Authors: Mary Connealy
Out of Control
© 2011 by Mary Connealy
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
E-book edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwiseâwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6991-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
A Note From the Author
Years ago, on one of my first real adult vacations, my husband and I went to Carlsbad Caverns. That place captured my imagination like few places on this earth ever have. It just transported me to the early days of the cavern. I could imagine the first people who found it, explored it. It is endless and staggeringly beautiful and vividly dangerous.
That vacation sparked a story long before I was writing stories, and it's always stayed with me. I'm thrilled to be writing it now. I used Carlsbad for inspiration, but I fictionalized the cavern, moved it, and changed many things, just because I didn't think it was fair to project a fictionalized history onto Carlsbad when the real history is so well-known.
So, because it truly was the inspiration for this book, I've decided to dedicate
Out of Control
to Carlsbad Caverns and the beauty of the place. And while I'm at it, I'll also dedicate it to my husband, Ivan, who was my companion on that long-ago vacation. My very own romantic hero.
A special dedication to Natasha Kern. Teaming up with Natasha was the best decision of my professional life.
And I'd like to dedicate this book to the person who has probably bought more of my books than anyone else on the planet (except for maybe my mother)âLarry Craig, Mr. Book Look.
1
Colorado Territory
June 23, 1866
Last time. This is it. Never again.
Rafe Kincaid pulled his chestnut thoroughbred to a halt in full darkness, still a short distance away from the entrance of the cavern.
He rubbed the ugly, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his hairline just above his ear. He was glad he had it. A lifelong reminder of that awful day thirteen years ago and this treacherous cavern. He'd grown up fast.
A breeze coming down across the mountains cooled the air and made the tree branches bob and dance. Like most summer nights in the Colorado Rockies, a fire would feel good.
Rafe smelled grass. Over the crest of this rugged, heavily wooded mountain, his cattle dozed in the moonlight, spread out over a lush meadow.
But tonight he wasn't looking for cattle. Instead he was looking to make his peace.
Right in front of him was the cave entrance, nothing but a hole in the ground. It looked like a mouth gaped open with a corner turned down in a scowl. Mouth was a good word for it because this place had almost swallowed his family whole.
Then he saw the rope.
A rope coiled beside the entrance to the cave.
Narrowing his eyes, he swung down and hitched his chestnut to a scrub pine. It'd been over a decade since Rafe had fought his battle with that cavern. And he'd faced the cave many times since because he refused to let it defeat him. But he'd never seen evidence anyone else had been in it. Not since Seth had run off.
He took two more steps and heard Seth scream.
Cold control sleeted in his veins as he drew his gun, leveled it. He tensed at the metallic crack as he cocked it.
There was nothing to aim at.
Seth hadn't screamed. Seth wasn't down there.
Another scream split the air.
But someone else was. He holstered his gun and rushed for the cave.
“Please, someone help me!”
It was Seth. No,
not
Seth.
“Someone help me!” The voice broke. Sobbing echoed off the cavern walls.
Not a little boy. He stuck his head over the cavern entrance.
“A woman?” Rafe spoke aloud. Trying to believe his own ears. The words echoed into the depths.
There was no response, only sobs. But it was
not
his imagination. There really was someone down there.
The crying rose and fell, echoed off the walls until it sounded like ten women crying, all ghostly, terrified.
“Who's down there?” His voice bounced back to him.
Only more tears. The sun was gone. Dank, cool air rose up from the pit.
He could see nothing. After those first words, there were no more. But she might be out of her mind with fear.
Something Rafe could understand.
Rafe looked at the rope but didn't care to trust his weight to it. His eyes went to a flat boulder only feet away. Would it still be there? After all this time?
Rafe muscled the boulder aside, stone scratching on stone, and uncovered a depression in the rocks to reveal . . . “My ladder.”
He pulled it out, the metal clinking. It was chain, badly rusted after lying in the ground for years. Long ago Rafe had switched it for the hand-woven hemp rope he, Ethan, and Seth had trusted with their lives.
Then trust had died and Rafe had anchored the ladder to this boulder.
The sobbing had a haunting quality, but this was no ghostâRafe didn't believe in themâalthough for a few uncertain seconds, he'd been tempted to consider the possibility.
