Solitaire
Lindsay McKenna
When mining engineer Cat Kincaid was trapped in a cave-in, it was gently bullying Slade Donovan who talked her through the terrifying hours until her rescue. And it was slyly masterful Slade Donovan who spirited her home to his Texas ranch to heal.Though drawn to Slade's rugged brand of courage, though warmed by his masculine attentions, Cat felt deeply, uncomfortably indebted to him. And now he needed her expertise to help him build an emerald mine. But would risking her life again earn merely his gratitude, when what she wanted was his love?
When mining engineer Cat Kincaid was trapped in a cave-in, it was gently bullying Slade Donovan who talked her through the terrifying hours until her rescue. And it was slyly masterful Slade Donovan who spirited her home to his Texas ranch to heal.
Though drawn to Slade’s rugged brand of courage, though warmed by his masculine attentions, Cat felt deeply, uncomfortably indebted to him. And now he needed her expertise to help him build an emerald mine. But would risking her life again earn merely his gratitude, when what she wanted was his love?
Solitaire
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Chapter One (#ueb15cb3a-9afc-5ee2-9dd9-9e0fa4733e6e)
Chapter Two (#uf3236f37-c72d-5cbe-892b-24c415372821)
Chapter Three (#u4f783345-380e-5f5f-a9f1-647eeb277e53)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Don’t go in there. It’s too dangerous.”
A large hand splayed across on the blueprint of the emerald mine in Hampton, Maine, that Cat was studying. Her concentration broken, she blinked. Thinking it was the owner of the gem mine, she slowly stood up and turned.
Normally, she barely had to lift her eyes to look into those of a man, so she was momentarily disconcerted to find herself eye to eye with a khaki-covered chest. She brought her gaze up and looked into dark blue eyes the color of midnight sapphire and equally breathtaking. The man’s stubborn jaw accentuated the intensity of his gaze, and if it weren’t for the laugh lines bracketing his mouth and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, she would have bet he never smiled.
“I beg your pardon,” Cat said coolly.
“I’ve already been in that mine. It isn’t safe.”
Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “What mine is?”
Impatience flared in his eyes. “This is no time for jokes, Ms. Kincaid. I was in that dump this morning and the owner is crazy to ask anyone to actually inspect that worthless pit. The timbers are not only rotted, but there’s water in the sedimentary manging wall above those timbers that’s weakened the entire crosscut.”
“You’re obviously not Mr. Graham,” Cat returned testily. “So perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me who you are, and how you know my name.”
“No, I’m not the owner of this worthless excuse for a mine. And everyone in our business knows the name Cat Kincaid.” His eyes grew warm and he extended his hand. “My name is Slade Donovan. I’m a geologist.”
Cat shook his hand, finding his grip firm but not overpowering. “I don’t understand, Mr. Donovan. Has Mr. Graham hired you to help assess the condition of the Emerald Lady Mine?” She stole a look at her watch. She didn’t have much time and she couldn’t waste what she had on social amenities.
Slade had the good grace to look sheepish. “Well, not exactly, Ms. Kincaid. Oh, hell, do you mind if I call you Cat? That’s what most people call you, right? I don’t like standing on formality any more than I have to.”
Wariness returned to Cat’s eyes. “Slade Donovan. Where have I heard that name before?”
He colored slightly, heightening the ruddy glow already in his cheeks. “Mining engineers and geologists are a pretty close group on the international circuit,” he parried. “I’ve worked a few gem mines in Africa and South America.”
Cat pushed a few dark brown strands of hair from her forehead and took a step back, gauging him closely in the interim. “I know I’ve heard of you…”
“That’s not really important right now; you are.” He pointed out the grimy window of the old shack. “Lionel Graham has a poor reputation among geologists. You can’t trust him.” His voice, naturally low and with an obvious Texas accent, deepened with urgency. “He’s waited too long for a mine inspection into that crosscut. Those post and stull timbers would crack if someone were to breathe on them the wrong way, Cat.”
“Ms. Kincaid, please, Mr. Donovan. If the owner hasn’t hired you, then what are you doing here?” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask just who he thought he was to be telling her, a mining engineer, whether she should go into a mine or not. Staring at him critically, she guessed his age to be around her own thirty-three years. He managed to look both rugged and boyish, a combination helped by the lock of rebellious brown hair lying on his broad brow.
He suddenly offered her a devastating smile, obviously meant to melt the heart of any woman he wanted to charm. The smile, however, had the opposite effect on her. Placing her hands on her hips, she stood waiting for an explanation.
“Actually, I flew in from Bogota when I heard you were coming here.” Slade brushed the errant lock back in one quick motion. “I’ve been trying to track you down for days. I got in last night and–”
“Ah, there you are, Ms. Kincaid.” Lionel Graham, a portly man dressed impeccably in a gray suit, entered the office. His balding head shone beneath the naked light bulb suspended above them, and his brow wrinkled as he turned to the tall man standing beside her. “What are you doing here, Donovan? I thought you were still in South America.”
Slade scowled back at Graham and drew himself up to his full six-foot-four. “I was in Tunnel B this morning, Graham, the crosscut. I can’t say I liked what I saw.”
Graham frowned, sucking in his potbelly. “Now see here, Donovan, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but no one is allowed inside the Emerald Lady unless I authorize it.”
“I can see why,” Slade shot back. “That mine’s back is broken. Someone hasn’t been following proper pumping practices, and you’ve got nothing but rotting posts and stulls weighed down by a ceiling ready to collapse on anyone stupid enough to go in there.”
Graham colored fiercely. “What does a geologist know about engineering matters?” he challenged.
“A damn good geologist, Graham.” Slade glanced over his shoulder toward Cat. “I know emerald mines, Graham, and you have no business sending anyone down in that shaft.”
Cat moved forward, her anger finally at the boiling point. She didn’t have time to stand there listening to these two. “Mr. Donovan, your opinion is not wanted or needed. That’s why I’m here. I troubleshoot bad mines for a living. Do you?”
Struggling to contain his temper, Slade asked, “Ever hear of taking a bath, Ms. Kincaid?” Although not a common practice, some unscrupulous mine owners would put very little money into a supposedly rich gem site, then declare it a catastrophic business loss to collect a healthy tax return. Well, the Emerald Lady was a lost cause and both Slade and Graham knew it. The only one who didn’t was Cat Kincaid, and he wasn’t going to let her find out the hard way if he had anything to say about it.
“I fail to see what that has to do with this situation, Mr.–”
“My friends call me Slade. And the Emerald Lady is nothing more than a nice, juicy business loss just waiting to be picked up by Graham.”
Graham flushed scarlet. “You’ve gone too far this time, Donovan,” he sputtered. “Unless you’re suddenly working with the U.S. Mine Safety–”
Slade turned conspiratorially to Cat for a moment. “That’s who ought to be called in to handle this situation. Tunnel B is just begging to fall. But then, Graham–” he turned to the red-faced man “–you wouldn’t stand to get as much of a tax loss if you didn’t have someone of Ms. Kincaid’s stature sign on the bottom line, stating that your mine is not only inoperable, but a disaster of the first degree.”
“Look, Donovan, you’ve no right,” began a riled Graham.
Slade, ignoring him, swung his attention back to Cat. “You’ve been a mining engineer for over ten years. And there isn’t anyone in our business who doesn’t respect or admire your work in constructing mines under almost impossible circumstances.” Slade jabbed a finger toward the Emerald Lady mine. “But your life and your knowledge, not to mention your neck, aren’t worth risking for that pit. I’m telling you, that shaft is deadly. Don’t go in there. Let Graham get the U.S. mining officials to do it instead.”
Cat was momentarily swayed by the fervor of his request; Donovan’s deep Texas accent flowed through her like a cool breeze on a hot jungle night. Then she blinked, realizing that he had literally spun her into his web with his husky, coaxing voice. Irritated that she had let him affect her at all, she said, “Mr. Donovan, I think Mr. Graham and I can handle this. In case you forgot, mine inspection is part of being a mining engineer.”
Graham pulled out a white silk handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow. “It most certainly is! Ms. Kincaid’s specialty is troublesome mines; that’s why I called her. And I resent your inference, Donovan, that I’m doing this for a business loss. Nothing could be further from my mind. The Emerald Lady is the best, and we’ll hire only the best if we get into trouble.”
Slade snorted. Graham was lying through his perfectly capped teeth. Slade wondered briefly why Cat couldn’t see through Graham’s ploy. Who had raised her to never question another person’s motives?
“Please–” he opened both his callused hands out toward Cat in a final, pleading gesture “–don’t go in there. There was a heavy rain here last night. Give the mine another day to settle down. Water’s leaking like a sieve in there, and in the crosscut. The supporting timbers are rotted. A day. Just one.”
There simply wasn’t enough time for this, and Cat stepped up to Donovan, her jaw set. “My schedule doesn’t permit the luxury of an extra day. I intend to inspect this mine right now, Mr. Donovan. I don’t have time to stand here and discuss this issue. By this afternoon–” she looked at the gold Rolex watch on her darkly tanned left wrist “–at 2:00 p.m., to be precise, I have a flight back to New York City. I have to be in Australia by tomorrow evening.”
Rain began falling at a steady clip, spreading a gray pall over the heavily forested area that surrounded the mine. Slade interpreted this as a warning. Cat merely regarded it as an inconvenience.
She picked up her white miner’s hard hat, which had accumulated scratches and dents from many years of use. Each depression was from a rock large enough to have injured her. Cat tested the light strapped to the front of the hat before settling it on her sable-colored hair. Then she plugged the jack into a battery pack that she carried on a web belt around her waist. As she finished her preparations, Cat tried to ignore Donovan, whose tightly throttled energy had the room in a state of electric tension.
“Donovan,” Graham began, “I don’t care who you think you are. You’re trespassing on private property.” He glanced around. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the sheriff on my car telephone and have you booted out of here on your–”
“Save your threats, Graham. I’m staying until Ms. Kincaid is safely out of that mine.” His blue eyes narrowed on Graham’s porcine face. “And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it unless you think you’re big enough to throw me out of here.”
Cat shook her head and picked up a safety lamp. Lighting the regulation-size lantern, she watched with satisfaction as the yellow flame grew. She straightened up.
“You going in with her, Graham?” Slade prodded savagely.
“Of course not. She’s the mining expert.”
Slade’s mouth twisted into a lethal line. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in there because you know just how unsafe that pit is.”
Cat opened the door and nailed both men with a look of authority. “You two can stay here and argue about the mine’s merits, but I’m going into it.” She looked directly at Slade. “And don’t follow me in. Understand?”
He grimaced and nodded. “Whatever you say, lady.” Then his icy composure gave way to concern. “But I’d like to see you come back in one piece.”
Cat tilted her head, a question in her eyes. What had the scuttlebutt been about the man named Slade Donovan? Later, after the mine inspection was over, she’d search her memory. The name sounded familiar, but was he tied to good news or bad? Judging from his bull-in-the-china-shop tactics, it probably wasn’t very good.
