by Cassie Miles
“That leaves Kevin Fox.”
She really didn’t know what to make of that young man. He seemed utterly normal. But he certainly had an outsize ego. From the first time she met him, she’d thought he knew more than he was letting on.
“There’s one more piece of investigating I need to do,” she said. “Yesterday, I preserved Louis Rousseau’s love letters, following the procedure the book collector told me about. Then, I got them translated.”
“How? Do you know somebody who’s fluent in French?”
“I used a service on the internet. I scanned in the French document, and they’re going to get back to me with the English version.”
“If this is about treasure hunting,” Zach said, “we should forget it. That’s nothing but a waste of time.”
“We might as well check it out. There could be a turn of phrase that would entice Daniel to leave that woman.”
In the studio, she eyed the cutting table where they’d made love last night. It was her new favorite place in the house. Then she opened her laptop, retrieved the translated document and started reading from the screen.
“The one with the reference to midnight hair seems to be more of the same. She’s so beautiful and he misses her so much, blah, blah.”
“Is that any way for a romantic to talk?”
“I’m a tired romantic.”
The second letter started much the same as the first, and then it took an unexpected turn. “This is an apology. He’s telling her that he’s sorry and he’d rather chop off his arm than to hurt her. He begs her to keep her eyes open and her heart open so they can find a wide horizon.”
“Open eyes, open heart, wide horizon,” Zach said, leaning over her shoulder to see the computer screen. “Like the note on Michelle’s landscape sketch.”
They were onto an important discovery. She could almost hear the puzzle pieces falling into place. “Michelle wanted us to connect the sketch with this letter.” She read more of the translated document. “There was another woman. Louis was having an affair.”
“Not exactly an unusual story.” He stood and walked away from her workstation. “Men have affairs all the time. Even in the 1870s.”
“But it means something. Michelle went to a lot of trouble, leaving this trail of clues. I wonder why she didn’t just tell me.”
“There must have been a reason.”
Gabby would have enjoyed a story about Louis Rousseau, the Frenchman who married a Native American woman and wore a gold earring like a pirate. His affair would have been one more colorful chapter. “Michelle liked her secrets. I never knew why she turned her back on her family in Brooklyn.”
“I know why,” he said.
His simple statement surprised her so much that she rose from her seat. “She told you?”
“We talked several times a week. Before Charlotte came, she was alone, maybe lonely.”
She approached him. “I want to know.”
“I’m not going to tell you right now. I want you to think about it,” he said. “Once I expose Michelle’s secret, I can’t take it back. I can’t unring that bell. Her story becomes a permanent part of your family legacy.”
He was warning her, and she’d be wise to pay attention. Zach wasn’t the kind of man who was easily alarmed.
Chapter Twenty-One
What kind of terrible thing could have driven Michelle from Brooklyn? A little later, Gabby sat at the kitchen table and called Daniel on his cell. He sounded even more cheerful than yesterday. Her mood was in sharp contrast to his. Tersely, she said, “I’m coming to pick you up. Be ready by ten o’clock.”
“It’s all good,” he responded. She could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Excellent.”
“What’s going on?”
“Sarah and I have the whole inheritance thing figured out. It’s the perfect solution, and we all come out winners.”
“Winners? This isn’t a poker game, Daniel.”
“Hell, no, this is a sure bet.”
She hated that he was using gambling phrases to talk about their inheritance and the terms of the will. In the past few days, they’d gone through so much, and none of it was good. Had he already forgotten that he’d been assaulted and almost died? “I’m leaving soon. Be ready.”
Zach came up behind her and gently massaged her back. When he rolled her head from side to side, she heard a series of pops from the tense muscles at the base of her neck. “Feels good.”
“Relax.” He glided his skillful hands down her arms. “Think about your breathing and relax.”
“I’m so glad I met you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Better than inheriting a house? Better than starting a business?”
“Absolutely.”
“Better than finding your brother and making new friends like Rhoda and Toby and Charlotte?”
“I can’t believe she’s still asleep. I should wake her up before we leave to pick up Daniel. It’s best if she stays with Rhoda while we’re gone. I don’t want a repeat performance of the attack on Daniel.”
He leaned down and kissed her behind the ear. “You go wake her. I’m going to put my pretty Corvette away.”
“I wish we could drive it to the bed-and-breakfast. But it’s a two-seater, and I’m bringing Daniel back if I have to drag him, kicking and screaming.”
Upstairs, she tapped on Charlotte’s door and peeked inside. “Are you awake?”
“I was just lying here, thinking. Those girls I hung out with at the rodeo would hardly talk to me in high school. And I have a boyfriend. And I’m...blonde. How did this happen?”
“It was time for you to come out of your shell. When you did, you saw the world was a pretty decent place.”
When she sat up in the bed, Charlotte accidentally exposed the real reason she’d been hiding out in her bedroom. She had a big red hickey on the left side of her throat. “I love my life.”
“You need to get out of bed. Zach and I are going to be gone, and I don’t want you staying here alone. You’ll have to go over to Rhoda’s.”
