Page 100 of The Promise
She smiled up at him, her eyes a little sad. "I think you have it backwards, Patrick." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "It's me who should be thanking you."
He stood for a moment lost in the soft warmth of her eyes. Then, with a deep breath, he turned to go. No sense thinking of things that couldn't be. He'd covered that territory last night, and nothing had changed. Besides he had a killer to find.
Patrick walked along the boardwalk,thinking about Amos Striker. It was still hard to believe that Striker had killed his mother and Zach. There was just something about the story that didn't ring true. Oh, Striker was capable of killing people all right. The last few days had more than proven that.
But something just didn't feel right. For one thing it was a hell of a coincidence that Striker would come across Zach and his mother and the silver by chance. It wasn't impossible, certainly, but it still seemed highly unlikely. The Promise was isolated. High up in the mountains above Clune.
They'd been real careful not to ever let on where the exact location was. His father hadn't wanted anyone to be able to find it. They'd even filed their claim over in Del Norte, changing details here and there, so that anyone who did manage to find the papers, wouldn't actually be able to find the mine.
It had been Owen's idea, but Duncan had liked the plan, too. Most likely his father thought the whole thing a grand adventure. It hadn't been wealth that called to his father, it had been excitement. Duncan Macpherson liked living on the edge.
Patrick frowned, turning his thoughts back to Striker. The sheriff wasn't a bright man, just a devious one, and the elaborate scenario they'd come up with last night, required something more than devious. So either they were dead wrong about Rose and Zach and the silver, or there was someone else involved. Someone who was calling the shots, and using Amos Striker as muscle.
Or a fall guy.
Patrick pushed through the swinging doors of the Irish Rose, the cacophony of voices, laughter and tinny piano assaultinghis ears. Patrons in various stages of inebriation lined the big mahogany bar and clustered at the tables scattered around the room. Sam was behind the bar, busy with the raucous miners. He raised an arm to Patrick in salute, but his attention was quickly pulled back to patrons demanding more liquor.
Patrick headed for the back and Owen's office, his mind still puzzling on the problem of Amos Striker. If someone else was behind everything that happened, it had to be someone they knew. Someone who had something to gain by stealing the silver.
But who the hell could it be?
"Loralee."Ginny burst through the doctor's door, her dark eyes filled with relief. "Oh, honey, I thought… well there's been all kinds of talk. And when you just up and disappeared…"
Loralee hugged the older woman, fighting to keep from bursting into tears. "I've been at Clune with Patrick." She pulled away. "Amos Striker tried to kill me."
"You all right?" The older woman eyed her worriedly.
"I'm fine. It's Pete that's in trouble. Amos Striker shot him. He followed us to Clune and pinned us in the house. If it hadn't of been for Michael we'd be dead for sure."
"Michael's alive?"
"He is, and he brought…" she broke off, not knowing exactly how to explain Cara.
"Don't matter, you can tell me later. Where's Patrick?" Ginny asked, her dark eyes intense.
Loralee frowned. "He's gone to find Owen. To tell him what's happened."
Ginny grabbed her by the shoulders. "You got to find him now. Before he finds Owen."
"Why? I don't understand." She met the older woman's gaze, and something in her eyes made Loralee shiver.
"Because Owen Prescott's telling folks that Patrick is the one who killed Corabeth. He's the one that sent Amos Striker out to Clune."
28
Cara pulled her horse to a stop, her eyes glued to the steep rise of red-brown rock. It was almost as if a giant hand had thrust it up, splintering the earth, shattering its symmetry. The face of the cliff was sheer and inaccessible, ascending a thousand feet straight into the air.
She sucked in a breath as her eyes found what she was seeking. There, jutting from the craggy stone, about a hundred feet down from the upper rim, a dark blotch against sunlit rock.
The Promise.
In her time, it had been nothing more than a gaping hole surrounded by fallen timbers, easily mistaken for shadow. But now, in this time, it was whole, the shoring intact, marking the entrance to what had recently been a working mine. It filled her with a sense of awe. A sobering symbol of man's desire to conquer nature.
Heavy cables bowed away from rocky walls, extending through the bright spring air, dropping gracefully down to the narrow canyon floor. At the bottom of the gorge, straddling the rushing waters of Shallow Creek was another building, its rough log walls extending into the opposite slope of mountain. It wasbuilt on wooden scaffolding with two chutes jutting out of one side. A rutted path ran underneath the structure, paralleling the stream.
The cables disappeared inside an opening in one side of the building. She frowned, then suddenly smiled as she realized what she was seeing. What appeared to be four cables was actually two. One set going in and the other going out. She was looking at some kind of tram station.
"Amazing isn't it?" Michael was staring up at the mine, his hands resting on his saddle horn. "I never get tired of seeing it."
