Tara's Gold

by Lisa Harris

  She pulled her copy of Harper’s Bazar out from under the edge of the serpentine-back sofa, determined to work on a plan as she flipped through the pages. While she’d read the magazine from cover to cover at least a dozen times on the trip here, she never tired of looking at the latest fashions. Skirts of pink coral trimmed with matching flounces and pink roses for the hair. Fawn colored silk parasol, and a gorgeous lilac silk walking suit with a violet tunic.

  Tara turned another page, stopping at a drawing of a beautiful parlor set made of black walnut and a contrasting trim. She read through the description of the grand room with its bold Chinese red walls. Included in the drawing was an Italian inlaid table with matching mirror, heavy curtains, and even a sidewall arrangement of shelves where daguerreotypes and prints were elegantly displayed.

  She eyed the Carpenters’ old-fashioned sitting room with its worn fabrics and out-of-date furnishings and wondered if Mrs. Carpenter would be opposed to a few minor alterations of the room. A bit of paint, stylish fabric, and rearranging of the furniture would do wonders for the room’s mood. And it would certainly beat the pickling process.

  Tara looked up at the sound of Mr. Carpenter’s booted footsteps on the wooden floor. He stopped at the doorway and nodded in the direction of his wife. “She often falls asleep this time of morning if she didn’t rest well at night, but she couldn’t wait for you to read to her. Like mine, her eyes aren’t strong anymore, and she has been missing her daily devotionals from the Word of God.”

  “I’m glad she enjoyed it.”

  Tara smiled, surprised at the feeling of contentment that washed over her. Though not quite as laborious as making pickles, reading aloud wasn’t her favorite pastime. Knowing Mrs. Carpenter enjoyed hearing her read from the Bible shed a different light on things. While Tara had come to enjoy her years of education, it hadn’t given her the chance to feel as though she were making a difference in anyone’s life. And she liked the feeling.

  “Why don’t you go take a rest yourself?” Mr. Carpenter picked up a newspaper from his rocker and folded it under his arm before leaving the room. “You must be tired. With the pickles soaking and lunch simmering on the stove, I don’t suppose there is anything else for you to do right now.”

  “I’m fine, really. I thought I would just read a bit.”

  He paused in the doorway. “It’s a shame for you to have to stay cooped up inside. It’s such a lovely day, but after your experience in town yesterday, me and the missus are a bit concerned about your safety. Granted, such a barrage of gunfire isn’t a common occurrence, but all the same…”

  Tara flicked at the edges of the magazine as his voice trailed off. If she could convince Mr. Carpenter to accompany her, she wouldn’t have to worry about her reputation or her safety.

  She cleared her throat. “While I understand your apprehension, I would love to go for a ride. I’ve always enjoyed exploring, and I wouldn’t go far.”

  Mr. Carpenter pressed his lips together. “I just hate the idea of you out alone, but…”

  Tara held her breath. A quick trip to town was one thing, barring another episode with a crazed gunman. Exploring the surrounding isolated farmland was different, and she knew it.

  He tapped the newspaper against the wall. “I wouldn’t mind at all going with you, though we’d have to take the wagon. I’m not much for riding horseback these days.”

  Tara glanced at his sleeping wife, remembering her words of caution, and wondered if she’d spoken out of turn. “I thought the wagon and your joints—”

  “Don’t you worry about me. The missus does enough of that. And besides, I need to get out of the house every now and then. Keeps me young.”

  Tara laughed. “Then I’ll fetch my shawl and parasol and meet you outside.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they made their way up a grassy ridge. From this vantage point on the buckboard, Tara could see the surrounding landscape with its groves of oak trees and wildflowers nestled between cornfields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Sampson waved at them from the edge of one of the fields, his ever-present smile in place.

  She waved back, then twirled her silk parasol between her fingers. “I hadn’t expected Iowa to be so beautiful.”

