Diamond Mine (15 page)
Authors: Felicia Rogers
“Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“Are you coming, love?”
“Yes.”
Hannah rose from the log and walked toward the miniscule shelter. Her voice belied her irritation and her urge to rebel. Why did she need to follow what he said? Who died and made him king?
But exhaustion and worry inhibited her natural impulses. Her shoulders hunched, she ambled toward the tent. Lifting the flap, she dropped to her knees and climbed inside.
Rory had spread out her sleeping bag mere inches from his. His back faced her as she slithered into the bag and zipped herself inside. She lay on her back and pulled the top of the bag up to her neck. Sweat beaded across her upper lip and brow. Strands of hair clung to her face. The clothes she'd worn all day now stuck to her. Every shift had the rough fabric grating against her skin.
Weariness caused her eyelids to flutter closed. Just as dreams were set to overtake her, Rory flipped over. Now facing her, she felt his hand snake toward her in the darkness, wrap around her side, and drag her body next to him.
He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. A pent-up sigh escaped his lips as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
He stilled and Hannah released her breath. Rory was asleep.
His calloused hands clenched together on the outside of the sleeping bag. His hot breath hit her neck and caused a flush to creep up her body, making her glad for the darkness.
As Rory's touch of protection became more familiar, Hannah's eyelids drifted closed, and she fell into an exhausted sleep.
****
The sun crested over the distant mountains and shone mercilessly in Rory's eyes. He flexed his hand and felt something soft and warm.
Hannah moaned and moved closer. A moment of uncommon embarrassment flushed his face as he removed his hand from the curved swell of her breast. Slowly he retreated from her frame and headed outside to stir the fire.
In misery, he ran a hand over his short stubbly beard and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Pains from a massive sore, covering the remnants of his leg, caused a burning stabbing pain with every movement. He stared at the prosthetic, wishing he could remove the contraption, but he didn't want Hannah to see.
As the embers came alive, the flames of passion ignited within him. What he wouldn't give for a cold river right now? Sighing deeply, he realized the cold air would have to suffice.
The flames licked the wood, holding him mesmerized. All he could think about was kissing Hannah and repeating their one brief encounter where their lips touched. Her full, luscious lips.
Perhaps if he went back to the tent, then they could, could what? Hannah was different from anyone he'd ever known. She wasn't like a coffee filter, just use it one time and throw it away. A relationship with her would demand his essence, his very soul.
If he was honest with himself, he'd hooked up with Monica because she'd been easy. Not in the sexual sense but in the relationship sense. She'd demanded little from him, which, in his opinion, was a good thing. Her shallowness and superficiality suited him perfectly.
I
never
want anyone to bump Hannah
'
s place in
my
heart.
What? Where had that thought come from?
She would never have left
me
after the accidentâ¦
Rising on his imperfect leg, he walked to the tent and glanced in. His heart rose to his throat at the sight of a scorpion, resting on her chest. Had it come in because of his carelessness?
What was he going to do?
****
Nightmares plagued her. Dreams of thick walls and closed doors, wails of anguish floating through the air. In her dream, she stretched out her arms and pushed at a closed door. Her mouth opened but no words came. Silent screams, like from a black and white horror movie, rose in her chest.
There was a sharp poke in her arm. Arousing herself slowly, she noticed the darkness of the outside world. Completely awake, something didn't feel right.
“Hannah, don't move,” came a hoarse whisper.
“What?” she said, attempting to rise on her elbow.
“For goodness' sake, Hannah, be still!” Rory forced between clenched teeth.
She almost shook her head in frustration, then she saw it. Lying there on her chest, almost looking at her, was a scorpion. Its tail posed to strike.
“Rory!” she hissed.
“Did you zip the tent up last night? Don't answer that. Just be still and do what I say. I'm going to back out slowly and get something.”
“
Rory
⦔
“Please, Sparkles, no sudden movements.”
