by Cassie Miles
As if summoned by her thoughts, Zach entered and stood in the doorway, looking down at the studio. “You’ve changed things around.”
“Welcome to my sewing room.” She gestured grandly. “This big mess is supplies that I still need to sort. Over here is an area where I can do sketches for my designs. There’s a long table for cutting fabric. There are two sewing stations.”
“Looks good to me,” he said as he came down the stairs. “I’m glad you’re using the studio. Michelle would approve.”
Daphne trotted along behind him. After she got her pat on the noggin from Gabby, the border collie sniffed her way around the perimeter, checking her surroundings.
“Well, Daphne?” Gabby spread out a few yards of a turquoise twill fabric on the cutting table. “Do you approve?”
The dog sat beside her and cocked an eyebrow as though she was withholding judgment until she saw what Gabby could do with her brand-new studio. If Daphne was expecting million-dollar art, she’d have a long wait.
Zach perched on the stool beside her table. “What are you working on?”
“I promised Charlotte that I’d make her a fancy new Western-style shirt for the rodeo. She wants to look pretty for Toby, and I can use the practice. Charlotte’s idea is a rose pattern for the embroidery and lots of sparkles. How much bedazzling is too much?”
“Some of these shirts are real ornate, but that’s usually for evening or for performers.”
“Speaking of performing,” she said, “I heard that you do some trick riding at the start of the rodeo.”
“Not me.” He grinned. “I’m way too dignified and out of practice to flip in and out of the saddle. Some of the guys who work for me put on a show.”
“I’ve thought of you in many different ways,” she said as she moved closer. “Dignified isn’t one of them.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “How would you describe me?”
She wanted to say sexy, but that probably wasn’t the best place to start. “Patient.”
“That sounds pretty damn boring.”
“You already know that you’re good-looking—some might say gorgeous—and smart. Patience is a special quality. You’re not quick to judge. You’re kind and thoughtful. You’re a grown-up without making rules or demands.”
He stroked her hair and tucked it back behind her ear. “My word for you is spontaneous. You’re full of surprises. There’s never a dull moment with you.”
Before their compliments led to kisses, she backed off. Most definitely, she didn’t want to make love in her studio with the rest of her little patchwork family wandering around in the house. “I need to get started on my sketches for Charlotte’s shirt.”
“Are you testing my patience?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s okay. You’re worth the wait.” He drew the gun from his hip. “Before I get distracted, I want to give you the Glock. Our lesson doesn’t mean much if you aren’t armed.”
She looked down at the dark metal of the weapon. “What should I do with it?”
“Put it away somewhere safe. But keep it handy in case you need to use it.”
She went to the nearest cabinet, a place where Michelle stored her paints, and placed the gun on an eye-level shelf. “I’d almost forgotten the danger.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
She watched him as he left the studio. It went without saying that his long legs and tight butt looked great in jeans, and it took some serious willpower to keep her from running after him, tackling him and dragging him up to her bedroom.
With her sketch pad open on the table in front of her, she started drawing pictures of ideas for the embroidery design. Sewing the shirt itself would be easy, especially since she had Charlotte’s old shirt to use for a rough pattern.
Zach had left the door to the kitchen open, and she heard the others talking and laughing. She smiled to herself as she started a sketch. Everything was going so well.
* * *
THE LISTENING DEVICE he’d planted in the kitchen of the Roost picked up two conversations going on at the same time. Toby and another cowboy talked about trick riding. The others were telling jokes. Listening hard, he heard the voices of Zach, Daniel, Charlotte and Toby. Everybody was in the kitchen except Gabby.
From a distance, he saw light shining through the windows in the studio. That told him where she was. Are you alone, city girl?
She was a problem. Standing in the center of the situation she blocked him from making a move. He had to get past her, to show her that she didn’t belong here. If he eliminated her, he accomplished his goal. And he’d be free, wouldn’t have to take orders. He could do anything and go anywhere.
He had to take charge before he lost control. Zach and his men had gotten smart about security and installed new dead bolts that couldn’t be opened with a lock pick. The only way in was to break a window.
He climbed out of his vehicle and closed the door softly. There was no telling how long Gabby would be alone. He’d have to move fast so she wouldn’t have a chance to scream.
* * *
GABBY WAS HALFWAY through the second sketch, which was mostly butterflies, when she remembered Girl with Book and Mirror. Charlotte had told her that the painting had formerly hung in the old house, on the wall left of the fireplace. From that position, the reading girl might be pointing to a clue.
Checking out her hunch would only take a minute. She looked toward the corner door leading to the old house. Should she get someone to accompany her? Zach would say yes. He was adamant about security.
When she turned toward the open door to the kitchen, she heard laughter and the rumble of her brother’s voice. He was enjoying himself, as was everyone else. Gabby didn’t want to interrupt.
She glanced over at Daphne. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”
The dog thumped her tail against the floor.
“Problem solved,” Gabby said. “Just in case, I’ll take the Glock. That should be enough security.”
