by Sandra Brown
They rode in silence for half an hour. Jared slowed Charger to a trot and led the way to the riverbank where cypress roots snaked along the ground, knotted and ropelike. On the other side of the river, a rock formation formed a wall, a backdrop, looming up fifty feet. About midway up, jutting out of the rock wall, was the strangest structure Lauren had ever seen.
It was barely more than a wooden shingle façade a few feet deep. A black metal flue extended a few inches out of the roof, emitting a thin wisp of smoke. The only door, in the center of the structure, was made of rough planks. A square window was on either side of it. Over these had been nailed cowhides, which stirred slightly in the breeze. Various antlers of deer and cattle adorned the exterior walls. The small shelf of rock on which the house was perched was barely wide enough for a man to stand on, but it was littered with all types of utensils; pails and washtubs, bridles and harnesses, rope, plows in sad disrepair, a stack of nondescript pelts, metal objects that Lauren couldn’t identify from this distance.
“What is that?” she asked Jared in awe as he reined in and began to dismount.
“Just stay where you are. We’ll only be here a minute. Crazy Jack doesn’t like company.”
“Wh—”
“Just sit still, Lauren,” he said crisply.
She watched him as he untied a bundle from behind his saddle and casually walked to the riverbank. He knelt down and scooped several handfuls of the clear water into his mouth. Then he placed the package on a flat-surfaced rock and returned to Charger, mounting with studied nonchalance.
Lauren stifled her curiosity as they rode away from the strange scene in silence. She glanced nervously back over her shoulder to steal a final look at the bizarre sight.
They had covered about a mile before Jared once again led the horses near the Rio Caballo, this time nudging them down to the bank to drink. He handed Lauren a canteen and crossed his leg across his saddle, lighting a cigar.
“What was that house, Jared? Does someone live there?” She couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.
“Yes, someone lives there.” His manner was irritatingly casual. “His name is Jack Turner, though everyone has nicknamed him Crazy Jack. He built a façade over a dry cave for his house. He’s a hermit and not at all crazy.”
“A hermit!?” she exclaimed. “How long has he lived there? Where did he come from? Is he dangerous?”
With annoying slowness, Jared retrieved his canteen, recapped it, and took a long pull on his cheroot before he replied. “Jack and his brother Bill came to Texas in the late fifties from God knows where and settled in a small deserted cabin. They either didn’t have the initiative or the capital to ranch or farm, but they grew staple crops. They did odd jobs when they needed money, otherwise they were pretty reclusive. The German settlers around here were so industrious that they shunned anyone who didn’t share their proclivity for work.” He shifted in his saddle and drew again on the cigar.
“In 1872, the Comanche went on a rampage and raided the smaller farms. Jack and Bill were both captured, their cabin burned. They were held captive for six months or so, but then Jack was rescued. If they had been the only hostages, no one would have bothered, but some women and children had been taken at the same time. So a rescue party had been formed. Brother Bill had been killed by the Indians. Tortured and killed. Jack was… injured… and when he came back to civilization he was scorned by all his ‘Christian’ neighbors.”
Jared’s lip curled in a derisive sneer. “Jack built his house there in the cave and, though it was on our land, Ben looked the other way. Jack cuts out a couple of beeves each year, but they’re never the best ones, and he doesn’t waste them. He uses every bit of the carcass. We bring him staples every few months. All he asks is to be left alone. His house is somewhat like a fortress. God knows how he gets in and out of it. You can bet we were sighted in his rifle as soon as we got into range.”
Lauren was quiet for a moment as she absorbed the story. “Why was he shunned by everyone? He couldn’t help being taken by the Indians.” She was immediately sympathetic to the eccentric hermit.
Jared watched her closely as he said slowly, “He’d had his nose and ears cut off. That’s what the Indians did to him while they mutilated and killed his brother. He’s not too pretty to look at, and people don’t like their sensibilities insulted by the sight of him.”
