by Janet Dailey
At an easy trot, she went around the front of the vehicle to the gate. There was no fumbling with the latch, no weak-muscled straining and tugging to push the gate open. Watching her, Tobe revised his opinion about her. She might look like a town girl, but she had definitely handled that gate with the practiced ease of a country one.
After swinging the gate wide, she waved him through. He pulled the truck ahead, checked the rearview mirror to make sure the pickup had cleared the gate; then waited, with the engine idling, while she closed it. Again Tobe was obliged to give her high marks when she gave the gate a tug, verifying it was securely latched.
She trotted back to the pickup and hauled herself into the cab next to Dulcie, all smiles and only a little bit breathless from the exertion. “All set.”
Nodding, he sent the truck forward onto the rough and rutted track. “It was a good thing you double-checked that gate,” he told her. “The wind torque off the semis has been known to shake it open if it isn’t latched tight.”
“It’s the same at home.” She bent the bill of her cap back, pointing it up. “How long have you worked at the Ten Bar?”
“About three years. Ever since our mom died.”
“I’m sorry.” Her glance was quick and full of compassion. “What happened?”
Before he knew what he was doing, Tobe found himself pouring out his entire life story, everything from his father’s death and his mother’s battle with cancer to Luke’s offer of a job and place for both him and Dulcie to live, including his dream to have his own ranch.
“It’ll take me a while, but I’ll have my own place someday.” His words had a determined ring as the old confidence in his dream resurfaced. With it came the memory of that outlaw gold, a potential shortcut to the fulfillment of his dream. It prompted Tobe to consider the letter again, and the possible significance of its contents. “Ima Jane mentioned that you brought the outlaw’s letter with you.”
That information had been relayed over breakfast, Angie recalled. Luke McCallister had warned her that Ima Jane was a gossip, but Angie hadn’t guessed the woman would be so quick to broadcast what she had learned—and right before church, too. Not that it mattered if people knew. The letter’s existence was far from a secret.
“I brought a photocopy of it,” she confirmed. “The original is back home.”
“You’re cautious like your grandfather, aren’t you?” Tobe observed with a quick grin.
“The letter has a historical value, like any other correspondence of its time. It needs to be preserved and kept safe for that reason alone.” Angie kept one hand braced against the door’s window frame as the pickup bounced over the road’s numerous bumps and ruts.
“I hadn’t looked at it that way.” His forehead puckered in a thoughtful frown. “But I guess you’re right. Just about anything old is worth money to someone these days.”
In her opinion, its value was historical rather than monetary, but she didn’t attempt to explain the difference between the two to Tobe.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about something,” he began, then stopped as if suddenly unsure of himself. He was nervous and it showed in the twitching lift of his chin and the uneasy shifting of his weight.
Angie took pity on him and asked, “About what?”
“I’ve been thinkin’,” he began again, carefully avoiding her eyes. “I’ll bet if I read that letter I’ll recognize whether there are any clues in it.”
He sounded so naively positive that Angie had to fight back a smile. But some of it crept into her voice. “Do you think so?”
“I know so.” In his eagerness to convince her of the fact, he took his eyes off the road and inadvertently increased the pressure on the accelerator pedal, sending the pickup shooting forward—straight at a deep chuckhole.
Angie saw it and yelled, “Look out!”
Tobe slammed on the brake and wrenched at the steering wheel. Simultaneously Angie jammed a hand against the cab roof and stretched an arm across Dulcie to keep her from being thrown into the dash. Despite his attempt to swerve around the chuckhole, one front wheel dropped into it. The hard bounce lifted all three of them off the seat, slamming them sideways.
“Sorry,” he mumbled after they all managed to right themselves, then threw a quick, embarrassed glance toward Dulcie and Angie. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Angie murmured uncertainly and checked with Dulcie, who nodded affirmation. She laughed shakily in relief. “You weren’t kidding when you said the road was rough.”
