Twilight, Texas

by Ginger Chambers

  WITH EVERYONE IN TOWN being so industrious—the townspeople, the movie workers, the “Western Rambles” crew—Karen had offered to help, as well. She could paint and wallpaper, she said, and do her part to help improve the town. But her proposal had been turned down. Everyone knew how hard she’d been working in the antique shop and the massive job she yet had ahead of her.

  “You just keep doing what you’re doing,” Bette insisted, acting as spokesperson for the rest of the citizenry. “We have everything under control. It’ll all be done in time for next weekend. Anyway, you helped most where none of us could do any good—with Pete.”

  That afternoon Karen started on the storage shed. Bette, bless her, had offered the use of part of their garage to put things in while she sorted. It wasn’t an hour later that Karen gained an even greater appreciation for the offer. There was no way she’d have found room in either the shop or the upstairs apartment for the large pieces of furniture she discovered inside. And, as before, they blocked the way to everything else.

  “Your aunt bought many things,” Diego had commented when he’d hurried over to help. He must have been working in the rear of the hotel and seen her struggling with a large chest. He’d pressed Benny into service and the two men made quick work of removing the larger pieces. “She told us to fit them in as best we could,” he said.

  “Best we could!” Benny agreed.

  The pair had already gone back to the hotel when Pete turned up.

  “Can’t imagine why a person’d want all this stuff,” he grumbled in the doorway as Karen stood on tiptoe to remove a child’s wagon from on top of a crate.

  Once she had the wagon safely down, she turned to smile at him. “You sound just like Bette,” she teased.

  “Never could figure it out,” he said, shaking his woolly head.

  Karen looked at the toy. It was in good condition for its years. Probably from the late forties, early fifties. She said, “Pete, people are willing to pay a lot of money to be able to hold a memory again. See this? Some adult who had a wagon like it as a child would love to own it now. For their child, for their grandchild or just to look at themselves. Like I said, memories.”

  “What about that?” Pete said, motioning to an old-fashioned washboard hanging from a nail. “I got one a them. Who’d be crazy enough to pay money for it? I found mine on a trash heap. Still use it, too. On occasion.”

  She grinned. “It depends. Some of them are worth hundreds of dollars.”

  “You’re joshin’ me!”

  “No. Almost anything from the past is of value to someone. Sometimes great value.”

  All Pete could do was shake his head.

  She expected him to leave. Pete didn’t usually stay around long to converse. But when he didn’t leave, she inquired carefully, “Is something bothering you, Pete?” and braced for his reply.

  What he said surprised her. “That Lee Parker... he’ll do.”

  For Pete this was high praise. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, but inside she felt ridiculously pleased. Which really made no sense. She had no claim on Lee Parker and shouldn’t bask in any way in his reflected glory. Still...

  “Tex likes him,” Pete added.

  “Who’s Tex?” Karen asked.

  Pete glanced at his black dog.

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  “He was doin’ somethin’ kinda strange earlier. Out in the cemetery.”

  For a moment Karen thought Pete meant the dog, then realized he was referring to Lee.

  “Lookin’ real close at a marker...had a flashlight. Then he walked around some more, lookin’ at others. Then he stopped and thought for a long spell before he went away. I thought that was kinda strange, like I said, so I went out to where he was before and had a look-see for myself.”

  “And?” Karen urged him to finish. Pete loved to drag out a story.

  “First thing he was lookin’ at was somethin’ I never seen in that cemetery before—a marker for Nate Barlow. Next thing, as best I could tell, was somethin’ toward the middle. But I never saw nothin’ that could make him think for so long.”

  Nate Barlow. She frowned. “Pete? You don’t remember Nate Barlow’s grave being in the cemetery, either? I thought it was just me. That I might have missed it.”

  “Weren’t there a few weeks ago. I can tell you that for a fact.”

  “Then how—”

  “There’s somethin’ funny goin’ on around here. And it ain’t just Tex chasin’ his tail. I thought you should know about it. That’s all.”

  With that said, Pete shuffled away after making sure his loyal dog was trailing after him.

  The storage shed was a step up off the ground, and shaking her hair free of its restraining band, Karen used the doorway as a seat. It was hot working in the tiny room with little to no air circulation. She should probably have waited until later in the afternoon or evening for this but had been impatient to get started.

  While she rested, she thought about what Pete had said—“somethin’ funny goin’ on around here.” The mysterious appearance of Nate Barlow’s headstone and Lee’s close examination of it. What did it mean? John had found the headstone and righted it again, or so Bette had said. Had John done something he shouldn’t? And had Lee found out?

  A little of the gloss wore off the day for Karen, and a niggle of unease was triggered.

  “IT’S TRUE,” DLANE SAID dispiritedly, slumped on the foot of her bed. She’d spent the whole day visiting both the local county courthouse in Davisville and the Briggs County courthouse in Del Norte. “It was just a little squib in Briggs County’s earliest records, but I made a copy. Here.”

  She handed the paper to Lee. Manny, looking on, was mournful.

