The sounds of limbs breaking and trees hitting the ground far up the mountain, and the increase of mud churning in the stream, were two signals Laurel felt she couldn’t ignore. And she had Louemma’s disability to consider. But if she did nothing, they might both die. She pictured Alan’s grief, and that spurred her into action.
Returning to where she’d left the dog and the girl, Laurel tucked the second, smaller flashlight into the child’s jacket pocket, with the bulb facing up. Switching it on, she made another snap decision. “I’m going after the horses. I couldn’t reach anyone at Windridge. But I feel it’s urgent for us to get away from here. Do you understand me, Louemma?”
“No! No, I can’t ride a horse! I won’t. Mama, no!” the child screamed. “I won’t leave Daddy for that man who rides horses. I want my daddy. Daddy!”
Dog licked the hysterical girl’s face. He actually pressed her tight to the cottage wall, pinning her there with his body. He whined at Laurel, who gaped at the out-of-control child. Dog moved from side to side to avoid Louemma’s kicking legs.
“I’m going to take you to your father, hon. Believe me, please.” Laurel’s heart was horribly wrenched by each of Louemma’s strident cries. She didn’t understand the girl’s babbling. However, her own mission was clear. Telling Dog to stay, Laurel stumbled down the steps. She fought the wind all the way to the corral. Once there, she made short work of saddling both horses. It was obvious that the mare was hampered by her pregnancy, which made tightening the cinch worrisome. And considering Louemma’s state of mind, coupled with a lack of strength in her arms, was doubtful she could sit a saddle, even if she was so inclined.
Laurel’s mind went blank for a moment. She’d begun to grasp that the cabin might be destroyed. What else should she bring? The weaving Louemma had worked so hard to finish. The loom Laurel had altered for the girl. Hazel’s scrapbooks filled with historic weaving patterns. Oh, and the family photo album. The list grew as she led the horses from the corral. Dragging them downhill through the mud, she looped the reins over the porch rail, then ran into the house again. Dashing out, she stuffed the album, the scrapbook, Louemma’s project and two shawls they might need once they reached the main highway into tapestry knitting bags. The loom bumped the door casing as she wrestled it onto the porch.
“We’re both going to ride Coal Fire,” Laurel announced in a loud voice as she lashed the bags and the bulky loom to the saddle of the nervous mare. Cinnabar’s eyes rolled wildly. She neighed constantly, jerking hard on her reins.
“You’ll sit in front of me,” Laurel said, ignoring Louemma’s protests.
At nine, she was a good-size kid, even though she was on the skinny side. And when she kicked, bawled and slid down the wall, Laurel had no idea how she’d accomplish getting the rigid girl up and into the saddle.
A horrible noise and a shuddering of the cottage stilled the beating of Laurel’s heart. In the shivering glow of another lightning flash, they identified the noise. A bulldozer used by Alan’s construction crew was tumbling down the narrow mountain gorge as if an unseen hand rolled it end over end in the turbulent flood. There were also sections of metal cross-pieces from the cell tower.
Mudslide! “Louemma, stop fighting. Stop this instant.” Laurel bent down, her face close to the girl’s. “There’s a mudslide from where your dad’s men cleared the trees off Bell Hill. We haven’t got time for arguments or tears. If we don’t go now—” Laurel broke off, not wanting to tell the child they might die. But something in her voice must have conveyed the message. A shaky Louemma struggled to stand. And the moment she did, she threw her body against Laurel’s.
Wasting no further time, Laurel called on strength she’d never before possessed. From the top porch step, she mounted Coal Fire, and felt his hindquarters bunch and shift. He badly wanted to run. Having gauged exactly where she needed to position Louemma, Laurel leaned down from the saddle as far as she could stretch. She grasped the girl under her lifeless arms and hauled her up, placing her astride behind the saddle horn. It was awkward, holding the reins, steadying an inert Louemma and holding tight to Cinnabar as well. Laurel focused all her energy on one thing—getting downstream to a safe crossing point before the roar of the moving mud, louder now, engulfed them.