“I’ll be out in about an hour, Mr. Graham, unless I find something, then it will take a bit longer.”
“Fine, fine. Take your time. I’ll be waiting.”
Slade took a step toward her. “Get in and then get the hell out. Any miner with an ounce of brains could tell twenty minutes after entering it that the mine’s broken.”
Cat gave him a cool look, then pulled the miner’s hat brim a little lower across her eyes. “In about an hour, Mr. Graham…”
Helplessly Slade watched her leave and move out into the downpour. The lightweight pale blue canvas jacket she wore darkened immediately with splotches of rain. Muttering a curse, Slade elbowed past Graham. Cat was halfway across the empty, muddy expanse, heading toward the yawning dark hole of the mine shaft, when Slade caught up with her.
“Ms. Kincaid–Cat–here, take this with you.” He thrust a portable radio into her hand. “It’s waterproof,” he quickly explained. The rain slashed across his face, and his hair darkened as it became plastered against his skull. “Just in case, okay? Don’t give me that look, either. This is a safety measure. There’s no one here to help you in case something does go wrong.” He drew to a halt just inside the shaft. Slade gave her a pleading look, knowing he couldn’t intimidate or push Cat into doing what he wanted. He’d heard she had a mind of her own and now he had to deal with that.
Cat stuffed the radio inside her jacket to protect it. The damp, stale air flowing out of the mine swept around them and a chill worked its way up her back. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll take it with me. But you stay here. I’ve had enough of your strong-arm tactics, Mr. Donovan. You’re just lucky Mr. Graham didn’t call the sheriff. You could be in a lot of hot water. He’s a fairly influential man in mining, even if his reputation is less than virtuous.”
“Lady,” Slade confirmed, grinning, “Graham’s sunk more worthless pits around the world than I’ve sampled ore.”
“Let me get on with my business, Donovan.”
“Yeah, go ahead. How about if I buy you a steak for lunch when you’re done?”
There was something intriguing about Slade Donovan that Cat couldn’t quite put her finger on; her sixth sense–or was it female curiosity–urged her to accept. “Lunch,” she grudgingly agreed. “But a short one.”
“I know, you’ve got a plane to catch.” He smiled, the tension in his face easing momentarily.
Cat flipped on her helmet light, holding the safety lamp out in front of her. “See you later, Donovan.” Watching where she placed her rubber-booted feet, Cat began her trek down the gentle incline of the adit, or main shaft. Darkness closed around her like a consuming embrace, and the only light was the muted yellow glow of the safety lamp. She inhaled the dankness of the silent shaft. Like most emerald mines, it wasn’t deep; it ran shallow, following either sedimentary or pegmatite veins that hid the green rock in calcite nests. The floor was littered profusely with limestone slabs, evidence that the mine hadn’t been worked in quite a while.
Cat stopped at every few timbers and studied them carefully with her practiced eye. The overhead roof, or manging wall, of pale green limestone dripped constantly. Most of it was due to the dampness inherent in a mine. But Slade had been right: trickles of water had followed fissures in the sediment and wound their way down into the mine itself. Rock bolts should have been placed in the wall to strengthen it. Without them the wetness would weaken the wall. As Cat ran practiced fingers across the stull, or timbers, supporting the limestone roof, she saw that the main shoring points would have to be immediately replaced and new ones installed.
The thin beam of light from her helmet probed the blackness as Cat raised her head to assess the damage to each post and stull. The adit split into a Y, known to miners as a crosscut. This was the beginning of Tunnel B. The air leaving the shaft was desultory and pregnant with a stale, musty odor. Cat wondered if the dew point was high enough for it to actually rain within the mine. Again, Slade had been right: Graham hadn’t even begun to put the necessary care into this mine to make it a decent place to work. If Graham was as knowledgeable as Donovan had said he was, he had no excuse to have skimped on proper ventilation and pumping equipment. Moisture was eating away at the powerful oak and hardwood beams that kept the walls from collapsing and the roof from dropping, and some unlucky miner could lose his life beneath it. She turned down the crosscut, a secondary tunnel off the main adit, and carefully inspected each support. The limestone had turned a rust color where water had leaked through from above, indicating iron in the sediment above the exposed vein. Cat smiled grimly. Slade had accurately predicted the condition of the shaft: there was no way emeralds were going to be found in this kind of rock. The only type that held emeralds was calcite limestone, and none was in evidence here. Even though she wasn’t a geologist, she’d seen plenty of rock, and she was knowledgeable enough to make the assessment on her own.
The deeper she went, the more oppressive the air became. The incline became vertical–what miners called a winze. Cat halted at the lip of the winze. She held the safety lamp high, looking for the reason for the vertical descent of the shaft. Normally, it was because the vein of calcite or pegmatite went off in an unexpected direction. But judging from the iron-marked limestone, Cat could see no discernible reason for it. She ran her fingers lightly over the hardwood timber; the surface was slick with algae and wet from the constant leakage of water. Above, the main horizontal stull was fully cracked and sagging. Again, Slade’s words came to her about the back of the mine being broken.
Cat’s lips tightened and she stood quietly. All around her, she could hear the plunk, plunk, plunk of water. The passage gleamed from the liquid seeping in through the walls. Should she go on? Chances were, if one timber was cracked, the others would be, too, indicating that the entire roof was caving in. It was only a matter of time until the limestone, weakened by water flow through the natural fissures, would collapse. Why did Graham want her to investigate the worthiness of this mine? It was a total loss. So much money would have to be poured into shoring up the crosscut alone, she wondered if the mine’s calculated yield was worth that kind of expense. Cat thought not, but that wasn’t any of her business; that was Graham’s decision to make.
The floor of the mine was slippery with mud and slime. Cat took each step carefully, for she had no wish to cause any undue vibration that might further weaken the supports. Automatically, she pressed her wet fingers against her jacket where the radio lay next to her heart. Slade was turning out to be a pretty decent person after all; his advice had been good, and the radio was a definite asset.
Pushing thoughts of Slade aside, Cat concentrated on the overhead stulls. She stopped every ten feet and examined each one thoroughly. About three hundred feet into the winze, Cat crouched by the left wall. The limestone had cracked, and a healthy spring of water gushed through the opening, running down into the shaft. That wasn’t good. It indicated a major structural weakness in the rock wall glistening beneath her fingertips. Slowly rising, Cat cautiously moved to the other side of the mine and continued her inspection.
She had gone another two hundred feet, almost to the end of Tunnel B according to the map, when a sickening crack echoed through the shaft. In one motion, Cat turned, sprinting back toward the beginning of the crosscut. Suddenly, a rumbling sound began. The hollow, drumlike roar rolled through the shaft like mounting thunder. She couldn’t tell whether the winze was caving in behind or in front of her. Water several inches deep rushed down the shaft, and she splashed through it. She leaped to the lip that signaled an end to the winze. Slipping, Cat skidded to her knees in the muck and mud of the crosscut. The safety lamp bounced twice and then the flame went out.
Loud snapping and groaning noises followed. Cat’s breath tore from her as she scrambled to her feet; the only light left was the one on her helmet. Water was rapidly rising from foot to ankle level; she knew a crack in the wall up ahead had given way. Had the entire wall caved in, leaving her no escape?
Behind her, Cat heard the limestone manging wall grate, and she automatically ducked her head, keeping one hand on her helmet as she raced toward the intersection of the adit. Only two hundred feet more, she guessed, gasping for breath. A crash caromed beside her, and rocks began falling. She halted, breathing hard. Should she retreat or–fist-size pieces of limestone began raining down around her. She was trapped! Cat shielded her face and lurched forward, dust and rock hailing down as she slogged forward, staggering and stumbling.
Suffocating dust filled Cat’s mouth, nose and lungs. She coughed violently, unable to breathe. Blinded by the dust, which was thicker than smoke, she tripped. As she did, the manging wall where she had stood seconds before dropped to the floor. A rock the size of a baseball crashed onto her hard hat, knocking it off her head. The hat and light bounced crazily, sending a skittering beam of light through the dense grayness. Another rock struck her shoulder, spinning her around. Cat threw her hands up to protect her head as she pitched backward. She slammed into the jagged rocks, the breath ripped out of her. Seconds later, more than a ton of rock and soil filled the chamber where she was trapped. A cry tore from her as the rest of the other wall collapsed, nearly burying her. Pain lanced up her right side and Cat sank back, unconscious.
* * *
With a violent oath, Slade raced down the mine shaft. He had heard the ominous crack of timbers, sounding one after another like breaking matchsticks. He shouted for Cat, but his voice was drowned out by a deep roar that sent icy fear up his spine. A rolling cloud of dust engulfed him and he turned back, hacking and coughing, his hand across his nose and mouth as he stumbled out.
Lionel Graham came lumbering out of the mine shack, his eyes round with shock. Slade ran toward him and grabbed him by the lapel of his expensive English raincoat.
“Damn you, Graham, it’s happened! Now you get on that car phone and call for help. Now!”
“Y-yes, of course. Of course,” he sputtered, and hurried toward his car.
Slade spun around and ran back to the mine opening, pulling out the radio he kept in a leather carrying case on his hip. The red light blinked on, indicating that the battery was sufficiently charged and ready to be used.
“Cat? Cat, can you hear me? This is Slade. Over.” He released the button. All he could hear was static. His mind whirled. Was she dead? Buried alive? Or had she been given a reprieve, and been trapped in a chamber? If so, how much air was left? He knew from his own grim experience that dust could suffocate a person. He ran into the mine and went as far as he could before the choking wall of limestone dust stopped him. Again, he called her. Again, no answer. Damn it to hell! He wanted to wrap his fingers around Graham’s fleshy throat and strangle the bastard. He might as well have set Cat up to be murdered. But right now, Slade needed Graham’s influence to get local miners together to begin excavating the mine to search for Cat.
Slade wasn’t one to pray often, not that he didn’t believe in God, but he more or less used Him in emergencies only. Well, this was an emergency, and as he pressed the radio’s On button once again, he prayed that Cat would hear him this time.
“Cat? Cat Kincaid, can you hear me? This is Slade Donovan. If you can hear me, depress the handset. Show me you’re alive. Over.”
The constant static of the portable radio now lodged between her rib cage and the wall of rocks slowly brought Cat back to consciousness. Blood trickled from her nose and down her lips. She tried to lick them, but her tongue met a thick caking of dust. Suddenly a sharp, riveting pain brought her fully conscious; it felt as if her right side were on fire. Dully, Cat tried to take stock of herself. She was buried up to her thighs in rubble. The weak light from her helmet lay to the left, barely visible through the curtain of dust that hung in the chamber.
The radio static continued, and dazedly Cat reached into her jacket. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Dizziness washed over her and she knew that she was injured. How badly she didn’t know. Not yet. And maybe never. She had no idea how large or small was the chamber where she was buried. If it was too small, and there wasn’t sufficient oxygen, she would die of suffocation sooner, rather than later. If she was lucky, oxygen might be trickling through the walls blocking her escape, and she wouldn’t suffocate.