Gulping deeply, Hannah wished she'd listen to Rory when he'd said not to move, because now her neck was lifted three inches off the ground and her body was in a constant state of contraction. It was like a bad workout DVD she'd used where she had to hold a sit-up for way beyond normal limits.
Her stomach muscles burned. Her neck ached. She couldn't keep up this static pose much longer. Where was he?
“Here I am, love. Miss me?”
“Rory.” Hannah attempted a growl but it sounded more like a groan.
He laughed and Hannah made plans to throttle him just as soon as he rescued her.
She wanted to crane her neck to see what Rory was doing, but she was afraid to move. From her viewpoint he appeared to be placing something on the ground outside the tent. The scorpion faced the object and backed toward Hannah's face. Obviously it couldn't decide which was the juicier meal.
“Go on now, shoo.” Her neck muscles cramped, and soon her head would fall no matter what she did.
“Come on, you know you want it.”
With a slowness set to rival any turtle, the scorpion left Hannah's chest. Through the thin sleeping bag she felt it walk across her tense abdomen, down her right leg, and out of the tent. Hannah leaned back with a sigh of relief and stretched flat, causing almost as much agony as her previous position.
No sooner had she relaxed than the sound of a gunshot caught her attention. The attempt to jump to her feet was thwarted by her sleeping bag. Fighting to a standing position, she hopped outside the tent, still swathed. There stood Rory holding a gun, the scorpion smoking at his feet.
“What did you do?”
“Why, I killed it.”
“Give me the gun.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because I want to shoot you.”
He laughed. “I believe you mean that.”
“Rory. What⦠why⦠I mean you should have⦔ She stopped for lack of what to say.
“You're all right then. Go over there.” He pointed to a bush around two feet high. “Do your morning business. Then we'll pack up and head out.”
“Rory Chance, are you crazy? That scorpion almost stung me, and now you want to just saddle up and head out toward the sunset?”
“Aye, I do. Fact is, it didn't sting you, right? And even if it had, there was only a small chance that you would have died. I believe I read only a few of them are poisonous.”
The popping noise of a slap echoed.
He laughed and rubbed his arm.
“What in the world did you use to get it out of the tent? And if it wasn't dangerous, then why did you shoot it?”
“I shot it to make you feel better.”
“Humph.”
“As for what I used to lure the little devil out, I thought about using peanut butter, but then this cricket started calling my name.”
“What? That's crazy.”
He took a breath and continued to stare at her as if she might not be real. “If you're finished being concerned with the local wildlife, I believe we have a long way to go. So chop-chop, let's get started.”
In her anger, her sleeping bag had pooled around her feet. Taking her first step, her foot tangled and pitched her forward. Rory caught her before she struck the ground.
He placed her upright and patted her shoulder like a buddy. “There you go. Get started, eh?”
He turned his back on her, and Hannah resisted the urge to stomp her foot. Rory was the most frustrating, irritating man she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. Compassionate and understanding one minute, gruff and standoffish the next. She never knew what kind of mood he was going to be in.
Things gathered into her pack, she leaned back on her haunches and stared at the dry ground. Again there was an urge to relieve herself, and they hadn't even started walking.
The bush Rory had chosen earlier wasn't exactly what she was looking for in the way of privacy. Why, if she went there many more times, there would be no more secrets between them for sure.
Gnawing her lip, she spotted a larger, thicker clump of bushes nearby. While Rory's back remained turned, she decided now would be the perfect time to take care of personal matters.
Hannah edged toward the area. With a nearby branch she beat at the bushes. This was to encourage any animal that had taken up residence to believe that she was bigger and smarter, and she wanted them to leave. If she could have spoken to the inhabitants and explained the temporariness of her need, she would have, but this might've warned Rory of her intentions. Besides, it wasn't likely they would understand anyway.
