This Time Love

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Just one of life’s lovely little surprises, like a landslide and a grave two thousand feet deep.

  Broodingly he looked at the woman who waited in front of him, all her laughter quenched, not even a glimmer of hope to ease the exhausted lines of her face or soften the bleak clarity of her eyes. The young woman he’d made love to so long ago was dead, killed by time and circumstance and a lover who hadn’t meant to be cruel. If he’d come halfway around the world to resurrect the sweetness and innocence of a past affair, then he was indeed a fool.

  And if he made this woman pay for his folly a second time, he would never again be able call himself a man.

  “Stay.” His voice was like Joy’s, flat and hopeless. “If I’d known that your parents died so soon after I left . . .”

  He couldn’t finish. He felt sick at what he’d unintentionally put Joy through. He regretted the abortion deeply, bitterly; but he no longer hated her for it, no longer felt so utterly betrayed. “We’ll explore Lost River Cave together and we’ll leave the past where it belongs. In a grave two thousand feet deep.”

  She shuddered visibly, caught as much by the echoes of agony in Gabe’s voice as she was by his last words.

  “We’ll have to start all over,” he said. “I haven’t been in a cave since I left here seven years ago. Treat me like a novice and you won’t go far wrong. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes,” she said huskily. Then, so softly that he almost didn’t hear, she added, “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Letting me stay. I know you don’t understand, but—”

  “I think I do,” he cut in roughly, watching her with eyes that were almost opaque, like jade, translucent without being clear. “Lost River Cave is all you have left of your childhood, your innocence. Life took everything from you except the cave’s beauty, its mystery, its dreams condensed into incredible, living stone.”

  She searched his face like a stranger had appeared in place of the Gabriel Venture she thought she knew so well. “How did you know?”

  “Because I feel the same way about Lost River Cave. But I’m damned if I know why.”

  A gentle kind of silence grew between them, as though they had both discovered themselves lost in the same place at the same time; intimate strangers. Joy had an irrational desire to comfort Gabe, as though he’d never hurt her, never abandoned her, never taught her to hate.

  In a way, it was true. The person who had hurt her wasn’t this tall, weary, jade-eyed man who radiated questions and pain and . . . loneliness. This was a man she didn’t know.

  Just as she was a woman he didn’t know.

  Maybe he never had known her. Maybe she never had known him either, never truly loved him. Maybe she’d simply loved a young woman’s dream of love.

  “Maybe you’ll find out once we’re down there,” Joy said.

  “What?”

  “Maybe when we’re down there you’ll discover why Lost River Cave is special to you.”

  His off-center smile was as unexpected as his words had been. It was the smile of a man who had stopped running and only then realized that he’d run himself to exhaustion.

  “That would be too much to expect of life,” he said. “I’ll settle for finding the same kind of beauty in Lost River Cave that I remember. That’s all I want now. A memory that isn’t a lie.”

  Eleven

  THE ROAD TO LOST RIVER CAVE’S TRAILHEAD WAS NOTHING more than ruts winding over the rocky, rumpled skirt of the Guadalupe Mountains. Joy drove the rugged track with the same casual expertise she handled climbing ropes and carabiners.

  Mesquite and prickly pear, agave and tall, bloomed-out stalks of sotol gave a sparse shade for the baking land. Not until the highest elevations of the mountains did spiny, spiky plants give way to bushy evergreens.

  “Carlsbad Caverns is over there, about four miles away as the raven flies,” Joy said, waving toward the south and west. “What we’re driving over, and what makes up the Guadalupe range, is the remains of a huge reef complex that grew in late Permian times and through the Triassic and Jurassic.”

  “Translation?” Gabe asked, whipping out a palm-sized computer and taking notes with a stylus on its screen, using his own cryptic code.

  “Some of the limestone formations that make up the Guadalupes—those are the same formations where all the local caves are found—are more than two hundred and fifty million years old.”

