Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  “Hello?” a voice called.

  Nic laughed. “Sabine! I’m here! Sabine!” Their voices careened so fast and echoed so clearly around the chamber, he couldn’t tell where she was.

  “Nic? Nic!”

  “Wait! I’m here. Come here to me, Sabine. We have to get back before it’s too late.”

  He heard splashing and suddenly she was near him, reaching out, grasping his forearm, then wrapping her arms around him. She was laughing, giggling like a girl, laying her head against his wet shirt. “You’re here. You came for me.”

  “We have to go,” he said, reluctantly pulling himself away. “Back in that tunnel, as fast as we can.”

  “Back through?” He could hear the doubt in her voice, even though he couldn’t see a bit of her.

  “Yes, it’s the only way. We stopped most of the water, but I’m not sure how long it will hold.”

  “How long do you suppose the tunnel is?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty feet? Here.” He took her hand and placed it on the rope. “I’m going to stand here, keep it taut for you. It’ll be easier for you to pull yourself along. When you get to the end, yank on the rope three times. I’ll know you’re safe and come after you.”

  “Promise?” she whispered.

  He hesitated a moment. “Promise.” He reached out and found her head, cradling it in his hands. “Go,” he growled. “Don’t stop. Go as fast as you can. For you. For Everett. For … me.”

  She moved out then. He could feel her making her way along the rope, inching forward, until the rope sank down below the surface. “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said in a whisper. But her promise carried over the waters as if she were right beside him.

  She took a couple of deep breaths, and then went under. He felt comforted, each time she pulled. So strong was she. He wanted to think of her on the other side. Alive. She’d see to Everett. Together, they would find their way.

  How many others had he failed to look after properly? This time, at least, he would have done what he could.

  He pictured the mine shaft again, and their makeshift dam. How long would it hold? Surely long enough to get Sabine to safety. Please, God, let it be long enough. Watch over her, Lord. Help her.

  Nic laughed under his breath and listened to the sound of it echo around the chamber. “Since when have I become a praying man?” he asked the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I’m not going to make it. The current wasn’t nearly as strong as the one that had swept her down and into the cavern. But fighting against it, rather than allowing it to carry her, was a whole other matter.

  She had to hurry. She didn’t have much air left. She kicked and yanked herself up the rope, moving constantly, and yet feeling as though she were treading water. Help me, Lord. Help me. Help us both get out. It’s my fault. My fault that Nic’s back there.

  And then her hand met air.

  She pulled forward, and her face broke the surface.

  Everett shouted, “Sabine! Sabine!” He grinned from ear to ear and she smiled, but her mind was on Nic, behind her.

  She glanced at the wall. Water was spurting everywhere, Nic’s makeshift dam about to burst. She pulled herself to where the rope was attached, stood up and turned. Three times she yanked at the rope. Was that an answering yank back? Please God, please God, please God … she chanted silently. Help him. Help him get through.

  She eyed the dammed wall again. Was it her imagination or were there more rivulets and spurts of water since she came up? “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, Nic.” She looked to the rope, watched it tighten as he pulled forward, imagined his strong arms and felt hope surge inside her.

  Three rocks tumbled down from the wall and Everett cried out. Water rushed through.

  Sabine carefully made her way over, staying out of the worst of the current that had pulled her under before, and bent to feel for some rocks below. Nothing but mud. She chastised herself for thinking, even briefly, that her small hands might stave off the flow, knowing that to put herself in front of it might send her sliding down the tunnel again, endangering both Nic and herself.

  She looked back to the cavern and rope. Still, he pulled. He was coming! Getting nearer!

  Two more rocks fell down as did a plank from across the boulder. More rocks creaked in protest. Another plank, the one that spanned the shaft and was leveraged against the boulder, began to bend, splintering in the center.

  “Sabine!”

  Everett threw down another rope, and she tied it around her waist. She climbed to the first support beam, which was mostly out of the water. “Come on, Nic,” she whispered, willing him to appear. “Come on.”

