The Secrets of Rosa Lee

by Jodi Thomas

  She thought briefly of having him stuffed. Then he would be the perfect man. Good-looking, well dressed and silent. “Afternoon, Tal. I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes and can’t talk. Maybe you should call next time to save yourself a trip.” Lora knew she couldn’t afford to be rude, it might hurt business, but she’d do her best to put him in his place.

  It crossed her mind that another time, another place, she might have been kinder. She almost wanted to warn him not to come back until her wounds had healed.

  “Oh, I only need a minute. I brought you a surprise.” He grinned, showing perfect teeth. “You’re going to love this, honey.”

  Lora doubted she’d love anything any man had to offer, but she tried to be polite. “I’m not much on surprises.” She wanted to add she’d slug him if he called her honey again but decided to concentrate on one fault at a time. First she had to make him stop thinking they could possibly be an item, even if he probably was the only single man her age in this zip code.

  His granddaddy had miles of land and cattle, her father had reminded her twice. She’d heard so many people say “he might be governor someday” that she was starting to think of the tag as part of his name.

  So, why didn’t she like him…? Use him to get over her broken heart? Maybe because sleaziness hung on him like a film, the way it does on lake water during a draught. It was so thin no one else seemed to notice, but as a recent veteran of the heartache wars, she knew he might be dangerous.

  He retrieved a large package from behind himself and grinned at her. Without any care to the papers on her desk, he pulled several poster boards out and spread them across her work space. “I found these upstairs in the old bank’s storage room. They’re posters from some of Clifton Creek’s early rodeos. I figured you’d want to see them.”

  Lora stared. To Tal’s credit, he did surprise her. She loved them. While he talked about how he’d discovered them among files of his family’s records, she sifted through the posters, visualizing next year’s ads based on images from the thirties and forties.

  “I thought you’d like them.” He broke into her thoughts. “The guys at the bank helped me get them in order by year. We’re not missing a one until 1942. One of the men said he didn’t think they even had a rodeo that year ’cause of the war.” Tal had a blank look about him as if he wouldn’t attempt to guess what war that might be.

  “I love them. They’ll be a great inspiration.” She studied each poster, examined the details. The dates. The names. The artwork.

  Tal leaned on the corner of her desk. “I thought you might see it that way. I figure if nothing else, we can plaster one wall of the community center with them, then staple letters running across announcing the rodeo dates and times. That way everyone who walks in the center will see what’s coming.”

  “Not a bad idea,” she answered without looking up. “But we’d use copies. I want to keep these originals in good condition. Look, most of the coloring hasn’t even faded. They must have been stored in the dark.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the gray photos of bronc and bull riders providing the backdrop for all the information. Some of the best rodeo cowboys were listed. Names like Tex Riley, Jack Hampton and Mike Kirkland.

  Lora suddenly sucked in a breath. On the 1933 poster, under bull riders, was the name Fuller Crane. “It can’t be,” she whispered. The note Sidney had read in a book to Rosa Lee came to mind. It had to be just a coincidence. She tried to remember the words in the note, but all she’d caught was the name. Fuller.

  “What can’t be?” Tal looked worried.

  “Nothing,” she answered pulling the poster away from the rest. “I just thought how this treasure you’ve found is too good to be true.” She could tell he waited for more praise. “You’ve done a fine job. I’ll have to work hard if you keep bringing me ideas as good as this one. These are unbelievable.”

  Tal winked at her. “That’s what I said. Who would have ever thought these would all be stuck in storage for years. There’s no telling what else is up in that old place if you ever want to wander up there and look with me.”

  Lora ignored the invitation as she stuffed her legal pad in the side of her briefcase and picked up the poster from 1933. “Would you mind if I took one with me to study? I hate to leave, but I really do have a meeting at three.”

  He gave her the little-boy-hurt look before shrugging. “I’ll let you go, but only if you agree to have dinner with me tonight.”

  Lora had too much on her mind to think of a quick reason to decline. “All right. I’ll call you when I’m finished, but it may be late.” Right now all she wanted to do was show her find to the committee. Sidney was going to love that she’d learned Fuller’s full name.

  Talon followed her to her car. “Wear something sexy. I know a place over in Wichita Falls where we can eat steaks as late as midnight, then dance until the sun comes up.” He reached in and patted her shoulder as if she were a horse he planned to ride.

  She fought the urge to slam her door on his hand. In her imagination, she might even pull the whole arm off when she sped away. And, how would that look, driving down Main with an arm flying from the window? For a moment, images of blood spattering on every passing car filled her thoughts. People would say, “Oh, it’s only poor Lora Whitman taking her anger out on a man because her husband left her flat.”

  Talon backed away as she pulled the door closed and stepped on the gas. He had the nerve to wave with the hand he’d never know how close he came to losing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As Micah Parker sat in the quiet classroom at Clifton College, he found himself drawn into the meeting. He’d planned to come, check on everyone, and then make his excuses. He had a meeting, concerning next year’s budget, starting at the church at four that he viewed as far more important. But the other members of the committee drew him in. They all seemed to have caught Sidney’s madness about learning the history of the house. In Micah’s mind, they might as well vote now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more about a woman who wasted her life waiting for a man who never showed.