  “But the caves aren’t that old, are they?”

  “No. All that happened back then was that a series of fissures grew between the reef and the backreef. That’s what we call Stage One of cave formation. Stage Two came when the sea retreated and the reef complex was buried by an outwash of debris from higher land. Groundwater riddled the limestone with cavities until it was like a sponge.”

  She glanced over and saw him frowning in concentration while he tried to take notes during the bumpy ride. She half smiled. This was a Gabe she remembered, fierce intelligence and concentration equally matched.

  “That stage lasted until about a hundred and thirty million years ago,” she said. “For the next forty million years, a shallow sea covered what we call the Delaware Basin today.” She waved toward the flat, searing desert that spread out from the lower flanks of the mountains, indicating the basin. “Then the Laramide Orogeny—”

  “I surrender,” he interrupted.

  She surprised both of them by laughing. “Sorry. Your articles are so technically accurate that I forget you aren’t an expert. Let’s just say that there was a round of mountain building about ninety-five million years ago. As a result, the land slowly rose for about the next forty million years. As it did, water sank through the fissures between the various parts of the reef—remember them?”

  “I’m still with you. Running hard, but hanging in.”

  “The water picked up carbon dioxide from decaying plants, which turned the water into a dilute form of carbonic acid, which dissolved away some of the limestone, which meant that the spongework caves got bigger and started meeting each other. Then the land stopped rising and things started to get really complicated, cave formation wise.”

  He made a sound very close to a whimper. But he was smiling.

  So was she.

  “Let’s just say that the hydrocarbons that had been buried beneath the reef along the way ‘matured’ into oil fields with the help of the heat from a big body of magma—molten stone—beneath the Delaware Basin,” Joy said. “Then the basin tilted and the hydrocarbons migrated up and met the groundwater coming down, and at the same time the Guadalupes were on the rise again. Presto. Hydrogen sulfide forms, is dissolved, and becomes a nifty kind of acid that really goes to work on the limestone. This is hot acid, remember. All that magma roiling around down there like a giant stove. That’s why we call the result of Stage Three thermal caves.”

  “Hydrogen sulfide.” He clamped the writing stylus between his teeth and braced himself on the dashboard as the Jeep hurtled over a particularly rough spot. “Of rotten egg fame?”

  “Same stuff.”

  “God, it must have stunk.”

  “If you could have gotten down to the caves, it wouldn’t have bothered you. You’d have been dead long before you noticed the smell. No oxygen. We’re talking a really, really different place than it is now. That’s Stage Three cave formation, driven by geothermal heat.”

  Gabe went to work with the stylus again. “I’m listening.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re so good at what you do. You really listen.”

  He glanced up, but she was looking at the road, not at him.

  “Somewhere between twelve million years ago and five million years ago, Stage Four got underway. That was when dilute sulfuric acid rose upward—driven by heat from below—and ate out huge rooms, and in doing so started a chemical reaction that made gypsum and feldspar and a host of more exotic things settle out of the hot soup. Still with me?”

  He grunted.

  “The Sta
ge Four sulfuric acid caves cut across all three earlier stages of cave development.”

  “Wait,” he said. “You mean you have all four stages of cave development happening simultaneously?”

  “Yes and no. What happens is—”

  “Did you publish a paper on it?” he interrupted quickly.

  “That’s one way of describing a doctoral dissertation.”

  “Good. I’ll read the monograph. Anything else?”

  “Just the usual ups and downs of the earth’s crust and sea level, which means that sometimes various caves were actively growing and sometimes they weren’t. When the water table dropped, leaving the solution cavities dry, groundwater percolating down from the surface decorated them.”

  She braked to a stop next to the battered Land Cruiser. Except for the other vehicle, there was nothing that looked worth investigating for miles in all directions.

  “Did they break down?” Gabe asked.

  “Nope. The trailhead begins here this week.”

  “This week?”

  “We switch approaches once a week to avoid marking the cave’s entrance.”