Her fingers closed over the radio. Twisting slightly, she pulled it out of her jacket. A gasp tore from her and a tidal wave of pain caused her to black out for several seconds. When she came to, she took light, shallow breaths of the murky air. To breathe deep meant suffering a knifelike pain ripping up her right side. Busted ribs, she thought, slowly pulling the radio out of the jacket.
The light from her hard hat was slowly dimming, but she focused on first things first: the radio. Would it work? Was Donovan still out there? Her hand trembled badly as she fumbled to turn the radio on. The red light blinked on, and a rough, scratchy noise greeted her. Finally, she fine-tuned it with the other dial.
Her fingers, now bruised and bloodied, slipped on the button she hoped would link her with the outside world. Cat depressed it and tried to speak, but the only sound that came from her throat was a low croak. If only she could have some water! She could hear it all around her, the same rushing sound as before. Had that wall collapsed behind her where the limestone had cracked and separated?
“D-Donovan…” Her voice was barely a hoarse whisper. Dust clogged her throat and she wanted to cough, but didn’t dare for fear of disturbing her broken ribs. Then the radio crackled and an incredible surge of relief flowed through her as she heard Donovan’s Texas baritone come scratchily over the handset.
“Cat! I can barely hear you. Give me a report on your condition.”
“I–I’m trapped between a double cave-in. My legs are under rubble, but if I can move off my belly, I can free myself. Chamber is–dust too thick to tell how small or large it is yet.”
“Injuries?”
“Right lung hurts…can’t breathe very well. Legs are numb but I think if I get the rocks off, they’ll be okay.”
Terror leaked through Slade’s voice. “Head injury?”
Cat had to wait a minute to assess herself. She slowly raised her hand, feeling her dust-laden hair, and met warm stickiness as she felt across her scalp. Her head was throbbing as if it might split into a hundred pieces, like the limestone around her. “Maybe a mild concussion. Dizzy–”
“Oxygen?”
“Let me radio back. Got to try and reach my hard hat.”
“All right, just take it easy. We’re going to get you out of there. Just hang on. Graham’s phoned for help. We expect miners and excavation equipment within the next hour. Get back to me on the size of the place you’re trapped in. Over.”
Just the reassuring sound of Slade’s voice kept her panic from exploding. There was something about him that instilled faith in his promise to get her out of there. Gently, Cat set down the radio. What she would do for some water now! Dizziness came and went and Cat felt nausea clawing up her throat–she had all the symptoms of a concussion. Stretching her left hand out, fingers extended, she reached for her hard hat. There! Her fingers closed over the hat and she pulled it back to her.
As the dust slowly settled around her, Cat got an idea of the chamber’s size. Rocks ranging from the size of her fist to huge sheets that easily weighed half a ton were lodged all around her. She had been lucky: if she had not tripped and fallen where she now lay, a sheet of limestone nearby would have sheared right through her. She’d be dead. The drenching reality washed through her and she closed her eyes, exhausted. I shouldn’t be tired. Got to get these rocks off my legs and move around. Maybe I can find some water… Then drowsiness overwhelmed her.
Slade paced back and forth in front of the mine like an infuriated lion. He gripped the radio tightly in his fist. The rain was continuing to fall at a steady rate; the sky had become a dismal gray. Angrily, he shook off the thought and the feeling. Cat was alive, and that was all that mattered. No one should die alone in that godforsaken place. He wanted to vent his anger on Graham, who sat in his silver Mercedes looking pasty from the turn of events. The frightened mine owner had gone to extraordinary measures to call in local workers who had once toiled in the worthless mine, and to order heavy equipment from a nearby town. The local fire department would arrive shortly with oxygen tanks, masks and rescue apparatus. As soon as they came, Slade was going to borrow a tank and mask and make his way down the shaft to locate Cat’s chamber. He halted. Cat should have called in by now.
Slade called her five times and there was no answer. Was Cat unconscious? Had she died because of oxygen deprivation? Torn between staying and going deeper, he stared down the black maw of the shaft. Maybe her radio was on the blink. He tried to ignore his memory of the slur of Cat’s words and the pain he’d heard with each breath she had taken. He had a gut feeling she was in a lot more serious condition than she was revealing.
He called again. This time, he got an answer. “Cat, how are you?”
“Uhh, dizzy. Sorry, didn’t mean to black out.”
Slade’s mouth thinned, his eyes reflecting his anxiety, but he kept it out of his voice as he depressed the On button. “You’re doing fine. Did you get a look at the chamber?”
“Twenty feet long and ten feet wide. The manging wall is holding. I’m under a stull that’s stopping it from falling on top of me.”
Relief flowed through him. “Great. Any indication of air supply?”
“Dust still too thick. I’m turning off my light to conserve it. Need water worse.”
“I know. Look, you just rest.”
“C-can’t. Got to try and get rocks off legs.”
Slade nodded. “The fire department is coming with oxygen gear. As soon as they arrive, I’m going to find you, Cat. For now, just conserve your energy.”
She knew Slade was right, but she was shivering from the overwhelming dampness around her. As dry as her mouth and throat were, the moisture was seeping through to her bones. She shut off the light and slowly began to remove one rock at a time from the back of her legs. Only her left hand was undamaged. Movement of her right arm sent such a spasm of pain up Cat’s side that she lost consciousness.
Cat was used to darkness; when she constructed a mine shaft, she was constantly in the darkened earth with only a safety lamp and lighted hard hat to illuminate her way. But rarely had she gone without any light at all, and now the dark was as suffocating as the dust that hung around her. A shiver rippled through her, the darkness like fingers of fear closing around her throat. Cat tasted her panic and concentrated on removing the rocks from her thigh, gradually releasing herself from the entrapment.
Minutes dragged by. And each minute seems like a lifetime, Cat realized. She clung to the hope that Slade would call again. Just to hear another human voice eased the terror that was intensified by the dark. Her breath came in painful, ragged gasps; each one feeling as if a knife was being plunged through her lungs. Sweat mingled with dust as it trickled down her face, stinging her eyes. Resting until the dizziness passed, Cat knew she would have to use her right hand to start removing the debris from her right leg. An involuntary cry tore from her contorted lips as she pushed the first rock off her thigh. Blackness closed in on her and she rested her brow against her left arm, sobbing.
* * *
“Over here!” Slade motioned the first of two arriving volunteer fire department pumpers toward the opening of the mine. Graham reluctantly got out of his car and met the chief, who was dressed in a white helmet and turnout gear. Finally, Slade thought, moving toward the fire chief. In moments he had established his identity and was given an air pack and mask. He took a safety lamp and settled the hard hat on his head, then entered the mine. His heart rate picked up. How far down the crosscut had the cave-in taken place? He mentally began to calculate the possible scenarios he might find. If there was a huge wall of debris, it might take days before they could reach Cat. He prayed it was the opposite–that the bulk of the cave-in had occurred behind her and only a thin wall stood between her and freedom.
Chapter Two
Slade found the wall of rock near the second timber support in the crosscut and carefully examined the timbers around him. They were sturdy and did not appear stressed. That meant mining equipment such as drills and augers could be moved into the mine to begin removing the debris without fear of another avalanche. The dust was still thick as Slade breathed in the sweet flow of oxygen through his face mask. Sweat trickled down his temples, following the line of his jaw. Some of his fear for Cat slipped away; most of the rock and dirt that had fallen was in small chunks, and easily handled by picks, shovels and wheelbarrows. Rescue would come more quickly.
Slade crouched by one wall of the crosscut, watching as a constant stream of water disappeared into the wall. He knew that if it was getting through, life-bearing oxygen could also be carried into the chamber where Cat was trapped. Pulling out the radio, Slade attempted contact with her. He waited patiently, repeating his call three times before she answered. Cat’s voice was tight and hoarse, and Slade knew she was in a hell of a lot of pain.
“How’s my girl doing?”
A choked sound came over the radio. “Hanging–in there.”
“Mining engineers always did have more guts than brains,” he told her wryly. “I’m outside the wall where you’re trapped, Cat. Give me a status report.”
“Oxygen level seems the same. There’s–running water to my left.”
“Outstanding. How about you?”
“Would it do any good to tell you?”
“Don’t play that game with me. I know I can’t get to you yet, but I want to know the extent of your injuries and if you’re feeling worse.”
“I’ll bet you use that line on every woman you meet, Donovan.”
He grinned, but it didn’t reach his narrowed eyes as he continued to appraise the wall of debris before him. “With you, I wouldn’t use a line. Come on, level with me. How are you doing?”
“I’ve got the rocks off my legs and I managed to turn over. The right side of the tunnel wall looks weak and the stull above my head keeps creaking and groaning.”
Slade scowled. That meant that even Cat’s chamber could cave in, burying her under tons of rubble. Urgency thrummed through him. “How’s that concussion you’re sporting?”
“Not–good. I keep passing out. Very sleepy when I shouldn’t be. I was sleeping until you called. The scratchy sounds from the radio woke me up.”
Damn it! She had suffered a worse head injury than he had first thought. “Okay,” Slade soothed, keeping his voice steady. “How’s your ribs?”
“If I don’t breathe, I feel great.”
She had spunk, he’d give her that. “And when you do?”
“Feels like someone’s shoved a knife up under my right rib cage.”
“Think you’ve got compound fractures?” If she did, the broken bone could conceivably puncture the lung if she moved around too much.
“I can feel blood there. I don’t know. It hurts too much to touch the area and find out.”
“Stay still if you can.” It was either busted ribs or a punctured lung. Or both.
“Right.”
“Do you have a water source?” If she had oxygen and water, Cat could last a long time. But if she had undetected internal injuries, time could prove to be their enemy. Cat needed immediate medical attention.
“Y-yes, a small stream along the left wall. All the amenities, Donovan.”
“Except you don’t have me. And I intend to remedy that situation shortly. Tell me, how many posts are in your chamber?” There was a post for every ten feet of spacing.
“One, Donovan. And it’s not looking very healthy.”
“You know enough to place yourself under it, with your back up against it, don’t you?”
“Y-yes. Once I feel up to crawling over there, I’ll do it.”
“Can’t you walk over to it?”
“Too dizzy. I’d fall and skin my knees.”
He almost smiled. “Wouldn’t want you to skin up those pretty knees.”
“You’re full of Texas baloney, Donovan.”
He laughed. “I told you before, Cat, with you, I’m honest.”
“Sure, an honest geologist. That’ll be the day.”
“Guess I’ll have to prove it to you, won’t I?”
“Right now I need a knight on a white charger. Come and get me, Donovan.”
“Would you settle for thirty firemen, fifty miners and some drilling equipment instead?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He heard the sudden wobble in Cat’s voice, as if she were close to tears. Slade tightened his grip around the radio. “Look, it appears that about ten feet of earth and rock are separating us, Cat. Unless we run into some limestone sheets weighing a ton or more, we ought to be able to reach you within twenty-four hours.”