She unlocked the door to the old house, and then picked up a flashlight and her gun. The light spilling in from the studio was swallowed by the darkness on the other side of the door. The atmosphere felt chilly and intimidating. There might be ghosts living here, and they might not take kindly to her intrusion.
She looked down at Daphne. Animals were supposed to be able to sense unearthly presences. If the dog took off running, Gabby vowed to follow. “Do you see anything, Daphne?”
The dog moved a little closer to her leg. Either Daphne was trying to protect her or hiding behind her. Gabby suspected the latter.
Together, they entered the old house. The floorboards creaked with every step. If Gabby recalled the layout correctly, the fireplace was in a room to the left. Her flashlight beam slid across an old, busted sofa and a coffee table that hadn’t been dusted in months, maybe not in years. Michelle had taken the trouble to keep the walls standing but hadn’t been concerned about cleanliness. Why was this place so important to her? What memories was it hiding?
The flashlight beam played across the bookshelves and hit the rock fireplace that looked like it had been built by hand, maybe by the first people who lived here, Louis Rousseau and his Sioux wife. They were like characters from a history book.
A breeze stirred the air, and a thin, lace curtain rippled. Not ghosts but the broken window. Tomorrow, Gabby needed to get that fixed.
A door slammed.
The light gust of wind wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to move a heavy door. She heard a footstep. Someone else was in here.
Gabby turned off her flashlight and scooted back against the wall. Ducking into an alcove, she squatted and pulled Daphne close against her. Was her timing so bad that she’d just happened to stumble in here in the middle of a break-in? Or had he been waiting for her?
Daphne gave a low whine, and Gabby held her tighter. Don’t bark, please don’t bark. If she charged the intruder, Daphne mig
ht be hurt. In Gabby’s mind, that was worse than if she herself was injured. The need to keep the dog safe gave her the courage to raise the gun and slip her finger into the trigger hold. The safety was off. If she squeezed, the Glock would fire.
Holding her breath, she crouched in the dark. Moonlight through the filthy windows made it possible to see outlines of the furniture, but she couldn’t tell if anybody was in the room with them.
She glimpsed movement near the front door and tried to brace the gun two-handed the way Zach had showed her. She couldn’t manage it, not while holding the dog. She’d have to shoot one-handed. I don’t want to shoot. If she killed anyone, even an intruder, she couldn’t live with the guilt.
Footsteps creaked across the floor. He was coming closer. She had no choice. Aiming in the general direction of the door, she squeezed the trigger. The blast of the gun shocked her. It sounded louder in the enclosed space. The smell of gunpowder was intense.
Daphne wriggled to get free, but Gabby held her tightly. “No, Daphne. Stay.”
She fired again and again. Three shots, she still had ten left. Again, she fired.
She heard one word. “Bitch.”
Four more shots rang out. Gabby knew they’d come from her weapon, but she wasn’t aware of squeezing the trigger. Operating on panic and adrenaline, she reacted without knowing what she was doing.
Daphne broke free and leaped toward the door. Gabby raced after her, pausing once to take a stance and shoot blindly into the darkness that surrounded and smothered her.
The next voice she heard was Zach’s. “Are you all right?”
“Where’s Daphne?” Gabby shouted.
“It’s okay. She’s right here.”
Gabby ran toward the light from the studio, dashed through the door and slammed it behind her. Charlotte and Daniel and Toby and the other cowboy were gathered around, staring at her. She wanted to tell them she was okay, but she couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe.
“Finger off the trigger,” Zach said.
Her hand was frozen. “I can’t move.”
Gently, he peeled the gun from her hand. “Did you see someone?”
“I heard him.”
Zach nodded to the men who worked for him. “Check it out.”
Both men drew their weapons. Toby took the flashlight from her, and they plunged into the darkness. Daphne—the furry little traitor—stood at the door and barked. If the dog had sounded the alarm before, Gabby might not have gone into the old house.
She could see the anger in Zach’s eyes, but he didn’t yell at her. Scolding her was unnecessary. She knew that she’d taken a risk. The thought of what might have happened hit her all at once, and she felt dizzy. “I need to sit down.”
Bracing her shoulders, he guided her to a stool. “You’ve got to breathe. Take long, slow breaths.”
With her throat constricted, she could barely manage a shallow gasp. Struggling, she forced herself to inhale and exhale until her panic subsided. Closing her eyes, she leaned against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
Charlotte held her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“What were you doing?” Daniel asked.
When she opened her eyes, they were all staring wide-eyed, and she felt terrible for worrying them. “I wanted to follow up on a clue. The painting of the girl with the book used to hang in the old house, and I thought her hand might be pointing to something important.”
“Hold on.” Daniel held up his hand like a traffic cop. “You lost me, sis.”
While Charlotte filled him in with enough details so he’d understand, Zach leaned close and whispered, “Never scare me like that again.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” His calm voice soothed her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night.”
Daniel interrupted, “I’m up to speed. Actually, it sounds like Gabby had a fairly good idea.”
