Jasper Mountain (44 page)

The wagon lumbered closer and Isabella put her arm around Milena, stopping her from bolting forward. She wanted to run, dig through the blankets, and find him. Instead, she followed the proprietress’s lead, grateful to have help. Taryn rushed forward as the wagon slowed. Two men began to unload, and the minister helped lift a body down. Milena recognized him. The sad, long-faced spirit-miner with gossamer tears whose spirit first followed Victor.

They lifted another. Men carried their friends in the direction of the tarp morgue. People gathered silently to watch, accepting death with heavy silence.

The men unloaded Rolf. Milena staggered back, and the proprietress tightened her grip. It took four miners to lift the big man. Blood and gray matter spattered down Rolf’s misshapen head and neck. One of the ladies, Aimee, dropped to her knees beside the road, her retching fading into background noise. No one took note or rushed to her aid. Throwing up was nothing unusual anymore.

Then they unloaded a man, his lower half crushed. More turned away, sick.

“Bring a blanket. We need to cover him. For God’s sake, cover him.” Taryn’s voice broke and tears ran down his cheeks. Then Milena saw blond hair and the crooked nose of Digger before Taryn wrapped him gently and carried him over to the tarp.

She wasn’t aware she’d sunk to her knees. Isabella pulled on her arm. “Milena, to your feet. This is no time to waver.” The proprietress lifted, helping her to stand again. The landscape grew bright, then faded, again bright, and dark. Then bright.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, bend over and let blood flow back into your head. I never took you for a swooning lady.” Despite her commands, kindness ran through Isabella’s voice and her arms held Milena, firm but gentle.

“I am fine, Proprietress.” Her voice broke.

“Hold to me, Milena. We will get through this.”

The second wagon slowed to a stop behind the first. One of the bodies sat up and coughed. Men helped him down. The body stumbled, weak. He squinted as if he could barely stand the light.

Milena didn’t understand, then began to realize, slowly, like her mind churned through mud. Not a body. Not dead. One of the miners. Alive. A man from Jack’s team.

Another man rose from the back of the wagon, and a roar rushed through Milena’s ears.

“Pete!” A woman’s cry of joy as she ran past, then the two were in each other’s arms.

Hope rose, fragile, panic-laden bubbles inside Milena. One word tumbled through her mind, again and again.
Please.
She took a step forward.
Please … please … please.

The doctor lifted Mouse off the wagon, holding the boy gently in his arms. Mouse’s arms circled the doctor’s neck and Ambrose hugged the child close.

“Please.” Milena pushed Isabella’s arms from her and ran. “God, please, please!”

Ambrose handed Mouse to the man standing behind him and climbed into the wagon. He helped another man sit up.

Jack gasped and flinched, paused. Pale as moonlight, he nodded and the doctor and Taryn helped him down, their eyes glistening. Jack’s feet touched the ground. He stood, bent and unsteady, but he stood.

The bubbles of hope burst into joy and a cry flew out, Milena realized, from her. She did not attempt to stop her tears.

He searched the crowd and found her. His eyes pooled with everything, from the sorrow of death to the hope of life. Pain unbearable, joy unbound. And loss beyond imagining.

He scooped her into his embrace. She held to him with all the strength in her, physical and of the spirit. She would never let him go again. He clung to her and trembled, shaking her to the core. Or did she shake, too? She held him tighter.

“You are safe. You are safe,” she whispered, needing to say the words, making sure he was real, and there, and whole. He was. “Jack, I love you,” she whispered.

He pulled her away from him and looked at her as if he, too, needed proof she was real. She swiped tears from his filthy, wonderful, handsome face.

A thin smile surfaced, and he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Just when I thought I’d never see anything more beautiful than the sun and fresh air.” His voice scraped, raw, just above a whisper. “And here you are, telling me …” He cocked his head to one side. “What did you say again? I don’t think I quite heard. Rock dust in my ears.”

“I love you, Jack Buchanan. And I will tell you this whenever you like.”