AT THE DISTILLERY, Alan and Hardy had completed the test cycle on one of the big turbine generators when the electricity went out. “Give it a minute. Maybe it’s only a temporary outage,” Alan said as Hardy swore. Both men carried industrial flashlights and now switched them on.
Alan reached for the wall phone in the fermentation room. “Damn. Phones are out, too.” He hung up and made his way to a window that overlooked his home. “The outage is widespread. It’s black as the ace of spades out there. Hardy, can you fire up the second generator alone? Louemma’s scared to death of storms. Birdie has the weekend off, so my daughter’s home alone with my grandmother, and Vestal’s not up to par after that last bout of pneumonia. I’d like to check on them.”
“You’ll come straight back? If this power failure lasts very long, we’ll have to get both generators going. Since this one ran like a charm during our test, I’m sure the other will, too. If not, we could lose everything in the aging room—everything that’s ready to be bottled.”
Alan wavered between a need to check on his family and his responsibility as head of Windridge Distillery. They, and all the families who had someone working at Windridge, depended on good bourbon and steady sales for their livelihoods.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised. “If the electricity is still out when I return, we’ll start this generator and test number two.”
Hardy walked out with him and lit up a cigarette. Or rather, he tried to. Three matches in a row fizzled out from the rain before he managed to light the cigarette he held between his lips. “Man, this storm’s a humdinger,” he muttered. “I’m betting that lightning hit the power station. We’re pretty high up here, and there’s no glow in the direction of town.”
“You’re right. Well, I’ll hurry. I still don’t see any glimmer at the house. I thought Vestal would’ve lit a few lamps by now.”
Alan started the Jeep, not liking how the big tires were slipping and sliding on the short drive to the house. He vaulted out and ran up the steps. “Hey!” he yelled, shoving open the front door. It was torn from his hold by a huge gust of wind. “Grandmother, Louemma—where are y’all?” His drawl always grew more noticeable when he was tired. He wondered why no one was answering. Then he remembered how angry Louemma was at him for saying she couldn’t go to Laurel’s. In all probability, she was sulking in her room.
Kicking off his muddy boots, Alan hurried down the hall in his stocking feet. His powerful flashlight illuminated the full length of the empty corridor.
Vestal emerged suddenly from her room, looking ghostly in the pale yellow light from an old-style lamp she carried. “Alan! Mercy, am I glad to see you. I tried to call you twice, but we’ve lost phone service here.”
“I think phones went out before the lights. Where’s Louemma? Is she still mad?”
Vestal floated toward him, outlined by the two lights. “She’s at Laurel’s, Alan. I thought you knew this was the weekend they had planned.”
“What?”
“Louemma said you were busy at the distillery. I thought you couldn’t spare the time to drive her to Laurel’s. Birdie planned to visit her son, so she dropped Louemma off there on her way out of town.”
Alan stomped up and down the hall about ten paces in either direction. He said a few things he wouldn’t ordinarily say in front of his grandmother.
“Honestly, Alan. I don’t know why you’re so upset. Laurel’s a responsible young woman. In fact, she phoned.”
“When? Why? Was Louemma frightened of the thunder? She always is, and we’ve had a lot in the last hour.”
“Relax. Laurel said they were fine. She told me they were having fun. I didn’t detect a shade of worry in her voice. I promised her I’d let yo
u know she had a question for you. She said it was nothing important and she had your cell number if need be.”
Alan juggled his flashlight and unclipped the cell phone from his belt. He’d programmed his number into Laurel’s phone and vice versa. He punched the first digit and came up with nothing. Frowning, he studied the readout panel. “No service. That’s impossible.”
“Why? The lights are out and so are our phones.”
He glanced up at his grandmother. “Don’t you remember authorizing a cell relay tower on top of Bell Hill? It’s practically in our backyard.” He frowned. “I’ve been wondering if our authorizing that tower is what started Hazel on the road to filing for the squatter’s rights. An effort to protect the land she loved—to keep it unchanged.”
“Who cares?” Vestal waved a thin hand. “I’ve decided it’s all water under the bridge, Alan. Hazel’s gone, and so are Ted and Jason. I’m happy with the deal you made in court allowing Laurel to live in the cottage. It’s time to forgive and forget the past.”
