First Love Wild Love

by Janelle Taylor

  It was working beautifully. Salina asked, “Would you like me to put that picture where it belongs, in that dark attic? You did not say; do you want me to cook dinner before I leave?”

  “Leave?” Calinda inquired.

  “I go to town. A buen mozo vaquero,” Salina lied skillfully.

  After Salina interpreted her words about meeting a very handsome cowboy, Calinda said, “You go along and dress. I can take care of dinner and the portrait. There’s little else to do tonight.”

  Salina headed for the door. She stopped and glanced at Calinda, relieved Calinda was too distraught to remind her of the storm outside. Within the hour, Salina would be forcing Lynx from her mind in the arms of some man yet to be selected for that urgent purpose. Besides, her body was aching for a man’s passionate touch. “You have no reason to trust me, Senora Cal, but I swear your papa and Senora Cardone ran away together. You will not tell?” she pressed, as if anxious.

  “No. Thank you, Salina. Would you like to borrow a dress to wear tonight?” Calinda generously offered.

  “I do not wish to wear anything of that puta’s,” she refused.

  “Neither do I,” Calinda concurred absently.

  Salina tensed in panic. “If you stop wearing them and start acting strange, they will know something is wrong,” she speculated.

  “Not if I buy new clothes.” Calinda solved that dilemma.

  “It must be nice,” Salina sighed dreamily, envious.

  “I’ll buy you a new dress, too,” Calinda decided aloud.

  “You must not; that will look just as odd,” Salina remarked.

  “Not if we keep it a secret,” she refuted, smiling faintly.

  “I do not think we wear the same kinds of clothes,” Salina discouraged any show of kindness from her rival.

  “Then I’ll give you the money to select your own.”

  “Por que, why?” Salina asked seriously, amused.

  “An offer of friendship,” Calinda declared honestly.

  “Perhaps I have been wrong about you,” Salina hinted.

  “Maybe we’ve both been in error,” Calinda added, smiling.

  “See you in the morning. Do not forget to lock up,” Salina reminded her, sauntering out of the room. She wanted Calinda to be alone in the quiet house, to have privacy and time to think…

  Calinda sat in the shadowy room for a long time, then went into the kitchen. She lifted the portrait and stared at it, trying to envision this woman in past reality. She mentally placed Laura beside her father, or how he had looked long ago. Truthfully, she might not even recognize him today if she passed within a foot of him! Surely he had changed with time and age.

  Was selfish, wanton love the answer she had been seeking to his disappearance? Real love was precious and rare; could the desire for it entice such cruelty and betrayal? Had they been so desperate to be together? Or had they simply fled out of discovery and fear? Hadn’t she and Lynx deserved just one letter from them? Were they still alive somewhere? Had they regretted their decision, if only once? Were they happy? How could they be happy when they had obtained it with the sufferings of others?

  Calinda never doubted Salina’s words; for that shocking revelation logically explained her father’s actions and the Cardones’ behavior and innuendoes. Although she felt Salina had told the truth, Cal helplessly suspected malicious motives. She returned the portrait to where she had found it, wishing she had never laid eyes on it or Salina had tricked her into pressing for the truth. She wandered around the house, locking and checking doors and windows. She went to the room shared with her husband when he was home. She pried open the drawer and withdrew her locket. She opened it and studied the stranger.

  “Why, Father? How could you do such evil things?” she asked.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, sobbing. How she wished Lynx were here to comfort her. Yet she couldn’t even hint at this devastating discovery. How could she pretend she didn’t know? How could she keep it from him? Still, she must.

  Now that she knew the truth, their silence was understandable. A mingling of male pride and affection for her had imprisoned their tongues. In fact, they had never said Laura was dead. They always said “gone” or “left.” It was painfully clear why they didn’t want to talk about Laura or Brax or the past: they were all interconnected. Laura’s betrayal had crushed Lynx; he had justifiable reasons for doubting her love. The truth explained so much about Lynx. He had cause to be bitter and cynical.

