The Promise (2 page)

All she knew for certain was that her head was
pounding and that she was cold. He provided a refuge for one of her
two ailments and for the moment that was enough. Her eyes flickered
open and she saw firelight dancing on rock walls.

Firelight.

Memory slammed into her. The wreck. Her parents. She
jerked away, her heart pounding, determined to go back—to find
them. She tried to stand, but the world went topsy-turvy and she
collapsed again, warm arms encircling her, keeping her from
falling.

"I've got to find them." Her voice came out in a
cracked whisper and she wasn't certain he'd be able to understand
her.

"Find who?" Blue eyes moved into her line of vision.
Blue eyes and black hair. A face just beginning to hint at the man
he would become.

Cara searched his eyes, calmed by what she saw there.
"My parents. There was a wreck. And everything ex…exploded." A
vision of the two cars lighting up the night filled her brain,
tears rolling down her face.

He frowned, one hand absently stroking her hair, the
feeling soothing—right, somehow. "I didn't see anything like
that."

"Well, I've got to go look. I've got to know for
certain." Panic rose inside her, and she tried to push it away. It
wouldn't do to lose control, but it was so hard to concentrate. To
think.

"You can't." His voice held a note of finality.
"There's a blizzard raging outside. You wouldn't get three feet in
this weather."

"But they might need me."

"You can't help them now." His eyes were full of
compassion, the emotion softening the harsh planes of his face.
"And I can't believe they'd want you risking your life against a
storm like this." He shifted, pulling her closer into his arms.
"We'll look in the morning."

She fought against the blackness that beckoned just
at the edge of her consciousness, but it was compelling her to
close her eyes, to surrender. The pain in her head was so intense,
and she was so tired. So very tired.

Her eyes fluttered closed. "What's your name?" The
words came out on a whisper.

"Michael. Michael Macpherson."

Michael
. She sighed, letting the darkness
carry her away.

Michael was the name of an angel.

*****

Michael trimmed the wick on the lantern,
trying to save fuel. The fire had burned downed to embers. The
lantern was their only source of light. And heat. He reckoned it
wasn't too much longer until dawn, and hopefully that meant they'd
be able to make their way back to his ranch.

His horse snorted softly behind him, stamping with
impatience, almost as if he'd read his mind. But then horses were
like that. The woman by the fire moaned, and struggled against the
confines of his greatcoat. Golden hair spilled out against the
tanned hide of the sheepskin.

She was a beauty. Even with the gash on her head.

He'd tried to clean it up the best he could, and
bandaged it, but it was obvious she needed a doctor. And that
presented a problem. Even with the cessation of the storm, they'd
be lucky to make the ranch. There wasn't much chance he could get
her into Silverthread. There would be too damn much snow.

Hell.

She moaned again and opened her eyes, firelight
reflecting in the green of her gaze. Her look of confusion softened
as she recognized him. "Michael."

He wasn't certain his name had ever sounded that
good. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and moved to sit
beside her, bringing the meager light of the lantern with him. He
reached out to brush the hair back from her face. "How are you
feeling?"

"Better, I think." She managed a weak grin. "Still
cold though."

He shivered in response.

"Oh God, I've got your blanket." One hand slid out of
the cocoon, confirming the fact. "And your coat. You must be
freezing." She tried to sit up, but instead she grimaced and
dropped back onto the floor of the cave. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. Impressed by her fortitude. She wasn't one
to complain. Most ladies he knew would be whining every which way.
But not this one. "Lie still, I'll crawl in beside you. That way
we'll both be warm."

She nodded, and he slid underneath the blanket and
coat, and pulled her body back against his. Her warmth seeped into
him.

"It's better like this." He couldn't see her face,
but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Has the storm
stopped?"

"It's dying down. Should be gone by morning."

"And then we can look?" Her voice held a note of
determination, and fear.