Chapter 12
Lauren’s hands flew to her mouth. The horrors inflicted on Jack Turner by the Comanche were incomprehensible. But the torture inflicted on him by his own people was even worse. Ben and Jared had treated him kindly. She lowered her eyes as she said softly, “You’re very charitable, Jared, to do these things for him.”
“It’s not charity. We’ll find a jar of his home-brewed corn liquor on the front porch in a day or two. It’s always left for us after we bring him something. Of course, I wouldn’t drink it for the world. It’s pure rotgut. But I’d never ignore it, either.” Ever since he could remember, Ben had ridden out to take supplies to Crazy Jack. The man must be in his seventies by now. “I wonder if he knows Ben is dead,” Jared mused aloud. “He probably does. I think he knows everything that goes on around here.” He tossed down his cigar butt and placed his boot back in the stirrup. “Ready?”
Lauren nodded and they took off again. Jared raised his bandana over his nose and indicated that she should do the same. Moving away from the river, the grass became sparse and dry, and their horses kicked up clouds of dust. Lauren was grateful for Jared’s thoughtfulness in bringing her the bandana.
A short while later, Jared slowed their horses to a leisurely walk as he entered a pecan grove. The old, massive trees, gradually losing their foliage in the change of seasons, umbrellaed the gently rising hill.
At this point, the river was wide. The bank to which Jared now led her was grassy before becoming littered with pebbles. Those tiny rocks grew into giant limestone boulders that rose like smooth tables out of the river. The swift water rushed over them, crystal-clear and gurgling.
“How lovely!” she cried. In her excitement, she swung her leg off the saddle and dropped to the ground, rushing to the riverbank.
On the opposite side of the river, there was a wall of rock much like the one Crazy Jack had built his house into. With the natural screening of the rock wall and the protective covering of the pecan trees, the setting was intimate and private despite its primitive nature.
She didn’t realize Jared had dismounted and come to stand behind her until he spoke. “The water here is fed by underground springs. That’s why it’s so clear. Come on.”
She was surprised when he took her hand and pulled her out onto the rock formations in the river. The leather gloves they both wore did nothing to dilute the warmth of the hand tightly holding hers. They walked together over the white boulders, which had been polished smooth by water washing over them year after year. When they reached the point where the water rushed over the rock, Jared knelt down. Lauren followed suit and took off her glove to place her hand in the water. “Oh! It’s so cold,” she exclaimed, laughing.
“Until you get used to it,” he said with a smile. “When Rudy and I were kids, we came up here to swim. Ben brought us until we were old enough to look out for ourselves. You see, when it rains, this tributary of the Caballo becomes a torrent. Where we’re standing now would be covered with water coming down from the hills.” They had pulled the bandanas away from their mouths, and she watched the way his chin caressed the soft cloth beneath it as he spoke. “In the spring, this looks completely different. The redbuds bloom and the bluebonnets cover the hills like a carpet.”
She listened intently and watched his hands as he gestured. He had said Ben’s name without the haunted expression that usually crossed his face whenever his father was mentioned.
She leaned over the water and cupped a handful, bringing it to her mouth. The brackish taste was terrible. She didn’t know she had made a face until she heard Jared’s chuckle near her ear.
“Tastes bad, doesn’t it? The water is pure, but it has to be filtered through charcoal before it tastes good enough to drink,” he explained. “See where the water is bubbling up from under that rock?” He pointed and she nodded. “That’s one of the springs.”
They walked back across the rocks until they regained the riverbank where their mounts were standing docilely, nibbling the grass. As Jared went about the business of unpacking the saddlebags that held their lunch, Lauren walked up the hill to the crest. Her breath caught in her throat: The entire valley opened up beneath her. It was a breathtaking sight.
“Luncheon is served, Madam,” Jared called to her and made a sweeping bow over the blanket that served as their table.
Feeling free and uninhibited, she ran down the hill to join him. The fallen pecans and autumn leaves on the ground crunched under her boots.
