Cowboy Christmas Guardian

by Dana Mentink

  “Right now I want to see what’s around the corner.”

  He stopped as if he’d got an electric shock.

  “What?” His face was stark in the glow of her flashlight. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She touched him on the shoulder to keep him from turning away. “Not nothing.”

  He rubbed a hand over his close-cropped beard. “I, uh, my late wife, Bree. She was always saying that the best was right around the corner.” The dripping water marked the seconds of silence.

  “I’m sorry,” Shelby said. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

  He looked away. “Not pain, so much. Less now anyway. More like...” He shook his head. “I’m not so good with words.”

  She wanted to touch a hand to his chest, to let him know that she understood. “It’s hard to find the words when your life gets flipped upside down.”

  He cocked his head. “You, too?”

  She didn’t want to tell him about her father. How could the impact of what she’d learned about him possibly be on par with the loss of a spouse? Choosing her words with precision, she tried to explain. “I believed something that was a lie for a long time and I blamed my mother, misjudged her and now...it’s too late. I can’t fix it. It’s just too late.” She was horrified to feel tears pricking her eyelids.

  “Hey,” he said, taking her free hand. In spite of the cold air, his fingers were warm on hers.

  “I’m a black-and-white kind of person,” she babbled. “And I was sure, so sure, my mother was selfishly keeping us from our father, but now that she’s impaired, well, I learned...” She swallowed hard. “Never mind. Family drama. Too messy to talk about. Let’s just say I have regrets.”

  “I get that. After Bree died, I got mired down in that feeling. All the things I could have done, should have done.” He cupped her hand in his hard, calloused palm. “If I’ve learned one thing it’s that we can’t live in regret. God doesn’t want that for our lives.”

  She wanted to let those words loose inside and allow them to find the hurt place that throbbed bright with pain. Instead something completely different came out of her mouth. “I am sure my cousin Devon regrets what he did,” she said quietly.

  The distance sprang up between them, as thick and solid as the stone walls. She knew she should not have brought it up, but her comment lay between them like a ticking time bomb. He let go of her hand and stared at the slick stone under his feet.

  Barrett finally spoke. “I do believe that Devon is sorry. He wrote me a couple of letters from prison. Took me a long time to be able to read them. I’ve really been praying that I can fully forgive him someday. I’m on my way, I think.”

  She wondered if she would be strong enough to forgive such a thing. Not on her own, she was certain. “Uncle Ken says the accident destroyed Devon, too. He’d give anything to undo what he did.”

  Barrett stared at her. “What about your uncle?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Barrett’s voice grew hard as stone. “Does he regret his part in my wife’s death?”

  “His part?”

  The whites of his eyes glinted like hard marble. “Your uncle coddled Devon. Bought him anything. Horses, cars. Never set limits. Made him think he never had to pay the price for his misbehavior.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said bitterly. “Good old Daddy paid for Devon’s speeding tickets, fixed his car when he banged it up, let him live at home with no job, no purpose but having fun.”

  She recoiled at the acid in his tone. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. Your uncle didn’t do his job as a parent and it cost me everything. Never once has he expressed regret for enabling his son to kill my wife.”

  The quiet was broken only by the sound of trickling water and the low moan of a draft wafting through the tunnels. She was chilled down deep to the bone.

  “Maybe you’re right about exploring today,” she said softly. “We should wait by the entrance for Hatcher to come back. I’ll just look around the corner. You go ahead back and I’ll catch up.”

  She hastily moved a pace up the trail, not wanting Barrett to see the emotions she battled.

  Uncle Ken had been a permissive father, she knew. His wife died of a hemorrhage giving birth to Devon and he’d tried to make it up to the boy in every way he could. Maybe it was a family trait.

  That thought startled her. Was that what her own mother had tried to do? Shower her girls with nice things to fill the hole left by their father’s departure? No, not departure, abandonment, she corrected. The pain pinched her heart again.

  That was a different situation, she told herself angrily. Devon was a good kid, kind and generous like his father, charming and funny to boot. Barrett was wrong about Uncle Ken. He’d tried his best like any parent. She would not bring up the topic again and she would make sure Barrett was not her escort when she returned for more samples.

  Her next footstep landed on a narrow strip of rock and the one after that, on nothing at all.

  * * *

  Barrett heard Shelby’s sharp intake of air and he was moving as she started to fall. His fingers grazed her shoulder, her sleeve, and he scrambled for a handhold, finally grasping the hem of her jacket. Too late. She catapulted into the darkness below. Because he would not allow himself to let go, he tumbled through the gap in her wake.

  The fall was maybe fifteen feet, ending with a frigid splash into neck-deep water. His boot heels hit the bottom with a jarring thud. Shelby popped up next to him, heaving in a breath, coughing and choking.

  He grabbed her elbow to keep her from ducking under the surface again. The water leveled off just under his chin, which meant it would be up to the crown of her head. He pulled her close. “Hold around my neck.”