  “No unregistered visitors, is that it?”

  She nodded. “Careless cavers or specimen collectors could destroy millions of years of growth in just a few hours. Not to mention lousing up our samples of pristine cave water. We’re very careful of our cave.”

  “So you aim for zero-impact caving?” he asked as he got out of the Jeep.

  “We aim, but realistically there’s always some impact.” She got out. “Even our breath adds chemicals and bacteria to the cave.”

  “Not to mention what your feet do.”

  “We’ve laid out paths with orange tape to keep everyone on the same trails, but . . .” She sighed. “The trails are over, through, around, and between virgin cave formations. In some parts of the cave, we take off our boots and put on rock-climbing slippers so that we don’t damage the flowstone any more than absolutely necessary.”

  Gabe handed Joy her rucksack from back of the Jeep. “Minimum-impact caving, then,” he said.

  “Yes.” But she was looking at the rugged slope ahead, not at him, and her look was filled with yearning.

  “What are you seeing?” he asked softly.

  “Lost River Cave was formed from the same thick limestone beds as Carlsbad Caverns, Lechugilla, Slaughter Cave, Spider Cave, and all the others. We’ve discovered more than one hundred and fifty kilometers of cave in Lechugilla, and more than one hundred and thirty-seven in Lost River Cave.” She watched the unforgiving landscape as though trying to see through it to the honeycombed limestone beds lying beneath. “I can’t help believing that somehow, somewhere, someday, Lost River Cave will connect with its more famous cousins.”

  Gabe whistled. “That would be quite a story. Is there really a good chance of that?”

  “There’s nothing that makes it impossible. But finding the connection could take years, maybe even generations, of exploration to untangle the skein of these caves. I only have six more weeks.”

  In the short time Gabe had been in Cottonwood Wells, he’d heard the same words from every other caver. “The cutoff in funds is really driving all of you, isn’t it?”

  “If you mean do we spend every possible minute in the cave trying to wrap up projects and experiments that have been in the works for years, yes, the closing of the cave is a real goad for us.”

  “Is that why you and Davy or you and Fish have gone caving with just two of you?”

  Joy hesitated, then shrugged. “Two is the absolute minimum number of people required to enter a cave safely. Three is better, because someone can stay with an injured caver while the third goes for help. Five people leaves a decent margin for error or accident. That’s why we abandoned the lowest level. Just too dangerous with the number of people we have on hand.”

  “My editor will be sorry to hear that.”

  “If he wants to pony up an extra five thousand dollars a week, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Gabe shook his head. “Not likely.”

  “Talk to Davy. He has a bunch of photos of the lowest level on his hard drive, plus the most exquisitely rendered map program for caves that I’ve ever seen.”

  Gabe made a mental note to do just that. “Where are we going today?”

  “Down to the second level. As Lost River Cave goes, it’s a safe level—open and relatively dry. There are several routes, but we’ll take the long way. It doesn’t have long vertical descents or deep water or any really tricky passages across slippery walls or breakdown. Once we’re down on the second level, we’ll be in touch by two-way radio with the others.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Then let’s do a final check of the gear.”

  Joy went through her rucksack quickly, checking off each item against a mental list. With automatic movements she repacked everything but her cave clothing into the heavyweight nylon rucksack, which could be slung over her shoulder or around her hips.

  “No backpack for you?” he asked, reaching for his own stuff.

  “Nope. When I’m climbing on a standing rope, I do better slinging the pack from my hips. Keeps my center of gravity where I want it—low and close to the rope.”

  As always, the warm caving clothes looked and felt insufferable under the desert sun. She wouldn’t put on a single piece of it until she was ready to enter the cave. Right now it was bad enough just holding the clothing. She stripped to her bra and pants and a light gauze shift that had no sleeves and just enough fabric to be legal. Even that felt too hot.

  When she turned toward Gabe, he’d peeled down to his briefs and well-used hiking shorts. His backpack was at his feet.