  Calinda was glad they had met before he learned her identity. If they hadn’t, Lynx would never have given them a chance. “Oh, Lynx, I’m so sorry for what Brax did to you. I wish I could erase the past and your pain, but I can’t. Let the past die. Please don’t punish us for our parents’ deed. Please don’t seek revenge against them.”

  Punish, the word rang across her mind. Her weeping abruptly subsided. “Stop it!” she ordered herself. “Don’t even vaguely consider such vile thoughts.” But the speculations grew larger and wilder in her warring mind as the storm outside increased its fury. Revenge…

  Cal couldn’t deny they had wanted to keep her at the ranch. She couldn’t rationally explain her hasty marriage. She knew they had kept the truth from her, had tried to stop her search.

  It couldn’t be true! Lynx wouldn’t marry her just to lure her father back. A more ominous thought forced itself into her dazed mind; would he entrap her with love and marriage, then seek revenge or appeasement by copying her treacherous father’s actions? Could Lynx hate her father that deeply, that obsessively? Could Lynx seek to repay Brax by destroying his child? Were Lynx and Rankin in on some treacherous plot? But who was their intended victim, her or her father? Was she only a pawn in a vindictive game?

  Calinda’s mind raced backward to her arrival, then slowly walked forward to this moment. She didn’t like what she was thinking. What had Lynx said that day when she ventured, “Love me and keep me forever”? He had replied, “If I ever wanted to do anything more in my life…” Wanted to do? Had he ever said, I love you? He usually said, “need” or “want.” Was physical desire enough to compel marriage? No. She analyzed the damaging clues.

  The locket…Had Lynx been one of the bandits that day? Had he known who she was that night in the saloon? Positively, he wasn’t that roguish and lecherous leader. But were they friends? Was he a merry bandit, seeking daring challenges while keeping his identity a secret? Was that why he had kept the precious necklace from her, preventing discovery?

  The letter…Had Lynx planted that mysterious letter to lure her into danger, danger from which he would rescue her, danger which would bring her under his control? A rescue to indebt and beguile her? Was Clint Deavers another friend and assistant?

  Waco…How had they accidentally run into each other? Had Rankin informed Lynx of her visit, to allow Lynx to work his charms on her? Had Lynx been watching her to see if her father would contact her? Lynx had discouraged her about seeking the Rangers’ help. Why?

  Cole Stevens…Had Lynx planned that terrifying scheme? What new lesson was it supposed to teach her? Cole had called her Callie. Had Stevens truly been captured? Perhaps Lynx had warned his outlaw friends!

  Lynx had too many secrets, too many connections to dangerous men, too many timely rescues! The newspaper announcements…Were they crafty enticements for Brax?

  “No!” she cried out in torment. Why was she doing this to herself? It was all a series of coincidences and strokes of good fortune!

  Calinda remembered something Lynx had said about mistrusting her in the beginning. Surely they didn’t think she and her father were plotting some mischief? For what? They knew Brax wouldn’t return here; he had taken Laura with him. They couldn’t possibly believe she would help Brax and Laura alter that missing deed to steal the ranch!

  If Lynx didn’t trust her, why would he marry her? If anything happened to him and Rankin, the ranch would be…hers. My God, she fretted, surely they wouldn’t set themselves up as targets for Brax an
d Laura? If the Cardones were removed, those two could return home and take everything. That logic was insane! Or desperately evil and vengeful…

  Calinda forced such terrible speculations from her mind. She knew and loved both Lynx and Rankin. They could never plan and carry out such evil. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It must be the gloomy solitude and the violent storm, one which was raging as wildly outside the house as the emotional one inside of her.

  They might have mistrusted and disliked her in the beginning, but not now. It just wasn’t possible. Surely they were only protecting her from anguish and themselves from shame. Missing puzzle pieces were causing her imagination to run crazy. She returned the locket and went to bed, ordering herself to forget this entire day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By Friday, July 19, there were six Rangers hiding out in Round Rock: Major Jones, Dick Ware, Tom Peters, George Harrell, Chris Connor, and Lynx Cardone. In addition to the Ranger force, the sheriff and several deputies were available. It was decided that the Rangers would remain concealed, but the local lawmen would move around as normal to prevent suspicion. The waiting had begun when the bank opened; it was presently mid-afternoon.

