Only My Love

by Jo Goodman

  Her crying was painful to hear, wild and wounded, and the more she tried to hold it back the more it made Ethan ache. In the end it didn't matter that she didn't want him near her, there wasn't anybody else. Her sobs guided him toward her and covered the sound of his approach. He knelt beside her and when she fought him he just held on more tightly, gentling her with his voice and his hands, and letting her feel his strength as something solid but not overpowering.

  "Michael." He said her name softly, over and over, a litany of penance to ease his soul. "I didn't mean it. Do you hear me, Michael? It's not your fault. None of it. Not what happened the night of the robbery, not that we're here now. It's mine. I should have thought of something besides taking you away from the train. I should have figured out a way to get you out of Madison. But I didn't want to quit without finding out who was helping Houston with the robberies. I let that rule my common sense and jeopardize your safety." His voice was husky beside her ear and though she was stiff and unyielding in his arms, she was quiet. "And I didn't really want to let you go... I love you, Mary Michael."

  Michael slumped against him. His hold relaxed when he knew she wasn't going to fight him any longer. How could she? she thought. She loved him.

  Ethan accepted the words she said, not really believing them. It was the danger, he thought, the threat of death, the need to give all that had come before and all that still awaited them some sense of rightness. She believed that she loved him and it was enough for Ethan. It was more than he thought he had any right to expect.

  "I love you," he said again. She couldn't have been any closer to his heart in that moment if she had crawled under his skin.

  Chapter 12

  It was a mutual decision, made without a word passing between them. Darkness cloaked them. They were insensible to the color that touched their features. They felt the heat. He couldn't see her parting lips but he heard her sigh. She was blind to the mouth that hovered over hers. She tasted it instead.

  It was frantic, reckless lovemaking, desperate and urgent. She fumbled with the buttons on his fly, he raised the skirt of her gown and pulled at her drawers. The press of his mouth was insistent. Her lips ground against his, eager and wanting.

  She said, "Come into me."

  "Take me," he said.

  She did, straddling him as he lay back. A single thrust joined them. Michael's hands slid under his shirt and stroked his warm skin. He pulled at the neckline of her gown, rending it. Neither of them cared. He bared her breasts, cupped them, caressed. She leaned forward. His mouth was hot and damp on her skin and the suck of it tugged at the very center of her womb.

  His fingers pressed into her buttocks, guiding her, encouraging her movements, forcing her pleasure. She shimmered with her release, crying out his name. The tension that was in every line of his body, in the hard thrusts that filled her, exploded. He held her tightly, kissed her harder, felt the sense of urgency fade, and still could not let go of her or stop wanting to love her.

  She eased herself down beside him, sensing that he needed to know her strength now. Her fingers flitted across his cheek, his forehead. She brushed aside the strands that laid across his brow. "I'm not so afraid now," she said. "Really, I'm not. There are thousands of places I'd rather be but not without you. I mean that, Ethan."

  And she would die meaning it, Ethan thought, if he didn't get her out of the mine. But once she was out, once she had time to think about it, she would realize it was as she had said once before. They really had no future together. It didn't matter if he was a thief or a marshal. She was Jay Mac's daughter. When she saw things more clearly she wouldn't have him as a gift, or be allowed to.

  "I never said anything to anyone about the robbery," she said. "I wanted you to know that."

  "I know it. You heard more at the door than you admitted though."

  "That's true. But it wasn't planned. I caught a few words and then I couldn't help myself. I really never learned enough to tell anyone, and whatever Dee gave left me without any strength. I could hardly lift my head for four days."

  "I wish we hadn't had to do that. My purpose was to protect you while I was gone. I knew you wouldn't be able to get away. It's too bad Dee didn't have the dosage right at the outset. You wouldn't have wandered off and she couldn't have accused you of turning us in. No one would listen when I tried to tell them it was Cooper all along."

  "You're not listening to me," Michael said. "I could hardly lift my head. I never wandered anywhere. Dee's lying about that."