Maria had packed enough food for an army, but Lauren was relieved to see that for once there were no beans. Thin slices of cold roast beef, potato salad packed in a jar, spiced peaches, fresh bread, tortillas, and sugar cookies composed their menu. They ate off tin plates the men used when on the trail. Incongruously, Maria had also packed snowy white linen napkins.
“It’s beautiful here, Jared,” Lauren said after a long, awkward pause which they filled by concentrating on their food.
“Yeah.” He munched on a piece of bread before he said offhandedly, “This is where I want to build a house someday. Right up there on top of the hill.” He indicated the place with an inclination of his chin. “I’d have the house facing the valley, and this,” he swept his hand in a broad gesture, “would be my backyard. Even if the river overflowed the banks, the house would be high enough to be protected.”
“That would be perfect,” she enthused. “I’d love living in a setting like this.”
The moment the words left her mouth she would have given heaven and earth to bring them back. His head whipped around and his eyes bore into hers, hard and uncompromising. She hadn’t meant to imply they would be living together. She had only been speaking rhetorically. Mortified, she lowered her head.
Each was painfully aware of the other and their isolated surroundings. The silence was palpable. Using her best conversational voice, acquired from years of practice entertaining guests in the Prathers’ parlor, Lauren asked, “Why didn’t you tell me Rudy was your brother, Jared?”
The question took him completely off-guard, and he stopped chewing his mouthful of food. Finally he swallowed, took a long gulp of beer from one of the bottles Maria had packed for him, and asked, “Would it have mattered?”
“His illegitimacy?” He looked at her sharply, but saw only understanding in her eyes. “No. That doesn’t matter to me, Jared.”
“Well, it does to a lot of people. That and his being half Mexican,” he said bitterly. “No one understands about Ben and Maria.”
“I do.”
Again she had surprised him, and his eyes studied her briefly before he looked away. He reclined, stretching his long legs in front of him and supporting himself on one elbow. Lauren was reminded of the first time she had seen him and wished he would sit erect. She found it hard to keep her eyes diverted from the body so unabashedly displayed.
To cover her flustered state, she commented, “You always refer to your father by his first name. Why?”
He seemed momentarily irritated by her myriad questions, but then he laughed softly and said, “That’s what everyone else called him.” Jared shrugged. “He didn’t like titles. Didn’t need them. I felt the same way when I came back from Cuba and suddenly I was Lieutenant Lockett.” His muscles bunched in agitation.
“It must have been terrible there,” she offered quietly. “I read that our army fought the climate as much as they did the Spanish.”
“That’s an understatement,” he said. “I never drew a deep breath the whole time I was there. It was godawful. No matter how hard you tried to suck that heavy air into your lungs, you could never get enough. Most of us got a good case of malaria, and we went into battle with the fever and sweating weakening us until it was an effort to crawl. It got to where I didn’t care if we took the goddam hill or not.”
“There was a girl at home who was married to a soldier, a marine. We prayed for him and were so thankful when he returned with only a slight leg wound.” She shifted her gaze away from his belt buckle and plucked at a napkin spread over her thighs.
His eyes, narrowed to slits, traveled from the part in her hair to the toe of her soft boots. “What about you, Lauren? Didn’t you pine away for some sweetheart to come home to you?”
She flushed as much from his scrutiny as from his words. “No,” she said into her lap. “I had no admirers or… anything. Besides, I was too young then.”
“Oh. But what about later? Didn’t any of the deacon’s sons try to steal a kiss behind the church door? No hanky-panky in the choir loft under those voluminous robes?” As he spoke, his hand moved to her chest. His dexterous fingers worked the buttons of her jacket until it fell open. She was dizzy with emotion when she felt him fingering the pearl buttons on her shirt, though he didn’t try to undo them.
“Surely someone has made a pass at you.” His tone was teasing. He couldn’t know that his mockery conjured up abhorrent memories of William Keller. She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head violently, trying to dispel the hateful recollection.
