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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blacksmiths Bobby Brewster and Joel Kincaid were fierce competitors and mortal enemies, yet they worked side by side grunting and heaving as they lifted the heavier rocks away from the cave entrance, their rough curses muffled in deference to the ladies present.
Marla held Lori against her side and watched the two hefty blacksmiths, along with about a dozen other men from town as they worked to free Natalie and Elliot. Cole and Brett worked at the base of the rock pile and out of harm's way; Jo stood to the side, her fists clenched and her youthful face reflecting hopeless anger because she wasn't allowed to help.
Silent tears rolled down Marla's cheeks. Hysteria hovered just below the surface, but she fought it for the children's sake. What if the cave collapsed before they could dig them free? What if they ran out of air?
When she had answered the door to find Brett out of breath and stammering something about Natalie and Elliot buried alive, the edges of her vision had grayed alarmingly.
Leaning against the door jamb, she had silently fought the weakness until she was certain she wouldn't faint. If she had fainted she wouldn't be here; Noah would have insisted she stay in town and that would have driven her mad.
"Are we sure they're in there?"
"Of—” She swallowed the sharp retort and glanced at Mrs. Newberry, who stood beside her cooling her face frantically with a fan trimmed with ivory colored lace. Marla remembered haggling with the woman over the fan and losing. A few other women—mostly gossips like Mrs. Newberry—huddled in a small circle a few yards away. Probably busy shredding Natalie's reputation, she thought scathingly. To Mrs. Newberry, she said with careful patience, “Where else could they be? They've been missing for a few hours now. Besides, Jo thought she heard someone shouting."
"Maybe they eloped,” Mrs. Newberry suggested with a hint of hope, completely ignoring Marla's latter comment.
"Natalie would never leave the children.” Marla's patience began to wear thin. She suspected that Mrs. Newberry would rejoin her group of pecking hens the moment she squeezed enough information out of her. “And Natalie wouldn't leave without telling me,” she added stiffly. Lori sniffled and stirred against her; Marla tightened her arms around her.
"I've heard Mr. Montgomery's been spending a lot of time at Ivy House."
"He owns the house, Mrs. Newberry.” She gave her head an impatient shake. “Perhaps that's the reason?” It wasn't, or she didn't think it was the only reason, but she wasn't about to feed the chickens. They would love nothing more than to nod their hypocritical beaks and whisper that blood followed blood.
The fan became a blur in Mrs. Newberry's wrinkled hands. “Well, they've been in there an awfully long time ... alone."
"Should I have Noah fetch the shotgun on the off-chance they're still alive and able to stand before a preacher?” This time when Marla glanced at the woman, she held her gaze until Mrs. Newberry looked away. The tears came faster now, and trembled in her voice. She caught a sob and swallowed it. If Noah turned and saw her crying, he'd force her to go home. She couldn't bear it. “I think our time would be better spent praying for their safety, rather than dwelling on crude speculations."
Mrs. Newberry sucked in a indignant gasp, but Marla didn't wait for a reply. She clutched Lori and moved away from the snippy woman and the other gossips. Natalie had to be all right. She couldn't imagine life without her best friend.
In fact, she refused to imagine it.
Looking first at the pile of discarded rocks growing larger by the moment, then at the small mountain of rubble still to be moved, she clasped her hands and bent her head. Her lips moved fervently in prayer.
* * * *
It was only a very thin sliver, and at first Natalie thought it was her mind playing tricks on her, but as she strained her eyes in the dark, the sliver of golden light grew and winked against the cave wall. Her excitement grew along with it. She clutched Elliot's arm to get his attention. “Elliot, look! I see light!"
He went still beneath her fingers. She knew he had been struggling with the buttons on his shirt from the steady stream of muffled curses. It had taken him forever to refasten her dress in the dark.
"I think you're right. They've managed to dig us out."
"Do you think they heard you?” she asked, thinking of how frightened and worried the children would be. And if they had gone for help, then Marla and Noah would be waiting, too. She bit her lip, thinking about Marla's condition. The distress wouldn't be good for her.