“The spring rains really tore it up, and Luke hasn’t gotten around to having it bladed yet,” Tobe explained while making a point of keeping his attention on the dirt track ahead of them. A sudden smile split his face. “Now, if you want to go for a really wild ride over this, just climb in with Luke when he’s been drinking.”
“He drinks a lot, doesn’t he,” Angie remarked, thinking back to last night and the way his glass had never stayed empty for long.
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea, Miss Sommers,” Tobe rushed, anxious to make sure she didn’t think ill of the man who was his idol. “Luke drinks, but he’s no drunk.”
“Of course not.” But she was saddened by the thought that he might be on the road to becoming one, then shook it off as no concern of hers and focused her eyes on the rolling land around them. The distinctive shape of a barn’s hip roof jutted into view. “Is that the ranch up ahead?”
“Yup. It’s just around that hill.”
Angie glanced at the girl seated in the middle. “You’ve been very quiet, Dulcie. I don’t think you’ve said a single word this whole trip.”
In response, she dipped her chin lower and squirmed ever so slightly.
“Dulcie never talks much,” Tobe inserted. “She’s a little shy.”
Angie leaned sideways, at a confiding angle. “Don’t tell anyone, but I was, too, when I was your age.” Dulcie slanted her a look loaded with skepticism. “It’s true. Cross my heart,” she insisted, making a quick crisscrossing gesture with her fingers. “Especially around people I didn’t know. I was always afraid I would say something silly and they’d think I was stupid. So I wouldn’t say anything, just listen and try to be invisible.”
“You’re not shy now.” Hidden within the observation was a question that Dulcie wasn’t quite bold enough to ask.
“Nope. I’m not,” Angie agreed, with a bright twinkle in her eyes. “That’s because the more I listened, the more I realized that everybody says something silly sooner or later. Others sometimes laughed, but they didn’t think worse of the person. So I decided I might as well open my mouth and laugh, too.” She tipped her head closer to whisper, “You need to try it sometime. It’s a lot more fun.”
To Dulcie’s relief, Angie, straightening to sit erect once more and looking around with interest when they pulled into the ranch yard, didn’t seem to expect a reply. Tobe drove straight to the trailer and laid on the horn. As the tires crunched to a stop near the steps, he hit it once more, then switched off the engine. The dust plume that had trailed them from the highway now swept forward to encircle the pickup in a billowing tan cloud.
Luke stepped out of the trailer in white-stockinged feet, his hair uncombed, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose over his jeans. He glowered at Tobe. “Will you lay off that—” He broke off the ill-tempered growl when he saw Angie climbing out of the passenger side.
“There’s no need to get upset with Tobe,” Angie said, her voice all warm and breezy. “He was only trying to warn you that he was bringing company.”
Dulcie could have told her that Luke wasn’t upset. Not really. It was simply that his head always hurt in the mornings, and loud noises made it hurt worse. Luke had explained it all to her a long time ago. He’d said that he didn’t want her to think he was mad if he happened to snap at her; it was only the pounding in his head that made him do it.
“I thought you weren’t coming until one.” Luke’s eyes narrowed on her, a vague con
fusion clouding them, thanks to the dullness in his head.
“It was my idea,” Tobe spoke up, as he swung down from the pickup. “As rough as that lane is, I was afraid she might damage her camper, so I suggested she ride with me.”
She cocked her head to one side, a suggestion of amusement around the corners of her mouth. “Do you have a problem with my being early?”
He looked at her for a long second. She stood at the base of the steps, her hands casually perched on her hips, the bill of her baseball cap flipped up, and her long hair pulled through the hole at the back of it to hang in fiery dark waves. All sunny and fresh faced, she looked exactly what she claimed to be—a farm girl.
It was an easy step to imagine her sprawled on a bed of hay all kissable and willing. Too easy.
“No, it’s no problem,” he lied. “Fargo’s about to put dinner on the table. You’re welcome to join us. Knowing the way he cooks, there’s always enough food for two or three more people.”
