Something More (9 page)

“Yeah, well, I was thinking, uh . . .” He looked down at his hat and shifted his weight to the other foot.

“Yes?” Angie peered at him, now curious.

He pulled in a deep breath, hesitated, then met her gaze and hurriedly moistened his dry lips. “Well, Dulcie and me are headed back there now. I thought maybe . . . you'd like to ride along with us?”

“That's very kind of you, but—”

“It's no trouble,” Tobe jumped in. “And that camper you're driving—well, the ranch lane is pretty rough. You could bottom out in some of the ruts.”

“Oh.” The single sound held both understanding and the beginnings of concern.

“That's why I thought it might be better if you rode with us.” Then he rushed, “And don't worry about gettin' back. I can easily run you back when you're through at the ranch. Then Dulcie and me can grab a sandwich and save Fargo from having to fix supper.”

“If you're sure I'm not putting you out,” she began.

“Oh, I'm sure.” His grin was big and broad.

She smiled in return. “In that case, I'll accept your offer of a ride.”

“Great.” Still smiling, Tobe shoved his hat on and gave it a tap. “Dulcie and me are ready to leave whenever you are.”

Dulcie couldn't believe her ears. Was Tobe really going to leave right now—without hanging around to talk? She took another look at the lady. Tobe's announcement seemed to catch her unaware as well.

“You mean, right now?” she asked, with a surprised jerk of her head, then glanced at her watch. “But Luke isn't expecting me until one.”

Tobe shrugged off that concern. “Luke's not gonna mind you being thirty or forty minutes early. He's not doin' anything today anyway.”

“In that case”—her smile of acceptance was quick and warm—“just give me a minute to stop by the camper and grab a hat, and I'll be ready to go.”

“Great!” Excitement thudded in his veins. Scared that she might change her mind between here and there, Tobe said, “We'll walk along with you. My truck's parked near your camper anyway.”

Taking her agreement for granted, he motioned for her to precede him, then noticed the jam of people at the door waiting to shake hands with the minister. With no side exit available, they had no choice but to crowd in and hurry people along.

For a moment it looked like his rudeness would be rewarded when the Roushes gave up their place in line. Then Ima Jane waylaid them just as they reached Reverend Firsten, and Tobe almost groaned aloud.

“There you are, Angie. I've been looking for you.” Ima Jane reached for Angie's arm, with every intention of drawing her off somewhere.

But Angie quickly clutched her outstretched hand. “It's a good thing you caught me. I would have left without thinking to tell you.”

“Left?” Ima Jane repeated, thrown off balance by the statement. “I don't understand. . . .”

“Tobe's giving me a ride out to the Ten Bar. I'll probably see you when I come back.” After a kind of farewell squeeze and pat of Ima Jane's hand, she turned to the minister. “It was a lovely service, Reverend.”

A smile and a handshake, and she was gliding out the door into the bright sunlight, leaving Tobe standing there dumbfounded. If he hadn't seen it for himself, he would never have believed anybody could extricate herself that smoothly from Ima Jane's clutches. He had already braced himself for a lengthy discussion, going over all the what-fors, whys, and what-ifs of her decision to ride with him.

Ima Jane was the first to recover her speech. “I don't understand. How—”

Realizing he was about to be trapped in that dreaded discussion, Tobe broke in, “She'll explain it all when she gets back.” He pushed his sister out the door and tipped his hat to the minister. “Good day, Reverend Firsten. Nice sermon.”

Once outside the bar, instead of slowing down and savoring his victory, he lengthened his stride to catch up with Angie. Dulcie trotted at his heels.

Moments later, Angie emerged from the camper, sporting a Yankee baseball cap, her purse slung over a shoulder. She followed Tobe to his pickup and climbed in the passenger side.

Griff was inside the Rimrock, drawing open the curtains at the front window, when he saw her swinging into the cab. He frowned, eyes narrowing to verify her identity. But there was no mistaking the fiery red lights in her dark hair. Not even the baseball cap could hide all of them.

Moving away from the window, he went in search of his wife. As expected, he found her chattering away with Joanie Michels and pulled her aside.

“Was that the Sommers gal I just saw leaving with Tobe West?” he demanded with a scowl.

“Probably. She said he was giving her a ride out to the Ten Bar.”

“I thought she wasn't supposed to be there until one.”

Ima Jane lifted her shoulders in a high shrug. “Obviously there's been a change in plans.”

“I guessed that much myself,” he snapped, his temper surfacing in sarcasm.

“Then why did you ask me?”

“Because—” He checked the angry bitterness that came out and tried again: “She said she was going to show us that letter—the one the outlaw wrote—after breakfast and never did it.”

“I'm sure she'll let us see it when she gets back.”

But Griff couldn't shake the fear that maybe she would change her mind about it. She might have slipped off to avoid that very thing.

“How long will she be out to the Ten Bar? Did she say?” His glance strayed to the front window. Outside a dust cloud hung in the air, raised by vehicles exiting the graveled lot.

“She didn't say,” Ima Jane admitted. “But she told Luke that she wanted to see where her grandfather's body was found. How long could that possibly take? An hour or two, at the very most, I would think.”

