Just the fact that the man she loved was smiling and riding alongside of her was sufficient for Sam, for now. She wanted a great deal more, but for this moment what she had was enough. The sun was warm, the scenery was beautiful, her valley was straight ahead, and Sloan Talbott was at her side.
When their guide brought the line to a halt, she eagerly rode ahead of the others to see where he pointed.
There it was, an evergreen crevasse between two walls of gray rock. Sam sat back and admired the simplicity of it. Whatever tumult had created these mountains had split that wall of rock right down the middle, and the centuries since had seen a forest of trees eat away at the crumbling stone of the split until the narrow passage had become a wider one hidden in forest growth.
It was obvious from this viewpoint, although probably not so obvious when riding alongside of the wall of rock. Sam wondered how her father had found it, but she didn't sit there wondering long. With a whoop of joy she sent Hawk's Indian pony racing down the trail toward the opening.
She heard Sloan shout behind her, but he could scold her later. Right now she wanted to be the first one through that narrow aperture, the first one to view the valley beyond.
She was aware that the men scattered across the field behind her, playing their war games. But they didn't have to worry about what was up ahead. The gray walls of stone were impenetrable except at that one point.
Whooping as she entered the belt of trees spilling through the only opening in the wall, Sam slowed her mount and approached with a cautious eagerness that had her gaze seeking out every nook and cranny of her new abode. This was where she would live when she had her house built and her fields planted. This was hers.
Sloan galloped up to ride beside her. He had his hand on his rifle, but he, too, seemed absorbed by the forest's silent stillness.
The trees followed a slight incline. The bed of rocks that had produced them over these last centuries was obvious through the thin layer of soil and matted evergreen needles. Gravel rolled away beneath the hooves of their horses as they drew closer to the walls.
As they broke through the evergreens, it became clear that the walls were more shattered at this aperture than had been noticeable earlier. Boulders and loose rocks and gravel that had fallen over the millennia made sloping hills on either side of the opening. Sam sensed Sloan's uneasiness, but the ground beneath their feet seemed firm enough. She plunged onward.
The ring of trees ended abruptly at the walls. They walked their horses up into the rock opening, side by side. Sam settled back in her saddle with satisfaction at the view opening before them.
The slope down into the valley from this point was gentle. A few trees had found their way across the rocky walls towering high along the valley's boundaries, but mostly unbroken meadow filled the interior. Water crashed down a cascade of rocks along a side wall, spilling into a well-worn bed in the valley floor. From here they couldn't see where the stream exited, but it was enough for Sam to know there was water. As if of one accord, they both dismounted.
Sam knelt to crumble the rocky soil between her fingers. When she stood upright again, joy illuminated her face as she turned to Sloan. "It's everything I ever dreamed it would be. Thank you for finding it."
He reached to brush a straying curl from her face. Their horses moved forward into the canyon a few feet, searching for the winter dry grass. Sloan's fingers brushed the smooth skin of Sam's cheek just as the earth moved beneath them.
In the next moment a cascade of giant boulders erupted around them as the air shattered with an explosion equal to a ton of ignited gunpowder.
Chapter Thirty-eight
The ground rumbled, and the air exploded in a confusion of flying rocks and debris. Sloan heard Sam scream, and his blood froze in his veins as she went tumbling down the slope without him. Instinctively, he threw himself after her, wrapping his fingers in her shirt and using his body to break her fall.
Their horses bolted. He refused to let go of Sam as they continued rolling down the incline. He wasn't letting her out of his hands. When they stopped tumbling, he covered her body with his, sheltering her from the flying debris.
Rocks still tumbled from the walls behind them, but the noise lessened. The dust-filled air obscured his vision. He didn't need sight to know that Sam still lay safely in his arms.
The fall had knocked the breath from his lungs, and Sloan lay still a moment. He'd be bruised from head to foot by morning, but all his bones seemed intact. He could feel the press of rocks at his hips, but the rest of his uneasy bed seemed to be firm dirt and weeds. He tucked Sam more securely against his chest and brushed her hair away.