  "To what purpose?"

  "To exactly this purpose. She got rid of me. It was her aim all along."

  Ethan thought about that. It had been Detra who sent to New York for the back issues of the Chronicle. Dee, who had suggested the sleeping powders as a way to keep Michael compliant and silent during the robbery. Dee, who had been jealous of Houston's interest in Michael from the very beginning. "Houston could have been killed," he said. "Obie was."

  "I think she was willing to take that risk."

  "Why didn't you say anything when Houston confronted you?"

  "I tried to defend myself," she reminded him. "Even to my own ears I sounded pathetic. Who would have believed me anyway? You're not certain yourself." The flat of Michael's hand stroked Ethan's side. "It's not important now. It will never be important unless we find a way out of here. What can be done, Ethan? Is it so very hopeless?"

  It was. But he could not tell her so bluntly. Perhaps if he explained their situation aloud he would think of something, if not, then she would know the worst as well as he. "This adit branches into three very different routes."

  "I remember. This is where Houston brought me."

  Ethan sat up, helping Michael up in the same motion. He cradled her between his legs, her back against his chest, her body circled by his arms. "If you're facing them, the one on the left descends by a shaft some two hundred feet. The tunnel goes less than twenty yards. Hard rock walls, all of it. The vein just petered out. It was there and then it wasn't. I'm not certain the hoistway even works any more; it's been a long time since anyone's been down there.

  "The middle tunnel has a shaft that's about a quarter as deep. The miners came across some water and decided it wasn't worth pumping out to get at a less than a promising vein. When other parts of the mountain are tapped out, they'll come back and decide to get rid of the water."

  Michael shivered. That's when they'll find us, she thought, our skeletons bound to each other in just this pose. She said, "It's good to know we'll have something to drink." But her voice trembled and her attempt at humor was too forced to be funny.

  His chin moved slowly back and forth in her hair and against her scalp. "The last opening doesn't go down at all. I was following a vein that started to take a turn upward. It took me a while to realize that I was coming close to the surface again. I stopped blasting, afraid I might force a collapse. We needed to get more support timber in here. That's what I would have done this week if Cooper hadn't directed Houston to take the train."

  "How close to the surface?" asked Michael. "Close enough to dig?"

  "No. It's not like that. I'd have to blast first. Get through some more hard rock."

  "Oh."

  "I must have half a dozen crates of giant powder back in that tunnel. It was a good storage place. Blasting caps in a separate box. A spool of Bickford safety fuse. Everything." He laughed humorlessly. "Everything but a match. I know enough about blasting to keep the matches well out of the way of the explosives. I wish now I—"

  "I have a match."

  "—had thought a little less—"

  "Several of them."

  "—about safety." He paused, certain he hadn't heard correctly. "What did you say, Michael?"

  "You said there was a trunk of my belongings in here," she said.

  "Yes."

  "Then I have some matches."

  He was stunned into silence.

  "I didn't know we had anything to light," she said simply. "A single m
atch wouldn't have been very useful."

  Still not believing what he was hearing, Ethan slowly shook his head. "No, it wouldn't have."

  "It's because of my cigarettes," she said. "I've wanted one so badly, but then I made this bargain with God. I know it's horrible but I couldn't help myself."

  "What sort of bargain?"

  "That if He got us out of here alive then I'd never smoke again. I thought I should show a good faith effort by not lighting one now."

  Ethan hugged her tightly, laughing, kissing the back of her head, her neck. "Oh, sweet Michael!" It was wonderfully just, he thought, how her bargain saved the matches and how the matches would save them. He might have been willing to bargain with the devil himself to bring about their escape. Michael was much wiser than he.

  "You're not angry?" she asked.

  "Angry? Because you have matches?"

  "Because I didn't tell you about them."