“It sure is. But speaking of water under the bridge—considering the amount of rain that’s fallen over the last three hours, I’d be surprised if Laurel’s bridge isn’t underwater. Damn, I don’t like not being able to reach her by phone.”
“You’re worried because Louemma’s there?”
“I’d worry even if she wasn’t. After Mountain Builders finishes our expansion, I’d intended to talk to Laurel about letting them put in something more permanent than that wooden footbridge.”
“The footbridge is so quaint. It adds to the charm of the cottages.”
“Quaint counts for squat, Grandmother, if Laurel needs to get out of her place during a bad storm.”
Vestal shivered and steadied the lamp with both hands. “Like this one, you mean? I don’t know why, I feel chilled suddenly.”
Alan shot her a dark glance. “You’re worried about having let Louemma go out in this, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Oh, just listen! This house is built so sturdily you can rarely hear the wind. But now… It’s so loud, Alan.”
“This weather isn’t fit for man or beast. If you’ll be all right here alone, I’ll go and help Hardy turn on the second generator. Then I’m going to take a run over to Laurel’s. There’s a fire road. I should be able to make it over there and back within forty minutes.”
“Good. Then we’ll all rest easier. I’ll be fine. You go, Alan. Bring them here, and I’ll use the woodstove to warm up the stew Birdie left so it’ll be piping hot about the time you get home.”
Alan pressed a kiss to her papery cheek. “Good. I’ll send Hardy down here, too.” He tugged on his boots and drove as fast as he dared back to the distillery.
Hardy met him at the door. “I don’t know what those idiots from Mountain Builders did up the hill, Alan. We’ve got ourselves one of their John Deere Caterpillars turned upside down in a pool of mud behind our warehouse.”
Alan felt as if a fist had slammed into his midsection. “If we’ve had a mudslide, what’s happening on Laurel’s side of the hill? You’ll have to start the generator alone and round up some guys to sandbag the mash barrels. Louemma’s at Laurel’s. I’ve got to go make sure they’re okay. By the way, my grandmother’s fixing stew. If I don’t get back within the hour, I want you to go stay at the house.” He left Hardy and raced back to his Jeep.
As Alan roared off through the pouring rain, he imagined his daughter and Laurel floating before him on the foggy mist, and he muttered at them to hang on.
Chapter Fifteen
MUD SUCKED AT the Jeep’s tires, slowing Alan’s progress as he turned off the highway onto the fire road. He hadn’t thought the storm could possibly get worse, but gale-force winds buffeted his vehicle even under the trees. Alan fought to keep his wheels in the slippery ruts.
His headlights illuminated downed limbs. He crunched over the smaller logs and maneuvered around larger ones—until he came upon a felled tree and realized there was no way around it.
Already soaked to the skin, he climbed out to survey the situation. He had a few tools, including a hatchet, in a tool-box strapped to the back of his Jeep. But it’d take him hours to make a dent in this uprooted hickory.
It meant losing precious minutes, but he hooked a cable around the narrowest part and tried winching the tree aside. After fifteen minutes and two unsuccessful tries that raised the front of his Jeep right out of the mud, he finally succeeded. “Yes!” His triumphant shout disappeared into the wind as he dragged the tree off the road. He resented the time it took to unhook and recoil his cable.
Once the line was tightly rewound, he allowed his mind to skip forward. By now he was virtually certain there’d be no hope of crossing the footbridge, even if it hadn’t been washed away. The more he saw of this storm, the greater was his worry for Laurel and his daughter.
Combined with the anxiety was guilt. Laurel had pleaded with him to check the work being done by Mountain Builders. He shouldn’t have been so certain they knew best. After all, what about the shortcuts Hardy had mentioned? Alan should’ve listened to Laurel. If anything happened to her or Louemma because of his stubbornness, he’d never forgive himself. God help him, but he loved them both so much.
The thought rocked him. He’d never told Laurel in so many words how he felt about her. He supposed that was because of those last few years of his marriage. Even after he’d gotten close to Laurel, there’d been a certain unwillingness to risk his heart and soul again.
Man, there was nothing like fear to force a man to see through his stupidity. And there was no way to describe his feelings for Laurel Ashline other than to say that he loved her wholly and completely.