“Slade?”
Slade blinked the sweat from his eyes, hearing the fear in Cat’s voice for the first time. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“C-could you contact my parents? Tell them what’s happened? Especially my brother Rafe? They live in Colorado. The Triple K Ranch. If I give you the phone number, could you call them? Please?”
“Sure, anything you want.”
Relief cracked her voice. “T-thanks. Here’s the number.”
Slade committed it to memory. “I’m signing off, Cat. The miners will be here any minute. I’ve got Graham’s permission to organize and run this rescue operation. If you need anything, call. Otherwise I’ll contact you in about an hour.”
“Just let me know if you can reach my family.”
“I’ll personally make the call. Graham’s got a phone in his car.”
“Thanks, Slade. It means a lot to me….”
“I can tell.” As he left the dankness of the mine, his mind shifted to another matter. Slade knew very few geologists or mining engineers who had sunk roots and had a family or children. He also knew from reading articles on Cat Kincaid that she wasn’t married. As Slade got to his feet and began his trek to the adit, he wondered what man in his right mind would let someone as rare as Cat Kincaid out of his sight, much less out of his life. There was a special quality about her that he longed to explore. She was like an emerald mine waiting to be discovered: enticing, mysterious and filled with rich promise.
Gray light filtered through the adit, telling him he was near the opening. Well, he’d discovered one thing about Cat: family meant a great deal to her. Rafe was obviously a brother she could look up to, admire and lean on in times of trouble. Lucky guy, he told himself enviously.
As Slade walked out into the pall of rain, he glared at the gray sky overhead. They didn’t need more water; it would loosen more dirt and the rain would trickle through the weakened limestone, making the rescue effort even more precarious than before. Slade had good instincts, and his gut sense had often saved his life in the past. Now, that voice screamed out that another cave-in was near. His instincts also warned him that if this was Cat’s first cave-in, she would need emotional support to get back the courage to someday walk into the darkness of another mine.
* * *
Cat could barely move her head. She sat with her back against the rough, splintered surface of the post. Five hours had elapsed. Slade had called once an hour and sweet God in heaven, how she came to rely on him; he was her support system against the fear that threatened to consume her. Each passing hour made it become harder to control her rising panic.
Her spirits had plummeted when Slade had not been able to raise anyone at her parents’ ranch right away. Cat felt alone and vulnerable in a way she’d never before experienced. Rafe–she needed Rafe’s steadying presence. He was always the one to get them out of a jam when they were kids growing up in the Rocky Mountain wilderness. There had been times when she was scared to death, but because Rafe reassured her that it would be all right, she took dangerous chances with him. When Slade informed her he couldn’t reach anyone at the Triple K, her fears loomed up again.
Slade had told her he had the first shift with the miners clearing away the debris. Cat couldn’t hear the strike of pickaxs or the grind of huge auger drill bits boring holes to loosen the soft base so it could be shoveled away. The wall, Slade had said, was at least ten feet thick, perhaps twenty. It could, at worst, be days before she could be rescued.
At 10:00 a.m., Slade was able to make contact with the Kincaid Ranch. After a tense conversation, he made his way to the wall and called Cat. After four tries, she still didn’t answer and Slade grew worried. Another five calls. Nothing. Had Cat passed out? Was she sleeping because of the concussion? Slade tried to contain his apprehension.
* * *
Cat finally floated out of unconsciousness and weakly raised her left arm. The luminous dials on her Rolex told her she had been asleep for nearly six hours. She lay on the hard pebbled floor on her left side to ease the pressure on her right. Experimentally, Cat lightly ran her fingers over her ribs, feeling how swollen her flesh had become beneath her damp canvas jacket. Not good, she thought blearily. The radio clicked, telling her that Slade was trying to contact her.
The radio lay near her head and she depressed the button. “S-Slade?”
“Cat? My God, are you all right?”
A grimace pulled at her lips. “Fine. Went to sleep, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Six hours. You scared the hell out of me.”
“S-sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I got hold of your family and everyone’s flying out here to see you. They’ll be landing soon and I’ve arranged to have someone meet them at the nearest airport. Your parents, brother, sister and her husband are coming.”
Tears leaked down her face and she couldn’t trust her voice.
“The whole family’s coming?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I’m impressed. Not many families would fly to the rescue.”
“We’re close.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’ve had better days, Donovan. How are things out there?”
“We’ve got thirty men on line for you, sweetheart. We’re hauling about a ton of dirt and rock an hour. I’m shoring the shaft up with new post and stull every three feet as we go.”
Cat nodded, trying to lick her dry lips. “How many tons do you figure is between you and me?”
Slade’s voice was apologetic. “About fifty tons of material. If we can keep up the pace I’ve set, we’ll have you out of there in roughly fifty hours.”
Fifty more hours in the damp darkness. It seemed like an eternity. Could she control her fear? It was so black, she couldn’t even see her hand if she held it up in front of her nose. And she was thirsty. Her tongue felt swollen, her throat rough as sandpaper. She would have to crawl the width of the footwall to sip that trickle of life-giving water along the opposite wall.
“You’re doing a good job, Donovan. I’m going to owe you a lot by the time you get me out of here.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to collect for my services, lady.”
Cat smiled, allowing his voice to cover her like a blanket of balm. “Whatever you want, Donovan, within reason.”
Slade chuckled indulgently. “Don’t worry, the price won’t be so high you won’t want to pay it. Look, I’ll check in on you an hour from now.”
Panic nibbled at her crumbling control and Cat gripped the radio, dreading the return to silence. “For some reason, I trust you, Donovan. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
His voice came back, husky but velvet to soothe her shattered composure. “Hold that thought, Cat. I’ll be here for you, that’s a promise.”
* * *
Two things happened in the next hour. The entire Kincaid family arrived at the Emerald Lady, and Slade could not raise Cat again on his radio. Rafe Kincaid, the brother, was close to exploding, firing questions faster than Slade could answer them. The tall, strapping Colorado rancher took off his Stetson, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a hard hat and went into the mine to help in the rescue effort. So did Jim Tremain, Dal’s husband. Slade liked Cat’s family; Sam and Inez Kincaid, Cat’s parents, and Dal Tremain, Cat’s younger sister, helped to set up a place where coffee could be dispensed in the nearby shack and sandwiches could be made for the hardworking rescue crews. Millie, the Kincaid’s housekeeper, who was apparently an integral part of the family, watched Dal’s months-old baby, Alessandra, while Dal worked.
Within an hour of their arrival, the Kincaid family had organized chow lines for the hungry miners. Meanwhile, Slade had returned to the mine to continue directing the rescue. Slade tried to reassure Rafe that his sister had probably lost consciousness again due to her concussion. Rafe glowered at him, as if it were his fault, but Slade shrugged it off. Let the rancher expend his anger on the pickax he was wielding, instead of blowing up at him.
* * *
Cat tasted blood. She lay on her left side, shivering. What time was it? How many hours had passed since she had last lost consciousness? The luminous dials of her watch blurred and she blinked. Her vision was being affected and that frightened her. The radio was pressed protectively to her breast and she shakily turned it on, the red light glowing brightly in the darkness. Almost immediately, Slade’s voice came through, soothing her fragmented nerves.
“Cat?”
She heard the anxiety in Slade’s voice and was grateful for his undiminished caring.
“I’m alive,” she announced, her voice weaker than it had been earlier.
“Thank God. What happened? You’ve been out ten hours.”
“I can’t hang on to consciousness, Slade. Keep blacking out.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me go get your parents. Your family arrived some time ago. They’re helping in the relief efforts. Rafe and Jim Tremain have been using a pickax and shovel the last ten hours. That’s quite a family you’ve got. Hold on…”
Tears began to stream down her grimy cheeks when she heard her father’s gruff voice, and then her mother’s. Cat tried not to cry. She tried to sound brave and calm and steady, everything she wasn’t. But when Rafe was put on, her voice cracked, betraying her real emotions. Whether it was the avalanche of tightly withheld feelings or the strain of her entrapment, Cat was barely coherent. There was so much she wanted to say; instead tears flowed in a warm stream down her cheeks, and her voice was wobbly and fragmented.
“S-Slade…” she choked.
“He’s done a fine job, Cat,” Rafe came back. “He knows what he’s doing. Look, you just hang on. We’ve got an ambulance and paramedic crew standing by to take you to the closest hospital. Keep your chin up, Baby Sis. We all love you. Just remember all the times you and I dared danger and won. It’ll be the same this time. I promise you.”
Rafe grimly handed the radio back to Donovan. Neither man looked at the other; if they had, they would have seen tears forming in the corners of their eyes. Slade’s face was slack with exhaustion and streaked with dirt and mud. He took the radio from Rafe.
“Cat?”
“Y-yes?”
“Thirty-five hours to go, sweetheart. You’ve got a passel of people out here who love you. Just remember that.”
* * *
Grim, unshaven men, their eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed from too much dust, their hands bruised and bloodied with scrapes and cuts, continued on. Day had turned to night and then day again. The rain had stopped and so had Cat’s infrequent radio exchanges. Yet, the Kincaids’ courage inspired the rescuers, and there wasn’t a man among them who slept more than a few hours between the mandatory six-hour shifts at the end of a shovel, a wheelbarrow or pickax. No one complained, and Slade found that phenomenal.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, Slade held up his watch. A portable generator provided light in the damp expanse of the mine. Five hours…five hours before they broke through and made contact. Was Cat on the left wall near the stream? No stranger to cave-ins, he worried about her dehydrating. The people who knew of his escapes had said he’d had nine lives. Well, Cat had better have nine lives; she’d need them to survive this one.
* * *
Cat wasn’t sure what pulled her from her floating state. Was it the whoosh of fresh air into the staleness of the chamber or the frantic sound of steel-bladed shovels tearing a hole through the last of the wall that held her captive? Or was it actually recognizing Rafe’s hushed voice, and Slade’s? Whatever it was, she pulled on the last of her reserves and turned her head, which was now lying in a trickle of water, toward the men’s urgent voices.
The light from Slade’s helmet slashed through the thick silence of the chamber. His eyes widened as he found Cat covered with filth and dust, her hair caked with mud around her pale, translucent face. She lay on her left side, stretched out across the stream of water. Thank God she’d had the foresight to move to the water; all she had to do was turn her face and sip from the shallow stream. His admiration for her survival instincts rose. Next, Rafe came through the six-foot opening, followed by a paramedic with a thin oak body board and a neck brace.
Slade reached her first, his hand closing protectively over Cat’s shoulder. He leaned over from his kneeling position, his face close to hers. He whispered her name twice before he saw her long dark lashes flutter and barely open.
Cat saw a lopsided smile pull at Slade’s mouth; his face was tense, his eyes burned out with bone-deep exhaustion. She saw a flame of hope in them, too. She tried to form his name on her parched, cracked lips, but only a hoarse sound issued forth.
“Shh, sweetheart. Your knights in shining armor have arrived. All I want you to do is lie very still while we get you on this body board and truss you up like a Christmas goose.”