He hugged her to him. “Then one more time. Please.”

Strange, this sensation, Isabella thought. Doing good. Helping. Especially miners, even the few with wives. Their women weren’t really bad, once they stopped scowling at her and her ladies. All her work, attention, and there was no benefit, not really. How odd. The last few days must have changed her. She wasn’t sure if it was for the better.

Thankfully, Isabella didn’t have to do much of the actual work. She left that to the doctor and the others. The doctor assigned her the job of keeping the men’s spirits up. Such a simple thing, to charm these men. Much easier than the surly officers who insisted the world owed them everything. The miners took a small kindness and cherished it, along with the person who gave it. Most amazing of all, not one untoward suggestion ruined her benevolent mood. She’d always assumed manual laborers were crude and mean, yet found the opposite to be true.

How utterly incredible. She’d been wrong.

“You sure you ain’t an angel?” a miner, Gentleman Bill, croaked out as she brought him a glass of water. His windpipes were raw; he could barely speak. Although in a bed in the clinic, bandaged from injuries, weak from his ordeal, he had insisted on wearing a cravat. Rather endearing, actually.

“I’ve been told I’m anything but,” she replied, handing the water to him.

“I’ll shoot the mouth off anyone who dares to show you disrespect. Ever. You just let me know, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.” He sipped and swallowed like it was liquid fire. These men hurt, inside and out. They reminded her of children who had had something dear taken from them but couldn’t figure out why. Yes, pain, but more, disbelief. The men who’d survived seemed so innocent, yet at the same time something in their eyes revealed they’d seen evil and horror beyond imagining.

Their faces sent shivers down Isabella’s spine at first, but she became used to their haunted expressions. Some, like Gentleman Bill, tried to bury the entire episode deep. He refused to speak of the experience, keeping such awfulness away from decent folks, he claimed. He made it abundantly clear he considered Isabella a decent woman. Bless him.

Outside the clinic, rain threatened as the air grew dark and heavy. At least the downpour held off until they’d rescued those still living, but rain would make a mess of the funeral services. She’d heard volunteers were digging the graves right now, trying to beat the gathering storm. Strange how Jasper Mountain erased society’s lines and leveled them all into people needing and helping each other. The mountain’s price for such a lesson was high.

Fourteen dead. Ten alive. They’d turned the newspaper office into a temporary morgue, where the victims of the collapse waited for their burial, and also one woman who perished in a fire. When Isabella promised Cassandra a fine funeral, she never imagined the event would turn huge and involve so many.

The Boarding House ladies worked tirelessly, focusing on the effort of care, gentle and kind. There was no monetary compensation for it. Not even for Isabella. Just the undying gratitude of a polite, kind man named Gentleman Bill. She rewarded him with a smile and he sank back into his pillows, the light in his eyes brighter, a little of what he’d suffered fading away.

Isabella found, for the moment, such payment was enough. Of course, she would never let on. No need to allow anyone to see she’d entered the ranks of mundane goodness.

M
ouse was safe. Jack clung to that. He sat in his rocking chair by the fire Milena built for them. Mouse slept in his bed, his leg healing quite nicely, according to Ambrose. His crutch leaned against the wall. The boy needed rest, easy enough for Jack to provide. He hadn’t forgotten his promise, and Mouse was in his care now, for him to protect. Forever. Duke slept, curled around Jack’s feet. All in all, a warm family scene.

Except for the anger, the burn in his chest, each death a fist slamming into him. Tom. Stoop. Cassandra. Rolf. Josef. Zeb. Digger. The others who’d died on Rory and Quinn’s teams. Fatalities during the last year. Hell, since the mine opened its gates.

Jack knew in his heart who was responsible, although Victor declared Jack and his men the cause of the collapse, claiming their blast went bad. Victor produced a signed work order from mining records to prove everything. He kept his story steady and the officers backed him. Especially Barger, the sniveling, lying jackass. Only problem: Jack hadn’t signed a work order. In fact, the mine didn’t even have work orders. Yet documentation miraculously appeared.

