Past Promises

by Jill Marie Landis

  At a spot directly above the cave, she dismounted, looked around, and tied the mare to a juniper branch. As far as she could tell, it wouldn’t take more than a quarter of an hour to climb down far enough to chip a rock sample out of the wall.

  That’s all I’ll do, she promised herself, glancing up at the lowering sun. No need to get carried away.

  She slung the strap of the knapsack over her head to secure it and pulled the chin strap of her borrowed hat tight beneath her chin. With a last tug on her gloves, Jessica started down. A few steps below the canyon rim, she paused long enough to hike up her skirt and gather it into a knot to keep it from tangling around her ankles as she climbed.

  In some places the steepness of the rocks scared her, so that she was forced to crawl on her hands and knees rather than risk tripping and plummeting to the canyon floor.

  In no time, sweat trickled down her brow. When a spiny swift lizard of sizable proportions skittered across her path, she let out a squeal, then chided herself.

  “Do you know if you had some rather huge cousins that lived around here years ago?”

  The lizard watched her curiously and blinked once before it hurried on its way. She made certain the scaled creature was out, of sight before she forged ahead.

  A few yards more and she had to scoot out to the edge of the ledge on her bottom until she could dangle her legs over the side and reach for the next foothold with her toe. From that point to the place where she could reach the rock samples, she was forced to use the ancient toe and hand holds the early natives used to lower themselves in to the canyon. Luckily, after only a few easy moves down and sideways, she came to another outcrop, climbed down to it, and rested.

  By stretching to the right, she could chisel out a sample of the dark rock. She set the heavy knapsack down beside her, found her chisel, and in a few moments had carefully chipped away a sizable piece, which, upon close inspection, did prove to be petrified bone. Without the gum arabic solution to give it greater strength, there was nothing for her to do but wrap it as carefully as she could in paper she tore from her notebook and gently add it to the items in her bag.

  That done, she took a good look at the rest of the bone shards. Here and there she brushed aside the loose clay-and-sand surface to reveal larger pieces and wished she could climb down to see the entire section from the broad ledge that fronted the cavern. Here was something worth investigating. Here was the proof that had made her entire journey worthwhile. If all of her calculations were correct, she was looking at what would prove to be a complete saurian skeleton from the Jurassic period.

  Excited beyond telling, Jess started the long climb back up. Just in time, too, she surmised when the sun dipped below the mesa and the shadows on the cliff wall lengthened. Once she reached the top, she pulled herself to a standing position, brushed herself off, and wiped her brow, more than satisfied with the day’s work.

  Not only had she found something worth further excavation, but she’d also managed to put her earlier confrontation with Rory out of her mind for most of the afternoon. Afraid to contemplate what he would say and do when she told him where she’d been, what she’d found, and how she planned to return tomorrow with Myra and her camp gear in tow, she shifted her bag and started toward the juniper where she’d left her horse.

  Halfway there she stopped.

  At least she thought she was headed in the direction of the tree where she had tied her horse. Jessica looked in all directions, gauged the distance to the spot where she had started down the canyon, and then paced back to the canyon rim.

  She came to a startling conclusion. It was impossible to hide a horse in such an open area covered with low shrubs.

  The mare was missing.

  If you’re goin’, then go on,

  If you’re set on leavin’,

  Then be gone,

  ’Cause I got things to do

  That’ll keep me from thinking of you.

  If you’re sayin’ good-bye, then say it

  If you’re playin’ a game

  Stop playin’,

  ’Cause I got things to do,

  That’ll keep me from thinkin’ of you.

  Whistling a slow tune in time to the rhythm of his latest poem, Rory unloaded what little remained of the barbed-wire roll and jumped off the wagon. Carrying it into the barn to stack with other bales, he decided that he might be damned glad when Jessica Stanbridge left. After all, a man shouldn’t have to waffle around while a woman made up her mind about him.