  Mr. Carpenter nodded. “I agree with you now, but when Ginny and I first arrived, I wasn’t sure I’d stay. Life was harder back then.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Mr. Carpenter pulled back on the reins and slowed the horses to an easy trot. “The surroundings were quite different from what we were used to back east. Timber was limited, so we had to find alternative materials for building our homes and for fuel and fencing. We used things like Osage orange hedges for fencing, and our first house was made of sod. And there were other concerns. Not only did we have to build our own homes and our furniture, we also had to watch for signs of fires that could wipe out everything we’d built. It was lonely, and sickness was prevalent.”

  A frown covered the older man’s normally jovial expression. Tara pushed a strand of her hair out of her face, struck by the hard life this couple had faced. “What made you decide to stay?”

  “Besides being too stubborn to admit defeat?” Mr. Carpenter shook his head and laughed. “Things eventually began to change. The soil is rich and fertile, and as the population grew, we found ourselves connected to people again.”

  Tara couldn’t help but notice the irony in the situation. “While you were longing for contact with people, we often complain that the city is too full of people.”

  “That, my dear, is one of the main reasons I left.” Mr. Carpenter stopped at the top of another rise, showing her the beauty of the prairie that extended for miles. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

  “Yes, actually.” Tara paused, wondering how she should broach the subject. She didn’t want Mr. Carpenter to find out about her search for the gold, but she needed his help to find Mr. Martin’s farm. “I’ve been reading my aunt’s journal, and she mentions a man by the name of Richart Schlosser. Did you know him?”

  “Schlosser.” Mr. Carpenter shook his head. “Can’t say that I do, though that doesn’t mean much. The railroad has brought scores of immigrants who have settled into the area.”

  “I found out in town that Mr. Schlosser moved away about four years ago, and James Martin bought his farm.”

  “Now there’s a name I recognize. Lost his wife last year and hasn’t ever been quite the same.”

  Tara leaned forward. “Do you know where he lives?”

  Mr. Carpenter’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not far from here, if you’d like to stop by, though the man isn’t extremely friendly.”

  “It’s worth a try, if you don’t mind.”

  With Mr. Carpenter’s entertaining spin on stories from his past, it didn’t take long before they reached the farmhouse that, at one time, must have been lovely. Wind, rain, and neglect, though, seemed to have worn away most of the character of the saltbox house. She wasn’t even sure anyone still lived there.

  Mr. Carpenter stopped the wagon in front of the house and called out, but his voice was quickly carried off by the wind.

  Tara strained to look through the small glass panes in the front of the house, wondering if she should get down from the wagon and knock on the front door. “It looks empty to me.”

  The golden ball of the sun rose toward its zenith behind the farmhouse, leaving behind a trail of white light that pierced through the cloudy sky. The silhouette of a man on horseback appeared from the east and made its way toward the wagon.

  She sat up straight and tried to block the sun with her hand so she could see the rider. “Is that him?”

  “Could be, but I’m not sure. As I recall, Mr. Martin’s rather small in stature.”

  Tall figure, broad shoulders, black Stetson… Tara’s eyes widened as the figure came into view. Surely it wasn’t Mr. Jefferson himself. She felt a blush cover her cheeks. She’d spent far too much time daydreaming about a man she knew not
hing about, and now her heart raced at the mere thought of him.

  The man on horseback bridged the gap between them, and a few moments later, she knew it was him.

  “That’s him,” she whispered, grasping the seat to steady herself.

  Mr. Carpenter gave her a sideways glance. “Who?”

  “The man who rescued me at the station.”

  ❧

  Aaron felt a surge of unwelcome anticipation run through him as he approached the wagon near the farmhouse. It couldn’t be her…but it was.

  He dismounted from his horse and tipped his hat. “I see we meet again.”

  Clear blue eyes stared back at him, and he wondered if she felt the same unexplained emotions he was experiencing. Today she wore a yellow dress and a straw hat that looked striking on her, but he couldn’t remove his gaze from her face. Fair skin, rosy cheeks with perhaps a hint of a blush, long dark lashes…

  She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips before responding. “We…Mr. Carpenter and I were just out for a morning ride.”

