Hidden Fires

by Sandra Brown

  Hidden Fires

  Sandra Brown

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  Chapter 1

  The heat from the September sun was like a physical assault to the young woman who stepped down from the train at the Austin depot. Her ivory cheeks were slightly flushed, and a few vagrant tendrils of raven-black hair escaped the chignon under her hat. She fanned a lacy handkerchief in front of her face as she eagerly scanned the crowd for a familiar brown Stetson, and the tall, white-haired man who would be wearing it.

  A sizable throng had gathered at the depot for the arrival of the noon train from Fort Worth. Families embraced returning prodigals, while others waved goodbye to passengers boarding the train. Commissions to write soon and be careful were issued in a cacophonous blend of English and Spanish, with the train’s hissing white steam and sharp whistle providing the percussion for this discordant orchestra. With amazing alacrity, porters wheeled long, flatbed carts loaded with luggage, managing to skirt old ladies, businessmen, and young children.

  Mexican women dressed in bright, full skirts strolled the platform hawking homemade candy, flowers, and Texas souvenirs. Vaqueros leaned lazily against the depot wall, toying with lariats, rolling cigarettes, or squinting at the train they were reluctant to board, for they preferred open spaces and the cerulean ceiling of the Texas sky to the narrow confines of a railroad car.

  Many of these cowboys noticed the young woman who watched each approaching carriage expectantly. Her gray eyes, which had been so full of excitement only minutes ago, became clouded with anxiety as the crowd began to diminish. The folds of her skirt swished behind her enticingly as she walked the length of the platform and back again. Dainty, high-button shoes tapped on the smooth boards with each step.

  One by one, the vaqueros sauntered toward the train bound back to Fort Worth. Most cast one last, longing look at the girl who, despite the heat and her obvious agitation, maintained a cool appearance.

  With a screech of steel on steel, a geyser of steam, and a long blast of the whistle, the train slowly inched away from the depot, gained momentum, and finally chugged out of sight.

  The platform emptied of people. The Mexican vendors covered the wares in their baskets, and the porters parked their carts in the shade of the building.

  The girl in the navy-blue serge suit, white shirtwaist, and tan felt hat stood beside her meager luggage looking forlorn and lonely.

  Ed Travers bustled out the depot door, sighted the girl, and, tugging his vest over his rotund stomach, hurried toward her.

  “Miss Holbrook?” he inquired politely. “Miss Lauren Holbrook?”

  The dismayed eyes brightened at the sound of her name and she smiled, parting perfectly formed lips to reveal small white teeth. “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “Yes, I’m Lauren Holbrook. Did Ben… uh… Mr. Lockett send you for me?”

  Ed Travers covered his bafflement with a reassuring smile. “No, Miss Holbrook, not exactly. I’m Ed Travers, the depot manager. I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but the telegraph machine—” He broke off, impatient with himself for bungling what was already a delicate situation. “Forgive me for rambling and forcing you to stand in this heat. Come with me and I’ll explain everything.” He signaled to a lounging porter, who reluctantly came forward to carry Lauren’s luggage.

  Mr. Travers indicated the end of the platform by tipping his bowler hat. Still Lauren hesitated. “But Mr. Lockett told me—”

  “Mr. Lockett did come for you, Miss Holbrook, but he fell ill and asked—”

  “Ben is ill?” she asked quickly, paling and clutching the station manager’s arm in alarm.

  Her reaction stunned Ed Travers. Why did she keep referring to Ben Lockett? What was this girl to that old buzzard? She was beautiful. No question about that. And Ben had always had an eye for the ladies. Everyone in Texas knew what kind of marriage Ben had with Olivia, but even so, this girl was perplexing. Where did she come from? Why had she come to Texas to see Ben Lockett? She could be no more than twenty, and Ben was in his sixties. Maybe she was a relative. She certainly didn’t look like a doxy. And why would Ben be setting up a mistress? He had—

  “Mr. Travers, please.” Lauren was anxiously waiting for an explanation, and the pleasant, kindly man was studying her with an unsettling intensity. Having arrived after an arduous trip from her home in North Carolina only to find that Ben was not here to meet her was disconcerting enough. Of course, he had warned her that if he couldn’t leave Coronado, he would send someone else to greet her. “Is Mr. Lockett ill?”

