Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (37 page)

Black shadows closed in around her. Flickers from the light of the lantern she shoved in front of her exposed copper and green tints in the rock of the tunnel, with an occasional vein of blue or purple. A pleasing palette, if she hadn’t been too miserable to admire the formations.

The small corridor widened into an alcove. Wyatt paused, sitting back on his haunches, his head bent at an awkward angle. “Let’s take a breather.” He scooted around until he could place his back against the wall, legs stretched out. Patting the floor next to him, he said, “Come here.”

“Gladly.” Samantha snuggled next to him, trying not to let him hear her ragged breathing.

He rested an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. “This tunnel goes on for about another twenty, thirty yards. Twists around some. Then it opens up into a big wet room. Water seeps everywhere, and there’s a waterfall in the corner. We’ll hear it soon. Have to be real careful. The floor’s slick.”

“All right.”

“From there, two other tunnels eventually lead to other exits. Unfortunately, either one involves a lot more crawling.”

“Remember, I’ve been worshiping in a Catholic church for many years.” She kept her tone light. “I’ve hardened my knees from kneeling on the stone floors. I’m probably better off than you.”

Wyatt shook his head. “I should have thought to bring rags to wrap around our knees for protection.”

“It isn’t like this is a pleasure jaunt, Wyatt. We were in a hurry. I’ll be fine.”

He grinned at her. “Not sure I will be, though. By the time we’re through, I’ll be walking like an ol’ grandpa. But maybe I can head off old age.” He unlooped the blanket from over his head and fished around in his coat pocket, pulling out a knife.

First Wyatt cut four long strips from the blanket. Then untucking his shirt, he sawed eight long ribbons of cotton from the bottom. “Here.” He handed her two blanket pieces and four of the rags. “Bind these around your knees.”

Samantha rolled her denim pant leg up beyond her knee. She heard Wyatt make a sound deep in his throat.

He took back the blanket strips from her. “Allow me,” he said, his voice husky. Sliding his hand up her leg, he traced one finger around her kneecap.

She trembled at the feel of his callused hand on her bare skin.

Seeing her reaction, a wicked grin curled up the corners of his mouth, and he tickled her calf. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her knee. “This is a promise for the future. When this is over, I want to become very familiar with these knees.”

The phrase “weak-kneed” took on new meaning for Samantha. His touch tingled through her body, causing her breasts to ache and sending moisture to warm her most private area. If it weren’t for their quest for the children…

Seeming to follow her train of thought, Wyatt became serious and wrapped first one knee, then the other.

She restrained a sigh.

As he unrolled her pant legs down to her boots, he gazed deeply in her eyes—spinning the contact between them into a web of longing. In the dim light, his eyes glinted mirror silver, reiterating his words.

When this is over
…

The tunnel narrowed, and Jack had a choice between a duck waddle and a baby’s crawl. He settled for being a duck, knowing he’d soon have to change when his leg muscles wore out. The waddle made it easier to carry the candle and balance the rolled-up blanket. The rest of his gear he’d stuffed into his satchel, which he’d draped behind him. It bounced against his back with every movement.

Carrying the lantern, Little Feather led, followed by Tim, then Dan, then Christine. Christine crawled in front of Jack, her skirt tucked up, booted feet scuffing along the stone.

The passageway was barely wider than his shoulders, with a wavy ceiling that sometimes curved down as low as two feet above his head. Jack wondered how snug the tunnel might become. Visions of sticking tighter than a cork in a bottle, unable to go forward or back, slowed his pace. With a swallow, he pushed the fear aside, trusting Little Feather to see them through. The Indian boy never said much, but, the rare times he’d chosen to be the leader of the bunch, he’d displayed a quiet competence that was all the more reassuring for being silent.

Still, maybe this warn’t such a good idea. Jack felt as if they’d been snaking through this shaft forever. Much more of this and he’d start to feel the walls closing in on him. Only the distant sound of falling water encouraged him to go on. The soles of Christine’s feet disappeared out of sight around a bend.

