“Yes, I did.” Carianne had heard about ten minutes of thunder. A good night for sleeping, and after the day of mental angst, she’d been exhausted. “Here’s the book you wanted about Indians, Danny.”
The smallest boy tugged her skirt. “I don’t know what I want. May I look around?” Eight-year-old Eddie Samms was the most polite boy Carianne had ever known.
“Yes, of course. Look over on the lower shelf. It has some cowboy stories.”
“Did you find the book I wanted, Miss Carianne?” Becky rocked on the sides of her shoes. The child couldn’t be still.
Carianne went behind her desk. “Yes, I do, I’ve been holding it for you.” She had a short, narrow shelving unit built on one side of her desk, a place she stuck books patrons had specifically asked for.
She perched on the stool and bent over double to examine the lower shelf. “Ah, here it is, Treasure Island. Laying the book on the desk top, she opened it to record the information, and her heart jumped into her throat.
Oliver Cason’s scrawling message swam before her eyes.
Not taking the time to read it, she slammed the book shut and looked up. Becky stood with hand outstretched. “Becky, dear, I just realized someone else needs this book. Let me find you another one.” She got to her feet and made for the bookcase containing children’s books. “Treasure Island is really better suited for boys. Now, how about Alice in Wonderland?”
“Is it a boy who wants Treasure Island?” Becky asked.
Carianne pulled out the dog-eared Alice in Wonderland for Becky before answering. She could’ve used more time to think of a good answer. “No, not a boy. A man.”
Becky nodded like a child who knew adults always took precedence and accepted the substitute with a smile. “My other brother, Jamie, doesn’t like to read.”
“Oh, well, not everyone does.” Carianne recorded the book and handed it to Becky.
“He doesn’t get good grades like Danny and me. Will he grow up stupid, Miss Carianne?”
“Of course not. Different people have different talents. Jamie may like to do things with his hands.”
“No, he’s just lazy.”
“Eddie and me have to be smart,” Joe Samms chimed in. “We’re the mayor’s sons.”
“Eddie and I, you dolt.” Danny corrected him. “Farmers’ children can be just as smart as the mayor’s, can’t they, Miss Carianne?”
Any other time, Carianne would’ve admonished Danny about name calling, set Joe straight about taking a superior attitude. Any other time, she’d like nothing better than to talk to the children about their books. At the moment, all she wanted to do was get rid of them.
Unfortunately, they didn’t cooperate. Eva wanted to pull out every book and check them for pictures. They all wanted to change their selections half a dozen times. Carianne’s impatience hiked another notch every time she glanced to her desk where Treasure Island lay.
When she finally got the last book checked out, she practically pushed the children out the door.
A flock of excited butterflies beat in her stomach as she sat at the desk. She sent up a prayer before opening the book. The title struck her as ironic, and she chided herself for being too stupid not to have thought of it before. Where else would Oliver Cason have written about a treasure?
Hunched over the open book, she read.
Like this idea of hidden treasure. It’d give me comfort knowing I held something back—no one else knew of. Think I’ll keep the rest of my gold here in the sod instead of taking it to the bank. Never have trusted banks. Nobody else either.
She looked up as if expecting the answer to materialize before her. Rhyan had already had the ranch house searched, but this note indicated Oliver Cason hadn’t taken it to the ranch house. He’d buried it in the ground, in the sod. But where? She didn’t know how many thousands of acres the ranch covered, but it was a lot. Maybe Rhyan could think of some likely places his grandfather would hide his gold.
The answer flashed before her like a shooting star, and she shot to her feet. She knew where Oliver Cason would have left his gold. Intuition like this had never failed her in the past. She had no doubt the Spirit spoke to her.
Through the open window, she heard Tom Amerson getting his team ready. An idea sent her flying out the door and down the steps. “Tom, are you on your way to the livery?” She halted before the startled man.
“Shore am. You need anything, Carianne?”
