Sweet Autumn Surrender

by Vivian Vaughan

  Poppy stayed on to help out until Ellie’s ankle healed. After Lavender drove away in her surrey, Poppy produced the package containing the red costume, complete with net stockings, silk shoes, and a feather for her hair.

  When Kale began gradually to come around, Ellie told him the story.

  “Snake found Armando,” she said. “He followed your trail of blood to the tunnel.” Even with Kale recovering, it made her insides go queasy to think back on that horrible morning and the long days after, when she was so afraid he would not live.

  She sat in a chair beside his bed, and when he patted the sheet, she hobbled over and sat next to him, holding his hand as she had every day.

  “It was so dark, I didn’t know whether I’d killed him or not,” Kale told her. Ellie’s face went pale.

  “You killed him, all right,” she answered. “Snake buried him in town. I didn’t want his body on this place.”

  Kale dozed off again, and when he came to, she was saying something about the treasure. Then he recalled Costello’s last words.

  “He found it?” Kale asked.

  Ellie nodded. “It was probably a disappointment, not the sort of thing he had in mind all those years, but he could have sold it for a good sum, I suppose.”

  “What was it?”

  “Relics from the old Spanish mission outside town,” she explained. “He found a trunk full of religious articles and a pair of iron mission bells. The letter inside the trunk from Father Terreros was dated January 1, 1758. The priest in Summer Valley translated it for us. Father Terreros wrote that he was sending the trunk and the bells to the mission on the Guadalupe River by supply train, under the protection of a man named Lieutenant Juan Galván.”

  “Why were they buried here?” Kale asked.

  Ellie shrugged. “No one in Summer Valley even knew they were missing. The mission was destroyed by a combined force of Comanches and their allies in March of that year. Father Terreros was murdered, along with almost everyone else. The supply train may have been attacked by Indians, too, and Lieutenant Galván could have buried the treasure.”

  Kale nodded. “Then he drew up a plat to lead authorities to the site at a safer time. The plat got filed away and was later given to Costello’s grandfather, like the story goes. Only that doesn’t explain how Galván was fortunate enough to be attacked beside a tunnel.”

  “Maybe the tunnel came later,” Ellie laughed. “We’ll never know the truth of it, but I’m glad to have the relics out of our lives.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  “Gave them to the priest in Summer Valley. He’ll contact his bishop, who’ll decide where they belong.”

  In the next week Ellie’s ankle healed, and Kale’s side and leg did the same. He regained his strength bit by bit.

  Ira and Till came over and helped with rebranding the Jarrett cattle. Poppy went back to town with Snake, and things settled back into the normal routine.

  One afternoon when Kale went to the creek to bathe, Ellie remembered the dress…Poppy’s flirty red dress.

  On impulse she tore into the package, and before she took time to think, she slipped it on, laced it up, and donned the black net stockings and red silk shoes. When the back door squawked she crossed to the doorway of their bedroom, formerly the spare room, holding the feather in her hand.

  She recalled how at the Lady Bug she had expected the skimpy bodice of the dress to fall down. This time she was certain that her bosom was about to fall out.

  Kale turned from setting aside a bucket of water and saw her. His eyes swept her with such intensity, riveting at length on the bulging mounds of her breasts, that she looked down to be sure.

  “By damn!” he whistled, crossing the room in three strides. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She laughed.

  His hands spanned her corseted waist, slipped slowly up her satin-encased rib cage. A groan escaped his lips. His eyes never left hers.

  “It feels the way I dreamed,” he whispered. His fingers found the black lace ruffle shielding her nipples. “Only better.”

  She was barely able to stand still when the tips of his fingers dipped below the lace, tantalizing her already aching breasts.

  Longingly she ran her hands through his hair, stroked his forehead, whispered her fingers over his cheeks. Their eyes held.

  He lowered his lips, meeting hers halfway in a kiss that flooded her with longing…intense, sweet longing.