  The support beam cracked and the boulder edged outward, allowing a solid sheet of water to cascade over it and down through the tunnel that Nic was climbing.

  “No!” Sabine cried, staring at the rope. What did it feel like for Nic, to be pummeled by such force? “Nic, come on! You can do it!” she cried, as if he could hear her. She willed the rope to move, wishing she could force it to tell her if he had been swept away, or was nearer than ever. Why didn’t he appear? Where was he?

  With a groan the third support plank gave way, the power of the surge pulling out the huge long nail that Nic had pounded into it. Sabine lifted herself higher, but even as she did so, her heart sank. Nic’s rope was entirely underwater now. Was the lifeline even there any longer? It was impossible to see in the swirling, muddy, dark water. The boulder rolled and a massive wave rolled through the shaft, cascading across, rolling, foaming, and then rushing outward.

  “Sabine,” Everett cried, reaching down toward her. Tears dripped down his face, much like her own. Wearily, she pulled herself up to the next board.

  But then Everett was looking behind her, his eyes widening, not in terror, but glee. “Nic!”

  “Nic?” She turned and looked over her shoulder. Nic came up, sputtering, trying to grab a bit of air, then went under. He pulled himself across the shaft, still connected to the rope.

  Oh, thank You, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You, she said silently. She moved down a step, trying to reach for him, but he waved her away. Clearly too short of breath to speak. But his eyes were clear. Get up there. To safety, they said. I’m coming too.

  She turned and climbed with renewed vigor, reaching the top quickly and then turning with Everett to watch Nic. The entire shaft was in danger of collapse. He had to get out as fast as possible.

  “Here!” she called, throwing another rope down beside him. He grabbed hold and wrapped it around his waist, abandoning the first. And then he began to climb.

  When he reached the top, his hair slicked back like her own, his teeth chattering, she and Everett pulled him over the ledge, laughing in hysterical relief. He lay on his back, panting, and Everett hugged him from one side. Sabine took his hand and looked down at him. She shook her head. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  He smiled and reached up to touch her cheek with the back of his hand. “I feared the same.”

  “I thought I’d be heading to that orphanage in Buena Vista,” Everett said.

  o

  Daniel rode up with Glen to the Conquistador site, aware that with all the temporary carpentry and sawyer help, there might be a few fugitives among them. He’d studied the wanted posters, committing faces and details to memory. Most outlaws fled to Texas or as far as Mexico—as the Westcliffe First Bank & Trust robbers were rumored to have done—once their pictures and names began to circulate. But it was easy enough for a man to grow a beard—or shave it off—and go by a different name if he wished to stick around. Those were the most lethal sorts: the ones who didn’t fear getting caught.

  The workers watched out of the corners of their eyes as Daniel and Glen rode by. Many kept their eyes averted in deference, but a few stared back. Several who knew him from the Circle M lifted their hand or shouted in greeting.

  The tiny town was taking rapid shape. The post office wa
s entirely enclosed and roofed. Two men were inserting glass-paned windows. Four others were putting together roofing trusses on the ground before hoisting them atop the mercantile. A bell, still in its crate, stood beside the church location. Daniel smiled, thinking of it ringing, welcoming worshippers. He might come and worship there himself, once they got it going. On the edge of the block, all four walls were up at the sanatorium and roof trusses were in place. Several men were balancing on beams high above, receiving more lumber to start filling in the roof.

  Daniel looked the men over, but as he passed, he closed his eyes. Had that last man—? Was he—? Did he look like—? He wheeled his horse around, ignoring the confused expression on Glen’s face, as he studied the sanatorium crew again. He didn’t see the man who had triggered his memory. Was one missing now? He thought back, trying to place how many had been working on that one wall before, certain there was one fewer.

  He was imagining things. Believing what he wanted to believe. The idea that he might run across Mary’s remaining killer here so soon after he became sheriff, hundreds of miles from where she had been murdered … He scoffed at his wild imaginings.