She wasn’t able to comprehend all that Slade said as he leaned over her. The warmth of his breath coupled with his husky voice flowed like balm across her, filling her with new strength. A small smile tugged at Cat’s mouth. She felt Slade’s long fingers close gently across her shoulder, and she knew he understood.
An incredible aura of care surrounded Cat during those twenty minutes when the three men worked on her. She was conscious for minutes at a time, lapsing in and out of the arms of darkness. Rafe’s voice or his familiar touch on her hair would draw her back to consciousness. She began to anticipate Slade’s knowing, professional touch as he and the paramedic turned her over, placing her on the body board. She had grown used to the pain in her right side, but the callused pressure of Slade’s fingers as he fitted the brace around her neck brought tears to her eyes.
The jab of a needle brought her to greater awareness, but once they had her strapped securely to the thin oak board Cat lost consciousness again.
* * *
Slade handed Sam Kincaid another cup of coffee as they stood in the waiting room of the surgical floor of the hospital. He wasn’t sure who looked worse: he or Rafe. They were muddy, their hair plastered down from untold hours of sweat. Every muscle in Slade’s body screamed for rest and the luxury of a hot shower. He wrinkled his nose; the brackish odor of the mine and his sour sweat smell surrounded him. He glanced at his watch. An hour ago Cat had been taken to the emergency room, attended by a number of physicians and nurses. None of the family had been allowed to go with her. Why didn’t someone come out and tell them how she was?
Slade hadn’t tried to hide his own emotions as he’d sat alongside Rafe in the ambulance. Cat had been chalk white; even her freckles had looked washed out. Her once-beautiful sable-brown hair was a stringy mat of mud and blood. There’d been a three-inch gash across her scalp, and she had bled heavily, but he was more worried about the skull beneath her scalp. Just how bad was her concussion? Judging from Cat’s pallor and her prolonged bouts of unconsciousness, it was serious.
A doctor came through the double swinging doors, his face unreadable. He headed for the elder Kincaid. The entire family, with Millie and Slade, surrounded the doctor before he drew to a stop.
“Mr. Kincaid?”
Sam Kincaid nodded. “Doctor? How’s my girl?”
“I’m Dr. Scott,” he said, extending his hand. “Cathy is in serious condition, Mr. Kincaid. She’s suffered two broken ribs. She’s extremely dehydrated and we’ve got her on two I.V.s to restabilize her.”
Slade closed his fist. His voice was strained. “And her head injury, Dr. Scott?”
Scott’s narrow face became impassive. “Severe concussion. She keeps lapsing in and out of consciousness.” His brow furrowed. “Is your name Slade?”
“Yes. Slade Donovan.”
“Cathy is asking for you. We need to try and keep her awake. I want to keep her from going into a coma.”
Inez Kincaid’s thin face grew still. “A coma, doctor?”
“Yes. If I can keep Slade with her, she might rally enough to fight back and stay awake. We’ve got that portion of her head packed in dry ice to reduce the swelling.” He looked up at Slade. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little, son, and then, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to remain with Cathy for a while.”
Slade nodded. He followed Dr. Scott down the immaculate hall to a lounge. A nurse gave him a green surgical shirt and a pair of trousers to replace his filthy clothes. Slade took a quick hot shower and fought the deep drowsiness that tried to claim him. It wasn’t yet time to sleep off the past forty-eight hours he’d been awake.
The nurse, a petite blonde with blue eyes, smiled once he emerged from the lounge. “Now you look like a doctor, Mr. Donovan. Follow me, please.” She took him to the intensive-care unit, where each patient’s room was enclosed on three sides with glass panels. Cathy looked dead. She matched the color of her sheets. Her hair had been washed clean and an ice pack placed carefully against her skull. The sigh of oxygen and the beeps of the cardiac unit made Slade grow wary. So many machines to monitor her fragile hold on life, he thought.
The nurse drew up a chair alongside Cat’s bed. “You can sit here, Mr. Donovan.”
Slade thanked her, but moved to the bed. He reached out and slipped his hand across Cat’s limp, cool fingers. They had washed her free of all the filth.
“You look a little on the thin side, Mr. Donovan. They said you and the Kincaids worked but didn’t eat. I’ll have someone run down to the cafeteria and bring you dinner.”
Slade smiled, grateful for the nurse’s thoughtfulness. “Thanks,” he replied. Then he shifted his attention to Cat. Funny, Slade told Cat silently as he cupped her fingers between his to warm them, you were a stranger to me three days ago. A lump rose in his throat. What is it about you that touches me so?
Perhaps it was the vulnerability of her features. Or the lips that reminded him of a lush, exotic jungle orchid he’d seen in Brazil–cherry red, even now in her present condition. Or perhaps it was her heart-shaped face, or the wide cheekbones that gave her eyes an almost tilted look. A smile eased the taut planes of Slade’s face as he followed the coverlet of freckles from one cheek across her broken nose to the other cheek.
Slade reached over, lightly tracing the bump on her nose. How did she break such a pretty nose? And when had she broken it? He had so many questions to ask her, so much he didn’t know about her that he wanted to know. “Cat?” he said softly. “Can you hear me? It’s Slade. I’ve come for you. I want you to fight back.” His fingers tightened against hers as he reluctantly straightened up. He blinked. Was he imagining things, or had her lashes fluttered in response to his hushed request?
* * *
When Cat awoke, she was clear at once as to where she was. The murmuring of the equipment caught her attention first. Then she forced open her weighted lids. She became aware of the broken snore of a man nearby. And then she felt the warm, callused fingers that enclosed her hand. Despite the pain, Cat turned her head to the right. Her eyes widened. Slade Donovan lay slumped in a chair, snoring, his chin sagging toward his chest and his hand gripping hers. A flood of warmth coursed through her and Cat closed her eyes. She was alive. Slade had dragged her back from the depths of the mine.
Her voice cracked when she tried to call his name. Cat used what little strength she had in her hand and squeezed Slade’s fingers. She watched him awaken from the heavy sleep. Her heart wrenched as she saw the darkness shadowing his red-rimmed eyes. His face was gaunt and she saw the stress plainly carved on the stubbled, angular planes of his face.
Slade blinked, his hand tightening on her fingers. “Cat?” He whispered her name unbelievingly. Standing, he leaned over the bed, one hand cupping her cheek as he gazed disbelievingly into her barely opened eyes. “I’ll be damned, you’re awake.”
She gave him a weak smile. “I-is this a dream?”
Slade laughed unsurely, his blue eyes burning fiercely with happiness. “If it is, sweetheart, then we’re dreaming together.” He reached over and pressed a buzzer to alert the nurse’s desk. “Hold on, there’s a whole passel of doctors who are anxious to see you awake.”
Cat was thirsty, her mouth gummy. “What about my family?”
“They’re here, waiting for you to open those beautiful emerald eyes of yours.” He pressed a kiss to her cool, damp brow. “Welcome back to the world of the living. This calls for one hell of a celebration.”
* * *
In the next two days, Slade was absorbed into the Kincaid clan. He ate with the family and shared rooms with them at a local motel. At breakfast on the third morning, Sam Kincaid sat with his family, a frown marring his features.
“Dr. Scott says Cat will need a place to recuperate. He’s worried about her concussion and thinks she ought to be under some kind of supervision for at least eight weeks.” Sam gave his wife a tender look. “With your hip operation coming up in two weeks, we won’t be able to give Cat the care she needs.”
Rafe’s mouth twisted. “I’ve got the room; it’s just the timing, Dad. We’ve had these Bureau of Land Mines investigations going on for the past few months, and they’ve thrown off our schedule for a while. Family comes first. I’ll take Cat in; she’s more important. If I made the time for the BLM, I can sure as hell make time for my sister.”
Slade suddenly brightened. “I can help. I think, under the circumstances, Cat would be better off with me.” The corners of Rafe’s mouth turned down and Slade knew instinctively that Rafe felt this was strictly a family matter; outsiders weren’t needed. Slade directed the remainder of his proposal to Rafe to win his approval, knowing the family would then agree to Cat’s staying with him. He folded his large hands on the table. This reminded Slade of poker games. Some he had lost; others he had won. This time, the stakes were high, and he had never wanted to win more. Slade didn’t question why he wanted Cat on his ranch to recuperate. Since the beginning, Cat had touched some inner chord of his. He wanted–no–demanded the opportunity to get to know her. His reasons for meeting her in the first place would take secondary importance. He put on his most serious expression and spoke in a low voice.
“I know you’ve only been allowed fifteen minutes at a time to visit with Cat. And she may or may not have been conscious enough to mention our relationship. I have a small ranch in southwest Texas. Del Rio, to be exact. In addition, my next-door neighbors, Matt and Kai Travis, can be of great help, if we need them. Kai’s a physiotherapist and a nurse for the local grade school. I have a qualified nurse three miles down the road from my ranch and the perfect place for Cat to stay.” Slade’s voice dropped. “I think Cat’s going to take a lot of attention in order to get back on her feet. I’ve been in three mine cave-ins myself and I know what they do up here,” he said, pointing to his head.
“I care a hell of a lot for Cat. Those hours spent with her while she was buried were some of the worst of my life.” He felt a tinge of guilt for implying that he and Cat had a relationship. But it wasn’t a total lie, he rationalized. “Having been buried myself, I’m in a pretty good position to help Cat.” His voice grew tight with undisguised emotion. “I can help her. I can get her up and over some of the reactions she’s going to have because of this experience.”
Rafe rubbed his recently shaven jaw. “Kinda like falling off a horse and getting scared to mount up afterward?”
Slade nodded, sensing the subtle shift of acceptance to his proposal. “Yes, only worse. Cave-ins affect everyone differently. Nightmares are common, and with her concussion, someone is going to have to monitor her closely so she doesn’t sleepwalk or something. And that does happen.” He looked at father and son. “I realize this is a family matter, but in this case, I think I can provide the type of care Cat is going to need.”
Sam glanced over at his son. “Why don’t we let Cat have a say in this before we decide for her?”
Slade held up his hand. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’m positive Cat will want to come home with me. Besides, I’ve got my twin-engine plane at the airport ten miles from here. I could fly her back in comfort while you’d have to make an awful lot of special arrangements to try the same thing. I’m sure Cat would like to be with me. I know how close she is with the family, but each of you have a lot of things going on right now. Hell, I’m between job assignments. And even if I wasn’t, I’d drop what I was doing to come and take care of Cat.”
Rafe looked hesitant, but shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Sounds like it may be the best thing for Cat, and that’s the most important thing right now, Dad.”
Sam Kincaid stared at Slade for a long time, mulling over the request. “It’s settled then. Cat will go home with you, Slade.”
Slade felt heat rise in his cheeks as he grasped the rancher’s hand. “Thanks, Sam. None of you will regret your decision, believe me.” A fierce wave of protectiveness nearly overwhelmed Slade as he rose from the table. He was shocked by his offer to care for Cat, yet nothing he’d ever done had ever felt so right. Gratefully, he shook each man’s hand.
