To Kiss a Texan

by Jodi Thomas

  EIGHT

  ALLIE PRESSED HER BACK ALONG THE WALL BEHIND the door to the kitchen and listened. In the days since she’d been at the doctor’s house, the rhythm of their words had become natural to her once more. She knew what they were talking about most of the time. Sometimes, when she knew no one could see her, she’d mouth the words, practicing the patterns.She was still firmly convinced the entire McLain tribe was a full measure short of normal sense. Her best plan would be to escape as soon as possible. At first, she waited because of the weather, but now, a curiosity held her here.

  ‘‘The telegrams went out to every lawman in the state,’’ the doctor’s wife was saying. ‘‘We may get answers for weeks as the word passes.’’

  Allie leaned closer to the door, trying to see through the crack.

  ‘‘We’ve had several replies.’’ Nichole sounded pleased. ‘‘Some people are already on their way to see her.’’

  Allie could see Wes at the end of the table. He held his coffee cup in both hands. As always his face looked like it was trying to mock a thunderstorm, all dark and angry. ‘‘I don’t want people gawking at her like she’s a freak. I’ll not have people just dropping in to see her like she’s a sideshow.’’

  ‘‘She’s starting to matter to you.’’ The woman’s voice drifted to Allie.

  ‘‘Nonsense,’’ Wes answered. ‘‘I’m not the kind of man who knows how to make a woman care. Men like me were meant to be alone. I’ve learned that lesson plain enough. I’ll never love a woman the way Daniel loved May or Adam loves you. I can’t see myself settling down and forcing some poor woman to look across the table at me every morning.’’

  ‘‘Of course you will,’’ Nichole started. ‘‘That scar—’’

  ‘‘No,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘It’s not meant to be. Daniel swore he’d never marry again after May died delivering the twins. And I know the closest I’ll ever come to marriage is this farce we’re playing to protect Allie.’’ He sat his coffee mug down with a thud. ‘‘Or whoever she is.’’

  A knock at the door echoed the sound of his cup. Allie jumped and darted to Adam’s study before anyone could come from the kitchen to answer the summons.

  A few minutes later when the guests were ushered into the room, Allie tried to melt into the wall space between the curtains. Her dark brown dress and hair seemed to blend with the mahogany as she found herself in the presence of strangers.

  ‘‘I’m Marvel Pickett,’’ a stout woman announced. She walked straight to the fire and began warming herself as though the blaze were hot enough to penetrate her multiple layers of long clothing. ‘‘This is my husband, Harold Pickett. We’ve come all the way from Tyler to look the savage girl over.’’

  Allie watched Nichole stiffen and step between the new arrivals and the windows. ‘‘You think our Allie might be your relative?’’ Nichole’s voice hardened slightly as the stocky woman helped herself to a muffin on a tray that had been set for Allie’s breakfast.

  Wes followed Harold into the room. As Harold joined his wife, Wes leaned against the corner of the desk in the center of the room. Only a slight limp showed he favored his side. He pulled the top drawer of Adam’s desk open a few inches. Between them, Nichole and Wes formed a blockade to Allie.

  ‘‘We think we might be her kin,’’ the woman mumbled as she chewed. ‘‘She’s about the right age. My sister and her husband had a bushel of brats. When he died, she loaded them up and planned to come live off of us. Their wagon was ambushed about the Arkansas-Texas border. She never made it. An express rider found her dead, but not one body of a child. They must have all been taken to live with the savages.’’

  ‘‘What were your nieces’ names?’’ Nichole glanced at Wes and shook her head slightly.

  The chubby woman frowned and wiped her mouth with the tips of her fingers for a duster. ‘‘I don’t remember. Never having children of my own, I thought learning their names didn’t seem all that important. All I know is if this girl is likely one of them, we’ll take her off your hands. Me and Harold ain’t getting any younger, and we could use the help around the place.’’

  Allie saw Nichole’s fingers open and close as she asked the woman, ‘‘Would you describe your sister and the girls? Hair color, eye color, general build?’’

  The large woman placed her hands on her side-shelf hips. ‘‘What does it matter? Just show me the girl. I’ll tell you if she’s the right one.’’