  Remembering his manners, Aaron turned and nodded at the older gentleman. “It’s nice to see you again, sir. This young lady and I have met twice in rather unusual circumstances yet have never been properly introduced.”

  “And I am afraid that I have the advantage.” She closed her parasol and set it in her lap, while he waited for her response with great interest. “Mrs. Meddler from the hotel told me your name when I left your hat.”

  She smiled at him, and he feared his heart might burst from his chest.

  He cleared his throat. “Which, by the way, was very kind of you. I’m glad to see, as well, that you are all right after that frightening incident in town yesterday. I apologize for not returning to find you, but I needed to help the sheriff—”

  “Please don’t worry about me.” She shook her head. “I was a bit shaken after the episode, naturally, but I have recovered completely from the incident.”

  “I am very glad to hear that.”

  Mr. Carpenter coughed beside her. “No wonder the two of you have never introduced yourselves. How could you when you spend your entire time exchanging such sugary pleasantries?”

  Aaron caught the surprised look on her face before turning to Mr. Carpenter. A look that no doubt mirrored his own. Surely his attraction toward the woman wasn’t that apparent.

  Mr. Carpenter gave them both a toothless grin. “Mr. Jefferson, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin’s granddaughter, Miss Tara Young.”

  Seven

  Aaron automatically reached out to shake her hand while his mind fought to make the connection. “I’m very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Young.”

  Tara Young?

  Aaron felt the muscles in his jaw tense. Surely he had misunderstood the elderly gentleman.

  He caught her gaze. “It is Miss Young, isn’t it?”

  She pulled back her hand. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  Aaron frowned. This couldn’t be Tara Young, fortune hunter and gold digger. This woman was too beautiful and cultured to have traveled to Iowa simply to track down the government’s lost gold. It just didn’t make any sense.

  “Is something the matter?” Her eyes darkened, seemingly as unsure at his reaction as he was by the news he’d just been handed.

  “Of course not, it’s just that—”

  “You’ll come back to the farm for lunch now, won’t you, lad?” Mr. Carpenter saved Aaron from having to come up with a response. “It’s the least we can do for your having saved Miss Young’s life.”

  “Twice.” A smile lit up her face, causing his pulse to hammer.

  Aaron forced a smile in return. He had no desire to deceive her, but the only way he was going to find out her source of information was to learn what he could about her. There was no time like the present to follow this unexpected lead, and he’d just been given the perfect opportunity. It also didn’t hurt that the woman of his current inquiry happened to be beautiful and engaging. A far more interesting task than the majority of his assignments.

  “Lunch would be nice. Thank you.” Aaron nodded and followed beside the wagon at a slow pace.

  He also wouldn’t mind a home-cooked meal. Not that the meals at the hotel under the watchful eye of Mrs. Meddler hadn’t been acceptable, but nothing surpassed a real home-cooked meal.

  Aaron rested his hands on the leather pommel and let the rhythmic motion of the saddle take away some of the tension that had formed in his shoulder muscles. “Do you know the owner of this farmhouse? I’m assuming you had planned to pay a visit on the proprietor.”

  She flashed him a coy smile. “I admit I thought the same about you. Strange we would happen to visit the same farmhouse on the same day. It’s too bad no one was home.”

  “It is quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” Aaron adjusted the brim of his Stetson, wondering how to explain why he was here if asked directly.

  Miss Young swatted at an insect buzzing around her head. “I was intending to speak to the owner. A Mr. James Martin. Do you know him?”

  “No, but I was hoping to meet him. Why did you need to speak to him?”

  “It’s a bit of an involved story, since I’ve never actually met the man.” She leaned back against the buckboard and let the parasol block the sun from her face. “My aunt knew the previous owner of this land, and I was hoping Mr. Martin might know where he lived now. I’d like to find the man.”

  “A close friend of your aunt’s, I assume then?”