He understood the feeling. Once when he was about
eleven his father had been buried in a mine. They'd worked for
hours to get him out, each passing moment another step closer to
his demise. But, in the end, they'd won. Duncan had survived.
Still, Michael recognized her plight. "And then we'll look."

They were quiet for a moment, the only sounds the
hissing of the dying fire and the soft movements of the horse. He
could feel her breathing. Feel the rise and fall of her body
against his. He supposed in the same way she could feel him.
Somehow, it made the moment more intimate, as if they were
joined—one sustaining the other.

"Cara."

The word filled the night air, jerking him from his
reverie, the resonance of her voice sweet and low. "Cara?" He
sounded like a parrot.

"Cara Reynolds. That's my name." Again he heard the
smile.

It was a beautiful name. He liked the way it sounded.
Sort of soft and strong all at the same time. Like her.

"So where are we, exactly?" He could almost feel her
words, as if they were communicating body to body.

"An abandoned mine tunnel. It was the closest shelter
I could find."

"How did you know it was here?"

"This is my land," he said simply. "I know every inch
of it."

Again they lay in silence. He listened to the sound
of her breathing. It slowed and then deepened. Sleep would do her
good. He closed his own eyes, but couldn't stop thinking. He kept
seeing her lying there in the snow.
If he hadn't found her.
He shivered at the thought.

But he had. And now, despite all she'd been through,
she'd be all right. He'd make certain of it.

"Michael?" She rolled over to face him, her voice
hesitant, her eyes wide. "If someone was out there. In the storm, I
mean. Could they—could they live through it?"

She suddenly sounded so young and lost, he thought
his heart might break. He tightened his arms around her. "Anything
is possible, Cara."

"And if they're dead…" She trailed off, leaving the
question unfinished.

"Then I'll take care of you." He looked deep into her
eyes, and before he had time to think better of it, he leaned
forward, pressing his lips to hers, the contact sending lightening
flashing through him. He pulled back, breathless from the depth of
his emotion, his gaze still locked with hers. "I promise."

*****

Cara woke with a start. The tunnel was filled
with half-light. Morning had obviously arrived. She sat up
gingerly, her eyes scanning the cave for Michael. She sighed with
disappointment, except for a horse, the mine shaft was empty. But a
fire burned merrily in the stone fire ring. Surely evidence that'd
he be right back. All she had to do was wait.

She explored the injured side of her head carefully,
satisfied to note that the bandage felt dry. At least the bleeding
had stopped. Which was more than she could say for the pounding.
Still, all in all, she seemed to have survived.

Pain wracked through her at the thought. How could
she be so casual with her thoughts? When her parents might be out
there this very moment, injured or worse. She sucked in a ragged
breath and fought against the panic that threatened to overwhelm
her. Michael would help her. He'd promised. She had to hang onto
her hope.

Using the side of the cave to brace herself, she
pulled up to a standing position, still clutching Michael's blanket
around her. The world tilted lopsidedly and then slowly, slowly
righted itself again.

"Cara?"

Michael
. She smiled despite herself and took a
wobbly step forward. He called her name again, and it was a moment
before it registered that the voice was not Michael's. It was her
grandfather's. Joy welled up inside her. Michael had obviously gone
for help. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she began to make her way
out of the cave. Certain that somehow, between Michael and her
grandfather, everything would be all right.

*****

Michael stood up, carefully capping his
canteen. At least the worst of it was over. The sky was still a
hazy white-gray, threatening snow. But the wind was gone, and the
air dry. With any luck, they'd make it to the ranch before
nightfall.

He carefully made his way up the slippery slope of
the creek bank. The snow was deceptively thick in places and he
knew that beneath the soft banks there was often ice. A broken leg,
out here in this kind of weather, would most likely be the death of
a man. And he had no intention of cashing it in now. Not after last
night.

He reached the scattered tailings pile that marked
the entrance to the mine. A small blue spruce stretched its frail
limbs from the center of the loose rocks and debris. Michael smiled
at the tenacity of the tree. Probably never make it, he thought,
but it sure had courage to try.