  Harold crushed his hat with big work-worn hands. He didn’t look directly at anyone as he asked, ‘‘She is in good condition, ain’t she? Not sickly or anything?’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ Nichole glanced again at Wes. But Wes was stone silent.

  Harold remolded his hat with greater speed. ‘‘We’re worried since she’s here at a doctor’s house. Thought she might have some problems.’’

  ‘‘If she’s sickly, she ain’t my niece,’’ Marvel added. ‘‘I’m from sturdy stock. I ain’t paying no bills for some sickly captive who can’t remember who she is. Now if she’s healthy, she might be my kin.’’

  ‘‘She’s not the one you’re looking for,’’ Wes’s voice was hard, with an edge Allie hadn’t heard before. ‘‘See them to the door, Nichole. They’re wasting our time and theirs.’’

  Marvel Pickett bristled like a wild hog and headed straight toward him. ‘‘And what makes you know that? I ain’t saying the creature ain’t mine until I see her with my own eyes. I figure I’ll know my own.’’

  ‘‘Is she or is she not healthy?’’ Harold asked. ‘‘The sheriff said she was.’’

  ‘‘She is,’’ Nichole answered. ‘‘But she doesn’t talk. Do you have anything, a tintype, a drawing that might show us she could be your niece?’’

  ‘‘We don’t have to prove nothing,’’ Marvel puffed up. ‘‘We’re her relatives if we says we are, and that’s all you nosy do-gooders need to know. There is plenty of women and children left to starve on the streets since the war. We just want to do right by our kin and take her in. She’ll have her three meals a day and a place to sleep if she earns her keep.’’

  As Marvel finished, she spotted Allie between the curtains and yelled, ‘‘There she is!’’

  Both the Picketts moved toward Allie like seasoned cowhands closing in on a mustang.

  ‘‘She seems healthy enough!’’ Marvel pointed with her head for Harold to cover the other side of the girl and not let her get away.

  ‘‘But wild,’’ Harold held back a little, letting his wife take the lead. ‘‘Look at her eyes.’’

  ‘‘Don’t worry about that.’’ Marvel tried to step around Nichole. ‘‘After a few weeks on the farm, we’ll settle her down—even if we have to keep a rope on her.’’

  Allie felt panic rise in her blood. Just before she tried to fight her way around the weak Mr. Pickett, Wes stepped in front of her. Only inches away, Wes blocked Allie’s view of the advancing couple.

  ‘‘Wait!’’ His voice was as hard as granite. ‘‘You’ll not touch her.’’

  ‘‘Who do you think you are?’’ Marvel huffed. ‘‘We is this girl’s family.’’

  ‘‘I don’t think so. I’ll not have Allie tied up and broken like an animal.’’ Wes raised a gun he’d pulled from the desk drawer. ‘‘And if you take one more step toward her, you’ll be showing little value for your own life.’’

  Marvel glanced at Nichole but found no sympathy. ‘‘Who do you people think you are?’’ She almost spit the words. ‘‘We got as much right to take her as you do.’’

  Allie moved beside Wes and slipped her hand into the fingers of his free hand.

  He jerked slightly and looked down at her fingers resting in his. ‘‘She’s staying here,’’ Wes said calmly as he closed his hand over hers. ‘‘She’s my wife.’’

  Marvel started to argue, but saw that it was hopeless. ‘‘Hold on, Harold,’’ she shouted as though she were afraid her shy husband might advance even against a gun. ‘‘There’s another girl down at
Fort Griffin that we might take a look at.’’

  Harold nodded with relief.

  Nichole ushered the Picketts to the door.

  All at once, Allie was alone with Wes—and he was holding her hand. His fingers felt warm and protective around hers, not binding.

  ‘‘You didn’t want to go with them, did you?’’

  She shook her head slightly and pulled her hand away. He was still so near, she could feel the warmth of his body. He’d stood up for her once again. He had no idea what it meant to her. This strange man with the thin scar on his face didn’t seem to know how worthless she was. He seemed to believe she was a person of some value. His insanity was flattering.

  ‘‘You’re more afraid of them than me.’’ His voice was low, only for her ears. ‘‘I guess I should take comfort in that.’’