  Lee scanned the page filled with scratchy writing until he saw the spot Diane had circled lightly in pencil. “Barlow, tried and died. Good riddance,” read the notation. Short, sweet and to the point. Just like old-time Texans.

  Lee looked up. “Yep,” he murmured.

  Tears hovered in Diane’s eyes. “We can’t do it, Lee.”

  Lee nodded, but in acknowledgment, not agreement. “I have to think about it,” he said. Then he looked at Manny, wanting his opinion.

  Manny shrugged.

  Lee took the paper to put with Byron Parker’s accounts. “Good work,” he told Diane. When she made no reply, it was only what he expected.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KAREN TRIED HARD not to let it, but Pete’s warning continued to run through her mind. There’s somethin‘ funny goin’ on. In the end she knew she had to go to the cemetery herself. And since she didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing, she had to go at night. This night. As soon as possible.

  The saloon closed early, at ten o’clock. With people so hard at work, pushing to finish their jobs, sleep was essential. At ten-thirty Karen slipped outside. She crossed behind the hotel and onto the path leading to the cemetery, relieved that the waning moon still managed to cast enough light to guide her way.

  Tex barked once as she passed Pete’s shack, but he didn’t bark again. Maybe he sensed the encroacher was someone he knew. Or maybe it was Pete who guessed and had hushed him. Either way, she continued undisturbed.

  Karen knew exactly where she was going and didn’t stop until she got there: Nate Barlow’s grave. Crickets chirped in the high grass, a thin cloud passed across the face of the moon. The moment could have been spooky, but Karen didn’t have time for imagined specters. Her dread was more substantive—a fraud surrounding the claim of Nate Barlow’s burial in this cemetery.

  She switched on her flashlight and bent to examine the carving in more detail. N...A...T...E B—the B looked funny. A...R...L...O—the W looked funny, too! She made a small noise in the back of her throat, then almost screamed when a boot scraped on loose rock directly beside her.

  Of course it was him. Ludicrously, like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t, Karen straightened and switched off the flashlight, as if that c
ould somehow hide her previous movements.

  “Wh—what are you doing here?” she demanded tightly.

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  She looked around. “I—I like to come here.”

  “At night?”

  She raised her chin. “Of course. What better time?”

  He shone his flashlight on the outlaw’s headstone. “You see the difference, too, don’t you?”

  Karen didn’t want to get John in trouble. She had no idea if altering a headstone broke any kind of law, or if “Western Rambles” would stop taping...or worse, televise to the nation what he’d done. Rather, what she suspected he’d done, she amended.

  “I don’t see a difference,” she maintained.

  “C’mere,” he invited, pulling her down beside him—too close beside him! He made her look where he was pointing the light beam. “It’s the B and the W. Now come over here.” He took her to the middle of the cemetery and again pulled her down. “Look here. Harlon. See that? A woman, a child...then a missing headstone from the next grave. Does it tell you anything?”

  “It tells me—” she started to contend, but wasn’t given the chance to finish. He reached out to touch her hair, her cheek, his fingers trailing lightly over her mouth, parting her lips. Karen’s breath was cut off.

  “Forget what it tells you,” he murmured huskily as he stood up, drawing her with him. Then slowly, every so slowly, he lowered his head.

  Karen could feel the heat of his body, the strong contractions of his heart, sense his strength, his determination, yet she found courage enough to whisper, “Here?” as his lips hovered just above hers.

  “Why not here? Don’t you think these people would rather see kisses than tears?”

  Karen had no answer. No matter what he said, it would make sense when uttered with such impassioned reason.

  The kiss lasted for an eternity. She had no idea of the passage of time. She wouldn’t have been surprised if, when she opened her eyes, the sun had broken the horizon.

  She needed support when their mouths finally parted.

  “My brother was insane to walk away from you,” he said softly. “But I’m glad he did, because I just might have had to steal you away.”

  “You’d do that?” she breathed.

  He looked at her, long and deep. “In a heartbeat.” Then something in his expression changed, and his hold on her became more urgent, more intense. When he kissed her again it was with fire, with need... almost with desperation.

  Karen was breathing hard when once again they parted. This couldn’t continue. They had to stop or the spirits here were going to see far more than a mere kiss!

  “We have to—” she began, trying to give voice to her thought.

  “You’re right. We do. Either that or—”

  Her laugh was shaky.

  “Then again,” he murmured, tugging her closer.

  She took a couple of steps back. “I—I think we need to talk.”

  He glanced at the three graves and the two Harlon headstones. A muscle jerked in his cheek. “Once again, you’re right.”

  For a moment Karen wished she wasn’t. There was something about the way he’d looked in that last second that told her everything she needed to know. He, too, thought the headstone was false.

  “There could be any number of reasons why this happened,” she said in excuse. “There—there could be—” She couldn’t think of one. Not one!

  He watched her steadily.

  Karen cast about, trying to come up with something... anything, Then she gave up all pretense. Sighing in defeat, she asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Who do you think did it?” he asked. “John?”

  Karen’s start gave him his answer.

