by Pam Crooks
Bud swung again. Beau avoided the blow, but the man forced him into retreat, one step backward, then another, off the dirt path and into the rise of rocky vegetation. Bud had the advantage; he was armed. The enemy, fueled by hate. Beau had nothing but size and strength and wits.
“Drop that weapon,” he ordered again. “I won’t press charges. You keep coming at me, you’ll give me no choice.”
“Not until you promise you’ll leave my boy alone.”
“Listen to yourself, Bud. Accepting a promise from a Paxton? Never thought you’d say the words.”
Bud flinched and leapt toward him, swinging the stretcher like a sword, back and forth, driving Beau into a fast-footed, body-twisting dance to avoid another strike. His boot heel caught a rock, and he scrambled for footing, leapt sideways into a tangle of brush and grass and weeds…
Suddenly, the ground gave way, and Beau dropped into a cavernous shaft barely wide enough to take the breadth of his shoulders; he bumped and banged and broke through roots on the way down, taking clumps of dirt with him. He grabbed hold of a single, precarious root growing across the shaft, his body thrown into a misshapen position that left his leg twisted and hurting.
He gritted his teeth against the pain spreading hot and furious through him. The root loosened and slid from his weight. Muscles coiling, Beau glanced down and braced for the inevitability of another fall if the root snapped, gauging how far he’d plunge before he hit the muddy, water-filled bottom.
Fifteen, maybe twenty feet, and who knew what the hell was swimming in that water? His shoulder and leg throbbed and burned, but he kept his hand in a death grip on the root, the other splayed against the packed dirt wall; he drew up the one leg he could still move, planted his foot and braced his back against the sides of the shaft, and managed to hold himself in place by sheer strength and will.
He tilted his head upward, saw blue sky and nothing else.
“Bud!” he yelled. “I have a rope in the truck. Get it, damn you!”
He offered up a litany of prayers Bud would appear, that he’d put aside his grievances and do the right thing in helping pull Beau out. But Beau waited, and waited, in what seemed a lifetime of waiting. His panic built with the pounding, sickening certainty that Bud had run away and would do nothing at all.
The revving of an engine confirmed it. The thrashing of tires over a dirt path faded away. The drunken coward had abandoned him, left him to his own devices to get himself out of the shaft.
Or die trying.
Beau dragged in air from lungs that felt collapsed from the panic coursing through him. He couldn’t let his grip on the root loosen, no matter how much pain he was in, or how scared he was. Even if he could get cell phone coverage, he’d left the damn thing in his truck.
He was plumb out of options. Except for one.
“Gunner!” he yelled. “Gunner! Get help!”
But the Lab didn’t appear, either, nor did he emit a single bark, which convinced Beau he’d found pleasurable entertainment with some critter far more interesting.
The silence closed in, like a heavy, suffocating mask. A brutal reminder of his time in Afghanistan. A captivity deprived of hope, the threat of death constant. Back then, his life had been a ticking time bomb. The prisoner, left to die in a miserable, dank dungeon.
Now, it was Bud who was his enemy, Beau his casualty.
He couldn’t hang here for long. The root would never hold his weight, and he’d drop deeper into the hole like a spike driven into the ground.
They wouldn’t find him down here. At least, not easily. Or anytime soon.
The faces of his parents, his brothers, paraded through his mind. Losing him would devastate them. He had to stay strong, spare them the unspeakable pain.
But it was the woman he loved more than any other he craved living for the most.
Like a grizzly bear snared in a trap, he inhaled a deep, ragged breath and threw his head back with a roar.
“Avaaa!”
*
Ava caught a glimpse of Gunner through the trailer’s dusty window. He tore into the jobsite with a speed that went beyond his usual, playful lope, and she rose from her chair at the oddity. She expected Beau to be right behind him, which he wasn’t, and that was strange, too. Gunner always rode in the pickup’s front seat. Beau spoiled him that way. But no red truck rolled in.