  Scratchy had rung the dinner bell the minute Rory had rounded the corner in the wagon. He took off his hat and used it to beat the dirt off his pants as he walked up to the back porch where the others had already lined up for supper. One tiling was for certain, he wasn’t about to apologize to Jess for this afternoon. As far as he was concerned, no matter how he still felt about her, he knew he couldn’t take her indecision anymore, didn’t have to take it, and would tell her so just as soon as they were alone. Make it easy on the both of us, he thought He elbowed his way to the back of the line of men who were waiting to use the pump to wash up. There was always enough soap, but by the end of the line the towel usually wasn’t much good for anything. Standing at the end of the line looking forward to a soggy towel didn’t do much to help his black mood.

  The men shuffled in amid talk of fences, horses, and the lack of water in certain canyons. It was a familiar routine, reminding him of what life had been like before he had met Miss Jessica Stanbridge. He ducked his head over the bucket and splashed water on his face and neck then used the damp towel to sop up some of it. The rest was left to drip into his collar.

  He joined the others in the kitchen. Jess’s chair was noticeably empty and so was Myra’s, but the older woman walked in the door just as Rory entered from the porch. All the hands stood up and shifted uncomfortably or waited in a half squat until she sat down. She set the leather-bound copy of King Solomon’s Mines on the table beside her plate.

  The heat of the cook stove only added to the close hot air in the room. Scratchy was busy over at the stove plopping potato dumplings in mounds onto the plates. Gathers stood at his elbow, ready to pass the plates around.

  When no one else seemed willing to start a conversation, Myra asked Rory, “Didn’t Jessica’s supplies come in before the Fourth of July celebration?”

  “They did. Brought them out myself.”

  “Well, after reading this”—she tapped the novel—“I’m ready to venture back out into the field. Besides, now that Jessica has Beckworth’s backing again, I’m sure she’ll be as anxious as I to return to camp life.” Myra inspected him over her spectacles. “Besides, I fear we’ll wear out our welcome.”

  Something in her speculative look made him want to squirm on his seat like a schoolboy in short pants. Instead he added, “Stay as long as you like.”

  Over at the stove, Scratchy slammed a lid on a pan. Barney Tinsley put his hand over his toothless mouth to hide a smile.

  “I think it is best if we got on with what we set out to do,” Myra was saying. “I have many sketches to replace.”

  Gathers set the plates down and for a moment they all stared at the food like condemned prisoners facing their last meal. White dumplings swam in congealed gravy on equally white plates.

  Myra pushed hers away, and then, as if she had just noticed her friend was missing, asked Rory, “Where’s Jessica?”

  “In her room, I guess.”

  Myra frowned. “No, she’s not. She hasn’t been here all day. I thought she was with you and that she was just slow coming in from the barn.”

  Rory swallowed a mouthful of bread-stuffed mashed-potato dumplings and shrugged, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his concern where Jess had gone to smooth her ruffled feathers.

  Woody Barrows spoke around a wad of dumpling.
“I haven’t seen her since I saddled up the mare for her ’long about noon.”

  The dumpling plummeted like a rock to the pit of Rory’s stomach. He laid down his fork. He looked at the men seated around the table. “You see her, Hench? Tinsley?”

  In various stages of chewing, they all shook their heads no.

  “Me either,” Gathers volunteered. It was one of the first times Rory had ever heard the man comment on anything he wasn’t asked directly.

  “Oh, dear.” Myra took off her spectacles, folded the remaining stem, and laid them on top of the book. Rory could see her gathering her thoughts. “I’m sure she’s just out collecting specimens. Maybe she’s found a new campsite.”

  The others kept right on shoveling the food down as if afraid to stop or they’d never be able to force themselves to start again.

  Rory’s appetite was gone.

  “I got biscuits,” Scratchy growled over by the stove. “They just ain’t done yet.”