  “Ready to go through my equipment?” he asked.

  “You’re sure you want to act like you’ve never been caving before? You’re going to get awfully bored hearing what you already know.”

  He looked up and gave her a sad, off-center smile. “I’ve learned that I don’t know nearly as much as I thought I did.”

  I didn’t know your parents had died. I’m sorry, Joy. For so many things.

  But the words went no farther than his mind. He’d promised to leave the past in a grave two thousand feet deep. He would keep that promise. It was the least he could do for the woman who watched him with shadows and no laughter in her clear gray eyes.

  The regret in Gabe’s voice made Joy ache. No matter how intently she searched his eyes, his face, the nuances of his expression, she could find none of the contempt he’d shown for her before. Bitterness, yes, but not focused on her. Somehow the knowledge of her parents’ death had taken away his hatred of her.

  She wanted to ask why that had made such a difference to him, but didn’t. She had no more desire than he did to burn her fingers stirring through the ashes of their mutual past.

  A grave two thousand feet deep.

  That’s the way it had to be.

  “All right.” Joy drew a deep breath. “We’ll go through the checklist. Helmet?”

  Gabe dug his helmet out from under a pile of high-tech clothes and placed it in her hand. When she saw the dents and gouges on its surface she was too shocked to speak. She simply looked up at him, eyes wide, horrified.

  “What . . . ?” she couldn’t finish.

  “Landslide. Peru.”

  “My God.” Her fingers trembled as she measured the damage to the tough helmet. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  Carefully she checked the helmet, ignoring the faint shiver of her hands. Despite the dents the helmet was in good shape. Nothing was cracked. Nothing pressed on the network of straps and padding that cushioned the skull. She looked thoughtfully at the leather chin strap and went to the Jeep.

  “I’ve got an extra elastic strap,” she said, rummaging in the glove compartment. “I’d rather you use it. That way if you get jammed descending a tight chimney, you can tip your head out of the helmet and there’s no chance of stra
ngling yourself.”

  “Elastic it is.” He took the strap from her fingers. “Can you really strangle yourself on a helmet strap?”

  She almost smiled at the change in his voice. This was the man she remembered—asking questions, assembling facts, transforming them into words and insights that crackled with intelligence. She’d meant it when she told Gabe that she respected his work. She did.

  Despite the pain it caused her, she’d read everything he’d done in the years since he left her.

  “About the second or third time that someone accidentally strangled because their helmet wedged in a narrow slot during a descent,” she said, “elastic chin straps became real popular.”

  Gabe eyed the new strap with interest.

  “Helmet lamps?” Joy asked.

  He dug out his electric lamps and battery pack. The lamps were new, almost startling in their polish against the battered helmet. The bulbs fit snugly in their sockets and the filaments were intact.

  “All right?” he asked.

  “Fine.” She pried into the battery pack. As she’d suspected, the pack was as new as the lamps. No one had modified the battery pack for the special demands of caving.

  “Problem?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “Nothing huge. This will be okay for today, but tonight you’ll want Fish to put some masonite spacers in. Otherwise the batteries will slip away from the contacts and you’ll be—”

  “Left in the dark,” he finished.

  She made a muffled sound of agreement and began laying out the contents of his backpack on the Jeep’s hood. “Flashlight, extra batteries, extra lamp bulbs, waterproof matches, candles, cigarette lighter—oh good, you have the chemical light sticks, too.”

  “They looked like a safe bet to me.”

  “They are,” she said, holding up one of the slender plastic tubes. “Twist this and you’ll get a surprisingly strong light. As long as the chemical reaction inside the tube lasts—usually twenty-four to forty-eight hours—this is a nearly indestructible source of light.” She set the stick down. “Where’s your pocketknife?”

  Silently he reached into his climbing shorts and produced the knife. It had a serrated blade as long as his index finger that could cut through anything but steel cable.