“I'm coming down.”
The sobs stopped. Then he heard them again, softer, muffled, as if she was trying to squelch the sound.
“I'll get you out,” he called, his voice echoing. Had someone abandoned her down there?
“Can you tell me your name?”
No response.
He gave his chain ladder a quick inspection and wasn't too happy with its condition.
“I'm Rafe Kincaid. I ranch near here.”
Rafe had known the cavern very well by the time he'd given up his exploring. Not as well as Seth. No one knew this cavern like Rafe's little brother. Seth had run wild down there. Once, in a particularly wild mood, Seth had told Rafe he'd lost his soul down there and had to find it.
Seth had always been a little loco.
Ethan had never gone down after the accident. Instead, he'd covered his fear with good humor and a smile, then left the ranch the day he was old enough and never came back. Ethan was the reason Rafe was out here right now.
“I'm lowering the ladderâthat's the sound you hear.” He doubted the wisdom of trying to rescue her on his own. Leaving her to go for help would be the smart thing to do. But by the time he got back she might be a slobbering, drooling madwoman.
She might already be.
Dropping the ladder, he smelled the cold, stale air and stared into the darkness, knowing his eyes couldn't penetrate it. There was no way to climb out without the ladder. There was another twenty-foot descent after the ladder ended at the ledge, but it wasn't as smooth as the upper stretch, so Rafe could climb down.
“Are you hurt?” Rafe began talking as he tested the ladder. It felt sturdy. He swallowed hard, said a quick prayer, and swung over the edge. It was like climbing down the throat of a monster.
“I'm coming to help you.”
He heard a stifled sob.
“Are you where you can see me?” One step at a time he descended the clinking ladder.
“Can you hear that noise? I've got a chain ladder.” His voice pushed against the darkness, but it was a solid thing, too deep to penetrate.
“I mean you no harm.” A thousand questions raced through Rafe's mind. He suspected she wouldn't answer any of them.
“We'll get you out of here, and I'll help you get . . . get home.” Where in the world could home be? There weren't any women in the area. There hadn't been any since the gold had run out. Well, a few Indians. But her little bit of talking told him she wasn't one.
As he descended, Rafe felt the darkness of the cave press on him like a slowly closing fist, crushing him by inches. He quit talking so he could breathe. After what seemed like forever, he reached the ledge. Stepping off the ladder, he turned, listening. Her breathing was audible. She was close to the left side tunnel, as if she was poised to run down it, away from him.
“Please, don't be afraid. I won't harm you.”
In the silence, it occurred to Rafe that maybe
he
should be afraid. What if she got past him in the dark? What if she scaled the rock cliff, climbed the ladder, and pulled it up behind her?
Chills stood the hair on the back of his neck on end as he thought of being stuck down in the cavern, forever. That day when Seth had fallen. No one knew where they were. No one would have thought of coming to the cave to search.
Just like now.
Listening with every bit of savvy he'd learned from living in this hard land, he climbed down the last twenty feet of rock.
“If someone hurt you, it wasn't me. But I can get you out. I
will
get you out.” Seth had begged Rafe not to leave him. And Rafe knew Seth hadn't really believed his brothers would abandon him, but it had been the fear talking. So it was most likely her fear too keeping her silent. “I won't leave you.”
Then the obvious occurred to Rafe. “How bad can I be? I gotta be better than this cavern. Do you really want me to go away?”
“No!” Something raced at him. A black figure in a black pit. For an irrational second he thought it was something monstrous swooping toward him. A shudder shook him until the ice in his veins nearly cracked.
Then somethingâsomeoneâslammed into him. He staggered back against the cavern wall. Hands clawed at him. He caught at whomever or whatever it was. Solid. Not a ghost. Human, not a monster. He tried to make sense out of what he couldn't see.
“Help me.” Definitely a woman.
“I'll get you out.”
“Don't leave me, please.” Her voice broke. Her arms clamped around him as if she were hanging on to save her life.
In her mind, she probably was.
He wrapped his arms around her. In the dark he couldn't see anything. She seemed young. She'd come at him fast. But someone older, running for her life, might move real fast, too.