"I think they did, but maybe we should try again."
He found her hand and clasped it, pulling her slowly toward that wonderful splinter of light. They neared the entrance and he moved to the right to avoid the scattered boulders from the hidden tunnel. As they passed the room where the remains of her father lay, a wave of sadness wash over her. He'd died alone, his bones the only reminder that he ever existed. She should give him a decent burial, she thought, now that she'd found him.
Elliot paused several feet from the light. She pressed against the warm, solid wall of his back, knowing their time together was at an end and determined to make every second count.
"Can anyone hear me?” he shouted. Then to her, he warned softly, “Get ready to run. My voice might set these rocks rolling."
Natalie tensed and waited. She heard a muffled shout, but couldn't make out the words. She squeezed his hand. “They heard us. I wonder how much longer it's going to be?"
"Not long.” He lifted their entwined hands and pointed to the entrance. “Look."
The light became a hole, and now they could hear the cheers and shouts more clearly. She recognized Noah's gruff voice, raised in excitement. Within moments the opening grew larger as the men cleared away more rocks.
"I think we can crawl through,” Elliot shouted.
He turned to her. She could make out the faint outline of his face, but not his expression. Her heart leaped at the memory of his love-making, her skin growing hot. She wasn't certain she wanted to leave now that they could.
"I'm going to lift you up."
She nodded over the lump in her throat, then realized he probably couldn't see her. “All right. Elliot?"
"Hmm?"
"I—” She stumbled to a halt, needing to say the words but fearing his response. Would he say he loved her in return? She had wanted to say it when he was deep inside of her, then later when he loved her again. Why hadn't she?
As if he sensed her deep, emotional turmoil, he took her face in his hands. His eyes gleamed with an unidentifiable emotion. Passion? Pity? Love? There was only one that would send her heart soaring.
"We'll talk later.” He pressed a hard, possessive kiss on her mouth and released her. “Now, I'll help you climb up. Watch your step."
Natalie shoved her chin forward and willed the tears away. At least she still had her pride; she hadn't told him she loved him. Yes, they had made love, passionate, tender, unforgettable love, but she knew it didn't mean the same for a man. They didn't have to love to make love—hadn't Nelda explained this to her?
A deep, tearing ache blossomed in her heart. She feared it was just the beginning, because for her, the two went hand in hand.
Strong hands clasped her waist—hands that had caressed her body with infinite tenderness and arousing expertise—and lifted her up to the opening. She grasped the rocks and scrambled for a toe hold. Poking her head through the opening, she snapped her eyes closed against the blinding, hurtful light. Someone grabbed her arms and lifted her effortlessly out.
When Natalie felt the ground beneath her feet, she cautiously opened her eyes. Noah grinned down at her, keeping his hands on her shoulders until she was steady.
"Glad to see ya, girl,” he said gruffly.
After that, she was squeezed and battered by the children, then nearly choked to death by Marla. When she finally disentangled herself, her gaze found Elliot. He was surrounded by the men, shaking hands and st
umbling beneath hearty back slaps from a few of the more enthusiastic congratulators.
As if he sensed her watching him, his head shot up. Their gazes locked. His slow, lazy smile hinted at secrets and promises yet to be fulfilled. Voices receded; people blurred and disappeared. They were alone, remembering, wondering, and anticipating.
When the ground began to tremble, it was a few seconds before Natalie snapped out of her daze and realized what was happening. Frozen, she watched as the boulders blocking the cave entrance shimmed and rumbled. All around her, people began to scream and shout, running to escape the tumbling rocks.
She couldn't move. The cave entrance was collapsing, and the remains of her father—her only proof that her mother was not as everyone believed her to be—would be lost to her forever. She had to stop it! She took a stumbling step in the direction of the collapsing cave.
The air left her lungs in a squeaky rush as Elliot slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. He rolled them to safety as rocks thundered perilously close.