  “Ben?” Travers asked distantly. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “No, not Ben. I guess he sent Jared after you, and he’s the one who’s sick.”

  He was leading her down the platform with an encouraging hand under her elbow.

  “Jared?” she asked.

  My God! She didn’t even know Jared! But then, it would be distressing to think that this lovely young woman had anything to do with him. It all came back to Ben. What was his game this time? He had a reputation for practical jokes and surprises, usually embarrassing for the recipient. But would Ben’s legendary humor extend to victimizing an innocent like Miss Holbrook? In the few moments he had spent with her, Ed Travers had inferred that Lauren Holbrook was trusting and naive to a fault, uncommon as that was in this third year of the twentieth century.

  “Jared is Ben’s son, Miss Holbrook,” he answered patiently. “Didn’t Ben ever mention him to you?”

  Lauren laughed easily. “Oh, yes. He told me he had a son. I don’t recall if he told me his name, though.” Her smile faded into an expression of genuine concern. “He’s ill?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Travers said gruffly, taking her arm more firmly as they descended the steps to the ground below. Lauren saw a long, flatbed wagon parked several yards ahead of them. The green paint on its sideboards was faded and peeling, the wheels mud-splattered. Its two horses were grazing at a tuft of grass under the enormous pecan tree.

  Another horse, a palomino of magnificent proportions, was tied to the end of the wagon. Proudly he tossed his blond mane as if protesting the indignity of being hitched to such a lowly vehicle.

  “Apparently, Miss Holbrook, Ben sent young Jared for you, and he came from Coronado last night. This morning, when he became incapacitated, he asked me to escort you to his home. I’m afraid the trip won’t be very comfortable. I apologize, but this was the best conveyance I could find on short notice.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled. Ed Travers became dizzy under the radiance of her face and gentle voice. Then he cursed himself for being an old fool and hastened toward the wagon.

  The depot manager assisted Lauren onto the rickety seat. As the porter dropped her bags unceremoniously onto the rough floor of the wagon bed, she heard a muffled moan.

  She gasped in surprise when she saw the long figure sprawled on his back in the wagon. “Mr. Travers!” she exclaimed. “Is he seriously injured?”

  “No,” he answered. “Only a little indisposed. He’ll live, though he may soon wish he were dead.” He mumbled the last few words, and his meaning escaped Lauren.

  She settled herself as best she could on the uncomfortable seat. The
brown leather was cracked. At intervals where it had ripped open, the stuffing poked through in hard lumps. The rusted springs groaned under her slight weight. She kept her gaze focused on the road ahead.

  “I must run back inside for a moment, Miss Holbrook, and speak to my assistant. If you’ll indulge me, we’ll be on our way without further delays.” Ed Travers doffed his hat again and turned back toward the depot. The porter shuffled after him.

  Lauren sighed. Well, it’s not the greeting I expected, but it’s novel, she thought. Then she smiled with the sheer joy of being in Texas and almost at the end of her journey. Had it been only three weeks since she last saw Ben? It seemed like eons. So much had happened since he had visited her guardians and issued the impulsive invitation for her to come to Texas.

  They had all been in the parlor of the parsonage. Lauren was pouring tea, which was one of her chores when Reverend Abel Prather and his wife, Sybil, entertained. Guests visited often with the middle-aged couple, who had opened their home to Lauren when her clergyman father died eight years ago. She loved the Prathers, though she realized they were unenlightened about anything outside their sphere. Most of their callers were either other ministers or parishioners.

  Their guest on that particular day had been unique. Ben Lockett had served in the Confederate Army with the young Chaplain Prather during the last three years of the war. Their philosophies differed greatly, but the two men enjoyed each other’s company and found pleasure in taking opposing sides of any debate, whether over the strength of the Union Army or predestination.

