Page 31 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

“Running or yoga, and yes, yoga counts as a sport,” she says with a small smile tipping the corner of her mouth. “You?”

“Golf, riding, and baseball. Callum and I played baseball in high school. Back then we thought we’d go pro. I thought I’d be the next Wade Boggs and Callum was convinced he was the future Mike Piazza, but then we went to college and grew up. We still play on a league for fun that starts up mid-July and goes until the end of September.” She smiles, reaching over and squeezing my hand. I keep going. “Birthday?”

“March 12. You?” she asks, motioning toward me.

“July 7,” I say with a cheesy grin.

Before I can ask another question, she exclaims, “Oh my goldilocks. It’s almost your birthday! How old will you be?”

Grinning, I reply, “I’ll be thirty this year. How about you? What birthday did you celebrate this spring?”

“I turned twenty-eight,” she responds, a slight blush tinging her cheeks. Tucking a small lock of hair behind her ear, she asks, “Do you have anything planned this year?”

“I always go over to my parents’ place for brunch. My mom likes to cook and bake enough for an entire army. Um, where do your parents live?”

A shadow covers her beautiful features, and she looks down into her lap. I desperately want to take the question back. With glassy eyes, she says, “My mom’s name was Fiona and my dad’s name was Shane. They owned an outdoor adventure company and passed away in a white-water rafting accident. They were leading the tour when it happened.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, I place my hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry. I think I remember hearing about the accident on the news. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a parent, let alone both. Losing my grandfather was hard enough. Do you have any other siblings?”

She shakes her head. “Just Kieran. Leo and Paisley feel like siblings most of the time, though.” Looking around, her eyes land on my wall of memorabilia. “Are those trophies?”

Sheepishly, I glance her way to see her grinning at me with a broad smile, her watery eyes slowly drying. “Yeah. I held my own on the golf course, but I didn’t like all the attention on me, so I preferred baseball.”

“What’s the wooden plaque?” she asks, pointing to the shelf above the trophies.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I reply, “Callum took woodworking in high school and was actually extremely good. He made everyone a plaque senior year with our position, number, and nickname.”

Biting her lower lip, she says, “I have to know. What was your nickname?”

Groaning, I press my palm into my forehead and admit, “Lach-ness Monster.”

She sucks in her lower lip to keep from laughing, but the mirth sparkling in her eyes is unmistakable.

Clearing my throat and thoughts, I decide it’s time to change the topic. “Are we ready to talk about what you found?”

Nodding and taking a few calming breaths, she leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes. With a ghost of a smile, she says, “It was amazing, Lachlan. When I was standing down on the ledge, there was an old ladder going up through the shrubs toward the top of the slope. It is badly frayed, and the undergrowth is overgrown. I think at one point there were wooden slats, but over time, they've rotted and disintegrated. I used the flashlight on my phone to get a good look at what was hidden beneath the overhang. There were these old, square-cut wooden posts. It creates the frame at the entrance. As I peeked inside, I could see the ground had been crudely cut into. This wasn’t a professional mining operation. There's no way. The wood looked like railroad ties, and there even appeared to be creosote pitch on them, which hopefully helped preserve their integrity. The part I found most exciting was that my light reflected off something in there. In numerous places where my light went, I saw the sparkle of something. It didn’t look like gold. It looked like some kind of gemstone. I tried to google the types of mines in Montana, but my reception wasn’t good enough to load any pages. I don't think it was sapphire. Do you have any idea what it could be?”

Smiling, I look at her. “So here's what I know. This land belonged to my grandfather on my mother’s side. He died when I was a teenager. Ingrid and I had already planned out the concept for this ranch, so in the will, he left this property to us with the stipulation that we followed our dreams and started an equinetherapy ranch. It sat vacant while Ingrid and I went to college. Once we graduated, we got straight to work. My guess is the mine belonged to him or his father. Two generations owned and worked this land before him, so depending on how old the mine is, I guess that would determine whose mine it was. If it had creosote, maybe that will help narrow it down.”

I pull out my phone and quickly pull up an internet search. Grinning, I angle the phone toward her.

“It says creosote was used to preserve railroad ties starting around 1900. If it was pitch you found, then it looks like it is from the last century,” I say confidently and put my phone down.

“What do we do?” she asks. “Should we call the Montana Department of Environmental Quality to announce we found an abandoned mine? Or do we send them an email?”

My gaze drifts toward the far wall, where a photo sits of Ingrid, Gramps, and me all sitting on a fence overlooking the ranch.

I smile and shake my head. “I would like to see it first before we call it in.”

She nods and follows my gaze. “Is that your grandfather?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. He, my sister Ingrid, and I are on the fence behind the house looking out over the property. This house used to be his, and off to the right is a second house, which his brother’s family lived in until about fifteen years ago. Ingrid lives there now.”

She quietly says, “The home is beautiful, but that view with the mountains in the background is pretty spectacular. Do you have any idea what kind of mineral might be in that mine?”

I watch as she adjusts her leg and reaches forward to move the ice packs. I press the heel of my hand against my jaw and rub my stubble.

Contemplating the different mines in the area, I hesitantly reply, “Well, western Montana has sapphire, garnet, and agate, but you said it didn’t look like sapphire. Did it look red like garnet or yellow like agate?”

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