Texas treasure, p.1
Texas Treasure, page 1
part #1 of A Lady and the Cowboy Romance Series
Texas Treasure
A Lady and the Cowboy Romance (#1)
Victoria Thompson
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This e-book may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TEXAS TREASURE
Copyright © 1985 by Victoria Thompson
Ebook ISBN: 9781625172211
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Dedication
To Jim and Dad, my two heroes
Author’s Note
Many of the historical events mentioned in this story actually happened. The Centennial Exposition was held in Philadelphia in 1876 to celebrate one hundred years of American progress and many Texas cattlemen attended it. Among them was W. S. Ikard who took an immediate liking to Hereford cattle and later had some brought to his ranch in Henrietta, Texas. They did not catch on, however, until two ranchers named Lee and Reynolds brought in seven carloads of the cattle in 1880 and proved that they would thrive in Texas. Dusty Rhoades would have been very forward thinking indeed to purchase Herefords when he did.
James S. Brisbin’s book, The Beef Bonanza or How to Get Rich on the Plains, was published in 1881 and prompted many easterners and even Europeans to invest in western cattle operations. Unfortunately, most of them were wiped out in the terrible winter of 1886-87 which changed the entire procedure for raising cattle, ushering in the era of the barbed-wire fence.
The treasure that Jason Vance sought in Rainbow is as fictional as the town itself, but the fact is that Spanish payrolls were transported up the old Spanish Trail and many were lost while crossing streams or rivers and others were buried during Indian attacks or other hardships and never recovered. For more information on the subject, J. Frank Dobie’s book, Coronado’s Children, is an excellent explanation of why such treasures are almost impossible to locate and why Jason Vance was lucky to even find a wrong place to dig.
Chapter One
Priscilla looked down the barrel of the rifle. It seemed to stare at her like one large, black eye. She knew little about guns, but she knew enough to sit very still on the settee. Of course, a gun was only as dangerous as the person holding it. Cautiously, Priscilla looked up into the face of the man behind the rifle. Two cold gray eyes stared down at her. Cold, yes, she had always thought so. The eyes of a gambler. But were they dangerous? Few men would shoot a woman. Fewer still a woman who was...
Instinctively, her hand went to her still-flat tummy. No, he would have no way of knowing that. Afraid he might have read her thoughts, she glanced up at him again, but he had turned to watch the woman who stalked catlike to and fro, across the room, from the front door to the window and back, eyes searching the empty road.
The woman turned fierce eyes on Priscilla. With certainty, Priscilla decided the danger lay not with the man, though he was dangerous enough, but with the woman. She could see quite plainly that this woman hated her, and Priscilla had to admit that she had good reason.
“Where is he?” the woman demanded.
“I don’t know,” answered Priscilla. That much was true.
“When’s he comin’ back?”
“I don’t know that either,” Priscilla said, although she had a pretty good idea that it would not be long.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” said the man. “He won’t be gone long.”
“What makes you so sure?” snapped the woman, her green eyes flashing.
“Because,” he replied, turning his gaze on Priscilla, and looking at her in a way that made her turn away, “he won’t stay away from her too long.”
The woman cursed violently. Priscilla was shocked but did not show it. After a long, awkward silence, she decided to speak.
“Please, if you will just tell me what it is you want. Whatever it is, simply tell me. It’s yours. Take it and go.”
The woman laughed scornfully and resumed her vigil at the window. The man simply smiled sardonically. “If only it were that easy, my dear lady, but alas, I am afraid we must wait. He”—he gestured toward the empty road—”is the only one who knows where it is.”
“That’s right,” agreed the woman. “We’ll wait for him. I been waitin’ for him for a long time.” The tone in her voice sent a cold chill over Priscilla.
The man stared at the green-eyed woman, a look of frank wonder on his face. “I’d almost give my share to know why it is that you hate him so much,” he murmured.
When the woman did not reply, he turned curious eyes to Priscilla. “You know, don’t you, ma’am?”
Priscilla simply met his gaze with unblinking eyes. He sighed in defeat. All of them turned once more to look out the open window at the still-empty road.
Priscilla looked again at the rifle, no longer pointed directly at her but certainly close enough. Well, she had come west for adventure. For a while she had been afraid that she would find the West just as tame as the Philadelphia of her youth. That fear seemed ludicrous now. She suddenly longed for her peaceful classroom, and for once, as she looked again at the winding road, she had no desire to see the man she loved. What would he say, what would he do, when he saw her captors? Odd, too, that the four of them—four people whose paths had crossed in such unusual ways—should soon all come together. In the deadly silence that remained, she thought back to the very beginning.
Priscilla’s first view of Rainbow, Texas, had been through a cloud of dust outside the tiny window of a jolting stagecoach. The town seemed to spring from nowhere, a single street of unsightly buildings with a few houses scattered along the outskirts. That long street was virtually deserted in the early afternoon hour, and in place of the curious crowd of welcomers she had expected stood one lone cowboy.