  After the war, Ben Lockett had left his native Virginia for unknown parts of Texas. He was of a breed of ambitious, angry young men who defiantly carved empires out of the vast plains of Texas. In the forty years since the War Between the States, Ben Lockett had become an influential cattle baron.

  Lauren was intrigued by the imposing Texan. He stood tall and lean, with only the slightest paunch to indicate his advancing years. His hair was thick and snowy white, brushed back from his wide, deep forehead like a crest. Blue eyes twinkled merrily from under shaggy white eyebrows, as if he were perpetually amused by the world. But Lauren observed that Ben was capable of a piercing, glacial stare if his emotions dictated it.

  His voice was deep and mellow when he said to her, “Tell me, Miss Holbrook, what you think of Texas. Like most Texans, I feel that everyone should be as enthralled with my country as I am.” He stared at her from under the shaggy brows, but it was a friendly look.

  “I… I don’t know that much about it, Mr. Lockett,” she replied honestly. “I’ve read about the Alamo, and I know that the state was once a republic. The rest of my knowledge is confined to the penny-novel book covers that I see on display at the general store. They depict train robberies, cattle rustling, and saloons. I don’t know if that is a true characterization or not.”

  Ben threw back his head with its shock of white hair and roared with laughter. The booming sound rattled the china figurines that cluttered every conceivable space in Sybil Prather’s overdecorated parlor.

  “Well, we have our share of train robberies, and I’ve frequented a few saloons myself, begging your pardon, Abel. I’ve even chased a few rustlers all the way to Mexico.” He paused. “Maybe the pictures you’ve seen are accurate at that, Miss Holbrook.” He studied her for a moment longer, then challenged, “Why don’t you come back to Texas with me and see it for yourself?”

  There were several startled exclamations.

  “Ben, you’re joking, of course! I’d forgotten what a tease you are.” Abel laughed.

  “Let my Lauren go to Texas where Indians live!” Sybil cried. The ruffles covering her ample bosom quivered with distress.

  “What an utterly preposterous suggestion!” came from William.

  William. Yes, William Keller had been there, too.

  Lauren shuddered, even in the stifling heat. She pushed the thought of William out of her mind. She wasn’t going to let the memory of him ruin her reunion with Ben Lockett.

  Another groan, accompanied this time by a mumbled curse, diverted her from her reverie. Hesitantly she swiveled her head to look at the ailing man. Her eyes lighted first on an ornately tooled saddle, with filigreed silver decorations glittering against the black leather. Her bags were at the back of the wagon, near the man’s feet.

  He must be very tall, Lauren thought as she quickly scanned the length of the prone body. Her initial impression was that he was lean and well proportioned. After that first hasty appraisal, she began at his boots and studied the figure with increasing fascination.

  The black boots were of smooth leather and came to just under his knees. Tight black chinos were tucked into the tops of them. Lauren blushed at the perfect fit of the pants, which contoured the long, muscled things like a second skin.

  Lauren’s breath caught in her throat, and she stared as one hypnotized at the bulge between his thighs. The tight pants emphasized and detailed his anatomy. To Lauren, who was raised in deliberate ignorance of the opposite sex, it was a bold display. How could anyone be so flagrantly nonchalant about his… person? she wondered.

  Her palms grew moist within her gloves.

  She forced her eyes to move from his crotch. The buff-colored shirt was shoved sloppily into his belted waistband. Only the last two buttons of the shirt were closed, and the soft fabric fell away from a broad chest that rose and fell with his even breathing. The wide chest tapered to a flat belly and was covered with light brown hair that glinted with golden highlights as the sun filtered through the branches of the pecan tree and shone on him.

  Lauren had never seen a man shirtless before. Once a member of Reverend Prather’s congregation had caught a deadly fever and she had glimpsed his upper torso as one of the married women in attendance had bathed him. The sufferer was fat; his skin was pink; and his chest was smooth and hairless. No, he had looked nothing like this.

