by Emily March
They clinked cups and, holding one another’s gazes, each man took a sip.
“I’ll be damned,” Boone repeated.
Tucker nodded. “Nice.”
“Smooth as silk.” With the taste of whiskey clinging to his tongue, Jackson felt a sudden urge to see the last stop on their Last Chance tour. He swooped up the bottle and turned toward the door. “I want to check out the dance hall now.”
Tucker said, “Dance hall? Is that what it is?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’ve played enough of them through the years.”
“A brothel, saloon, and dance hall. How cool is this?”
His cousins followed him out of the saloon and moments later, following another round of trial and error with the ring of keys, they stepped into the third structure. Unlike the other two buildings, this one was primarily empty. It was also huge. Five to six thousand square feet, Jackson guessed. There was a small bar in front, a stage in the back, and side flaps that could be lifted to provide for open-air dancing. Tin advertising signs graced the walls: Lone Star Beer, Pearl Beer, Jim Hogg Cigars, and dozens more.
Beside him, Boone released a soft whistle. “Big place. I wonder which came first—the house, the saloon, or the dance hall?”
“Seems kinda weird to have a dance hall next door to a cathouse,” Tucker observed. “Dance halls are family places.”
“This building is newer than the saloon.” Jackson spied a chalkboard mounted on the wall near the stage and he crossed to read it while saying, “It might have opened once the cathouse closed. What do we know about the history of Last Chance, Boone?”
“I don’t know anything. What digging into history I did focused on Ruin. The conversation last night with Maisy was the first I’d heard about Last Chance.”
Jackson drew close enough to read the writing on the chalkboard. It was faded and smeared in places, but he could make out some of what was listed. Week of October third, nineteen … was that thirty-three? Or thirty-eight? Thursday night was the Specht’s Polka Band. Friday, Redemption Community Band. Saturday afternoon was reserved for traveling salesmen, and Saturday evening advertised the Ruin Review. That sounded like a burlesque show.
“We’re going to have to find out the scoop on this place,” Jackson said as he spied a balled-up newspaper beneath the steps leading up onto the stage. He scooped it up and smoothed it open. Not a newspaper, but a playbill advertising the Juan Lobo rodeo taking place in Enchanted Canyon. Juan Lobo rodeo. That sounded vaguely familiar to him. Frowning, he checked the date. May 1940. A long time after the Wild West rode off into the sunset. What was it about the Juan Lobo rodeo that stuck in his brain? “In nineteen forty,” he murmured aloud. “Huh.”
“What is it?” Boone asked.
“A rodeo playbill from nineteen forty.” He glanced around hoping to discover further clues, and his gaze snagged on an item propped against the wall at the back of the stage. An acoustic guitar. Jackson repeated, “Huh.”
Jackson had not picked up a guitar since Sharon served him with papers for this latest custody crap, but here in an old dance hall deep in the heart of Texas his fingers began to itch. His feet began to move. Soon he stood staring down at the coiled rattlesnake that was a guitar. His mouth went as dry as a drought.
The squeak of the screen door caused him to look up as his cousins turned. Maisy Baldwin walked into the dance hall followed by Caroline Carruthers.
See that girl …
In that instant, something clicked inside of Jackson. He knew why the Juan Lobo rodeo rang a bell. The great Hank Williams had entertained at and possibly participated as a cowboy at the Juan Lobo rodeo in Texas in 1940. Without taking his gaze away Caroline, Jackson picked up the guitar and picked out the chorus of Hank’s hit “Hey, Good Lookin’.”
Chapter Five
“Hey, cuz. You’re playing my song!” Boone said, giving Caroline and Maisy a flirtatious wink.
“No,” Jackson replied, and without missing a beat he launched into something Caroline didn’t recognize.
“Hey!” Boone protested with a scowl that was all for show since he had a twinkle in his eyes when he explained, “Old joke. It’s supposed to be Van Halen’s ‘Fools,’ although you can’t recognize it.”
Caroline smiled as she glanced around the building. “I’ll bet this is the first time these walls heard Van Halen.”