“I’ll pass on the dinner, thanks. I’m still full from the huge breakfast Ima Jane fed me.” Her glance paused on the cup in his hand. “But I’ll drink some coffee if you have it.”
“We always have a full pot at the Ten Bar.” He pushed the screen door open wider, inviting her inside.
“Something told me you would.” She came trotting up the steps.
When he shifted to the side to let her precede him into the trailer, Luke caught the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. The sight of it aroused his suspicions and prompted him to ask, “What do you mean by that?”
There was something teasing in the sidelong look she gave him. “You look like you still need a couple more cups.”
“Why?” He frowned, then realized how grouchy he sounded.
“Your eyes.” She discreetly pointed to them with the tip of a finger. “They’re still a little bloodshot, a sure sign you’re still struggling with a hangover.”
He stiffened, but the expected denial didn’t come. Instead, his mouth stretched in a faintly sheepish grin that was potently attractive. “Guilty as charged, ma’am,” he admitted, with a little mock bow.
His response made her laugh and broke the tension that had so briefly begun to flutter in her stomach. She continued past him, sweeping into the mobile home. The trailer’s layout was typical, with the living room opening directly into a large kitchen and dining area. Standing by the table, a one-armed Fargo glanced around when she approached.
“Saw you comin’,” he said. “I already got a place set for you at the table.”
“You can put it away again,” Luke spoke from behind her. “The lady only wants coffee.”
“Might have known I went to all that trouble for nothin’,” he grumbled and scooped up the silverware, dumped it on the plate, and carried them back to the kitchen counter.
“Have a seat.” Luke waved her toward a chair.
Angie smiled her thanks, noticing that somewhere between the front door and the kitchen he had managed to tuck his shirt in and button three of the buttons. He was working on a fourth.
“How do you take your coffee?” Fargo asked as he poured some in a cup.
“With sugar,” Luke answered for her, then smiled at her slightly startled glance. “I wasn’t that drunk last night.”
“It was early, though, wasn’t it?” she jested in fun. But it both pleased and unsettled her that Luke had remembered the way she liked her coffee. Most people didn’t notice such details about others.
“The sugar bowl’s on the table. Help yourself.” Fargo placed the cup in front of her, then sat down in his usual chair, the one closest to the kitchen. He shot an impatient glance at Tobe and Dulcie. “The food’s gettin’ cold. You’d better hurry up.”
The pair took their seats, leaving the chair at the head of the table for Luke. By the time he sat down, he had his shirt buttoned and his hair showed the tracks of a quick finger combing that had smoothed much of its previous sleep-tousled look. Tobe nodded to Dulcie. “It’s your turn to give the blessing,” he said matter-of-factly.
She darted a self-conscious glance at Angie, then bowed her head and clasped her hands in a prayerful pose. “Dear Lord, bless this food and those who eat it. Amen.” Her voice was small and anxious.
“Now, that’s what I like,” Fargo announced, smiling across the table in approval. “A grace that’s quick and to the point.”
The tiniest glow of gratitude lit Dulcie’s eyes. Luke killed it with a cynically dry, “If we’ve got that over with, how about passing the roast beef down here?”
Angie had a good mind to hit him. Instead she tried to undo the damage his thoughtlessness had done. “Fargo was right, Dulcie. That was very well done. Simple prayers are often the best kind.”
Mollified a bit by Angie’s warm praise, Dulcie managed a faint smile. Then the business of passing food dishes and filling plates occupied her attention, and that of everyone seated at the table except Angie.
For a time, the conversation was centered around it, with requests for butter, salt and pepper, or gravy. Once they actually settled to the task of eating, the talk quickly turned to the subject of the lost outlaw gold, with Tobe volunteering the information that Angie had brought with her a copy of the letter Ike Wilson had written. Fargo was quick with his questions about it, asking many of the same ones that Tobe had. Tobe supplied most of the answers, repeating what Angie had told him. Luke listened, but he didn’t show much interest in the discussion except for an occasional wry smile.
