Wealth Beyond Riches

by Vickie McDonough

  He lowered his gaze to the floor. Where in the world had that thought come from?

  Maybe he had romance on the brain since his sister, Katie, had recently found love and marriage.

  “Sasha is gonna be in charge of decorating the house.”

  “Sasha?” Jim glanced at Dewey.

  The older man waved his hand. “Sasha’s what folks call her. You can, too.”

  Jim glanced at Miss Di Carlo to see if she agreed. She gave him a soft smile and gentle nod of her head, which sent his pulse racing.

  Oh brother. This wasn’t good. He enjoyed looking at a beautiful woman like any man, but he’d never reacted so strongly to one before. He couldn’t afford to have an attraction to his boss’s niece. He needed this job so he could save his money and buy land in the Oklahoma Territory near his aunt and uncle’s farm.

  “It’s fine if you want to call me Sasha, Mr. Conners. I imagine we’ll be seeing lots of each other since you work for my uncle.”

  “Then you must call me Jim.” He swallowed, grateful that he’d finally found his voice again.

  Her pretty smile sent pleasant shivers skittering through him, but he tried to ignore them. Sasha Di Carlo had a sweet, innocent look about her, but the hair on the back of his neck had stood up at the mention of her spending Dewey’s money. It made sense to have a woman furnish the house, but he had heard many stories of long-lost relatives showing up when one of the families in the area struck oil. Dewey had only been granted control of Kizzie Arbuckle’s money in the last six months. He hoped this woman really was Dewey’s niece and not just another fortune hunter. Just maybe he should keep his eye on her.

  “You gonna have breakfast with us?” Dewey hooked his thumbs through the straps of his overalls.

  Jim shook his head. “I just had some jerky and bread. I wanted to see what else needs to be finished up before we let the workers go. But I think we’ve just about got it licked.” His gaze traveled around the room. Pride for doing a job well swelled his chest. This home would be a legacy to his skills as a carpenter long after he was gone.

  “Sounds good. Well, Sasha and me went for a walk before eating, and now my belly button’s rubbing against my backbone. We’re heading back to the cabin. Maybe at dinner tonight you and Sasha could talk about furnishing this place.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know what Kizzie was thinking, wanting me to build a house this big, but it’s done. Guess we’ll just have to let the good Lord fill it.”

  Jim stood at the door and watched Dewey and Sasha walk back to the cabin. Sasha glided along, her skirts skimming the tops of the wildflowers. She was a sight to behold, for sure. No woman had stirred his blood like she had in a very long time.

  He thought about the aunt and uncle who’d raised him. He missed Mason, Rebekah, and their children a lot, but he missed his sister, Katie, and his nephew, Joey, the most. He was glad that Katie had found love again with the bounty hunter who’d saved her life. Dusty McIntyre was a good man and would treat her well. Much better than their own father ever had.

  Jimmy remembered the last time he ever saw his father, at the sight of the first Oklahoma land rush near Guthrie. Even as a seven-year-old, he knew his pa wasn’t the fatherly type. In fact, he was a gambler and a liar and had left his wife and two children alone while he sought adventure.

  Thanks to Uncle Mason’s patient guidance and Dewey’s influence, his heart was right with God again. Jim lifted his gaze toward heaven, praising God for the beauty of the new day.

  He liked to think he was honorable and kind, but he had no patience for a liar or a deceiver. He’d seen at a young age the trouble a swindler could cause. “Please, God, let Dewey’s niece be the real thing and not just some treasure seeker out to get his money.”

  It would break his heart if Sasha hurt Dewey. He loved the old man like a father. Maybe he’d just keep an eye on Sasha Di Carlo until he was certain about her.

  What could it hurt?

  Six

  Dewey’s wet shirt snapped in the air as Sasha gave it a quick shake. She pulled two clothespins from her apron pocket and secured the chambray top to the line. As she pulled a pair of socks from the wicker basket, she listened to the sounds of nature all around her. It saddened her to think of all the years that she had rarely heard birds and crickets chirping, except for when she’d ventured out to a park. The clamor of the big city had overpowered the gentle sounds of nature.

