Within My Heart (44 page)

He clenched his jaw, making his way downward until the faint flicker from Ranslett’s torch above was swallowed by ravenous night.

Condensation slicked the sides of the passage and soaked through his shirtsleeves, bringing on a chill. He tried to recall the words of a psalm, anything to help him not dwell on how far he was descending inside the earth’s belly. Verses came in broken, jumbled fragments, mirroring how he felt inside.

“If I take the wings of the morning . . . and dwell in the uttermost
parts of the sea—”
The tunnel suddenly narrowed. The nausea returned.
“Even there”
—he squeezed through—
“shall thy hand lead
me . . .”
His memory seized, and for a moment the same darkness encompassing him without threatened to do the same within. Then another fragment of the passage surfaced. One he’d clung to many nights in recent years. “ ‘If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me’ ”—he hardly recognized the rasp of his voice—“ ‘even the night shall be light about me . . .’ ” He kept crawling, inching his way forward. “ ‘The night shineth as the day . . . the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.’ ”
Oh, God, I wish they were the
same for me.

A cold rush of air hit him in the face, and nothing had ever felt so good. He struggled to make out Kurt’s body below, knowing how frightened the boy would be once he awakened—and he
would
awaken,
Lord, please.

He crawled another few feet, then hauled himself from the tunnel, mindful of Kurt somewhere on the ground around him. Relief poured through him at being in an open space again—however large this chamber was, impossible to tell in the darkness—and he moved to one side, allowing the faint light from Ranslett’s torch to reach past him.

Kurt lay on his side, unmoving.

Rand pressed his fingertips against the icy underside of the boy’s throat. A thready heartbeat registered just seconds before Kurt drew a hiccuped breath. The pull of air into his lungs sounded overloud in the vast silence.

“Is he all right?” Ranslett yelled from above, his voice another world away.

“He’s breathing,” Rand answered, relief crowding his anxiety. From what he could determine, Kurt’s arms and legs and collarbone were intact, no broken bones. “Kurt . . . can you hear me?” He located one small hand, the skin so cold. He covered it with his, calling Kurt’s name again.

“Mama?” Kurt whispered, stirring.

Rand’s heart warmed. Such love and trust wrapped in a single name. He wished Rachel could have heard it, and from this son in particular. “It’s Doc Brookston, Kurt. I’m right here with you, son.”

Kurt’s grip tightened, though not by much. “I can’t see anything.”

“I know. We’re in a cave. It’s dark. But don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.” He was grateful Kurt couldn’t feel the anxious drum of his pulse. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

Kurt took a moment to answer. “No . . .” His voice was groggy. “I’m just cold . . . and sleepy.”

“We’ll get you warmed up real soon, I promise.” Rand untethered the rope at his waist. “Just lie still. I’m going to tie this around you, and then we’re going to haul you up. I’ll be right behind you.” The boy’s body felt so fragile and thin in the dark. Rand tied an extra knot and pulled it taut, then helped Kurt sit up.

“Is Uncle Ben still here?” Kurt whispered.

Rand hesitated. Had Rachel not told the boys about Ben’s passing yet? Debating, he decided a partial truth would suffice for now. “No, Kurt . . . he’s not.”

“Oh . . .” Kurt sighed. “ ’Cuz he was just here. We been playin’ jacks. He even let me win. I could tell because”—his head lolled against Rand’s chest—“because of how he smiled.”

Rand’s heart ached at the love in Kurt’s voice, and he gathered him close, knowing how much both boys were going to miss—

He stilled.

Sticky wetness covered the back of Kurt’s skull, and only then did Rand feel the gash. Warm blood slicked his hand.
Oh, God . . .
No wonder Kurt was acting so sleepy.

“Ranslett!” He tugged on the rope. “We’ve got to hurry!”

Rachel stood in the open doorway of the cabin and scanned the eastern horizon, willing the dusty pink of dawn to hasten the sun’s journey, and its warmth. She felt as if she were coming out of her skin. “Why hasn’t someone signaled?”

Lyda reached for her hand and held it between hers, saying nothing, and not needing to.

Rachel knew the answer. It was because no one had found her sons yet.
Oh, Lord, where are my boys?

“Would you like some coffee?” Molly asked. “It’ll help warm you.”

Rachel shook her head, not wanting to be warm when her sons were likely freezing out there somewhere. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the couch, head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer.

In the past few hours, Rachel had sorted through every memory she could summon of her sons. The silly and the sweet, the precious and the frustrating. She’d thought of the countless nights she’d sat by their beds and watched them sleeping, when she’d prayed over their futures, of what they might grow up to be, and the young women they would hopefully one day marry.

For the past two and a half years, she’d done everything she could to give her sons the dream for their lives that she and Thomas had wanted. Only, the life she and the boys lived now hardly resembled that dream. She spent her days working sunup to sundown, never caught up, and was getting ready to secure another loan to purchase cattle that would help assure success for a ranch she didn’t even want. And for what purpose?

To give her boys a
better life
. How had she been so foolish?

Nerves taut, she pulled her hand away from Lyda’s. “I can’t wait here like this anymore. I can’t just stand here and do nothing. I—”

A single rifle shot split the night. Rachel nearly went to her knees, and would have if not for Lyda beside her, with Molly and Elizabeth.

“Hold on, Rachel, it’s coming,” Lyda whispered, eyes lifted heavenward. “It’s coming. . . .”

Rachel waited, breath held, feeling her world tilt and her heart begin to fract— A second shot sounded, shattering the silence, followed by a third, and a fourth. . . .