Leaning around Roger’s cluttered desk, she studied the Lab. He seemed agitated, running here and there, like he couldn’t calm down. Or couldn’t find the person he was looking for. He had something in his mouth, too.
She couldn’t imagine what it would be, but she intended to find out. She turned, pushed the door open, and bolted out of the trailer.
“Gunner!” she called, running toward him. “Come here, boy.” He swung his head toward her, changed direction, and met her coming. “What’s the matter, Gunner? Something wrong?”
She froze at the object in his mouth. Sunglasses. Aviator.
Beau’s.
He dropped them at her feet, and she plucked them off the ground with a gasp.
“Ava. Everything okay?” Brock trotted from the direction of Old Man Rupert’s place. “Where’s Beau?”
She held out the sunglasses. “One of the lenses is scratched, Brock. Something has happened. We’ve got to find him.”
Brock’s expression turned grim; his gaze lifted to the range sprawled beyond the ghost town. “He could be anywhere out there.”
“I think I know where he is.” She pivoted, headed toward Maggie, still tethered where Beau had left her. “He needed to fix some fence.”
“Where?”
“Past the mine. His section of land.”
Brock nodded. “I’m coming with you. I’ll take Beau’s horse.”
“Get Jace first. Have him drive up in his truck. Gunner can ride with him.”
“You got it.”
“And Brock?”
He turned, his brow lifted.
“Hurry.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” He took off back toward Rupert’s house, and her steps quickened. She untied the mare’s leathers and leapt into the saddle with more speed than she’d ever managed before. Leaning low to avoid branches, she kicked at the horse’s ribs and turned her toward the mine.
The iron hooves clop-clopped over rocks and the hilly, packed ground. Ava urged her faster, as much as she dared. Her mind tortured her with scenarios Beau could have encountered—a wild animal attack, an accident in his truck, a fall onto one of the jutting rocks so much a part of this land. Whatever happened, it’d been serious enough to wrench the sunglasses he was never without right off his handsome, cowboy nose.
Once she made it past the mine, the mare picked up speed, and then, thankfully, Beau’s pickup appeared, the gleaming red color a beacon on the Texas landscape, in front of the broken section of barbed wire fence.
Reining in, she slid from the saddle; her gaze raked over the ground, the meadow, even the Ford’s interior. Except for his tools scattered on the ground, there was no sign of him.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Beau!” She called out as loudly as she could. “Beau!”
“Ava!”
Her breath caught. She whirled at the sound, faint, far away. Buried. She spun in a complete circle in search of its source.
“Where are you?” She took hesitant steps in the direction of his voice. At least, where she thought she heard his voice.
“I fell in a mine shaft. It’s not far off the road, and for damned sake, be careful and don’t fall in, too.”
She found the opening, then, and dropped to her knees with a gasp. She peered over the shaft’s edge and discovered his big body wedged like a baby about to be born breech, stuck in a hole that seemed completely bottomless.
“Oh, my God, Beau. Are you all right?”
“Get my rope out of the back of my truck, Ava. Not sure how much longer I can hold myself up.”
He didn’t need to tell her twice. Sh
e scrambled to her feet and ran to the truck bed, heaving her body half over the side to reach in. Her hand closed around the coil and yanked it out. She had to think smart, think fast, make every second count, and what if she failed? What if she made a mistake and something went wrong and Beau fell in and she couldn’t get him out?
The next moment, her mind cleared. She stopped short, ran back toward Maggie, and hurriedly wrapped one end of the rope around the saddle horn.
“C’mon, girl.” Ava tugged on the halter, and the mare complied. “You’re big and strong, and you’re going to help me get Beau out, y’hear?”
The horse snuffled, apparently agreeing, and Ava knelt at the opening again.
“I’m ready to drop the loop in, Beau. Can you get it around you so I can pull you up?”
“Damned right I can.”
He wriggled into the circle of hemp, each movement ginger and tentative to keep from losing his grip on the shaft wall and a tree root. After what seemed forever, he managed it.
