Heart of Texas Volume One (29 page)

Richard helped her into the truck, which Ellie realized was Grady's. His spirits remained high as he drove out of town, down the two-lane highway.

Suddenly he veered off the road into a rocky meadow with cedar shrubs and knee-high weeds.

“So this is the way?”

“No,” he said. “I just want you to think it is.” The pickup pitched sharply right, one of the front tires slamming against a rock. Ellie was shoved into the door, hitting her shoulder hard. She yelped in pain.

“Sorry,” Richard said, slowing the vehicle. “You okay?”

“Fine. What about the truck?” She assumed he was stopping to survey any damage to the wheels, but she was wrong.

He leaned toward her and opened the glove compartment, removing a black handkerchief.

“What's that?” she asked.

“A blindfold.”

“A what?” she exploded.

“Blindfold,” he repeated calmly. “I thought about this carefully and it's the only way I'll agree to take you to Bitter End.”

“You're joking, right?”

“I'm taking you against my better judgment. If Grady ever found out, he'd have my hide.”

“Glen wasn't too pleased about it, either.”

“You told him?” Richard's eyes flared with anger.

“Yes, we…we exchanged a few words and left it at that.”

“Tell him you changed your mind.”

Ellie stared at Richard in shock. “You want me to lie?”

“Well, not lie…exactly. Just let him assume you followed his advice. Understand?”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.”

“Whatever. Just do it.” He held up the blindfold.

“I'm not wearing that.”

“Then I'm not taking you to Bitter End.” The way he said it made her realize he wasn't kidding. The facade vanished, and she viewed a side of Richard she'd never seen before. A side that wasn't cordial or friendly, but rather, dark and menacing.

“I have to wear the blindfold?”

He nodded, then his face relaxed into a boyish grin. “Think of it as a game.”

“All right.” But she didn't like it, and her dislike intensified when he placed the handkerchief around her eyes, tying it securely at the back of her head.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.” His repeated questions irritated her.

He started the truck again and pulled back onto the highway. He seemed to be driving around in circles. When he finally did leave the road, she was completely confused and had no idea what direction he'd taken. On the rough off-road terrain, the truck bounced and heaved in every direction.

Ellie lost track of time. It might have been fifteen minutes or an hour, she didn't know. All she knew was that they'd stopped.

“Richard?”

He didn't answer. But she knew immediately that they were close to Bitter End. She
felt
it. A heavy uncomfortable sensation descended on her, a feeling that was completely at odds with the sun's warmth pouring through the windows.

“We're here, aren't we?” she asked.

Silence.

“Richard?”

Silence again.

She heard a soft eerie sound, a creaking that could have been the truck door opening. Or was it something else? Something sinister.

“This is ridiculous,” she said and lifted the blindfold from her eyes. Richard wasn't beside her, nor was he visible from where she sat. Squinting into the sunlight, she climbed out of the truck.

The first thing she saw was a faint footpath leading away from the truck. Not knowing what else to do, she followed it, clambering over rocks and forcing her way through the undergrowth. Soon the town came into sight; she could see it clearly from a limestone outcropping just above. She stopped and stared.

Bitter End was surprisingly intact. A number of buildings, some of them stone, some wood, stood along a main street, which was bordered by a plank walk. A church steeple showed in the distance, charred by fire. She saw a hotel and livery stable with a small corral. Even a building that had apparently been a saloon.

She still couldn't see Richard anywhere.

“Richard!” she called again. “Where are you? If this is a joke I'm not laughing.”

She half-slid, half-ran down the incline to the town.

She felt a sudden chill on her bare arms. Although the day was warm and windless, the town was decidedly cold.

“Richard!” she shouted again.

Nothing.

Cautiously she ventured onto the street, but her companion was nowhere to be seen. Panic clawed at her stomach as she spun around. “Richard! For the love of God, where are you?”

C
AROLINE WAS BUSY SORTING
mail when she heard a customer at the front counter. Because the post office was open only two hours on Saturdays, she often did a brisk business then.

Setting aside the stack of letters, she stepped out to the customer-service area. When she recognized Grady Weston, her posture immediately became defensive; she could feel it. Generally Savannah—and now occasionally Richard—collected the mail for the Yellow Rose Ranch. Grady hadn't been into the post office since last May and he'd come only because he was seeking her help. But then, he'd been worried about Savannah's relationship with Laredo Smith. A relationship he'd tried to destroy. He hadn't trusted Laredo, and he hadn't understood Savannah. In fact, Grady had seriously underestimated both of them.

“Morning, Grady,” she said warily. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been laughing hysterically at the prospect of attending Ruth's birthday party with her.

“Caroline.” He nodded, looking about uncomfortably. He removed his Stetson and held the brim with both hands.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He blinked as though someone had lifted him off his horse and hurled him straight into the middle of town. He shook his head in a puzzled way, apparently wondering how he happened to be there in the post office, talking to her.

