Jared hesitated, his glance resting on Delaney. Then he shook his head. “I’ll pass. It’s time I was getting back to the ranch….” He waited a beat, as if to give Delaney a chance to object and urge him to stay. She saw the opening, but the words wouldn’t come. They were trapped inside her, caught in a tangle of conflicting emotions. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to you in a day or two,” he said and walked away.
“Take care,” she said over her shoulder and turned off the water faucet.
The click of the apartment door closing competed with the panting breaths of the German shepherd. Both sounded loud in the stillness. Delaney nudged the dog out of her way and poured the water into the coffee maker. Riley watched her, a hip leaned against the counter in a pose of nonchalance that didn’t match the keenness of his steady gaze.
“Can I guess what you two were arguing about?”
“You mean you weren’t listening?” She shot him a doubting look and slipped the glass pot onto the burner.
Riley pressed a hand to his chest, pretending to be shocked. “Do you think I would eavesdrop?”
“In a heartbeat,” Delaney muttered, pushing past him to collect the clean cups and carry them over to the counter beside the coffee maker.
“Maybe I did overhear one or two snippets of conversation,” he conceded, then paused, his eyes gentling in their inspection of her. “Do you want to talk about it? I can be a very good listener. If you want, you can even use my shoulder.”
She turned, her glance drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the solidness of them. She thought back to all the times she had leaned on him, all the times she had poured out her troubles to him.
“Thanks, but not this time.” She didn’t feel right about it, and she wasn’t sure why.
“Have you fallen back in love with him, ’Laney?” His voice was quiet and very serious.
She had a lump in her throat. She didn’t know where that came from either. “About halfway.” She tried to smile, make light of her answer.
Riley straightened away from the counter, a look of disgust and irritation flashing in his eyes. “Love isn’t a halfway thing, Delaney. It’s all or nothing.”
She was surprised by the sharpness of his tone and the anger that laced it. “I know that,” she replied, bristling a little.
“Then which is it? You are either in love with him or not. There is no in-between.”
“Maybe I don’t know yet,” she countered defensively.
He looked at her long and hard. “And maybe if you don’t know by now, that means you’re not.”
“Maybe.” She was suddenly uneasy with this whole subject.
“Sooner or later, you’ll have to decide.”
Delaney swung around to face the coffee pot. “Then it will have to be later. I have too many other problems to solve right now to spend my time thinking about that.”
“Love isn’t something you think about, Delaney. It’s something you feel.” Riley walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone to think about that.
TWENTY-SIX
THE WORKMEN INSTALLING THE security gate were a welcome sight, almost as welcome as seeing Riley standing there waiting for her. Delaney pulled out of a painful jog and hobbled to meet him, favoring her left leg.
“What happened?”
“Leg cramp,” she said and let him help her to the Lincoln parked in the driveway.
She lowered herself onto the front passenger seat, sitting sideways to leave her legs out. Riley squatted on his heels, one knee touching the pavement for balance while he rubbed at the cramped muscle in her calf.
“Rina couldn’t have made it, not on foot,” she said with a tired shake of her head, her ponytail swinging with the movement. “She would have been too exhausted when she got here. I am, and I’m in better condition than she is.” Delaney grabbed a towel off the seat and used it to wipe the sweat from her face. “The bike has got to be the answer.”
His kneading fingers found the sore area. Delaney winced. “That’s it.” As he continued to work on it, she glanced at the house and spotted a man perched on a ladder. “No bullets recovered yet,” she guessed.
“Not yet.” Riley sat back on his heels. “Better?”
She flexed her foot, testing the muscle. It was still tender, but the searing pain was gone. “Much better. Now all I need is a shower.”
“Go ahead.” Riley dug the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them onto her lap. “They’re getting ready to test the remote on the gate. I want to make sure it’s working properly. After you get cleaned up, you can come back and pick me up.”
“You have a deal.” She swung her legs into the car and started to slide across the seat to the driver’s side.
“Your dad said something about going to the grocery store today. Ask him to buy me some cigarettes. I’m almost out.” He fingered the pack in his shirt pocket.
“Will do.”
But when she reached the condo, both her father and her dog were gone. She found a note propped against the telephone that read: “Father Hubbard has gone to the store to fill the cupboard. Ollie wants a bone!” That was it. No signature, no “Love, Dad.” Smiling, Delaney headed for the bathroom, peeling off her clothes on the way.
An hour later, she was back in the car, her jogging clothes traded for a white silk blouse and navy slacks and a pair of tortoiseshell combs replacing the ponytail band to hold her freshly washed hair away from her face. The air conditioner was off and the windows down, letting in the breeze that smelled of pine and summer’s heat.
As she made the turn onto Red Mountain Road, she spotted a heavyset man coming down the other side, traveling at a familiar head-down, scurrying walk, a ragged bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in his hands. Delaney slowed the car, a quick glance in the rearview mirror verifying there was no traffic behind her.
“Hey, Toby.” She leaned her head out the window. “Where are you going?”