“No. Didn’t I hear you say Rhyan was coming to the livery this afternoon?”
Tom lifted one brow. “Yeah, he’s coming to check the inventory of his horses and carriages. Said he’d probably get rid of them.” Tom pushed his bowler back a notch. “I hate it. I make a fair amount renting out his stock.”
If Carianne was right in her thinking, Tom would have nothing to worry about.
She could get Tom to tell Rhyan about her discovery, but she wanted to tell him herself. He’d said he didn’t believe she fabricated the story about Oliver Cason’s gold, but she suspected, deep inside, he had his doubts. She wanted to show him the book. If she were honest, she just wanted to see him.
Like an ember grown cold on the outside, her heart still held a silly flicker of hope. Hot. Glowing. Waiting to be flare again.
“Would you invite Rhyan to supper? Martha invited Colt and me.” She scrambled through her brain for a reasonable explanation. “We have some business to discuss with Rhyan.”
Tom slipped his thumbs under his suspenders, and his face split into a wide grin. “Shore as shootin’. Be glad to. Just get Martha to set an extra plate.”
With arms hugging her middle, she stood watching Tom’s buggy rumble off. Drawing in a deep breath of rain washed air, she turned and retraced her steps to her little house. She intended to spend the afternoon laying out plans to convert the saloon into a library, theater, and rooming establishment, but first she’d find something nice to wear tonight.
Chapter 18
Rhyan finished the correspondence in his upstairs study. He found it harder each day to go into the library. Too many memories.
Tom Amerson was waiting for him at the livery, but he decided to stop by the kitchen to get a bite to eat. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and might not get back until late. As he hit the bottom landing, he heard female voices coming from the dining room, one of them Emma’s distinctive southern drawl.
He interrupted them. “Emma, what brings you out today?”
She’d been speaking to Maria and swung around at the question. “Cowboy, how’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. Why haven’t you been over before now?”
“Last time I checked it was the same distance from here to my place. Why haven’t you come calling?”
“I’ve been…busy.”
“So I’ve heard.” Emma grinned. “I stopped by to beg Maria for some jars of jam to take to Mrs. Davey. Just on my way to town.”
“I’ll fix you a nice basket to take and add a freshly baked loaf to it.” Maria didn’t wait for a response, but hustled off to the kitchen.
“While she’s doing that, come on in the living room and you can tell me what’s wrong with Mrs. Davey.”
Emma chuckled as she followed him to the sofa. She plopped down and adjusted her hat. “Nothing’s wrong with Mrs. Davey, unless you think having a baby is wrong.”
He sent her a mischievous glance from under his brows as he lowered himself onto the wingchair. “In her case, I’d say it’s wrong. This is her tenth, isn’t it?”
“Sixth, and they’re jammed into that two bedroom house. She’s worried about where they’re going to find room for another.”
“We could recommend she shut Mr. Davey out. That might solve any future problems.”
Emma laughed outright. “Now what do you have against babies, cowboy? Is that why you decided not to marry Carianne? You don’t want to have a family? Or maybe you don’t think you can afford one any more than Mr. Davey can.”
Rhyan took
no offence at Emma’s straight talking, though no one else had better try. He stretched his legs out in front and clamped his hands together. “I couldn’t afford one right now.”
“Bosh, you’d find a way. Your prospects are unlimited. You could sell some land or go into politics.”
“I don’t have a taste for politics anymore. Don’t know I ever did.”
“Well, there’s all kinds of business opportunities opening up. You could join up with Carianne and run her culture center. She’s buying Molly’s Place, you know.”
“I’ve heard that, but I doubt Molly will ever sell. Lots of saloons get by without selling whiskey. Over the counter, anyway.”
“Oh, she’s going to sell all right. She let Carianne and some other women come in to inspect the place.”
He sat up. “Carianne doesn’t know anything about business. She’d let all types of swindlers take advantage of her. As I understand it, she’s going to hold wild-west shows on one hand, then operas on the other. It’s ridiculous.”
