by Kim Redford
“He is simply a fascinating story. Whenever we feature him, our ratings always shoot up.”
“You are too kind.” Storm glanced down shyly, as if she were almost overcome by all the attention. She walked over to the bandstand, picked up a stack of one-sheets, scribbled her name on several of them, and handed them to Jennifer.
“Thank you so much. Everyone will just love this personal touch from Fernando.”
“He is very much mindful of those who follow his story.”
Craig exchanged another look with Fern, acknowledging Storm’s amazing transition from spunky cowgirl to savvy entrepreneur.
Storm glanced up, saw them, and smiled. She looked back at Jennifer. “Please come this way. I’d like you to meet the cochairs of Wild West Days.” She led the news team forward.
Craig took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect next. He cast a sidelong look at Fernando. He bet the bull didn’t know from day to day either, but he either didn’t care or completed trusted Storm.
Storm gestured toward Fern and Craig. “I’m sure you’ve heard of our very own internationally renowned musicians Fern Bryant, vocalist, and Craig Thorne, guitarist.”
“Of course, I’ve heard of you both.” Jennifer batted her fake eyelashes in excitement. “I’m just so pleased to meet you. And you are generous to take time out of your busy lives to support your local hometown in this special way.”
Craig glanced at Fern, giving her the go-ahead to lead their response, since he reasoned woman-to-woman might work best in this situation with Storm.
“Craig and I were thrilled to be asked to help out, but most of the work was done by the talented and dedicated residents of Wildcat Bluff County.”
“Everything we’ve seen leads us to agree that this is a very talented community,” Jennifer said with a smile.
“If you have time,” Storm added, “I’d like to suggest you stop by Wildcat Hall, our local historic dance hall.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It is. Fern and Craig are the owners, and they support local musicians, as well as other celebrities.”
The reporter looked at them with even more interest. “Perhaps we could record a segment there sometime in the future.”
“Anytime. We’re the North Texas version of Greune Hall in the Hill Country,” Fern said.
“I’m well aware of Greune Hall. Wonderful venue. I’ll definitely want to see your dance hall.”
“Please stop by.” Craig smiled his professional smile, feeling more impressed all the time by Storm’s natural promotional talent. She was turning out to be a great asset to the community.
“In that case, I’ll be in touch.” Jennifer returned his professional smile.
“If you have time, please take a moment to say goodbye to Fernando.” Storm gestured toward the trailer.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of leaving without a farewell to handsomest bull I’ve ever met.” The reporter turned toward Craig and Fern. “I’m so happy to have met you both.”
“We look forward to your visit to Wildcat Hall,” Fern said.
Craig stood there with Fern by his side as he watched the news team and Storm walk away, feeling kind of outclassed by an eight-year-old. At the same time, he couldn’t have been more impressed by her professionalism.
“There’s a new kid on the block, isn’t there?” Fern whispered. “And she’s terrific.”
“Let’s add her to the Red River Wranglers and all our other budding talent. We’re building something important here.”
“And we’re just getting started nurturing talent.”
“Guess we’d better check on our main event.”
“And change clothes.”
“Yep.”
As he started toward the boardwalk, Sydney, Slade, and Ivy rushed up, obviously out of breath.
“What is it?” Craig looked past them to see if he could spot the trouble.
“Everything is fine,” Sydney said. “We came to check on Storm.”
“We didn’t mean to leave her alone during her first live television interview,” Slade said. “Glad you two were here.”
“Oscar and Tater are with her.” Craig gestured toward them. “And I guarantee she didn’t need any help at all.”
“She set up an amazing event,” Fern said. “Did y’all know about all of this beforehand?”
“She kept getting ideas and adding to what she wanted to do till we could hardly keep up with her, particularly since we have our own stuff going on during Wild West Days.” Sydney shrugged as she shook her head.
“We finally assigned Oscar and Tater to keep an eye on her,” Slade said. “They won’t let her get into any trouble.”
Craig chuckled as he glanced around the park. “She may not get into trouble, but what about the rest of us after she gets done?”
“I know.” Slade glanced at his niece. “She’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“And you just encourage her.” Sydney tapped her brother on the shoulder, laughing at him.
“Last thing I ever want any of us to do is break her spirit,” Slade said. “Great spirit is worth its weight in gold.”
“So true,” Sydney agreed. “And she’s got it in abundance.”
“Are y’all about ready for your roles in the shoot-out?” Fern asked. “It’s coming up next.”
“It’s my first time,” Ivy said. “And I’m excited to participate.”
“You’re on the Ruffians team, aren’t you?” Craig asked.
“Right.” Ivy appeared smug. “And y’all are on the Hellions team, so may the best outlaws win.”
Craig glanced at Slade. “Didn’t you explain the rules to her?”
“No point. She’s decided it’s a real contest, so look out.”
Craig laughed, shaking his head. “At this rate, who knows what will happen when our teams square off against each other?”
“It’s supposed to turn out like it did at Wildcat Falls in Indian Territory back in the day,” Fern said. “I researched it. The Sun Rattlers outlaw gang tried to take over the town, so there was a shoot-out in the Desperado Dance Hall that spilled out onto the street. Townsfolk won and ran off the Rattlers.”
