp she’d gobbled down. Frank’s donation of a half-dozen apples to the family meal had been made into the best dessert Harrison had ever eaten. His wife was a wonderful cook, something he felt so thankful for. Among other talents . . .
His lips curved in a smile.
Their evening had been tempered by Frank’s presence and the antics of Noodle as he raced through the house and acted foolish as usual, alternately chasing and then being chased by Addie. Frank had slipped away early, claiming his intent to check on the mining perimeter before he retired for the night.
After letting Noodle run around outside and water every bit of scrub he could find, Harrison had joined Retta in Addie’s room, settling both tot and pup under the blankets. Wondering if he’d be allowed to hold his wife while they slept, he’d followed Retta to their room, leaving the door open to listen for either Addie or Noodle. Removing his clothes down to his drawers, he climbed into bed. It was the first time since their wedding night that he’d worn anything to sleep in besides his skin.
To her credit, Retta seemed to have left her anger outside the bedroom, approaching her side of the mattress with a head held high, wearing a thin cotton gown and a blush. She had offered her cheek to kiss and a soft, “Goodnight, Harrison,” then turned her back and didn’t protest when he cuddled her close, an arm under her head and one over her narrow waist.
Harrison pressed his lips to her shoulder, bared by the unlaced neckline of her gown, and smiled in the darkness when she sighed and relaxed fully in his embrace. He would have pushed his advantage, but he held back, unwilling to coerce her for more.
The next thing he knew, Addie’s cries had woken him.
Yawning, Harrison rose from his warm bed and strode silently down the hall to the child’s room. He lit the candle sconce on the wall, affording enough light to see Addie sitting up in bed with tears running down her face and Noodle pressed into her side, snoring.
“Hi, sweetpea.” Harrison sat next to her and opened his arms. “Want me to take you to the potty?”
She shook her head. Harrison felt carefully along her little bottom. She hadn’t wet herself. “Does your tummy hurt?” he queried, nestling her in his lap.
Another headshake, accompanied by a whimper.
“Well then, how’s about I rock you a little, and you see if you can fall back asleep?” At her nod, Harrison picked her up and crossed to the old wooden rocker in the corner nearest the window, settling her against his chest, her legs dangling on either side of the seat, the way he knew she liked to be cuddled best. Addie immediately buried her face in his neck and stuck a thumb in her mouth as he began to rock, humming softly in the quiet room.
He rubbed a hand over her back, skimming along her spine, brushing golden curls from her eyes so he could watch for signs of drowsiness. Addie sighed as if she carried the weight of the world, but her eyes remained half open, sucking on her thumb. Maybe she was still teething, though at two, he supposed she’d gotten them all. He sure wasn’t about to rile her up by feeling in her mouth for any nubs under her gums. If he could just get her to sleep, then perhaps he could go back to bed himself and coax Retta to let him do more than simply hold her—
“Papa.” The sleepy, childish mumble about stopped his heart, and Harrison glanced down at the precious weight in his lap. Did she just call me—
“Papa. I wove you.” Raising her tousled head, Addie reached out with two fingers and ran them over his eyelashes. Her baby grin was so sweet, Harrison had to swallow back the emotion or else choke on it. Enchanted, he stared at his little girl.
I’m the luckiest damned fool in the world. He cupped Addie’s head in one palm and cradled her close.
“I love you too, sweetpea,” he whispered. Chest tight with emotion, he watched her doze off, every inch of her delicate frame surrendering to sleep as she finally went limp.
Rocking his daughter and enjoying the warm, still night, Harrison stared out the window, counting his blessings.
He abruptly straightened as a deep rumbling filtered inside the
partially opened window, the floor vibrating under his feet. What the—
A black plume of smoke belched into the clear night sky.
“Son of a . . .” He leapt from the chair.
Addie woke with a startled cry and clung to him as he raced down the hall.
“Retta, wake up,” he hollered, bursting into the room. She bolted up in the bed, wild-eyed and confused. Thrusting Addie into her arms, he grabbed his trousers off the bedpost.
“What? What’s wrong?” She clutched their whimpering daughter against her chest.