  Long denied, Kale’s passion had gone from scratch to start in the length of time it took him to cross the room. Now, with her in his arms, pressed to his aching heart, his lips delved into her sweetness with the sure knowledge that his passion was fixing to reach its zenith any minute.

  His hands swept up and down her back, pressing her closer to him with every stroke. Wads of silk bunched in his hands as he fumbled to feel her, all of her, close to him, ever closer. When his hands touched bare skin beneath the skirt, he grinned.

  “There’s something to be said for painted ladies’ clothing,” he murmured, gripping her buttocks in his palms. “Or lack of it.”

  The bodice of the red silk gown was actually no more than a corset with black lacings up the front. When Kale pulled her to his chest, the bulge of her breasts pressed seductively against his shirt. Dampness left over from his recent bath seeped through his shirt, enticing her.

  Lost in his kisses, in her own heightening passion, she wriggled against him as he began to lift her body against his own, upwards…upwards, until finally her breasts worked free of their nest of silk and lace and nuzzled in all their nudity against his chest.

  When he realized the soft mounds of her breasts had climbed his chest like roses on a trailing vine, he lifted her once more, until her legs wrapped snugly around his waist, then he dipped his face toward her breasts.

  “Your wound,” she gasped, feeling his lips close over one breast, reveling in the wave of sheer passion that washed over her.

  “My wound is healed,” he mumbled against her.

  “Not enough.”

  “More than enough.” He turned toward the bedroom, carrying her in the same position. “I may be ready for bed, but for a different reason now.”

  “Wait.”

  His face was pressed into the cleft between her breasts. He glanced up at her face without breaking stride. “Wait?”

  “I hear something.”

  He frowned, but listened along with her to sounds coming from outside the house. It didn’t take long to identify them.

  “A wagon,” she sighed.

  “Who the hell…?” His words died away in the babble of female chatter.

  “Lavender,” Ellie broke in. She slid to her feet and they both retreated to the bedroom. Ellie tucked her bosom back into the scanty bodice. “What could she want?”

  “From the sound of things, she’s brought her entire household.” He clasped Ellie’s face in his hands, kissed her quickly on the lips. “Don’t suppose you could get rid of them so we could get on with what we started?”

  She smiled ruefully. “Not soon. It’s a long way out here from town.”

  Dropping his hands, Kale began to work to rearrange his own clothing. When Ellie saw what he was about, she laughed.

  “Go ahead and laugh. You got me into this fix. Think I’ll head for the creek and soak in that cold water till they leave.”

  Ellie reached for one last kiss. “If you go to the creek…don’t stay too long.” She blushed at her own words, recalling how on the way back from the painted cliffs he’d said cold water kept him from being able to make love to her.

  His teasing eyes told her he remembered as well. “You can bet on it.” He didn’t let her forget it for the rest of the evening. Every so often, when she least expected it, he’d come up behind her and whisper in her ear.

  “I decided not to go to the creek, Ellie.”

  And she’d blush and turn quickly away, her train of thought temporarily broken.

  Only o
nce during the long afternoon did he not even think of jesting. That was when the parson Lavender had brought along—who was, of course, her sole reason for coming—pronounced them man and wife in front of the fireplace with Ellie’s fancy photograph on the mantel.

  “Man and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Jarrett. You may kiss the bride, sir.”

  Kale took her in his arms, stared long and tenderly into her misty eyes. “Mrs. Kale Jarrett,” he prompted the parson.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kale Jarrett,” the parson corrected.

  Whereupon Kale lowered his lips and kissed her with just enough fervor to assure her he hadn’t forgotten where they’d left off earlier.

  Earlier, before Lavender Sealy had taken things in hand to get them married proper-like.

  Later, after the ceremony, after the champagne, after their guests—painted ladies and parson alike—had departed, Kale caught Ellie’s hands just as she began to remove that devastating dress.

