by Lori Wilde
I stared at her bug-eyed. “Is it safe to go into the caverns?”
“Aw sure.” She waved a hand. “If there’s bootleggers about, they’re gonna know we’re not revenuers.”
Feeling excited by the prospect of meeting real bootleggers, but uneasy all the same, I cast a furtive glance over my shoulders, on the lookout for the criminal element, but saw nothing except the town of Cupid lying below.
We reached the entrance to the caverns, and immediately a blast of cool air greeted us.
“Do we just walk right on in?” I asked.
“Sure enough,” Rosalie said.
“Who owns the property? Aren’t we trespassing?”
“It’s Fant land and you work for the Fants. Besides, it’s in the works to turn the caverns over to the town to make it a city park. Everyone comes up here anyway. Might as well make it official.”
Sounded reasonable to me.
Rosalie paused to take a flashlight from the picnic basket and switch it on. We both drank water from the Mason jar she’d packed, quenching our thirst after the long walk.
“Ready?” she asked.
A thrill ran through me. This was the most exciting thing I’d ever done. “Uh-huh.”
We entered the cave.
It was darker than night, and without the flashlight I would have been scared to death. Rosalie shone the beam over the cavern walls. Wicked-looking rock formations spiked down from the ceiling like monster’s teeth. At our feet were more daggered rocks, these sticking straight up. They were all different colors—orange, green, purple, white.
“Stalactites hang tight to the ceiling, stalagmites rise from the ground,” Rosalie explained the difference.
“They look sharp and jabby.”
“Keep to the path,” Rosalie instructed. “And you don’t have to worry about getting poked.”
I gathered my skirt around me and stayed close behind her. Eerie silence surrounded us, broken only by sounds of stalactites dripping water onto the stalagmites and our tandem breathing echoing off the cave walls. The farther we went, the narrower the passages grew, the more my stomach churned. Was this what it was like to go down into the silver mine? Had my father felt this same edge of loneliness every single day of his life?
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
We twisted and turned as the path snaked through the crop of stalagmites, maneuvering through cave after cave until finally, we entered the last one. Rosalie paused and pushed the flashlight under her chin so that the beam spookily illuminated her face.
I shivered.
“Got the heebie-jeebies?”
“You look scary.”
“You are about to see a miracle of the natural world,” she said in a Barnum and Bailey voice. “Are you ready, Millie Greenwood?”
I nodded.
“I now give you …” Rosalie swung the beam of the flashlight away from her face and toward her left. “Cupid, the Roman god of erotic love.”
I gasped at her shocking use of the word “erotic,” but that was only the beginning of my surprise.
The stalagmite was over seven feet tall and almost touched the top of the ceiling of the small cave. The rock formation looked so much like Cupid standing on one leg, the other leg bent as if he were running, a quiver attached to his back and a cocked bow held in his hands loaded with an arrow ready to be flung.
I pressed a hand to my chest, awed beyond words.
“Ain’t he somethin’?” Rosalie breathed.
He was indeed something, even though he didn’t have a face, just a blob of greenish stone. I couldn’t stop staring at it. “I can see where the town got its name.”
“Worth the walk, wasn’t it?”
It was.
“Wanna hear how Cupid got discovered?”
“Sure,” I said, mesmerized past the point of being scared.
“Once upon a time, way back just after the Civil War, there was an outlaw on the run for horse thievin’.”
“Sounds like an unsavory character.”
“Oh no, Mingus Dill was a looker. Handsomer than John Fant.”
“No one is handsomer than John Fant,” I said staunchly.
“Mingus was.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Don’t get all high behind about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Go on about Mingus Dill.”
“Legend has it he weren’t really a horse thief, rather he got caught barneymuggin’ a sheriff’s wife up in Fort Worth.”
“Barneymugging?” I asked. “What’s that?”
Rosalie let out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t you know anything?”
“I know a lot of stuff. Just not that.”
“Barneymugging, you know … making love.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heated.
“Anyway, Mingus had to hightail it out the sheriff’s bedroom window and stole his horse to get away. The sheriff got a posse together and they chased poor Mingus all the way to Jeff Davis County.”
“That’s a long way.”
“Now about this same time,” Rosalie went on. “This was before Cupid was founded, mind you, there were more women than men in Jeff Davis County, ’cause most every man of fightin’ age had gone off to the Civil War.”
“Except for outlaws.”
“That’s exactly right,” Rosalie said. “So because of that, they made a rule around here that if any single woman in the county wanted to claim one of those outlaws, they could marry them and save them from being hung.”
“That sounds like a strange custom.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true.”
“The women must have been pretty desperate.”
“Oh, they were. Especially Miss Louisa Hendricks. She was plain as an old mud fence, but she wanted a baby real bad.”
“Poor Louisa.”