“Do you need stamps?” she asked.

“No.” He shifted his weight from left to right. “I, uh, came for another reason.”

She waited patiently for him to continue. Grady had never been a smooth talker like his brother, but Caroline suspected his hesitation had something to do with their last unfortunate meeting.

“It's about what I said the other day—or what I said that you heard. What I mean to say…” He snapped his jaw closed and she noticed the color creeping up his neck. “Savannah said you weren't really offended, but I can't help feeling that—”

“Don't worry about it,” she said, rather than have him endure this embarrassment any longer. “Let's put it behind us.”

He relaxed visibly. “That's kind of you. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“I know. Savannah shouldn't play matchmaker—she has no talent for it.” Caroline was all too aware that her best friend was in love with love. Savannah wanted Caroline to know the same happiness herself but unfortunately was convinced Grady was the man she'd find it with.

Caroline knew she was at fault, too. She should have discouraged Savannah from the first, but deep down part of her had
wanted
Grady to notice her. She liked Grady, perhaps more than she should, seeing that they couldn't even carry on a conversation without arguing about
something.

“I wouldn't have minded going to Ruth's party with you. I realize I must have sounded like I'd rather pluck chickens, but that isn't so.”

Despite his apology, his attitude tweaked her pride.

“You have to admit it was a crazy idea,” he said, holding her gaze. “You and me going out together.” He seemed to expect some response from her.

“Let's drop it, all right?” She slapped the mail down on the counter and glared at him, not completely understanding her own anger.

He flinched at the sound. “Now what'd I say?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you looking at me like you're madder than hops?”

Caroline shook her head. “You're the only man I know who can apologize with an insult.”

“I insulted you?” His jaw went slack with astonishment.

Caroline drew a deep calming breath and held up her right hand. “Let's just say we'll agree to disagree.”

He frowned and twisted the rim of his Stetson. “I need to know what we're agreeing to disagree about.”

She gave an impatient sigh. The man was completely and utterly obtuse. “You and I both love Savannah,” she said with exaggerated slowness. “But when it comes to each other, we don't see eye to eye, which is fine. We don't really need to. I have my life and you have yours. You don't want to go out with me and that's fine, too. Because frankly I'm not all that interested in you, either.”

His eyes narrowed. “In other words you're turning me down before I even get a chance to ask you to the Cattlemen's Dance.”

He was asking her to the dance? So
that
was what this was all about.

Now he was the one who seemed agitated. He gestured with his hand as if he wasn't sure how to continue. “I take the better part of the morning driving into town,” he finally managed to say. “I've got an entire herd of cattle that need tending, but instead, I waste a good part of my day just so I can invite you to a stupid dance. Then before I can even get the words out, you're telling me you'd rather go out with a polecat than with me. Well, if that doesn't beat all.” He slammed his hat back on his head with enough force to make her recoil.

“You wanted to invite me to the dance?” she asked, recovering in record time, “and I'm supposed to be grateful?”

“No…yes.” He faltered, then ignored the question. “Why else would I drive into town on a Saturday?” Not giving her time to respond, he added, “Cal's right. A woman's nothing but trouble.”

Caroline's heart sank. She would have enjoyed attending the biggest dance of the year with him. Instead, she'd ruined any chance she had of stepping onto the dance floor with Grady Weston.

“I told Savannah this wouldn't work,” he said with the self-righteous attitude of a man who thinks he's been right all along. “As far as I'm concerned, this is the last time I'm inviting you to any social function in this town. If you want a date you're going to have to ask
me.
”

The insinuation that he was the only man who'd ask her out infuriated Caroline. “I don't need you in order to get a date.”

“Oh, sure, I suppose you're interested in Richard, too.”

“Richard? What's he got to do with anything?”

Grady opened and closed his jaw, but apparently decided against explaining. “Never mind. I'm out of here.”

Caroline stretched out her hand to stop him, but it was too late. Grady had already turned and was storming out of the post office, leaving the door to slam in his wake.

“My, oh my, what's gotten into that young man?”

For the first time Caroline noticed Edwina and Lily Moorhouse standing in the post-office foyer. Both women continued to dress as if they still spent their days at the front of a classroom. Caroline couldn't remember ever seeing either one in anything but well-pressed shirtwaist dresses. On Sunday mornings and at important social functions, they wore dainty hats with matching purses and spotless white gloves.

Lily, the younger and less talkative of the two, clutched her mail to her breast as if in mortal fear of having Grady rip it from her.

Edwina, who'd never had a problem sharing what was on her mind, was sputtering about “that young man.”

“I apologize, ladies,” Caroline said. “Grady and I were having a…difference of opinion.”