  “He’s my choice, too. He’s the first I heard talking about it And he brought us out here to see it.”

  “He won’t get into trouble, will he?” Karen asked anxiously. “I mean—whoever did it won’t get into trouble? We can’t be sure it’s John, you know. It could just be...circumstance. And anyway, it’s—it’s not that bad. All he was trying to do was create a little more interest, give the tourists a treat.”

  The longer she talked, the grimmer Lee looked. Unless it was a trick of the moonlight. Shadows sometimes did strange things to people’s expressions, she reassured herself.

  But when he spoke his tone was somber. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “I don’t understand.” She trembled lightly, more in fear of what he was about to say than in actual chilliness.

  “You’re cool. You should go inside.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He was wearing a light jacket against the briskness of the desert night, something she’d neglected to bring with her. He peeled it off and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  The warmth left from his body washed over Karen and once again she trembled.

  “Let’s go in. I’ll tell you there.”

  “Please,” she appealed to him, not moving.

  He didn’t want to tell her. She could see it in his eyes. In the set of his shoulders. She touched his arm, held on to it.

  After a moment he said, “Nate Barlow didn’t die in Twilight. He didn’t rescue a child from the well. He was caught here having sex with the saloon keeper’s daughter, taken to Del Norte, tried and hung. I don’t know who’s buried in that grave over there, but I have serious reservations that it’s him.”

  Karen felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. She stared at him, barely comprehending. “How do you know this?” she asked huskily.

  “Diane found a notation in the Briggs County trial records.”

  “Maybe—maybe the records are wrong.”

  “She looked in the trial records because of something else we have.” He hesitated. “An accounting by someone who claims that he and another man helped the child out of the well. They were members of the posse that caught Nate Barlow.”

  “Who?” Karen breathed. “Can he be trusted? Maybe—maybe it’s all wrong.” She shook her head. “No, this can’t be happening. I don’t believe it. This is just someone trying to cause trouble. The movie...the movies! They both say that Nate Barlow found the child, rescued him and was hung...here!”

  “That’s the legend. Facts are something else again.”

  Karen released his arm. She’d almost forgotten that she’d been holding it. He took a step toward her but she backed away. She didn’t want him touching her again, confusing her thoughts. She needed to try to work this out.

  Finally, looking at him in growing horror, she questioned, “What are you going to do? You can’t destroy all these people’s hope. They want so little. Just to have a decent life. They’re working so hard.” Her thoughts crystallized on one point. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Manny knows.”

  “You can ask Diane and him not to tell anyone and they won’t.”

  “You want the legend to continue, even though it’s a lie?”

  “I want the town to continue. I want Twilight to live!” She looked at him. “Why would you do this? What would you gain?” Her mind worked. “Ratings? Is that it? You’re willing to trade the last remaining drop of Twilight’s lifeblood for points on a popularity scale? Oh, and more money. High ratings would mean that, too, wouldn’t it?”

  “There’s something to be said for telling the truth,” Lee returned tightly.

  “Huh!” she exclaimed in disbelief. Then she thought of something else. “You never answered me before. Who is it? Who is it you believe over everyone else? The person whose word you’re willing to take over—”

  “Byron Parker.” His declaration interrupted her harangue.

  The silence that followed was electric.

  In the interval the wound that had been healing between them ripped open again. “A Parker,” she breathed with renewed loathing.

  “Karen—”

  She twisted away when he reached for her and sloughed off his jacket from her
shoulders. She couldn’t believe she’d been in his arms only moments before, letting him kiss her, touch her—

  He caught his jacket as it fell. “Karen, please—”

  “I should have known, shouldn’t I?” she demanded tightly. “Somehow, it all comes together. A Parker rescued the child from the well. A Parker caught the terrible outlaw Nate Barlow. Now a Parker is going to give this tiny town its final wound. I don’t know what happened to me over these past twentyfour hours. I was actually starting to think that—” She clasped a hand over her mouth and, unable to continue, ran away from the cemetery and the man she now knew she loved.

  That was why it hurt so much. Why it was far worse than merely another betrayal. What Alex had done all those years ago had caused chaos in her life. What Lee was doing now—

  She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about him. She couldn’t!

  LEE HELD THE JACKET in his hand. He moved calmly to put it back on. Calmly to exit the fenced-in cemetery plot. Calmly to trace Karen’s footsteps back into town. Only instead of returning to the saloon, he continued walking down the road into the arid land his people, the Parkers, had played such a prominent role in settling.

  Hours passed before he returned. Hours that had done him little good in reconciling his future actions. It would be easy to follow his first instinct. Put Byron Parker’s accounts away and let everything proceed as planned, perpetuating the myth. Make Diane happy. Make Karen happy.

  The way she’d looked at him...more wounded than she’d looked at him at the failed wedding.

  He’d known this could happen. That was why he’d had to take what sustenance he could from her before she learned the truth. One kiss had been so sweet and natural, as if they were long-ago lovers at last together. And the other—ardent, intense.

  He loved her. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. He loved her fully and completely, and he had all along. He wanted nothing more than to please her.