Some chose to believe Creely. People turning away from truth because of its inconvenience, or because they didn’t dare question a rich, powerful man of authority. Jack’s friends knew better. The miners knew better. The town split in half thanks to Victor Creely and his unending quest for money and power.

Milena checked on Mouse and tucked a quilt around the boy. She glanced over and smiled. Jack almost trembled at how beautiful she looked, how kind she was, how incredible for her to be here, with him. Everything felt right.

Then anguish intruded. Pain smashed the cozy comfort of his home. Loss emptied him and distanced him from the ones he loved. And it wasn’t over.

Jack knew it was only a matter of time before he was killed, or perhaps he might simply vanish like Stoop and Tom. Next, Victor would silence Pete and Gentleman Bill. Probably even Mouse, although the kid hadn’t spoken a word since he’d gone deaf. And Victor wouldn’t stop; there were plenty of people around to raise a ruckus. Milena, Taryn. Ambrose. Even Isabella. Jack’s stomach knotted. Surely it wasn’t possible for Victor to execute half the entire town?

Surely it was. Victor Creely’s gluttony for money consumed anything and everything in its way. Jack had barely survived the man’s greed. Many didn’t.

He leaned his head back against the chair as Milena pulled one up to change his bandages.

“I have to stop him.”

“Hush.” Milena put a finger to his cracked lips. “Now is not the time for retribution.”

He took her hand and kissed her fingers, relaxing as she rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“Not retribution,” he said. “Survival. And not only mine.”

“Allow your soul to heal along with your body. You need time, Jack.”

“It’s the one thing I don’t have.” Jack shook his head. “He won’t stop, Milena.”

She met his gaze. “I know.”

“The only reason I’m still alive is the suspicion it would cause if I up and killed myself. He’ll probably hang me; make it look like I did it. Which is one of the possible scenarios I’m sure he’s planning. Distraught after my horrendous mistake.”

“No one would believe it.”

“Won’t matter. I’ll be dead.”
Me and everyone I love.

He fisted his hand and slammed the arm of the chair. Duke jumped to his feet and trotted a few feet away, glancing over his shoulder, eyes widened with worry.

“Goddamn it, and those sniveling bastards are backing him up. They all know the truth. Hell, they probably helped Victor forge hundreds of work orders. Signed work orders, one of the suggestions in my proposal.” He shook out his throbbing hand. “I handed it to him, Milena, gave my ideas over like he is some sort of human being who might actually use them to do some good. He turned them into more ammunition for his sick, twisted arsenal. George Barger is blatantly lying! Right to my face!”

She watched, her eyes huge and infinitely patient. Her gentle composure was beyond calm, a steadiness to hold to, yet it did nothing to soothe him.

“They take what they want, say what they want. Everyone knows they are lying and they act like we are the ones who are wrong! Like we are too stupid to understand the situation.” He jumped to his feet, and pain rolled through him. He didn’t care. If he sat another second, he’d explode out of his skin. He wanted to pound something into bits.

Then her arms wrapped around him, and she settled her head against his chest. Holding her to him, he took in the scent of her hair. He’d never felt so downright furious and blessed at the same time.

She raised her face to look him in the eye. “You are not calming down.” She reached up and smoothed his cheek, her touch cool and gentle. She kissed him.

He fell into the kiss; let her serene love wash through him. Then he demanded more, deepening his kiss, tasting her, feeling her. She responded; opened to him. His body took over, need driving him to take what she offered, pain decreasing to a small nuisance. A soft groan escaped from her lips, and she shivered, nearly driving him mad.

He pulled back before he lost the last bit of control he still possessed. “I guess calm is about the last thing I have on my mind.” He glanced over at the bed. Duke hopped up to join Mouse, stretching himself out along the sleeping boy. Jack turned back to her amused expression. He let her go and, much as it pained him, returned to his seat. “Mouse isn’t going to work another day in that mine,” Jack said.