“That’s why she needs a man who knows business to help her.” Emma dipped her chin and gave him a sly gaze.
He knew what Emma was doing. She still held illusions he and Carianne would marry. Obviously she wasn’t pushing her own son in that direction. Yet anyway. It couldn’t be that she didn’t like Carianne, so he didn’t know what sense to make of it. But the sooner she dropped her match making, the better.
“The whole thing’s a bad idea, and Carianne should keep her money. The economy may be heading for a downturn. You remember a few years back during the bust when a lot of very rich men found themselves paupers overnight.”
“Because the banks failed.”
“You think a silly venture like a culture center can’t fail. Look at me, even as solid as the ranch has been, it’s about to fail.”
“Honeychile, anything can fail.” She worked her mouth a few seconds before adding, “It’s a whole lot easier to fail if you have someone beside you who loves you for yourself, not for your money.” She reached over and patted his knee. “Or your pretty face.” Had Emma heard about his trip to Washington with Abby?
A door shut somewhere in the house, and Emma jumped up. “That’s probably Maria. I need to get going. You just think about what I said.”
He got up to follow her out to the foyer where Maria held a large basket covered with tea towels. The idea that Carianne was seriously considering buying the saloon unnerved him. She didn’t have any idea how much money it would take to do everything she planned to do. If the trustees of her grandmother’s estate, located back in England, knew what went on, she could lose her livelihood.
It might not matter. She’d probably get married and not have to worry about a livelihood. On the other hand, she might not. Anyway, the thought she’d lose all her money on a foolish scheme soured in the pit of his stomach.
He came up behind Emma. “Let me take that for you, Emma. I need to go to town. Got to see Tom Amerson. Can I ride in with you? I can get a horse from the livery to ride back.”
“Sure thing, honeypot. You can drive the buggy, and we can have a good long talk.”
Despite that threat, he needed to gleam more information from Emma. Maybe he could talk some sense into Carianne.
***
“I smell the cornbread.” Martha was out of the chair before Carianne could do more than turn from the window. She’d come early to help Martha, and all was done except the bread. She smoothed the eyelet lace that trimmed her cotton lawn dress of maize print. Flounces bordered the hem of her skirt and swept up over an underskirt in back. It felt cool and comfortable. And utterly feminine.
The sound of hooves jerked her attention back out the window. Colt rode up. She had no doubt he’d be here on time. Colt was always punctual, and so was Rhyan. If he was coming at all. If he did, he’d probably be with Tom. She dropped the curtain and went to the door to welcome Colt.
“Smells good in here.” He removed his hat as he entered the room.
“Martha has braised pork chops tonight, but Tom isn’t here yet.”
“That’s fine. I can wait.”
“They invited Rhyan to supper.” The words came out casually. She could tell Colt the real reason Rhyan was invited, but for some reason, didn’t want to.
A scowl touched his blond brow before he smiled, and she hastened to explain. “I hoped to ask his advice about my plans for the culture center.” That was partly true.
“Rhyan knows a lot about business, that’s for sure.”
The sound of boots came from the front porch. Tom came through the door, followed by Rhyan.
“We’re all here looks like,” Tom said. “I better go wash up. Martha wouldn’t let me sit down to the table looking like this. Won’t take a minute.” He went through the door she knew went to their bedroom.
A minute was all Carianne needed. She retrieved the book she’d placed on the low corner cabinet. “I found it.” She held the book out to Rhyan.
He looked at it for several seconds, as if it were a snake, before taking it. “Grandpa’s book is Treasure Island?”
“Yes, the inscription is on the front title page.”
He opened the book and gazed at it for at least a full minute, enough time to read the short message through several times.
Colt looked over Rhyan’s shoulder. “Is this the book we were searching for…about the gold?”
“Yes, I had it at my house all along.” Carianne hoped they wouldn’t think she’d sent them on a wild goose chase.