  She fastened the socks to the line with wooden pins, then shook out a pair of overalls. Dewey had been both shy about her doing his laundry and delighted, telling her that all the bending aggravated the catch in his back. As she straightened a denim strap, she overheard upraised voices coming from the front of the cabin. Just as she’d come outside, she’d heard the hoofbeats of several horses coming down the dirt road, but she had continued with her task, knowing that whoever it was had not come to see her.

  She pinned the overalls onto the line, picked up her basket, and walked around the side of the house.

  “I’ve told you before, I won’t have my land destroyed by oil drilling. My answer is no.”

  Hearing the anger in her uncle’s voice, Sasha set down the basket and peered through a crape myrtle bush to see three men dressed in suits all but surrounding Dewey. She didn’t want to eavesdrop but also didn’t want to leave her uncle alone. Glancing over her shoulder, she considered running up the hill to find Jim but decided it would take too long.

  “Surely, Mr. Hummingbird, you understand how wealthy you could be if you leased your land to Chamber Oil for drilling. All your neighbors—even your own sister—struck oil.” The shortest man of the trio pushed his hat back on his head and set his hands on his hips.

  “It’s as close to a sure thing as you can get.” A heavy-set man with a handlebar moustache held out both of his chubby hands.

  Dewey shook his head. “I don’t need any more money. I’m satisfied with what I have. Preserving the land and raising my cattle is what’s important to me.”

  A tall man, who looked part Irish, stepped forward. He ran his hand over his slicked-down red hair, and his eyes gleamed as he studied her uncle. “We don’t normally do this, but I have permission from the boss to make you a special offer. If you’ll lease your land to Chamber Oil, we’ll give you a higher royalty rate than normal, like we did with your sister. That’s more than fair.”

  Dewey shook his fist in the air. “Fair! You call it fair when you leased Elmer Red Hawk’s land for two hundred dollars an acre and yet you took out millions of dollars in oil?”

  The tall man’s gaze narrowed, and he stepped forward. “Mr. Red Hawk was more than pleased with the deal in the beginning, but he got greedy.”

  “And now he’s dead.” Dewey crossed his arms over his chest. The finality in his voice made Sasha shudder.

  The three men closed ranks and stepped forward. “You accusing us of something, old man?” the tall man hissed.

  “You’d be wise to lease us your land and stop spreading rumors.”

  Sasha didn’t like the man’s tone of voice or his threat. She grabbed Dewey’s rifle, which leaned against the side of the house where he’d been cutting brush, and stepped around the bush, out into the open. Cocking a bullet into the chamber as Dewey had taught her the day before, she braced the rifle against her shoulder and glared at the trio. She may not know how to shoot yet, but with a background in theater, she sure could pretend that she did. “Is there a problem here?”

  Their eyes widened at the sound of her voice, and at least one mouth dropped open. Tall Man responded first, as his face altered from surprised to sickly sweet. “Well, how do, ma’am. We didn’t realize ol’ Dewey had gone and gotten himself a woman.” He let out a low whistle through his teeth. “Whoowee, Dewey, you ol’ coot, you like ’em young.”

  Surprise rocked Sasha, but she quickly recovered. “I am not his woman; I’m his niece.”

  “That a fact? Didn’t know Dewey had any kin left.” The fat man smoothed his foref
inger over his moustache and glanced at Tall Man.

  Sasha hiked up her chin and the barrel of the heavy weapon. “Well, he does. And it’s time you got off his land.”

  Dewey chuckled and relieved her of the rifle. “I guess you all had better listen to the lady. You’ve heard all I’ve got to say, so get out.” He waved the rifle toward them, and all but the tallest man stepped back.

  “I reckon we’ll give you some more time to think things over, but we’ll be back.”

  He turned and stomped toward his horse. The poor animal squealed when the man jerked hard on the reins and turned it toward town.

  Sasha sighed as they rode off. It seemed to her as if the white men were the troublemakers in this part of the country rather than the Indians.