  She did, still coughing.

  “Hurt?”

  “No,” she gasped. “Cold.”

  “Yeah.” The water had to be somewhere in the neighborhood of forty degrees and she was already shivering violently. His skin prickled. They did not have much time before their body temperatures would drop dangerously low. “Got your phone? I lost mine.”

  “Yes,” she said, teeth chattering. She pulled it out from her back pocket and touched a button. “It’s wet, but still working.” A tiny glow punched through the gloom. “Unfortunately, we don’t have coverage down here.”

  “At least the flashlight works,” Barrett said, but the dot of light did not have much impact.

  The dark was so profound that he could not see more than the vague white gleam of her face right next to his. He clamped his right arm around her waist and pulled his left up above the water line.

  “Can you push the button on my watch?”

  She did and the illuminated face let off a scant glow. It was enough for him to see that they were in a lower tunnel with smooth walls. About six feet past them, a ladder leading up into the darkness was bolted to the wall. “Keep pushing the button if you can.”

  She did, though her hands were trembling. “And here I thought watches were obsolete.”

  “Some people say the same about cowboys.”

  She managed a giggle and it made him feel better somehow.

  He sloshed closer to the ladder, holding her with one arm, his elbow bumping something. She lost her grip on his watch light as he moved to snatch at it. “Flashlight,” he said triumphantly. He flicked it to life, catching her surprised smile.

  “It still works?” she said.

  “It was my granddaddy’s flashlight. Tough as he was.”

  “Are all the Thorn men so tough?”

  “Yep, but not as tough as the women.”

  Another giggle, this time softer. She was weakening from the cold.

  H
e shined the light upward. The ladder led to an upper tunnel that vanished into the darkness. The rungs looked to be sturdy enough, though they had to be rusted in the face of all this moisture. He pushed on one with his foot and it held against the pressure.

  “Here’s the flashlight. Climb up slowly,” he told her. “One rung at a time. It may not hold all the way to the top, but at least it will get you out of the water.” He helped her settle her feet onto the lower slats. Climbing gingerly, one step up at a time, she advanced almost to the top.

  “It connects to another tunnel,” she called down. “I can’t see much, but the air feels warmer so maybe it leads out.”

  “Climb in if you think it’s safe.”

  She continued on to the top. Once there, she lay on her belly, shining the light down for him. “Your turn.”

  He climbed up, the metal groaning under his weight. The cold made his legs feel like they were made of stone. He pushed on, boots slipping against the iron.

  With a loud shriek, the rung under his right foot gave way and he tumbled back into the water with a splash. He heard Shelby scream above him. He wanted to reassure her, but the cold and the impact took the breath clean out of him.

  She was halfway down the ladder before he managed to stand, coughing and spluttering. “Stop. Don’t come any farther, the ladder’s not in good shape.”

  She froze. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better, but nothing broken I think. Go back up. I’m right behind you.”

  She ascended again and he picked his steps carefully, skipping over the busted slat and getting to the top without any further incident. He heaved himself up to join her on the ledge. His wet clothes clung to him, his boots waterlogged and soggy. He huffed out a breath as he considered. “This is terrible.”

  “I know.” She groaned. “I have no idea which way is out.”

  “Not that. I lost my hat.”

  To his surprise, she started to giggle.

  “That funny?”

  “Well, you could have been killed falling off the ladder and right now we may be closing in on hypothermia, but you’re most upset about your hat.”

  “It’s my favorite hat,” he said to clarify. “I got it all broken in just right.”

  She laughed afresh, the sound light and airy in the dank atmosphere of the mine. He cracked a smile as he looked around, but he couldn’t find too much amusement in it. Her comment about hypothermia wasn’t too far off.

  He recalled the time when he was just a teen and Gold Bar experienced torrential rain for days. His family had helped the woefully overworked volunteer fire department rescue a man from where he’d been trapped in a waterlogged storage room. The man had died from hypothermia.

  “I don’t mean to ruin your happy mood, but we need to figure out a way out of here,” he said. “Any ideas?”

  They both looked as far as they could see in both directions. The tunnel stretched away into the darkness but by now he hadn’t got a clue as to which avenue, if either, led back to the surface.

  Shelby did not look as though she had a clue either.

  “I was hoping you would have a plan,” she said through chattering teeth.

  A disoriented assayer and a clueless cowboy. It was turning into a mighty long afternoon.

  EIGHT

  Shelby did not think she’d ever been so cold in all her life. Her hands and feet were numb and even her breath felt cool when she blew into her hands. She wanted to curl up in a ball on the ground, but Barrett would not let her. He pulled her close and chafed her shoulders, rubbing his cheek against hers. “Gotta keep moving.”

  “Your beard tickles.”

  “Don’t complain. It’s warming you up, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure which way is out,” she said, allowing her head to drop down against his chest. “I’m...I’m sorry for getting you into another jam.”

