Chapter Seventeen
Her fork suspended inches from her mouth, Mariah stilled as her sons transformed from dinner guests into a synchronized unit of desperate motion. The thunderous scrape of chair legs against the hardwood floor cut through the suffocating tension of the restaurant.
“Ryan? Ryan! Answer me!” Morgan’s roar into his cell phone echoed off the walls. Not waiting for a response that clearly wasn’t coming, he bolted for the door.
Quinn was a half-step behind, already thumbing his own phone. “Neil! Get Nora and come back to the livery now!” Quinn shouted into the receiver, his voice tight with an edge of panic Mariah had never heard. “The livery is collapsing. Ryan and Nicole are inside. We might need a nurse.”
“Damn,” her son’s voice came through the speaker loud and clear. “We’re on our way.”
“Hurry.” Quinn didn’t bother with polite goodbyes, he merely disconnected and kept moving.
A cold, paralyzing weight settled in Mariah’s chest. “My baby,” the words caught in Mariah’s throat. Pushing back from the table, her hands trembled so violently she had to grip the edge of the linen cloth to keep from stumbling.
A firm, warm hand settled on her forearm. Mariah looked down to see Eileen standing beside her. “Stay positive, Mariah,” her voice a grounding force amidst the rising chaos of the dining room. “We’re going to get them out. Every able bodied man is heading for that building right now.”
Pounding against the wooden boardwalk, the sound of their own footsteps was the only thing Mariah could hear as they raced down Main Street.
The dusty West Texas air, once warm and welcoming, now felt like a shroud.
They reached the livery just as a low, agonizing groan of splitting timber vibrated through the ground.
The sound made the fine hairs on the back of Mariah’s neck stand on end.
The scene at the rear of the building was a nightmare of white dust and splintered wood.
Like ants rushing to protect a disturbed mound, every man on the street seemed to be converging on the wreckage.
Tools clanked against the concrete. The heavy thud of hydraulic jacks hitting the dirt punctuated the frantic commands being shouted.
“Jacks here! Move those two-by-fours!” Sean’s voice commanded from the center of the debris.
Mariah moved toward the gaping hole where the modern stable had stood. A hand caught her other elbow, slowing her progress. She turned, looking into the concerned eyes of Anne. The woman she’d resented for so many years.
“Stay close to us, Mariah,” Anne spoke softly, her tone almost reverent. “The men need space to work.”
“My baby,” she repeated, leaning into the support of the two women she’d spent a lifetime pushing away. Together, the three women eased their way into the shadowed interior of the original livery, staying well back from the shifting pile of the collapsed loft.
“Any idea where they are?” Sean looked to Morgan, his face coated in a layer of white pulverized plaster.
Mariah’s eldest boy shook his head, his hands occupied with a massive timber he was using to shore up a sagging joist. “We can’t get any closer until this section is stabilized or we’ll all be buried under the roof.”
All be buried. The words stabbed at Mariah like an ice pick. Sharp, precise, and painful. The seconds dragged on, the minutes limped by. How could her baby breathe under that mountain of mess?
“All right!” Quinn shouted. “Roof’s as stable as it’s going to get. Carefully, let’s find them. And whatever you do – stay clear of the temporary supports!”
Working from the outside edge in, careful not to stand on anything other than the concrete floor, frantic hands tossed bits and chunks of wood and plaster across the way. Sean calling Ryan and Nicole’s name every other minute.
“I can’t.” Breaking free from the two women who had stood at her side, Mariah threw herself to the ground at the pile’s edge and began working to free her son.
It took a moment to see past the panic and notice that, just like before, on either side of her, the two women she’d resented all these years, worked at her side to free her son. What a crazy mess.
Gritty and thick, the dust coating Nicole’s tongue tasted like a century of pulverized plaster and stale cedar.
She tried to inhale, but a heavy, unyielding pressure across her ribs made the simple act of breathing an exhausting victory.
Blinking into the absolute darkness, memories returned in jagged, painful flashes.
The red circles on the pine. George’s condescending snort.
The final, thunderous roar of the ceiling raining down as the world turned white—or black.
A sharp, hot pulse radiated from her right arm, and her left knee felt as though it had been caught in a vice. She tried to shift, but the movement sent a white-hot spike of agony through her shoulder. “Ryan?”
The name came out as a raspy, weak thread. She waited, straining to hear over the pounding of her own heart. Silence. The darkness felt heavy, pressing against her eyes.
Reaching out with her good hand, her fingers didn’t find cold, splintered timber.
They met the rough, warm denim of a work shirt and the solid, damp skin of a neck.
The realization hit her harder than the fallen beams. The weight on her chest wasn’t the roof.
It was Ryan. He’d thrown himself over her, a human shield against the crushing weight of the loft.
“Ryan, wake up.”
She nudged his shoulder, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through her leg. He didn’t move. No groan, no shift of weight. A cold, hollow fear started to claw at her throat, making it even harder to catch a breath. “Please… don’t be dead.”
She rested her hand against the side of his face, finding a slow, steady pulse beneath the layer of grit.
Relief made her eyes sting. He was alive.
Stilling her own ragged breathing, she listened.