  Dewey turned to face her. “Sorry you had to see that. Them fellows have been after me for nearly a year to allow them to drill on my land. I keep telling them it’s not going to happen, but they don’t take the hint.”

  “Well, maybe now that I’m here they’ll leave you alone. They’re less likely to bully you if there’s a witness around.”

  Dewey smiled and hugged her shoulders. “I imagine it was the rifle what scared them off, and not you. Though I do appreciate the assistance.”

  Sasha sagged against him, fearing her shaky legs would give out. Those men would be back—she was almost certain of it. They had to be ready if and when that happened. But how could a woman and an old man fight off three grown men if push came to shove? Her mind started whirling. Somehow she had to help her uncle keep his land and not let those oilmen bully him into doing something he would regret. But how?

  ❧

  “I don’t reckon Keaton looks like much of a town to you after living in New York.” Dewey jiggled the reins to encourage the horses pulling his wagon. “It wasn’t even here back when your mother lived with us.”

  “It is a lot different, that’s for sure.” Keaton was typical of the small towns Sasha had passed through on her way here except, like Tulsa, it sported many new buildings made from fresh wood that hadn’t grayed yet. A few brick or stone buildings were scattered among them.

  Unlike the day she arrived last week when things were somewhat quiet, now scores of people milled around. Local oilmen had invited the townsfolk to a huge pig roast to celebrate the railroad coming to Keaton. Instead of the long wagon ride to Tulsa, now folks could get there in less than a half hour. Sasha knew trains were good news for the town, but she’d had her fill of them for a while. One good thing was that it would make retrieving her trunk easier and less time consuming. She hoped to make arrangements today to have it delivered to the Keaton depot.

  Dewey pulled the wagon alongside several others and set the brake, then climbed down and lifted his hand to assist her. Once on the ground, Sasha shook out her skirts, grateful for the breeze that cooled her legs. She desperately needed her trunk and something different to wear, although she worried that her dresses would be too fancy for this small town.

  She took Dewey’s proffered arm and allowed him to guide her through the crowd. Poor oil workers dressed in grimy overalls, leading their barefoot children and wives, mingled with businessmen sweating in their fancy three-piece suits. Somewhere above the noise of the crowd she heard some lively music. At booths decorated with red, white, and blue sashes, craftsmen hawked their wares. The fragrant scent of pork being roasted over a fire mixed with the aromas of fresh baked bread and pastries. Sasha’s mouth watered, and excitement rippled through her at the chance to sample life in Smalltown, America.

  A man stared at her as she and her uncle walked toward him. He nudged another man in the side, and both raised their eyebrows and gawked at her. She averted her gaze and watched some Indian children playing stickball.

  “You want to go listen to the music or look through the commodities for sale first?” Dewey glanced down at her.

  Sasha shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Then let’s check out the merchandise. I could use a new hat.”

  As they meandered through the area where various items were displayed in the backs of wagons or on blankets on the ground, Sasha’s frustration grew. Everywhere she went men stared at her—young and old. She hated being the focus of their attention and had often longed for plainer features. She wished that she’d been able to wear her costume, but then Uncle Dewey didn’t know about it, and she wasn’t sure he’d understand why she needed it.

  A nice-looking man dressed in a clean white shirt and black denim pants walked toward her, cap in hand. A shy grin twittered on his lips as he cleared his throat. “Hullo, Mr. Hummingbird.” Though he acknowledged her uncle, his gaze never left Sasha’s face.

  “Howdy, Spencer. Nice day for a celebration.”

  The man nodded and fiddled with his cap. “Yes, it is.”

  Dewey’s mouth tilted up in an ornery grin. “Have you met my niece? Sasha Di Carlo.”

  The man shook his head. “A pleasure, ma’am. I was. . .uh. . . wondering if you’d do me the honor of eating with me.”

  Oh no, not again. Sasha stifled a sigh. The man seemed nice, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She offered him a smile. “Thank you, Mr. uh. . .”

  “Jones. Spencer Jones.”

  “Mr. Jones, I truly appreciate your kind invitation, but I’ve just arrived in town and want to spend some time with my uncle today.”