* * *
Inez kissed her daughter’s cheek. Cat had been transferred to a private room and the entire family, minus Millie, who, since the baby wasn’t allowed in the room, was in the lounge, stood around her bed.
“You take care, honey,” Inez said. She patted Cat’s hand gently.
Cat blinked up at her mother. “You’re all leaving?” There was a catch in her voice. She saw Rafe nod, his cowboy hat clasped between his roughened fingers.
Slade went to the other side of the bed and grasped Cat’s left hand, while giving her a devastating smile meant to neutralize her questions. He hadn’t talked to her about the arrangements and he knew the Kincaids hadn’t either. Cat wasn’t even aware of the agreement, but in all honesty, Slade felt Cat would thrive in the environment he could provide her. His initial reason for contacting her had been to offer her a lucrative business deal. Now, that all seemed unimportant.
“Everything’s been taken care of, Cat. All you have to do is just lie there, look beautiful and heal up.” He patted her hand, giving her a conspiratorial wink. Her green eyes widened as she stared blankly up at him.
Rafe leaned down, kissing her hair. “I’ll be in touch, Cat. Slade’s given us your phone number and I’ll give you a call every couple of days to see how you’re coming along.” He smiled. “I’ll keep you posted on what Goodyear and Nar are up to. They’ve had a lot of run-ins with each other lately.”
Sam Kincaid was next, giving his daughter a slight smile. “You’re in the best of hands, Cat.”
“But–”
“Now, now,” Slade soothed, “just relax, Cat.” He wished they would hurry through their farewells and leave before Cat upset his carefully constructed applecart. Dal and Jim Tremain came over, saying goodbye.
“Slade promised us you’d be in good hands,” Dal told her sister. “We’d love to have you stay with us, but I don’t think you’d get any rest with the baby around. I hope you understand.”
Cat looked from Dal to Slade. His features looked suspiciously beatific.
“Well, uh, sure I understand. And Alessandra probably takes up all your time, anyway.”
Dal looked relieved that she understood and pressed another kiss on Cat’s waxen cheek. “Listen, we’ll call you once you get to Texas. Slade’s ranch sounds perfect for you.”
Slade’s ranch? Cat turned too quickly, pain causing her to gasp. She shut her eyes, all the questions purged from her mind. Slade gave her a game smile and waved goodbye to the departing family.
“Well, we’ll be seeing you, Cat,” her dad said, opening the door. “We’ll call you once a week and see how you’re comin’ along. Bye, honey…”
Cat tried to speak, to beg them to stay. When the pain finally subsided, the door had shut and silence filled the void. She looked up at Slade, her eyes narrowed. Slade was still holding her left hand, his fingers warming her cooler ones. She wanted to jerk out of his grasp but had better sense than to try it, knowing what the movement would cost her in terms of pain.
“All right, Donovan, what is going down?”
“Donovan? You were calling me Slade before.”
Cat compressed her lips, and set her jaw in a well-known Kincaid line that spelled trouble. “What cards do you have up that sleeve of yours? Everyone thinks I’m going to your ranch. No one’s asked me. If you think you can shanghai me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Slade tried to look properly chastised and continued to run his thumb in a feather-light circle on the back of her hand. “Shanghai you?” He groaned and raised his eyes dramatically to the ceiling. “Cat, I simply volunteered my plane and my ranch as a place where you can properly recuperate.” He stole a glance at her to see what effect his teasing was having. Absolutely none, he realized with a lurch. Slade girded himself for battle as spots of color came to Cat’s cheeks and an emerald flame leaped to life in her eyes. She might be sick, but she wasn’t helpless.
Slade tried to nip her reaction in the bud. “Listen to me, this is no time to get upset, Cat. I told your family that a nurse is three miles away from my ranch. Kai Travis and her husband, Matt, are good friends of mine. Dr. Scott said you’d need a warm, dry climate and the help of a nurse from time to time. Plus,” he went on quickly, trying to stay ahead of her opposition, “your brother, Rafe, has been under a BLM investigation for the past few months and he’s got his hands full trying to catch up on the ranch work. He wouldn’t be able to devote enough time to you. Your mother’s hip operation is in two weeks.” Slade shrugged and managed a hopeful smile. “I offered my ranch because I can take good care of you, Cat, while you convalesce. I did what I felt was best for us at the time.”
“Us?” came the strangled response. “There is no ‘us’!”
Looking contrite, Slade released her hand and walked to the end of the bed, holding her outraged stare. “Yes, us.”
Cat’s mouth dropped open. And then she quickly closed it into a thin line. “You and I are complete strangers.”
Slade had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Maybe we were a week ago, but I don’t feel that way about you now. Not after everything we’ve gone through together.” His voice became husky. “Before, I respected your work as a mining engineer. And then, when you were trapped, I saw and felt your courage. We both know the chances of your surviving that cave-in were pretty slim.”
At the mention of the cave-in, a chill wound through Cat. She tried to throw it off, but a suffocating fear rose up into her throat, choking her. Panic followed on its heels and Cat struggled to pretend nothing was wrong. My God, she was breaking out in a cold sweat! What was wrong with her? The fear she felt was all-consuming as it flowed darkly through her. Shakily, she wiped her sweaty brow, refusing to look at Slade.
Finally back in control, she spoke. “That still doesn’t give you any right to tell my family that they aren’t needed, Donovan!” Her voice cracked. “I want my family, not you.”
His face softened and Slade came to her side, brushing his knuckles lightly against her tear-stained cheek. “I know how fragile you really are, Cat, remember? I’ve been in cave-ins myself and lived to tell about it. I told your family that I knew what you were going to go through and I felt I was the best one for the job.”
“I’m not your responsibility, damn it!”
“Don’t get excited, Cat. The doctors want you to rest.”
“Then you shouldn’t have bullied your way into a family situation and taken over like you did!” She was breathing hard, each expansion of her ribs a fiery agony. Sweat glistened on her taut features and she lay back, her fists clenched. She turned her stormy green gaze on him. “You’re not doing this out of the kindness of your heart. I wish I could remember where I’d heard your name before. Then, I could put this together.”
Slade winced. He wasn’t sure himself why he was doing it. Sure, there was his business proposition, but that wasn’t his primary reason for wanting her nearby. He felt like a greedy robber, stealing time to get to know Cat on a personal level. “You’ve a right to be upset and angry,” Slade said, choosing his words carefully. “Rafe wanted to ask you if you wanted to go with me or come to the Triple K. For that, we owe you an apology. Rather, I do. Because I persuaded them that you’d be happy to come to Del Rio, Texas, with me.” He held her angry gaze. “I may kick around the world, Cat, but I do have some roots. The ranch is nothing fancy, but it’s nice. You’re not out of the woods yet with your injuries, and I convinced your family that with qualified medical help nearby, my ranch would be better for you. Besides, when you get better, there’s a business deal I’d like to discuss with you.”
Cat eyed him suspiciously, somewhat mollified by his explanation. “I don’t know… Let me think for a moment, Donovan.”
He shrugged shyly. “All I’m asking is to be allowed to help you for eight weeks, Cat. Hey, this isn’t a jail sentence. If you don’t like the place, you can leave. No hard feelings. It’s just that you can’t be by yourself and I have the time plus the room.”
Cat could have cried with frustration, but she had to admit that Slade was right. He had saved her life, and if she hadn’t been so arrogant, she’d have listened to his warning.
“All right, Donovan,” she muttered, “you saved my life. I didn’t realize my mother was going to have an operation so soon.” She rubbed the tears out of her eyes. “I hate feeling like an invalid! I don’t like to be a burden on anyone, especially you. I don’t call getting a crabby, sick mining engineer just payment for all that you’ve done for me.”
His serious face creased in a boyish smile. “I happen to like crabby, sick mining engineers. For the next few months you’re going to rest and get plied with a lot of stories told by one of the best storytellers in west Texas: me. You’re to be a guest at my ranch, Cat. I just hope you like my company as much as I’m going to enjoy yours.”
Cat refused to look at him. “I’m not a small child that needs to be told bedtime stories.”
Slade’s grin was wide, revealing white teeth. “We’ll see,” was all he said. He glanced at his watch. “Time for a nap. You close those beautiful eyes, and I’m going to talk with Dr. Scott about what time we can get you out of this godforsaken cell.”
Cat wrinkled her nose. “Why should I be so anxious to trade one kind of prison for another?”
Slade came around and pressed a quick kiss to her fragrant hair. “It’s really me who is your prisoner.”
“Want to bet?” And yet, another part of her relaxed. If nothing else, the cave-in had taught Cat how alone a person could really be. Slade had reached her during those terrible hours, and her heart knew it even if her mind tried to tell her differently. “Don’t mind me,” she muttered in apology. “I’m not normally this crabby. I do appreciate your offer to take me in.”
Slade enjoyed her pout; her lower lip was full and petulant. The urge to capture her mouth and gentle it beneath his was growing, but Slade gently tucked the desire aside. “I understand your apprehension, Cat. Things have moved mighty fast today. But you sit back and concentrate on getting well. Let me take care of you for a while.”
With a merry look, Slade opened her door. “Rest. You’re getting dark shadows beneath those lovely eyes of yours. Just dream of the Mourning Dove Ranch.”
Cat watched Slade leave, enjoying his irrepressible, little-boy spirit that magically coaxed her out of her darkest moments. She shut her eyes, aware that the monstrous fear she had wanted to bury had miraculously vanished. Was it because of Slade? With a groan, Cat tried to look objectively at her motives for capitulating to him. He had vaguely mentioned discussing a business deal with her when she was better. Cat clung to that bare-branch offering and turned away from other feelings toward him.
Since when had she ever backed down from the demands of life? Only once. When she and geologist Greg Anderson had called off their relationship. But this was different, a voice whispered to Cat. Not only that, she reluctantly conceded, she didn’t have the emotional fortitude it took to wage the necessary battle to get out of Donovan’s clutches. And clutches they were, Cat thought grimly. Or were they? She couldn’t ignore the tender light that burned in his sapphire eyes every time he looked at her. Right now, as never before in her life, Cat needed help from someone other than herself. And Slade had offered that help to her. Instinctively, Cat knew that Slade could help rebuild her strength from the rubble of the mine cave-in.
Chapter Three
Well, Cathy, you’re certainly going to be in good hands.” Dr. Scott smiled as he looked through the release forms, while Cat sat patiently on the edge of the bed. With the help of one of the nurses, she had awkwardly pulled on a pair of cinnamon-colored slacks and a white tank top. Maine’s summer weather was usually on the cool side, but at eight o’clock this bright August morning, it was already a sunny seventy degrees.
“We’ll see about that, doctor,” she told him dryly. Cat automatically touched her tightly taped ribs. Two of the lowest had been broken and if the break had been any higher, her breasts would have prevented the elastic torso wrap from being applied.
“Mr. Donovan’s a paramedic, you know,” the physician said, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the last paper.