The scowl began to recede with the coming of a new thought. “I wonder if she remembered to lock her camper before she left.”

Ima Jane expelled a short, chiding breath of amusement. “Honestly, Griff, you worry about the darnedest things. Even if she forgot to lock it, nobody around here is going to take anything out of it.”

“Just the same, when she comes back, you need to warn her she should keep it locked.” He walked off and busied himself with the task of closing and stacking all the folding chairs.

T
he wind blowing through the pickup's open windows had an invigorating freshness to it. Turning, Angie let it play over her face. It was nothing at all like the country air back in Iowa. Rather, there was something mysterious and wild about it, sharp with a faint, barely detectable trace of pine, something that echoed the rugged and empty terrain before her eyes.

On either side of the highway, the land flexed its mighty muscles in undulating swells that rolled back to a tangle of canyons, rock-strewn hills, and flat-topped mesas. Beyond it towering mountains thrust jagged snow-capped peaks into the sky.

It was an awesome sight, one she'd had little opportunity to appreciate on her way into Glory. She'd been too busy watching for signs along the highway that would direct her to her destination. Now she was free to gaze about and absorb the impact of it all.

“Ever been to Wyoming before?” Tobe had to practically shout the question to make himself heard above the roar of the motor and tunneling wind.

Angie dragged her glance back inside the cab, and skipped it over the little girl seated between them to look at Tobe. “First time,” she admitted. “It's beautiful.”

Tobe nodded, then struggled to keep the conversation going, scared that they'd get all the way to the Ten Bar without him finding out anything. “Thought maybe you might have been here before. On vacation, or something.”

“What?!” She tapped her ears, indicating she couldn't hear him.

Frustrated by the noise, Tobe impatiently cranked his window up. It cut down some of the roar. “I said I thought you might have come here on vacation.”

“Oh.” Her head lifted in understanding. “No. It was always in the back of my mind to come someday, but I never got around to it until now.”

He searched for a response to that, something that would take the conversation where he wanted it to go. “I thought maybe you had because of your grandfather. Him disappearing out here, I mean.”

“My family always thought he'd left this area.”

“Oh.” He saw the miles sliding away, and his chances with them. Desperate, Tobe threw subtlety out the window. “Do you still have that letter Ike Wilson wrote?”

According to Ima Jane, she did, but Tobe was reluctant to name his source.

“Yes.” She pushed back a strand of hair the wind had whipped across her face.

“I'm surprised you still have it.”

Tipping her head, she looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “Why would you be surprised?”

“Because.” To him it was so obvious, he didn't know exactly how to word it. “I figured your grandfather would have brought it with him when he came to look for the gold.” When she said nothing, Tobe felt obligated to explain his reasoning for it. “There have to be clues to the gold's place in that letter. Otherwise, your grandpa wouldn't have been so sure he could find it.”

“That's true,” she acknowledged. “But you have to understand that, in many ways, my grandfather was a very cautious man. If he had taken the letter with him and it had been accidentally destroyed or lost, then it would have been gone forever.”

“I hadn't thought of that.” His shoulders slumped.

“Like I said, he was a cautious man.”

“What did he do? Memorize it?” Tobe couldn't imagine trusting anything so valuable to memory alone.

He remembered back in school the agony of trying to memorize the Gettysburg Address—and the miserable job he'd done of it. To this day he wasn't sure what came after “Four score and seven years ago our fathers.”

Her quick laugh at his suggestion was thankfully free of any ridicule. “No, he didn't memorize it. He copied it off, stroke by stroke and word by word.”

That made sense. Tobe was a bit chagrined that he hadn't thought of it. “I guess you've read the letter yourself.” He stole a glance at her, encouraged by the openness of her answers.

“Many times.”

The ranch gate was another mile up the road. Time was shortening. “Were there clues in it?”

“My grandfather always thought there were.”

Tobe wanted to throw his hand in the air in exasperation at her nonanswer. “Did you see them when you read it?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?” That worried him.

“I mean, there are any number of things in the letter that if you want to believe they're clues you can read them that way. Or, they could be exactly what they appear to be—an attempt to express his thoughts and feelings.”

“How can you say that?” Tobe protested in a kind of borderline despair.

There was a lengthy pause before she answered. “I suppose, because the letter is typical of its time in many ways. Back in those days, letters written by someone of education tended to read like prose.” She saw Tobe's puzzled look and explained: “For example, if someone was writing a letter today, he might say something as simple as, ‘It rained this morning.' Years ago, his ancestor would have been much more descriptive, writing something like, ‘Morning brought a blessed shower of rain to drench the parched earth.' And he might have gone on to write, ‘No sight matches the beauty of the arcing rainbow that I now view out my window.' ”

“It sounds pretty fanciful.” And silly, Tobe thought, but he didn't say that out loud.

Her low laugh was soft and warm with understanding. “Back then, such style of writing was normal and expected. And our way would have seemed cold and abrupt.”

“If you say so,” he said on a sigh. “But I sure would feel funny if I had to write like that.” He pushed on the brake pedal, slowing the truck as they approached the ranch turnoff. “You're tellin' me that's the way the outlaw's letter reads?”