"You idiot! What were you thinking?"
She quelled in the face of his raw anger, struggling out of his arms and getting to her feet. She automatically brushed at her dress, tears blinding her. “My father ... my father's in there, Elliot."
He stood and grasped her shoulders, anger hardening his features. But as she watched, compassion gradually overshadowed the anger. His gentled his grip.
"He's dead, Natalie. Dead. Let him rest in peace."
She looked away from his burning gaze to the crowd of women, who stood huddled together, pointing at the collapsed entrance and clutching their trembling bosoms, apparently marveling over their narrow escape. Without proof, they would never believe her, she thought. They would continue to whisper and speculate.
Did it really matter?
She knew, and Elliot knew. Marla and Noah would believe her, not that they cared one way or another. The children loved her unconditionally and didn't give a fig about her past.
She slowly unfurled her clenched fists and wiped the tears away. Her chin came up. Her spine grew rigid. She looked at Elliot. “You're right. He's dead. I should let him rest in peace."
* * * *
Three days.
Natalie watched him approach from her bedroom window, her hungry gaze sweeping over his broad, strong shoulders and muscled thighs as he strode up the lane. Three days since she'd last seen him. Three days that had seemed like a lifetime. She had drifted through those days floating on a cloud, her mind constantly reviewing their time spent together in the cave.
Every touch, every murmur, each and every kiss remembered, relished, and cherished. She was a woman in love. She had experienced the marvelous passion between a man and a woman and wouldn't soon forget it.
No—she'd never forget it.
Checking her hair and smoothing her dress, she raced downstairs and opened the door just as he was poised to knock. Her bright, happy smile faltered at his solemn look. “Elliot?"
"Natalie.” He nodded and stepped past her. When she shut the door, he gestured to the parlor. “I need to talk to you."
She swallowed a ball of fear. Something was obviously wrong. He was supposed to be happy to see her, as she was him. He was supposed to be looking at her with hot need, having missed her as she had missed him. He was supposed to remember.
She stared at his tightly compressed lips, searching for a glimmer of affection or that familiar, lazy desire. Her heart spasmed painfully when she found nothing but a guarded expectancy.
Yes, something was terribly wrong, and as he turned to go into the parlor, she had to force herself to follow. Whatever it was, it was obvious that he knew she wouldn't like it.
Once in the parlor, he prowled the room restlessly. Her eyes followed him. She caught herself twisting her fingers together and firmly put them behind her. Clearing her throat, she said, “You have something to tell me?"
He picked up the stool Brett had been working on and examined it. “He's good at this, isn't he? He really ought to be a carpenter's apprentice, don't you think?"
She nodded. “Yes, he should.” Where was this leading? Why didn't he just say whatever he had come to say? And where was the man she loved? Had he forgotten her so soon? Maybe he regretted what had happened between them. Behind her back, she quietly kneaded her fingers until they burned.
"And Cole. He's bright. He should be doing something as well, learning a trade."
"He—” Natalie bit down the inside of her jaw. No, now was not the time to tell him about the doll houses. Not until after she heard what he had to say—and maybe then she wouldn't want to. “They're both very talented,” she managed instead. And waited.
He set the stool down and picked up the cushion Lori had finished—the very same cushion she had thrown at him a lifetime ago. So much had happened between them ... so much had changed inside of her.
She couldn't say the same for him. She blinked her burning eyes and waited. Obviously he wasn't in any hurry to tell her, and she certainly wasn't in any hurry to hear it.
He trailed his fingers over the fine stitching, then abruptly met her gaze.
She drew in a harsh breath at the stark regret in his eyes.
"We have an interview, a couple interested in meeting Brett and Cole."
"No.” Her chest hitched. She brought her clenched fists out of hiding. “No. Surely you can't—not after we—” she trailed off with a shudder before she made a complete fool of herself. She wouldn't open herself to more humiliation.