  Connor was visually scouting the street from the grimy windows, the other men relaxing after their turns. They had consumed cold ham and biscuits, washed down with strong coffee. As time continued to crawl by like a sluggish snail, someone said that Bass had probably changed his mind. Murphy had reported that Bass and his men were watching him like a hawk, so something must have gone awry.

  The deputies were milling around aimlessly, or so it appeared to the innocent eye. The day was hot and clear. Each man sensed this could be his last one and mentally prepared for a deadly confrontation.

  “Anything, Chris?” Jones inquired from his chair.

  “Three cowpokes just rode in. Stopping at the saloon. No sign of trouble or Murphy.” Connor’s eyes scanned the entire street.

  “From the last message, there should be four of them. You all have Murphy’s description; he’ll be impossible to miss.”

  In the saloon, Sam Bass and two of his men swaggered over to the wooden bar and ordered whiskies. They headed for a table and sat down to relax. Trying to get a message to the Rangers about the change in plans, Murphy had claimed his horse had a sand crack in his front hoof, halting by the stable to get help. The nervous traitor stalled for a lengthy spell, just in case he was being watched. He had to locate a lawman and tell him the robbery would take place tomorrow; he wanted out of this perilous bargain as quickly as possible.

  Two deputies walked over to the saloon to check out the three strangers, one waiting outside and one entering. The deputy nodded to the bartender and wandered about the nearly deserted saloon. When he came to the strangers, he remarked genially, “I see you cowpokes are still toting yer sidearms. Ain’t allowed in town. Check ’em with the barkeeper or ride on through. Ain’t seen you fel…”

  The deputy didn’t complete his sentence before one of the outlaws drew his gun and fatally shot him. The deputy waiting outside looked over the batwing doors. He, too, was killed instantly by the panicky gang, the frail wood splintering as two bullets blasted through it and into the unsuspecting lawman’s body. His torso struck forcefully by the gunfire, the second deputy was hurled backward into the dusty street. The outlaws raced out the door and fled toward their horses.

  Ware shouted, “Bet it’s them!”

  The Rangers surged out of the building, opening fire and shouting instructions to halt. Seaborn Barnes was struck by a lethal bullet before he could cross the dirt street. Bass took a direct hit and staggered. Frank Jackson reached the horses and mounted frantically. Seeing Bass was wounded, Jackson fetched both horses and helped the injured Bass to mount. Both men galloped out of town, bullets and dust flying all around them. Out of range, the shooting ceased.

  When the dust and suspense settled, Murphy revealed himself, reminding Jones he was their helper and was supposed to go free. A small posse was formed under the leadership of the Rangers. They quickly pursued Sam and Frank. The lengthy chase was on…

  The search continued far into the night, until it was too dark to see anything. The posse camped to rest and eat. At first light, the search was on again. Around noon, Tom sighted a fallen man beyond them. When they reached him, the man proudly informed them he was the notorious Samuel Bass.

  When they reached town with the wounded outlaw, Sam was questioned about Jackson. A man of curious honor, Bass refused to betray one of his men. He endured his agony without complaints. By Sunday morning, the infamous Sam Bass was dead. As if fate had stepped in, Sam died on his twenty-seventh birthday on July 21, 1878.

  When Sam was buried on Monday, the whole town turned out for the short ceremony, behaving as if it were a mournful occasion. His colorful and daring exploits were related time and again. Flowers were placed near his tombstone. Several witnesses were teary-eyed. Strangely, it seemed they were laying to rest a beloved legend.

  Lynx noticed a photographer as he made picture after picture of the historical episode; as usual, he tried to conceal his presence. Normally he avoided exposure with ease and skill, but today he knew he had been captured on film several times. Only two Rangers present knew why Lynx was there, so he could slip away without joining the victory celebration. In Waco, he would send a telegram home as soon as the reports were signed and filed. First, he needed to locate that photographer and see if he could confiscate that perilous film—that would force him to hang around another day. This secrecy was a pain in the neck! At the earliest, he could make the ranch by Friday.