He darted a quick look at her, then tipped his head down again and checked his hurried pace. He chewed on his lower lip as if trying to decide what to do, and walked on several more steps before angling toward her car.
“It’s okay for me to be out,” he told her and ducked his head down again.
“Of course it is.” She hadn’t meant to imply that she thought he was doing something wrong. “Those are pretty flowers. Have you got a date with a girl?”
“No.” He shook his head quickly at that.
Delaney touched a finger to a white daisy, finally putting two and two together. “You’re going to put these flowers on her grave, aren’t you?” she guessed, remembering the awkward questions he’d asked about flowers for dead people.
He nodded. “I picked them. Mr. Walker said it was okay. He said you didn’t have to buy flowers.”
“Mr. Walker is right. In fact, I think it’s nicer to put flowers on a grave that you picked yourself.”
“Yeah, well, I gotta go now.” He backed away from the car, plainly anxious and uneasy.
“Do you know the way?”
“Yeah.”
“Then climb in. I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to. I can walk.”
“I know I don’t have to, Toby. I want to. It would make me feel good.” Delaney added, “Let me give you a ride.”
He hesitated, then nodded uncertainly. “Okay.”
She watched while he walked around the car and climbed in the passenger side. When he had trouble fastening his seatbelt and holding onto the flowers, Delaney hooked it for him, then checked the mirror again for any cars behind her.
“You gotta take that road.” He let go of the flowers long enough to point to the street coming up on their left.
She slowed the
car and turned onto the street, then glanced sideways at Toby. He sat forward, intent on the road, his hands tightly gripping the flowers he held between his knees.
“I’m glad you decided to put flowers on her grave even though she didn’t like you very well,” Delaney said when they crossed over Hunter Creek. “And I’m proud of you for coming up with the idea all on your own.”
“I’m sorry she died.”
“I know you are.”
Farther on, Toby instructed her to turn left again, then almost immediately make another left onto a dirt road. Delaney frowned when she recognized the old mining road they had used for a jogging trail. She didn’t remember any cemetery along here, not even an abandoned one. In fact, she didn’t recall seeing any cemetery on the east side of town.
“Are you sure this is the right way, Toby?”
“I’m sure.” A decisive nod accompanied his answer.
Yet Delaney saw that he was nervous as he leaned close to the dash, the seatbelt taut across his shoulder, his hands twisting at the flower stems, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. Where was he taking her? All along she had assumed that the flowers were for Susan’s grave. Now she realized Toby had never actually said that. But if not hers, then whose?
“Is it much farther?” The road narrowed, the trees closing in. The sunlight came through in broken patches, and the air was resinous and still.
“No.”
“Do you come here often?” When he failed to answer, Delaney stole another glance at him. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, a trapped, nervous look on his face. She knew he’d heard the question, but he was trying to ignore it. “Do you, Toby?”
“No,” he said in a very small voice.
“Then it’s good you remember so well,” she replied a little brightly, trying to put him at ease. “People forget sometimes, but you didn’t. I’m glad. I always liked—” She stopped and forced a short laugh. “Isn’t that silly? I forgot her first name. What is it? I’ll bet you can remember it.”
His mouth remained tightly closed, his lips pressed together in a pouting line. He fixed his gaze on the road and refused to look at her.
“Come on, Toby. Tell me her name.” Delaney used her best coaxing voice.
“You gotta stop here,” he ordered instead.
“Why? Is this it?” She automatically slowed the car and shifted her foot to the brake pedal while she scanned the area.
On the left, almost hidden by undergrowth, a trail branched off the road—the same trail she had noticed when she jogged along this road with Lucas, speculating that it led to an abandoned silver mine. Distracted by it, she was late recognizing the click of the latch. When she turned, Toby was out of the car, scurrying around the back of it.
“Toby, wait.” She threw the gearshift into park and switched off the engine, then fought briefly with the catch of her seatbelt. Free, she pushed her door open. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.” He glowered at her, his big hands strangling the flowers, a slight tremor in them.
Delaney stayed by the door. “Please. I’m sorry she’s dead, too.”
“No, you can’t come.” Toby shook his head from side to side in agitation. “Nobody can come. Not nobody.”
Faced with his adamancy, she hesitated. “All right, I won’t go. I’ll wait here for you.”
“No. You gotta leave.”
“But—don’t you want a ride back?”
“No. You gotta go.” He took a step toward her, angry and frightened, close to tears. “You gotta go now!”
Unable to judge how much she dared to push him, Delaney gave in. “Okay. I’ll go.” She climbed back into the car and started the engine.
Toby remained where he was, watching as if he didn’t believe she would leave as she said. She felt a twinge of guilt, aware he was right not to trust her. She drove slowly away, keeping an eye on Toby’s reflection in her rearview mirror. He never budged from his spot near the road’s edge.
The old mine road made one of its curving twists, following the uneven contours of the mountains, and Toby was lost from sight. Delaney drove on another twenty yards, then stopped the car. She waited, silently counting off thirty seconds, then switched off the engine and stepped out, easing the door shut.
Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, she went back to the curve, staying close to the tangle of weeds and bushes along the roadside. Toby was nowhere to be seen.
How clever was he? she wondered. Had he taken that old trail? Or had he used it as a diversion and disappeared into the woods at any number of a dozen places? Was this even where he was going? Or had her questions frightened him into insisting she stop and let him out? There was only one way to find out. She broke into an easy run, backtracking to the spot where the old trail joined the dirt road.
The hard-packed ground gave no indication of the direction he had taken. She swept her glance over the forest of trees on both sides of the road on the off-chance she might catch a glimpse of his blue plaid shirt. Nothing. She elected to check the trail, aware that if Toby hadn’t taken it, she had no hope of finding him.
The trail was overgrown with wild grasses, bushes, and saplings. Erosion had gouged deep ruts in it, in places washing it out altogether. Delaney hurried along it, running where she could, walking fast where she couldn’t, the terrain’s roughness forcing her to divide her attention between the ground at her feet and the trail ahead.
As she came around a sharp bend, suddenly there he was—not fifty yards ahead of her—his head down, scurrying along in that quick, leg-rubbing walk of his. Delaney ducked into the trees.
She stayed in the trees, moving deeper into the pines where the going was easier, keeping parallel to the trail and keeping Toby in sight as much as possible. Among the trees, the light was dim, almost holy, the air cool, smelling of damp and mold.
For more than a mile the trail wound its way into the mountains, following its creases and always climbing. Then it abruptly stopped at a ravine strewn with rubble and choked with weeds and brush. Cautiously, Delaney slipped closer.
She spotted the tumbledown ruins of a shack. The wood was rotted and broken, with columbine thrusting up through it. Pieces of machinery, reduced to rusted metal, lay among the rocks. A little farther up the ravine was an entrance to a mine all boarded up. A broken signboard hung drunkenly from a cross timber, its lettering faded. DOLLY-something was all that Delaney could make out.
Toby approached the mine slowly, almost reluctantly, then laid the flowers down in front of it and backed hurriedly away. He turned and immediately took off at a fast run-walk back down the trail, stumbling in his haste to get away.
Scrambling, Delaney managed to make it to the deep cover of the spruce before he saw her. Once there, she didn’t slow down, finding her runner’s stride and keeping it as she retraced her path and reached the road ahead of Toby.
When she got to the car, she looked in the glove compartment, under the seats, and in the trunk. As a last resort, she pawed through the contents of her purse, but she had no flashlight. Without one, she would never discover what was in that mine. Frustrated, she started the car and drove back to the condo.
“Dad!” she called out when she let herself in.
When she didn’t receive an answer, she went straight to the kitchen and slammed through the cupboards, looking for a flashlight. She found one in a bottom drawer. She flipped it on, making sure it worked, then snatched up two spare batteries. She headed for the door, then hesitated. Giving in to an innate sense of caution, Delaney went over to the worktable and scratched out a quick message: “Gone to explore the Dolly mine. If not back in two hours, come look for me.—D.” She set it on top of the note her father had left.
A faint wind stirred through the brush, the sound a ghostly whisper in the mountain stillness. The sun was warm on her face as Delaney paused to survey the old mining site that the rugged land was fast reclaiming as its own. She lifted her gaze to the rock faces of the craggy pe
aks, sharply outlined against the backdrop of a flawlessly blue sky. They looked back at her indifferently.
She picked her way carefully over the loose rock of an old tailing and skirted the rusted wheels of an old ore cart, then climbed the slope to the entrance of the abandoned mine. The flowers waited for her, their petals drooping and curling, their stems crushed and mangled, their fragrance strong. Bending down, Delaney touched a wilted daisy.
“Who are they for, Toby?” she murmured absently.
The answer had to be behind the sheet of corrugated tin that blocked the tunnel’s entrance. A sign read DANGER—DO NOT ENTER. Ignoring it, Delaney located a broken tree branch and used it to pry back the stiff metal sheet and create an opening wide enough for her to pass through.
She flashed her light inside, running it over the jagged sides of the narrow tunnel and the scattering of loose rock on its floor, the beam showing her the endless blackness beyond. She took one last look at the sun and the sky, then ducked through the opening and hit her head on the low ceiling when she tried to stand up. She rubbed at the sore spot, recalling too late that people were a lot shorter 100 years ago when this tunnel was dug. It was only on movie sets that they were wide and high.
Crouching to avoid hitting her head again, Delaney took a cautious step forward, aiming her flashlight into the eerie darkness. Twin ribbons of rusted iron trailed back into the tunnel, the track used by ore carts. She stepped sideways to walk between the rails, then ventured forward into the primal damp of the tunnel and away from the sunlight and fresh air.
Moving slowly and cautiously, she followed the rusted tracks, using them to guide her, occasionally flashing her light over a rotting timber and trying not to think about the tons of rock above it. Beyond the reach of her flashlight came sounds of something scurrying to safety. A mouse? A rat? She ignored it. The association from rats to cats was too easy to make, and from cats to what killed them.