by Cindy Gerard
“What else could it be?”
While he was hard-pressed to discourage her, he couldn’t make the shift from speculation to fact as easily as she. “Okay. Let’s say it is. It still looks to me like it’s of no more significance than a grocery list.”
She didn’t give his theory any more import than a quick roll of her eyes before another thought stopped her. “I wonder how it ended up here.”
“Well.” He could only speculate. “We found the shells scattered along the river—close to the spot you found the gold coin—maybe he took it off to take a bath. Maybe he got caught without it when the law showed up and chased his outlaw butt back to Arkansas.”
“That happened? It happened here—in the valley?”
“So the story goes.”
Caught up in the excitement, she sat down at the table beside him. “I think I want to hear the whole story.”
“It’s just a story, remember that,” he cautioned, then proceeded to tell her what his father had told him.
“Supposedly Frank and Jesse had decided to hold their last job—the one that netted them the chest of gold—and had taken off for Wind River to hide out for a while before heading to California and a life of luxury.
“Supposedly,” he repeated, reemphasizing that what he was telling her could just as well be fiction as fact, “they figured no one would look for them this far west, so they got comfortable here. A little too comfortable. They forgot to watch their backs. And as I mentioned before, they actually had their picture taken—which ended up being their downfall.
“When the posse came several months later, they caught them flat-footed. The boys only had time to saddle up and get out of Dodge, leaving everything—including the gold—behind.”
She touched a finger to the paper. “This is significant,” she said decisively, after listening with rapt attention. “Frank must have written it down, tucked it in the shell, then strung it around his neck so he’d have a record of how to find the gold if they ever got separated from it. They were killed before they could get back here.
“I can feel it, Garrett.” She was so excited she was bouncing in the chair. “Why else would Frank have worn the shell around his neck, and what else could this really be?” Carefully straightening the paper, she studied the cryptic message again.
He leaned his chin in the cup of his palm and watched her. “You look really cute when you get greedy, did you know that?”
Her grin was wicked and determined. “And you look just like an outlaw on horseback.”
He cocked a brow. “That’s a hint, right?”
“Saddle up, Garrett James, we’ve got a treasure to hunt.”
It came to her like the proverbial bolt out of the blue. They’d been wandering the river’s edge, enjoying the sun and the fun and each other when she stopped short and grabbed his hand.
“It wasn’t an I. It was an O. And it wasn’t an S. It was a K.”
Garrett stared at her like she’d arrived by spaceship. “What?”
“The note. It was an O, only part of it was smeared. And it wasn’t an S. It’s another K. Not R I S, but R O K. W I S K Y. R O K. Whiskey Rock!”
“So he couldn’t spell. It still means nothing.”
“It means everything,” she insisted and pointed straight ahead. “Look. The rock. The one that looks like a bottle. The one you boys carved your initials on. It reminded Frank of a bottle, too—a rock that looked like a whiskey bottle. Whiskey rock. That rock is the clue to where he hid the gold.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes, studied the rock, studied her. “It’s a stretch,” he said finally, then quickly added when she scowled, “but, I’ll go along with the possibility.”
“Possibility, my butt—”
He swung her around and, laughing at the strength of her conviction, caught the part of her anatomy in question in his big hands. “And a sweet one it is, too.”
She made a halfhearted struggle before succumbing to the smile in his eyes and the persuasion of his kiss.
“Is finding the gold really that important to you?”
Emma had never been into symbolism, but suddenly she was certain that the gold stood for more than the whisper of a legend. It was symbolic of their love. Eternal. Enduring. And no, finding the gold wasn’t important. Finding their love and the means to keep it was.
She framed his face in her hands. “You’re what’s important to me.”
“I brought the blanket,” he whispered against her mouth.
Whipping his hat from his head and settling it on hers, she snuggled closer. “By all means, you should be rewarded for your foresight.”
He lifted her into his arms, carried her to the blanket and laid her down. “I love you, Em. I’ll always love you.”
On a far ridge, two riders reined in their mounts and surveyed the valley below them,
“What do you think?” Jesse asked as he leaned a forearm on the saddle horn. “Is it safe to go down there?”
Clay lowered the binoculars. He scratched his head and fought a grin as his big bay gelding shifted beneath him. “Not just yet. Let’s give ’em another half hour and then make our move.”
Jesse snorted impatiently. “They’ve been here for seven days. What’s another half hour going to accomplish?”
“The difference,” Clay said, sounding wise beyond his years and enjoying the fact that his smug grin was irritating the hell out of his younger brother. “All the difference in the world.”
With Clay and Jesse in the lead and Emma and Garrett riding double and pulling up the rear, the four riders left the Wind River retreat a few hours later.
Garrett reined in as they crested the ridge. Together he and Emma looked down over the valley.
“Does it bother you that we left without the infamous James Gang gold?”
She snuggled against him. “I’m content to pass on the torch to your brothers.”
In his wife’s eyes, Garrett saw that her thoughts echoed his. What they were taking with them from the valley was far more valuable than gold: the sweet and perfect knowledge that from this day forward, the love they had renewed would be as enduring as the river, as lasting as the memories they had made in this special place.
“Let’s go home,” he said, and nudged the mare with his knees.
Emma took one last, lingering look over the valley. She wouldn’t have missed this past week for anything in the world. But she missed their daughter. She missed their life.
“Yes,” she agreed, turning toward the other side of the mountain. “It’s time to go home.”
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6521-9
THE OUTLAW’S WIFE
Copyright © 1998 by Cindy Gerard
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review. the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office. Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Table of Contents
“Garrett.”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Dedication
Also by
About the Author
Letter to Reader
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter T
hree
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Copyright
