Jess’s steady breathing in between her father’s racket proved harder to hear, but he caught pinches of it as he pushed up to a crouch.
He stilled, waiting for a reaction from the woman sleeping on the narrow bed beside where he lay on the floor. When her breathing remained steady, he grabbed his boots, then stood, not daring to breathe. He tiptoed in his stockinged feet, carrying his boots as he slipped around the curtain and across the open stone floor to the exit. The sparse furnishings in this chamber made it simple to keep from running into anything.
As he eased past the exterior door curtain, a chilly wind swept over him, carrying the scent of earth and pine needles. He slipped his boots on, then paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. Jess had said the bunkhouse was located on the east side. It would be a shorter distance to go right, but it might be better to go left and circle around the base the way she’d taken him the other times. With a deep breath, Gil traced their steps from earlier, hugging the base of the mountain as he crept.
The rough stone scraped against his shoulder when he passed the western entrance, concealed by the cluster of cedars.A few minutes later, he reached the southern opening where they'd entered earlier that day, between the two boulders. He slid a look to his right, toward the woods she’d led him into so they could talk.
In the scant moonlight, nothing moved.
He picked his way slower now, since he didn’t know the terrain. The grass grew higher here, covering low boulders. In the shadows from the quarter moon, it became hard to tell the difference between soft underbrush and unforgiving stone.
More than once, he misjudged a shadow. One time in particular, he stepped over what looked like a rock, and his footing gave way into the soft grass. He stumbled, scrambling with his other foot for purchase. His toe struck hard stone, jabbing pain through his leg.
He bit back a grunt. As he regained his footing, a whisper cut through the night air, so faint he might have imagined it.
"Gil."
He froze, his heart hammering.Hadhe imagined the sound? It might have only been the rustle of grass.
Then a shadow moved by the rocky cliffside, and a figure separated from the stone.
He made out the familiar shape of Sampson in the darkness. Gil’s breath rushed out as relief sagged his body.
What was his brother doing out here?
Sampson motioned for him to follow, then turned and walked away from the mountain.
Gil trailed him, keeping his steps light. They wound through clumps of trees and around low boulders, keeping the mountain's ominous presence at their backs.
Finally, Sampson stepped behind a large boulder, tall enough to hide both of them, even when standing. When he turned to face Gil, moonlight reflected in his eyes.
Gil soaked in the sight of him, but spoke quickly, keeping his voice to a whisper. "How are you?" Sampson had bulked more through his shoulders—heaving a pickaxe everyday would do that to a body, though he’d been muscled enough to start with.
His brother shrugged, but his features remained guarded. "Fine."
That hardly seemed possible after his time here, but they had no time to argue. Not tonight.
"We don't have long," Sampson said. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, obviously." His heart pounded from the tension of trying not to be discovered. "I've come to get you out of here."
Sampson crossed his arms and tilted his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You had to get married to do that?"
An image of Jess flashed through his mind, with her startling beauty—the way he first saw her on the side of the mountain. Despite everything, he couldn’t help grinning. "The opportunity fell into my lap."
As quickly as the smile came, the reminder of Jess’s father swept away every happy thought. "I promised Jess I would get her out too. But I need to know some things first." Best to start with the most important question. "What does Mick McPharland do that keeps everyone here living in terror?"
Sampson’s face hardened into a grim line, and he spat onto the ground. "He's a cruel man. Jedidiah’s no better." He gazed back where they'd come from, but the boulder obscured their view.
When Sampson turned to him again, his focus held steady. "I watched Jedidiah shoot a man dead in the mine the day I got here. The poor fellow asked a question. I never heard exactly what he’d wanted to know."
A shudder ran through Gil at the picture formed. The last thing he wanted was to imagine his little brother witnessing such a horrible act.
“That wasn’t the only time,” Sampson said. “I've heard rumors about them killing family members of men who dared to run."
No.
Was that why Sampson stayed? Gil had to get him out. Surely all the Coulters together could protect their family from the reaches of Mick McPharland and Jedidiah.