  Bryce was on-site, looking over plans with an architect. He smiled when he caught sight of Daniel and offered a wave before he left the other man, who was still staring at his blueprints. Daniel asked Glen to introduce himself among the men and get a good look at each of them. Daniel reached out his hand as Bryce neared, and he shook it. “Good to see you, Daniel.”

  “And you.”

  “What brings you out to Conquistador today?”

  “Getting familiar with your crew,” he said lowly. “Wanted to make sure there weren’t any wanted men among them.”

  “Fine by me,” Bryce said, his eyes scanning the street.

  “How’s Moira?” Daniel asked.

  “Why don’t you come on up to the house, ask her yourself?” he said, lifting a brow.

  “Maybe after a while. How is she?”

  “Fine,” he said, then paused. “She was singing for a bit, but she’s quit.” His voice dropped. “Two carpenters recognized her as Moira Colorado.”

  Daniel’s head came up. “If that word gets out …”

  Bryce met his gaze. “Newspapermen love that sort of story.”

  Daniel sighed. “I’ve learned it doesn’t matter where we go or what we do, if we don’t resolve our past, it will affect our present and future.”

  “Wise words,” Bryce said, cocking a brow. “Spoken as someone wrestling with his own past, present, or future?”

  Daniel studied him. Had Moira told him? He kept his expression carefully blank. “All three, I think. I have my fair share of skeletons,” he allowed. That reminded him.… “Bryce, do you have a man on the crew that is in his forties, heavyset around the shoulders, brown hair, but balding a little?”

  Bryce frowned, thinking it over, and then gave him a wry smile. “I probably have ten or more that fit that description.”

  “Do you mind if I do a walk through your little town? See if I locate a man I thought I recognized?”

  Bryce gestured forward. “You’re the sheriff, Sheriff.”

  They shook hands and Bryce set off down the street, leading his horse. A few minutes later, Glen whistled and lifted his chin, then nodded to his left. The sanatorium. Had he found the man that Daniel had spotted earlier? His heart skipped a beat and then pounded forcefully. He’d seen to it that the wanted poster for his wife’s escaped killer—yellow with age, now—had been one of many that he and his deputies looked at that morning. The three men had shot him questioning glances when they got to that one, depicting a heavyset, brown-haired man wanted for a woman’s murder, but none dared ask him about it.

  He hurried forward, watching as Glen slid to the left side of the building, slowly drawing his pistol. Daniel tied up his horse and gestured toward his own dark brown hair, then pointed toward the back of the building with two fingers. So he spotted a balding man too.

  Daniel held his breath and nodded his agreement, then eased his own gun from its holster. He moved down the opposite side of the building, his eyes running over each man’s face. As they passed, work slowed to a stop, the sounds of sawing and hammering fading as each man stilled, watching what was unfolding before them.

  Daniel frowned as he reached the last man. He wasn’t here. Who had—

  “Stand right where you are!” Glen shouted. “Raise your hands above your head.”

  Daniel whipped around and found his deputy, his revolver pointed at a tall brown-haired man with a handlebar mustache. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “What’s your name?” Glen shouted.

  Daniel climbed through the joists of the supporting wall in front of him and made his way over to the man Glen had captured. His stomach was a knot. He’d missed this one, so focused was he on finding the man who killed Mary.…

  “Michael Hambry,” the man said.

  Daniel reached over and took the man’s gun out of his holster, as Glen pulled one of the man’s hands behind his back. “Ever been up near St. Elmo, Mr. Hambry?” Daniel asked, trying to get a hold on himself. He stared into Hambry’s light-colored eyes, an odd contrast to his dark hair, remembering the poster he’d seen and thinking it was all the more likely that they’d captured their first wanted man.

  “Can’t say as I have,” the man said in a snide tone.