“Life ain’t fair sometimes. Mingus had heard about the getting’ married rule and these caverns so he came here to hide out. He didn’t really want to get married, but if was he gonna get caught, then this was the place to get caught in.”
I hung on her every word, completely enthralled with the tale.
“He pushed as deep into the cavern as he could and he ended up in this very room.” Rosalie swung the flashlight over Cupid again for dramatic effect.
I tried to imagine it. Stumbling in here, the sheriff and his posse hot on your trail.
“Mingus heard the law crashing behind him, coming for him. There was no escape.” Rosalie moved the beam from Cupid to shine it on the back of the cave wall. “As you can see, there’s no other way out.”
“What did he do?” I whispered.
“He fell down on his knees at the Cupid statue and he prayed like he was in church. Pleaded with Cupid to touch the heart of some kind local woman so she’d agree to marry him. And that’s where he was when the sheriff found him.”
“Did they hang him?”
“ ’Course not. This is a love story. Just when they was putting the noose around his neck, Louisa Hendricks stepped up and claimed him. The preacher married them on the spot.”
“And they lived happily ever after?”
“They did indeed. They fell madly in love and it was all because of Cupid.”
I took a deep breath. It was the most amazing story I’d ever heard.
“C’mon,” Rosalie said. “It’s time to get. We gotta long walk back.”
I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay longer and think about Mingus and Louisa and the blasphemous magic of praying to Cupid, but Rosalie was right.
We left the caverns, blinking against the brightness of the afternoon sun. We were trying to decide where to eat our picnic when a brand-new Dagmar rolled to a stop outside the cavern entrance. Behind the wheel was a slick-looking man with a thin black mustache, Charlie Chaplin eyebrows, and a gray fedora. He honked the horn.
I took one look at him and my brain lit up: BOOTLEGGER.
“Hey tomatoes, wan
na lift?” he invited.
I shook my head vigorously.
But Rosalie ran to the car. She had the picnic basket and she climbed into the seat beside him. “C’mon, Millie. Let’s hitch a ride.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know this man.”
“It’s Buddy Grass, I went to school with his sister Gwynnie.”
“I didn’t.”
Rosalie scooted across the seat and Buddy slipped his arm around her shoulder. A sneaky suspicion came over me. Had Rosalie set up this rendezvous with the bootlegger? Was he her secret boyfriend? Did they engage in barneymugging?
“Forget her,” Buddy said. “We don’t need no alarm clock anyways.”
I scowled. “What’s an alarm clock?”
“A chaperone.” Rosalie tittered. “She’s kinda dumb,” she whispered loudly to Buddy.
“This isn’t a good idea, Rosalie.” I sank my hands on my hips.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured me. “We’re just going for a drive.”
“Well, doll?” Buddy Grass wriggled his Charlie Chaplin eyebrows. “You comin’ or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine by me. See ya, toots.” Buddy put the car in gear and took off down the road, Rosalie stuck a hand out the window, waved good-bye.
Leaving me in a strange place, without anything to eat or drink, to walk home all by myself.
Feeling like the country rube I obviously was, I swallowed back the tears pushing into my throat. Dumb. Why did I have to be so dumb? I’d thought Rosalie wanted my company, but she’d just been using me as an excuse to meet up with Buddy Grass away from prying eyes.
I was hungry and thirsty and I’d never felt so alone.
Stop it. No wallowing in self-pity. I squared my shoulders and set my course for Cupid.
The sun beat down, baking my head, and I wished I’d worn a hat. My shoes kept slipping in the pebble-strewn path. I considered taking off my shoes and going barefooted, but the abundance of prickly cacti prevented me from doing that.
I’d walked no more than a quarter of a mile when there came the sounds of horse hooves trotting up behind me. Nervously, I wadded my hands into fists and cast a glance over my shoulder.
The sun was at the rider’s back, casting his face in shadows, but he sat astride a magnificent palomino and I could see that he wore a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and batwing chaps studded with silver conchos that glinted in the light.
My heart gave an odd little thump.
He reined in the horse a few yards away and swung down from the saddle.
I shaded my eyes with the edge of my hand but I still couldn’t make out the man’s features.
Spurs jangling, he strode toward me with long-legged, purposeful strides. That’s when I spotted the gun holstered on his hips.
I gulped, swiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. Who was he? What did he want with me? What should I do? Run? Hold my ground? I scanned the area—nothing but cactus, yucca, and scrub oak.
Nowhere to hide.
Nothing to do but face this head-on.
My chest tightened. I couldn’t quite catch my breath. I steeled my body and raised my chin. “Hello.”
“What are you doing way out here all by yourself, Millie?” drawled a familiar voice.
Blood that had earlier set my pulse racing was now pumping happy relief through my veins.
The cowboy was none other than John Fant.