  “Let me,” he whispered in a voice too husky to disguise his passion. Taking the black lace in his large fingers, he stared deeply into her eyes. “I’ve wanted to undo these damned ties ever since that first time I saw you in this getup.”

  Slowly, seductively, he began to undo the laces. Beneath it lay nothing but bare skin, heated skin that cried for his touch.

  “Wonder what in the world Parson James thought about my dress,” she mused.

  Kale grinned. “If it was half what any other red-blooded hombre would think, I’m glad the sonofabitch is gone.”

  “Kale! You shouldn’t call him that. He’s a man of the cloth!”

  Kale’s eyes gleamed, following the silky red dress as it fell to the floor. “And you, Mrs. Kale Jarrett, are now a woman out of the cloth.”

  She stood-stock still except for the rise and fall of her bosom. His mood changed suddenly from playful to serious—serious, and sensual. She could tell by his eyes that he wanted her—wanted to touch her and feel her and taste her and love her.

  At length she reached for his shirt. And when he was finally undressed and standing opposite her, she knew he could read the same things in her eyes.

  Then she saw the scars—all of them. She had seen them before, but never all at once. At one time on his now healthy body, they told a story of death and betrayal that brought instant tears to her eyes.

  She touched the scar on his head where Abe and Martin had tried to kill him; moving her hand, she stroked his newest scar, which ran a good five inches from just below his heart; then she stooped and touched the scar on his leg where Holt Rainey had shot him the day he escaped by throwing himself into the grapevines.

  Her heart throbbed with the renewed knowledge that she almost lost him.

  Bending, he grasped her shoulders and brought her up to face him. “None of that, honey. We agreed to put it all behind us.”

  “I know, but—”

  He tipped her chin so she looked into his loving eyes. “I almost forgot my wedding gift, Mrs. Kale Jarrett.”

  “Wedding gift?”

  Taking her gently by the hand, he led her across the room, both of them naked as the day they were born, where he opened the trunk and pointed to his guns.

  “Had you missed them?” he quizzed.

  “I thought you were waiting until your side healed,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. Then taking a lock from inside the trunk, he closed the lid and locked it. Straightening, he handed her the key. “I’ve put them up for good, Ellie. Or until together we decide I need to take them out. Lord willing, that day will never come.”

  She stared at the key resting in the palm of her hand. A tear fell on it.

  “You have two keys that belong to you alone.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “The other one fits here.” His tone lightened. “Now, can we get back to the business we started several hours ago?”

  Much later, when they lay in the dark in each other’s arms, he nudged her forehead with his lips to see if she was awake.

  “What?” she responded.

  “I’m glad Lavender protected you from the seamy side of things around the Lady Bug—for more than just the obvious reasons.”

  “Why?”

  He pulled her close, nuzzled her seductively, and chuckled against her. “You blushed when you mentioned…ah, the effect cold water has on me.”

  “So?”

  The room was pitch dark; she could see only by feel. When he kissed her lips, she raised her hands and traced his face, kissing him in return. She let her hand drift down his chest, play in the furry hair.

  He nuzzled her face with his own. “So, I’m glad there are still some things I can teach you myself.”

  She held him close, knowing she loved him more than she had ever dreamed a person could love. She laughed softly. “Are you accusing me of being naive—me, who was raised in a house of painted ladies?”

  He nipped her nose with his lips. “The gunfighter and the floozy…look at us now.” Suddenly the power of his love for her gripped him with such force it brought moisture to his eyes. He tightened his arms about her.

  The gunfighter and the floozy, he mused. Neither one of them had amounted to much after all. They were just a cowpoke and his lady; they always had been. And now she was Mrs. Kale Jarrett. And he was the luckiest man alive.

  Author’s Note

  The painted cliffs of this story are located in Concho County, Texas, near the town of Paint Rock. Although the cliffs are on private property, they may be viewed by arrangement with the owners.

