High-Riding Heroes (14 page)
Victoria listened to the smooth story-telling sound of Wes’s voice and looked out across the field trying to picture a small, poorly constructed place of worship, the preacher dressed in dark clothes and a wide-brimmed hat standing in the doorway. The breeze whispered across her face while the sun reddened it.
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“The preacher was hard put to make the Indians understand that they must learn to live with the white man, especially when the white-eyes killed their buffalo and chased them off the land. For a while the little church was abandoned as both sides fought for control. After the white man won, the preacher held on to his church and waited for the Indians to return. He had faith that someday they would. Well, they didn’t, until that night six years later and the old preacher heard someone at the door of the church. He opened it and there he stood. The old chief, broken war lance in hand, a party of young warriors behind him.
It seems it was time for him to die and he wanted to die here, so that he could find the peace the white man’s god promised and the preacher had taught him about.”
“So the preacher’s sermons hadn’t fallen on deaf ears as he had thought.”
“No. The old chief was brought into the church and the preacher cared for him until he passed on. As it turned out, the old Indian asked to be buried near the church so he could always be near the smart god-man. Also in hopes that if there was a heaven he would be guaranteed better passage coming right from holy grounds.”
“That’s a nice story. Do you ever feel them in the town? Glory Town? I do.
Like lost souls coming home. I know it was all built years ago and was never a real Wild West town, but if I were the soul of a brave sheriff who had died defending his town or a weary cowboy almost finished the trail drive and drowned crossing the river…someone like that would feel at home in our town.
There’re ghosts here. I wish I had lived in those days.”
He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I don’t. Then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company or your very vivid imagination.”
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A smile played its way across her lips. Lips that wanted to be pressed against his again. “Who knows? Maybe we both lived back then. Maybe we even knew each other.”
“Unlikely. I would have remembered it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. But it would explain my feel for the rightness of being here. My ability to ride and shoot without instruction.” “Ability?” He teased.
“You still ride like a girl, and the shooting, well, it could be luck.”
“You hope it is. There’s a barn dance tonight. The first one that has been advertised in town.
You going?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. I like to put Katie to bed…”
“Afterward then.”
“You asking me for a date, Vic?”
She winced when he used Buck’s nickname for her. She reached over and tentatively took his hand in hers. Looking directly at him, she decided to be as honest as she could be. “I’ve decided to open my heart and really see. For the first time. I think I only saw what I wanted to see. Maybe I never gave reality a chance before. I don’t know where all this is going, if anywhere. But I find, despite the fact that I resent your being here…I like you. I like you a lot. Yes, I’m asking you for a date.”
He grinned wide and slapped the leather across the horses’ backs. “I’ll be there tonight.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed hers. “I like you, too, Vic.
And I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Wes put everything away and headed out to go over some more roping tricks for the upcoming rodeo with the men. And, he thought, there should be a parade at the beginning with flags and trick riding. It should look just like the 108
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real thing. When he was done with them, it would be the real thing. He just hoped he could keep his mind on the task at hand.
After spending a congenial morning with Victoria Clay, the stubborn, unwanted Easterner…wanted now at least by him, he wasn’t sure his world could ever be the same. Life had lifted the sash on the window of what could be, and he liked it. He needed it. He craved it. He still worried that she would never believe him if he was completely honest with her and was unwilling to take the chance. He watched as she crossed the dusty road of Glory Town and wondered if in some strange way they had been catapulted back in time and no one noticed. Not even them.
The barn dance was going to be a success. Victoria stood on the sidelines and all but clapped her hands. Many local people drove out to park their cars beside the potholes and beneath new construction to see what was happening different in a very old business that had simply been there forever.
From the looks of the costumes, crinolined skirts and Western shirts and bob ties, some interest had been stirred. It might only be from the lack of entertainment in the vicinity, but Victoria didn’t care why they were there, just that they were. It made a nice mixture. Crew, tourists, and locals.
The colored lights she had strung around the inside of the barn cast a festive mood. Crockpots full of chili and trays laden with rolls and pies lined the tables.
Buckets of ice and cases of pop and beer sat here and there. The stereo blasted from a corner hidden from view.
Maybe she had finally done something that would make an impact on Glory Town. Victoria watched Buck. He stood on the outskirts of the barn, looking in and around. The darkness prevented her from deciphering the look on his face as one of pleasure or pain. She headed his way.
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Buck saw her coming. She almost looked smug and, dammit, he had to admit she almost deserved to. The reenactment crew was actually taking pride in Glory Town and their roles. The acts were tightening up and looking very authentic. She had done one heck of a job with this old barn. One heck of a job.
But then why shouldn’t she? He had already counted plenty of locals kicking up their heels and spending money. He rubbed his hands together and grinned when she approached.
“Not a bad turnout, Buck. What do you think?”
He grunted. It was too late to change his image now. He wasn’t sure he would if he could. “Time’ll tell.”
She nodded. “It certainly will. The hot dogs are delicious. We bought the best, the big fat ones that plump in the middle. And the fries are being cooked in peanut oil. You ought to try some.”
He shrugged, looking around. “Later, maybe.”
He was dragging at her good mood and she wanted none of it.
“Suit yourself.” With that she walked away from him, hands moving in time to the music.
Buck felt the slightest tug of rhythm in his feet and stood with his weight evenly distributed to discourage it. He wanted to dance. He wanted to get out there and do the hoedown. But then they’d have him made as an old softy and you couldn’t run a business if you were a marshmallow. Right? he asked himself.
Hadn’t he done it right all these years? He watched as Victoria let herself be grabbed up by one of the men and kick up some dust on the dance floor. She seemed to manage to mix and mingle and still have the men’s respect. Could she actually have been right all along and he wrong? No, he decided. No way.