  “How nice.” Myra’s tone would have melted butter. “More starch. Do you realize that the truly healthy diet consists of leafy green vegetables, fruits, nuts, and seeds?”

  Rory pushed away from the table and walked over to the back door, thinking of how Jess had looked about to cry this afternoon when she left him.

  Like a fool, he’d been too stubborn to call her back.

  Had he made her cry? Would Jessica Stanbridge really cry over him? He’d seen her blue eyes fill with tears when they lost Whitey and hated to think that he had made her cry again. He didn’t mind laying claim to her anger, but never her tears.

  Blue eyes under blue skies.

  One by one, the cowhands laid down their forks. “Want me to saddle ’em up, boss?” Woody asked.

  “For me and Tinsley. The rest of you can wait to see if I need you later.” Rory knew Barney Tinsley was the best tracker of the bunch, but nothing could help once they lost daylight, and there wasn’t much of it left.

  Myra was beside Rory before he was off the porch. She reached for his arm. “Do you really feel there’s cause for alarm? I have a firm belief in the universe and I—”

  Rory wouldn’t voice his fears. “You hold tight to that, Myra. I just don’t think it’ll hurt for me to ride out and meet her on the way in.”

  “And if you don’t find her?”

  Rory pictured Jerome Stoutenburg’s battered body and left the porch without a reply.

  NERVES MADE IT twice as hard to climb down the ledge to the cave again, and this time Jessica intended to go all the way to the bottom. As she worked her way down she told herself the mare had probably just wandered away, that it would head home, and then, no matter how mad he was, Rory and his men would look for her.

  There was no need to be upset. None at all.

  She was sure the horse had wandered off because she hadn’t tied the reins tight enough. Why, she had been so excited about locating the bone fragments that she didn’t even remember knotting the reins around the juniper. No one had taken her horse.

  There was absolutely no need to worry.

  She reached the cave entrance and wished there was more daylight. There were no matches in her knapsack; she knew that because just that morning she had planned to ask Scratchy for some, but had forgotten. Now there was no way to start a fire to keep the coyotes and other nocturnal prowlers at bay. No water because she had left the canteen on the mare. No bedroll to sleep on, either.

  Jessica started to worry.

  She skirted the wide mouth of the cave and moved to the cliff face. Not once, but twice, she blinked her eyes, unwilling to believe what she saw. From the upper section where she had taken the sample, it had been impossible to see the fossil field in its entirety. Finally she walked forward and touched the surface of what was definitely a massive femur, only part of what appeared to be the complete skeleton of a four-legged saurian that was already partially exposed in relief upon the cliff face.

  Worry fled when she realized she was on the verge of the greatest discovery ever. As soon as Rory found her, she could hurry back for her supplies, wire Beckworth from Cortez, and alert the museum to send a team to the site immediately. Finding a way to get the bones up the cliff would be difficult, but not impossible. She began to pace off the width of the ledge in front of the cave, and when she walked to the right, found a path hidden beneath the underbrush. It sloped uphill at a forty-five-degree angle until it reached the canyon rim a few hundred yards beyond the spot where she climbed down.

  At least I won’t have to go back up the rocks again, she thought with some relief. There was still the dilemma of where to spend the night while she waited for Rory to arrive.

  The cave was dank and musty. The fading light outside did little to illuminate the interior. Jessica walked in as far as she dared, and then fearing that some animal was hidden within, she backed out and hid behind a boulder. It would be a fine place to hide, but sleep was out of the question. At dawn, she would go up the path to the top of the mesa and wait for Rory or one of his men to find her.

  She climbed up onto the narrow shelf and set her bag beside her. Removing the gun from the knapsack, she checked the chambers, folded her legs, and set the weapon in her lap. Thus prepared, she was ready to face the night.

  As the sky beyond the canyon rim faded from red, to pink, to violet, she heard a stirring somewhere deep inside the cave, a hushed whisper that soon grew to a near roar. Terrified, Jessica crouched behind the rock and grasped the gun, even though she was convinced that whatever was making the hideous sounds could not be stopped by a mere bullet.