38

A
re you certain you want to do this, Rachel? I’m sure there’s someone else out there who’d be willing to—”

“Please, Rand, let me stay. Let me do this.” She brushed a kiss against Kurt’s dirt-smudged cheek. Kurt didn’t move. Not that she expected him to with the chloroform Rand had administered. “I want to be here. And anything you need, I can do. I give you my word.”

He searched her eyes until he seemed satisfied. “All right.” He picked up the needle from the table by her bedside, dawn streaming in through the window at his back. “I’m going to start at the base of the gash and suture upward. He won’t feel a thing as long as you continue to administer the chloroform. I’ll let you know when I’m almost done.”

Rachel nodded, one hand cradling the top of Kurt’s head, the other the chloroform-doused cloth. She shivered, still chilled to the bone from the long night of waiting outside on the porch, praying for her boys to come home. Kurt lay on his side on her bed, covered in a blanket, and Rand knelt behind him. She watched Rand work, as much as she could from her perspective, and prayed for them both, as well as for Mitchell, who was resting, warm and safe, in his bed down the hallway, cuts and bruises the worst of his injuries.

“Kurt called out for you,” Rand said softly. “When we were in the cave.”

Rachel’s heart clenched tight. “Really?”

He nodded, his focus intent on his task. “Never doubt how much he loves you. Never . . .”

She brushed a lock of red hair from Kurt’s temple and felt his soft breath on her hand. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Rand about what had happened, but there hadn’t been time. When he and Daniel had brought the boys back to the house, it was clear Kurt bore the most serious injury. She’d washed her hands, but his blood still stained the front of her dress.

From what little Daniel had told her, she’d learned that Rand had climbed down a tunnel into utter darkness in order to rescue her son. Entering the cave had to have been hard enough for him, but the tunnel . . . She couldn’t imagine, not with what he’d been through.

She stared at him, watching his movements, watching his hands—hands crafted by God to do precisely what he was doing— and she couldn’t deny her overwhelming love for him.
“Don’t be
afraid of being happy again, Rachel,”
Ben had said to her. And she wasn’t. Not anymore.

“You’re a brave man, Rand Brookston.”

His eyes narrowed as he completed another suture. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you could have felt my heart pounding. I was scared to death down there, Rachel.”

“But you went anyway,” she whispered, feeling the reprise of tears. “Which makes you even braver.”

Though he said nothing, his expression reflected gratitude.

“You’ve given me my life back.” She sighed. “In so many ways.”

His attention still focused on his task, the smile ghosting the corners of his mouth said plenty.

She recognized the change in Kurt’s breathing pattern and held the cloth lightly over his nose and mouth until it evened out again. In less than an hour, Rand had the wound sutured, and she helped him bandage it. Kurt looked especially small and fragile lying there on the bed, his head swathed in white.

Rand rinsed his hands in the basin of water on the dresser and reached for a towel. “He lost some blood but not as much as he might have, considering it’s such a deep gash. His cooler body temperature actually worked for him in that regard, stemming the blood flow.” He laid the towel aside. “He’s going to be fine, Rachel. He’s going to have a whopping headache for a few days, and a scar on the back of his head he can boast about to his children. But I see no evidence of injury that would cause any ongoing challenge to him. He’s a resilient little boy. Very much like his mother.”

Grateful beyond words, she placed another kiss on Kurt’s forehead and then tucked the blanket around his shoulders, knowing it would be a while before he awakened. She took hold of Rand’s offered hand and let him pull her up beside him. Not waiting, she went straight into his arms, and he held her.

“Tighter,” she whispered into his ear, wanting him to chase away every chill, every uncertainty.

“With pleasure,” he whispered, and obliged.

She held on to him, shivering, the warmth from his body seeping into hers. The flicker of desire he’d lit within her not long ago fanned into flame, and she drew back enough to see him. She cradled the side of his face. He pressed a kiss to her palm and she felt the sensation all the way to her toes.

“May I ask you a question?” she whispered, looking at his mouth, remembering what kissing him had been like.

“Anything.”

“How can you be so warm when I’m still so cold?”

His subdued laugh held boldness. “I know one sure way to warm you up.” He didn’t hesitate in the least. Not this time. His lips moved over hers as if the two of them had done this together a thousand times before. Gentle, tender at first, he wasn’t the least bit uncertain. And when he deepened the kiss, she couldn’t resist a smile, and felt him do the same.

“I love you,” he whispered, searching her eyes. “I have for a long time.”

She ached inside for him. Not only with physical desire, but with the desire to give herself fully to him, as he wanted her to, as she wanted to, without the underlying fear of losing him someday. Of being left alone. He must have read the fear in her eyes because he kissed her again, so long and so thoroughly that when he finally broke the kiss, she was breathless and could hardly stand.

“I want to marry you, Rachel Boyd. I want to be a father to your sons. And I promise . . . I will never leave you. Not of my own will. I’ll be here with you, beside you, for the rest of my life. Or for the rest of yours. . . .”

She read sincerity in his expression and understood what he was saying. And yet . . . “I love you too,” she whispered, feeling the beat of her heart. And of his. “But . . .” She gave a little shrug. “I’m still scared.”

A roguish smile tipped one side of his mouth. “Which, to use your logic, will just make you even braver, right?”

Smiling, she drew his face down to hers and kissed him, savoring the man he was and the gift she’d been given for the second time in her life.

His hands moved down her back, wonderfully possessive in their quest, and pressed her closer against him. “I’m going to take that as a yes to my proposal, Mrs. Boyd,” he whispered.