“Stay here, I’ve gotta go.” Harrison jerked up his suspenders. “There’s been a mine explosion.”
She recoiled, the look of horror in her eyes matching the fear in his gut. “Oh my God, Harrison. Frank!”
Jaw locked tight, Harrison nodded. Unable to voice the possibility that his brother could be injured, or worse, he dashed for the door.
Chapter 12
By the time Harrison reached the mine, a dozen miners were frantically hauling rubble out. Lanterns blazed around the opening, hung from nails pounded into the wooden frame. Several more torches had been shoved into the ground, then lit. Even from a distance he could see the extent of the structural damage.
Jumping off Copper, he raced over to join his men, while tying a bandana around his mouth to avoid breathing in the thick smoke and dust clogging the air.
Spotting Dub’s nephew tossing rocks into an empty wheelbarrow, Harrison barked, “Robert, what happened?”
Robert looked grim. “Don’t rightly know. We were coming out with a full cart, when there was an explosion near the south tunnel.”
“Where’s Frank?” Harrison asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
Dub climbed over his nephew and clapped Harrison’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, boss, but Frank was working with Clem and his crew in the south tunnel.”
“Dammit. Grab a lantern.” Not waiting, Harrison entered the mine and strode toward the tunnel where his brother and men were trapped. “How many?”
“We figure seven, all told,” Dub replied, hurrying ahead of him with the lantern held high to light their way. “Clem warned us about some timber damage. Thought it might be from upper stress. But Frank found places where the frame had been chipped, prob’ly on purpose. Couple of us off-shift said we’d go back in, and Frank went, too.”
Dub hung the lantern on a nail driven into a support frame and rubbed his arm across his grimy face. “Boss, I coulda swore I saw someone who shouldn’t be around the mine, watching from a distance a few days back. Sure looked like that bastard Brody Mills.”
Harrison’s shoulders bunched and his eyes teared up from the smoke and dust filling the narrow passage. Brody Mills was a hired gun, joined at the goddamn hip to Slim Morgan. “Not an accident, then.”
“Don’t believe so.” Dub coughed a couple times behind his bandana then lifted the cloth and spat. “All I know, everything looked good on Monday. Not a lick of trouble in either tunnel.”
They all moved to the side as one of the miners pushed past them with a wheelbarrow full of rocks. Rounding the second bend, Harrison spotted the debris blocking the south entrance. Four of his men were using pickaxes to tear away at the obstruction, while three more loaded a cart.
Joining them, Harrison went to work with his bare hands, yanking at stones as they were loosened by the pickaxes. Uncaring his fingers would soon be raw and bloody, he yelled, “Frank. Dammit, answer me.”
No response.
“Shit.” Harrison took up a shovel that had been propped against the crumbling rock wall, and attacked the clumps of rubble. The stale air worried him. Frank and the men were breathing God only knew what combination of poison, locked behind a wall of debris. Even with the cloth over his mouth, he had to stop every now and again to cough and hack up grayish spit, as did the other men.
It seemed like hours later when, sore and battered, they all pressed their shoulders against the weakened structure until, with cries of triumph, it tumbled down.
Ignoring the dust that exploded around him, Harrison pushed through, gagging on the foul air, until he stood in another narrow passage, staring at an even larger obstruction about twenty feet in front of him. “Ah, hell.”
“Son of a—”
“For Christ’s sake—”
“Damn it all . . .”
Swearing and muttering continued to ring in the settling dust, until everyone finally fell silent, despair like a live thing twisting throughout the cramped chamber. Harrison examined the solid wall of rock. How were they going to break through in time to save the men?
Fear overwhelmed him, and he rubbed his chest. Not for the first time since arriving at the mine, he wondered if Frank was still alive.
That’s when he heard it. A muffled yell came from behind the pile of timbers and boulders blocking their way.
He barreled forward, the sound of the men’s footsteps right behind him. “Frank,” he shouted. Everyone fell silent again. “Frank, is that you?”
Please God, let it be him.
“No, this is Peter,” came the muffled reply.
A fist squeezed his heart. “Where’s Frank?”