  Allie raised her head and met his gaze. Despite the hard set of his jaw, his brown eyes were warm when he wasn’t angry.

  ‘‘Don’t worry, little wild one, I’ll not turn you over to anyone but your real family. If they turn out to be like the Picketts, you don’t have to go—no matter what proof they have. I promise.’’

  There he went again, she thought, promising. Like he could hold to his word. Like she believed him.

  In the days that followed, several people visited. Some were bereaved parents praying for the hope Allie might be theirs. Some were bounty hunters paid by a family back East to find survivors.

  Always Allie watched them, a tiny part of her hoping that she would see the family she’d lost. But the memory of her parents’ bodies piled high in a heap to be burned was still too real in her mind to let herself believe in a dream. She knew no matter how hard Nichole tried to help, no family would come.

  Again and again, she moved close to Wes and slipped her hand in his, silently telling him that she would stay with him. And as always, he stood beside her, allowing no one close enough to touch her.

  Each time, she left her fingers in his grip a moment longer. Each time, he silently accepted her gift.

  NINE

  WES FOLDED THE MAP HE’D SPENT AN HOUR STUDYING and leaned back in the kitchen chair. ‘‘I have to go,’’ he announced. ‘‘The Goliad treasure is real, I can feel it.’’Both his brothers, across the table from him, frowned. Long past midnight, coffee and adrenaline had kept them anchored in the conversation.

  ‘‘It’s a wild goose chase.’’ Daniel folded his huge arms over his chest. ‘‘I’d never thought you’d fall for such a scheme. The map’s barely readable and obviously drawn with a hand shaking of age or drink. Texas is full of buried treasure stories, a lost Confederate gold shipment, Indian burial grounds, miners after ’49 who left their fortunes here until the war was over. How many others are you going to fall for after this one?’’

  Wes gave him the look all big brothers give their younger siblings, the look that silently says, ‘‘I’ll always be older and wiser than you.’’ He’d expected them to be skeptical, cautious, logical. Even a little excited. But not blatantly disbelieving.

  ‘‘How much did you pay for this map?’’ Adam lifted the oilcloth as if weighing its worth and finding it light.

  Wes grabbed it out of Adam’s hand, frustrated at them both. They had what they wanted out of life. Adam had Nichole, and Daniel had his daughters. Why couldn’t they allow him his dream? ‘‘I paid nothing. Vince gave this map to me for safekeeping a few nights before he died. He seemed skittish about someone trying to take it from him. He was always glancing over his shoulder as though a ghost followed him.

  ‘‘Since he died, I guess that makes the map mine. Vince told me once that his only relative was his grandfather, and the old man passed on soon after drawing the map.’’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘‘There’s probably nothing there, or it was found twenty years ago.’’

  Wes shrugged. ‘‘Maybe. But Vince said his grandfather rode with James Fannin at Goliad back in ’35 when the war with Texas and Mexico began. He said they left the mission with every man they could round up to go help the men fighting at the Alamo. Over five hundred strong, some say, a mixture of Texans and several volunteers from the southern states. Within a few miles, one of the wagons broke down, and they stopped to make repairs. Santa Anna’s army, still excited from their kill at the Alamo, caught up to Fannin and his men in an open field.

  ‘‘The grandfather told how they fought for hours, but it was hopeless. They were surrounded and outnumbered. Fannin, a West Point dropout, decided to surrender with the understanding that they’d be marched to the border and told to leave Texas forever. But Santa Anna marched them back to Goliad and held them inside the old Spanish mission. There were so many, only a third of the men could lie down and sleep at one time. As the days passed, the men knew their chances of dying grew. They started digging a tunnel, hoping to reach the river. By Palm Sunday of 1836, with the tunnel only a third finished, they knew their luck had run out. Santa Anna began ordering the men out to face the firing squad.

  ‘‘Frantically, the men pooled all their valuables and stuffed them into the tunnel. Then the last few to leave the mission collapsed the tunnel and placed stones across the opening so that no one would ever find it.’’

  Daniel leaned forward with interest. ‘‘Then what happened?’’