  “Well, you bear a striking resemblance to a man wanted for murder.”

  o

  Nic accepted a mug of coffee from Sabine and watched her as she moved back to the stove to turn over the flapjacks. Everett sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little. “I am so, so hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry,” Nic teased him.

  “Dad said it’s because I’m growing,” Everett said. A shadow crossed over his face at his own mention of Peter.

  “Your dad would be proud of you, Ev,” Nic said gently. “You’ve been doing a man’s work around here. And yesterday—you helped me and Sabine get out of that hole.”

  Everett smiled, but then he shook his head. “I don’t want to be that scared again.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Sabine put two flapjacks on a plate and set it on the table in front of Nic. She put a thick pat of butter on top and then, smiling slyly at Everett, a spoonful of honey. His eyes got wide and he hurried to his chair, picking up his fork as he sat.

  She then poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from Nic. “The sheriff’s investors are due tomorrow.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Don’t you think we ought to go up to the mine? See if we could do some work? Make it look a bit more presentable?”

  He covered a smile. “You think we can make a tunnel filled with mud and rock and water more presentable?”

  She looked away, as if embarrassed, and he was immediately sorry for his teasing. He reached across the table and took her hand. He was a little surprised that she allowed it. “I understand your desire. But yesterday … Sabine, only by God’s own hand did we survive.” He paused, wondering over his own words. “I’m not anxious to be in there again. Let’s let it ride. It’s like my gambling days. You blow on the dice and let them fall as they may. They might not offer what we want for the land. They might offer more. We might not accept. But right now, I want to steer clear of the place that almost cost me you.”

  Still chewing his food, Everett watched him.

  Sabine looked up and into his eyes. “All right,” she said softly.

  It struck him then. Between almost losing her yesterday and the pleasure of waking today, knowing she was on the other side of the curtain … It was right there. Had been for days. I love her. God help me, I love Sabine LaCrosse.

  She studied his face as if she could see the realization come over him. He wasn’t ready for her to know. Not yet. He withdrew his hand from hers, rose, and turned away. “I need to step out for a bit. I’ll be back.” He pulled on a light coat to ward off the morning chill and then moved throu
gh the door, carefully closing it behind him.

  He walked up the hill above the cabin until he was looking down at the moss-covered roof. A tendril of smoke curled and rose from the narrow chimney pipe, and he thought about Sabine sitting at the table, perhaps staring out the window after him, lost in her own thoughts. And Everett, happily munching away. Was it Sabine he loved? Or this sense of family he’d stepped into, almost by accident?

  He put a hand on the back of his head and looked out to the valley. He’d been with many women before, some he’d fancied. But never had he proclaimed love for any of them. He had missed a couple, wondered about a few, but never longed for any until Sabine. Standing out here, he felt torn, wanting to be inside, beside her, reaching out and touching her even as a part of him writhed against what felt like increasing numbers of tethers tying him down.

  Nic sat down, hard. In love. So this is what it feels like.

  Down below, the door of the cabin creaked open and then shut. Everett walked past the house and down a faint trail. Immediately Nic knew he was heading to his father’s grave site. He must be missing Peter. Was he as at ease in Nic and Sabine’s care as he seemed?

  Nic rubbed his eyes and face and then rested his chin on his forearms, looking out to the mountain valley. You’ve cobbled together a sort of family here, Lord. On purpose?

  He heard no response, only the gentle breeze in the trees. His eyes scanned the mountains, some rolling and covered in pines, others fearsomely rugged and thrusting upward above the tree line, as if striving to reach their Creator. He thought of his father, who always professed belief in God but never really talked about Him. He thought of his mother, praying beside his bed each night. What would they think of Nic, here in Colorado, so near Odessa but still wrestling with something inside him that kept him from going to her?

  The door down below creaked again, and Sabine walked out, looked around, saw him, then climbed up the hill. She sat down beside him, pulling up her knees and hugging them to her chest. She looked fresh and clean in her new skirt and blouse.