“Okay.”
“And you might want to wear a turtleneck.”
Charlotte giggled as Gabby closed the door.
In her bedroom, she changed into her new, practical boots. They weren’t pretty but definitely comfortable. The rest of her outfit was simple—a long shirt, vest and jeans. The only nod to fashion was the leopard-patterned scarf around her neck.
Zach had hit a bull’s-eye when he reminded her of all the positive things that had happened—the house, the business, the new friends. She was basically an optimist. Her mother had been the same way, but none of the other women in her family were naturally cheerful. Rene always expected rain, even on sunny days. And Michelle was a complicated bag of neuroses. Her troubled, secretive life might have been part of her artistic genius. Whatever the cause, Gabby wanted to know her secret. All the secrets—even her own shameful decision to contact Fox—had to come out.
* * *
ON THEIR DRIVE to the bed-and-breakfast, Zach was in the passenger seat of Gabby’s little hatchback. He didn’t like riding shotgun. His fingers itched to get on the steering wheel and his foot kept stomping on an imaginary brake.
Gabby pulled up at a four-way stop at a deserted intersection in a field and waited while a fat black crow waddled across the road. She exhaled a sigh and said, “I’m ready to talk about Michelle’s secret.”
He’d expected her to ask; her curiosity wouldn’t let her close her eyes to the truth. Though Gabby wanted to believe that family was the root of all happiness, she knew better. “It’s not a pretty story.”
“I’m not going to shoot the messenger,” she promised. “There is something that puzzles me. Of all the people she could have chosen to confide in, why did Michelle pick you?”
“We were kindred spirits,” he said. “We both left home when we were young, and that decision changed us.”
“Then this is also a story a
bout your past,” Gabby said. “Bonus.”
“What makes you think I’m going to tell you about my past?”
“Because the truth—no matter how ugly—is better than being haunted by secrets. First, tell me about you.”
“My family had a small ranch in Wyoming and not much money. I had a younger brother who died when he was nine from a rare genetic heart disorder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Zach had been fourteen when his brother passed away. That might have been the first time he looked for relief in a bottle of his dad’s rotgut whiskey. “My parents were afraid to have any other kids.”
“Because the illness was inherited,” she said.
“They didn’t want to take a chance on having another child who died young, so they put their heads down and kept working. My mother was a shy, sad woman. My dad was mean as a snake. To his credit, he never hit my mother or me.”
When he looked back on the silent misery of his childhood, Zach saw his father as a coward who wouldn’t raise his hand to another human because he feared the consequences. “He was the worst kind of abuser.”
He glanced over at Gabby. Though her eyes focused on the road, she was listening intently. He could have ended his story here, and she wouldn’t know the difference. There was no rule that said he had to reveal every part of himself, and he’d rather stay a hero in her eyes.
But he trusted her.
“My father hurt things that couldn’t fight back. Animals.”
The truth was poison. Zach hated to think of his father’s blood running through his veins. “Any dog that got in his path got a sharp kick in the ribs. I saw my father skin a rabbit alive. When I tried to stop him, he called me a sissy and told me to keep my mouth shut. I learned to do just that. I could go days without saying a word, shuffling along on a dark path and never looking up.”
“You’re not your father,” she said.
“Do you really want to hear more?”
“I wish there wasn’t more to tell. I wish you could have had a happy ending.”
“No such luck.”
The GPS directions indicated a left turn, and he waited until she was back on route. Going home, he’d insist on driving.
“When I was seventeen,” he said, “I came home from high school and I saw my dad beating one of our horses. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t listen to me until I dragged him away from that poor animal and hit him hard enough to knock him down. Then I hit him again. He cowered in front of me, and I was glad to see his pain. That’s when I knew.”
“When you knew what?”
“I was like him. He’d taught me how to use my fists to hurt somebody else. He lay there in the dirt with his mouth bleeding, and he told me he was going to press charges and have me locked up in jail. I left and never went back.”
“You did the right thing,” she said.
“I never doubted that leaving was the right move,” he said. “Beating my father was wrong. There’s no good reason to lay hands on another person.”
“It’s not something you’ve made a habit of doing. You’re not the kind of man who solves his problems with his fists.”
“I’ve run into situations when I had to fight.”
“Of course,” she said, “and you’ve taken on bucking broncos and Brahma bulls. But you’re a patient man.”
He trusted her, and she accepted him with all his dark history and all his flaws. He might be in love with this woman.
“And now,” she said, “tell me about Michelle.”
He knew how important family was to her, and he hated to poison her mind. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve thought about it. I’m ready.”
“Michelle was a victim. She never told me the name of the Brooklyn man who raped her, but it happened more than once to both Michelle and her sister.”
“Rene? She was abused?”
“Both girls. They told their mother, and she did nothing to stop the abuse because she didn’t want to disrupt the family, which Michelle considered ironic. Neither she nor her sister ever married or had children. The Rousseau family line ends with you and your brother.”
“Cold revenge,” she said.