  Lauren swallowed hard and pressed her hand against the fluttering in her stomach.

  Jared Lockett groaned again, and she held her breath, afraid that he would awaken and find her looking at him with this shameful temerity. But he only sighed, making a deep hollow of his stomach under his rib cage. His hand moved onto his chest, where it stirred restlessly before remaining still. The hand was tanned and large, with strong, slim fingers. The same sun-bleached hair that covered his chest sprinkled the back of his hand.

  A strong column of throat extended from the powerful shoulders. Lauren raised her eyes to his face and was crushingly disappointed. His features were covered by a black, flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat. Her curiosity was piqued by this son of Ben’s, and she wanted to view the face that belonged to this long, hard body.

  Lauren almost jumped when Ed Travers said briskly, “There. I think we can leave now.”

  So engrossed was she with Jared Lockett’s form that she hadn’t noticed the man returning from his errand.

  “You are extremely kind to do this, Mr. Travers.” Lauren’s level voice surprised her. The tickling sensation in her stomach had spread into her chest and throat. These symptoms of “the vapors” were uncharacteristic of the usually serene Lauren Holbrook.

  “No problem at all,” Travers hastened to assure her.

  He clucked to the bedraggled horses and began maneuvering them through the traffic on the streets of the state’s capital. They dodged trolleys, buggies, and horseback riders as they made their way through the city. There were no motorcars, which Lauren had seen on recent trips to Raleigh.

  She enjoyed looking at the capitol building from the different angles their route afforded her. “I think you’re justifiably proud of your capitol building. I’ve read about it. It’s very impressive.”

  Travers smiled. “The red granite came from a quarry near the Lockett ranch.”

  “Keypoint,” Lauren said. She remembered Ben’s proud voice as he told her about the ranch. Her comment on its clever name, which used a play on words with Lockett and Keypoint, caused him to bea
m at her astuteness. “You’d be surprised at how few people catch that,” he said. As he grinned broadly, the furrows on either side of his mouth deepened into facsimiles of dimples.

  Lauren smiled at the memory, and Travers glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. So she knew about Keypoint. Did she also know who lived there? Conversationally he asked, “Have you ever been to Texas before, Miss Holbrook?”

  “No, I haven’t. That’s why I was delighted to accept Ben’s invitation to come and stay with his family for a while.”

  The wagon lurched when Travers suddenly jerked on the reins. She was going to stay with them? In the house in Coronado? Or at Keypoint? Either place was inconceivable. This girl was as innocent as the day was long. Had Ben Lockett gone mad?

  They were outside the city now and heading west on the well-traveled road. When Lauren pulled the long pins out of her hat, Travers warned her, “I wouldn’t take that off if I were you, Miss Holbrook. Our sun is hot. You might get a burn on that pretty nose.”

  Lauren agreed and readjusted her hat, but slipped out of her jacket. The slight breeze stirred by the movement of the wagon cooled her damp skin somewhat.

  When she was settled again, Travers returned to his thoughts. That wild buck in the back of the wagon was enough reason not to keep any decent woman under the same roof with him.

  Jared Lockett was notorious throughout the state for whoring and drinking. When he was younger, his activities had been deemed “sowing wild oats,” but since he had passed his thirtieth birthday, they had become a matter of public scorn. When was Jared going to start acting responsibly? No time soon, Travers mused glumly.

  Just last month, Jared had caused a big disturbance at the Rosenburg depot. He and some of his feckless cronies had gone into the Harvey House there and had spent the afternoon drinking and gambling. They had made their presence known in the restaurant by behaving like a pack of wild dogs. Jared made an unseemly proposition to one of the more winsome Harvey girls. The girls who worked as waitresses in the restaurant chain that served the Santa Fe Railroad were known for their scrupulous morals. If a man proposed anything to one of those young ladies, it had better be nothing less than marriage and a vine-covered cottage.