“Did you learn anything new?” Adam asked. “In your own research, I mean.”
“Probably nothing that Travis and Nell don’t already know. What I found was mostly on the Internet and in a couple of fairly obscure books Annie managed to get for me.”
“My ancestors weren’t among the very first homesteaders,” Adam told her, “but they came to Bitter End soon after it was established. They settled there and then moved on to Promise. My father’s taken quite an interest in the old mercantile, and he’s brought a number of artifacts to put on the shelves. Last year the junior-high kids toured Bitter End as part of their history class. My dad and some of the other merchants in town dressed in historical costume. Apparently it was a big hit with the kids.”
“What a great idea.” Jeannie’s eyes lit up with interest, and it was all he could do to keep his truck on the road.
Adam gripped the wheel more tightly to steady himself. After all these months of wanting Jeannie and being rejected, this time together didn’t seem real. He could think of only one thing: how much he wanted to kiss her.
When he reached the turnoff onto the dirt path that led to Bitter End, out of sight of the highway, Adam brought the truck to a stop.
“We’re here?” Jeannie sat up straighter and glanced about.
“No, not even close. It’s a couple of miles yet.”
“Then why’d we stop?”
Adam clenched the steering wheel. “Go ahead and be mad….”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because of what I’m about to do.”
Jeannie laughed softly as if she thought this was all a joke.
Without saying anything else, Adam simply pulled her into his arms. She caught her breath as her eyes met his and she understood what he wanted. Had she protested, Adam would’ve turned away, but her wishes seemed to be completely in accord with his.
He bent forward, bringing his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and deep, and Adam felt it all the way to the soles of his feet.
Jeannie wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. As her breasts nudged his chest, an urgency filled him, and he pressed his mouth more hungrily to hers, concentrating on the taste and feel of her.
At last they broke apart, and Adam dragged a deep breath into his oxygen-starved lungs. “Wow.”
“That was my line,” Jeannie whispered. Her eyes were still closed.
Adam’s hands trembled as he reached for the ignition key. Jeannie was probably waiting for him to say something. Well, if he could’ve explained what had prompted this sudden need, he would have. As it was, he just kept his mouth shut.
Jeannie hung on to the door handle as Adam sped toward the ghost town. The truck bounced over the uneven road, jolting them this way and that, but he didn’t slow the pace.
When he arrived at the place where they’d park and continue on foot, Adam noticed another vehicle.
“Someone else is here,” Jeannie said, sounding breathless. This was the first either had spoken since the kiss.
“That’s Travis Grant’s truck.”
Adam turned off the engine and hurried around the cab to help Jeannie out. His eyes met hers, and when she rested her hands on his shoulders she smiled. “Do you want me to apologize for kissing you?” he asked.
“If you do, I’ll be furious.”
Adam relaxed. “It would’ve been a bold-faced lie.”
Her smile created dimples on either side of her mouth. “I’m glad to hear that.”
It demanded every bit of restraint he possessed not to kiss her again right then and there. Instead, he took her arm to lead her along the rocky path to the limestone outcropping from which they could see the town.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
He moved closer to her and was gratified when she took his hand and entwined her fingers with his.
“It’s just the way I imagined it would be,” she whispered, gazing at the view for a few moments before clambering eagerly down the steep trail.
Adam saw that Nell was with Travis; she waved when she noticed them.
“Howdy,” Travis called from the church’s graveyard. Nell and Travis walked out of the cemetery to meet them in the dusty main street.
“Adam was kind enough to offer me a tour of Bitter End,” Jeannie said. “I’ve never been.”
“We’re here on another research mission,” Nell told them, “although we aren’t really sure what we’re looking for.”
“This place feels so—” Jeannie seemed to be having trouble finding the word she wanted “—historic.” She shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean.”
Actually, Adam was grateful to run into Nell and Travis, who knew much more about Bitter End’s history than he did. “I don’t think I’ll be able to answer all of Jeannie’s questions.”
“Give Jeannie the grand tour,” Nell suggested, “and when you’re finished, come and join Travis and me over by those benches. I brought along a thermos of coffee. If you don’t mind sharing a mug you’re welcome to have some. We can sit down and chat then.”
“Thank you. We’d love to,” Jeannie said excitedly, answering for both of them.
As they wandered down the street, Adam did the best he could, telling Jeannie all the facts and stories he remembered. Businesses lined each side of the main street, but the most prominent building in town was the church. The old wooden hotel had been boarded up with a large sign warning against exploration. As Adam expected, Jeannie had question after question, many of which he couldn’t answer.
“This place is thrilling,” Jeannie announced when they rejoined Travis and Nell. “I feel privileged to be here.”
“Jeannie’s an amateur historian,” Adam told the other couple. He and Jeannie sat on the second bench outside the mercantile.
Jeannie dismissed his claim with a wave of her hand. “I took as many history courses as I could, and I’ve always been fascinated with the Old West. It’s one of the reasons I enjoyed reading Travis’s book so much.”
“Why don’t you start by telling us how you two solved the mystery of Bitter End?” Adam said.
