Chapter 16
This couldn’t be happening.
And of course, Harley’s words from before, long ago, and too recently, echoed back at her. “I’m going to lose you all again.”
But maybe, this was exactly how it felt to have someone you love run into danger—
And never come back.
So, yeah, Harley’s chest had tightened the longer they looked for Jericho, as the sun slid over the day and behind the mountains.
As the chill of the approaching sunset slithered in and swallowed hope.
Harley paced the great room of the Eagle’s Nest, staring out into the bruised sky—numb, cold, unable to sit.
Unable to stand.
Behind her, the door opened, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Malachi enter, stamp his feet, and pull off his winter coat.
“Hudson is still out there digging, but they say it’s getting too late to set another charge,” he said. “They don’t want to dig in the dark.”
“And the snowpack is too unstable.” Sully’s voice carried as he followed his brother in from the cold, cheeks reddened, his thin beard holding snow. “Marla says we need to wait for the freeze overnight, or we could bring down the rest of the slope.”
Perfect. And then they’d have to wait until spring before . . .
This couldn’t be happening.
The first charge had cleared much of the debris field—not that it mattered. They’d found his walkie with his GPS.
But not Jericho.
After two hours searching, anyone under all that snow would be long dead.
They’d shot off another charge then, and spent two more hours clearing it.
The team remained on the hill, the search turning to a recovery.
Winter had pulled her away, to the house to warm up.
No use. She’d probably never be warm again.
She turned back to the window now, her body shivering, and watched the sun fall behind the craggy mountain, pitching the world into darkness.
Please, God. She’d surrender anything—anything—to have Jericho be alive, to have him show up and boss her around, and protect her.
“What if he made it into the mine?” Kennedy asked from where she sat on the leather sofa.
Sully and Malachi said nothing, their silence answer enough.
Except . . . maybe . . . “There has to be another way in.” Harley fought to keep her voice steady. “The mine has other entrances—”
“All sealed decades ago.” Sully walked over and sat beside his wife, pulled her into his arms. “Dad had them closed off after he bought the lodge. The mine is a labyrinth of tunnels and dead ends. You go in and get turned around, you don’t come back out.”
She heard him, but she couldn’t get past the strange thump of hope in her chest. Please . . . give me a heart that trusts you.
“What about—”
A bark. Faint but distinct.
She held up her hand. “Did you hear that?”
Sully frowned. “Hear what?”
Another bark. Closer.
“It’s coming from below.”
“The boiler room,” Sully said. He got up and headed for the door to the basement.
Harley followed.
The room had been recently redone, given the clean cement floor, the humming new boiler.
No Bernedoodle, and yet barking sounded from behind . . . the walls?
“It’s coming from the mine door,” Malachi said. He’d followed her down too.
The mine door?
Sully climbed behind the behemoth boiler, and Harley spotted a boarded-up metal door.
More scratching and her heart found her throat. “Can you get it open?”
Malachi handed Sully a crowbar sitting nearby. He worked it into the board, pried it off, then pulled at the latch.
It groaned open.
Orlando burst out and launched himself at Harley. Dirt and grime embedded his fur. He whined, licking her chin.
“Hey, boy.” She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the smell of wet dog, and then met Sully’s eyes.
“Jericho’s alive. He has to be,” she said, standing up.
Deep breaths, but she got a nod from Sully. “Yeah.”
“The original mine went all the way under the lodge,” Malachi said.
She wasn’t going to let hope die now. “Get me a flashlight.”
Sully turned to Malachi, who was ascending the stairs. “Does Hudson have the original mine blueprints?”
“I’ll look.”
Orlando barked again and ran to the mine door.
She looked at the dog, who sat, wagging his tail, and her heart just simply said . . . trust.
“Here.” Malachi reappeared with flashlights. “Kennedy is searching the office for a map.”
Sully took a flashlight, handed another to Harley. “We should wait for backup. The tunnels could be unstable, and it’s a labyrinth in there.”
“No time.” She turned on the light. “How long has it been?”
“Harley.” Sully’s voice carried warning. “You can’t go down there alone.”
“Watch me.”
“At least wait for the blueprints,” Sully said.
But Orlando had already gotten up, his bell jangling with his coiled excitement.
And each second felt like another breath Jericho didn’t have.
“I lost him once because I was afraid and stubborn.” She peered into the darkness, flashing the light around. “I’m not losing him again.”
“Five minutes!” Sully said. “Give us five minutes to get a team—”
She turned to Orlando. “Find.”
The dog took off into the darkness.
Here went everything.