The cowboy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The new schoolteacher was not quite what he had expected. Not that he could see too much of her. He had caught a glimpse of a face when she had stepped off the stage but she was wearing one of those bonnets that stuck out in front and now she had turned away from him. What he had seen was all right, though. She wasn’t quite pretty, but then few women really looked good after fifty miles on that stagecoach. Maybe she would clean up to look better. She was a little on the small side, too—maybe not even up to his chin—and she was wearing one of those consarn dusters that covered her from neck to knees and effectively concealed whatever feminine charms she might possess. But still, he liked what he saw, even if there was something about her that didn’t sit quite right with him. Stella had said, “Meet the stage this afternoon and look for the new schoolma’am. Look for a young woman, says she’s twenty-four. Now she’ll be real scared and nervous just comin’ into town, so you mind yourself and be real kind to her.”
That was the part that didn’t fit. She did not look twenty-four, but then maybe women didn’t dry up as fast back East as they did in Texas. But it was more than that. She did not look one bit scared or nervous, either. In fact, she looked downright confident, standing there with those little shoulders squared, looking up and down the street to see who was going to meet her, just like she was some kind of queen come to pay a royal visit or something. Confident, that was it. Too damn confident, he decided, leaning back against the front of the hotel and taking a deep drag from the cigarette he had rolled a short while ago. He liked a woman to be a little off guard, a little vulnerable. Suppose he waited a minute or two, let her think no one had come to meet her, that she was all alone in a strange town in the middle of Texas. She would get a little worried. Those big, dark eyes—he could see they were dark now that she’d turned this way again—would get all soft and misty. Then he would come to her rescue. He liked that idea. How grateful she would be. He smiled slightly at the thought, crossed his arms over his chest, and shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other, to wait.
Priscilla Bedford looked around for someone who might be Ben Steele, come to meet her. She saw no one who looked like a successful, middle-aged rancher. No one, in fact, who seemed to be looking for her at all. The only person around was that cowboy. She had seen him as the stage had driven up. Leaning indolently against the front wall of the hotel, he presented a striking picture in the western clothes she had not yet become accustomed to. He was tall, over six feet she guessed, in those high-heeled boots, and whipcord lean, although he had a pair of shoulders that any man would envy. He was wearing the usual plaid shirt with a red silk bandana knotted at his throat, and a pair of the faded blue Levis, that seemed to be de rigueur for men in this part of the world, covered the impossible length of his slender legs. Bench-made boots, Priscilla noted, adorned his feet, and on his head he wore a large Stetson that had once been white pushed carelessly back to reveal a shock of hair that was the strangest color she had ever seen. Not exactly red or blond, or any other color she could name, it waved gently across his broad forehead in an untameable tangle. All this she had noticed in the time it took for the stage to draw up and stop
Her only fellow passenger had gotten his bag and was ready to go on his way. He approached her and asked, “Anything more I can do for you, Miss Bedford?” Priscilla looked up into a well-chiseled face. He was definitely handsome, she had long since decided, almost aristocratic with his aquiline nose and molded chin. The thin, well-trimmed black mustache and his carefully oiled and combed hair completed the well-ordered impression created by his black frock coat and white silk shirt. The only thing that prevented her from thinking he was a traveling minister was the brightly flowered vest he wore. New to the West, Priscilla could not know that the gaudy vest was a trademark for a certain type of man, but she did know that he wasn’t a preacher by the vest... and by his eyes. What was it about those eyes? So light gray as to be almost colorless, they stared back at her like two mirrors, reflecting her own image but allowing her no glimpse of the person behind them. Ignoring the small shiver that danced up her spine, she smiled politely at the man who had shared the stage with her for the last thirty miles. He had been a pleasant companion since a lame horse had forced him to flag down the stage, entertaining her with talk of literature and poetry. Pleasant, yes, but cold, and Priscilla wondered idly if anything ever cracked that cool, emotionless veneer.
“Thank you, Mr. Vance, but no. Someone will be meeting me very soon, I’m sure. I would not think of detaining you,” she said. He returned her courteous smile, or at least the corners of his mouth turned up, as he expressed his pleasure at having met her. Raising one long, slender, and very white hand, he tipped his hat to her and disappeared into the hotel.
“Miss, what’ll I do with your trunk?” It was the driver.
“Just set it there for now. Someone will be meeting me,” she replied. From the corner of her eye she could see the cowboy staring at her with a smirk on his face. It wasn’t the first time a young man had stared at her, and she could ordinarily handle it with aplomb, but this particular young man unaccountably annoyed her. She had half a mind to turn around and ask him what he thought he was staring at, but fearing that such an approach might only encourage someone so ill-mannered, she decided to ignore him.
