Secret Hearts (45 page)

      
“Oh,
ma’am,” wheezed Scruggs. “Oh, my Gawd!”

      
Alarmed,
Claire began to rise from her chair, only to have Tom place his hand
over hers. When she looked at him, she was amazed to find him grinning
from ear to ear.

      
“I’ll
take care of it, Claire. Don’t worry. I think I know what the matter
is.”

      
“You
do?”

      
Scruggs
slumped against the door. “You do?”

      
“I
do.”

      
Everybody
jumped when they heard a tremendous crash issue from the other side
of the door. Scruggs sidled away as if he feared for his very life.

      
When
an enormous, uncouth voice shot through the heavy wooden paneling, demanding
to know “whar that damned son of a buck Partington was,” Claire
looked at Tom, her eyebrows raised in question.

      
“It’s
all right, everyone,” Tom assured them, striding toward Scruggs.

      
Claire
sat with a thunk when Tom flung the dining room door open to reveal
a character the likes of which she’d believed only existed in her
own brand of fiction. A huge man clad in fringed buckskins, a wide-brimmed
conch-bedecked hat, big boots, ammunition belts crossed over his chest,
a holster filled with the biggest gun she’d ever seen, side whiskers,
and a gigantic mustache swaggered into the room and glared at the assembly.

      
Scruggs’
knees gave way and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Everybody
else goggled at the invader.

      
Everybody,
that is, except Tom, who embraced the unlikely fellow as though he were
greeting a long-lost, and exceedingly dear, brother.

      
“Cable!”
he cried.

      
“Tom!”
the remarkable man cried back.

      
At
least five minutes of back-slaps, hugs, chortles and masculine curses
of an endearing variety ensued, during which Claire and her guests were
left to exchange shrugs and puzzled glances. At last Claire decided
she’d had quite enough, thank you, and rose from her place at the
table.

      
At
that very moment, the two men broke their embrace and Tom stood back,
keeping a hand on the intruder’s shoulder.

      
“Claire!
Ladies and gentlemen!”

      
Claire
was astonished to see tears in Tom’s eyes.

      
“It’s
my very great pleasure to introduce you to my best friend in the entire
world, Killer Cable Hawkins!”

      
An
incredulous buzz rose from the table, but Claire did not heed it. Stricken
dumb on the spot, she could only gape at the two men for a full minute
until her rattled wits gathered themselves together again. Then she
rushed to her husband’s side, fairly quivering with excitement.

      
“Are
you really Killer Cable Hawkins?” she asked in a voice rich with awe.

      
The
giant ripped off his hat. “That’s what they call me, ma’am.”
Claire was amazed to see his cheeks ripen with color.

      
“My
wife is an aficionado of the frontier life, Cable,” Tom said with
a wink for Claire. “I invited you here especially to meet her.”

      
Claire
feared for the bones in her hand when Cable wrung it. She refrained
from shrieking in pain only because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s
feelings.

      
“Ma’am,
anybody what’s got the good sense to marry up with this here varmint
is somebody I’ll meet come hell or howdy.”

      
At
his wife’s blank expression, Tom whispered, “He means he’s glad
to meet you, Claire.”

      
“Oh!
Oh, of course.” She smiled at Cable again. “And I’m extremely
happy to meet you, too, Mr. Hawkins.”

      
“My
wife is a novelist, Cable, and she’s been itching to start a new series
of books about life on the frontier.”

      
Tom
met Claire’s look of absolute incredulity with the most innocent face
she’d ever seen. Then, her heart bursting with joy and her eyes filling
with tears, she flung herself into his arms.

      
“Oh,
darling, thank you!”

      
“Think
nothing of it, Mrs. Partington,” he said. He winked at Cable and whispered
in her ear, “Killer Cable boasts not merely a great name, Claire,
but he has a limp in
both
legs.”

Epilogue
 

      
The
Legend of Killer Cable
and its offspring proved to be best sellers
throughout the length and breadth of the United States. European rights
garnered Clarence McTeague even more bounty. The public couldn’t get
enough of the invincible Killer Cable.

      
Even
though Sylvester Addison-Addison’s
Adolphus, the Wily Turk
and several subsequent novels did well, Sylvester’s sales never matched
those of Clarence McTeague, who had already proved his worth with a
dozen or so
Tuscaloosa Tom
novels, published before he tackled
Killer Cable
.

      
Sylvester,
of course, resented McTeague’s success, although he didn’t dare
say so aloud to Claire Partington. Marriage to the wealthy Priscilla
Pringle did nothing to improve Sylvester’s disposition, but at least
the customers at the Pyrite Springs Mercantile and Furniture Emporium
no longer had to suffer his surliness, as Alphonse Gilbert was forced
to hire a civil clerk.

      
Dianthe
St. Sauvre and Jedediah Silver were married shortly after Tom and Claire’s
April reception. Dianthe liked the “Silver” part of her new name,
but decided to keep the “St.” part of her old one for poetic reasons.

      
Sergei
Ivanov moved back to his native Russia in 1890. He claimed only another
Russian could appreciate his works of the soul. Years later Claire was
sure it was Sergei’s face she saw in a photograph printed in the newspaper.
He was one of a mob swarming the Tsar’s Winter Palace, and he had
a paintbrush clutched in his upraised fist.

      
Freddy
March finally learned to read music. Shortly thereafter he joined a
band led by John Philip Sousa and took up the piccolo. The Sousa band
played a concert on the grounds of Partington Place to celebrate Tom
and Claire’s fifteenth wedding anniversary. The entire town of Pyrite
Springs was treated to the world premiere of “The Stars and Stripes
Forever,” which Sousa copyrighted in the following year, 1897. Claire
wept with pride during Freddy’s solo.

      
Tom’s
Appaloosa breeding ranch prospered, and the Partington horses soon became
famous and much sought-after in the equine world.

      
Claire
was able to indulge her passion for gardening, eventually endowing the
Partington Botanical Gardens with funding in perpetuity. Once Glorietta
Garland progressed from marigolds to anemones and then on to roses,
she became quite well-known for her floral renderings of specimens in
the Gardens.

      
Mrs.
Finchley became like a mother to Claire and acted as grandmother to
the eventual Partington children, Gordon and Lizzie. Royalties from
Claire’s books and profits from Tom’s Appaloosa breeding operation
provided both children with a college education.

      
Claude
Montague moved to New York and then to Los Angeles, California, where
he became involved in the budding motion-picture industry. As Claire
often told her husband, “Better on screen than in our home.” Tom
agreed with her, and was grateful his own parents were content to squat
in Tuscaloosa, overdrawing their bank account, and dwelling on past
glories.

      
Upon
his release from prison in Seattle, Clive Montague joined in his father’s
celluloid venture and became quite wealthy until his career was cut
short by Hollywoodland’s very first “casting-couch” scandal. Claire
pretended they were not related.

      
“Thank
God we don’t share the same last name any longer,” she muttered
as she slapped the newspaper aside.

      
Tom
grinned his wonderful grin at her. “I don’t know, Claire. At least
you don’t have to go very far to find people to act as models for
the villains in your novels.”

      
She
frowned at her husband over the top of her spectacles. “Tom Partington,
my imagination is fully good enough to create villains. I don’t need
my brother.”

      
His
grin turned wicked. “I know all about your imagination, my love. It’s
been my inspiration and my delight these past twenty-five years.”

      
Claire
blushed. She did not demur, however, when Tom suggested they retire
to their room for a little delight in the afternoon.

      
She
felt much better afterwards.