It was Tobe who finally dragged him into the conversation. “If you saw that letter, Luke, don’t you think you’d recognize if it had clues to the hiding place?”
“Why ask him?” Fargo took umbrage with that. “I was on the Ten Bar long before he was even a gleam in his father’s eye.”
“I know that, but—” Tobe looked to Luke for help.
It came, but not in the form he expected. “Letters. Clues,” Luke mocked in sardonic humor. “You both talk as if the gold’s still there.”
Startled, Tobe lowered his forkful of green beans. “It has to be.”
“Why?” Luke fired the question, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“Because . . .” Suddenly uncertain, Tobe glanced first at Angie, then at Fargo before finally turning a worried look on Luke. “Nobody’s found it.”
“And how do you know that?” Luke countered.
This time Angie spoke up, confident and calm. “I think it’s safe to say that if it had been found, we would have heard about it long before now.”
He made a sound in his throat, one coated with suppressed laughter. “You’re assuming an honest person found it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked even as her mind raced to consider this new possibility.
“There’s only one way the discovery of the gold would have become common knowledge: the person who found it also turned it in to collect the reward.”
“And only an honest person would do that,” she said, following his logic.
“Why settle for just the reward when you could keep the whole thing with no one the wiser?” Luke reasoned. “And if you kept it, you certainly wouldn’t broadcast the fact that you’d found it. More likely, you’d take off and live the high life somewhere far from here.”
“And you think that’s what happened,” Tobe concluded glumly.
Luke nodded. “Probably within months or even days after the outlaws were caught. You can bet there were plenty of people scouring their back trail looking for it when the gold wasn’t found with them.”
A heavy sigh spilled from Fargo. “I guess it would have been easy enough for someone skilled at readin’ signs to backtrack them and find the spot where they buried it.”
“No,” Angie stated without hesitation. “There were heavy rains in the area when Ike was captured. It would have washed away their tracks.”
The certainty in her voice brought looks of surprise and doubt. “Was that in the letter?” Fargo frowned.
“No. O
ne of the newspapers mentioned it in conjunction with an article about the damage done by the rains. A road or a bridge or something like that was washed out. I don’t remember exactly now.”
Unimpressed, Luke stated, “Just the same, the gold was probably found years ago.” To back up his belief, he added, “Most experts will tell you that the majority of these so-called lost or buried treasures in the West were actually found within the same era. Only their legends lived on.”
A long silence followed his statement, one weighted with thought. Then Fargo conceded grimly, “You might be right, Luke. That gold might be long gone. But there’s only one way we’ll ever know for sure, and that’s to find where it was hidden and see if it’s still there.”
Angie sipped her coffee and said nothing. There really wasn’t anything to say. Fargo had said it all.
Chapter Nine
Luke pulled on his hat and followed Angie out the door into the bright sunlight. Catching the screen door, he eased it shut then turned to find Angie waiting for him.
“I meant to ask,” he said, “can you ride?”
“You mean . . . horses? Yes.” She cocked her head. “Why?”
He looked off to the west. “It’s about two miles to the spot where your grandfather’s remains were found. If we take the pickup, we can get close, but we’ll have to walk the last hundred yards or so. Or, I can saddle up a couple horses and we can ride straight to it.”
“Let’s ride then.” She didn’t have to think about her decision. “I’d like to get the feel of this country from horseback.”
“That can be done.”
As they went down the steps with Angie in the lead, her glance was drawn to the fire-blackened ruins that she had seen when she first entered the ranch yard with Tobe. “Is that where the ranch house once stood?”
“Yep.” He never so much as glanced in the direction of the charred rubble.
Unconsciously she slowed her steps, knowing that fire often destroyed more than wood walls and furnishings. It consumed family mementos, irreplaceable photographs, and items of purely sentimental value.
