Page 87 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

She shook her head. “That won’t save the people you send down there. The cave collapsed after a couple of sticks of dynamite went off. That’s all it took. You go down there with the constant vibration of heavy equipment, and you’ll spend most of your time recovering bodies from the cave-ins that follow.”

“That’s not what our engineers are telling us.”

“They’ve never been down there.”

He leaned forward. “Let us send a team down to investigate. We’ll do ground penetrating radar to check for voids, confirm that the cave completely collapsed or not.”

“And make a mess of my backyard?” She shook her head. “In order to get back there with anything bigger than a small tractor you’ll need to go through the orchard.”

“It can be replanted.”

“Some of those apple trees are Heritage apples. Not commonly found any more.”

“They can be moved, Dr. Westward.”

She stared at him, at his polite smile and cold gaze. “It’s not worth it.”

“That is what the company needs to determine.”

“Not on my land you’re not.”

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

“Before you start threatening me with legal action or whatever, I don’t just own the surface rights. I own the mineral rights too.” She gave him a chilly smile. “My great-great-grandparents bought the property under the homesteader’s act.”

Someone knocked on the front door.

Perfect timing.

“I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Ludlow.”

He rose and walked to her door. Before he turned the knob to open it, he looked at her. “Expect me to come back.”

“You’d be surprised how many men say that to me, then never show up again. Bye.”

He grunted, opened the door, and walked out.

A woman holding a cell phone in front of her stepped back, waited for Ludlow to pass, then rushed up to the door. “Dr. Westward, did you see any gold in the mine? Are you going to sell your property? Are you worried you’ll be charged with the murder of Virgil Hackey?”

Abby frowned and resisted the urge to clean out her ears. She’d never heard anyone talk that fast before. “No, no, and no.” She shut the door in the reporter’s face before the woman could ask another handful of questions.

She went back to her kitchen and picked up her cell phone. A call to the sheriff’s office was overdue.

She met with the sheriff, who rolled his eyes at the notion she might be charged with murder. He did warn her that Virgil’s closest relatives, a couple of nephews who were just as ornery as he’d been, were making noises about suing her for the death of their uncle.

“Did they know what he was going to do before he did it?” she asked.

Sheriff Johnston laughed. “Now that is a good question. If they did, they’d be accessories to the kidnapping and attempted murder of three people.” His grin was mean. “I can’t wait to ask them.”

She went home, chased another group of teenagers out of her backyard, then went inside to eat all of her apple cobbler herself.

Her parents came over the next morning to help clean up the yard. So many people tramping across her grass had left some divots in her lawn, garbage strewn about, and apples everywhere.

It took a couple of hours, but the yard was looking more like its old self when her father stopped next to her to gaze at the shed that had started all the chaos. “Maybe you should sell.”

She looked at him, startled. “Why?”

“This is the only plot left from the original homestead. My papa sold the rest after the mine collapse. A couple of my great uncles died in it, you know, and papa didn’t want anything to do with that place after that.”

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