Behind the large foliage, she unbuttoned her shorts and prepared to squat. What would Tonya think if she could see her now? Clothes embedded with a day of filth, her hair stringy, oily, and dirty from a week of not washing. Why her friend would never believe her. Hannah didn't even like to camp at a state park!
In order to go, she had to peel her underwear away from her body. The odor that wafted toward her nose caused her to gag. No wonder Rory was back and forth on his closeness. No doubt he watched the direction of the wind. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. How had he stomached her presence?
Finished, she went to snap her shorts. That's when she heard it. It sounded like the snapping of twigs and the sound of heavy breathing. Raising her eyes slowly, afraid she'd walked into the home of a lion, she gasped. A man, covered in blue paint, and licking his lips stared at her.
“Hannah, where are you?” called Rory.
The strange man widened his eyes and displayed a sadistic grin showing a mouth full of pearly white teeth. Gulping deeply, she wondered,
D
are
I
answer
?
Rory packed his gear. Muttering under his breath, he fought to control his rising temper.
Backpack in place, he called, “Hannah, are you ready to go?”
The eerie quiet caused him to frown. Shifting the pack higher, Rory turned in a circle.
Hannah had disappeared. Perhaps she'd needed to pursue the facilities, and she hadn't cared for his suggested location. Another glance around the campsite revealed nothing.
“Hannah, where are you?” he called. With the lack of response, his worry mounted. Surely she hadn't run off again? Hadn't they connected, bonded even? She seemed to have forgiven him for his earlier disappearance in her life. However, he had been harsher than intended when she'd questioned the status of his leg injury.
“Answer me, love,” he pleaded.
The rustle of leaves in a nearby bush drew his attention. Rory held up his gun as he edged around the bush.
Just like clearing a room, inch slowly, finger off the trigger.
“Rory,” she whispered.
Terror filled his heart. Why would she need to whisper? Was she in danger? What kind was it? Was it an animal or something else?
“Rory,” the whisper came more urgently.
He rounded the corner and lowered his gun, covering his mouth to hold in his laughter. Hannah stood before him with her pants unbuttoned. A startled native stood close by. Chest rising and falling rapidly, her gaze shifted toward him. She was terrified, but Rory was relieved.
He easily slipped into the native's language. Within minutes, Rory knew the entire story. The native had smelled a foul odor; thinking it something dead that he might be able to consume, he'd come to investigate. He'd only remained still and watched the young lady because he was in shock. He'd never seen a white woman filthy enough to share his skin color.
“What are you doing?” Hannah asked.
“We're talking.” Rory reverted back to English long enough to answer her, attempting to hide his smile.
“So, what is he saying? Is he going to let us go?”
“Most definitely.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” He finished talking with the native and sent him happily on his way.
Hannah placed her hands on her hips and confronted him. “Rory, I'm going to be as nice as I can about this, but I'm tired, I'm filthy, and I smell, and I want to know what that was all about.”
No way would he agree with her nor would he tell her what the old man had actually said. “Don't be angry. He was staring at you because he'd never seen an American before.”
“Oh,” she said. Her gaze followed the retreating native.
Rory watched her. The wind changed directions, and he fought his urge to gag. Waving his hand in front of his face, he said, “Maybe we should move. It is more obvious than ever that you need decent shelter.”
Clank, clank, clank
.
The hammer fell, crushing rock after rock. Each bang of the hammer matched the beat of Korzan's broken heart.
The last couple of days had yielded a decent crop of diamonds. Aja and Gamba, two of Tapiwa's guards, allowed them to work twelve-hour days instead of fifteen. The workers that had been there for ages were overjoyed, but those like Korzan, who had been stolen from a better life, spent their time in mourning.
Melanie, his love, was as brilliant as any one of these gems and just as elusive from his grasp.
He wiped sweat from his brow and peered along the tunnel at the other workers. Every day, at least one died. Sometimes it was from an injury, sometimes it was from malnutrition, and sometimes, Korzan believed, it was from a broken heart.