Lone Star Cinderella (4 page)

“I saw that.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I peeked. I'm hoping that as I read the journals I learn more about some of them. I thought this was Jane Turner who wrote the journal I'm reading, but I'm not sure.”

“She isn't my grandma Turner. We don't know who she is, but we've always wondered.”

Melody studied her again. “She looks like she has a story to tell, doesn't she?”

Seth smiled. “I've always thought so.”

Melody smiled, too, then led the way into the living room—it was a disaster. Seth stopped in the doorway and whistled at what he saw. The couch that had been positioned in the middle of the room was shoved against
the wall along with the chair and coffee table. It had to be in order to make room for the mass of papers and books that covered the open floor space.

Melody spun at his whistle. “Oh, it's okay. I know it looks like a mess, but it really isn't. I know exactly where everything is.”

He chuckled, partly because she just looked so cute standing there in the middle of the chaos. “Sure you do.”

She gave a strangled laugh and turned pink. “I
do
. You don't believe me?”

He did and would have told her except he'd lost his voice. No doubt about it, he was attracted to Melody Chandler. And he was well aware that his attraction could mean problems.

“See,” she stepped over a stack of books and pointed at them. “These are books on treasures and legends.
This
stack of papers are printouts of Hill Country-specific lost treasures. This one is Sam Bass-specific and these are—”

He was more stunned that she was talking so much than by the mess. Holding up a hand to halt her, he said, “I believe you.” The gesture made her smile again, and knowing he'd prompted that smile made him feel unbelievably good.

“Sorry, it's just easier to have things categorized and laid open like this for easy access.”

“I understand. I think.” His grin widened.

She crossed her arms and studied him. “I know your type. Your desk is probably spotless. Isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

A shy twinkle came into her eyes. “Then come into the kitchen and sit with your back to this room so it doesn't bother you. See, I was already working in here.”

He followed her to the table that was stacked with the familiar journals from the chest. He took a cane-backed chair facing the messy living room—it got him a raised eyebrow. “I'm living dangerously,” he said, enjoying the teasing going on between them.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Melody took the seat across from him. She was nervous…he made her nervous.
Everyone
made her nervous, if her usual quietness and introversion was any indication.

“I would offer you something to drink, but I wouldn't advise doing so here at the table. These are too valuable to chance a spill.”

“First you call me a neat freak, and now you're calling me clumsy.” He cocked his brow and watched her turn beet-red.

“
No!
I just meant, well, I'm not drinking here either.”

“So just because you're messy and clumsy, you think I am?”

She chuckled, and it did his heart good to hear it. Any of the shadows that had been left from the telephone conversation had disappeared. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but all he knew was this soft-spoken woman didn't need to look sad…or stressed like she'd looked earlier.

She pulled a leather-bound journal closer to her. “These are really interesting. Did you know that Doc Holliday was reported to have stopped here?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I knew that. He was on his way from Dallas heading toward Colorado.”

“So you really have read these?”

“Yes, a long time ago, but
that
story was also one of my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's favorite
campfire stories. He loved a good campfire story, and they've been passed down through the years.”

Her eyes grew big. “How could you not think this place has historical value?”

“I never said I didn't think it had historical value. All I said was I own it, and I don't want it overrun with outsiders. I have special memories of my own here, and I don't care to share them with the world.”

She bit her lip, studying him hard. “I just don't get you.”

He laughed. “Hey, you're the history teacher. We see things differently. I think the world will do just fine without one more stagecoach house with a plaque nailed to it.”

She was looking cutely perturbed at his statement when the phone rang. One ring was all it took for her to pale.

Even if he hadn't seen her earlier he'd have known something was wrong. On the second ring, she glanced across the room at the phone.

“You want me to get that?”

“No, um, I'll get it.” She picked up the cordless phone and looked at the digital face. “If you'll excuse me, I'll take this…out. In the other room.” She hurried from the kitchen and headed down the hall.

“Hello.”

Her hushed tone carried to him, but because of the rain he couldn't make out anything more as her footsteps receded toward the back bedroom—but it wasn't because he didn't try. Politically incorrect maybe, but then he'd never been accused of being a PC kind of guy. He'd seen Melody's strained expression and heard the less than enthusiastic way she'd said hello. It had to be the same caller.

He tried to remember if he'd ever seen her with any of the local cowboys, but he didn't think so. But his first thought was that maybe he and even the fellas down at the diner had missed something—maybe she did have a love life…and maybe there was trouble in paradise.

Again, none of his business.

Picking up the journal in front of him, he flipped it open and started reading—more like he stared at the pages. The man in him, the tried-and-true cowboy, was only thinking about the tears in her eyes earlier and the look on her face just now when the phone rang.