“That’s why Michelle left and never went back to Brooklyn.”
“I wish they’d spoken up, but I understand.” Her hand trembled on the steering wheel. “It happened a long time ago, sixty years in the past when abuse wasn’t talked about.”
“Are you okay?”
“My grandfather was their brother. He’s been dead for twenty years. Was it him?”
“We’ll never know.”
According to the GPS directions, they were less than a mile from Sarah’s bed-and-breakfast. The land around them was forested and rugged. At a wide space in the road, Gabby pulled her car onto the shoulder and parked. “I need to take a minute to calm down.”
He got out of the car, came around to the driver’s side and opened her door. Without speaking, he took her hand and pulled her out of the car. “Let’s take a walk. Stretch your legs.”
Though there wasn’t any traffic, he guided her away from the road into a path through the pine and conifer forest. Leafy green shrubs brushed against their legs as they walked uphill.
“I still want a family,” she said. “In spite of the awful past—starting with Louis Rousseau’s infidelity—I believe a family can be nurturing.”
“The trick is choosing the people you want to be close to.”
“Like Rhoda?”
“I’d rather have her for a favorite aunt than anybody else. And Charlotte makes a good little sister.”
“What about us?” She didn’t pause to look at him but kept hiking. “Where do we fit in a family structure?”
“You’re sure as hell not my sister.”
They had climbed to the top of a ridge. From this vantage point, they looked down at a sprawling cedar lodge, Bentley’s Bed-and-Breakfast. She wrapped her arm around him and rested her head against his chest. Since she wasn’t wearing her platform shoes, she was a couple of inches shorter than usual.
A shudder trembled through her. “My God, look at this view.”
It was unusual for her to comment on the scenery. While cruising around in the Aspen area, they’d driven through spectacular mountain vistas, and she’d barely taken note. He asked, “What about the view?”
“Don’t you recognize it? There are two high mountains, and I can see the beginning of a river.”
He saw it. “It’s the sketch Michelle drew.”
Gabby’s great-aunt had led them to this spot, and he had the feeling that even more secrets were about to be revealed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The door to the bed-and-breakfast swept open as Gabby charged toward it. Her brother welcomed her with open arms as though he was the new owner. “Wait until you hear what Sarah and I figured out.”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Is she your new girlfriend?”
“We’re business associates.”
As long as it wasn’t monkey business, they were okay. The way Gabby figured, Michelle had led them along this convoluted trail because of a connection in the distant past—a family connection. The details swirled around in her head like a crazy stew of secrets. It was entirely possible that Daniel and Sarah were related.
Zach stepped onto the porch beside her. “Let’s go inside, sit down and find out how much Sarah knows.”
“How much do I know about what?” Sarah stood behind them with an armload of firewood.
“The past,” Gabby said.
Sarah climbed the two steps to the wide wraparound porch where rugged wood chairs had been arranged for guests. “Don’t think you can give me a history lesson, Gabby. My roots are deep, all the way back to the 1800s.”
Gabby took Zach’s hand for support as they followed Sarah into a clean, charming living room with rustic decor that was in harmony with the setting. On the wall beside the fireplac
e hung a grouping of five small paintings of Tarot cards. Gabby pointed to them. “These are unusual.”
“A gift from Michelle.”
Gabby nodded. It seemed appropriate for the paintings to be here, hiding in plain sight. “I want to talk about your roots. How much do you know about your ancestors?”
“There were a lot of strong women.” Sarah arranged her load of firewood in a metal log bin. “The first I know about was Prudence Hanover. She raised a family and single-handedly ran a boardinghouse for miners.”
“What about her husband?”
“She was a widow. Her first husband was killed in the Civil War, and she never married again. But there was a man in her life. She had three children with him.”
When Sarah stood and faced her, Gabby noticed her coloring. In spite of the strawberry-blond hair, Sarah’s eyes were as dark as her own. If she looked deeper, Gabby was sure she’d find other similarities. “Do you have any idea who fathered Prudence’s children?”
“I do. Michelle told me.” She scowled. “Would you like to guess the name of that original boardinghouse?”
“Wide Horizons,” Gabby said. “In a letter to his wife, Louis Rousseau mentioned it.”
Daniel circled around them. “Gabby, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I had those letters from Louis translated,” she said. “One of them was an apology. He was having an affair, and I’m guessing it was more than a casual fling if he had three children.”
“I still don’t get it,” Daniel said.
“Louis Rousseau was the longtime lover of Prudence Hanover.”
Daniel’s head swiveled as he focused on Sarah, then on Gabby, then on Sarah again. “We’re cousins?”
Sarah strolled across the room and stood at the front window, looking out. “Michelle figured it out. She even had an explanation for the myth of the Frenchman’s Treasure. Instead of hitting a gold strike, Louis found two strong businesswomen. Your ancestor was a terrific rancher, who usually made a profit, and mine had a fairly successful boardinghouse. If one of them was running low on cash, he’d borrow from the other and tell her it came from his treasure.”
“Louis was a dog,” Daniel said.