  "You didn't know." He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "All right. First we have to find the trunk. It would be better if we searched systematically—on our hands and knees. We can use a grid pattern, sweeping out with our hands. There's no need to hurry and no danger of taking a tumble down one of the shafts if we're careful. Can you do that?"

  She hated the thought of being separated from him again in the dark. For one moment she actually regretted telling him about the matches in her trunk. "I'll help." Her voice was small.

  He knew how frightened she was. "You don't have to help me," he said.

  "No. It will go faster if we both search."

  "We also have to figure out what we're going to light with the match. I can't set explosives in the dark and I can't work by a lighted stick of dynamite." He thought a moment. "Happy carried a lantern in here. When I knocked him out I remember it fell and went out."

  "That's right, but it's no good, Ethan. I kicked it when I was scrambling to find you. I know it lost most of it's oil. I smelled it."

  "Take off your petticoat, Michael."

  "Ethan!"

  "Take it off," he repeated. "And tear it in strips. I'll find a piece of timber we can use and we'll make a torch. If we're lucky we'll come across the spilled oil and lantern in our search for the trunk. We can soak the strips in the oil." He could sense her skepticism. "It will work, Michael. I know it will."

  And when he said it like that, she believed him. Absolutely.

  Michael peeled off her petticoat and tore it into strips. The activity kept her busy so that she did not dwell on the fact that Ethan had moved away in his search for a piece of suitable timber. She hummed softly while she worked so that he could find her with relative ease when he had finished his task. The song was While the Sun Shines.

  "Are you going to miss the stage?" he asked.

  "Never." She smiled then because he laughed. Michael went back to humming.

  It took Ethan several minutes to find something they could use. Taking the cotton strips from Michael, he fashioned a torch, then they parted again to begin their individual search for the oil and the trunk. It was harrowing work, even though they moved slowly and cautiously. There was always the sense that the next movement they made would send them into one of the shafts. Their search was methodical: Ethan took the north-south route; Michael the east-west. The totality of the surrounding darkness made it difficult for them to manage a straight line as they crawled along the mine floor. The tendency for each of them was to move in a circle.

  Michael found the broken glass from the lantern first, then she found the oil. Ethan joined her and they found the trunk together. Opening the lid, Michael searched through her belongings carefully, feeling the fabric of each garment until she came across the skirt she had been wearing on the train. Squirreled away in the hem she located four matches and two flattened cigarettes. Sighing, she left the cigarettes where they were and retrieved the matches.

  "There are four," she said. "Do you have the torch ready?"

  "It's ready. Just give me one. I'll have to find a good dry rock to strike it on." Their hands touched in the dark, held briefly, then Ethan accepted one of the matches. He moved away.

  Michael wasn't aware she was holding her breath. She heard the matchhead scratch against rock then saw, actually saw, the spark. She had not realized a tiny fragile flame could burn with such intensity. It hurt her eyes to look at it and yet she was unable to look away.

  Ethan held the flame to the oil soaked cotton. The flame ate away at the matchstick, burning his fingertips. In spite of the instinct to toss the match, he held on. The frayed edges of the cotton strips caught the flame first. They fizzled and crackled and shriveled in red hot threads of fire. Ethan dropped the match in the same instant the torch took up the heat and light.

  Though neither of them wanted to, they both had to look away from the light. Their eyes adjusted slowly, painfully, and when they stared at each other they both were squinting. It wasn't important. Neither was the fact they were nearly black with dust and grime. What captured their attention was the set of their happy, stupid grins. Ethan held the torch away from them as Michael launched herself into his arms, laughing and hugging and kissing his blackened face.

  "This won't burn forever," he reminded her gently. "We have work to do."

  She nodded, drawing away reluctantly. "What do you want me to do?"

  Ethan got to his feet and held out a hand for Michael, pulling her up. He knew she didn't need the help. It was simply an excuse to touch her again. He didn't let go of her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "I want you to follow me into the tunnel. I need to set the explosives. You'll have to hold the torch while I work."

  "You'd have a more difficult time getting me not to follow you," she said.