A lot like the girl who slept in the tunnel. She had
grit all right. And she was a beauty, too.

One woman for every man.
His mother's voice
filled his mind, and he smiled. Maybe. Just maybe, she was right.
But right now there were more important things to think about. Like
survival. He stepped into the mouth of the tunnel.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on
him. Then, he thought he was going crazy. But, no, the facts were
there, plain as the nose on his face. His gear was right where he'd
left it. And the little fire burned cheerily in the stone ring he'd
made.

But the blanket by the fire was gone, and with it,
the girl he'd held through the night. His heart jumped and he felt
panic rip through him. "Cara?" He called her name softly at first,
then loud enough that the name echoed off the icy rock walls of the
mine.

"Cara?"

San Juan Mountains, Colorado - 1888

Michael Macpherson reined in Roscoe, horse
and rider stopping at the top of the rise. Below him, the lights of
Clune twinkled in the distance, the little ranch resembling a
fairyland.

Home.

He sighed, and began the descent down the
mountainside. It had been a long day. But then that's what ranching
life was all about. Long days, and in his case, even longer nights.
He blew out a breath and then discarded his train of thought. No
sense dwelling on what couldn't be. He'd chosen his path in life,
and he'd do well to accept it.

Besides, there were people depending on him. Patrick,
and old Pete. His father. Hell, even Owen depended on him some. No
other way was he going to have prime steer to serve to the hungry
miners that swarmed the Irish Rose twenty-four hours a day.

He bit back a smile. All in all, life might be a bit
empty, but it was basically good.

A shot cracked through the stillness of the night,
and Michael felt the familiar burning as bullet hit flesh.

Son of a bitch.

He wheeled his horse around, simultaneously reaching
for his rifle. The movement sent fiery pain knifing through him,
and his vision blurred, darkness threatening to overcome him. With
a shake of his head, he cleared his brain. Passing out would mean
death. And just at the moment he wasn't inclined to die.

He moved forward, riding as fast as he could on the
downward slope. One stumble and they were as good as dead, but
going too slowly would have the same result. A conundrum. He
gritted his teeth and reached for the rifle again. Another shot
whizzed past his ear. He abandoned the effort, slowing for a
second, risking a look behind him.

Nothing.

Whoever was shooting was well hidden. He cursed again
under his breath, his strength ebbing with his blood flow. He'd
never make it to the ranch. Hell, in just a few more yards he'd be
out in the open, a moving target. One that would be hard to
miss.

With a quick jerk of the reins, he turned Roscoe, and
together they moved back up the canyon toward a stand of trees in
the distance. If he could just reach the spruce—the abandoned mine.
Maybe he'd make it.

Another shot rang out. This one farther behind him.
Good, he'd managed to gain a lead. With another twist, he cut into
the pines. That ought to stop the bastard—at least for a minute or
two. In the dark, he would be nearly invisible in the trees, the
rocky tumble of the mountain reaching toward him from the left,
providing further safety.

He stopped, listening. Everything was quiet. Just the
soft whisper of the winds in the aspens. He slid to the ground, his
head going fuzzy again. He touched his shoulder, not surprised to
find that his shirt was wet with blood.

With a sharp intake of breath, he slapped Roscoe on
the hindquarters, sending the horse off into the night. If someone
was following him, that ought to provide a nice distraction.

Scrambling further into the trees, his eyes sought
out the scraggly branches of the blue spruce. Despite the odds, the
little tree had made it. Now over six feet, it still lacked girth,
but it had grit. And just at the moment it was acting sentry for
sanctuary.

Michael locked his eyes on the tree, fighting against
the waves of dizziness that threatened to swamp him. All he had to
do was make it a few more steps and he'd be safe. He sent a silent
prayer to the luckless miner who started the tunnel and then
abandoned it. The man's misfortune had created a hidden haven.
First for Cara, and now for him.