by Dana Mentink
“It must be something to have a family like this,” she murmured. “All the old memories and history you share.”
“Got plenty of stories, that’s for sure. What about you? You close with your sister?”
She nodded. “I love her like crazy. I’ve almost sent her enough money to start on her training. She wants to be a nurse,” Shelby said, pride creeping into her tone. “She’s going to be a fantastic nurse because she’s smart, determined, super detail oriented and so compassionate.” She let loose a breath. “She got a lot of practice with our mom before we had to hire full-time care for her.”
“Not doing too well?”
“She has dementia triggered by her stroke. There’s a great care facility in Phoenix near where my sister will be going to nursing school.”
“You ever see your mom?”
“Not as much as I should. I wish...I wish I had found out sooner that she was keeping the truth from me about my father.”
She could see Barrett wanted to ask, but he probably didn’t wish to come across as nosy. He stayed silent and she answered his unspoken question.
“He left us,” she said simply, “and I thought my mother was the one that kept us from seeing him, that she was selfish and didn’t want to share us with him.” Moisture collected under her lashes. “I discovered last year when we had to pack up my mother’s things that it was my father’s choice, actually. He didn’t want us. Part of why he left was that he never wanted kids.”
Barrett shook his head. “I’m sorry, Shelby. That’s a terrible thing to find out about your dad.”
He could hardly conceive of it, she was sure. The Thorn family was as tight as any she’d known. “It hurts, but I can take it. The point is—” the confession dribbled out before she could stop it “—I was horrible to my mother about it and I never asked her to forgive me and now she doesn’t even know who I am.” Pain almost cut off her words. “It’s too late.”
“Maybe not,” he said.
“What good would it do to apologize now?”
His eyes shifted in thought. “Well, Granddad said the hard stuff comes along to make us more like Jesus.”
More like Jesus. It was an echo of her conversation with her uncle.
Barrett fixed her with a gaze bluer than the California sky. “Are you a believer, Shelby?”
The question startled her. “Yes,” she said after a pause.
She could tell he was spooling the words out carefully. “Then maybe you should talk to your mother, not for what it will do for her, but for what it will do for you, for your soul, you know?”
“Maybe.” Looking at his handsome face, chiseled and strong, she felt emboldened to ask a question of her own. “But if you believe that, Barrett, if you really believe forgiveness is for your own soul, then why don’t you do the same with my uncle? Not for him, but for you?”
Emotions unrolled quickly across his face, anger, hurt, fear and last of all shame. “I...I can’t.”
“Then that doesn’t speak well for your faith, does it?”
“No,” he said, the word sounding strangled. “So I guess I should keep my advice to myself.”
It got so quiet in the cabin she could hear the scuttle of a squirrel on the roof. She made a show of looking around the tiny spot. “Well, anyway, this is a nice place and I appreciate you showing it to me. I think I’d better go.”
He yanked open a handmade wooden cabinet. “What I wanted you to see was Granddad’s collection.”
“His collection of what?”
Barrett unfurled a long cylinder of yellowing paper. “Maps,” he said, finding a spot and pointing. “Look at that.”
She hurried to see, her body brushing his arm. Her mouth fell open. “That’s a rendering of the mine entrance on Joe Hatcher’s property.”
“It was Hatcher’s father’s at the time this was drawn, or more likely his grandfather’s.”
She peered closer, soaking in the faded details. “Wait,” she said, peering closer. “This, this here. What is this?”
Barrett frowned. “I’m having second thoughts about telling you.”
“Tell me, Barrett.”
“It’s a cave that Granddad said used to connect to the mine.”
“Here? Right here on your land?”
“Not ours. The neighbor’s. Oscar Livingston owns the adjacent property. He runs the Nugget Country Inn in town.”
“Do you think he knows something about those red marks? Would he give me permission to access the mine via his property?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
“I forgot. The map didn’t occur to me until I heard you were looking at Shep’s museum. Granddad forbade us from ever sneaking over there and exploring because he said it was unstable and we’d be buried alive.”
She caught his gaze. “Four boys and a forbidden tunnel? You tried anyway, didn’t you?”
He looked sheepish. “Yeah, but he got wind of it before we even made it out of the house and asked Oscar to bar up the entrance.”
She felt like kissing him. Instead she grabbed him around the shoulders in a hug. He embraced her, and she marveled at the sheer muscle of his torso.
Elated, she moved to kiss his cheek but he shifted at just the same moment, so her lips grazed his. Electric sparks rolled through her.
A shadow flickered across the window and she jumped away from him.
“Uh, problem?” Barrett asked.
“I thought I saw movement, like someone was looking in the window.”
He stepped away, clearing his throat. “I’ll check. Stay here.”
He went outside, returning in a few moments. “I don’t see anyone.”
She sighed. “I think I’m getting paranoid. I’m sorry.”
“No harm done, but I’m showing you this map on one condition.”
She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt after the accidental kiss. Further, she hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed red. Business at hand, Shelby. “What condition?”
