by Ann Charles
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
“Well, your mom will be back on Wednesday, so that doesn’t leave you much time to get out of town.”
“Mom’s gonna be here for my birthday?” Jess’s eyes lit up.
“That’s the plan. Too bad you’ll be halfway to Ohio by then. It’s going to be weird celebrating without you here.”
Staring down at her sparkly orange nails in silence for several seconds, Jess’s forehead creased. “Maybe I’ll hang around a little longer then.”
“Bad idea.” Claire fought to keep her tone solemn.
“Why?”
“School will be starting soon there, and you need to establish a residence and register at the local high school.”
Jess’s frown furrowed even more. “What’s a residence?”
“It’s proof that you aren’t just drifting through town. A permanent address or a driver’s license, for example.”
“Maybe I’ll skip school this year.”
“And spend day and night hiding from the truant officers?” Claire wasn’t even sure there were such things as truant officers anymore, but it didn’t hurt to throw some into the mix.
“What are truant officers?”
“Kind of like the police. They check up on kids who are skipping too much school.” That’s what she’d heard, anyway. Claire crossed her fingers behind her back.
Jess’s mouth dropped open. “Will they throw me in jail for not going to school?”
With a shrug, Claire stared at the drain in the center of the floor for several seconds, struggling to smother a grin before looking back into Jess’s wide eyes.
“Ohio laws may be different, but I’ve known kids who ended up in juvie court for lesser crimes.” If she’d been strapped to a lie detector, the needle would have painted the graph paper black by now.
“What was jail like?”
“Imagine this bathroom with bars on the window and door.”
“Were you scared last night?”
“I was too mad at Kate to be scared.”
“Your mom really yelled at Kate after you guys got home.” Jess shook her head. “She isn’t very nice sometimes.”
Claire guffawed. “My mom isn’t very nice a lot of times.”
“You should’ve heard what she said to Mac this morning.”
“Yeah, he mentioned something about that.”
“I thought he was going to punch her in the nose when she told him that you’re unable to settle down and make something of your life.”
Claire had lost count how many times she’d heard her mom preach that. She shoved more water down the drain.
“But then he got all still and quiet when she told him you think he said he loves you only because he wants to control you.”
It took a few seconds for Jess’s pronoun-filled sentence to sink into Claire’s broiled, tired brain.
“Say what, now?” She grasped the mop handle in a death grip.
“Did Mac really tell you that he loves you?”
Claire’s vision clouded, fury tunneling her vision. What happened earlier down in Joe’s office made sense now.
“She’s gone too far this time.”
Throwing down the mop, Claire strode toward the door. Deborah was going to be on a plane out of here by tomorrow morning, even if Claire had to drag her by the hair all the way to Tucson.
“Hey, wait up.” Jess followed.
Claire barged out into the bright sunshine and rammed right into Porter’s chest.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoa. Where’s the fire?”
Huffing, she yanked free of his grasp. “I’m about to light it.”
* * *
Halfway up the hillside to the Lucky Monk mine, Mac paused to drink some water from his canteen. Dripping with sweat, he shielded his eyes from the noonday sun.
Shimmers of heat blurred the surrounding mountains, while a heavy mantle of humidity suffocated the valley. The cumulus clouds building on the horizon threatened.
Hell was on its way.
Distant booms echoed across the desert floor, each one making Mac wince. It was only a matter of time until the ceiling in the dead man’s tomb gave way again, and the Copper Snake’s blasting efforts would only speed the process along.
Capping his canteen, he hefted his pack on his back, then grabbed his duffel full of tools and trudged onward and upward. As he reached the mine’s mouth, he remembered the map was still in his truck. With his shirt plastered to his chest and heat stroke knocking, he decided to trust his spray paint directions on the walls.
The Lucky Monk’s chilled, musty breath feathered across his skin as he hiked down the main adit toward his mummified pal. Now that he’d escaped the sun’s rays, he had time to think of things besides not keeling over in the heat. Things like why in hell did Claire kiss Porter?
Mac paused long enough to dig a T-shirt from his pack and shuck his sweat-soaked one.
Had it just been one kiss? Like the kind she’d give an old friend? Or a new lover?
Flicking on his hat light, he tucked his flashlight in his back pocket. Shadows fluttered at the edge of his vision, dancing, celebrating his humiliation, doubling his chagrin. He marched deeper into the mine, his thoughts growing more tangled and knotted with every step.
Deborah’s words echoed in his mind … the only reason you told her you love her is because you want to control her.
Had he driven Claire to Porter? Pushed her away by letting those three words slip out before she was ready to hear them?
Damned woman! He kicked at a golf ball-sized pebble. It bounced and clattered into the darkness in front of him.
Most of the women he’d dated in the past had fished for those three words, baiting him with everything from lace teddies and fur-lined handcuffs to pot roasts and homemade cherry pies. Then along came Claire, with her purple toenail polish, crazy T-shirts, and watermelon-scented shampoo.
All it had taken was just one drunken kiss.