The hard part was over. Even if he did slip, he was at least harnessed and Maggie would keep him from falling deeper.
“Ready?” she called down.
“Just get it done, Ava. I want out of here.”
She scrambled back to the mare just as Brock appeared, riding toward her at a full gallop. He slid from the saddle before the mare thundered to a halt, and not long after, Jace appeared in his own truck. Roger came, too, along with half of the crew, each slamming brakes on their vehicles, skidding over dirt and rocks. Male bodies spilled out of cabs, along with one loudly-barking Lab; they all came running, and Ava nearly wept in relief.
A flurry of activity erupted, with hands on the rope to aid Maggie in pulling Beau out. No one asked questions. All that mattered was Beau needed help—and fast. Once he cleared the opening, his brothers laid him gently on the ground. The ordeal left him pale and exhausted, and Ava’s heart twisted.
Brock knelt beside him. “You all right?”
“Leg’s hurt, but otherwise, a real picnic down there.” Beau’s eyes closed. He blew out a breath.
“Hurt your leg? That’s not good.” His twin frowned.
“I’ve got the fixin’s for a splint,” Roger said, scurrying to his pickup. “Be right back.”
“What happened?” Jace demanded, forearm on his knee, concern on his shadowed, older-brother face.
“Had a run-in with Bud Templeton.”
“Out here? He just up and left you in that hole?”
“’Fraid so.”
Brock scowled. “It’s high time we have a visit with Nash. You need to press charges, Beau. You could’ve died down there.”
His eyes opened, landing on her. “If it weren’t for Ava, I would have.”
Heads swiveled toward her, finding her on the outside of their huddle. Her glance met Beau’s and held; Brock moved aside, making room for her.
She knelt and laid her palm against Beau’s cheek. She absolutely could not lose her composure in front of these men and pepper his face with kisses.
“You never told me your leg was hurt,” she scolded gently. “It must have been excruciating when we pulled you up.”
“Worth it to get out.” He took her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles. “You saved my life, honey.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just got here first, that’s all.”
“You guessed where I was. You rounded up help, and you hightailed it out here on a horse, no less. You—”
“We all saved you, Beau. Your brothers and your friends. We did it together.”
Roger appeared with a two-by-four piece of lumber and a roll of duct tape. He positioned himself on the other side of Ava.
“It ain’t fancy rigging, but it’ll hold that leg until you can get to the hospital,” he said, accepting her help in his ministering.
“We’ll drive him in,” Brock said. “Not waiting for a squad.”
“I’d like you to come with me, Ava,” Beau said quietly, his gaze on her face.
She fumbled with the tape, her concentration lost, her nerves numb. She could barely think, let alone speak.
“Sure,” she managed in a voice not her own.
Jace glanced over at Brock. “Better call Mom before we go. She’ll get herself stirred up like a tornado when she hears what happened.”
“She’ll insist on going to the hospital, too.”
“We’d best plan on bringing Dad with us. He won’t stay behind.” Jace tossed Ava a wry grin. “A family affair, I’m afraid.”
“As it should be.”
But her chest constricted, weighted down with a misery as heavy as sheet metal. She was the worst kind of fraud, pretending to be part of them, even at Beau’s request.
She despised herself for what she’d done, but it was something she had to do.
Had to.
With Beau’s leg secured, Jace and Brock lifted him as if he were newly born and as fatigued, too. With both cab doors on Jace’s pickup open, they maneuvered him onto the bench seat, legs outstretched, and buckled him in for the ride.
Jace climbed in behind the wheel. Brock promised to follow on horseback. Jace drove off, considerably slower than when he arrived.
But Brock held back. “Looks like we’ll have to cancel your going-away party. We’ll be at the hospital for hours.”
“I lied, Brock,” she blurted.
A moment passed. “About coming with us?”
She drew in a breath, let it out again. “It’s for the best.”
