Lone Star Cinderella

Standing here looking at the sandstone and clapboard structure, her heart pitter-pattered with delight, and once again she felt a little like Cinderella at the ball. It was as if she had the entire summer before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin. All she had to do was stand up for her rights….

“No,” she said more firmly this time as a slow burn of excitement and determination kindled inside of her. “Look. I moved in here with the assurance that you were okay with this. Wyatt said if you had a problem with it, he would take care of it. And besides that, I signed a lease.
And
I've already sublet my apartment for the summer.”

Seth's expression darkened, and Melody looked down and thought once more about running. But she wasn't going anywhere. She was staying—unless he threw her over his broad shoulder and carried her off.

Whether you turn to the right or the left,
your ears will hear a voice behind you saying,
This is the way; walk in it.

—
-Isaiah
30:21

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

S
omething was wrong. Melody Chandler knew it even before the distinctive sound broke the silence of the blistering Texas afternoon. Turning away from the hundred-year-old stagecoach house, she shielded her eyes against the glare of the June sun. The black pickup sped ominously toward her, dust billowing behind it like a villainous cloak—not at all helping the picture of doom her mind had already conjured up.

Her insides went queasy as she watched the truck bound over the dirt road bisecting several pastures before forcing its way into the stagecoach yard. Wyatt Turner, the man who had given her the opportunity to live in this wonderful old relic for the next few months, had pointed out that the path the truck was roaring down was the actual track followed by the stagecoaches in the 1800s.
Amazing!

To think; she was standing where pioneers had waited, watching their stagecoaches lumber toward them. As a history teacher, she could well imagine how it had looked back then and how excited they must have
felt…unfortunately excitement wasn't what she was feeling.

Cotton-mouthed, she clasped her sweaty palms behind her back. She knew it was hopeless the second she met the glare of the cowboy behind the wheel. No doubt about it, Seth Turner had come to tell her to kiss her sweet setup goodbye.

She'd known it was too good to be true. Wasn't that the way it always turned out when something came too easily?

Her stomach jumped when her gaze locked with Seth's stormy eyes through the windshield. Did he even begin to understand the power he wielded with one look from those gorgeous brown eyes?

Oh, yeah, he understood.

But today this wasn't a someone-to-watch-over-you kind of look. His frown crossed the distance and snapped her right out of her fanciful musing to the reality of the moment.

She gave a weak smile and immediately turned his frown into an all-out scowl—which was still gorgeous…and totally ridiculous for her to be noticing. Especially as all six foot two of him climbed out of the large truck and stalked toward her.

She told her feet to move, to go meet him, not to just stand there like a rabbit caught in a trap. But that was a hard thing to do when her feet only wanted to move in the opposite direction! She settled for being satisfied to just hold her ground with quaking knees.

“Hello, Seth,” she said with a wobble, extending her hand. “Melody. Melody Chandler.”

Looking slightly confused, he gave her hand a momentary pump. “I, uh, know who you are.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Sorry.” Of course he knew who she was. Mule Hollow was so small that even if they'd never actually had a conversation, he had to know her name. “It's the teacher in me.” Not the greatest comeback but at least it was something.

He shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “Look, I'm not sure what Wyatt was thinking. But, I'm afraid my brother didn't have the authority to rent this place out to you.”

It was the boot all right, just as she'd thought. Her heart sank. Wyatt shared ownership of the ranch and the stagecoach house with his brother Seth and their other brother Cole. But everyone knew Seth was the brother in charge of the ranch. He lived here, after all, and had been out of town.

“But,” she blurted. “He did, though. To me.”
As if the man didn't already know this!

“Yes. But he shouldn't have. He knew I didn't want the place occupied.”

Every great comeback known to man raced through Melody's mind—and kept right on going. “Oh,” was all that came out. It was always that way with her.
Always.

“So you're okay with that?”

Was he really asking her that? The word
no
came to mind but not to her mouth—her mouth remained shut as if she'd mistakenly used a glue stick instead of Chap-Stick.

No,
she wasn't good with that, but she had to say something. Make her case. Instead, feeling the spirit of the wonderful place slipping away from her, she turned to stare at the rugged old house. She'd felt like Cinderella with this opportunity, but Cinderella lasted at least
a third of the way through the ball and here she was being run off already.

How could he even ask if she was okay with this? Of course she didn't want to leave. Sure she could do her research somewhere else, and had originally planned to do exactly that. But this had been the golden opportunity. Immersing herself in the atmosphere of the past had given her a thrill of excitement that she'd never experienced before. And now, with barely a how-do-you-do, Seth was sending her packing.

“Look,” he said, not unkindly. “I'll help you move your things back to town. I'm sure you'll be able to get your apartment back before Adela rents it out.”

She just blinked, too stunned to move. She didn't want her apartment back.

Then say so—just say no
.

Why was it she had learned to exert her authority over her classroom—well, most of the time anyway—yet, when it came to men she just
thought
about what she wanted to say? It was infuriating. Her brother's face slid into her imagination and something rebelled. “No.” It was barely audible, but she'd said it.

“
Excuse
me?”

It was one thing to talk big in the mirror. It was a completely other thing to actually stand up for herself. Looking at Seth she just knew she had to tell him no. This was one of the most important moments in her life. She needed to be here, in this house. She
was
spending her summer researching stagecoach robbers and hidden treasure! It was unbelievable.

To Melody, it was pinch-me-and-I-might-wake up unbelievable. Some would think her “quest” was a frivolous waste of time and simply a weak diversion
ary tactic. Which was true, in part—she'd do anything to find a way
not
to think about her brother.

