So Cord rode with Mattie in the ambulance and held her hand, encouraged her in the emergency room and was beside her all night and part of the next day. Her doctors concluded that she had not had a heart attack but a bout of indigestion. Nevertheless, she was at risk for heart disease, and the false alarm was a warning that she should change her lifestyle.
After he took her home the next day, he sat her down at the kitchen table for a serious talk. “All right, Mattie,” Cord told her sternly. “I’m getting your niece Glenna to come in and do housework. She can look after Jonathan and supervise your diet. Is that all right with you?”
“What will I do all day?”
“Place orders, answer the phone and be my right arm just like you are now.”
Mattie sighed. “All right, Cord. It makes sense, I guess.”
“Sure it does. And Glenna will be fun to have around, you’ll see.” Glenna was a vivacious mother of two, married and in her thirties. Her kids often played with Jonathan, and they could accompany her when she came to work. Cord knew she was looking for a job where she could keep her children with her, and he’d already planned to bring her on board in some capacity when Jornada Ranch opened for business.
“Glenna is a treasure,” Mattie said. “It will be good to have her around more often.”
“How would you like to have me around more, too?” Cord asked.
“You, Cord? Are you planning to leave your job at Rancho Encantado?”
“It’s time. I’ll tell Justine today.” He’d make do with the money he’d saved plus his insurance settlement from the accident. He could finish work on the ranch himself and not have to pay others to do it for him.
“Having you here full-time would be wonderful.” Mattie zeroed in on him with a look. “Something’s different about you,” she said. “I noticed it last time you visited.”
“Different? What do you mean?”
“Something good. Tell me, Cord, have you met someone new?”
“Aren’t you being a little nosy?” He feigned indifference, though he was already familiar with Mattie’s intuition, if that was what it was. Being half Shoshone, she claimed to have shamanistic powers of some sort. Her uncle had been a medicine man, and her mother had been a wisewoman among her people.
Mattie leaned close and peered into his eyes. “Hold still,” she said when he tried to shy away.
“Mattie, what’s up?”
“That,” she said in a tone of great portent, “is what I’m trying to find out.”
“I think it’s time for you to rest like the doctor ordered,” he told her.
“On the other hand, it might be time for you and me to have a little talk.” Mattie’s eyes glinted with humor. “If you’re going to fall in love, I’d like to give you some pointers.”
“Too little too late,” he said with what he hoped was a note of finality. He wasn’t ready to tell her that he had a permanent case of heartbreak, and he didn’t think he’d ever recover.
“What do you mean, too little too late?” Mattie asked sharply.
“I met a wonderful woman, Mattie. And then I lost her. My fault entirely.” In his mind, he pictured Brooke, her blond hair blowing in the breeze through the open windows of the Jeep, her eyes so deep and blue at the height of lovemaking, the slight rounding of her abdomen where the baby was.
“Can you fix what happened?”
“She’s gone, Mattie. I can’t find her.” He’d bombarded her apartment in L.A. with phone calls; he’d failed to find her e-mail address on the Internet; he’d even left a message at Fling magazine for her to call him, for whatever good it would do.
Mattie’s face clouded. “That’s too bad. It would please me to see you settled before—”
“Before what?” he demanded. “You’re not thinking of moving back to the reservation, are you?”
“When you’re going to live here with us? No, I like it here, and Glenna will make my life easier. It’s not that, Cord.”
“What is it, then?”
She assessed him with a long, penetrating look. “I was hoping you’d adopt Jonathan, Cord. He loves you so.”
“Adopt Jonny?” The idea had never occurred to him, and his reaction was immediately negative. He’d never thought he’d be a good father, since his father had set such a bad example.
“Adopting Jonathan would be good for both of you. Ever since my son and daughter-in-law died, he’s missed being part of a family.”
“He lucked out when he came to live with you, Mattie.”
“I love Jonathan dearly. I worry about the future, that’s all. My health isn’t so good anymore, Cord. I don’t know how long I’ll last.” Her bottom lip quivered, but she didn’t break down. She was a strong woman, was Mattie.
“You’ll be around for a good long time, I’m sure. Don’t talk like that. You’re my best girl, you know.”
“I’m your only girl for now, but you’ll find someone else someday. Maybe not the one you lost, but somebody. I’d like to see you settled with a family, you and your wife and Jonathan.”
He tentatively tried the idea on for size. A family. Husband, wife and child. If he married Brooke, they would add her baby to the mix. After all his years of foster homes, of wandering, a family was almost too much to hope for. It was something that happened to other lucky people, not to him, and the thought of what he had been missing all these long years tugged at his heart.
“You’ll think about adopting Jonathan, Cord?”
He couldn’t bear to disappoint Mattie, of all people. He patted her hand. “Sure, Mattie. I’ll think about it,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
Brooke’s one-bedroom apartment seemed lonely and empty after she returned from Rancho Encantado. She unpacked her work materials, glancing at the leather pouch that held the old scrolls. She didn’t speak Spanish, but perhaps she could have them translated soon. She tossed the pouch to the back of her closet and tried to settle down to work, even unplugging the phone thinking that an absence of interruptions would help her concentrate.