He rounded the last corner before the cave-in and noticed a fresh layer of dust covering his footprints from yesterday. His steps slowed. Part of the ceiling had crumbled further. He pulled his flashlight from his pocket and shined the beam at the rock overhead. Fractures road-mapped the jagged, concave surface.
What he needed was some rock netting.
Or a bigger set of balls.
Unfortunately, he had neither on him at the moment.
He dropped his duffel to the floor. The crowbar, hammer, chisels, and small pick axes clanged against each other inside the leather casing.
He had two options: give up or dig.
The first meant never finding out what was behind those boards, and he’d been hanging around Claire for too long for that choice to settle easily in his gut.
The problem with the latter, though, was the possibility of spending eternity with a dried up, eyeless miner. That was not Mac’s idea of resting in peace.
Dust floated in front of his hat light as he debated.
Hell, he’d come too far to turn back now. Besides, he needed to finish the job he’d set out to do for Ruby.
He unzipped his duffel and pulled out the crowbar. Slipping off his pack, he rooted out Ruby’s Smith and Wesson, checked the safety, and stuffed it in the back of his jeans.
This time, he’d be ready for any visitors.
After a glance over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone, he dug in.
* * *
Claire slammed into the General Store with Jess on her heels and Porter bringing up the rear. She scanned the room, huffing like she planned to blow the house down.
“Where’s Mom?” she asked Kate, who sat behind the counter, filing her nails.
“In the kitchen. Why?”
Jess’s pattering footfalls followed Claire as she marched across the room. “Claire’s pissed at her,” she told Kate.
Claire found her mother sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, her nose buried in a paperback novel. A half-empty glass of
lemonade sweated on the table in front of her.
“I hope you’re happy!”
Grabbing the book from her mother, she threw it across the room. It hit the refrigerator, knocking off Ruby’s set of Lucille Ball magnets, and fluttered onto the linoleum.
Her mouth agape, Deborah stared at Claire.
She leaned down into her mother’s face. “I want you out of here today.”
In a blink, Deborah snapped out of her stupor. Her lips compressed into a tight, glossy pink bow. “How dare you—”
“I’ve had enough of your meddling. Pack your bags!”
Her cheeks sporting two dark, rosy spots, Deborah pushed to her feet. “I will do no such thing.”
“Fine! Then I’ll pack your shit for you and drag you to the airport. One way or another, you’re leaving.”
“Claire?” Kate teetered on the threshold, as if she weren’t sure whether to stay for the rest of Round One or hide until the dust settled. “What’s going on?”
“Mac wants me to move out.”
“I heard, but what’s that got to do with Mom?”
Jess had the decency to blush when Claire speared her with a pointed glare.
Grabbing Deborah by the arm, Claire forced her to face Kate. “Tell Kate what you told Mac. Go on; show her your forked tongue.”
Deborah wrenched free. Her blue eyes sparked as she whirled back to Claire. “Good! I’m glad Mac is finally coming to his senses. That man is nothing but trouble for you.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you use that language with me, young lady.”
“Oh, kiss my ass. You no longer get my respect.” Claire threaded her fingers through her hair, tugging, barely containing the urge to wrap them around her mother’s neck. “It’s a wonder Dad didn’t leave you years ago.”
Deborah gasped, holding her hand over her chest.
Shit. She probably shouldn’t have said that aloud.
“Claire,” Kate started, stepping into the kitchen.
“Oh, zip it, Kate.”
Jess dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and propped her chin on her hand, her eyes wide.
“How can you say such a horrible thing to me?” Her mother’s watery eyes only fueled Claire’s anger.
“Horrible thing, huh? How about all of the horrible things you’ve said to me? All of those snippy comments about my hairstyle and choice of clothing? All of the times you’ve held Kate’s achievements over my head and mocked my lack of a degree? Or how about your attempts to set me up with men who would ‘straighten me out’ or ‘fix me,’ so that I’d meet your expectations of success?”
“I’ve never said anything so cruel.”
At her mother’s denial, Claire’s head nearly popped and showered them all with Twinkie dust and MoonPie crumbs.
She leaned into Deborah until their noses almost rubbed. “Those lies just slide off your tongue like it’s made of butter, don’t they? How about yesterday, Mother, when you told Mac that I’m unable to settle down and make something of my life?”
Jess blushed again, this time under Deborah’s glare.
Deborah shoved Claire back several steps and stomped over to the refrigerator. She scooped up her Nora Roberts paperback, along with Ruby’s Lucille Ball magnets which she stuck back on the fridge before turning to frown at Claire.
“Maybe I have mentioned your lack of stability a time or two, but it’s with good intentions.”
That made Claire laugh—a harsh, grating sound.
“And as for Mac, I was only repeating what you told me.”
“When I said that people only say they love you so they can control you, I was talking about you, not Mac.”
Again, Deborah held her hand to her chest. “You think I don’t love you?”
“Oh, I’m sure in your own twisted way you do. But it’s a possessive kind of love, as if I were a tarnished piece of silver you bought at an antique store.”
“That’s not true.” Her mother lifted her chin. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“Your ‘best,’ not mine. If you’d been paying more attention to your own life instead of trying to run mine and Kate’s and Veronica’s all of these years, maybe Dad wouldn’t have left you for another woman.”