Her light cut through decades of dust and silt, the dog’s tags jingling in the dark.
“I’m coming, JB,” she whispered, more prayer than promise. “Just hold on.”
Behind her, Sully had shouted her name again, but ahead, Orlando’s bark bounced off stone walls.
Please, please let him be alive.
The air grew colder with each step, heavy with the scent of wet stone and decay, the earthen weight of years of mining. Water dripped somewhere ahead, a steady plink-plink that echoed off walls she couldn’t see.
Orlando’s bell jingled, the only reliable sound besides her ragged breathing and the scuff of her boots on rock. The tunnel narrowed, forcing her to duck under rotting support beams, their ancient timber groaning overhead.
“Jericho!”
Her voice died in the grasp of darkness, swallowed. She stopped to listen but heard just the tingle of Orlando’s bell and the thunder of her own heart.
“Lead me to the rock that is higher than I . . .” The psalm fragment floated through her mind, and what else could she do but cling to it?
She reached a fork in the tunnel, a larger cavern from which more tunnels branched. Her flashlight found Orlando, wagging his tail as if to say, Hurry up. Then he took off into the gloom of one of the tunnels.
Her light caught something pale. A wooden sign, its letters barely legible through decades of grime: Sterling Mine—Level 2.
A person could get lost down here for eternity, just wandering.
“Jericho?” Her voice bounced off the walls.
Orlando barked, the sound sharp and urgent. He disappeared around a bend.
“Wait!”
She rushed forward, nearly stumbling over fallen rocks. The tunnel opened into another chamber, this one smaller.
Her light swept the space, spotted more entrances.
No scent dog.
“Orlando!”
Barking sounded, and she followed it into a corridor. Her light pressed against the darkness.
Still, no dog.
Shoot. “Jericho!”
Barking, again, this time louder.
She took off, faster now, and spotted Orlando running at her, tail wagging.
Then he turned and—
“Harley?”
Jericho appeared like an apparition in the night, her light casting over his green parka, grime on his face, his hand up to ward off the beam.
“Jericho!”
He put down his hand as she pointed the beam away, just enough to see the scrape on his chin, his eyes hard, his shoulders rising and falling as if in shock.
She dropped the light and launched at him.
He caught her up as she put her arms around him. “I thought you were dead. Oh!” She buried her face in his jacket, a shudder releasing.
And then shoot, she couldn’t help the hiccup, the tears. “I thought—”
“Shh,” he whispered. “Shh, I’m okay. It’s okay—”
But she grabbed his jacket, leaned back, looked up at him in the glow that still illuminated the tunnel, her breath still catching.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I do impulsive things and—”
“Stop. I know. It’s okay.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I’m the one who was impulsive. And so stupidly proud. You were right. I thought I had to protect everyone, solve everything . . . But maybe that’s not my job.”
“No, JB—that’s not—I mean—”
“Shh. Listen. I know you’re a PI. I get that—”
“No, I get it.” She touched his face, her body still trembling, the tears hot on her face. “I’ll be more—”
And then he kissed her. Just took her face in his hands, cradling it, and silenced her with his mouth on hers. Maybe not as gently as it might be under a starlit, aurora borealis–strewn night, but still, in the dim artificial glow, he kissed her like he knew her. And wanted her.
And, yes, loved her.
And she kissed him right back. Her cold lips turned molten under his, his kiss deepening, years of what-ifs and should-haves and never-agains pouring out of his touch.
Jericho.
He tasted of hope and belonging and safety and . . . home.
Because this—this was why she’d returned to Copper Mountain.
And this was why she’d stay.
“Bro? That you?”
Sully’s voice, behind them. A beam of light cast over them, illuminating them.
Jericho smiled against her mouth, his breath warm on her cheek. “My brothers have terrible timing,” he whispered to her. Then he lifted his head and called out, “No, it’s the abominable snowman. Of course, it’s me.”
Then he smiled down at her again, his voice heartbreakingly soft. “Thank you for finding me.”
“That’s all Orlando. He came to the lodge.”
Jericho looked down, where the Bernedoodle wagged his tail. “Good dog.”
“He needs his toy,” she said, tugging it out of Jericho’s pocket. Then she tossed it to Orlando, who caught it in his mouth.
Sully came up, gave Jericho a once-over. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Cold.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
Sully nodded. “Then let’s go.” He turned his flashlight into the darkness. Orlando darted ahead, his toy caught in his mouth.
“What happened?” Harley asked, slipping her hand into Jericho’s.
“Mars and his cousin Sloan. I caught them loading up buckets of spackle into their truck—stored in this mine. They spotted me.”