  Disappointment tugged at his pleasant features. “Maybe another time then.”

  Not wanting to encourage him, she refrained from smiling. He tipped his hat, bid them good day, and wandered off. She heaved a sigh that made Dewey chuckle.

  “You might as well get used to invitations like that. There’s two dozen men to every woman in these parts. And few women are as lovely as you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle, but I’m not interested in getting a husband. I just want to spend time with you right now.”

  “Then I don’t reckon you’ll want to eat with him, either.” Dewey nudged his chin toward the street.

  Sasha squinted and lifted her hand over her eyes. Another tall man strode toward her. Her cheeks puffed up as she exhaled a sigh again, but suddenly she recognized the man coming her direction. Jim Conners.

  Her heart jolted, and a butterfly war was loosed in her stomach as she watched his easy, long-legged gait. He was a man confident with his body but not arrogant. He lifted his hat in greeting, and Sasha smiled. His damp black hair had melded to his head, and a ring marked where his Western hat had rested.

  “You all been to dinner yet?” Jim’s hopeful gaze darted from Dewey to Sasha.

  “Nope, not yet.” Dewey’s lips turned up in a wry grin, and he glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

  Jim’s warm smile melted her remaining defenses, and she gave a little nod.

  “You want to join us, Jimmy?”

  For some reason she welcomed Jim’s attentions where she shunned others—maybe because he’d twice come to her aid. He held out his elbow, and she looped her arm through his, ignoring the sparks from his touch and her uncle’s soft chuckles. She’d had plenty of handsome men escort her to events in New York, but somehow this simple carpenter intrigued her more than any man she’d ever known.

  She peered up at him, wondering again if he maybe had Indian blood. A trickle of sweat slipped down his temple, and he glanced at her, locking eyes. Something sparked in his gaze, and Sasha knew without a doubt that she wanted to get to know this man better.

  Seven

  What little Sasha had eaten of the roasted pork and the fresh green beans and potatoes seasoned with ham had been delicious. But with Jim Conners sitting directly across from her, making eye contact every few minutes as he and Dewey chatted, her appetite had fled.

  She tried to pinpoint what it was about Jim that interested her. He was very easy on the eyes, especially when she glimpsed his quick smile. Where her uncle’s teeth more resembled a picket fence, Jim’s were straight and white.

  Maybe she liked him because he was k
ind to her uncle and actually seemed interested in what he had to say. Or maybe it was the compassion he’d shown her when he gave an old woman a ride.

  Sasha pressed her lips together and watched as a group of Indians in colorful native costumes danced on the vaudeville stage. She especially enjoyed the little children as they pounded out the drum’s rhythm with their tiny feet. If she had been raised here, would she have learned to dance like them?

  Dewey cleared his throat, and she looked at him. “I’d like to go look at them new-fangled automobiles on display.”

  Sasha stood and picked up her tin plate. “I’ll go with you. I saw plenty of automobiles in New York—even rode in a couple—but I don’t mind seeing what they have here.”

  Dewey glanced at Jim, who’d stood up at the same time as Sasha. “I thought Jimmy might escort you over to watch the show for a while.”

  Her gaze darted to Jim’s and back to her uncle. Did Dewey have some business to attend to and not want her around, or was he perhaps trying to pair her off with Jim?

  “You might enjoy the show. You probably haven’t seen real Indian dancers before.” Jim glanced at her, his hopeful gaze making her waver.

  Maybe spending time with Jim was a good thing. If he escorted her, surely other men would leave her alone so she could enjoy herself. She glanced at Dewey. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Nah.” Dewey waved his hand in the air. “You two young’uns go enjoy the show.”

  Sasha and Jim carried their tin plates to the wash table, then he offered his arm. She looped hers around his, marveling again at the tingles tickling her insides. He found her a seat on a rough bench and sat beside her, keeping a decent distance.

  Her gaze riveted to the low stage where children were stomping around in a wide circle, while sometimes spinning around in a smaller one. Off to the side a group of older men chanted a monotone tune and pounded on drums of various sizes.