“You’re leaving Beau without telling him good-bye, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
There was no accusation in his voice, only understanding. And acceptance. She took time to gather her poise. Cowardice was not her strong suit, but with Beau, she knew no other way.
“I’ll stay and help Roger board up the mine shaft’s opening. And I’ll bring Maggie back to the corral. Then, I’ll—” she could hardly say the words “—pack up and leave.”
“Are you sure, Ava?” Brock sounded resigned.
“Positive.”
“Can we do anything, say anything, to change your mind?”
“If there were, my mind would be changed already.” She managed a trembling smile. “But thank you.”
He stepped closer and took her into his arms. She closed her eyes and hung on.
“It’s been a pleasure to know you, Ava. Wish things were different, for Beau’s sake.”
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t explain that she wasn’t part of their Paxton family circle and never would be. She was a born-and-bred city girl with no Texas roots. No legacy of her own. No real sense of belonging anywhere except for the career that had taken her in and shaped her into the person she was and always would be.
So she said nothing at all and stepped out of his arms, turning away before he could see how leaving was tearing her apart, that she’d given her heart to Beau and she had nothing left to give.
She carried a piece of lumber from the pile Roger had started and strode toward the opening that had nearly taken Beau’s life.
Brock climbed on Beau’s horse and, with a clomping of hooves on packed dirt, rode away.
Chapter Seventeen
Five Weeks Later
Ava pulled out the correct amount of cash from her billfold and handed it to the carriage driver. He stepped aside so they could climb in, wearing an expression that declared he was bored with his job and looked forward to the end of his shift.
Ava understood that, all right. But she owed it to Lucienne to be cheerful tonight, at least on the outside. Ava took her place on the cherry-red, tufted leather seat and made room for Lucienne, who climbed in right behind her, pulled the chain strap of her brand-name pricy, crocodile-leather purse off her shoulder, and sighed happily.
“Won’t this be fun, Ava? I love to ride in Central Park. Especially on a beautiful evening like tonight.”
“You’ve gone on a million carriage rides before,” Ava said drily, eying the driv
er as he hefted himself up onto his high seat—also red—in front. “I’d think you’d want something different for your birthday.”
“This is the perfect way to celebrate with you.” Lucienne smiled and squeezed Ava’s hand.
The whole deal was suspicious, and she’d told Lucienne so three days ago when Lucienne first suggested it.
“I still don’t understand why you chose me to go on a carriage ride with you,” Ava said.
“You’re my best friend, that’s why. There’s no one else I’d rather go with on my birthday than you.”
“Ashton would be way more romantic.”
“Ashton. Hmmm.”
“That’s what carriages rides are. Romantic.”
“Of course they are. But they’re other things, too.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, fun for families and stuff.”
Stuff. Ava’s brows lifted. “Are you and Ashton on the outs again?”
Her friend turned wide, innocent eyes on her. “Why would you say that?”
“I told you. I don’t get this whole thing. You and me on a carriage ride together.”
“Horses make him sneeze. Besides.” Lucienne sighed in that dramatic way of hers. “You’ve been so crabby lately, Ava.”
“I have not been crabby.”
Sad, yes. Lonely, oh yes. Missing Beau and the Blackstone Ranch and her prized ghost town resort, oh definitely yes.
“A carriage ride will perk you up,” Lucienne said. “You’ll see.”
Maybe she was right. A girls’ night out on a Saturday night could be just what she needed. A change of atmosphere away from the new hotel jobsite, a break in working long days, including weekends…she’d do anything to end the torture and regret from what she’d done to Beau, if only for a few hours.
“I’ve decided to go back to Texas,” she said. “I’ve been pricing plane fares. I found a good deal on a round-trip ticket for next Wednesday.”
“Oh?”
“I have to make things right with Beau. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard a single word from him.”
“He hasn’t heard from you, either.” Her dark head swung, theatrical as usual to make her point, adding a sniff for effect. “After you lied to him, I might add.”
