Karen’s chin lowered. “My parents had a service for her in Austin. A number of her friends in the trade attended.”
“She had a good life. She’d be the first to say it.”
Another moment passed, then Bette slapped her jeans-clad knees and stood up. “I guess I’d better get going. That dinner’s not going to cook itself.”
“Can I help?” Karen offered.
Bette smiled. “Nope, I can handle it. Just come on over about seven. John’s out with them now, showing them around. Playing host.”
Again there was an odd little undercurrent in Bette’s tone.
“What are they like?” she asked, following her outside. It felt good to move around.
“They’re nice enough. Friendly. Interested. Two of ‘em are married, and the other one...well, you’ll see for yourself tonight. All I can say is, now I understand why the show’s a success. You ever see it? ’Western Rambles.’ They go to all kinds of places, talking to people, showing things of interest—anyplace west of the Mississippi River. Get it?”
Karen nodded. She got it, but she’d never seen the show.
“John just had to have a satellite dish,” Bette continued. “That’s how we see it. It’s back there, on the other side of the garage. Looks like a space alien planted it.” Her gaze settled on the storage shed in Augusta’s backyard. “You take a look in that place yet?”
“Oh, yes.”
Bette chuckled dryly. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Maybe Pete has a point. You do have a lot of Augusta in you.”
“She’s my ideal,” Karen answered softly.
“Mine, too,” Bette agreed. “Well... see you at seven.”
Karen gave an airy little wave and went back inside. But instead of returning to work, she sat in the same chair that Bette had and stared blankly at the tightly packed room.
Talking about her aunt had rekindled her previous melancholy. The cremation, the service in Austin... each brought a guilty reminder of the times she could have come back to Twilight to see her aunt and hadn’t.
Augusta had been quick to offer sanctuary after the aborted wedding, but the close proximity of the Parker Ranch had kept Karen away. She’d been too freshly wounded, her spirit too fragile. Then later, once she’d grown stronger and moved out of her parents’ home, she’d been preoccupied with the need to create a life for herself in Kerrville.
Create a life...
Since the summer she was six, Karen had often viewed herself as two different people. The Karen who lived in Austin, a rising-star student—at least in her parents’ estimation—and the Karen who lived the life of a wild child during her vacations in Twilight Today, all grown-up, she was the Karen who lived a relatively quiet life in Kerrville, worked in a rather staid antique shop, had a boyfriend who was pressing her to accept his marriage proposal. And the Karen who...who what? Life didn’t seem to be the same in Twilight, and consequently, little remained of her previous personality here. Her carefree days had been permanently altered by adulthood and her aunt’s death. This world had changed and was about to change even more. And she had no idea where she fit into it all. Or even if she did.
She was unsure about other things, as well. Whether or not she wanted to continue working in the staid antique shop for a man who derived little pleasure from life besides a nice profit. If she wanted to continue living in Kerrville—a wonderful place in and of itself, but where she was starting to feel smothered. By Martin? By his need to bind her to him?
She cared for him. He was a wonderful person. Kind and gentle...she admired him greatly. Only he wanted an answer. An answer she couldn’t yet give.
Was caring enough? Was love? Her only experience of love was with Alex. And look where that had gotten her. She needed time to think, to figure things out—just as Rachel had advised. Rachel, who was far wiser in many ways than most people realized.
Now, as Rachel had foreseen, her stay in Twilight would have to be extended. In the end, she’d have the time she needed to—
Her thoughts suddenly stopped. A major consideration about opening her own place was the need to find a suitable location. It would have to be someplace large enough, someplace she could afford and in a setting that held promise. But she already had that! Right here!
Augusta had left her this building as well as the stock inside it. She owned it free and clear. And if, through John’s efforts, the town became well known enough for tourists to start to pour in instead of trickle—
Karen again forced her thoughts to an abrupt halt. No one knew exactly how this tourist-enticement thing was going to work out. People might come, and then again, they might not. In either event, would she want to live permanently in a place so far away from modern conveniences? Even if it was her aunt’s beloved Twilight?