Toby and the other cowboy returned to the room. Toby reported, “Whoever was in there is gone. Should we go outside and look for him?”
“Check the perimeter of the house,” Zach said. “Stick together.”
Toby gave a quick nod. Charlotte’s young beau was acting like a regular hero. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Then I want you to board over that broken window,” Zach said. “The rest of us are going to follow up on Gabby’s clue.”
After rummaging around to find enough flashlights, their makeshift search party went into the dark old house. Gabby imagined that she could still smell the gunpowder. When she looked at the alcove where she and Daphne tried to hide, she shuddered.
Tail wagging, the dog looked up at her with a goofy expression. Her mouth was open, and her pink tongue lolled out on one side.
Gabby looked to Zach. “I know you think Daphne is really smart, but I’m not so sure.”
“Says the woman who went into the haunted house all by herself.”
“Woof.”
Charlotte led the way to the fireplace and aimed her flashlight beam at an empty hook on the wall. “The painting was right there.”
“Which means,” Zach said, “the girl in the picture was pointing in the direction of the bookcase.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I doubt there’s much of a clue in those books. If I was a treasure hunter, that’s the first place I’d look for a map.”
“This isn’t about treasure,” Gabby reminded her. “It’s about family.”
The beams from their flashlights illuminated the spine of the old dusty books. Many were leather-bound classics, like The Three Musketeers and Wuthering Heights, but several were of a more modern vintage, including several thrillers. One title jumped out at her: Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
When she took the thick book from the shelf, Daniel asked, “Is he a distant relative?”
“Not as far as I know.”
He reached for a copy of Treasure Island.
The pages were yellowed but not crumbling. She doubted that this volume had been around since the 1800s, but it certainly wasn’t new. Carefully, she looked through the book. In the middle, she found a small piece of folded paper pressed between the pages. When she removed the stained scrap, she felt the brittle texture.
“What have you got?” Zach asked.
“Looks like a letter.” Written in French, it started with “Mon Cheri” and ended with “Je t’adore, Louis.” If there were ghosts in the house, this was their calling card. “It’s a love letter.”
Chapter Fourteen
In the kitchen, Zach sat at the table and watched as Gabby and Charlotte went through the old book with painstaking care. They removed four old scraps of paper and two others that had been written by Michelle. The task required a delicate touch, and they were using tweezers from Gabby’s makeup bag to keep from handling the paper.
He’d meant what he’d said about not letting her out of his sight. Her knack for being spontaneous was a good thing, and he liked the way she hopped from one topic to another, always keeping him guessing. But he didn’t want another surprise like the one she’d just given him. Her spontaneous search in the old house could have gotten her hurt.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that she’d run into the intruder. He must have been watching her through a window, biding his time, waiting until she was alone and vulnerable to attack.
Aware of the need for more security outside the house, Zach had called in his whole crew to keep watch. And he intended to take Gabby with him tonight when his shift ended. Tonight, she’d stay at his house where he knew she was safe.
With the tweezers, Gabby unfolded one of the older papers and placed it on a piece of plastic on the countertop. She pulled her hands back. “This paper is so fragile, over a hundred and fifty years old. I should take these love letters to an expert to make sure they don’t fall apart.”
“It would be a shame to lose them,” Charlotte said.
Daniel sauntered into the kitchen. “And we need to find a tra
nslator.”
“I can figure out most of the words.”
“You?” Her brother scoffed. “How do you know French?”
“If you’d ever paid attention, you would know that Great-Aunt Rene spoke the language, and she had a friend from Paris.” Gabby leaned over the counter to study the note and read a few sentences in musical French. “He says that he misses her hair, which is as black as midnight, and the stars in her eyes. It’s very romantic.”
“And cheesy,” Daniel said. “You’d think a French guy could come up with something more original.”
“Like you could do better,” she teased.
Daniel ignored her comment. “The reason we need a translator is that there might be a clue about the location of the treasure hidden in the letters. We’ve got to look at every word to see if there are secret meanings.”
“I hate to burst your bubble,” Zach said as he rose from the table, “but the Frenchman’s Treasure is a myth. Like El Dorado or the Lost Dutchman Mine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“People around here have been looking for a long time. Somebody would have found it.”
“But we’re got new information,” Daniel said. “Michelle specifically gave this painting to Gabby. And the painting was arranged to point out a clue. Why would she go to all that trouble if there wasn’t something important to find?”
“You might have already found it,” Zach said. “She might have been directing you toward the love letters. It’s your family’s heritage.”
Gabby whirled around to face them. “Hair spray,” she said.
“What about it?” Daniel asked.
“Hair spray holds things together. I’ve used it as a fixative to preserve my sketches, and it might work on this old paper.” She frowned. “Or I might ruin everything.”
Charlotte dug into the makeup bag she’d brought downstairs so they could find tweezers. She pulled out a pink aerosol container. “You could try the spray with one of the notes from Michelle. I want to know what those say.”