“Frank’s tending Clem. You’ve got to get us out of here. Clem’s bleeding bad.” There was a short pause, then, “Jacob and Sweeny are dead.”
Relief that his brother was alive tempered the sadness of losing two of his men. They needed to get inside before they lost Clem, too. The man had a wife and six children who depended on him.
Robert spoke quietly from behind him. “It’ll take more than pickaxes to get through that monstrosity.”
“I’ll run back for some dynamite.” Dub took one of the lanterns, hightailing it back down the passage without waiting for an answer.
“Peter,” Harrison yelled, “anyone else hurt?”
“I’m good, but I think Frank broke his shoulder. It’s hanging down in the worst way. Pretty sure Johnson’s leg is broken, and Will’s head is laid open. Got hit with a couple rocks.”
The fist squeezing Harrison’s heart finally eased. Injured, but alive at least. Now he just needed to get his brother and everyone else out. Eyeing the stone, Harrison searched for a weak spot. Grabbing the pickaxe from Robert, he went to work on making a hole to nestle the dynamite inside.
Robert hollered, “Peter, get back. Get everyone as far back as possible, we’re gonna blow it up.”
“Just hurry.”
Five minutes later, Dub was back with the dynamite. “Only got one. I hope this’ll do it. We excavated a portion of the mine interior today.”
“Who’s got a matchstick?” Harrison asked.
Dub fished two out of his shirt pocket and handed them over.
“Everyone back,” Harrison ordered, then waited until all the men were well out of the blast area. Kneeling, he thrust the dynamite deep inside the crevice he’d hollowed out. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he wiped his upper arm across his face. Rising, he struck the matchstick on the heel of his boot and let it burn to get a good flame. Carefully, he lit the fuse. Waiting a scant second to make sure it took, he turned and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
Retta’s face flashed across his mind, and he prayed that he’d get to see her and Addie again.
Then the explosion blasted behind him, lifting him off the ground and flinging him forward. If not for Robert and Dub blocking him midflight, he would have been crushed against the stone wall, but instead they all tumbled to the ground as debris landed on and around them.
For one stunned moment, Harrison couldn’t move, until one of the men he was slumped over pushed him to the side. “Good God, Carter, what’s the little woman feeding you? You weigh a ton.” Dub rolled to his feet, and with a grin, held out his hand.
“Thanks.
” Harrison heard the tremor in his own voice as he gripped Dub’s hand and let the man pull him up. The huge hole left from the blast was big enough for a man to crawl through.
The other men came running from further down the passageway, where’d they’d taken cover, just as Peter poked his head out, relief wreathing his blackened face. “Y’all are a sight for sore eyes.”
Harrison scrambled inside to see Frank using his shirt to put pressure on Clem’s leg, which was soaked in blood. Frank’s collarbone, bruised and swollen, appeared to be sliding off his shoulder.
“’Bout time, little brother.” Frank’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We gotta take Clem here to town. Gonna be tough to recover Jacob and Sweeny from the bottom of the hole so their families have something to bury.” He pressed his ruined shirt harder on Clem’s torn and busted limb. “He’s not gonna lose the leg.” Frank’s red-rimmed eyes bore into Harrison’s. “Nell would have both our hides—” He broke off, his Adam’s apple moving convulsively as he swallowed.
Harrison cupped a hand over Frank’s uninjured shoulder. “We’ll take care of him. We’ll take care of them all.” He studied the gaping hole left behind. In his gut he knew this was no damned accident. “And then we’ll find the bastard responsible.”
~ ~ ~
It was afternoon when Retta glanced out of the front window for about the thousandth time that day, and spotted a cloud of dust from approaching horses. Exhilaration raced through her and she bolted for the door, then came to an abrupt halt.
What if it’s not Harrison?
Slim Morgan’s smug face flashed across her vision, followed by Sheriff Lang’s worried expression when he’d rode up earlier that day to tell her Frank had been hurt in the mining accident. Imagining the danger Harrison must have faced rescuing his brother, Retta’s stomach clenched. As upset as she was with her husband right now, there was no denying that she cared for him a great deal.
The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1) Page 11