Karen took a deep breath and was reminded again of Bette’s cryptic words. Did she, too, want to fly away? To escape from the complications of her life?
If only she could.
THE “WESTERN RAMBLES” CREW was given a grand tour of Twilight. They saw the saloon downstairs from the apartment they would share with John Danson and his wife, the mercantile store, the music hall where the remake of Justice at Sundown would have its first showing in a short fourteen days. They saw the famous well where the outlaw Nate Barlow had rescued a small child from a slow and agonizing death, and whose own death quickly followed.
Diane was particularly intrigued with the well. Built of indigenous stones, it stood about four feet high and was nearly that wide in diameter, with a weathered wood crossbeam, iron hand crank and a worn rope from which the bucket had long ago broken free. For safety’s sake the deep shaft had been covered with cut semicircles of wood, which were weighted down with several large rocks.
“Does it still have water?” Diane asked.
“Oh, maybe a little,” John Danson answered pleasantly. “The spring was said to have dried up, but it kept the town goin’ for another twenty or so years. Actually, we use another well now, a more modern one that’s been drilled and redrilled a couple of times.”
“So it was only a rumor that the spring dried up completely?” Manny asked curiously.
“Nah, it quit sure enough, but it started again a little while later. Only thing was, it wasn’t near as generous, and the water was said to have tasted funny.”
“That must have been quite a blow to the people living here,” Diane said.
“Place never was the same. Stage started takin’ another route, other people did, too. Things just kinda petered out after that. People started movin’ away. Here, you wanna take a look?” Without waiting for a reply, John lifted the rocks and dropped them on the ground near their feet, then dragged away the wooden covers.
A musty, damp, earthy smell emanated from within the dark hole. All three newcomers peered over the edge, but there wasn’t much to see.
Still fascinated, Diane asked, “How deep is it?”
As the conversation continued, Lee let his gaze wander over the picturesque little western town, taking it in from one end to the other. It certainly had an interesting look, one he thought the viewers of “Western Rambles” would appreciate. They’d also appreciate its engaging history and the aspirations of its present-day residents for a brighter future. Even discounting the movie and the press junket, there was more than enough material to do a show here.
His gaze caught on a nondescript sign printed on the window two doors down from the saloon. Antiques, it stated without fanfare. So that was Augusta Latham-Lamb’s “little place,” as he remembered her terming it. Where Karen Latham would be taking possession of her legacy. Was she there yet? It had a closed look that made him wonder. He also wondered how he’d be able to bring her name casually into the conversation to find out. His attention returned to the others.
“What about you?” Diane, ever the curious researcher, continued to pump their source. “How did you and your wife end up here, Mr. Danson?”
“Call me John. Everybody does.”
Deep creases formed along the sides of the man’s cheeks when he smiled. “Bette and I just happened on the place one day and decided to stay. Bette doesn’t like cities and I don’t much care for ’em, either.”
“Were you fans of the old movie?” Manny asked.
“Nope. Hadn’t even ever heard of it. Guess it was fate that brought us here.” With Manny and Lee’s help, he worked the wood covers back into position and replaced the rocks. “I’m glad somebody did, though,” he continued. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be havin’ all this excitement. You wanna see the hotel? Nothin’ much there yet, but when we’re done it’ll look real fine. We’re plannin’ to keep it to period as much as we can. Folks appreciate that.”
As they moved away from the well and into the street, angling toward the far end of town, Lee asked, “Didn’t you tell us Cryer Studios wants the place to stay exactly as it is, at least until after the preview?”
John grinned. “On the outside, sure. But we never said we wouldn’t work on the inside. Lots of stuff we can do there.”
“Two weeks isn’t a very long time, John,” Manny said.
“I’ve done carpentry work, so have some of the others. We can have the lower floor and a few rooms upstairs finished for the first tourists who might want to spend the night. Then later we’ll do more and start workin’ on some of the other places, too, so we can open ’em up for shops and such. After the preview, that is.”