“Don’t you mention your father to me again!” Deborah advanced on Claire with one pointy red fingernail extended. “You’ve been Daddy’s little girl since day one. I should’ve known you’d take his side. You always liked him better.”
“Jesus! This isn’t about who’s more popular, you or Dad. It’s about my future with Mac.” Claire knocked her mom’s finger away. “I swear on every single piece of your Tiffany jewelry collection, Mother, if you do or say one more thing to try to interfere with our relationship, I’ll never ever talk to you again. We will be done.”
Deborah tittered. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. I’m also serious about you leaving. I’ll give you until tomorrow. If your bags aren’t packed by then, I’ll ship your clothes to you.”
“You can’t make me get on a plane.” With her jaw thrust out and her arms crossed, Deborah looked like a bratty eight-year-old who sorely needed to spend some time in the corner.
“No, but I can drop you off in the middle of Tucson with nothing but the clothes on your back.”
“You wouldn’t!”
She poked her mom in the sternum. “I want you out of here before Ruby and Gramps get back.”
Shaking with fury, she shot a glare at Kate. “She goes with or without you, understand?”
Claire didn’t want her sister to leave, but there’d be no debating the subject of their mother’s departure.
Marching out of the kitchen without a backwards glance, she found Porter hovering next to the rec room bar.
Her cheeks warmed. “Sorry you had to witness all that.”
He shrugged. “Family business is always messy. I need to talk to you.”
Oh, yeah, she still had to figure out a way to brush off Porter’s newfound affection. “How about lunch at The Shaft?”
That was as safe a venue as anywhere, and she preferred crowds when it came to doling out rejection.
“Sounds great. I’ll drive.”
“Okay, but I need to stop at the hardware store afterward and pick up some of Ruby’s mail.”
Or rather, Joe’s mail. It was time to see what he’d stashed in that post office box.
* * *
The sight of the dead miner reminded Mac that thanks to Deborah’s warm and fuzzy wakeup call this morning, he’d forgotten to compare the piece of braided rope he’d pulled from the skeleton’s hand to the sandal Claire found in the wall safe. He’d have to take a look before he left for Tucson later tonight.
A glance at his watch showed one o’clock had come and gone. Busting through the cave-in had taken him longer than he’d expected, but slow and easy was the name of the game. No need to bring the mountain down on his head. With time working against him, he hefted the crowbar to his right hand and tore into the wall.
Minutes later, the first board fell to the floor, landing with a dull thump.
Mac leaned over and shined his flashlight through the opening he’d made.
The tunnel curved not ten feet from where he stood, disappearing out of view. Silence greeted him, his labored breathing the only sound to be heard. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the air smelled fresher on the other side of the wall, the dust still undisturbed.
Several more minutes passed before he’d made a space large enough for himself. He shoved his pack and duffel through first, and then with one last check to confirm the skeleton was his only audience, he climbed through the wall.
His breath shallow with excitement, he rounded the bend and hiked along the tunnel. His trouble with Claire was now just a burred nugget that poked him periodically as he scanned the walls for signs of copper and silver. He skirted another bend and stopped so fast his toes
smashed into the steel front of his boots.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he whispered, staring at the pile of rocks and wood debris blocking his path. Apparently, Lady Luck was pissed at him today.
He dropped his tools to the floor and leaned against the wall.
Shit.
His back ached at just the thought of sifting through the mess, trying to find a path to the other side. He tipped back his canteen and washed the dust from his tongue.
A breath of air brushed across his damp forehead.
Where was it coming from?
Mac crawled over to a triangular crack between a stack of mid-sized boulders. He splashed some water on his palm and held it in front of the narrow opening. A cool draft dried his hand.
He pulled out his flashlight and inspected the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. Both looked relatively stable. The air was free of fresh dust. A wave of his light over the numerous critter footprints on the dirt floor confirmed that this cave-in most likely happened some time ago.
A scratch with his fingernail over a splintered piece of timber found the wood weakened by rot.
Curiosity breathed a second wind into his tired muscles. Maybe this would be easier than it looked.
Returning to his duffel, he drew out his small pickaxe and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. Ruby’s gun rubbed against his lower spine.
There was no stopping now. That air was leaking in from somewhere on the other side, carrying humidity along with it—enough to rot the timbers in this section of the tunnel, anyway.
Mac had a feeling he’d found another way out of the mine.
Gritting his teeth, he swung the pickaxe.
* * *
“I’ll be right back,” Claire told Porter, then closed the passenger side door of his pickup.
The pavement rippled with heat in front of the Creekside Supply Company’s windows, the scent of roasting tar heavy.
She hurried across the parking lot, shielding her eyes from the searing sun. The chicken-fried steak and chilled Corona—food that was supposed to make her feel better about having Alice’s Queen of Hearts for a mother—sloshed in her gut with every step.
Lunch had gone smoothly. No crying in his beer on Porter’s part when she’d made it clear Mac hogged her head and heart, leaving no room for anyone else.