Jackson quit playing, but held on to the guitar as he hopped down from the stage and strode toward them saying, “Considering that was a badly out-of-tune acoustic guitar, it is probably safe to say they still haven’t heard it. This is a nice surprise, ladies. We didn’t expect to see you until this afternoon.”
Maisy gave him an apologetic smile. “I hope you’ll forgive us for showing up early. The appointment we had for this morning got rescheduled for the afternoon. We took a chance and came on out.”
“Glad to have you,” Boone responded.
“Thank you. I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to miss my chance to see inside these buildings. They’ve always been locked during my previous visits to the canyon. I’ve tried to peek through the windows, but they’re too grimy to see inside.” Taking an avid glance around the room, she exclaimed with delight, “Look at that old cash register!”
“Wait until you see the one next door,” Tucker said. “It’s a lot fancier.”
Boone walked toward the bar. “It occurs to me that we didn’t check them for money. Let’s look.”
While Tucker and Maisy followed Boone toward the bar, Caroline turned in a slow circle and studied her surroundings. She jotted a few notes in a spiral notebook, and then looked up at Jackson. “This is a fabulous building. I toured a number of Texas dance halls for an article I wrote a few years back. It was a lot of fun. So much history.” She glanced at Jackson. “Mind if I take a few pictures?”
“Be our guest.”
In addition to the notebook she rarely left home without, Caroline had come prepared with her camera bag. She was a good photographer, having studied with professionals and attended numerous classes. She usually submitted photos with her articles, and they were often used. She suspected she would want to include photographs of the Last Chance Hall in her piece about Redemption, so she took care setting up her shots.
Boone’s discovery of three buffalo nickels in the cash register sent him, Maisy, and Tucker on a mission to check out the one in the saloon, which left Jackson and Caroline alone in the dance hall. Caroline took a few wide-angle shots, and then knelt beside her camera bag to change lenses.
“That is quite a bag of goodies you have there,” Jackson observed.
She smiled up at him. “A gift from my husband for our ninth anniversary.”
“Nice.”
“I was thrilled—and a little intimidated. Luckily, the gift included lessons, too. I’m still learning, but I enjoy it.” She started to rise, and he gentlemanly offered his arm to assist. “Thanks. You know, it’s a shame I didn’t have my camera out when Maisy and I walked in here. I’d love to have a shot of you on the stage playing that guitar. Would you mind recreating it for me?”
A strange look flitted across Jackson’s face before he shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“But—”
“No,” he interrupted. “What would be better is if I return this guitar to the spot where I found it and you take a photo of that. Look, I didn’t even wipe off the dust.” He held the instrument out for her to see, then without waiting for a response, turned around and strode back toward the stage.
Caroline had no choice but to follow him, and when she saw the shot he was suggesting, she nodded. “You have a good eye.”
Sunlight beamed past the iron bars on a dusty window and cast jail-cell shadows upon the wood floor next to the spot where he’d propped the guitar. “Photography is like music and writing in that it’s just another method of storytelling.”
She considered that and smiled. “You know, I’ve never looked at it like that
, but you’re right.”
She took a few shots, and then because his observation had lit a creative spark inside her and the story she wanted to tell was incomplete, she said, “I want your boots. Maybe your hand, too. Would you stand beside the guitar?”
Frowning, he hesitated. “You won’t take my face.”
Now she glanced up at him, her curiosity piqued right along with her creativity. His tone of voice brooked no argument. She wondered why. “Well, that’s not the shot I have in mind. Just your boots and your hand resting on the head of the guitar.”
“Okay then.”
He moved into position, and she lined up the shot. While she worked, she said, “You know, Jackson, it is a very nice face. Rugged and handsome. I feel like I can say that because you called me pretty yesterday. You look right at home here in a Texas dance hall.”
“I’ll admit I’ve spent a considerable amount of time in dance halls.” His mouth twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “Good thing my cousins aren’t here—they’d give me grief about the ‘rugged’ and ‘handsome’ part. Of course, they’re just jealous.”