Welcoming the numb cold that crept in to block out the pain, Natalie forced herself to remember the conversation she'd overheard. The children had sounded eager to leave Ivy House, and despite the hurt she felt, she had to face the truth. Whatever her faults, she wanted the best for the children.
"You're right, of course.” Triumph flared briefly at his surprised look. At least she'd managed to stir something in him, she thought with bitter anguish. Trying not to choke on the bald-faced lie, she continued, “I'm looking forward to meeting them. When will they be here?” And how much did you offer them? she screamed silently.
He quickly recovered, his bland expression slipping back into place and proving to her that he was indeed a master of deceit. Why didn't she listen to her instincts? Inwardly, her broken heart wept. Outwardly, she remained as cool and composed as he. Pride and pride alone kept her from slinking away to her room so that she could wail like a baby.
"They should arrive any moment. Where are Brett and Cole? Are they upstairs?"
When she nodded, he moved to the parlor doorway as if to fetch them, but Natalie quickly stepped to block his path. She was proud of the polite smile she summoned. Now, if she could keep it from cracking...
God, it hurt! She felt as if her chest would split open and reveal her broken, bloody heart! “I'll get them. You'll want to answer the door when they arrive.” Because she wouldn't. “I'll be back in a moment."
Or an hour. Amazingly, she didn't cry as she started for the stairs. If she did, she was convinced her tears would freeze on her cheeks, so cold did she feel.
He was going to sell the children. He was going to sell the children, then sell Ivy House. Then ... leave?
She squeezed her eyes so tightly it hurt. How stupid could she be? He felt no love for her ... only lust.
Lust in the guise of love, the bastard.
Unlike her mother, she had been taken in by a scoundrel.
* * * *
"You'd better be right, Marla,” Elliot mumbled, staring after Natalie as she stomped up the stairs. He swore softly, then turned away from the sad sight, propping his foot on the cold hearth. “Yes, you'd better be right, damn it."
He braced himself against the mantle and closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. It had been sheer torture standing so close to her and not pulling her into his arms. He wanted—no—he craved her mouth like a drunk craves wine. The last three nights had been spent tossing restlessly, aching for her and cursing fate for k
eeping them apart.
But he couldn't offer for her because he had nothing to offer, not yet. With a lot of luck and a little skill, he hoped to change that situation very soon. It was the first day of October; he had less than three months to perform a miracle.
A knock at the door brought a wry smile to his face. The beginning of the miracle, he thought, going to answer the door.
Determined to be optimistic—since he was certain Natalie wouldn't be—he greeted the aging couple with a warm smile and waved them into the parlor. Before he had the opportunity to question the farmer and his wife, Natalie returned with Brett and Cole.
And the show began.
An hour later they faced each other in the empty parlor. Elliot had sent the couple on their way with completely false promises that he would get in touch with them soon. Brett and Cole had been banished from the room by a furious Natalie.
"How dare you be so rude!"
Grim-faced and more than a little aggravated himself, Elliot assumed a defensive stance; arms folded and feet spread. His eyes narrowed on her flushed face and glittering eyes. She'd never looked so beautiful. “Rude? And you think Mr. Hatchet wasn't being rude when he hinted he needed a couple of strong backs to replace the mule that died?"
"It's Mr. Hacket.” She paced up to him, then whirled furiously away as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. “They're getting old. There's nothing wrong with them needing strong sons to help on the farm. Didn't you notice that Brett and Cole liked the idea of living on a farm? As for working, they're used to it. Mr. and Mrs. Hacket are nice folks. They would take good care of the boys."
He snorted, hiding his bewilderment over the turn of events. He had expected her to find fault, but instead he had taken an instant dislike to the stone-faced couple. There was something about them that set his teeth on edge. “And just what, exactly, happened to their three children that died?” he demanded, his suspicions resurfacing.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. She stopped pacing long enough to shrink him with an incredulous glare. “You have an overactive imagination, Elliot Montgomery, and thanks to you, you've ruined Brett and Cole's chance at happiness."
Where The Heart Is Page 16