Mary Connealy (10 page)

Only a few stunted trees clung to the rugged mountainside. A lip of the trail stuck out far enough that the cliff face wasn’t visible for nearly a hundred feet. She looked over the edge and saw, far below, the silver waters of the stream she sought.

Beautiful—the rushing waters audible even from this high, the soft hush of the wind flowing over her like the breath of God. Sighing, inhaling the cold crisp air, she turned to head down.

Swift footfalls sounded behind her.

With only seconds to react, Amy whirled to face the
direction of the running steps, but hard hands caught her before she could turn fully around. A vicious shove launched her into midair. As she fell, cruel, satisfied laughter rang in her ears. Laughter she now remembered. Laughter she’d heard in Seattle as she’d fallen under the hooves of a charging horse.

Eleven

Amy twisted and clawed at the cliff. A stunted tree grew out of the rock. Her chest slammed into it. The tree crackled, and the limbs cut her hands as she scrabbled for a hold. The impact jerked her fingers free, and she fell again.

A protruding rock jabbed her belly. Amy grunted at the blow, fighting to draw a breath. She hung draped over the rock, head and feet hanging down. The world swayed. The narrow rock under her belly gave her no room to balance. She began to slide feet first off the ledge. She grabbed at the jagged wall beside her, shredding her palm.

Her gaze darted around. A little crack in the rock formed a
V
. Amy’s left hand clawed at the fissure. Her other arm swung in a wild arc over the long drop.

Her battered fingers slipped from the niche. She clenched her fist and punched it into the fissure, ripping flesh. Her weight locked her fist in the narrow opening. The protruding rock now pressed against her face.

Her body hung, suspended from one arm, wrenching her shoulder. For a sickening second, only that tremulous fist stood between her and death. Her strength wouldn’t have held her. The rock pinched her fist tight, trapping her, saving her.

Amy turned her face away from the scraping rock and looked down. Below her kicking, dangling feet was a sheer drop of a hundred feet. Dizziness swept over her. Nausea twisted her stomach. She wrenched her head sideways to block her vision, choosing to focus on the rough rock scraping her cheek rather than the sickening knowledge of just how far she’d fall if her hand gave way.

With her other hand, she found a lip on the protruding rock and grabbed hold.

She fought her way back onto the tiny ledge. Once steady, she realized the rock she’d hit cut back into the cliff a few inches. Sliding into the indentation, she found a secure spot.

Careful not to lose her balance, she turned her back to the cliff and pressed against the rocks. Once tucked into the little cleft, she worked her hand free of the crack that had saved her. Looking up, she saw the cliff overhang.

Her stomach burned from the blow against the ledge. Blood streamed off her knuckles, and both her palms bled from frantically clinging to the stunted tree. Her blunt nails were torn and bleeding. Pain radiated from her face where it had ground against stone. When she gingerly touched her throbbing cheek, her fingertips came away stained scarlet with blood. Her back, undamaged in the fall, burned with the feel of shoving hands.

Someone had tried to kill her. A wave of dizziness almost upset her balance, and she forced her mind to remain clear. She had to think.

Wait on the Lord.

God chided her for striking out on her own after the meal. Or did He mean that she should wait now? Don’t climb to safety. Wait for help.

She decided it meant the first. God had tried to warn her that the woods held danger for her. Well, she knew now, and she’d be careful.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen, Lord.

She turned her eyes upward to see if she could climb out.

Wait on the Lord.

Perhaps she would rest up for a few minutes.

Catching her breath, she listened for any sound from above. Never one to ignore hard facts, she faced the truth. She had no doubt that shove was a deliberate murder attempt. With shocking clarity, she realized someone had tried to kill her in Seattle, also. And maybe on the boat that night she’d been alone on the deck and that day by the railing. And someone had been lurking in the woods near her smokehouse. She wondered if Braden’s presence had headed off an attack earlier.

Who?

She thought of the man who’d come to her father’s door. Would that man silence the only person on earth who might dispute his claim?

There had been others on the ship who’d made her uncomfortable. Darnell Thompson, with his too-watchful eyes, had been close that day at the railing. Had he hoped for one last chance to kill her?