He was a fixer. A man of action. Sitting here doing nothing was just not cuttin' it for him. But the woman would think he was crazy if he stormed in there and took over her phone call…

“A
re you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Melody said and prayed she looked fine. She certainly didn't feel fine. She felt like such a failure. She'd just managed to tell her brother once more that he needed to get help or she couldn't send him the money…but she knew she wouldn't hold out much longer. The conversation had been horrible. She took a deep breath. Feeling Seth watching her closely, she was determined to appear normal. He'd already seen her crying and would think he had a basket case living out here.

“So, I see you've started reading,” she said, not only trying to change the subject but needing very much something else to focus on. The way he was studying her, with eyes that said he saw more than she was comfortable with him seeing, made her all the more determined to appear natural. It was a trait she'd learned growing up when Ty was making home life horrible and her parents expected her to act in public as if everything was just fine.

It was only that Seth looked concerned for her, and it touched her.

But she wasn't used to dragging her family matters out into the open. The fact that he'd seen tears in her eyes earlier couldn't be helped, but she didn't have to explain herself—not that it wouldn't be nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.

No—she was crazy to even consider talking to Seth. Shoving everything aside, she resumed reading where she'd left off and felt relief when Seth did the same.

“So, tell me why you suddenly got this idea to do all this research,” he said a heartbeat later.

She looked up. “I'm a history buff, as I'm sure you've figured out,” she said, grateful for the question. “And I've been teaching Texas history for the last three years. That combined with the fact that I didn't have anything to do for the summer…I came up with this idea to do research. I mean, I was living where all this unrecovered treasure is supposed to be buried. Of course, I had no idea this treasure—” she swept her hand to indicate the house “—was sitting out here until I started researching Hill Country stage stops.” Melody was surprised how easy it was to talk to Seth. She was still a little uncomfortable around him, but the fact that he'd come here today interested in her work had gone a long way in easing that tension. Odd, though, since he'd seen her tears.

“So that's when you called my brother,” Seth said, his voice a low drawl.

“No. Technically I called you. And believe me it took more guts than—” What was she saying? Her thoughts were crazy.

“Guts, huh? So you thought I was a bully before I drove out here and acted like one.”

“
No.
” How could she tell him she didn't want to call
because he was Seth Turner? The man was “sweet” as her students would say. Not “sweet” as in nice, but “sweet” as in “sweet to look at.” On the other hand, with his dark hair, lean angular features and smolderingly intense eyes, “sweet” might not be the right term. The small scar at his temple only added a bit of danger.

“No?” He raised a brow.

Was he upset? “I didn't know you were a bully—” Oh, what was she
saying?
“Oh, goodness, that's not what I meant.”

His eyes crinkled, and he started to chuckle. Which made her laugh because he was laughing and suddenly everything seemed surreal and unbelievable. She, Melody Chandler, was sharing this moment with Seth Turner…and she liked him. There was just no way not to. “I meant I'm just shy. Okay. Calling you up took guts.”

“Oh, it did, did it?” He leaned back in his chair, hooking a arm over the back of the chair.

He looked totally relaxed and completely wonderful. Her mouth went dry. “For me,” she croaked. “Because it was me being assertive.”

“Now
that
I can believe.” His gaze settled on her fingers where she was unconsciously still rubbing the leather corner of the journal.

Melody's insides went soft—
er
when he looked at her with a flirtatious light in his eyes…no, phooey. That was total nonsense on her part. If the look could happen to be misconstrued as flirtatious, it was simply out of total sympathy. The man knew she'd been having some kind of trouble; he was just too much of a gentleman to be nosy! She was getting sympathy smiles. Humiliating, yes, but today she was taking diversion any way she could get it!

 

Seth was getting off course a bit. He was here to study history, not Melody. “So you've shelved your own research for now and are zeroing in on these?”

“I'm doing both—Jane's journals could hold the clues I need in my research. My main interest is with all these millions of dollars supposedly hidden across Texas. I mean, the very
idea
is startling. But when you think about how easy it would be for someone to have come across hidden money years ago and it never got accounted for—I can't help but feel that the amount is off base. Especially where Sam Bass is concerned—the outlaw's fame has just been stretched to the hilt.”

“And why is that?” Seth asked, holding back on telling her again that her interest in the money was where their problems began. But she mystified him. Again, talking about the treasure, she was blossoming right before his very eyes.

She sat up straight, energy flowing from her. “Accounts of his success and failure don't match up. And since many of his escapades happened in this area of Texas, I thought it would be fun to try and match some of the fiction with fact. That's why I'm so excited about these journals. I've realized that they may hold the key. If indeed he did rob one of these stagecoaches, if Jane wrote about it, then it very well could be a story that could expose new light on one of the
questionable
stories.”

The fire was back. He found himself almost caught up in her enthusiasm. “Going through the journals might get in the way. Might slow you down if there doesn't happen to be anything like that in them.”