  The house was falling down, anyone could see that. It was no good to anyone. But, he had to admit, the history of the Altmans read like a mystery.

  The Rogers sisters gave detailed accounts of what they considered strange behavior with the skill of a fifth grader giving a book report. Unknown cars circling their street. Phone calls where the caller hung up. Noises that had no direction in the middle of the night. They’d even missed the opening of one of their garden club meetings because they’d circled the block several times to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  Micah could have written them off as eccentric, but Billy and Lora told a story of seeing someone in the house one night and catching others trying to burn the Altman place down the next evening. Micah couldn’t deny the possibility that someone wanted the house and the committee to disappear. Lora said both accounts had been reported to the sheriff, which made them somehow more credible.

  Sidney produced a page from a will and explained that her grandmother would have inherited the place if she’d lived. Micah thought this fact interesting, but probably just a coincidence. After all, Sidney’s grandmother and Rosa Lee were around the same age. If Minnie Jefferson had lived in Clifton Creek in the midthirties, there was a real chance they’d known each other. The old maid had to leave the house to someone, and Sidney’s grandmother seemed as likely as anyone.

  He made a note to check the church record to see if Rosa Lee belonged to any of the churches. Since Sidney came every Sunday morning, maybe her grandmother had been Methodist, too. If so, there might be information still in the files.

  The most interesting fact mentioned was an old poster Lora had found while digging through rodeo ads. Apparently, a man named Fuller Crane rode bulls in the 1933 rodeo. He must have been fairly well-known to be listed on the poster, but Lora said there was no record of him in any ads after that year.

  “He probably left
not only Clifton Creek, but the rodeo after Rosa Lee stood him up.” Billy ended Lora’s presentation. “She may have told him to get lost.”

  “Maybe.” Lora shrugged. “I’m going to try to find out more about the cowboy. He might simply have the same name, or he might be Rosa Lee’s love. If he was here in thirty-three, there must be a record of him somewhere.”

  Micah hated to be the one to do it, but someone had to get this committee back on track. Sidney seemed to have lost her focus. “Look,” he stood. “All this is great history, but how does it really impact our decision? The mayor is waiting for a vote.”

  Sidney agreed, reluctantly. “He called me this morning to say they have begun taking bids on the oil rights as well as for the land itself. No one’s ever been interested in Rosa Lee’s property since it passed to the city, but when one company shows an interest, the others smell oil. The mayor says they’re talking enough money to get the town out of debt. If oil is found, it could mean raises for all city workers, updated Christmas lights, maybe even a wing built onto the hospital.”

  “Christmas lights,” Billy mumbled. “That makes me want to hurry. And a new wing. What’ll that add, another ten beds?”

  Lora frowned. “The town’s dying. We all know it. But would the money be enough to rebuild—a shot in the arm? Or would selling the oil rights just prolong a death that is inevitable?”

  “I don’t think the town is dying.” Beth Ann raised her hand. “It’s just a little sleepy.”

  “That’s right.” For once Ada May agreed with her sister. “We got a new dollar store last year, and there’s talk of a new hotel going in out by the interstate.”

  Billy laughed. “There’s talk of a new hotel going in out there.”

  “I think the point is—” Sidney pulled the group back to order “—is the old place worth saving for future generations, or would the money do the town good? If we fight to keep the house and nothing is done to restore the place, it will crumble away and we’ve accomplished nothing. At least with oil money, we might give the town a chance.”

  “No sense having a historical marker in front of the house if the town dries up and blows away,” Billy reasoned.

  Ada May frowned at him. “And what is a town without a history?”

  Micah loosened his tie. It looked as if they would be here till dark.

  A little before six, the professor excused herself to walk a few doors down the hall and unlock her office. If anyone but Micah thought the action strange, none commented. During the three-hour session, Billy had left twice to get Cokes from the machine on the first floor, Micah had stepped out to call and notify the church he wouldn’t be attending the budget meeting and to make sure Logan got home safely. Beth Ann had gone to the restroom four times.

  In the end, all they agreed on was that they needed to take the weekend to think about what to do with the house. The sisters planned to cut clippings from some of the antique roses on the grounds for their garden club. Billy said he’d do a detailed walk-through of the house to determine how much damage existed, and he’d ask his boss to prepare an estimate of necessary repairs if they voted to save the old place. Micah planned to research church and county records for anything concerning the house. Sidney agreed to try to find the nurse who found Rosa Lee’s body. Lora promised to get at least a ballpark figure on how much the town would stand to make if they sold the land.

  Then, with all the information, they’d vote next Wednesday.

  Micah watched the members march out of the meeting. All were determined, knowing that fighting for money to remodel would do no more good than spitting in the wind. But, all seemed unwilling to let go of possibilities and legends.

  Sidney stopped him just before he walked out. She reached in her pocket and passed him a slip of paper. “Someone put this on the note board outside my office.”