Lee found his opportunity as they neared the antique shop. “An antique store...way out here?” he said.
John stopped walking. “That’s Augusta’s place. I told you about her in my letter, didn’t I? Augusta Latham-Lamb? She was the true heart of this place. Loved it more’n the rest of us put together. It’s too bad she’s not here anymore to—”
“That’s right,” Lee interrupted him, pretending that his memory had just been jogged. “She’s the woman who died recently. And her—was it her niece who was coming to take over for her?”
“Karen.” John nodded. “Karen Latham. She’s in there right now, matter of fact, makin’ a start on goin’ through her aunt’s things. Augusta left her the works, but I’m not sure whether she’ll be stayin’ or not. Sure would like her to. Do you want to meet her? I doubt she’d mind if we—”
“No, no,” Lee refused quickly, “we can wait.” Then he reminded John, “You were taking us to the hotel?”
He felt Diane’s quick look even as Manny and John started off again.
When Lee went to follow them, Diane held him back. “What’s going on?” she demanded, frowning.
“We’re being shown around town, aren’t we?” he answered drolly.
“No, I mean...who’s this Augusta person and this Karen?”
“Didn’t you read the letter?”
“You never showed me the letter.”
“They were in it.”
Her frown intensified. “Why are you so interested in them?”
Before he could answer, raised voices from down the street caught their attention. Several other Twilight residents had joined John and Manny, and one, a strongly built woman, was gesturing emphatically.
“Maybe we’d better get down there,” Lee suggested.
They arrived in time to hear a long, lanky man in his late forties drawl sternly, “Mary, you know that’s just not right Joe here has had claim to that well from the time he took over his daddy’s place.”
The woman’s face was flushed. “I checked my papers first thing this morning and I know what I saw, Hank. I’ll be glad to show ’em to you! Benny and I own that well. It’s ours!”
“No, it ain’t!” another man—Joe?—contradicted her. He, like Hank, was tall, but he had a potbelly and a thatch of unruly cotton yellow hair. “The well comes with my house. I live closest to it. It’s mine! Mine and Rhonda’s.” He indicated a woman who stood a foot or two behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression miserable.
“I have papers!” Mary insisted.
“So do I!”
“Show ’em to me!”
Joe scowled. “You know I can’t. They got burned up when the shed caught fire.”
“Then Benny and I—”
John, who seemed caught totally by surprise at the ferocity of the argument, stepped in to mediate. “Hey...hey. We have company here. We don’t need to be airin’ our dirty linen in public. Let’s just everybody settle down.”
“I wouldn’t’ve thought a thing of it,” Mary steamed on. “But he had to start talking last night like he owned the well, when I know he doesn’t!”
“I do!” Joe repeated his claim.
“These are the TV people!” John cut in desperately. “”Western Rambles,’ remember? They’re here to report on what they see. Do you want ’em to report this?” He paused when the combatants looked startled. ”Yeah, I thought not! Tourists won’t want to come to Twilight to hear us arguing. So stop your snarlin’ and snappin’ and introduce yourselves before they get disgusted and go away. You know we’re all in this together. Share and share alike.”
The change was miraculous. Where seconds before they’d been engaged in heated battle, now all animosity faded. Even Rhonda brightened, stepping forward to stand arm in arm with her husband.
John introduced the crew. “This is Lee Parker and the Cruzes—Manny and Diane. And this—”
“I’m Mary...Mary O’Conner,” the large woman said with full confidence. “Nice to meet you.” She gave them each a firm handshake and took it on herself to introduce the others. “This here’s Joe and Rhonda Peterson, and that’s Hank Douglas.” More handshakes followed, along with a self-conscious little smile from Rhonda.
“Parker, you say?” Joe repeated slowly, his head tipping to one side. “Are you any kin to the Parkers over Briggs County way?”