“Oh, no! No. They're remarkable. Actually, I can't stop reading them. They're fascinating. And did you
know that someone in your family started studying them? I found a couple of notes between the pages.”

“I know my mom and all the grandmothers have read them.”

“If so, I just don't understand. I mean, Jane has a beautiful way with words. I would think they would have realized the value of what you have here and would want to share these…” Her voice trailed off and her gaze sharpened as she searched his. He looked away—the classic sign that he was hiding something.

“Ahh,” she said. “I get it. You aren't the first
male
Turner who didn't want outsiders getting their eyes on these!”

He looked back at her unapologetically. “My dad and grandfathers shared my love of the peaceful life. My mom and grandmothers understood.”

“That's just wrong.”

“To you. Not to me and my family.”

She frowned. “You make me want to read the journals as quickly as possible with all this secrecy. What is in these journals that y'all don't want to get out?”

It was his turn to frown.

She tapped the table with her index finger, thinking. “It couldn't be a horrible family secret in them because if there was, then the women of the family would have had a problem with showing them, too.”

He kept his mouth shut. She scooted to the edge of her seat, looking like a cat about to pounce as she tried to come up with her own answers. Her eyes were alive, and he could see her mind working double-time. He'd already mentioned his grandpa Oakley's love of a good campfire tale to her. Watching her, he found himself almost tempted to tell her
about granddad's favorite of all tall tales. But that was suicide—

“What is it that you're not telling me?”

Her point-blank question caused a knee-jerk laugh from him. “
Woman,
where did you come from?”

Her heart-shaped mouth curved up on one side and, like she'd been doing, she surprised him with a quick comeback. “Katy, Texas.”

He grinned—couldn't help it. “You know what I mean. Here I thought you were a mouse of a woman, and you're really a tiger when you find something you want.”

Her smile faded instantly and her vibrant violet eyes dulled—instantly he knew he'd said something wrong.

“Hold on, I'm sorry,” he said. “That didn't come out right.”

She took a deep breath and picked up a pair of dark-purple reading glasses. “No need to apologize,” she said, settling the glasses firmly in place like a barrier between them. “We all have more than one side to us.”

There was a chill in her words as she blinked accusingly at him from behind her glasses. He was a jerk, she said without words—but he heard her loud and clear.

 

The man called her a mouse!

The comment stung so badly that Melody couldn't look at him and looked instead to the journal. So she was shy. So she didn't stand up for herself very well…something she'd actually done yesterday with him and on the phone with Ty just now, too, after a fashion. Still, that didn't matter—the cowboy needed better manners. A man didn't go around calling a
woman a mouse…even if he was complimenting her in a strange sort of way. Nobody had to tell her she was a mouse! She knew it better than anyone.

The clock in the room ticked the seconds by as she pretended to study the journal in front of her. She had found herself enjoying the banter. It was so totally not her that it had been refreshing. And it had been such a welcome distraction from her troubles with Ty.

So much so that she'd almost forgotten that no way in the world was Seth Turner flirting with her…and
she
hadn't been flirting with him either. Had she? How embarrassing.

She blinked and stared at the page harder. Why didn't he just go home and let her work? She'd had a bad morning, her equilibrium was off, obviously—that explained her uncharacteristic behavior where Seth was concerned. But now would be a perfect time for him to leave.

Only
now
, she seemed to have reverted back to mousehood and didn't feel comfortable asking him to go.

But she was going to. She was going to make herself or else. “You—”

“You know,” he said at the same time. “Sorry, you go ahead.”

“No. That's okay. You go.”

“I'm expecting a load of cattle to be delivered, so I'm going to go and get out of your hair. I didn't mean to insult you. I've enjoyed this talk.”

He stood and she did, too. “You didn't hurt my feelings. Really. It has been a bit of a stressful day for me. Sorry if I acted badly.” It was true, and there was no pretending that he didn't know something was going on with the phone.

“You don't have any reason to apologize. Look,” he said, but halted as if he'd lost his train of thought as he stared at her.

And why not, because she was crazy. His simple denial that she didn't have anything to apologize for had her blinking hard against tears and there was no way he couldn't tell it! He probably thought something was mentally wrong with her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded but couldn't look at him. He touched her arm, and she couldn't help the sharp intake of breath from his unexpected touch. Her gaze flew as sharply to meet his. “You are welcome to stop by anytime,” she blurted and stepped away.

“Thanks,” he said, turned on his boot and was gone.

Melody followed him to the door and watched as he jogged through the rain that was turning from a light downpour into a torrential mess…Melody actually welcomed the storm.

She closed the front door and went to the kitchen and started cooking brownies. There were many things in life she couldn't understand or control but brownies she knew.