  ‘‘They were all marched out and shot. Fannin was already wounded in the leg. He was carried from the mission in a chair, but insisted on standing for the execution. His last request was not to be shot in the head. The firing squad blindfolded him and twelve rifles were raised to his skull.’’

  ‘‘What about Vince’s grandfather?’’

  ‘‘Vince said he was with volunteers from South Carolina called the Rovers. They were told to march out as a unit, away from the others. At first they thought they might be taken to the border, but then they noticed the soldiers carried only rifles, not canteens.

  ‘‘About a mile from the mission, the Rovers were ordered to stop and kneel in the grass. Vince’s grandfather was toward the back of the company. He said the Rovers refused to kneel, and the army opened fire. In one round of blasting the first rows fell, screaming and crying in pain. Smoke from the old flintlock guns rose everywhere. Vince’s ancestor saw his chance. He ducked low and ran as fast as he could toward the river. He took a ball in the leg but didn’t stop.

  ‘‘He tripped and rolled in mud until he landed among the roots of the trees that grow along the Guadalupe. He lay there all day listening to the army hunting down the runners and shooting them. Finally, long after dark, he slipped into the water and floated downstream to freedom. He drew the map from memory, but the bullet he took crippled him too badly to let him reclaim the treasure.’’

  ‘‘But others escaped?’’ Daniel asked, suddenly allowing the boy to show through in the man not yet in his midtwenties.

  ‘‘I’m sure a few did. If they were healthy, they went on to fight with Sam Houston. But maybe they weren’t among the last to leave the mission and didn’t know where the treasure was buried. Or maybe they were like Vince’s grandfather and never could go back and claim it.’’

  ‘‘It’s a long shot.’’ Daniel shook his head. He’d never been a risk taker.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Wes agreed, ‘‘but it’s the only shot I’ve got left. That stampede at the Red River not only cost me the lives of most of my men, it took every dime I had. I’ve got a ranch with no cattle. When we first came here, after the war, I could have rounded up enough strays to start over, but not now. The treasure at Goliad—if it exists—will give me a fresh start.’’

  Adam stood and moved to the stove to pour himself another cup of coffee. ‘‘It sounds too good to be true. All the valuables from hundreds of men just waiting to be found.’’

  Wes laughed and held out his cup to be refilled. ‘‘That’s what I thought, too. There’s only one thing I forgot to mention. Vince gave me the map saying that his grandfather believed the treasure was cursed. I told him I didn’t believe in curses or ghos
ts. It seems every man who ever had the map or looked for the treasure died. First Vince’s grandfather, then his father and both his uncles, now Vince.’’

  ‘‘Oh, fine.’’ Daniel laughed. ‘‘We’re all sitting about looking at a map that’s killed everyone who ever got near it. Makes me want to go treasure hunting.’’

  Wes shook his head. ‘‘No, I’ll go alone. I only wanted you to know where I was headed. Since the night of the stampede, something’s been bothering me. Two of the men on early watch reported seeing riders that night who asked about Vincent Edward. But no men came into camp, and Vince took his shift about an hour before the stampede.’’

  ‘‘You think they were planning to do Vince harm?’’ Adam voiced his thoughts.

  ‘‘Or take the map,’’ Wes answered. ‘‘If they confronted him while he was on watch, I’d stake my life that Vince wouldn’t tell them where the map was. But they may have guessed by now. Or, they may think the secret of the map died with Vince.’’

  ‘‘You think they might have killed him?’’

  ‘‘One shot would start a stampede,’’ Wes answered. ‘‘We never found Vince’s body to know one way or the other. Maybe they only meant to frighten him. Maybe they died along with him.’’

  ‘‘If they killed him for the map and lived, they’ll be after you if they think you might have it.’’

  ‘‘That’s why I need to get to Goliad as fast as possible. If the mission holds a treasure, I’ll find it before this blasted curse catches up to me. And I’ll telegraph back here every few days to keep in touch. If someone comes asking after me, they’ll start with one of you.’’

  ‘‘We’ll let you know if you’re followed,’’ Daniel promised. ‘‘But if you need help, send for us. Luckily, I still have Willow to look after the twins and every woman in the settlement thinks she’s the assistant. I can be ready to ride within the hour.’’