  The “old Spanish mission” is in reality the Mission San Sabá, located outside the town of Menard, Texas, my hometown. The mission was destroyed by Indians, as related here, in March, 1758. The religious articles were indeed shipped under the charge of a Lieutenant Galván; they have not been located to this day.

  Neither has the Lost Bowie Mine been found, although folks still search diligently for it. Every fall the city of Menard hosts “Jim Bowie Days,” a festival honoring James Bowie and the mystique of treasure hunting.

  An interesting development occurred in November, 1989, when U.S. Customs agents seized a million-dollar oil painting from a rare-book dealer. This painting, entitled The Destruction of Mission San Sabá, was commissioned in 1758 by relatives of the slain Father Terreros to commemorate the massacre in which he lost his life. Based on an eyewitness account, the painting is considered by scholars to be the most important Texan historical painting in existence. Until the Customs Service settles the case, the painting is on loan to the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, Texas, where it can be viewed.

  Further information concerning the above-mentioned sites may be obtained from the respective Chambers of Commerce or from the State Department of Highways and Public Transportation, 1101 East Anderson Lane, Austin, TX 78752.

  A special note of thanks to my special friend Elaine Raco Chase, for discovering and “giving” to me the true story of the pirates Anne Bonny and Calico Jack. We will meet them again in a later book.

  This book is the first of several involving Jarrett family members and friends. The next story will feature Carson Jarrett, Kale’s Texas Ranger brother, and Jarrett’s friend, Santos Mazón. Santos’s sister, Aurelia, gives Carson a run for his money in a spicy story set in the mountains of Northern Mexico during the opulent silver mining days.

  All these stories will feature settings which you can visit later, either in person or vicariously through additional reading.

  More from Vivian Vaughan

  Branded

  El Paso, Texas. 1895. Five years ago, life as Jacy Kimble knew it ended with a scandal that sent her brother Hunter and his best friend Trevor Fallon to Yuma Prison for murder. The scandal cost her family their Arizona Ranch, ruined her father’s political career and took his sanity, leaving the Kimble family in shambles. Once the belle of Arizona society, Jacy Kimble was haughty and flirtatious—her favorite target: Trevor Fallon. Her father called him a hired hand.

  Now Trevor has shown
up at her door, escaped from prison, or as he tries to make her believe: he was freed in the middle of the night with one order—clear her brother’s name and keep him from hanging.

  For five years she has hated Trevor. How can she believe him now? Yet, how can she not help him try to prove her brother’s innocence? It’s a hard choice for Jacy: believe the man who ruined her life, or throw away any hope for her family’s future. Complicating everything, Trevor is the same handsome, no-account cowhand who once romanced her. And Jacy had loved him. Now she feels that powerful attraction returning. How can she spend time with him? How can she not?

  No Place for a Lady

  When Madolyn Sinclair, Secretary of the Boston Woman Suffrage Society, steps off the train in Buckhorn, Texas, she doesn’t know there is a right and wrong side of the tracks. Madolyn has come to this god-forsaken land with three purposes: to find her runaway brother Morley, secure her inheritance, and return to Boston to organize a Center for Women’s Rights. What she had not expected to find in this windswept land—or anywhere—was love: Madolyn Sinclair has dedicated herself to teaching submissive women from all walks of life that they don’t need men.

  Then she meets Tyler Grant, her brother’s erstwhile business partner, who offers to take her to Morley’s ranch. She reluctantly accepts, and Tyler takes her on a wagon ride she will never forget. But Tyler has an ulterior motive, and he’s caught a tantalizing woman in his web of deceit.

  Reluctant Enemies

  New Mexico Territory, 1879. Will Radnor has never stopped looking for Charles Martin Kane, the man who murdered his father back in Philadelphia. Following the first good lead he’s had in years, Will accepts a position with a law firm in Santa Fé. In Chimayo, a golden-haired cowgirl, ‘dressed like Billy the Kid and smelling of horse sweat’ climbs into the stagecoach and changes his life forever. Then he learns her name.