“That you will promise me not to go down into that mine shaft alone.”
“But...”
He raised a finger and glared at her. “No buts.”
“But...”
“What did I just say?”
She glared right back. “Your mama wouldn’t like you bossing me around.”
“Well, I’m bossing anyway, and don’t drag my mama into this.”
She expelled a long, slow breath. “Okay. I promise I won’t go down there alone.”
“Good. So when do we go?”
She grimaced. “Hey. Just because I have to take someone, doesn’t mean it has to be you.”
His look was purely sarcastic. “And who else would be insane enough to head into an unstable tunnel with a half-crazy assayer besides me?”
The seconds ticked by. She could not think of a single person.
“Oh, all right. How about now?”
“How about no? I’ve got horses to feed and Mama said something about chili and corn bread. She would be mortally offended if I wasn’t here to eat it.”
“Fine, tomorrow then, and no fair dragging your mama into this if I’m not allowed to. Did you get your cell working after it got doused in the mine?”
“No. It was ruined. Using my old one. You?”
“Borrowing one from Uncle Ken. Give me your number so we can connect about a time.”
She punched her number into his cell and he did the same with hers. He offered a smug smile that she found irresistible. “But it’s still not fair.”
He lifted a careless shoulder. “My mama, my ranch, my rules.”
“You’re one stubborn cowboy.”
“So sue me,”
he said, returning his granddad’s map with a chuckle.
THIRTEEN
Shelby was practically giddy as she drove home and fixed herself a peanut butter sandwich. Another entrance to the mine meant she would not have to fight Joe Hatcher anymore. She could take her samples without his consent or cooperation. The weight she’d been carrying around dissipated in a cloud of relief.
Curiosity kindled afresh. Those red marks she’d seen in the mine tumbled through her thoughts. With unfettered access to the mine, she could find them again and decipher the message they were obviously intended to deliver.
The sandwich was a far cry from Mrs. Thorn’s chili and corn bread, but she did not want to risk spending any more time than necessary with Barrett.
The man befuddled her, plain and simple. He awakened trifold feelings: attraction, though she hated to admit it; anger, that he was so free with spiritual advice and so reluctant to take his own; and pleasure when she was sharing time with him. How could all of those feelings coexist? Black-and-white, that’s how she liked things, and Barrett represented all the millions of shades in between.
The easy solution was to cut him out of her life, yet she found herself depending on him at every turn. It was simply maddening.
She liked him, or was it more than simple fondness?
No, it’s not, you ninny. Focus on the anger, she told herself. You’re here for a job and that’s it. Barrett was bossy, a hypocrite who did not have the right to tell her what her soul needed when his own was far from spotless. She wanted to dismiss him outright, but his words continued to turn in her mind, twirling like a single leaf clinging to a winter-blasted tree. Then maybe you should talk to your mother, not for what it will do for her, but for what it will do for you, for your soul, you know?
It hadn’t occurred to her that the act of asking for forgiveness was as important as the forgiveness itself. Maybe Barrett was right, because the change in her Uncle Ken from the man she’d known in her younger years was dramatic. He used to be loving, softhearted, but now his eyes burned hollow and hate filled, poisoned from within.
I am not guilty of anything but loving my son, and I will never seek forgiveness for that. Not from God and not from Barrett Thorn.
Her uncle’s rage, Barrett’s hypocrisy, her own inability to face the mother she had wronged. All three of them were caught in deep tunnels of despair, like veins of gold imprisoned in stone.
“God,” she started, “help me to fix things with Mom.”
Far from eloquent, it was the first prayer she’d uttered about her relationship with her mother in a very long time. The words were rough, as if they had lingered too long in some abandoned mine shaft.
“God, help me,” she repeated, louder, insistent. There was no answering feeling of comfort, no dawning certainty about what to do.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Larraby’s phone call. It was clear from his tone that he thought she was making up or exaggerating her encounter with Hatcher. It was a relief to end the call.
Darkness filled every corner of the house, so she turned on a few lights and played some Christmas music on her phone: Bing Crosby, Tony Bennett, Burl Ives, all her mother’s favorites. She opened the newest issue of Geology Today, which would normally enthrall her, but she found she could not concentrate on the articles.
It was as if her heart longed to be somewhere else. The smell of the cozy quilt and the twinkle of the lights in the Thorn family room felt so very far away as she lay down on the couch and pulled on a blanket until her senses were finally overcome with sleep.
* * *
Shelby sat up with a start, disoriented, heart thumping. Her cell phone told her it was after midnight. The house temperature had dropped because she’d forgotten to set the thermostat.
She blew on her fingers as she tried to figure out what had awakened her. Tiptoeing to the window and pulling the curtains aside, she looked out onto the front lawn, but there was no sign of any visitors. Across the drive, the land dipped away and the roof of the barn and stable was barely visible.