  He smiled. "I thought so."

  The tunnel was wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Michael didn't venture far from Ethan's side as she watched their shadows flicker on the hard rock walls. Ten yards before the tunnel's abrupt end, Ethan stopped her and passed the torch.

  "Stay here. There's enough light for me to work if you don't move off." He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You understand not to come any closer."

  Looking past Ethan's shoulder, Michael saw the box of blasting caps, the spool of safety fuse, and the crates of dynamite. She nodded. "I'm fine just where I am."

  "Then we're both fine." An unexpected spark was the last thing he needed. The danger was not so great as Michael thought but setting her fears aside could make her less cautious. Ethan wanted to err on the side of safety.

  His work was both patient and methodical. He examined the rock walls carefully first, determining where to lay the first charge. He wasn't certain he could break through to the outside with a single blast and several blasts carried the danger of a massive rockslide that not only could block their exit, but alert any nearby miners. A rescue would be very short-lived if Houston heard about it. Ethan knew his orientation to time was completely gone. He could only hope that when they found a way out it was the night sky that greeted them.

  Ethan's tools were limited. He had only left a crowbar and hammer behind with the crates. Now he wished he'd left at least a knife. Using the crowbar, he cleared packed dirt from the crevices around the rock. Without a drill, or even a pick, he couldn't create holes within the rock for placing the dynamite sticks. Explosives set like that would have shattered the rock. What he had to do could shatter the tunnel.

  Carefully considering the number of sticks he needed for some sort of impact, Ethan set the fuses and inserted blasting caps into the side of each stick. He examined the fuses again, knowing if he had timed them to go off properly it would help create a cavity of loose rock he could blow out into the tunnel. They might have to clear some debris away before he could set the next charges, but it wouldn't be an impossible task, not like what blocked the main entrance.

  "We have to clear these supplies out of here," he told her. "It will take several trips. If you can roll the spool down the
tunnel I'll take the blasting caps."

  She looked at the large spool she was expected to move while carrying the torch and then at the small box that he picked up.

  Ethan intercepted her questioning glance. "These little copper tubes contain fulminate of mercury. It's the jolt from one of them that sets off the dynamite. Handled carelessly they can blow off a finger, a hand, and a box of them mismanaged will blow us both to kingdom come." He pointed to the spool of safety fuse. "That, on the other hand, is not going to hurt you unless you trip over it."

  "I think I'll just take care of this spool," she said as if it had been her idea all along.

  "Good for you."

  On the second, third, and fourth trips, Michael only had to carry the torch and the tools. Ethan hauled the crates of dynamite. They put the explosives and equipment in the antechamber for safety then Ethan went back to light the fuses, taking the torch with him.

  Michael sat on her trunk in the dark, ticking off the seconds he was gone on her fingers. She counted thirty before she heard him yell 'fire in the hole' and another ten before he joined her again. They dropped behind the trunk for the minimum protection it offered and waited.

  And waited.

  "How much longer?" Michael asked, every line of her body tense with anticipation.

  "It should have gone off by—" The first explosion shook the ground beneath them. "Now." Dust billowed out of the tunnel and the flame of their torch flickered madly. Ethan shielded it with his body.

  "Is that all?" she asked. It hadn't been very loud, more of a thud and rumble, like distant thunder.

  Before Ethan answered there were two subsequent explosions. The ground seemed to roll under them again. When everything was still and silent Ethan stood. "That's all," he said, brushing himself off. It was a gesture of habit and made no impact on the layers of dust covering him. He smiled ruefully when he realized what he was doing. "Let's have a look at the damage."

  As they neared the end of the tunnel they had to pick their way over the muck from the explosion. Ethan raised the torch and examined his work. "It didn't have much impact," he announced after a moment. In spite of the fact that he had expected it, disappointment was clear in his voice. "We'll have to try again." He glanced at the torch, wondering how much longer they could expect it to burn. "How many matches did you say you had?"