“He doesn’t exactly say where we’ll find the gold.” Rhyan didn’t look up, and his tone let her know he doubted there was any gold to find.
“He didn’t have to.” She let all the confidence of her convictions lace her words.
That brought his head up and he met her stare for stare. “How do you know that?”
She glanced from Rhyan to Colt. They might both think she was crazy. “Do you remember when you showed me around Sollano the first time? We went to the cemetery Their old homestead, the soddy, wasn’t far. In fact, the cemetery was put there because that’s where your grandparents lived when two of their babies died.”
“I remember. You thought it incredible Grandma would live in such a place.”
“I did at first. Then you told me the story of how your grandfather left your grandmother in San Francisco and told her he’d come for her when he’d built a place. And I asked you what your grandmother did.”
“And I told you she got tired of waiting, hired scouts, and came after him.”
She smiled. “Do you recall what I said to that?”
“I recall the exact words. You said you knew what I’d say before I said it.”
She grinned, foolishly pleased he’d remembered. “And I tried to explain that I felt such an affinity with your grandmother, I knew what she’d have done.” She stretched her arm to tap the page of the open book. “When I read your grandfather’s message, I knew what he intended to do…what he did do.”
“Which was?”
“You’ve already searched the ranch house, but your grandfather wasn’t in the ranch house when he wrote that. They still lived in the soddy. When he wrote ‘sod’ here, he referred to the soddy. That’s where he left it.”
He combed his hair with his fingers and those two waves separated by a cowlick fell back into place on his forehead. She recalled how soft and silky his hair felt, and wished she could have brushed his hair back.
She caught the glint of excitement in his eyes and knew he believed her.
The glint faded. “That was a long time ago, and why wouldn’t he let me know? Are you trying to tell me, in all that time, Grandpa didn’t tell anyone what he’d done? That he’d moved from the soddy and left his gold there?”
The tone of his voice touched a raw nerve in her. “That’s what I’m telling you. He delighted in keeping a secret. He may have told your grandmother, but he didn’t want word to get out that he had a fortune buried out at the soddy. If
he’d left a will, he’d have mentioned it, I’m sure, but he died suddenly, thinking he had time to write a will later. Some people are hesitant to write wills because it’s distasteful to think about their impeding deaths.”
“It’s possible I suppose.” Rhyan closed the book. “The soddy had a cellar but it fell in years ago.”
“Are you going to dig it up?” Colt asked.
Carianne waited for his answer, willing him to believe.
His eyes darkened to almost black. “Yeah, what are the odds? But I’m going to do the digging. Don’t let anyone else know about this.”
She let out her breath, realizing how important this was to her. If he hadn’t agreed to dig, she would have herself, with her bare hands, if necessary. “Of course we won’t say a word.”
The door opened behind her and she jumped. Tom came out with a clean shirt and slicked hair. “Let’s go eat, folks. I’m hungry enough to eat a whole cow.”
“Think we’re having pig tonight.” Colt took hold of her arm, and they all trooped in to the dining room where Martha was fussing over the last touches of a spread that would have fed twice as many people.
Tom went to his place at the head, and Martha took the end. Colt walked around to the far side, and Rhyan claimed a chair on the opposite side. Carianne made her way to the chair Colt held out for her. She preferred to sit by Colt, but she didn’t know whether that was because he made her feel more comfortable or because she wanted a good view of Rhyan.
“Shall we bless the food?” Without waiting for an answer, Tom mouthed a short grace, and the clatter of dishes began.
“Did you decide to sell your horses, Rhyan?” Martha asked.
He paused a long moment, and his lips tightened as if he debated whether he’d need to sell now. “I thought I had, but I’m going to think about it a little more.”
Tom stopped in the process of cutting into his meat. “Oh, you don’t want me to ask Jenkins for an offer?”
“You can go ahead and ask for an offer. I can always refuse.”
“I’m sure everything will work out, whatever you decide.” Martha looked on the bright side of every situation.
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 18