“We’re not the ones supposed to be askin’ questions, Joe,” Rhonda scolded softly, then turned to the newcomers. “We’re honored you decided to visit Twilight. I really like your show. I watch it every week. We—we all do!”
“Thank you.” Lee spoke for his crew.
“I was on my way to show ‘em the hotel,” John explained quickly, seemingly anxious to prevent anything else from going wrong. “Then I thought I’d take ’em to the cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” Lee echoed.
“Where Nate Barlow’s buried,” John said, rushing on. “You know.” He frowned at Hank, pressing for corroboration.
Hank’s puzzled expression cleared. “Oh...oh, yeah. Nate Barlow!”
“Ol’ Nate Barlow, our town hero,” John said. “Man in a hurry who didn’t hurry enough! Rescued a couple of kids, though. Maybe that was enough to save his eternal soul. I can just see him at the Pearly Gates, tellin’ St. Peter all about it.”
“A couple of kids?” Diane questioned. “I thought it was one.”
John started to pull away. “One, two...who can be sure? I’ve heard it more’n one way.” He motioned for the TV crew to follow. “Personally, I like to think there was two kids. Better heaven insurance for ol’ Nate.”
They left the townspeople standing in the street. Ten minutes later when they came outside the hotel, everyone else was gone.
John glanced at his watch. “I’m not used to wearing this thing. Only put it on after this movie business came up. Bette said to be home for six-thirty so we’ll have time to wash up. We still can make it to the cemetery if you wanna see it.”
“Is it, like, Twilight’s Boot Hill?” Manny asked, winking at Diane.
“Well, sort of. More the town’s cemetery. Nate Barlow’s the only outlaw I know of who’s buried there.”
“‘Then sure we do,” Manny said.
Once again they fell into step beside their guide as he took them the rest of the distance down the town’s main street, turning at the other side of the hotel onto a less traveled path that led to the burial place. As they passed a small shack set a short distance off the path, a scruffy old man came to stand in his doorway and glare at them.
/> “Who’s that?” Manny asked.
“Old Pete,” John said tersely. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s a little... addled.”
The others turned away, but Lee couldn’t resist a longer look. To his surprise the old man lifted a hand and, very deliberately, gave him the finger.
Lee had to fight to contain a bark of laughter and as a result nearly lost his footing.
Diane, who reached to help steady him, demanded, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Lee replied.
Of course Diane didn’t believe him, and with a hiss of displeasure at what she must have seen as his stubborn intractability, she pressed on in the wake of her husband.
As he brought up the rear, Lee realized he was beginning to feel a growing excitement about this shoot. With or without Karen Latham, it was starting to look interesting!
CHAPTER FIVE
AS SEVEN O’CLOCK DREW nearer, Karen wished she hadn’t agreed to dinner at Bette and John’s. She was aching with exhaustion. She hadn’t worked with such uninterrupted concentration since she’d been at university trying to finish one of her numerous projects. Yet she couldn’t just not show up. She’d given Bette her word.
With a light groan she abandoned the comfort of a long soak in her aunt’s clawfoot tub and donned a summery dress. It wasn’t as if it would be more work. All she had to do was sit there, smile and occasionally ask what could be taken for an intelligent question. As soon as she could, she’d make an excuse for an early withdrawal, stumble back to her aunt’s apartment and fall into bed and sleep. Ah, bliss!
As Bette had done earlier at the shop, she tapped perfunctorily on the saloon’s rear door before letting herself inside. Since the Lady Slipper was closed for business, no one was there to greet her. John had considerately left a light on behind the bar, though, to help guide the way through the maze of tables and chairs to the stairway. At the top landing she knocked again, only this time she waited.
A woman in her early thirties with short blond hair and a round, pretty face opened the door. “Hello!” she said brightly. “You must be the neighbor. I’m Diane... Diane Cruz. Bette’s in the kitchen,” she explained as Karen stepped inside. “Lee’s helping her. At least he’s supposed to be helping her. He thinks he can cook. But at least he knows he can’t sing, which is something, believe me.”
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