  His arms were strong around her body as he cradled her close, tucking her head under his chin. “Doesn’t matter much, ’cept you owe me a hat.”

  “If we manage to get out of here, I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.”

  “Deal.” He stepped away, unzipped his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “It’s still wet, but maybe another layer will help.”

  “No, I can’t take it,” she said, eyeing the soggy flannel of his shirt. “You’ll freeze.”

  “Too stubborn to freeze. Just ask my mom.” He zipped her firmly up to the chin and slid on the hood for good measure. “There. You could be in a fashion show.”

  She fingered the buttons on his shirtfront. “You must really like this clothing company. It’s the same style you were wearing when you pulled me out of the ravine.”

  He ducked his head and examined the shirt as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Got ten shirts all the same ’cept the color.”

  “Really?” Shelby goggled. “You like it that much?”

  “Can’t stand to shop. When my mom drags me into a store and I find one that fits, I get a lot of them.”

  She started to laugh but her body was too cold to cooperate.

  “We’ve got to get out of here somehow,” she muttered. With great effort, she forced her limbs into action, running her numb fingers over the stone walls, straining to get some glimmer from either direction that would help them determine an exit. The fall had disoriented her and she simply could not get her bearings. Barrett played the light over the black stone surface. It caught on a flash of color.

  “Wait,” she said. “What’s that?”

  He trained the light again, stopping on a small red mark, a splotch the size of a dime. “That couldn’t have been here from the mining days, it’s too fresh.”

  She pointed. “And there’s another one.”

  Barrett followed her along, playing the light over the walls.

  She peered closely at the colored spots. “There’s another one, ten feet away. What do you think they’re for?”

  “Dunno. I don’t see any in the other direction.”

  “They’re not like any official markings I’ve ever seen. Maybe some kids got down here? Should we follow?”

  “That’s your call. I’d say we don’t go more than fifty yards past the ladder. Don’t want to get even more lost,” he said.

  “There’s either lost or found. No such thing as more lost or less lost.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t spend much time in the woods, do you?”

  She was about to retort when Barrett grabbed her arm. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Listen.”

  They both strained to hear.

  “Mr. Thorn.” The voice floated like a wisp of fog through the tunnel. It was high-pitched, breathy. It made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

  “Who’s there?” Barrett called out.

  “This way,” the voice called again. It was followed by a sound, a soft thud, like someone whacking a rock against another.

  At first Shelby could not tell where the sound originated. She placed her palms on the rocks in different places until she was rewarded by a faint vibration.

  “Over there,” Shelby said, hardly able to contain her excitement. “It’s coming from up the passage.”

  He went first, following the tunnel away from the ladder, beaming the flashlight at the rock projections so he didn’t brain himself again. Shelby followed, her fingers holding on to his belt. Her legs were rubbery and weak but she tried to keep up the pace as best she could.

  They stopped when they lost the tapping sound.

  “I don’t hear it anymore,” he said. “Do you?”

  “No, but the air here is warmer and I think the slope is heading up toward the surface.”

  Another tap, this time with a voi
ce following. “Hurry. You’ve got to hurry.”

  They pushed as fast as they could, stumbling now and then on the dark rock, easing around occasional puddles and broken bits of wood.

  When Shelby saw the first glimmer of light, she almost cheered. As they hurried along, the view changed from pitch-black to light gray. They looked above their heads and saw a half-moon-shaped cutout in the rock wall about six feet above them, a threshold between the mine and the glorious surface. It had never before occurred to her that the sunshine was utterly magnificent.

  A memory shot through her brain, a little prayer her mother had taught her about thanking God for the golden sun. She’d forgotten to be thankful lately, allowing too many other things to get in the way. When they got directly underneath the opening, Barrett cupped his hands. “Come on. I’ll boost you.”

  “But how will you get out?”

  “You’ll go get my brothers or call the cops.”

  “But you could be hypothermic by then.”

  “I’ll try to avoid that.”

  “But...”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Ma’am, this is the way it’s gonna be. You’re climbing out right now, or I’m going to have to try to shove you through that hole and that’s gonna be awkward for both of us.”

  She closed her mouth. Her determination was nothing compared to his ruthless cowboy chivalry. He would not go until she did. Period.

  Before he could protest, she unzipped his jacket and handed it to him. “In case the rescue takes a while. You promise you’re not going to die, right?”

  “I will do my best, ma’am.”

  Acting under some impulse she did not understand, she brushed a kiss across his lips.

  He didn’t say anything, but she felt the echoes of a tender yearning in him, or was it in herself?

  “Come on now,” he said, voice low and throaty. “Quit stalling. Time for you to get out of here.”

  * * *

  Ignoring the lingering tingle on his lips from her kiss, Barrett cupped his hands again and she stepped into them. He lifted her easily and after some wriggling, she made it out. Relief flooded through him. He could hear hollering now, and at first he was worried that Hatcher might be up there until Keegan’s face appeared above him in the opening, silhouetted in brilliant sunlight.