Nell poured tall mugs of coffee, and since she’d only packed two, shared hers with Travis, while Adam and Jeannie shared the other one.
“You already know that Bitter End was settled after the Civil War, right? The pioneers decided to build the town here after a long and difficult journey.”
“Tradition says that’s how the town got its name,” Nell inserted.
“For a time the community prospered,” Travis said.
A glance down the main street was proof enough of that.
“But everything took a turn for the worse when a preacher’s son was hanged by a band of drunken men because he tried to protect a saloon girl from their attack. His father came looking for him some time later, and when he learned what had happened, he cursed the town. No one took him seriously until a series of disasters led the community to believe they were doomed.”
“From what we’ve learned since, the people left in a panic,” Nell added. “They must have. We found tin cans still on the shelves, clothes, all kinds of things. Once the decision had been made, they just abandoned the town.”
Jeannie appeared fascinated by the tale. “That’s an incredible story.” She took a deep breath. “Actually, I read something recently that might interest you,” she told the small group, “if you’re not already familiar with it. Have you ever heard of One-Eyed Jack?”
They all shook their heads.
“I came across him in an out-of-print book Annie recently found for me. It was privately published in the early 1920s, and there were only about a thousand copies. I don’t even want to tell you what I paid for it.” She gave a mock shudder. “Anyway, it seems that this Jack Benson was a Confederate soldier who lost an eye at Gettysburg. Apparently that was how he got his oh-so-clever nickname. According to the story, he turned to crime after the war and started running with a gang of misfits and undesirables, spreading havoc acr
oss Texas. It was said he’d kill a man for the pleasure of watching him die.”
Adam grinned, enjoying Jeannie’s storytelling ability.
“He and his band roamed the territory,” she continued, “terrifying the residents. It’s believed he was killed in a shoot-out with Texas Rangers after robbing a Union paymaster.”
“So many young men turned to a life of crime after that war,” Nell said sadly.
“I read a rather nice story having to do with the Civil War myself,” Travis said. “In fact, it was a diary published in the 1890s. This diary had been written by a woman named Carrie Erath, who was employed as a seamstress for the Union army. Day after day she sewed those blue uniforms. She must’ve had a creative imagination, because she couldn’t help wondering about the men who’d be wearing her uniforms and what would happen to them once they were in battle.” He paused. “Apparently she took to writing short letters of encouragement and stuffing them in the pockets. Later she received a letter from a young soldier in response to one of her notes. After the war they met and were married.”
“That’s really sweet,” Nell said with a sigh.
“True,” said Travis. “If I was writing historical romances, I might find a way to use it.”
“Whatever happened to Carrie Erath and her soldier husband?” Jeannie asked.
“That’s the sad part. Her husband was stationed out West and brought her and the children with him, and then he was killed in an Indian raid.”
“Oh, no…”
“Are you researching another book?” Adam asked.
“Well, not exactly,” he answered. He and Nell glanced at each other as if gauging how much to say. “Actually, we’re more curious than anything else. Someone we know has shown some—shall we say, unusual—interest in the area and we’re trying to figure out why.”
“Another history buff?” Jeannie asked.
“No.” Travis appeared certain of that.
After a few minutes’ silence, Jeannie said, “There’s another story I read recently about a woman known as Betty Bountiful.”
“The dance-hall girl?” Travis asked. “Yeah, I’ve heard of her.” He chuckled. “Betty’s exotic fan dance brought them in droves.”
“She was talented in other areas, as well,” Jeannie teased, and they all laughed.
Once again, Adam was impressed with Jeannie’s knowledge of the Old West. She and Travis exchanged another half-dozen stories until Nell looked at her watch. “It’s nearly six!” she said, obviously shocked at the time. Adam was, too; the entire afternoon had disappeared.
Jeannie talked nonstop on the ride back into town. Her enthusiasm for Bitter End was contagious, and Adam soon found himself agreeing to escort her back. But then, he would’ve been willing to visit the garbage dump if she’d wanted to go there.
“Adam, I had the most wonderful day. Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said as he opened the truck door for her.
“It was my pleasure.” He meant that.
“And, Adam…” She paused and looked away.
“Yes?”
“If you wanted to kiss me again, I…wouldn’t object.”
That sounded fine to Adam, who needed no further encouragement.
Mary Patterson sat in her rocker, staring at the television, surprised to see that the screen had gone blank. Where was Phil? Oh, yes, she remembered now. He had to go out on an errand—somewhere—but he’d promised he’d be back soon.
What about her grandson? Johnny had been with her, too, hadn’t he? Glen’s two-year-old son was the joy of her life, even though he could be a handful.
“Johnny,” she called, looking around. Glen and Ellie left him with her and Phil every week when they went bowling. Mary lived for Thursday nights—or was it Friday? Not that it mattered. What fun they had, she and Johnny. He loved the silly games they played and the songs they sang. Sometimes he remembered the words better than she did, and that made him feel smart.
So where could he be? Confused and suddenly concerned, she walked from room to room, calling his name, her voice growing more urgent.