Chapter Four
“I WAS OUT for a walk,” I answered, not wanting to get Rosalie in trouble, although I wasn’t sure why I was skirting the truth for her. She had abandoned me to my own devices to go off joyriding with a rumrunner. “I wanted to see the Cupid Caverns.”
“All by yourself?”
Not wanting to tell a bald-faced lie, I didn’t answer.
“And did you?” he asked, coming closer, a quirky smile on his lips. “See the caverns?”
“I did.”
Up close, he was more handsome than ever in those cowboy clothes. I’d never seen him in a Stetson, boots, chaps, spurs, and gun. I couldn’t forget the gun. I was fascinated by his transformation from business-suited executive to rangy cowpoke. Now I understood the calluses on his palms.
“Would you like a ride home?” he asked.
Ride on a horse behind John Fant? My entire body tingled at the thought.
“Where have you been on a Sunday?” I asked.
“Checking the herd.”
“How often do you do that?”
“Every Sunday. I have a foreman that runs the spread, but I like getting my hands dirty.”
“You work on Sunday?”
“Livestock has to eat seven days a week. Besides, I believe working is the best way to commune with God,” he said. “What’s more pious than an honest day’s labor working with your hands?”
It was a different way of looking at things, a way that intrigued me. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”
“Work settles my mind.”
That I understood. “Where do you keep your horse in town?” I asked.
“There’s a livery in Cupid. I board her there.”
“What’s her name?”
“Goldie.”
“She’s a pretty filly.”
His gaze was fixed on my face. “That she is.”
“I always wanted a horse of my own,” I said wistfully. “All we had was an old Shetland pony for everyone to use.”
“You want a ride into town, Miss Millie? It’s a good six miles back to Cupid.”
He hadn’t meant anything by the invitation. Only being neighborly. Couldn’t go daydreaming about things I could never have. “Thank you kindly. I will accept that ride.”
He escorted me to his horse, climbed on, and then reached down a hand to help me swing up in the saddle behind him. His big hand held tight to my smaller one until I was safely in the seat.
“You might want to hold on,” he said. “We’re going down a steep grade.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist. It felt too intimate with my breasts mashed up against his back, my legs on either side of his, my hands clasped over his chest, but I secretly thrilled to the closeness.
It was wrong, I know, but I couldn’t help having a few fantasies. What would it feel like to kiss him? I’d never been kissed. Never been courted. There hadn’t been much opportunity for it out in the hardscrabble sagebrush land where I’d been hatched. Cupid felt a million miles from where I’d come from, even though it was just a short distance south. It was a completely different planet.
I locked my fingers together and held on tight, felt the steady rise and fall of John’s chest. Who knew that he would be so strong, his muscles so honed? His scent was honest, sunshine and leather and hard work. He did not smell of perfume as he had on the day I’d met him. I liked the contrast in him. He was both a man of the world and an ordinary cowboy. He could wear a fancy fragrance and six-shooters with equal ease. Not many people could straddle two worlds, but he made it look so easy.
“How are you liking Cupid?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“My sister says you’re a good worker.”
“I appreciate the job.” It was strange, having a conversation when I couldn’t see his face. Impossible to gauge what he was thinking.
“How is your family?”
“They’re doing well.”
“Do you get homesick?”
“Not as much as I did at first.”
“It’s got to be hard, leaving your loved ones behind.”
“You left your family behind when you went to the war,” I pointed out.
“That’s how I know it’s hard.”
“What was it like?” I asked.
“The war?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ugly,” he said. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
Chastised, I shut my mouth.
“You’re very brave,” he said after a while. “I admire that about you.”
He a
dmired me! “I’m not,” I argued.
“You propped your mother up after your father died.”
“She was destroyed. My daddy was her one true love.”
“One true love, huh?”
“Most people don’t get that in their lifetime,” I said. “They were very lucky.”
“How do you know when someone is your one true love?”
“You feel it,” I said, even though I had no personal experience of such a thing. “In every part of your being.”
“And what exactly does that feel like?” He sounded completely amused.
“Heaven.” I breathed.
“What does heaven feel like?”
“Home.”
“So finding your one true love is like coming home?”
“Yes.” I nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Except better.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s like coming home, Christmas, and your birthday all rolled into one and it lasts a lifetime.”
“Tall order for anyone.”
“But worth holding out for.”
“Is that what you’re doing, Millie?” he said softly. “Holding out for one true love?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“You don’t know if you going to wait to find your one true love?”
“I don’t know if I want to find my one true love.”
“Why not? It sounds wonderful, coming home, Christmas, your birthday all rolled into one and the feeling lasts a lifetime.”
“Because,” I said, “when you lose that love, the way my mother did, it’s the worst pain in the world.”
“Are you saying a lifetime of loving isn’t worth the pain?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it scares me.”
We said nothing else for a while as Goldie picked her way over the rocky trail. Gravity pulled me forward in the seat, a natural slide closer to John, and then I did the most daring thing imaginable.