"Sam? Are you all right?"
At first, he thought the fall had stolen her breath as it had his. He waited for her to shake her head or gasp for air. When she did neither, something made of steel constricted his ribs.
He brushed his hand through the tumble of curls on his shoulder until he found her cheek. It was warm. His fingers sought and found a pulse at her temple. "Sam," he whispered in terror. "Sam, say something."
The silence following the violent storm of explosion continued unbroken.
The air slowly cleared. Carefully, Sloan rolled over enough to ease his precious burden from his arms. Red curls spilled across the dry brown grass. Sam's jacket fell open to reveal the slight rise and fall of her blue gingham-covered breasts. A thick fringe of dark lashes lay closed over her eyes, contrasting starkly with the pale skin of her cheeks.
Holding his breath, not realizing he did so, Sloan slid his fingers beneath the gingham. Her heart beat softly, but steadily. Her breathing was still a little erratic, but so was his.
Not even considering the implications of his hand brushing against the soft mounds of her breasts, he fastened the shirt again and reached to pull back one eyelid. The pupil was dilated, and she remained completely unconscious of his touch.
Terror multiplying with every passing moment, Sloan ran his hand through the thick mass of her hair again. The familiar stickiness of flowing blood brought a wail of despair from his throat.
"Boss! Boss, are you all right?" Joe's voice echoed from distance somewhere above them.
The prosaic sounds of the real world jarred him back to practicality and away from the volcanic jungles of his emotions. Sloan glanced up, searching for any sign of the men they had brought with them.
All he saw was the fallen barricade of rocks where they had stood scarce minutes before.
The realization that they were trapped renewed a flicker of his earlier panic, but Sloan squelched it with the aid of his powerful concentration. The loose rocks would be dangerously impassable. He didn't dare move Samantha any more than necessary. They were safer here than trying to climb that hill.
Sloan shouted, "I'm all right. Sam's hurt. You’ll have to dig us out. I can't get her over those rocks without hurting her. Is everyone all right out there?"
"We've got a horse down and one man with a sore rump, but we can make it back all right. We might have to blow our way through this, though. Can you get Sam far enough away?"
"I'll wait awhile before I try to move her. It's will be nightfall before you can get back here with picks and powder. If I can catch the horses, we'll have some blankets and supplies. You'd better bring up extra. Have Mrs. Neely pack up some bandages, headache powders, and alcohol. Tell her it's just a small knock on the head. Don't scare her any, Joe."
Joe's voice was faint and a little scared when he asked, "Is she going to be okay, Talbott? Tell it straight."
"So far, all I've found is a knock on the head, just like I said. Get going, Joe. I don't want to spend the rest of my life back here."
The reassurance Sloan forced for the sake of the outside world disappeared the minute he heard Joe scrambling back down the rocks, and he turned to see the faint blue coloring of Sam's lips. That wasn't a good sign at all.
He raised her enough to slide his coat under her. Then, with the professional care he had lear
ned a lifetime ago, he examined her from head to toe, searching for signs of broken bones and internal injuries. He double-checked everything, his fingers shaking nervously as forgotten routines were remembered, and he applied them to this woman who had given his life back.
As he searched for injuries, other oddities registered in the back of his mind. Sam stirred, and he lost his concentration, forgetting all else as hope rose, but she didn't open her eyes. Sloan cursed. He couldn't find anything wrong except the bloody knot on her head. The shock of the explosion and the fall might explain her continuing unconsciousness, but he couldn't place his hopes on that.
He pulled her coat around her and fastened it to keep her warm. He wished she'd worn that rabbit fur of hers, it would have been warmer, but the day hadn't been cold when they started out. It probably wasn't cold now. He just felt that way.