Caroline laughed. “I don’t know why. The three of you look enough alike to be brothers.” She lowered her camera and took one more glance around. “I think I have everything I need here. Thank you, Jackson.”
“You’re very welcome.”
While she packed up her camera bag he exited the stage, then gentlemanly supported her arm as she climbed down the steps. “Make I carry that for you?” he asked.
Bemused, she handed the case to him without comment. Men with old-fashioned manners seemed to be a dying breed. She liked that quality in a man. Robert used to be that way.
Caroline’s heart gave a little twist at the thought as she walked beside Jackson toward the door. When he asked her how long she’d been a travel writer, she grasped the topic like a lifeline. “About six years now. I was a technical writer for a defense contractor and I submitted my first article on a whim.”
“What did you write about?”
“Barbecue.” She smiled at the memory. “My husband was forever in search of the best barbecue in Texas. He’d hear about a little place and the next thing I knew, it was road-trip time. I updated it every year.” Until last year.
“Oh, man. Now I’m hungry. You know, I’ve been away from Texas for a long time, so my personal list of great barbecue joints is dated. Any chance I could get a copy of your most recent list?”
“Absolutely. Give me your email address, and I’ll send it.”
He rattled off an address that was a bit too generic for Caroline to count on remembering, so she opened her notebook and jotted it down. As she finished, she heard Maisy call from the doorway of the saloon, her voice vibrant with delight. “You must see this, Caroline. The only thing missing is John Wayne.”
They spent the next half hour touring the saloon and the house, then all five of them piled into Maisy’s SUV for the drive to Ruin. Caroline sat in the back seat between Jackson and Tucker, Boone having called “Shotgun” to beat his cousins out for the front passenger seat. “You sound like my nephews,” Maisy observed wryly as the three men indulged in a little back-and-forth bickering. “They’re six and eight.”
The expressions of all three McBride men turned sheepish.
About a mile away from the Last Chance structures, Maisy veered off the main road for fifty yards or so until she braked to a stop at the campsite she’d recommended. The McBride men piled out of the SUV. Caroline grabbed her camera bag and followed. At her first sight of the swimming hole, she released a long, admiring sigh.
The deep green pool snuggled against a tall rock cliff on one side and lapped up against a grassy bank on the other. A mallard drake and hen floated lazily on the water’s mirror surface. When movement and a flash of red above caught Caroline’s notice, she spied a cardinal flitting from the branches of a maple tree to those of a cottonwood. It was a lovely, peaceful place. A little Eden.
Caroline pulled out her camera and took a series of shots while Tucker observed, “Now that’s a swimming hole. Look at that cottonwood with the branch stretched over the creek. Cries out for a rope swing.”
“You’re right,” Jackson said. “It does.”
Boone nodded his agreement. “When we finish our tour, I might have to go for a dip. This is one thing I miss about Texas. Our lake in Eternity Springs is beautiful to look at. It’s a great place to fish and go sailing in the summertime, but it’ll darn sure turn your … toes … blue if you try to go swimming, even on the Fourth of July.”
“It gets even better,” Maisy told them. “Unless something has changed since the last time I was here, when we have a decent rain, there’s a waterfall. You’ll see them all around the canyon, in fact.”
Jackson picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. “I love it. Thanks for showing us this place, Maisy. I doubt we’d have found it on our own. Not today, anyway.”
“You’re very welcome. You do realize I’m aiming for an invitation to come swimming here myself, don’t you?”
Boone clapped her gently on the back. “You’re welcome anytime.”
“Fabulous. Now, shall we continue on the road to Ruin? Caroline is going to want to take a lot of pictures of the ghost town. I don’t want to rush, but I also don’t want to be late to our meeting in Redemption.”
They climbed back into the SUV, and Maisy returned to the main road, heading toward Ruin. A few minutes later, an unexpected sound split the morning. Repetitive honking. Boone leaned forward to look in the passenger side mirror and spoke the obvious. “Car’s coming fast.”