  With a tremendous whoosh and violent beating of wings, a black cloud of bats poured out of the depths of the cave. Jessica ducked as in one great mass, they swooped out of the cave to greet the night.

  When they were gone, she tried to still the trembling that shook her from head to toe. Jess drew her legs up, dropped her head to her knees, and prayed dawn would come soon.

  THE BUNKHOUSE was a world of its own.

  The bunks shoved up against the wood-and-mud walls were each cowboy’s private domain. Most of their clothes were on the floor. The walls were papered with newspaper, old calendars, and here and there were pictures of women the men had left behind. The coal-oil lamp stained the ceiling with soot and filled the air with its smell as it burned. Beneath the lamp that hung in the center of the room, Barrows, Gathers, and Hench were hunched over a small table. Woody and Fred played rummy while Gathers worked grease into his saddle.

  Rory paused in the open doorway wondering if this was the life he would be leading if the Burnetts hadn’t adopted him. Barney Tinsley pushed his wide girth past Rory and threw his hat on the bed in obvious frustration.

  Gathers looked up but said nothing. He didn’t need to. His dark scowl told them everything they wanted to know.

  “We’ll go out again in the morning. First light.” Rory could barely get the words out.

  Woody threw his cards on the table. His mouth worked for a minute, but nothing came out.

  Hench filled in for him. “We’ll find her. She’s out there someplace. Miss Jess is smart enough to find herself a place to shelter for the night. You found her after the flood, didn’t ya? An’ Miss Myra, too. Both of ’em got more lives than a cat, I reckon.”

  Unwilling to go back to the house and face Myra with the bad news, Rory leaned a shoulder into the door frame. “I reckon.”

  He wanted to yell, to curse, to pound his fist against the wall, and there probably wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t know that already. Instead he issued orders. “I’ll tell Scratchy to have grub bags ready for all of you. We’re not comin’ in until we find her, so pack up everything you need to stay on the trail.”

  “How far could she get in a few hours?” Wheelbarrow asked no one in particular.

  Barney Tinsley spoke up when Ro
ry merely shrugged. “We got back to where you was fixin’ the bum fence line and picked up the trail just before it got too dark to see. The tracks led off toward the mesa.”

  Rory fisted his hands and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “I want everyone packin’ a pistol.”

  Gathers actually smiled.

  “You expectin’ trouble?” Woody asked.

  He told them in as few words as he could about the death of Jessica’s former assistant. “I’m hoping it’s just as you said, Wheelbarrow. Jess has just gotten herself lost and is waiting out the night—but you should be ready for trouble in case.”

  “Should we send Scratchy for the sheriff?”

  “Not yet.” Rory pushed off the door frame, took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and then centered his hat again. “I want to take care of this myself. Be ready to ride at dawn.”

  When he stepped out the door, he nearly knocked Myra Thornton over. “Pardon me, ma’am. I didn’t see you there.”

  Myra stepped back and waited for him to move off the bunkhouse stoop.

  “I don’t think you should go in there,” he said, thinking of the pictures of women in various states of undress tacked to the walls and knowing how the cowhands considered the bunkhouse sacred.

  “Heavens! I have no intention of going in there,” Myra said, trying to peer around him into the smoky interior. “I heard you ride up and came to see if you found Jessica. Obviously you didn’t.”

  “Nope.”

  He started back toward the main house and she fell into step beside him. When he realized she was limping, he slowed his pace.

  “I must admit I’m worried now,” Myra confessed.

  He swallowed. Pulling off his gloves, he said, “Not as much as I am.”

  “Then we must turn our worry into action. What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. The men are going to be ready to ride out again in the morning. Scratchy will be putting together some food. Maybe you could help with that.”

  She frowned. “He’s declared the kitchen off limits, I’m afraid.”