What about the oily little Barnabas Stucky?

Both men had claimed to be stampeders. Both had offered to accompany her home. No gold miner on his way to the Klondike took a side trip to go sightseeing. Not even a woman in a nearly all-male world could turn those madmen aside.

Amy sat and thought it through as her breathing steadied and the worst of the pain eased from her hands. When she had quit trembling, she began to assess her situation.

Studying the sheer wall below her, she knew going down was impossible. Amy had scampered around mountains many times in her childhood. She tried to pick out footholds and handholds in the rock face and found none.

Above her, Amy could see a way, precarious but possible for about half the distance to the top. After that, the cliff curved out of sight for a few feet before ending at the overhang. Her climb might lead her all the way up or leave her stranded, possibly unable to go back, hanging over thin air.

But if she did get to the top, what awaited her? Someone who even now had noticed that she’d stopped her headlong fall to death? Or had he shoved her and run like a sneaking coward who would attack a woman from behind?

Amy sat quietly, listening. She’d been preoccupied as she’d walked, a foolish mistake that she’d have never made before her years in Washington. But even distracted, she’d have noticed any blatant sounds. That meant whoever had pushed her knew the woods.

And that made him smart enough to wait quietly and make sure he finished his job.

Amy looked at the sun still high in the sky. She knew the patience of the north country. She knew what it meant to out-wait a stalking cougar or a hungry bear. This ledge twenty feet down a cliff felt safe. For now, maybe the safest place between here and the Raffertys. She’d stay.

Wait on the Lord.

For now, she’d wait.

❧

“Honey, what are you doing out here?”

At the sound of Ian’s worried voice, Braden turned from the rock he chiseled. Meredith stood near their most recent digging, her trim body silhouetted against the sunlight. Her shoulders rose and fell as she panted.

Ian and Tucker had worked their way through solid stone during the last year. Braden had already found a couple of thin streaks of the golden wealth that God had created and sewn into the fabric of the earth. None of the streaks went deep.

He couldn’t see his sister-in-law’s face, but he could feel her tension. He dropped his pick and heard two other metallic clangs from Tucker and Ian as they advanced on Meredith.

Ian got there first. Braden and Tucker were a step behind.

“Amy’s never come back.” Meredith flung herself into Ian’s arms. “I should have waited, but I’ve just got this terrible feeling. She promised to be back in time to start dinner. I told her I’d do it, but she insisted, and she’s never failed to keep her word.”

Ian lifted his wife, her feet dangling above the ground, and carried her out of the mine. He brushed the wisps of brown hair off her flushed cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have hiked all the way up here.”

Ian, Meredith, and Tucker all turned on Braden when he spoke.

Worry creased Ian’s forehead as he turned back to his wife. “Are you all right?”

“I just couldn’t wait. I feel fine. I was careful.” Meredith turned away from Ian, who kept his hands around her waist. Her eyes blazed at Braden until he could feel the heat.

“I couldn’t sit at home
when I’m fine
while Amy might be in danger.”

Braden arched a brow at Meredith’s fierce strength, so different than anything he’d known with Maggie. Another pang of guilt hit him as he compared Maggie to another woman and found his wife wanting. Not everyone was strong. Not everyone had what it took to tackle an unsettled land. That wasn’t Maggie’s fault.

Clenching his jaw to keep from defending Maggie when no one here had said a word against her, Braden nodded. “No, of course you couldn’t.”

“Where did she go?” Tucker stepped past Braden and studied his twin. He pulled a handkerchief out of his hip pocket and mopped Meredith’s sweaty, dirt-streaked face. The walk up here was strenuous.

Braden’s stomach clenched in fear for Meredith’s baby—and for Amy. Meredith spoke the truth about Amy’s dependability. Something had happened to her. Why had he let her set off in the wilderness? What if that polar bear had attacked her?

Braden fought down his growing panic. “She said she needed more salmon. She mentioned the spawning bed. Where is that?”

Tucker and Ian exchanged a glance over Meredith’s head. Ian looked at Braden. “I don’t know. The few salmon we catch come from the Skaguay River. The two of you talked about the smokehouse, but she never said where exactly she’d caught the fish.