“I'll get you out. I promise.” He talked to her as if she were a spooked mustang. “Let's climb up to my ladder and get out of here.”
“A ladder? A ladder.” The words dissolved into wrenching sobs.
Rafe wondered if she'd be able to climb. She'd have to. He tried to imagine carrying her and climbing the ladder at the same time.
Could the chain take the double weight? He didn't want to test it.
“Here, come this way. We can climb partway.”
“There's nothing to climb.” Frantic arms anchored her to him.
“I've got a ladder on the ledge.”
“Ladder. A ladder. Yes.” She didn't let go, so he lifted her, just so her feet dangled, and turned her toward the wallânot that easy with her hanging from his neck.
Prying one hand loose, he said, “Grab right here.” He felt around till he found a grip, then rested her hand on the rock wall and was relieved when she took hold. “We'll go up. One step at a time.”
“All the way up?”
A terrible pity for her rang inside of him like a perfect bell toll. He'd been where she was. He'd been right up to the edge of pure loco with fear. “Yes, all the way. I've got a ladder. First we have to climb this one stretch of rock, then we'll use the ladder.”
“A ladder. Ladder.” Each step was painfully slow. Rafe cajoled and encouraged and occasionally begged. She moved forward, her hands so shaky Rafe didn't trust her to hang on, so he climbed along with her. When they reached the ledge, he kept his arm firmly around her waist. The chain was only a few feet away, and when Rafe heard its metallic jingle, it gave him renewed determination.
“Can you do it?”
“Do what?”
He had to calm her down somehow. She'd never hang on the way she was shaking. He turned her until she faced him.
“Listen to me.”
“Get out of here. I have to get . . . get . . . out. Let me out.”
She was babbling.
It occurred to him that the right thing to do was slap her. That'd clear her thinking. Give her a bit of fight, too. It had worked with Ethan years ago. Sort of.
It'd been more of a punch honestly.
And now that Rafe thought of it, it hadn't worked well at all. And . . . she was too soft to slap, and sure as certain too soft to punch. He just couldn't do it. “You've got to get ahold of yourself.” Pulling her close, he added, “My name is Rafe. Can you say that?”
She'd said ladder enough times.
“Let me out.”
“No!” He gripped her shoulders. “You say my name or we're not going. You need to calm down. We're going to be fine, but not if you shake so hard you fall off this ladder.”
“Ladder.”
“I'm Rafe.” He shook her hard. “Say it. Prove to me you've got the guts to hang on and climb out of this pit.”
“R-Rafe.” A long, slow breath lifted her shoulders. “Rafe. I'm sorry . . . Rafe. I'm so scared. It's so dark. I couldn't get out. My . . . my Rafe. I couldn't find my Rafe . . . uh . . . rope. Rope. I need to get out and I . . . Iâ”
“Stop.” Slapping her just wouldn't do.
So he kissed her.
She froze in his arms. He braced himself to be on the receiving end of a slap. He almost hoped her head cleared enough to be insulted.
Suddenly, her terror flipped over into something . . . else. She flung her arms around his neck and nearly lifted herself off her feet in an effort to hold him closer.
Rafe wrapped his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss.
The darkness receded, the whole world was bright and warm. Being far from the outside world just seemed like a blessed chance to be alone with a beautiful woman.
Beautiful?
That thought cleared his head. “Uh . . . you're not fifty or sixty years old, are you?”
“What?” She sounded dazed. Which was sort of like calm.
“I'm just thinking I haven't really . . . um . . . seen you yet. I mean you seem . . . young. You
feel
really young.”
And beautiful.
She felt very young and beautiful. “But if we get out of here and you're . . . uh . . . old andâ”
ugly
â“sixty years old or something . . . well, it's going to be awkward.”
Her arms were gone from his neck. He should have kept his mouth shut and continued with the kissing. But the notion of getting her up to the moonlight and finding out she was a sixty-year-old woman, maybe with a mustache and a face like the downhill side of a climbing mountain goat . . . not someone he'd choose to kiss . . . in the light . . . Well, that was in his head now, and he couldn't get it out. Yep, awkward, sure enough. And yet, she'd felt very young and beautiful. Very.