Everyone in the back seat turned to look. Actually, the vehicle was a truck rather than a car, a big red dually with a powerful engine and horn. “Uh-oh,” Maisy murmured, pulling to the side of the narrow road. “This can’t be good.”
She rolled the window down as the truck braked to a stop beside them. Its window lowered. A man leaned toward the opening. “Maisy, phones have been ringing all over town looking for Mrs. Carruthers. Family emergency.”
For a moment, everything inside her froze. Then Caroline’s heart dropped to her knees. She grabbed for her purse. Plunged her hand inside in search of her phone. Grasped it. Pulled it out.
No bars. No service. She leaned forward and demanded of the driver, “What sort of emergency?”
“It’s your husband, ma’am,” the driver said, his eyes kind and his voice soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry to tell you your sister-in-law says he’s suffered a heart attack.”
“What?” She was confused. “There must be some mistake. Robert doesn’t have heart disease.”
“Sorry, ma’am. That’s the message.”
Caroline brought her hands to her mouth. A heart attack. A heart attack? No! She tried to think. She couldn’t think. She needed to do … something. What? Her head was spinning. Fear clawed at her. Robert. Please, God. Please God. Please God. “I have to go home.”
Her tone calm and reassuring, Maisy said, “We’ll turn around and head back to Redemption immediately. I’ll get you there as fast as possible.” She nodded toward the messenger. Thanks for the effort, Johnny.”
“Glad to help. Good luck.”
Caroline sat stiff as a statue as Maisy whipped the SUV around and headed back the way they’d come. “I’ll have you to a place where there’s cell reception in ten minutes, honey.”
A lump had formed in her throat. Unable to squeeze a word past it, Caroline acknowledged the news with a nod.
She lost all sense of time or place as her thoughts flew to Austin and her husband. She was vaguely aware that she’d begun to wring her hands. At some point Jackson took hold of one of them and gave it a comforting squeeze. It barely registered when Maisy slowed down as they approached Last Chance. Or when the SUV stopped and the McBride men got out. Except for Jackson.
Caroline did manage to rouse herself from her stupor when she heard him say, “She can’t drive. Wouldn’t be safe. I’ll take h
er in to Austin.”
“But, you’re on a bike,” Tucker pointed out.
“I’ll drive her car.”
“Good plan. You can rent a car to get back here.” Boone leaned in. “Good luck, Caroline. We’ll be pulling for you.”
“Saying a prayer, too,” Tucker added before stepping back, shutting the doors, and thumping the side of the SUV, signaling for Maisy to take off.
Jackson stayed seated right beside Caroline, holding her hand, offering her silent support. The tiny part of her who remained here in Maisy’s back seat instead of in Austin with Robert recognized that Jackson’s offer went above and beyond the call of a person she’d only just met. However, she didn’t have it in herself to object. He was right. It wouldn’t be safe for her to drive right now. And besides, she didn’t want to be alone.
I’m so alone. Please, God. I’ve lost him, but I can’t lose him. Not now. Not yet. Please, God.
She checked her phone. Still no bars. She croaked out, “How much longer?”
“Any minute now, honey.”
As anxious as she was to connect with those at home, she almost asked Maisy to turn around. A heart attack. She didn’t know if she could bear to face the worst.
Brrrring. Brrrring. Caroline thumbed the green button on her screen and brought her phone to her ear. Please. Please. Please. “Hello?”
“Caroline!” Elizabeth said. “Robert needs you and you aren’t here! You’re never here. You’ve let him down again.”
* * *
Jackson watched what little color remained drain from Caroline’s face and wanted to curse. Poor little thing. What lousy timing to have this happen when she was out of cell range. Not that there ever was a good time to receive news like this.
And just how bad was this news?
“What happened?” she asked, and then listened for a good two minutes. Halfway through, she closed her eyes and slumped a little bit. Then she drew a deep breath and blew it out softly. Relief? He wasn’t sure.
“Okay. Okay. That’s good. Okay.”