He was gone. Her grandson was gone. A sick feeling attacked the pit of her stomach. He’d been with her only a few minutes ago. Johnny needed constant supervision, and here she’d forgotten all about him. The last thing she remembered was Phil kissing her on the cheek, telling her he was running to the store. She was to keep an eye on their grandson.
“Johnny,” Mary cried, more loudly this time. Gripping the banister, she carefully made her way up the stairs and was winded by the time she reached the top step. She hardly ever climbed these old stairs anymore; it was just too hard on her knees.
“Johnny, don’t scare Grandma like this,” she pleaded. “Come out, come out.” Her heart felt as if it might explode. “Please, please,” she begged. Phil would be angry with her. He’d gotten angry with her recently because she’d forgotten something. She couldn’t recall what it was now, only that Phil had been upset.
“Johnny…oh, Johnny…” She couldn’t find her grandson anywhere. They’d all be angry with her. She loved Johnny so much, and if anything happened to him, it’d be her fault. Her fault. Everything seemed to be her fault lately.
Johnny would have answered by now if he could. If he was in the house. If he was all right. Mary knew something must have happened and she’d be blamed. Sobs welled up. Deep sobs, too deep to hold inside.
She had to hide, had to find someplace no one could find her because if they did, they’d never forgive her. Never.
Cal had one eye on the weekend newspaper and the other on his wife. The baby was supposed to arrive eight days from now, although Jane had told him only about ten percent of babies were born on their due dates. Which meant it could be even later. Cal shook his head. He’d never seen a woman look as pregnant as Jane. She’d insisted they attend the annual Willie Nelson picnic on the Fourth of July—which they had. No Willie, but they’d had a great time nonetheless. She just refused to slow down, despite the advanced state of her pregnancy. With the days getting longer and warmer, he’d watched her struggle to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. Rolling over in the middle of the night seemed to require a massive effort.
The phone rang and with a sigh he got up to answer it.
It was his father, and his voice was shaking with panic. “Cal, I can’t find your mother.”
“What do you mean you can’t find her?”
“She’s gone, I’m telling you.”
“Gone?”
“I can’t find her. I was out working in the garage and I came inside to check on her. She’s nowhere to be found! I’ve searched this house high and low. No one saw her leave. Dear sweet heaven, where could she be now?” His voice cracked with strain and worry.
“I’ll be right there.” Cal replaced the receiver and discovered Jane was staring at him.
“What’s happened?” she asked urgently.
“Mom’s disappeared. I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but I’ve never heard my father sound so scared.”
Cal was already halfway to the door when Jane announced that she planned to come along. He didn’t have time to argue with her. It was probably just as well; this late in the pregnancy, he didn’t feel good about leaving her alone.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded once they reached the highway. He made an effort to keep his voice calm. He wasn’t angry with Jane or even his father. He just wished to hell someone would have the decency to tell him what was wrong with his mother.
“Your father promised me he would.”
“It’s Alzheimer’s, isn’t it?” He had to ask, although he’d begun to realize it must be.
Jane nodded.
“How long have you known?”
She hesitated. “I’ve suspected it for a few months now, but I didn’t dare say anything without the tests. Not long ago your father confirmed my suspicions, but he begged me to let him be the one to tell you and Glen.”
r /> Cal took her hand, knowing how difficult this must have been for her.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” she said softly.
“I’m not. Dad was only trying to protect Mom. I’d do the same.”
“He’s doing the best he can,” Jane said, “but I think it’s gotten much worse lately.”
“Poor Dad.”
Glen and Ellie were already at their parents’ home by the time Cal and Jane arrived. Cal found his father sitting at the kitchen table, his face in his hands.
“I’ve been through every room in the house,” Glen told him. Cal noticed how pale his brother was and guessed that Phil had told him the truth about their mother’s condition.
“Then I suggest we call Sheriff Jordan,” Cal said.
“No,” Phil cried, his face pale and drawn. “I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Glen!” Ellie shouted from the top of the stairs. “I found her!”
Cal, Glen and their father rushed up the stairs to find Ellie standing with her arm around Mary’s waist. Cal saw how lost and confused his mother looked. Seeing her like this nearly tore his heart out.
“Where was she?” Phil demanded.
“Crouched inside the closet.”
Phil stared at her. “You were in the closet?”
“Are…are you mad at me?” his mother whispered, her eyes red and swollen with tears.
“Why would I be mad?”
“I lost…Cal. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Mom, I’m right here.”
His mother frowned. “No…it was someone else I lost. Someone I love.” She started to weep again, huge sobs that racked her whole body. His father moved protectively to her side and with both arms around her, helped her down the stairs.
The small group followed and watched as Phil placed her in the rocking chair, then sagged onto the sofa, looking worn and broken.
“I can’t do it anymore,” he whispered. “I just can’t do it alone anymore.”
CHAPTER 17
Miles had phoned the previous evening and invited Gordon for lunch, which was a pleasant surprise. The reservation was for noon at Scaramouche, a restaurant they’d always enjoyed. By the time Gordon arrived, his son was already seated. He looked up from the menu when Gordon joined him.