Sloan stood up and examined their surroundings. They had little in the way of cover out here other than the natural undulations of the earth. The horses were drinking from the icy stream. They shouldn't be hard to catch. He scanned the rocky walls, but they were stark and unlikely to conceal predators.
His gaze drifted back to the rocks blocking the valley's entrance. The ground had shook. It could have been an earthquake. He'd been through similar tremors before. Sometimes a loud noise accompanied them. He just found it difficult to believe that God would have waited until they stood right there between those two fragile walls before churning up the earth and tumbling rocks that had lain there for centuries.
If it was an earthquake, there would be an aftershock. He had to get Sam farther away, out in the middle of the valley where they would be safe.
He didn't have time to catch the horses and rig a travois. Another quake could come at any minute. Bracing himself, Sloan slid his arms beneath Samantha, propping her head against his shoulder as he walked slowly away from the unstable wall of stones.
Sam wasn't a small woman, but Sloan carried her effortlessly, with a strength born of sheer terror. She didn't make a sound. She was a bundle of limp limbs. Sam wasn't supposed to be that way. She was supposed to stride joyously across this land of hers, bristling with energy, laughing and singing as she pointed out the advantages of this barren plain of mud and straw.
Sloan would have given his right arm if she would do just that. The very real terror that she would never laugh and sing again held him in a grip so powerful that he feared it would squeeze the breath from his lungs.
He couldn't lose her. He'd thought it possible to put her out of his mind, but he'd only been making the usual ass of himself. He'd thought because he lost everything ten years ago and still managed to live that he could do it again. He was wrong. He'd lost only material things and a little pride last time. This time, he would lose his soul. Sloan could feel that knowledge seep deep into his heart. The joy that was Sam was all that kept him alive.
He wouldn't lose her. He was a doctor, a damned good doctor. He would use every power at his command, including prayer if necessary, but he would bring Sam back. She might curse him for a fool, take a knife to his belly, but she would wake and live again.
He found a run-down shack hidden in a stand of cottonwoods near the stream. The cottonwoods had to have been planted as surely as the shed had been built by human hands. He didn't question either anomaly. He merely kicked the door open, examined the interior for intruders, and laid Sam in the square of sunlight pouring through the open door.
She didn't stir, but satisfied she was as protected as possible, Sloan went out to catch the horses. They didn't exactly come when called, but they didn't raise any objections when he walked up to them. He fed them a handful of oats from one of the saddle pouches and led them back toward the shack.
It took time, but he got the saddles and blankets unloaded and a bed of grass and dry leaves made in one corner of the floor. He covered this crude mattress with a blanket and moved Sam to its relative comfort. He removed her coat and used it to cover her chest, then threw his own coat over her legs. The coats were thicker than any blanket he possessed.
He used the icy water of the stream to cleanse her wound. By this time, the knot had swollen to twice its earlier size, but the blood had clotted. He kept her head elevated, praying that the blood wasn't coagulating behind that knot, applying pressure to her brain.
The cold water made her stir again. Sloan thought he saw her lashes flutter, but it could have been wishful thinking. He tried to appease himself with the knowledge that everything seemed in working order: her toes responded when he stroked them, her fingers moved, and there weren't any of the danger signs of internal injuries. She just wouldn't wake up.
He started a fire and set on a pot of water to boil. He examined their small store of supplies and figured he could stretch them for forty-eight hours at best. He wouldn't likely find much game in this abandoned hole.
Close to sunset Sloan returned to the rock dam blocking the valley entrance. He called to see if anyone was there and got an answer from one of the men who had stayed behind. Joe hadn't returned.
He attempted to find his footing over the wall, but rocks slid from every place he touched. They would have to dig their way through or blow it up. The latter sounded dangerous.
The guard on the other side yelled that he could see Joe coming. Sloan waited, but his gaze as well as his attention kept drifting back to the cabin. He didn't want Sam waking up alone.