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Chapter Seven
The minutes moved on quickly and to a timely beat. Victoria sipped on a cold glass of cola and watched from the sideline, toe tapping to the rhythm. She was watching for Wes.
Buck was still there. That in itself disturbed her. What did it mean? Was he gauging the worth of the event? Was he trying to decide if she was taking over, playing the big-kid partner again? Or…could it be that pretty older lady who seemed to be smiling at him from under lashes still thick and pretty? Victoria felt the corners of her mouth curl as she watched the scenario unfold before her. She deliberately eyed Buck. She wanted him to know she was watching.
The lady was probably in her fifties. Her hair was a soft champagne blond threaded with silver. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes were green. She had painted her lips a soft pink to match the dress that reached her ankles to top off white boots. Her nails were long and painted a rose color. Each finger sported a ring, either a plain band or one with a gemstone. She was pretty. And she was shy. She seemed to want to come over to talk to Buck. But instead she just watched him and from time to time would pull her gaze to the dance floor and clap her hands in time to the music.
Enough of this. Victoria walked over to the lady. “Hi. I’m Victoria Clay.
Welcome to Glory Town.”
The lady’s voice was soft and rich. “Hello. I’m Emma St. Claire. It’s a wonderful get-together. I’ve been curious about this setup since I moved here a few months ago. It’s the first chance I’ve had to come out. I run the bookstore in
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Redwood. Takes up a lot of time. But I took tonight off to come out with my daughter and her husband.”
Shoot. Married. Well, maybe not. “Your husband doesn’t like to dance?”
“He died last year. That’s why I moved out here from Maryland to be near the rest of the family. I like being with the grandchildren. It keeps me busy and I don’t have to think about being alone.”
Great. And an Easterner. That would teach Buck. If Victoria had a mustache, she would have twirled it. Plotting, she guided Emma toward the table supported by three sawhorses and overflowing with food. “We’re neighbors. I’m from Virginia. Come on over and I’ll treat you to a hot dog. I’m starving.”
The woman smiled a pretty smile and followed Victoria over to the table.
Buck was only five feet away. Victoria made him wait. They laughed when they both reached for the ketchup. Taking a big bite, Victoria pretended to just spot Buck. “Hi, Buck. Great party, don’t you think?” She winked at him. He scowled at her.
“This is Emma St Claire. Runs the bookstore in town. Emma, this is my partner, Buck Mitchell. Together we own Glory Town. You two have running a business in common. Oh, I see Nick. I want to talk to him about the show tomorrow.” With a wave, she was off. Buck was left alone with the pretty lady.
And Victoria almost prayed he would fall for her. Hard. An Easterner. It would serve the old crust right.
Besides, she hated to see anyone be alone.
Wes was late. Well, not late, she reminded herself. They hadn’t set a time.
She berated herself for the fact that she wouldn’t have a good time until he arrived. “Nick. How’s it going?”
Nick looked handsome in his cavalry shirt and tight black jeans. He wore a new after-shave. One spicy and sweet. He beamed when she held out her hand 112
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and was glad when the music turned from fast to slow. “The Tennessee Waltz”
played lazily along the sweet night air. He pulled her into his arms and moved to the beat.
They chatted, but Victoria didn’t pay much attention. She was looking around, seeing what needed attending to. Everything appeared to be going smoothly. And then he walked through the door.
The music faded into the background. The darkness in the barn only served to heighten the desperado look about him. He wore his go-to-hell hat, brim turned down. His shirt was white, his jeans gray. He spotted her and walked toward her. She heard no sound. Saw no movement but his. And wanted desperately to feel his arms around her.
He didn’t ask. He took her by the hand and led her to the outskirts of the crowd, near the wide-open doors where the air stirred and was cool. Laying a light kiss on her mouth, he pulled her to him and together they swayed.
His shirt felt crisp as if just ironed with a touch of starch. Had his mother done that for him, stopping him on his way out and insisting? After all, mothers were always mothers. And sons were always sons no matter what age. The thought made her smile.
Her hair smelled of lilacs and caressed his shoulder. He pulled her closer.
Her hand was tiny and warm in his. A hand he knew could toil with a rake, restrain a leather bridle, or pump rounds from a gun. He lifted it to his lips.
“Katie says hello.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
He put his fingers under her chin, lifting her mouth to his, and collected one to carry with him. “You were watching for me.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
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“A little.” She tucked her head and snuggled against his chest.
“A lot.” He two-stepped her closer to the outside, a little at a time. The cool breeze wafted over them. He kept circling her until they were beyond the patch of light showering from the barn.
Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. Wes had walked in and she had merely turned to him and danced into his arms. He looked around. How many of his friends had seen that? Blatant rejection. Benign neglect. A slap in his face.
His brain cells took a turn. As happened so often lately, he couldn’t think clearly.
He rubbed his temple to stall the headache that was beginning to thunder around in his head, destroying his thought process. Victoria was just being nice to Wes. After all, she was his boss and they had lots to talk about. The voice in his head began to whine as it so often did. He closed his eyes. A roaring began in his head, like waves from the ocean pounding the shore, rhythmically and steadily. Unaware, Nick left the edge of reality. Again.
The sounds of gunshots and shouting rang in his ears. A stagecoach appeared in his mind’s eye. It was a runaway. The driver was dead and slouching across the high seat. A small hand clutched the door strap of the rocking, bumping, headed-for-disaster coach and held on. He spurred his mount, demanding more speed. The heavy thud of horses’ hooves beat at him, accelerated his pulse. He had to save that lady passenger. It was his Victoria.
Reaching the stage, Nick leaned and grabbed hold of the railings. Pulling himself from his horse, he floated momentarily between safety and death, falling and being trampled under the coach as he lost his grip.