“Is he?” Cat looked up with interest.
“Yes, a very capable one. I’ve given him a list of all the prescriptions you might need, Cathy. He’s going to be watching you rather closely for the next couple of weeks because of your head injury. Let him know if you ever get dizzy.”
Dizzy? The first time she’d sat up, she’d nearly keeled over. If it hadn’t been for Slade’s quick action, she would have fallen off the bed. At first, Cat had retreated from his watchfulness; she was unused to being confined by an ailing body and resented being taken care of. But after three days, Slade had remained his cheerful, positive self and Cat had had to beg him not to tell any more jokes. She had feared she would laugh out loud, and that awful, ripping pain would take her breath away. Slade’s normally ebullient personality had sobered slightly, then shifted into a new gear–that of charming conversationalist.
A nurse arrived with the wheelchair for Cat’s ride to the front doors of the hospital. “The dizziness may or may not be permanent,” Dr. Scott warned, helping her into the chair. “The next two weeks will tell us quite a lot. Off you go, now. I understand you’ve an air trip ahead. Mr. Donovan’s quite a good pilot.”
Cat couldn’t resist a smile. “Did he tell you that?”
“No, I saw his flight logbook sitting with some other items. Being a pilot myself, I got him talking. He’s not only multiengine rated, he’s up on all the instrumentation demands, too. Judging from the hours he’s flown, I’ll lay you odds he flies around the world. He certainly has a lot of stories to tell.”
“Slade Donovan is a born storyteller, I suspect. Thank you, doctor, for everything.”
“Have a good flight, Cathy. We’ll be eager to hear how you’re progressing.”
At the curbside outside the hospital, the nurse eased the wheelchair to a halt. Slade was waiting next to the rental car for her. He was dressed in a freshly pressed blue shirt with epaulets on each shoulder. The shirt matched the color of his eyes, Cat thought. She had to stop herself from staring as if she were a gawky teenager instead of a woman older than thirty. His hair was dark and shining from a recent shower, his skin smooth of the stubble that always gave him a five o’clock shadow by four o’clock.
As Cat took his large hand and stood up, she suddenly saw Slade in a new light. His touch, as always, sent a warm rush through her. He had brought sunshine to her during her recent exile to Hades. She closed her eyes, allowing a fleeting feeling of dizziness to pass. Slade, observing her hesitation, moved closer to her left side, in case she should fall. Cat opened her eyes and raised her face to the sun.
“Do you know how good it feels to be outside again?” she asked, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air.
“Spoken like a true tunneler,” Slade replied. His fingers tightened on her elbow. “Ready? I’ve got Maggie all fueled and waiting.”
“Maggie?” Cat looked up at Slade tentatively.
Slade helped her into the front seat of the rental car and then shut the door. “Yeah, Maggie’s my twin-engine Cessna. And she’s as pretty as her name.”
The sun shone warmly through the windows and a fragrant scent of pine drifted in, making the day magical for Cat. As Slade eased into the car, he flashed her a heart-stopping smile. “You’ll like Maggie. She’s built like a sleek greyhound. Red and white, lean and mean.”
“The way you like your women, Donovan?” Now why had she made that remark? He had looked absolutely elated, as if flying were going to release him from his captive state on earth. Cat felt like a genuine wet blanket, but Donovan cheerfully snapped the safety belt across his lap and chest.
“Jealousy will get you nowhere. Maggie’s big-hearted enough to embrace both of us. Now, young lady, we’ve got a light westerly wind and clear skies waiting for us. Ready?”
Yes, she was ready, Cat realized. Perhaps it was partly relief that they were putting miles between her and the mine that had almost claimed her life, but another part of her was ready for a new adventure. Cat closed her eyes, allowing the wind to flow across her, moving her hair languidly against her temple and neck. Slade’s hand settled momentarily on her own.
“Okay?”
The concern in his voice soothed her. “I’m fine. Just enjoying my freedom, Donovan.”
There was hurt evident in his voice. “My friends call me Slade.”
Cat opened her eyes and studied his clean profile, from his straight brows to his finely shaped nose and mobile mouth. “After all we’ve been through together, I guess friend is a good word to use for us.”
His hand left her fingers and he concentrated on his driving. Friend was only one term he applied to Cat. He also wanted to explore other possibilities. She affected him as no woman ever had before. “Friends,” Slade murmured. “That’s a good place for us to start.”
“I hope you have a lot of patience,” she warned, feeling suddenly awkward.
Slade pinned her with an intense look. “Why?”
“Because I’m not myself, Slade. I’m jumpy and I snap when I don’t mean to.”
He smiled. “Lady, I’ve been snapped at by the best of them. I regard our two-month vacation at my ranch as just one more adventure.”
“Normally I’d agree with you. But I’m afraid you’re getting the raw end of this deal, Slade. I’ll give you one more chance to back off from your offer to let me use your ranch as my hospital for two months.”
The road spilled out of the small town, a narrow gray asphalt ribbon among the pine-clad hills. “Not on your life, Cat. I like a woman who has wanderlust in her soul!”
A smile shadowed Cat’s mouth as she met Slade’s merry glance. “Folks like us have it in their blood, don’t we? What’s so surprising about finding someone like yourself?”
“You try so hard to hide what’s deep inside you, Cat Kincaid. I keep trying to figure out who closed you up like a book under lock and key. But I know you’re not like those rocks I hunt, without feeling.” He laughed, a deep, resonant laugh. “You’re like an elusive emerald: hard to find, dangerous to extract and fragile when being cut and polished into a gem.”
Cat felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “It’s the nature of my work that makes me quiet. You’re a geologist, you should know that.”
Slade knew, but he couldn’t resist teasing her. She responded so quickly to the slightest amount of goading. He really shouldn’t, because she was far from well and Dr. Scott had warned him about overtaxing Cat. “I know what you’re saying, Cat, but I like to see that green fire leap into your eyes. I’ll let you off the hook, though. Dr. Scott gave me a stern lecture about not picking on you…for now.”
Cat closed her eyes, resting comfortably despite the tightness of the rib wrap. “That’s big of you,” she parried. “I suppose I ought to count my lucky stars for the reprieve.”
“It’s going to be a short one,” he warned, shooting her a mischievous look.
Cat smiled. She knew he was baiting her again. He’s good for me, she suddenly realized. But if the big, arrogant Texan knew that, he’d gloat. “What kind of pilot are you?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I got my license at Disneyland. Does that impress you?”
Laughter bubbled up in her throat but she squelched it, trying to avoid the subsequent pain. “You’re so full of baloney. Come on, level with me.”
“And if I did, would it make any difference?”
“My level of comfort would increase markedly if I knew more of your nefarious credentials.” She suspected his credentials were far from nefarious, but enjoyed turning the tables on him for a change.
Slade appeared momentarily wounded. “Well, I have exactly 3,212 hours on my multiengine and I.F.R. ratings and have been qualified in twelve different aircraft during my short experience of flying.”
“My comfort level is increasing,” she admitted with a smile.
“Let’s see. What else? The pilot is thirty-five, six feet four inches tall, single, roguishly handsome, makes a decent living, doesn’t have any outstanding debts to speak of and currently is unattached.” He looked squarely at her. “How’s your comfort level now?”
“It just nosedived.”
“Oh.”
“I’d have felt better if you’d told me that you’ve flown around the world and are an excellent navigator.”
“Well, I’m that, too.”
“But for some reason, you thought your personal stats would be of more interest to me?”
“I don’t want you to worry that you’d be a third wheel at the Mourning Dove Ranch. You’re lucky–you’ll be the only woman there besides Pilar, my manager’s wife.”
“Somehow, I don’t quite know if that’s lucky or unlucky, Donovan.”
He grinned. “It’s definitely lucky, Ms. Kincaid. Wait and see.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Your choice. Which do you want it to be?”
“You’re impossible, Slade, certifiably impossible.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. But then, because of my impossible qualities, I did discover a couple of gem deposits over in Brazil.” His voice grew softer. “Ever heard of the El Camino Mine, Ms. Kincaid?”
Cat blinked. The El Camino Mine had been splashed across all the mining and geology magazines two years earlier. It was, according to most geologists, one of the finest tourmaline discoveries in the world. The quality of the precious stones was almost flawless, and had sent excitement through the gem community. One fine deposit of watermelon tourmaline had set everyone on their ears. The pink stones without fractures were as rare as emeralds without flaws. She saw Slade’s smile widen.
“Don’t tell me…wait…you discovered that deposit! That’s where I’ve heard your name before.” Her thumping heart underscored her awe. “I almost ended up working at that site,” Cat added in disbelief.
“I know. I was the one who tried to persuade the owners to hire you to sink the shafts.” Slade shrugged. “But contracts are contracts; you were still building a mine shaft in Austria at the time. Just think, we almost rubbed elbows two years ago.”
Cat was still shaking her head. “You discovered El Camino. I can’t believe it.”
“You’ll wound my poetic soul with barbs like that.”
“Somehow, I think very little penetrates that thick skin of yours.”
“Mmm, careful. The right woman has open access to my tender heart and loving soul.”
“You’re going to make me laugh whether I want to or not, Slade. Now stop it.”
He saw the faint smile at the corners of her lush mouth, an unspoiled mouth that needed taming. Cat wasn’t like most women, he suspected. But then, he didn’t expect her to be. She lived in a world of brawny miners, skilled in the reshaping of the earth, but resistant to women who chose to be more than bed partners and housekeepers. Slade knew by the set of Cat’s jaw that she had endured much to succeed in her career, and he admired her for that. Like the roses that grew wild behind his ranch house, Cat had not only flowered, she had blossomed in the harsh environment.
Slade cornered the car gently, turning into the flight-service area of the airport. He pointed toward the tarmac. “Say hello to my number-two gal, Maggie.”
Cat’s eyes widened in appreciation as she stared at the sleek, aerodynamically designed Cessna. Slade might appear laid back, but he took good care of his airplane. Its gleaming white surface looked recently waxed, and the graceful red stripe running from the tail to the nose was a dark ruby color. The name on the fuselage read: Donovan’s Services, Inc.
“Just what services do you perform?” she couldn’t resist asking.
Slade put the car in park and pulled the key from the ignition. His grin was infuriating. “What service would you like rendered?”
Cat clamped her mouth shut, fiercely aware of the innuendo in his voice.
“If Maggie’s number two, who’s number one?” she persisted.
Slade released his seat belt and opened his door. Still grinning, he replied, “I’m holding that position open for a woman who wants to share my name and put her shoes under my bed and has as much wanderlust in her soul as I do.”
“Chances are, like every other engineer and geologist I’ve met, you’ve got a woman in every port.”
Donovan winked. “Maybe,” was all he said, before he walked off to the flight office. Within ten minutes he had returned with his flight plan in hand. Then he helped Cat out of the car, remaining close beside her, their bodies almost touching.
“Maggie’s beautiful,” Cat told him admiringly.
“I knew you had a fine eye for beauty. Ready?”