A shot rang out, muffled and echoing.

Jack jumped in reaction, bashing his head on the low ceiling.

Christine screamed, and Tim yelped.

Jack’s heart thumped so hard he thought it might bang out of his chest and against the wall.
What the hell?

Waddling forward as fast as he could, he found himself in a huge chamber, the vaulted ceiling not visible in the lamplight. A quick glance showed the other children standing, not appearing wounded. Water dripped everywhere, running down the walls and across the floor. A narrow waterfall splashed between two dark holes. Other passages out of the cavern?

He slowly stood up, careful to shield the candle. Then he lifted it high, adding to the light of Little Feather’s lantern.

Ben huddled in the driest corner of the room, a rifle held in from of him. Jack wanted to jump in front of the others, spreading wide his arms in protection. Instead he raised the candle. “What in tarnation do ya think ya are doin’? Aim to kill us now?”

Ben lowered the rifle. “Thought you might be a grizzly.”

A grizzly.
Jack wished he had something to throw at the other boy. “Ya sure are an idjit, Ben Grayson. Ain’t no grizzles gunna be prowling these here caves. Can’t likely fit in the first place.”

Jack strode over and yanked the rifle out of Ben’s hands. He wasn’t going to allow that bully to cause any more trouble. Then Jack took a closer look at the boy. Ben’s shirt collar twisted around his neck, rips and wet splotches on his suit. Could that be tearstains on his cheeks?

The children circled him.

Jack calmed himself. “What the heck are you doing here? I thought you was all set ta play sheriff.”

“I’ve broken my leg. Arlie went for help, but he took the candle. I’ve been alone in the dark here for ages.”

“Well, you ain’t no more,” Jack said matter-of-factly, a plan forming in his mind.

Ben’s calf eyes narrowed. “Don’t just stand there, do something,” he ordered.

Jack turned to the rest. “Someone here still hasn’t learned his manners. Come on, everybody, we’re leaving.”

Christine looked like she would object, and he sent her a “be quiet” stare, jerking his head back toward the opening.

Ben jerked upright, then winced. “Noooo.”

Little Feather ducked into the tunnel. Daniel followed him.

Ben held out his hand, calf eyes pleading. “Wait, please.”

Pretending to ignore the injured boy, Jack squatted down at the entrance and crawled in a few feet, motioning Little Feather and Daniel near. The younger boy had those eyebrows up again, a sure sign of his agitation. “Dan, you and Little Feather go back through the tunnel. Then you ride into town for Doc Cameron,” he whispered.

Daniel nodded, his brow relaxing.

Jack leaned close to Little Feather. “You git to the house an git help. Keep an eye on Danny.” He lightened his voice. “Don’t let him go crawling off on any side ways.”

Daniel cuffed Jack’s shoulder. “There are no side ways.”

“I know.” Jack gave him a gentle shove. “Come on, git.”

Ben’s pleas grew louder.

Backing out into the cavern, Jack stood up.

Christine edged closer to Ben, looking like she might burst into tears any minute.

“Here.” Jack untangled his blanket, dropping some food and clothes on the stone floor. “Put this around him. But be careful of that leg.”

Christine scuttled closer, kneeling down to tenderly cover Ben. The boy appeared grateful for the attention, for the first time losing his I’m-better-than-you air.

Jack held up a chunk of cheese. “You hungry?”

“A bit.” Ben’s words seemed reluctant.

Jack tossed the cheese over.

Ben caught it with both hands, and nibbled like a mouse.

Christine sat cross-legged next to Ben, patting his shoulder.

Tim unfolded his bedroll. “Here, Christine.” He walked over and handed her the blanket. “Better sit on this. If you catch cold, your pa’ll skin us ’uns alive.”

Now that Ben acted more cooperative, Jack was ready to move to the next stage of his plan. “Well, now that you’re warm and fed, us ’uns will move on with our explorin’.”

Panic squished Ben’s face ’til he looked about two years old. “No, don’t leave me.”