  Micah looked at the words. “Let the house fall,” he read aloud, then looked up at her. “What do you think it means?”

  “I think someone is trying to frighten us into voting.” She straightened. “I’ve decided they think I must be the weak link, the one who can be bullied.”

  Micah raised an eyebrow.

  Sidney smiled. “You know what I think?”

  “No.” He had no idea.

  “I think whoever it is better think again.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sidney stepped into her office and closed the door, feeling as if she’d been listening to headphones playing different channels in each ear.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said to the dark shadow against her windows. Her voice sounded tired, but she’d been on an emotional roller coaster all day. Memories of her grandmother. Trouble at the Altman house. Information about oil deals and arson. Too many questions without answers.

  She needed to be practical and cancel her dinner plans with Sloan McCormick. He’d understand. A hot bath, warm green tea and maybe mindless TV sounded like the right prescription for the headache that had been building since three.

  Sloan turned, but with the office light shut off his face remained in shadow. “No problem.” He shrugged. “I’ve been watching the clouds move in from the north. Looks as though we may be in for another storm late tonight.” He crossed to the side of her desk. “I spent too many summers camping out with my grandfather not to know the signs.”

  Sidney put the committee notes on her desk and reached for her purse in the bottom drawer of her file cabinet. “It’s later than I planned. We might be wise to…”

  When she turned, Sloan was closer than she thought. She bumped into his chest. The man was as solid as a rock.

  His hands brushed her shoulders, holding her steady.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “This office really isn’t big enough to move around in.”

  He didn’t let go. The warmth of his fingers held her gently in place.

  She didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted him to keep a proper distance. But another part, deep inside, wanted to hold this one moment, press it between all the lonely hours in her mind and keep it there forever. Her practical nature told her to stop being foolish. The dreamer whispered, Just once let something happen.

  “Sidney.” She felt his breath touch her hair. “Don’t be afraid of me. Look at me.”

  “I’m not,” she insisted, knowing that she’d been afraid of pretty near everything in her life since birth. Her cheeks warmed as she glanced up.

  Before she had time to think, to react, he kissed her, soft and laced with promise, like a man who knew what he was doing.

  When he pulled away, he smiled. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first met you, Professor. I’m probably out of line, but I’ll be damned if I’ll say I’m sorry.”

  Sidney didn’t trust words. She just stood there like some fifteen-year-old who’d never been kissed.

  Sloan studied her. “Say something, Sidney. Slap me if you feel like it. Or say ‘do it again,’ but don’t just stare at me.”

  Emotions double-timed through her veins. The fact that he seemed attracted to her put him on her list of insane people she’d met. Of course, if this was just some way to try and win her vote on the Altman house, she didn’t want to be humiliated in the end. She’d fallen blindly for a man once and learned too late that she was simply more a convenience than a lover.

  “I’ll have to ask you not to do that again.” She straightened, forcing herself not to react at all.

  “All right.” He smiled, as if seeing through her manner. “How about you let me know when you’re ready.”

  “And if it’s never?”

  He picked up his hat and held the door for her. “Well, then I’ll respect your wishes, of course.” They walked halfway down the hall before he added, “Or get real good at apologizing.”

  Neither said a word as he helped her into his huge pickup and drove back to the truck stop.

  The waitress looked surprised to see them again but didn’t comment. She sat them at the sa
me table. Sloan gave their order without looking at the menu.

  When drinks and chips had been delivered, he leaned forward. “Want to talk about the meeting?” Before she could answer, he added, “’Cause if you do, that’s fine, and if you don’t, that’s fine, too. I didn’t invite you to dinner to pump you for information. I want you to know that up front. We don’t have to talk about it at all.”

  Sidney relaxed a little. If he was giving her all this attention just to find out about the committee vote, he was doing a good job of hiding it. “Mind if we talk about something else?”

  “Not at all.” He dipped a chip in the cheese sauce and handed it to her. “While we wait for our meal, I’ll tell you about my grandfather. He was half Apache and half Irish. Lived along the South Fork of the Red River on a farm that mostly grew jackrabbits.”

  Sidney listened to his stories of summers with his grandfather. The old man seemed a good sort, farming some, running a few cattle. Except, every Saturday night he drank himself senseless and howled at the moon, then got up Sunday morning and walked to church where he sang in the choir.

  “He claimed his Irish blood made him drink, the Indian blood made him howl at the moon, and all of his ancestors’ bad habits made him praise the Lord.”

  Sidney caught herself laughing at his story.

  Sloan leaned across the table and took her hand as if he’d done so a thousand times. “You don’t understand,” he said, all serious. “My grandfather’s people were all outlaws and thieves. Meanest folks who ever rode across West Texas. Most of them died in family feuds or from hanging by the neck. My grandfather decided early on if he didn’t want to have to put up with them in the afterlife, he’d better sing in the choir every Sunday.”

  They were still laughing when the waitress brought their food. Sidney didn’t notice the truck drivers and families with noisy children. To her, she was alone with Sloan and enjoying every minute. She relaxed and told him stories of her childhood, growing up with only women in the house.