Jared was alarmed. He had meant to shake her cool reserve, but her reaction was far stronger than he’d expected. His hand stilled, though he didn’t withdraw it. She composed herself slowly and finally raised her eyes to meet his. “No,” she whispered, “I never had any sweethearts.”
Of its own volition, his hand moved up so his fingers could settle lightly on her cheek. It just wasn’t possible that anyone could be as innocent as she appeared to be. No one that naive would leave the security of a parsonage for an adventure in Texas with a man, a stranger, as virile as Ben Lockett.
Why had she come with Ben? He was on the verge of putting the question to her, but stopped himself. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. The realization that the truth might hurt caused him to turn his frustration on himself. He looked away from the gray eyes that were now watching him closely. He wasn’t going to be a fool over his old man’s doxy. He jerked his hand away as though he had reached for something desirable and realized too late that it was decayed and hideous.
Lauren felt his withdrawal immediately. The course their conversation had taken was disturbing, but it was conversation, and she hated to give it up. Nevertheless, she was glad he was no longer touching her. His touch, no matter how slight, did strange things to her, set off reactions both alarming and embarrassing.
“We’d better start gathering those damn pecans,” he said tersely, and strode toward Charger to get the gunnysack he had brought along for that purpose.
Lauren put their eating implements away after rinsing them in the river. Then she repacked the remaining food. Jared had the sack half-filled with pecans when she bent down to help him.
“I can do it,” he said gruffly. “No sense in your getting dirty.”
She looked up the length of his body and met the amber eyes glaring down at her. What had she done to make him angry? “I want to help,” she said simply.
“Suit yourself,” he answered indifferently and turned away, looking for an area that hadn’t been harvested.
By the time he came stamping back to her, Lauren had gathered a pile of the nuts. He held the mouth of the sack open while she scooped her hoard into it.
“All done,” she said cheerfully, dusting off her hands. Licking her lips quickly, she asked, “Do you think we have enough pecans?”
He didn’t answer. He was too intrigued by the tongue which had raked across incredibly sexy lips and disappeared behind them to hide from him. Then he spun away from her, saying over his shoulder, “Let’s go. If I read my weather signs right, we’re in for a norther before long.”
They mounted their horses. He spoke only once. “We’ll go down the other side. It’s not as scenic and we have to go by the charcoal burners’ camp, but it’s closer. I’m afraid of getting caught out here without warmer clothes.”
They followed the spring-fed tributary that tripped over limestone until, at the bottom of the hill, it flowed into the Rio Caballo.
Lauren sniffed the air and caught the smell of wood smoke. As they rode around a bend, a derelict encampment, like an ugly sore marring the scenery’s beauty, came into sight. Tents and dilapidated shacks were scattered around pits from which the dark smoke rose. Ragged children ran among the fires with heart-stopping recklessness. Mangy dogs came running out from under various covers, barking ferociously. Several dirty, bewhiskered men ambled out of the lean-tos to see who the intruders were.
The women, dirty and as ragged as their children, scowled at Lauren as they squatted around campfires stirring pots of foul-smelling stew. One of the dirtiest men separated himself from the rest and shuffled toward them. Lauren suspected his nonchalant swagger was deceptive. His beady, deep-set eyes didn’t miss anything, and were bright under shaggy brows.
Jared looked at her out of the corner of his eye, never averting his head from the man. “Whatever happens, don’t get off your horse.” He had barely opened his lips to say the words, rasping them from behind his teeth.
Jared reined in their horses and waited for him to amble toward them. The man was short and stocky with powerful-looking arms that were too long for his body, giving him an apelike physique. He wore dirty, patched overalls, with only his red, faded long johns under them. Lauren shrank in disgust at the stained and moist armholes of the garment. He had several days’ stubble on his face, and his oily black hair was matted to his head when he scooped off a battered hat in feigned humility.
“Well, lookey here. If it ain’t Mr. Jared come to pay us a call with his new lady.” His teeth were yellow and broken, covered with thick dark scum. Lauren had never seen anyone so repulsive. Or menacing.