Muffled thuds vibrated through the concrete floor beneath them.
Distant voices, distorted and hollow as if carrying through a long tunnel, drifted into the tiny pocket of air.
The metallic hiss of a hydraulic jack echoed somewhere above her head, followed by the frantic scrape of wood being moved.
Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe the rescuers were just a trick of a mind deprived of oxygen.
The voices sounded so far away, like ghosts of the old livery finally reclaiming their space.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of Ryan’s shirt, anchoring herself to the only thing that mattered—the man she loved.
He had her back, just like he’d promised.
She couldn’t lose him now. Blinking again, her eyelids heavy, she dared to close her eyes, just a minute. Just one.
Sharp, rhythmic pounding vibrated through the concrete floor, echoing the dull throb behind Ryan’s eyes.
Every jagged inhale tasted of pulverized cedar and a century’s worth of dust. He tried to shift, but a crushing weight across his shoulder blades pinned him flat, the wood groaning at the slightest movement.
Coughing out a mouthful of grit, memories returned in a terrifying rush. The sonic crack of the main header. The blinding wall of white. Pushing through the pain, he realized he wasn’t alone in the dark. The soft, living warmth beneath his chest belonged to only one woman. “Nicole?”
Raspy and pained, his voice was swallowed by the heavy silence.
He didn’t feel the floorboards beneath him; he felt the steady, reassuring rise and fall of her breathing.
He’d made it. He’d reached her in time. Making a strained effort, he tried to shift his weight so as not to hurt her.
It was impossible to move any real distance.
Thankfully, he was able to lean most of his weight away from her. At least he hoped so.
A cold sweat broke across his forehead as he considered their situation.
The space was too small. The ceiling sat inches from his head, a heavy, jagged lid on a wooden coffin.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead resting against the crown of Nicole’s head.
The scent of her—coconut and sawdust—was the only thing keeping the walls from closing in completely.
Muffled shouts carried through the wreckage.
The distorted sounds of men’s voices and the unmistakable hiss of a hydraulic jack drifted into the tiny pocket of air.
They were close. His brothers were out there, fighting through the mess George had left behind.
And then a thought. The phone. If he could reach the phone, he could help guide his family.
Lying a few feet away, the blue light of the screen was a tiny beacon in the gloom, he tried to stretch for it, but the weight on his back held him fast. He tightened his hold on Nicole, his arms forming a protective cage.
He didn’t care about the loft or the livery or the fury currently boiling in his blood toward George.
He only cared about the woman in his arms. “I love you.” He whispered the words into the dark, a silent vow meant only for her.
She didn’t respond, her body limp and heavy, but the steady thrum of her heart against his ribs was all the anchor he needed.
He wouldn’t let the dark win. All that mattered was right here.
Nicole. If they could get out from under this mess, all would be well. It had to be.
“Everyone, stop.” Sean waved an arm at the people who had been doing their best to free Ryan and Nicole. “We’re close. I don’t want any mistakes.”
Mariah gripped the hands of the women on either side of her.
Eileen’s palm was a solid, grounding weight on her left, while Anne’s fingers provided a tight, trembling anchor on her right.
Neither woman had pulled away for even a moment, the shared terror acting as a bridge across decades of silence.
A faint, bluish glow flickered deep within the wreckage, barely visible behind a splintered sheet of drywall.
“There.” Mariah breathed the word like a secret. “I see light.”
“Must be the phone,” another voice muttered.
One final beam stood between the rescuers and her son.
Together, his brothers carefully balanced the weight, lifting it up and away from the mound beneath.
Scrambling closer, Sean cleared more of the scattered mess.
“Eureka. I see blue jeans.” The announcement triggered a chorus of relieved shouts from everyone in the room.
“Nobody move them!” Sprinting toward the opening with a small dark bag in hand, Nora pushed through the crowd of brothers, her voice cutting through the cheers with professional authority. “I need to make sure there are no serious injuries before we transport.”
Transport. Hospital. The two women at Mariah’s side squeezed her hands, reminding her once again that despite her best efforts all these years, she wasn’t alone.
Crawling over the last mound of plaster and insulation, Nora stilled. She peered into the small, dark pocket of space revealed by the overhead work lights that had been brought in, then threw her head back. A sudden burst of laughter escaped, a sound so unexpected it silenced the entire room.
Scrambling closer, Mariah reached out and grabbed her daughter-in-law’s hand. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Pointing into the hole, Nora bit back another laugh.
Following the direction of Nora’s finger, Mariah leaned forward, her eyes adjusting to the dimness below—then she saw it.
Wrapped in a tight embrace, Ryan and Nicole were kissing like a couple of high schoolers under the bleachers.
And just like those kids caught after the game, the commotion of hoots and hollers had the lovebirds pulling apart.
Looking up, Ryan managed a weak smile. A smattering of white dust and a single streak of blood along his temple marked his face, but his eyes were clear and focused on the woman in his arms. “Hey. It was either panic, or kiss the girl.” A sly grin took over his face, his arms still tightly around Nicole. “My mama didn’t raise no dummy.”
No, Mariah leaned back. No she had not.