Nothing worked. She missed Cord, and she wanted more than anything to be with him. She wondered if she had said or done anything to make him pull away from her when they had become as close as a man and woman could be. Making love had boosted them into a whole different dimension, or had it? It wasn’t the first time she’d misjudged the situation, that was for sure.
As she was unpacking, she unwrapped the china doll that she’d found in the cave. She set it carefully on her dresser. The glass eyes stared unblinkingly, reminding her that she needed to finish reading Jerusha Taggart’s diary. By this time, she felt as if she and Jerusha were old friends, so she settled down in her favorite chair to read in the hope that it would help her to stop obsessing about Cord McCall.
January 23, 1850
Today my beloved friend Annabel Privette breathed her last.
All of our party has survived the winter in these caves so far, though we suffer greatly from the cold. Annabel has been ill since before leaving her home in Ohio, but she bravely set out on this journey because her husband wished it and because of the promise of a better life for her three children. I will not set down the gruesome details of her illness, except to say that it was surely consumption and that it was so far advanced that she would certainly not have lived even if she had not undertaken this journey.
Our wagon master, Mr. Tyson, is much saddened by Annabel’s death. He has worked mightily to keep us fed, finding game where we thought there was none, making sure that Annabel and all the children got the best of the food.
We have learned that the Hennessy contingent, which broke with our party when we entered the great desert, has suffered more than we have. Mr. Tyson encountered some of their number when he was hunting one day and says they are camped in caves similar to ours some miles away. Many of those poor misguided souls have died of starvation. Mr. Tyson took a side of venison to them yesterday and left it where they would find it. He believes that his
adversary, Mr. Hennessy, is ill, as are many of the children. There is no talk of their rejoining us. Perhaps if Mr. Hennessy dies, we will all band together for our common good.
I will miss my dear friend Annabel Privette. Now I must sadly turn my attention to her children, who grieve the loss of their mother.
Brooke scribbled a few notes, mostly about Tyson. All the accounts that she had read about the Cedrella Pass situation had portrayed Tyson as the person responsible for a great deal of suffering. Yet here was an assertion by Jerusha, herself a member of his party, that Tyson looked after the Hennessy group as well as his own. It was a new point of view, one that could be important to her book.
A glance at the clock told her that it was time to switch to the Rancho Encantado piece. She dreaded working on it, since there was only that lead staring her in the face.
Certainly, she had nothing bad to say about the place. She’d detected no false hype, had found the lost legend a charming bit of trivia, and as for the vortex, people would believe what they liked. Maybe there was a ghost, but if so, he was benign. Even after the understandable confusion on the day she’d arrived, her experience at the ranch had been totally pleasant.
She stared at her lead.
There is nothing special about Rancho Encantado.
The piece should have ended there, but to Brooke’s amazement, there were more words unfolding beneath the lead. She went on reading.
There is nothing special about Rancho Encantado. Unless you consider the fabled makeovers, which have given so many women the look they’ve always wanted. Unless you count the relaxing massages, the yoga classes, and did I mention the oasis hot pool?
People come from all over the country to experience the amenities of this health spa and dude ranch in the Seven Springs area of the California desert. Desert, you say? What’s so special about the desert?
Well, Rancho Encantado is set in a jewel-like valley smack in the middle of one of the driest places on earth. Mountains to the east, mountains to the west, and—
Brooke blinked at her computer screen in disbelief. She hadn’t written those words. She scrolled through the article. Why, it was well written, and in her own unique style. How could this have happened?
She reached the end of the piece and sat back in her chair in bewilderment. Except for the odd turn of phrase, the article was ready to present to Felice.
She punched a couple of buttons, and when the piece was printed, she began to proofread it, but her attention was diverted when her computer signaled that a new document was opening. Again, it was one that she’d never seen before in her life.
Padre Luís Writes
Brooke, my child! I believe that you can read this. I am but a poor humble priest, and little do I know of writing. However, I somehow found myself with the ability to complete the article about Rancho Encantado so that you can return to us. I do not know how, but the words came to me, and now they have appeared in this little book where you write. Many times I have tried to reach you in this manner, but never have I succeeded until now. God works in miraculous ways, especially in this blessed place.
Now that your article for that magazine is written, you will surely be free to return to Rancho Encantado. You need to continue your research so you can write your book about the women of Cedrella Pass. And Cord needs you. He needs you more than you can know. He needs you even more than you need him.
I cannot explain further. I am, after all, only an intermediary in this matter. Please, please, come back here. For your sake and Cord’s and for that of your unborn child. Soon, Brooke. Soon.
Your humble servant,
Luís Reyes de Santiago
Brooke shook her head to clear it, sure that she must be dreaming. But the words didn’t disappear from her screen. She didn’t wake up. The letter from Padre Luís was real.