“Right,” Sydney replied. “Some of our original settlers came from Wildcat Falls and brought that story with them. We celebrate their triumph every year by reenacting the shoot-out.”
“Whatever happened to Wildcat Falls?” Ivy asked, glancing around the group. “Is it still there?”
“Doubt it,” Slade said. “It was an outlaw town and those either turned law abiding or got burned-out.”
“That’s a shame.” Fern looked at Craig in disappointment. “I’d like to see it.”
“There was a store there named Adella’s Delights. That’s where Hedy got the name for her store, only she changed the spelling to Adelia’s Delights to make it her own.”
“I’m more intrigued all the time,” Fern said. “But I guess that past is in the past, so today we’ll just dress up in period costumes and play make-believe.”
“That’s plenty for me.” Craig glanced around the group. “We don’t need that kind of reality in Wildcat Bluff.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Slade said. “After the shoot-out, we’ll basically be done and then all we need to do is get Storm and Fernando safely home.”
“Will the shoot-out scare him?” Fern asked. “Maybe she should take him home first.”
“No time,” Slade said. “Besides, we put him at the far end of town from the noise, so he’ll be okay.”
“And she’s not about to miss any promotional opportunities.” Sydney pointed at the folks lining up in front of the park. “She’s going to get a big crowd, isn’t she?”
“Looks like it,” Craig replied. “I’ll ask Sheriff Calhoun to send a couple of deputies over
to keep an eye on things.”
“They should be here soon.” Slade nodded down the street where two deputies were headed their way. “We already discussed the need for security. That’s a valuable bull.”
“And a more valuable little girl,” Craig said. “We want her kept safe.”
“Absolutely,” Slade agreed.
“Guess we’d better get to the saloon.” Craig glanced out over the park again, but all looked calm and peaceful. He hoped it went well, but he couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t—not with Storm in charge.
“We’ll see you up there in a bit,” Sydney said. “We’ll check on my daughter, make sure everything’s in place, and then go change our clothes and be ready to cause trouble on the mean streets of Wildcat Bluff.”
“Just be ready to hear the bark of my six-shooter.” Craig made an imaginary draw from his hip.
Everyone laughed at his joke as he put an arm around Fern’s shoulder, and they headed down the boardwalk for the Lone Star Saloon.
Chapter 35
Fern stood at the top of the magnificent staircase of the Lone Star Saloon. She felt decidedly decadent and as if she had stepped back in time. She wore a long-sleeve gown of emerald green with a watered silk skirt, front and back drapery, and waist of grosgrain silk, all trimmed in black lace. Soft black leather gloves covered her hands. She’d put on a corset, but it wasn’t tight enough to restrict her breath as the ladies used to wear them, leading to the advent of fainting couches. With her upswept hair and rouged cheeks, she represented Belle, elegant and benevolent owner of the Lone Star Saloon.
Fern looked down the wide sweep of stairs to the ballroom below, where modern women had been transformed into their ancestors with colorful waists and skirts covered by white lace pinafores with high, black button-top boots on their small feet. They stood on the edges of the dance floor, waiting to be asked to dance, or were swirled around the room by men dressed in rough clothes like plaid shirts, blue Levi’s, and cowboy boots or the fancier clothes of gamblers or gentleman who wore black jackets, white shirts, brocade vests, and Hessian boots.
As Belle, she smiled as she was supposed to do at the idea that all the men on that floor paid for the privilege of holding a sweet-smelling woman close to him for the duration of a waltz. That meant she’d become a very wealthy woman because she catered to lonely men and gave jobs to young women who might otherwise be destitute. No one knew the real name of this benefactor who had helped build and protect Wildcat Bluff. She’d only ever been known as Belle, and from the upstairs oil portrait, beautiful was the perfect word for her.
Craig pounded away on the piano below, providing music as he would have for dancers in the past, just as he did in the present day. He looked handsome and more like a gambler than a piano player in a white shirt, green silk vest, gray trousers, and black boots.
Inside Belle’s domain on this particular day, most of her clientele were either local townsfolk or part of the Ruffians, a legendary outlaw gang believed to rob from the rich to give to the poor. Whether that fact was true or not, nobody knew for sure anymore, but Fern liked the idea as much as everyone else, so she decided to believe it.
As Belle, she also carried a double-shot, ivory-handle derringer in the pocket of her skirt. Of course, it only held blanks because loaded guns weren’t allowed at the reenactment. If she’d really needed to be armed, she would have preferred her own pink pistol, an ultra-concealable Glock 43 9 mm with six-round magazine. But Belle would have carried a gun just like this one, and if necessary, she would have used it to defend her dance hall darlings.
In playing the part of Belle, she was coming to admire and appreciate this strong, capable woman who had made a difference in so many people’s lives. She’d also heard that Belle sang like an angel, but she could rarely be called upon to perform for others. Perhaps she’d been shy, or perhaps she didn’t want to take the limelight away from her ladies in white pinafores.