Cat was as excited as if she were heading off to a new mining site in a new land. Slade’s smile told her he understood the tremor of excitement in her voice when she said, “Yes, I’m ready.”
Some of Cat’s initial exuberance turned to gratitude when she entered the spacious cabin of the aircraft. Slade had taken out three seats on the starboard side. In their place was a comfortable-looking cot, complete with a pillow, blankets and sheets. He motioned her toward it.
“Dr. Scott said that you wouldn’t be able to withstand a trip sitting up all the time. It’s going to take us ten hours to reach the ranch.”
She slid him a glance. “Do you spoil all your women this way? So much attention to detail?”
“Just for you, Cat. Just you.”
“One part of me believes you; the other doesn’t,” she said lightly. Her expression, however, was thoughtful.
“You wound my Texas spirit,” Slade complained. “Perhaps I’m your knight in shining armor carrying you off to my castle to live happily ever after. Would that be so bad?”
His wistfulness moved through her like a lover’s caress. My God, the man could weave a spell with his intimate talk–something Cat had not often found in men she’d met during her travels. She’d been handed most of their lines, but Slade was different. The feeling was good, however, so she didn’t really want to fight it.
“You have been my knight, Slade,” she admitted shyly. “You saved my life.”
He preened beneath her compliment, his careless grin spreading across his face. “Well, my lady, you have a choice: sit up in the copilot’s seat for a while and keep me company, or lie down and enjoy the scenery.”
“I’d like to sit up in the cockpit.”
“Ah, to be with me. Good choice.”
“No, I want to see how you handle this plane.” Mustn’t let him get too cocky, she reminded herself.
“Oh.” A shadow crossed his face.
Cat had never run into a man who showed such a range of feelings so easily. Most men stonewalled their emotions and responses, which was why she had found little incentive to establish an enduring relationship with any of them. With Slade, it was just the opposite. He was so obviously rattled by her reason for coming into the cockpit. Feeling more than a little guilty, Cat muttered, “I don’t feel like being relegated to the rear just yet. I’m hungry for some good conversation.”
Slade brightened and motioned her to move in front of him. “So, you’ll even settle for me, hmm?”
Choosing not to reply, Cat sat down and observed Slade’s attention to detail as he checked her seat belt before revving up the aircraft’s two engines. Once he put on the headset, with the slender mike close to his lips, Slade was in another world. But even then, he made Cat feel as though they were a team, putting a headset on her and showing her where the volume dial was located.
She was entranced by Slade’s hands: despite their size and roughness, there was a touching grace to their movements as they went through the preflight check. Heat unexpectedly moved through her. Slade was affecting her on levels she hadn’t anticipated.
Meanwhile, Slade was receiving clearance to take off, and launched into a nonstop commentary about how Maggie was just as alive as they were, in her own way. Cat noticed how his fingers wrapped gently around the twin throttles positioned on the console between them, and she wondered what it would be like to be similarly stroked by this man. A slight smile hovered around her mouth as a fantasy began to take shape.
Suddenly, they were lifting off. All else was forgotten as Slade shot her a joyous look. She smiled back. Maggie sliced through the blue skies of Maine, her nose pointed in a southwesterly direction, toward Texas. Slade adjusted the fuel mixture and the engines began their deep, throbbing growl. Then the vibration minimized and peace blanketed the cabin.
“Maggie’s crew will now ask their esteemed and illustrious passenger if she would like some coffee.”
“I don’t know about the esteemed and illustrious part–” she grinned “–but yes, the passenger would love a cup of coffee. Where is it? I can get it.”
Slade held up his hand. “No, don’t move.” He reached down and retrieved a battered aluminum thermos from behind his seat. Setting the plane on autopilot, he expertly poured a cup and handed it to her. Cat’s otherwise pale cheeks flamed as their fingertips met and touched. “You look more relaxed,” Slade commented. “Is it because we didn’t crash on takeoff or because you’re on another adventure?”
“You have the disturbing ability to read my mind,” she muttered, disconcerted.
Slade poured himself some coffee and recapped the thermos. Then, taking Maggie off autopilot, he wrapped his fingers lightly around the yoke. “Why does that bother you?”
“In my experience,” she said thoughtfully, “few men look farther than the wrapping.”
“You can’t blame any of us poor males for looking, after spending months in some foreign jungle or godforsaken desert. Especially when someone as exotic-looking as you comes along.”
Heat flowed up her neck. “I’m hardly exotic.” Cat held up her left hand, showing him the calluses on her palm. “That’s not exotic, Donovan. I’ve got hands like millions of women in Third World countries who wash and beat their family’s clothes on some rock in a stream. I’ve got more muscle than women who work out daily at a health spa.” She touched her hair. “I have to wear my hair so short that sometimes I’m mistaken for a man from the rear.” She grimaced. “I’m hardly exotic, as you put it.”
“So you think I’m handing you a line?”
Cat sighed, then admitted warily, “The way you talk, I almost believe you mean it.”
Slade gave her a smoldering look. “I do mean it. Someday,” he drawled in his thick Texan accent, “I’ll show you why you’re such an incredibly exotic woman.”
Cat avoided his gaze as molten weakness again flowed through her like light refracting through a diamond. “If there is an enigma here,” she said, laughing, “it’s you. Tell me about yourself. And none of your Texas tall tales.”
Slade laughed good-naturedly, then finished off his coffee and set the cup aside. “Now, there isn’t a Texan alive who can resist embellishing the truth a bit.”
“Try.”
Slade scanned the instrument panel. They had climbed to fifteen thousand feet, the skies were azure and the sunlight bright. He pulled a pair of aviator’s sunglasses from the pocket of his shirt and put them on. “I was born in Galveston, Texas, thirty-five years ago. My Irish father emigrated to the U.S. when he was a lad and he’s still a fisherman in Galveston. My mother–she’s the native-born Texan–owns a small shop at an exclusive mall, importing products from Ireland.”
“Sisters? Brothers?”
“Seven. I’m the fifth-oldest, with three brothers and three beautiful sisters.”
“Not exotic sisters?”
He tilted his head toward her and his voice lowered to an intimate tone. “No, you’re exotic. They aren’t.”
He had such a convincing line, Cat thought, secretly delighted with his opinion that she was exotic and, of course, keeping in mind that it was just that. “I see. How did you get into geology?”
“I decided I didn’t want to fish for a living like the rest of my family. I used to stand in the boat and watch the waves and wonder where they had come from. What far shore had they left? What ships did they encounter on their journey? Or what fish or mammals had graced them with their presence?” Slade shook his head. “No, my father told me when I was only this high–” he pointed to his knee “–that I was like my great-grandfather, who was the family adventurer. He could never stay in one place more than a few months at a time, either.”
“And you have that same restlessness?” Cat offered. She handed him her empty cup.
Slade shrugged. “Restlessness? No. Life to me is one constant, nonstop adventure. I always want to know what lies over the next hill or wander through the next valley to see what and who is living there.”
“Why the fascination with geology then? You could have been in the merchant marine instead, sailing the seas.”
Slade smiled at her question. “Rocks held a special fascination for me. As a kid, when I finished my fishing chores, I used to pick stones up from the beach and study them. I’d wonder why one was black and another striated with pink and white. I used to hold them in my hand, trying to communicate with them and asking them their names and where they had come from.”
Cat closed her eyes, resting against the seat. She could imagine a dark-haired boy crouched on the ground, holding in his palm a rock that stirred his curiosity, staring at it with intense fascination. Slade was like a child who had never closed off his ability to dream and spin stories. He was special, Cat admitted, a rare being who still had the ability to fantasize, to ignore the limitations in a rationally constructed society. “And did any of them talk to you?” she asked softly.
“Of course they did,” he said with a laugh. “That was what led me to ask my teachers about the life of a rock. Eventually they got tired of all my questions and ordered special books on rock hunting for me.”
“And are you still like that little boy, always asking questions?”
“I haven’t changed at all,” Slade confirmed with satisfaction. “Today, I drive mining engineers to the edge of distraction.”
“Where did you take your geology schooling?” she asked, curious to know more about his past.
“Is there any other place? Colorado.”
“Like me. I’m impressed.”
He feigned drama, his hand across his heart. “Finally! We have something in common.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”
“You made it seem that way, Ms. Kincaid.”
She shot him a wry glance. “Despite any possible ulterior motives, you did save my life. The least I could be is a decent guest.”
“Did I slip something into the coffee?”
Cat chortled. “Come on, I’m not always a stick-in-the-mud.”
“Did I accuse you of that? No way, sweetheart. You’re a risk taker because your career demands it. It makes you an interesting and exotic woman. One of a kind.”
“Oh, please! Get off the exotic kick, Slade.”
“I can’t help it if you’re not a regular hothouse flower. That’s your fault.”
“Let’s steer the conversation back to you. A four-year degree out of Colorado and then what?”
“Just kicked around the world prospecting like any other crazy rock hound.”
“What kind of rocks? Is your specialty igneous?” she asked, remembering his tourmaline discovery.
“Why? Do I remind you of an igneous type?”
She smiled. Geologists usually chose one of three of the different rock types to specialize in: igneous, metamorphic or sedimentary. “You know what they say about the igneous type: they run hot and molten.”
“So that’s how you see me, eh?”
“I see you being bored by sedimentary exploration. You’re strong and robust; you’re the sort who would challenge igneous rock and tackle it with ease. Although we both know sinking mine shafts into rock that doesn’t want to be penetrated isn’t easy.”
“Granted. Or should I say: granite.”
“Slade, I’m not even going to laugh because that’s a sick rock joke you’d use on a freshman in geology.”
“Nobody said my humor was always in top form.” He gave her his innocent little-boy look.
“Do people always forgive your transgressions?”
“More importantly, will you?”
“I don’t hold grudges.”
“But you’ll remember.”
Her voice grew soft. “I’ll remember.”
“Well, enough of me,” Slade countered. “How about yourself? I had the pleasure of meeting your entire family, so I got an idea of what you’re like.”
“I’m sure Dal and Rafe gave you an earful about me.”
“Don’t sound so wary.”
With a grimace, Cat pretended to pay more attention to the sky around them. “All right, you tell me what they said.”
“Let’s see, what adjectives should I use?”
“If you use exotic, I’m going to take everything you’re saying as one-hundred percent baloney, Donovan,” she warned him.
“Texans can be serious at times, too,” he reassured her, attempting a somber look.
“We’ll see. So what do you think of me, now that you’ve learned all from my family?”
“You’re a daredevil. Rafe told me how you two jumped your horses between two cliffs.”
“Did he also tell you that my horse stumbled on the other side and fell? I broke my arm and nose.”
Slade shook his head. He saw and felt Cat relaxing. She had been so long in isolation with men that she was closed up. He saw the softening of her lips, heard new life in her voice and saw more color stain her cheeks. If nothing else, during the next eight weeks of recuperation, Slade would remind Cat of her decidedly female side, gently drawing all of it to the surface. He knew he could do it; there was a chemistry between them.
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