But the truth was, she was ready for frivolous.

Past ready! She
needed
frivolous…more than anyone could possibly know or understand. Wyatt had dropped this opportunity into her lap, and she just couldn't give it up. Something told her this was her one chance to make a difference in her life. That it was now or never.

But needing something and going out and getting it were two different things. No. This—this wonderful opportunity—had actually just happened. It was a God thing.

When all the pieces fell into place like they had, there was no way it could be anything but a God thing. When she'd decided to do the research, it had been her small effort at an escape from the pressures she was feeling about her brother and his problems. But the fact that her research led her to this 1800s stagecoach house, the fact that it was not more than ten miles from where she was living, the fact that Wyatt had
offered
her the opportunity to live inside this wonderful place for the summer…that was God. It was remarkable.

More so because she was Melody Chandler, aka unremarkable fourth grade history teacher, background prop for all occasions, pushover.

Sadly they were all accurate descriptions of her. And exactly what she knew a man like Seth would be thinking about her…

But standing here looking at the sandstone-and-clapboard structure, her heart pitter-pattered once more with delight, and once again she felt a little like Cinderella at the ball. It was as if she had the entire summer before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin. All she had to do was stand up for her rights…

“No,” she said more firmly this time as a slow burn of excitement and determination kindled inside of her. “Look. I moved in here with the assurance that you were okay with this. Wyatt said if you had a problem with it, he would take care of it. And besides that, I signed a lease.
And
I've already sublet my apartment for the summer.”

Seth's expression turned into a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “You have a lease?” He clearly couldn't believe his ears. The man looked as immovable as the nearly two-hundred-year-old rock fireplace running up the side of the stagecoach house.

She took a lesson from his attitude and stood her ground. She ran her damp palms down the side of her jeans. “I'm
not
leaving.”
Not
came out as a squeak but was obviously decipherable since Seth's brows dipped beneath the brim of his Stetson. Her nerve faltered. “I'm not harming anything.”

Had she really said that?

Seth's eyes narrowed and his lean jaw twitched. “Seriously. I want you to leave,” he said, as if she'd just made a joke. “The last thing I want is someone out here researching Sam Bass and hidden treasure and all of that nonsense.”

Nonsense!
How dare he think her work was nonsense. How dare he think he could just decide he wanted her out and she would scamper off. “Seriously. I'm staying,” she said and almost passed out at the effort behind her words.

His look of disbelief was almost comical. And there was a good reason—she imagined his surprise had something to do with the fact that she'd been a wallflower for the past two years! He hadn't expected to see her ever speaking!

The corners of his eyes twitched slightly as their gazes held fast. She was holding her breath, bluffing her way through this.

His gaze dropped, slid over her, taking in her ratty jeans, her dusty T-shirt and her flip-flops as if sizing her up as an opponent. Sadly, he would find her lacking in more ways than she wanted to think about. A bit shaken by his frank stare, she clung to her newfound nerve and forced herself to step toward him.

“You have a treasure trove of information inside this wonderful building. History that is just languishing away in there. Don't you want to know what it is?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Frankly, no.”

As a true lover of history, someone who enjoyed learning everything about the past and also passing that knowledge on to others, she couldn't understand his attitude.

“But you have journals in there that might tell us who was on the land. Why who knows, a president or, or even Sam Bass himself might have stood right where you're standing a hundred and fifty years ago. Aren't you curious?”

“No.”

“But it's
history.
Just think of the possibilities. I mean when I found out this fantastic place was sitting out here I got goose bumps. To think, right here not ten miles from my apartment is this amazing historic wonderland—I'm getting them all over again just talking about it.” On impulse she held out her arm. “See. Right there.”

He glanced at her arm like she was a crazy woman. She was babbling again, but it was because of her love affair with history. She'd always studied history from a
bookworm point of view. But this—oh, this was different. Maybe explaining it would change his mind.

“When I called here, thinking I would be talking to you, I just wanted to look at the place, because of the research I was doing. I never dreamed you and your family had all of these original journals stored inside the house—it is mind-boggling.

“Your brother showed them to me. He was an unbelievably nice man, so accommodating. It was Wyatt's suggestion that I move out here and mix research for your family in with my own—he said there were some blank spots in the journals that my research might be able to fill in. You just can't
not
want this done.”

His expression darkened—if that were even possible. “I not only can't but
don't
want it done. What I do want is for you to agree to back out of that lease agreement. Knowing Wyatt acted without my consent should make you want to do the right thing.”

The man was infuriating.

Who wouldn't want this?
Who?
“You don't get it,” she said, totally amazed at herself. “The research I'm doing could very well alter or add new data to the history books. Sam Bass is Texas's most-documented stagecoach-and train-robber, but it is the legends that have grown over the years that intrigue me. To think that he is rumored to have buried treasure all over Texas that was never recovered. There is a very real possibility that he may have robbed the stage on its way to this stop and then hid the treasure on your property. Don't you want me to see if that's true?”

“That's exactly the reason I don't want you here. You're going to bring all that hidden-treasure nonsense to everyone's attention and the next thing I know the place will be overrun with treasure-hunting nuts.”

Melody bristled. “I can't believe you just said
that.
I mean, really—you own a piece of the great American West! A piece of Texas history and folklore. My goodness, you have a true treasure in this place. Forget the buried stuff.” She waved her hand at the stagecoach house. “No telling what history is here and all you can think about is keeping a few men with metal detectors and shovels off your property!”