Brooke didn’t stop to question what he had written. She didn’t think of doubting that there was a ghostly priest and that he had found a way to contact her at home in L.A. In fact, she wasted no time in packing up her computer and throwing clean clothes into her small suitcase. In less than half an hour she was on the freeway, leaving L.A., headed back to Rancho Encantado and Cord.
THIS TIME she was offered one of the guest suites in Sagebrush, but Brooke asked for the apartment in the stable, instead.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to see Cord again,” Bridget said as she handed her the key.
“I’ll be researching things on my own from now on,” Brooke said, avoiding a straight answer.
“I see,” Bridget said speculatively. She added, “In that case, I suppose it won’t matter to you that Cord has left.”
“Left?” This information caught her by surprise.
“He’s not employed at Rancho Encantado anymore.”
“Did—did he say where he was going?”
“If he did, I haven’t heard.” At that point, several new guests arrived, commanding Bridget’s attention, and Brooke seized the opportunity to escape.
As she wheeled her suitcase toward the stable, she contemplated what Cord had told her about his plans. Only that he would be going away soon, and he’d avoided saying anything more. Now she might never know what had happened to him. But she was determined not to dwell on that; it was time to move on with her life.
In the apartment that she would occupy again, she thankfully found everything the same as it had been. The comfortable couch with the afghan, the television in the pie safe, the alcove where she worked—all seemed warm and welcoming. After she set up her computer and unpacked her clothes, she settled on the couch to read the rest of Jerusha Taggart’s diary.
March 13, 1850
I write this as I sit in a warm kitchen surrounded by my children and the Privette family, as well. We are safe at last. Rescuers managed to reach us last week, and we were brought out of Cedrella Pass. We could not help thinking about the curse of the Mojave woman. Did it play a part in our being trapped in the caves for so long with so little to eat? I do not know, nor does anyone else.
All of the Tyson group except poor Annabel survived the ordeal. James Privette has a cold, but it is not serious and we expect him to recover.
As for me, I delight in the children’s laughter, and I joyfully await the birth of my child. If it is a girl, I will name her Annabel; if a boy, Charles, which is a name that I admire greatly.
We will never forget our ordeal at Cedrella Pass, but we face the future stronger for it. If we can survive such hardship, there is nothing that can stop us now.
Brooke paused in her reading, then turned the page.
April 25, 1850
Today I gave birth to my third child, Charles. He is a fine strong boy.
There were no more entries until July of that year.
July 30, 1850
Finally, we have reached the goldfields! Teensy, who now demands to be called by her given name, Olivia, is the most excited. She has met a friend here, a lovely girl about her age, and perhaps the friendship will stop her mourning the loss of her beloved Eliza, the doll that somehow was left behind at Cedrella Pass during the confusion of our rescue. Nathan is still much weakened by our privations, but I feel that the good food that we are able to obtain here will nourish him into better health. The baby, Charles, continues to gain weight.
My dear husband comes to inform me that our neighbors have delivered a large ham as a welcoming gift. Now I must go thank them and serve it to my family. It was not so long ago that we almost starved, so I am most grateful for this provenance.
Truly, our long ordeal is over.
Brooke closed the cover of the diary. Now she knew that the Taggarts had made it to the goldfields, and she knew that James Privette and his family had arrived there later. The Privettes, although they had prospered in their new home, had not struck it rich. Perhaps the Taggarts had; she hoped so.
She got up and stretched. No sounds came from the apartment next door, which only reminded her that its occupant was gone and forever
lost to her.
“But I have you,” she said to her baby. She now carried on a real dialogue with this baby, and the fact that she had reached this present comfort level with her pregnancy was due to Cord. He had generously and gently pushed her toward the realization that her pregnancy was not just a burden; it was a gift. She wished she could thank him for that, but she would probably never get the chance.
You will, said the voice that she had heard so many times now. She whirled, expecting to see the figure of the priest standing behind her, but of course no one was there.
BROOKE SLEPT late the next morning. In midmorning she got up, ate a few saltines and decided to risk breakfast. Afterward, she took a quick shower and started entering her notes on the Jeffords interview into her computer.
It was later, when she was taking a work break, that she saw the boy through the bathroom window. He was a skinny kid with a backpack, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, and he was trudging along the path from the barn as if too tired to go on. He seemed out of place here, too young to be working with the cattle, and she didn’t recognize him as one of the employees’ kids whom she’d noticed playing on the grounds during her previous stay.
She watched him for a few minutes, then went to the bedroom to dress. As she pulled a T-shirt over her head, she heard a noise outside the kitchen door, a kind of thump, which made her curious enough to open it. There was the boy, dejectedly sitting on her top step. He jumped to his feet when she opened the door.
“Sorry, ma’am, I thought this apartment was empty like the one next door.” There was something appealing about him, she thought. He had an open face, a sweet vulnerability, never mind that she detected a false bravado.
“Can I help you find someone?” she asked. Maybe he was here to inquire about an after-school job. Come to think of it, why wasn’t he in school right now?
“I’m looking for Bucky,” he said.
“Bucky? Oh, you must mean Cord.”
“That’s it. He’s not home.” The boy looked so discouraged that she felt as though she should offer help.
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