Meredith spun around to face Ian. “You can find her. You can track her down and bring her home.”

Braden remembered his brother in the woods when they were young. He’d moved with the silence of a cloud of smoke. He’d made a game of sneaking up on wild animals.

“Yes,” Braden said, “you can do this, Ian.”

Ian looked at Tucker. “I want you to walk down to the cabin slowly with Meredith. Make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”

“Ian, I’m fine!” Meredith clenched her fists.

Ian rested a hand on her cheek. “I know you are, honey. But let Tucker take care of you, please. Braden and I are going after Amy, and we’re going fast. That means I’m leaving you behind, and it’ll take a load off my mind if I know you’re being easy on yourself.”

He lowered his hand from her cheek to her stomach. “You told me you get dizzy sometimes. That’s a mighty serious business when you’re walking alone with no one to catch you if you fall. Let Tucker get you home safe. Please.”

Meredith rested her hand on top of Ian’s. To Braden it looked like the two of them were holding their unborn child. The sight warmed his heart and for once he felt no pain when he thought of a baby.

Meredith nodded. “I’ll behave.” She reached up and gave Ian a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now get out of here and find Amy. If I lose that woman, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She said it lightly, but there was nothing humorous about a missing woman in the wilderness.

Braden didn’t know what he’d do, either.

Ian cut his gaze to Braden. “Let’s get moving.”

Ian took off down the mountain at a near run with Braden right on his heels.

In the time it took Braden to load both rifles, Ian had found Amy’s tracks heading straight up the mountain, away from the river.

“What salmon live up there?” Braden muttered.

“There’s a stream that empties into the river. It winds around like crazy, and I’ve never followed it. I’ll bet she’s heading for that. Climbing up and down this mountain will be shorter than going around, I’m figuring.”

Silently they fell into step, Ian in the lead. He passed through a thick patch of trees and dropped to the ground so suddenly Braden almost tripped over him.

“This is an old game trail. I’ve never noticed it before. How did she find it so fast?”

Braden could see Amy’s footprints heading uphill.

Ian pointed. “You can see she went up and came back down yesterday. But there’s no sign of her returning today.” Ian looked up through the spruce and cedars grown close together, clinging as if by a miracle to the rocky ground. Shrubs tangled together, mixing with the scent of pine and showing off their summer finery of berries and flowers, sometimes guarded by wicked thorns. Heavy branches drooped across the trail.

Ian set off, pushing through the dense foliage, following her trail easily. She’d moved quickly, her strides long. The rocky soil gave way to solid rock, and a few yards after that the trail split. One side went up, the other down.

Ian crouched to study the ground. He rose and went a few long strides up the slope, then came back to brush his fingers over the lower route. Hunkered down to touch the plants along the trail, he turned at last to Braden. “I can’t tell which way she went. There’s no sign of a footprint on the stone. This could be the way down to the stream. I’ll follow this one.” Ian gave the plant one more look as if he could hear it speaking and was listening for Amy’s route. Then he pointed at the upward trail. “You see if you can find any tracks that way.”

“What if the trail divides again?” It could divide a hundred times, and they could be days exploring all the possibilities.

Ian shook his head. “Let’s don’t borrow trouble.”

Braden nodded, then headed up, tension growing in his stomach. Amy was now long overdue. She’d have been on time, toting those blasted fish, and Braden knew it. The stone path stretched ahead relentlessly, as if a thousand years of winter winds had scrubbed every breath of soil from its surface, leaving no chance for a single footprint. He could find no evidence Amy had come this way.

He reached the peak and stopped at the edge of a cliff to look down on the stream far below. He could hear the rushing water. Did that mean she’d taken this path? Or was it the one Ian had followed?

The soaring view, breathtaking in its beauty, made Braden feel closer to God than he had since Maggie died.

“God, where is she?”
He prayed aloud.

“Braden, is that you?”

Braden gasped at the voice coming from under his feet and jumped backward. Then he dropped to his knees and leaned out over the edge of the cliff.