His impatience grew as the men tried to figure a way to lower the supplies over the rocks. He didn't care about the food, but he wanted the medical kit. Someone finally got the idea of climbing an evergreen and lowering the kit by rope from one of the branches.
Sloan jumped up and pulled it down, waving to the shadowy figure on the distant limb. "Got it. Is Bradshaw out there? He's the best man to figure the way through here."
Joe's voice called down from whatever perch he'd discovered on the other side. "He's here. We've got every piece of equipment from the mine. I told Miz Neely we'd have you both back safe and sound by tomorrow sundown."
"You do that, and I'll give you the saloon," Sloan answered dryly. He'd worked with rock before. He knew better than to expect miracles.
"Well, it made her feel better," Joe said defensively. "I told her the medical supplies were for one of the men. It's a good thing that woman can't ride a horse or she'd be up here now."
"Is Ramsey sober enough to keep an eye on her and the twins?"
"He and Donner are there." There was a brief hesitation before Joe continued. "You know that guide that found this place?"
Sloan's heart stilled. "Yeah. Said he used to work these mountains back in '49."
"He's gone."
The wind blew through the following silence.
"Look for where he planted the explosives when it's light," Sloan finally ordered. "There may still be some left. Don't let anyone set any fires anywhere near these rocks."
"Aye, we'll be careful. How's Sam?"
"Sleeping," he lied. "We've found a cabin down by the stream. I've got to get back there."
He didn't know why he was lying to make everyone else feel better, Sloan thought as he made his way back through the twilight shadows. Maybe he was trying to fool himself. He knew what a concussion was. He knew how dangerous it could be. He was too worried right now to even curse the dirty bastard who had planted those explosives. He'd wring Anderson's neck when he got out of here, but that wouldn't be until Sam was well enough to go.
The aroma of the coffee he'd made filled the air as he approached the cabin. He hadn't even taken time to be hungry, but he had to eat. He was half afraid to enter the cabin, but hope was an insatiable thing. He felt it lodge in his throat as he walked through the open door.
The evening shadows fell deeper in here. Sloan knelt beside the makeshift pallet and laid his hand against Sam's forehead. It felt cool to the touch. He laid open the medical kit and blessed Alice Neely's foresight. She had included everything he might possibly need, even if things like headach
e powders were useless unless Sam woke up.
He cleaned the wound more thoroughly with the alcohol and poured icy water into the bag Mrs. Neely had supplied. He applied it to the swelling and watched as Sam stirred at the touch.
Her fingers twitched, and her head rolled back and forth, dislodging the bag. Sloan caught her hand and held it between his own. "Sam? Samantha," he pleaded, then added more forcefully, "Samantha! Wake up."
She lay still for a moment, but he squeezed her hand. "It's me, Sam. Everything's all right. You're going to scare me to death if you don't wake up."
Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared right at him. Sloan tried to rein in his wildly galloping hopes. "Sam? Don't just look at me like that. Say something."
A small frown lined her brow. Her gaze drifted from him to their crude surroundings. Her fingers clutched his hand in a frightened spasm, then pulled away. Eyes wild, she looked back to him again. "Who are you?"
Chapter Thirty-nine
Sloan tried not to panic. She was awake. She was conscious. She could speak coherently. He tried to smile reassuringly, although smiling was still a rusty accomplishment for him. "I'm your husband. Remember me?" he asked teasingly as he tested Sam's pulse and watched the pupils of her eyes.
She looked bewildered as she glanced around. He could tell her head hurt from the way she winced and closed her eyes when she turned her neck. He knew that feeling well enough.
"I've got some headache powders here. I don't want to give you too much, or they might make you sleepy. I think you need to stay awake a while longer."
When she made a feeble nod of acquiescence, Sloan emptied the coffee out of his cup, filled it with water from his canteen, and mixed in the powder. He lifted her head slightly from the pillow of clothing he'd made for her, and helped her sip the drink. She gulped it thirstily, then lay back with a small murmur of relief.
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