“Damn! Now what?” The Jeep’s headlights, slicing through the black night, revealed the hindquarters of four milk cows wandering along the road in front of him.
Once again he had to stop. Monty Calhoun, a neighbor, leased a wedge of land that intersected with the fire road up ahead. Vaulting out, Alan identified Monty’s split-rail fence. He followed it and soon found broken rails. A huge limb had dropped from an old oak and flattened the fence.
“Jeez, cows have to be the dumbest creatures on earth.” Alan discovered quite by accident that getting them off the road was a simple matter of finding their leader and shooing her through the opening. The others trailed after her, thank God.
He spared only long enough to do a quick job of attaching the slats to the posts again. Once phone service was restored, he’d call Monty and let him know he’d better check this entire fence row.
Ten minutes later, Alan reached a point less than half a mile from the clearing opposite Laurel’s cottage. It was a chilling picture, even this far from her place, and even viewed through a rain-spattered windshield. The creek had expanded to twice its normal width, and the boiling, angry water churned with mud. He dared not try to drive any closer.
He climbed out of his vehicle to shine his powerful flashlight up and down the banks of the normally tranquil creek.
Tranquil was the last word anyone would use to describe this frenzied, out-of-control flow. Fear ate away at Alan’s gut. Back in his idling Jeep, he wrapped wet, unsteady hands around a steering wheel already slippery with sweat. Leaning his forehead on his white knuckles, he tried to recall every twist and turn the creek made. There were two other points where it might be possible to cross to Laurel’s side. But if he guessed wrong, he could be swept downstream himself. Then where would any of them be?
Who would know he was missing? Not Laurel, who didn’t realize he was trying to find her. Not Hardy, who was too busy holding down the fort at Windridge. And probably not his grandmother, at least not for hours.
Imagining Laurel, calm though she was, having to deal with a power outage, a panicked kid and God only knew what else, Alan struggled to get a grip on his own fear. At last, he managed to curb it enough to drive some distance downstream, where he hoped to test his latest theory.
Seconds could mean the difference betwee
n fording the creek and not being able to cross at all.
Alan hadn’t thought ahead about what he’d do if he simply couldn’t get to them. He refused to consider the possibility. He’d save them, no matter what it took. He’d swim an ocean if he had to.
LAUREL FELT LOUEMMA’S constant sobbing, plastered as the girl was to the front of her body. She crooned soothing nonsense near the child’s ear. “Keep your eye on Dog,” she chanted over and over. “If we trust him, Louemma, he’ll lead us out of here. If you trust me and stop crying, it’ll be easier on Coal Fire. He’s surefooted, sweetie, but your sobbing is spooking him. And it’s not helping you. Try to relax. Think how glad your daddy will be to see us when we finally get to Windridge.”
“But, its dark, and there’s thunder,” Louemma cried, stirring in Laurel’s arms. “And I can’t see Dog. He’s black and so is the trail. I’m s-scared.”
The gelding stumbled. Louemma screeched like a banshee and threw herself hard against Laurel.
For a moment, Laurel saw stars and had difficulty catching her breath. Then Coal Fire reared, and Cinnabar’s reins were ripped from her already numb fingers. Or maybe she dropped them in an effort not to unseat herself and Louemma. She saw that the creek lapped onto the trail. Laurel glimpsed water swirling around her horse’s fetlocks. Greedy, encroaching waves washed over what was left of their escape route.
Dog, who’d disappeared into a black patch of trees, bounded back to see what was keeping them. Or maybe he’d come to check because Cinnabar had sailed past him, terrified and galloping frantically. The mare took with her everything that remained of Laurel’s life—unless, by some quirk of fate, her loom cottage and her home were spared from the mud rushing like a freight train down the hill.
It wasn’t until she’d spent several minutes fighting to stay in the saddle that Laurel thought to worry over what might happen to her poor pregnant mare. What if Cinnabar tripped over the dragging reins? Or were they dragging? She vaguely recalled having knotted them before she mounted Coal Fire. But maybe knotting had made things worse. What if the leather strapslipped to the ground and the mare caught a foot in them and went down? She could break a leg.
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