  While Lynx was completing the business of Sam Bass in Round Rock, Calinda was experiencing her second and third shocks in less than a week. Since her stunning discovery about Brax and Laura, neither she nor Salina had mentioned it again. Salina had been calm and cheerful, pressing her advantage by revealing a genial acceptance of Calinda, delighting Rankin and fooling him completely. The guileful Salina had even begun to use her nickname to display fondness.

  The day after that stunning incident, Calinda had been pensively reserved. Rankin concluded she was missing Lynx and working too hard. For Calinda did push herself for the next five days with chores, any task which would drive her body to exhaustion so her mind could rest at night. She adamantly refused to recall that devastating episode, blocking such thoughts from mind when they tried to assail her. She kept telling herself all would be fine when Lynx came home. She told herself there were logical explanations for each coincidence or deceit.

  On Tuesday, she had labored hard polishing saddles in the barn. She had gone riding with her father-in-law later. When she entered the house to gather her things to bathe, Salina hastily approached her. The Mexican girl glanced behind her to make certain she was alone. “I did not think Senor Rankin should see this. The man delivered it while you were riding; it is a letter from England. You must see this, too, before Senor Rankin comes home,” she added, handing Calinda the newspaper. “I feared he would hide it to avoid a problem.”

  Calinda’s brow lifted inquisitively. “See what?” she asked, gripping the Simpsons’ fat letter tightly in her shaky hand.

  Salina pointed to the story about the slaying and burying of Sam Bass. Calinda met her curious gaze and said, “I don’t want to read about violence and outlaws.”

  “Just look at the pictures,” Salina encouraged slyly.

  “No,” Calinda refused, recalling her perilous episodes with Cole Stevens, the stage bandits, and Clint Deavers.

  “Lynx is in several of them,” Salina came to the point.

  Calinda almost snatched the paper from her. There were three printed photographs and a lengthy account of the deadly drama. The first picture was taken immediately after the shooting. People were crowding around a dead man lying in the dusty street; in the background was Lynx Cardone. The next picture was taken when the wounded Sam Bass was brought into town after his capture; Lynx was standing beside Star in the left corner
. The last picture was at Sam’s burial; standing again in the background was her missing husband. She hurriedly scanned the story which told of a daring shoot-out with five Texas Rangers: Peters, Connor, J.B. Jones, Harrell, and Ware. Two bandits had been killed and one had escaped. Cal remembered Lynx telling her Sam Bass had robbed her stage and stolen her locket, now in Lynx’s possession. Why was Lynx at the scene of another Bass crime? Attending the funeral of a friend? Had Lynx been involved in this foiled crime? She scanned the story once more; there were no mentions of Lynx.

  “Why would Lynx be in Round Rock?” Calinda wondered aloud.

  “He is always where there is danger or excitement. Too bad he did not help them and become famous. Sam Bass is a legend.”

  “He was an outlaw, Salina; he robbed and killed,” Calinda softly chided her. “So much for all the enlarged tales about Rangers. I was led to believe it merely required one Ranger to handle such a tiny battle with only three men. How far is this Round Rock?”

  “I think a little less than two hundred miles south of Fort Worth.”

  “But he was only sixty miles west when he sent that telegram! Why would he go that far away? It’ll take him days to get home.”

  “Is he heading straight home from there?” Salina guilefully asked.

  “How should I know? He doesn’t tell me anything!” she panted, before thinking. “He just said he would be back in a few weeks,” she tried to correct her rash outburst. “I guess I’m just tired and hot.”

  “It is all right, Cal. It must be irritating to learn your esposo’s whereabouts from a periodico. It is time you learn, hombres can be thoughtless creatures at times, especially in those circumstances.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ll get my bath now.”

  “What about the letter?” Salina hinted curiously.

  “I’ll read it later. If I know the Simpsons, they probably want money or a favor. Frankly, I’m not in the mood for them.”

  Salina returned to the kitchen while Calinda went upstairs. She locked her door and sat on the bed. Cal tore open the envelope and withdrew a nearly illegible note and another unsealed letter, noting the vaguely familiar handwriting on the envelope which bore no return address. She expected the note to be from the Simpsons; it wasn’t.