Still no one to meet her. Well, perhaps the stage was early, she speculated. Deciding she would like to get a better look at the town, she walked a short distance down the wooden sidewalk in the opposite direction from where the cowboy was standing, passed the stagecoach, and looked across the street.
The street itself was more like a field than the tree-lined boulevards she was used to, large enough for four wagons to ride abreast. On the other side of the street was a row of unpainted buildings, sporting pretentious false fronts. Beginning at one end, she identified among others a Sheriff’s office, a lawyers’ office, a telegraph office, a saddle shop, and dwarfing them all was the only truly two-storied building in town, which even to Priscilla’s inexperienced eye, appeared to be a saloon. A large, ornate sign graced the front of the second story, on which was painted the word “Rita’s.” Intertwined in the letters was the stem of a yellow rose. “Rita’s Yellow Rose,” Priscilla said to herself. She smiled because it reminded her of the pubs in England whose signs were pictures because the populace could not read. “Well,” she thought, “that’s why I’m here.”
Was the cowboy still there? The question came unbidden to her mind, and she realized with a slight shock that she would be gravely disappointed if he had given up so easily. But no, she would not be disappointed. A funny little prickle along the back of her neck told her he was still keeping his vigil. Slowly, she turned toward where he was standing. He was indeed still watching, a look of admiration plain across his face, a small smirk twisting his well-formed mouth. He had just made a move to straighten up from his casual posture and for one awful moment Priscilla thought he would actually approach her. She forced her face into its most haughty expression, raising her eyebrows in a way that could only be described as disdainful, ignoring the strange impact those startlingly blue eyes seemed to be having on her senses. Their eyes locked in a silent struggle and slowly the cowboy’s smirk disappeared.
Yes, the cowboy liked what he had seen of the new schoolteacher so far. The way she walked, head up, looking around as if she owned the place, like a queen. Yes, regal was the word for her, all right. She did not look worried, though, and she didn’t look like the kind of woman who was likely to become distressed, now or at any other time. And that won his respect, however it might have ruined his plans. He found himself thinking how neatly she would tuck in just under his chin, just how cozy it would be to have her there. He was trying to decide if those huge brown eyes would be shy or bold in such an instance, when suddenly those huge brown eyes turned on him full force in all their frosty splendor. A joke was a joke, but Dusty suddenly realized that he had let this one drag out just a little too long. This was his last chance to speak up and explain himself, but as he roused himself to do just that, she gave him a look that could have stopped an elephant dead in its tracks. The words of explanation died on his lips.
A sudden noise across the street jarred her attention away and she saw a man coming out of the law office and hurrying across the street toward her, pulling on his suitcoat as he came. He was too young to be Ben Steele, but from the way he was approaching, she felt certain she was about to be met at last.
“Miss Bedford?” he inquired breathlessly. He was what was called a fine looking man, about thirty, medium height, with light brown hair and a matching mustache, and friendly eyes that seemed would always hold a smile. He had no particularly striking feature, but everything came together very nicely, right down to his tailored suit which, she noted with approval, lacked the telltale crease that said “store-bought.”
Priscilla put on her best “new schoolteacher” smile. “Yes,” she replied.
“How do you do, ma’am, I am George Wilson, Ben Steele’s son-in-law. He was unable to meet you personally. His health makes it difficult for him to get into town.” Priscilla murmured something sympathetic, and he continued, “I was instructed to meet you and here I’ve left you standing in the street. I hope you can forgive me.”
Priscilla was smiling for real, now. All the warnings she had received about the uncouth men she would have to endure out here seemed humorous as she looked at George Wilson, so obviously a man of good breeding. “Of course, Mr. Wilson. I haven’t been here more than a moment, at any rate.”
“You are very kind. We certainly don’t want you to get a bad impression on your first day here. My wife, Stella, is Mr. Steele’s eldest. She thought that you’d prefer to go directly to your room at the schoolhouse and freshen up a bit before being presented to the entire family.”
“Oh, how very kind. That sounds like a wonderful idea to me,” Priscilla said happily. She was going to like Stella Steele Wilson.
“Good,” George Wilson said. “My wife was going to send someone with a wagon out from the ranch to take you in. Let’s see.” He was looking past her for that someone. “Yes, there’s our foreman now.”
A sixth sense and a tiny little flutter in her stomach told Priscilla that she was about to meet her cowboy face to face. Turning expectantly, she watched her admirer sheepishly step forward. Well, she thought with an irritation way out of proportion to the event, maybe he had his reasons for letting me stand here on the sidewalk like a fool, gawking at me, but they cannot be very good ones. Ignoring the small voice that urged caution and following the demon who encouraged revenge, she turned back to George Wilson and asked in a very loud whisper behind her hand, “Can he speak?”