Jack could almost pity him, but he didn’t let that feeling show in his voice. “Us ’uns are the bad twins, remember.” He ground out the words. “The ones who set fires. The ones who your ma is so dang hot on shipping out of town.” He strode closer until he towered over Ben. “If’n they catches Tim and I here, they’ll probably blame us ’uns for that there broken leg of yours. So us ’uns’d better be off.”

“No, no. They won’t blame you for my leg. It was Arlie’s fault. He pushed me, and I slipped and fell.”

“Yah, but all ya have ta do is point the blame at us ’uns, and everyone will believe ya. After all, they already think us ’uns set those damn fires. Us ’uns need to git.”

“But you didn’t,” Ben blurted. “Arlie was the one who burned Widow Murphy’s haystacks each time. But we both set the one
that burned down the outhouse.” He hung his head. “We wanted you twins to be blamed.”

Jack wanted to grab Ben around his neck and throttle him. “You, you…” He couldn’t even find the words to throw at the other boy. “Why?”

Ben stayed silent a long time, gaze fastened on the ground. “I didn’t like you, and I thought it would be fun.” His tone turned defensive. “It was just an outhouse, not a building. Nothing important.”

Tim stepped over to join Jack, his body shaking. “Fun.” Outrage made his quiet twin speak up. “Did ya ever stop to think about livin’ in an orphanage? Would ya like ta go ta one? That’s what ya would have done ta us ’uns.”

This time Ben remained silent.

Tim turned away in disgust. “Us ’uns should go away and leave ya. If’n it was us ’uns hurt here, that’s what ya would do.”

Jack nodded. “Yah, and laugh while ya were goin’.”

Christine stirred. “But we’re not going to leave?” She clutched her fingers together. Blue eyes appealed to them.

“Christy gal, us ’uns ain’t like him.” A surge of emotion welled up in him. What it was he couldn’t quite tell. Something good though. He placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder, and the two exchanged a look. “Us ’uns are stayin’.”

Wyatt could hear the waterfall and feel the dampness on his face several paces before he came to the final obstacle between them and the cavern around the corner. A row of slender columns about as thin around as his fist barred their paths. Between
the two in the middle, enough space gapped for them to squeeze through. Luckily the ceiling rose enough so they could stand up. Or at least Samantha could. Wyatt still had to hunch.

He sucked in his breath, jamming through, the fit so tight it threatened to rip the buttons off his coat. Once on the other side, he extended a hand to Samantha. She gave him her lantern, which he took and set on the ground.

She placed her hand in his, sending him a confident smile that shafted straight to his heart. Even in her discomfort and worry for the children, she glowed with a beauty and determination that was so special.

He pressed her hand. “This’ll be a story to tell our grandchildren. How we searched through the labyrinth to rescue their parents.”

“I’m sure with time, the telling will grow.” She fingered one of the columns. “We’ll say these were so close together we left skin behind on them.”

He grinned, leaning his head through the gap to kiss her. “Only if we were bare skinned in the first place.”

She laughed against his lips.

Reluctantly he pulled away. “We’re a mite busy now, but in the future we can crawl around this place buck naked. Doubt we’d get far, though.”

“Wyatt, how you talk.” To hide her blush, Samantha tapped him on the chin. “Doesn’t sound comfortable.”

“I’ll bring blankets.”

Over the clatter of the waterfall, they heard a voice call out.

Samantha’s eyes widened. “The children.” She eased herself through the crack far more nimbly than he had. They grabbed for the lanterns and hurried down the tunnel. Overhead, the top of the corridor wall was open to the cavern on the other side. The
children’s voices drifted over, muffled by the waterfall, but still audible.

Wyatt could make out Jack’s tones, and Ben’s too. Ben’s words floated over the wall. “Arlie was the one who burned Widow Murphy’s haystacks both times. But we both set the ones that burned down the outhouse.”

Behind him, Samantha gasped. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. He placed a finger across his lips and assumed a listening attitude, striving to get a grip on his temper.

Samantha slipped her hand in his.