Uncle Ken had downsized considerably, but he still kept Diamond, an older mare named Pattycake and her beloved companion, Buddy. The three were stabled for the night since Diamond was finicky about being in the rain and Pattycake and Buddy had grown used to nighttime stabling with their previous owners.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. Diamond’s coat gleamed in the moonlight as she trotted away from the stable. How had she got free? Had Zeke been careless about securing the animal?
Shelby considered. The pasture was fenced and Diamond could stand a night out in the cold since the temperature would not drop below freezing. Even if Shelby chased after her and offered an apple, Diamond’s favorite treat, there was no guaranteeing the headstrong horse would come when summoned.
High-spirited indeed, as Barrett had said.
“You’re on your own then until morning, you stubborn horse.” A moment later her worry shifted to the other two. How would Pattycake and Buddy do, wandering at night with another storm threatening? What if Zeke had simply not stabled any of them for some reason?
With a sigh, she pulled on a pair of boots and a jacket, grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and shoved her phone in her back pocket.
As the weatherman had promised, rain had begun to fall and she eased her hood over her head. At least her migraine hadn’t made a return appearance. She flashed on the sensation of Barrett’s strong hands kneading comfort into her tense shoulders.
“Can’t you keep him out of your mind for five minutes, Shelby Elizabeth Arroyo?” Yanking up the zipper so hard it caught her chin, she strode toward the stables.
Back in the more profitable years, Uncle Ken had built a lovely wood-sided barn with adjacent stables that could accommodate ten horses, securing them comfortably in roomy stalls that opened up onto the main pasture. Most of the stalls were empty now, except the three on the end for Diamond, Pattycake and Buddy, who needed to be within hearing distance of each other. Normally two powerful lights mounted on the exterior of the stables would be switched on, but at the moment they were not.
Zeke had not done his job, apparently. She hastened into the barn, nearly tripping over a small can of red paint and a broom, shining her light on the control panel. The switch that controlled the exterior lamps was already in the on position. Figuring a circuit must have popped, she moved it to the off position and then on again. Nothing happened.
She turned on the interior barn lights, and the lamps set high into the ceiling flickered to life. Uncle Ken had not replaced the ones that had burned out so it was scant help, but it provided her enough of a glow that she felt more confident. “Must be some kind of a problem with the exteriors only.”
Flashlight ready, she headed to the stalls. Her shoes crunched on the wet ground as she drew nearer. Beaming her light at her feet, she realized she was stepping on broken glass from the exterior lamps. Several feet away was another pile of shattered fragments, the remains of the other lamp. One broken lamp might be a bizarre accident, but two wasn’t. A chill snaked up her spine.
She switched off the flashlight and melted as quietly as she could into the shadows. Sweat beaded her brow when she detected the low squeal of someone opening the door of the farthest stall. She heard Pattycake’s soft nicker of surprise.
The person wore a black coat, and Shelby caught no gleam of hair, which indicated that whoever it was wore a ski cap.
Whoever? She knew exactly who it had to be. Joe Hatcher.
What he was doing in the stables she had no clue, but it was meant to hurt, of that she was positive. Creeping backward, Shelby inched around the side of the stable, yanking out her phone and shielding it with her shaking palm in case the light could be seen.
Someone’s here in the stables, she texted Barrett. But it was almost 1:00 a.m. He wou
ld not be awake. There would be no help from Barrett and the Thorns. She could not call the police from her hiding spot because the stranger would overhear. Gripping the phone, she tried to keep her breathing steady and silent.
She needed a weapon. Uncle Ken kept a shotgun in the house and he’d taught both her and Devon how to use it. Would she remember? Could she actually pull the trigger? Get somewhere safe, her mind screamed. The house was her best option. From there she could call the police and defend herself.
Fear gripped her so tight she was paralyzed. “Move, move, move,” she silently commanded her body. After a slow count to three, she sprinted toward the house, not daring to look back. She would not be able to hear the sound of pursuing feet over her own frantic breathing.
Go.
Stumbling over clumps of soaked grass, she fell, rocks biting into the knees of her jeans. Scrambling to her feet again, she ran faster than she’d thought possible, not bothering to undo the pasture gate, instead clambering up and hurtling over the top rail. Splinters jabbed into her palms but she did not slow her pace until she exploded through her uncle’s front door.
Slamming the door closed, she turned the bolt and sucked in precious lungfuls of oxygen. The police call took only a moment to place, but she knew it would be twenty minutes or more before they arrived at her uncle’s place. Until then, she would be her own defender.
She pounded down the hallway and retrieved the shotgun from the closet and the shells from the shelf. She slid a round in the chamber and slid the action forward. Then she loaded the remaining rounds into the magazine.
Returning to the front window, she drew aside a corner of the curtain. The view was quiet, undisturbed. Shrouded moonlight glistened on the wet grass with pockets of deep shadow in between. She could not make out the barn. Needing a higher vantage point, she jogged upstairs to look through her uncle’s bedroom window.
At first, she saw nothing, just darkness and rain. Then an orange spot flared into her field of vision. Her brain did not make sense of it for several moments. The orange spot danced and grew, shooting up in ragged tongues, obscene in the blackness.