Gil’s gasp behind her showed he must not have seen it before now.
She didn’t dare speak to him—even a whisper might make too much noise, and this was the passage her father used all the time—but the tunnel was so dark that she needed to lead Gil so he didn’t stumble. She reached for his hand, her fingers finding his arm and slipping down to catch hold around his palm.
She wouldn’t be lighting a lantern, no matter what.
The warm strength of Gil’s hand around hers settled her nerves as they moved deeper into the mountain. He’d learned to walk much quieter through the darkness than he had that first time she led him to the large cavern to look down at his brother. Had that only been two days ago? It felt like he’d been here for weeks.
She kept her senses straining for any sign of approaching men. The brush of leather against rock or the faint glow of a lantern ahead. They passed both storage rooms and the turn-off to the caverns, and then the tunnel opened into the bunkhouse, a long low room lined with cots. She halted to let Gil see the space.
His gaze swept over the scattered belongings and rumpled bedding. She should release his hand. With daylight coming through the open entrance, she didn’t need to guide him any longer. But she couldn’t bring herself to let him go.
But he pulled away, moving toward one of the cots in the center. He seemed caught in his thoughts as he reached out to touch a shirt draped over the end. "This is Sampson's." His voice came quietly. "One of his favorites.”
He lifted the shirt, staring at it for a long moment. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, then he set the garment back down.
She moved to his side and studied the worn yellow cloth. She could almost imagine Sampson wearing it while he worked in the hot sun on a ranch. What kind of life had he known before coming here? Before being drawn into her father's dark world?
She glanced up at Gil, and a knot formed in her throat as emotions played over his face. How hard this must be for him, to be so close to his brother and yet unable to convince him to leave this dangerous place.
After a minute, Gil turned back to her, a shadow in his eyes. "Wish I'd brought a note to leave for him. Something to persuade him to go with us."
If only she had the right words to comfort Gil. But what could she say? That Sampson would surely come to his senses? She had no way of knowing if that were true. Her father held a powerful sway over the men who worked for him, either through fear, manipulation, or a twisted sense of loyalty. Breaking free of that grip was no easy feat.
He swallowed again, determination slipping into his gaze despite the weariness there. "I'll find a way to talk to him again. To make him see reason." He glanced around the dim bunkhouse. "Might have to come back here after dark, when everyone's asleep."
Her gut twisted at the thought of him sneaking around at night again. He might meet one of the guards next time.
Urgency pressed in her chest. "We should head back." No sense in taking extra chances now.
Gil turned around the way they’d come.
When they reached the dark tunnel, she paused to take his hand. He placed it solidly in hers, wrapping his strength around her. His eyes had lost their sadness, restoring the glimmer ofwarmth. How did he shake off his burdens so easily? Was he that good at pretending?
Yet it didn’t feel like pretending. The way he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, the way he held her gaze so easily, the smile creases so ready at the corners of his eyes…it felt like he truly had faith that this would all work out.
Lord, I want that too.
She led him through the dark tunnel.
One thing at a time. For now, she needed to gather her sewing and take Gil out to the waterfall. An hour of sitting beside the peaceful flow always eased her spirit.
CHAPTER 11
Gil strode beside Jess as they trekked through the woods. Either she was slowing down, or he’d learned to match her quick, long strides, for he could finally keep up with her. As they maneuvered the pine-needle-covered path, he drank in as much of this wilderness beauty as he could.
The sun shone bright, though it’s warmth was weak since they were moving into winter. Around them, pines so abundant and tall, reaching up to the heavens as if in constant prayer. Rocks and fallen trees lay scattered between the upright trunks, and in the distance, the rocky cliff of the next mountain over showed through the woods.
A rumble of water grew louder as they reached a clearing beside the creek. The waterfall wasn’t tall, about half his height, falling to a pool that flowed into a stream. This was a soothing place, the peace of it weaving through him and easing the tension in his shoulders.
Jess dropped into a seated position on the mossy ground, her back against a boulder. The rock was just wide enough for him to lean against if he sat close to her. Perfect.
He settled, his shoulder brushing hers. Feeling her warmth through his sleeve and breathing in the slight scent of lavenderthat always surrounded her made it hard to think about anything else.
She pulled out the blue cloth she’d brought and extracted a needle from the material.
He should work on the task he’d brought too.
He pulled out the small notebook and pencil he'd carried with him from home. He’d used them to write names and details in his search for Sampson, but now that he’d found his brother, he’d sketch the tunnels.