In this case, Fern had been asked to sing while Craig played the piano, completing the legend for the guests sitting at tables watching the tableau unfold inside and standing behind cordoned off areas outside. When she walked down the stairs and took her place beside Craig, the drama would begin…and unfold exactly as it had played out year after year in Old Town.
Yet she hesitated, waiting for she didn’t know what. Maybe she wanted to prolong this moment that would never come again. Maybe she wanted to be the spectacular Belle a little bit longer. Maybe she felt an underlying unease that, once she put the play into motion, nothing would go as planned and life might never be the same again.
And then there was that lingering memory of the one-room schoolhouse in the memorial grove. She would forever think of the small hats tossed haphazardly across the floor in front of the fireplace where they had come to rest after being so gallantly used to save lives…at least, she hoped they’d saved lives. But now was not the time to disturb sleeping ghosts, so let them rest in peace. Now was the time to reenact a powerful moment when a town fought back to save its citizens.
She took a deep breath and took her first step downward, letting her gloved hand slide down the smooth surface of the hand-carved banister that was a work of art in its own right. Beauty. All at once she understood the original Belle had loved beauty and had built a life to support it for herself and others. And with her voice, Fern would now add to that beauty. It was her gift, small as it was, to Belle’s legacy in Wildcat Bluff.
And when she reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the dance floor, Craig rose from his piano bench and held out his hand to her. She felt her earlier hesitation and angst vanish in the power of his love. She quickly walked to him and took his hand.
“You look beautiful.” He smiled at her with love in his eyes.
“You look handsome.” She smiled back at him with the same love in her eyes.
“Are you ready?” He looked a little concerned about her. “We practiced this number. It was popular back then and it’s still popular today. Your audience will love it.”
“I know. I’m ready.” She took another deep breath.
And she let her voice carry Stephen Foster’s “Beautiful Dreamer” to the high ceiling, where the crystal chandeliers twinkled like starry light in the heavens. She felt as if her words rode a ghost wind that crossed currents of time to bring the past into the present through a ballad that had proved so beautiful and so romantic that not even time could dim is power.
As she let the last note fade away, gunfire popped loudly outside. Even though she knew it was coming, she still jumped at the sound and looked toward the batwing doors. Smoke curled up from the boardwalk outside.
Craig leaped to his feet beside Fern. Dancers scattered to the edges of the dance floor, men going for Colt .44s on their hips while women picked up any available weapon, like whiskey bottles and candlesticks.
As Hell, leader of the Hellions, Slade—big, blond, and dangerous-looking in knee-high leather boots, leather trousers, and crimson shirt—thrust open the batwing doors, six-shooter in each hand.
Ivy pushed in beside Slade, looking about as dangerous with a dagger between her teeth. She wore a man’s green plaid shirt, leather vest, leather trousers, suede boots, black Stetson, and a gun belt strapped to her waist with a six-gun in each holster.
“Belle, I’m calling you out,” Hell said in a deep, gruff voice. “I’m taking over Wildcat Bluff and all that gold you’re hording up there in your fancy lair.”
Fern glanced at Craig. She didn’t think this was part of the script. They were supposed to have the shoot-out outside, not in the saloon. Did she get the wrong storyline, or did her sister decide to up the drama by bursting into the Lone Star? The knife between her teeth looked more like it came from a pirate movie than a western film.
“Everybody’s watching,” Craig said quietly. “I think you have to respond like Belle would’ve, don’t you?”
“I have no idea.” She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t this have been easy? She could only figure Ivy wanted to prolong her role as an infamous outlaw. What had happened to her city-loving sister?
Ivy jerked the knife out of her mouth and made savage cutting motions in the air. “Do as Hell says, or I’ll be the one to throw down on you.”
Fern felt her right eye twitch. What did “throw down on you” even mean? Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be good news for Belle. And in that moment, she became protective of her namesake.
“What’s it to be?” Slade growled, aiming a Colt at the ceiling and firing until everyone’s ears were ringing.
That did it. Fern wasn’t about to let their playacting endanger her acute hearing. She jerked her derringer out of her pocket and aimed it at them.
Ivy laughed at the sight and drew a six-gun.
Fern blinked in surprise. Her sister must have been practicing her fast draw because she was really quick with a gun. She glanced down at her derringer, realizing it was a lady’s or gambler’s weapon made for close action. She was outgunned and knew it. She glanced around the room. None of the men were drawing their weapons or throwing down, as that was what the term must mean. Didn’t Belle have security or something?
She noticed Craig move in her peripheral vision, but she didn’t look directly at him in case the two obnoxious Hellions noticed he was making a move. She realized he was opening the top of the piano and reaching inside. She’d better distract, so she aimed her tiny derringer and pulled the trigger. A pathetic amount of smoke and a soft bang was all she got out of it.
Ivy laughed and drew her other Colt .44. “Give it up, Belle. We’re taking over. I’ll be sleeping on your feather mattress here on out.”
“She’s got that right.” Slade stepped up beside Fern, still brandishing both six-guns. “Hellions own this town now.”
“Think again.” Craig ran forward brandishing a long, black whip.