  “They were…acquaintances.”

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as she pressed her lips together. Obviously the woman had some secrets to hide. He turned his attention to the horizon as they headed west toward the Carpenter farm. She didn’t trust him. Yet. And rightly so, because he was a complete stranger. The fact he carried a badge might help, but he needed something more. Something that would help shed light into his character of being one who was both sympathetic and trustworthy. Not simply a tough, rugged lawman.

  “And what about you, Mr. Jefferson?” She eyed him skeptically. “Why did you need to see Mr. Martin this morning?”

  “I’m considering buying a farm in the area.” The words tumbled out before Aaron had considered the consequences.

  Her eyes widened. “This land’s for sale?”

  “I’m not sure about this farm, to be honest.” Aaron stumbled over his words, wishing he could erase his previous statement.

  The muscles in his back tensed. Something happened to him when he was around this woman, and now he’d gone from tongue-tied to sharing private matters better left unsaid.

  He offered her a weak smile. “I know there are several farms for sale in the area, and I’ve found in life that it never hurts to ask.”

  “You’re certainly right, young man.” Mr. Carpenter flicked the reins to pick up the horse’s pace and nodded. “Martin’s property would need a lot of work, but you have a good eye for land. Fertile soil with a number of streams going through it. I’ve often thought it a pity that this piece of land has been neglected for the past few years.”

  Miss Young cocked her head. “Still, I must say that I’m surprised because I had assumed that you were from back east and only here temporarily. Somehow as a lawman you don’t seem the type to settle down and run a farm.”

  “It’s true that I’ve lived most of my life in the saddle, traveling from place to place, but…”

  Aaron dug the heels of his boots into the sides of the mare. He was managing to dig himself a hole, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up burying himself alive. He hadn’t planned to talk about his plans for the future. These were dreams he hadn’t intended to share with anyone.

  He cleared his throat. “My grandparents moved to Iowa in the forties, and I lived about fifty miles from here until I was twelve.”

  While he rarely allowed himself to dwell on the idea, he had always dreamed of buying his own piece of land along the Mississippi River, or perhaps a large farm in the middle of the
state. He would raise cattle and hogs and watch the corn grow.

  He drew in a deep breath and savored the familiar smells of the land. The sweet aroma of wild roses mingled with the earthy scent of the fertile ground. Somehow she’d managed to remind him how much he loved the land. Along with a John Deere plow, he’d form straight furrows in the dirt that would then nourish the seeds of a crop.

  Not that he didn’t enjoy what he did. He’d spent his entire life working hard to get ahead and live up to his family name. His grandparents and his parents had passed away years ago, but that didn’t change the fact that being a lawman was in his blood, and there was nothing he found more satisfying than bringing an outlaw to justice, and, in turn, making the country a safer place.

  For seven months now, he’d stayed in hotels night after night while chasing down leads for the government on a cache of gold that many believed didn’t even exist. From Washington DC through Virginia and a corner of Pennsylvania, he’d followed every piece of information his superiors had passed down to him. But these days, he was tired of traveling. He was tired of being alone.

  He glanced at Miss Young with her frilly dress and silk parasol. She belonged in an elegant parlor back east, not riding on a decrepit wagon across the endless Iowa prairie. Which brought back to mind the question as to why she was here. It was time to find a way to move the focus of the conversation from himself to her. Not only did he need to avoid starting any rumors about why he was here, he needed to find out everything she knew.

  He cleared his throat. “So what really brought you to Iowa, Miss Young?”

  ❧

  Tara swatted at a mosquito and paused before answering the question. From the resolute expression on Mr. Jefferson’s face, she was certain there was something more to his inquiry than simply a way to fill the minutes until they arrived at the Carpenter farm. A few moments ago, she would have assumed that he had posed his question in order to get to know her better. She’d seen the look of interest in his eyes the first time they met at the station, then again outside the post office when his hand had brushed across hers, causing shivers to run up her spine. And she was certain he’d felt it, as well.