“So it seems.” Edwina pinched her lips together, clenching her purse tightly with both hands.

“Are you all right?” Lily asked.

Caroline shook her head, dismissing the older woman's concern. But the encounter had let her more shaken than she cared to admit.

“You like him, don't you?” Lily asked in a soft voice and reached across the counter to pat Caroline's hand.

Caroline nodded. Yes, she did like Grady—even if they didn't get along—and it was well past time she admitted it. But then, her judgment in men wouldn't exactly earn her any awards. Maggie's father had left her pregnant, and every other romantic relationship in her adult life had ended badly. “I guess some women are better judges of character than me,” she said.

“Grady's a fine young man,” Lily insisted, apparently over her shock.

“He's got a heart of gold,” Edwina agreed. “But if you want my opinion, I think that young man's constipated.”

“You think so, sister?” Lily frowned thoughtfully.

“Indeed I do. You be patient with him, Caroline, and he'll come around. Mark my words.”

“I couldn't agree with Edwina more,” Lily said, brightening somewhat. “There's nothing wrong with that young man that a large bowl of stewed prunes wouldn't cure.”

“Or Grandpa's cordial.”

“Indeed!”

 

E
LLIE
'
S HEART HAMMERED IN HER
ears as she stepped backward, slowly edging her way onto the path toward the truck. Richard was still nowhere to be seen.

Glen's warnings about the ghost town echoed in her mind. Even Richard had advised her not to come. She'd been the one to insist on making the trip, certain that Glen, at least, was being overprotective.

What was worse—far worse—was this…sensation, this feeling. It was as though she was being watched. And judged. And…disliked. Her pulse still thundered in her head, gaining volume and intensity. Her feet dragged heavily as she walked. It almost felt as if someone had bound her arms and legs and was slowly tightening the rope, binding her.

All she could think about was escape. But she couldn't leave, couldn't just turn and run. Somehow, someway she had to find out what had happened to Richard. Although every dictate of her heart and mind urged her to get out of there, she couldn't abandon him.

Besides, she hadn't a clue how to find her way back to Promise. She'd have to search this place and—

“Boo!”

Ellie screamed and leaped a good three feet off the ground. Richard threw back his head and laughed hilariously, as if her terror was the funniest thing he'd seen in years.

Furious, Ellie clenched her hands into fists and glared at him.

“Hey,” he said, continuing to chuckle, “you're the one who claimed not to be afraid of ghosts.”

“Where'd you go?” she demanded, gripping his arm and clinging tightly. She was too frightened to stay angry for long.

“Hey,” he repeated softly, “you're really scared, aren't you?”

“You know I am!”

“Sweetheart, it was a joke.”

“A stupid one.”

“Okay, okay, it probably wasn't the best thing to do, but you were so sure nothing was going to frighten you. Sorry,” he said with a casual shrug. “The real danger is letting your imagination run away with you.”

Her fingers tensed on his arm. “I don't like this place.”

“I told you.” He sounded cool and unaffected.

“Don't you feel it?” she asked, studying him.

“Feel what?”

“The…sense of oppression.”

He looked at her as if she needed a psychiatrist. “I don't feel anything. Come on, let me show you around. Old as it is, there's still lots to see.”

Even though she was curious, Ellie shook her head. “I think we should head back.”

“We just got here. Don't you want to check out the mercantile? I actually found some bloated canned goods left on the shelf. Can you believe it? The cash register is there, too. I looked, but there wasn't any money inside.”

Did he actually expect there to be cash for his taking? Ellie wondered.

“What happened to the church?” she asked, gesturing toward the small hill at the far end of the main street.

“I didn't go in. Doesn't interest me. Outside looks like it got hit by lightning.”

Ellie stared, fascinated despite her fears.

“Come on,” Richard urged again, “let's explore.”

Ellie realized it wasn't likely she'd come back for a second visit. “Okay, show me the mercantile,” she said, uncertain even now that it was a wise thing to do.

“Sure.” He took her hand and led her up the two steps to the raised wooden sidewalk. The old boards creaked with their weight, making an eerie inhuman sound. It looked as though the town had been fairly prosperous at one time. A hotel and saloon, a livery stable, a small corral. The sun-bleached planks of the boardwalk were bleached and splintered with age, and several sections had rotted through.

“Watch your step,” Richard said and slipped his arm around her waist, holding her unnecessarily close.

“Maybe we should go to the hotel,” he whispered suggestively. “Find a room with a bed.”

“No, thanks,” she murmured.

“Hey, don't be so quick to turn down a good thing. We could have a lot of fun.”

“No, thanks,” she said again, her tone reinforcing the message.

“Pity. We could be good together.”

Ellie sincerely doubted that.

As Richard opened the door to the mercantile, the hinges squeaked loudly and Ellie shivered. The sensation persisted, the feeling that she was being watched.