“Exactly.” A pair of tall creosote posts flanked a metal gate that marked the ranch entrance. A single-lane dirt road curved away from the gate to twist through the rolling terrain. On the gate itself, there was a board sign with the words
TEN BAR RANCH
lettered in black against a dusty white background.

Tobe pulled off the highway and stopped the truck in front of the closed gate, throwing the gearshift into PARK. He reached for the driver's side door handle. Anticipating his action, Angie was quicker. She had her door open before he could pull the handle.

“I'll get the gate.” She hopped to the ground, tossing her purse on the seat.

“You don't—” He broke off the protest, realizing it was too late. Instead, he called, “You'll have to close it again after I pull through.”

“Don't worry.” There was amusement in the smile she sent to him. “I know all about chasing cows off a highway after a gate has been left open. I was raised on a farm.”

At an easy trot, she went around the front of the vehicle to the gate. There was no fumbling with the latch, no weak-muscled straining and tugging to push the gate open. Watching her, Tobe revised his opinion about her. She might look like a town girl, but she had definitely handled that gate with the practiced ease of a country one.

After swinging the gate wide, she waved him through. He pulled the truck ahead, checked the rearview mirror to make sure the pickup had cleared the gate; then waited, with the engine idling, while she closed it. Again Tobe was obliged to give her high marks when she gave the gate a tug, verifying it was securely latched.

She trotted back to the pickup and hauled herself into the cab next to Dulcie, all smiles and only a little bit breathless from the exertion. “All set.”

Nodding, he sent the truck forward onto the rough and rutted track. “It was a good thing you double-checked that gate,” he told her. “The wind torque off the semis has been known to shake it open if it isn't latched tight.”

“It's the same at home.” She bent the bill of her cap back, pointing it up. “How long have you worked at the Ten Bar?”

“About three years. Ever since our mom died.”

“I'm sorry.” Her glance was quick and full of compassion. “What happened?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Tobe found himself pouring out his entire life story, everything from his father's death and his mother's battle with cancer to Luke's offer of a job and place for both him and Dulcie to live, including his dream to have his own ranch.

“It'll take me a while, but I'll have my own place someday.” His words had a determined ring as the old confidence in his dream resurfaced. With it came the memory of that outlaw gold, a potential shortcut to the fulfillment of his dream. It prompted Tobe to consider the letter again, and the possible significance of its contents. “Ima Jane mentioned that you brought the outlaw's letter with you.”

That information had been relayed over breakfast, Angie recalled. Luke McCallister had warned her that Ima Jane was a gossip, but Angie hadn't guessed the woman would be so quick to broadcast what she had learned—and right before church, too. Not that it mattered if people knew. The letter's existence was far from a secret.

“I brought a photocopy of it,” she confirmed. “The original is back home.”

“You're cautious like your grandfather, aren't you?” Tobe observed with a quick grin.

“The letter has a historical value, like any other correspondence of its time. It needs to be preserved and kept safe for that reason alone.” Angie kept one hand braced against the door's window frame as the pickup bounced over the road's numerous bumps and ruts.

“I hadn't looked at it that way.” His forehead puckered in a thoughtful frown. “But I guess you're right. Just about anything old is worth money to someone these days.”

In her opinion, its value was historical rather than monetary, but she didn't attempt to explain the difference between the two to Tobe.

“I've been thinkin' about something,” he began, then stopped as if suddenly unsure of himself. He was nervous and it showed in the twitching lift of his chin and the uneasy shifting of his weight.

Angie took pity on him and asked, “About what?”

“I've been thinkin',” he began again, carefully avoiding her eyes. “I'll bet if I read that letter I'll recognize whether there are any clues in it.”

He sounded so naively positive that Angie had to fight back a smile. But some of it crept into her voice. “Do you think so?”

“I know so.” In his eagerness to convince her of the fact, he took his eyes off the road and inadvertently increased the pressure on the accelerator pedal, sending the pickup shooting forward—straight at a deep chuckhole.

Angie saw it and yelled, “Look out!”

Tobe slammed on the brake and wrenched at the steering wheel. Simultaneously Angie jammed a hand against the cab roof and stretched an arm across Dulcie to keep her from being thrown into the dash. Despite his attempt to swerve around the chuckhole, one front wheel dropped into it. The hard bounce lifted all three of them off the seat, slamming them sideways.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after they all managed to right themselves, then threw a quick, embarrassed glance toward Dulcie and Angie. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Angie murmured uncertainly and checked with Dulcie, who nodded affirmation. She laughed shakily in relief. “You weren't kidding when you said the road was rough.”

“The spring rains really tore it up, and Luke hasn't gotten around to having it bladed yet,” Tobe explained while making a point of keeping his attention on the dirt track ahead of them. A sudden smile split his face. “Now, if you want to go for a really wild ride over this, just climb in with Luke when he's been drinking.”

“He drinks a lot, doesn't he,” Angie remarked, thinking back to last night and the way his glass had never stayed empty for long.

“I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea, Miss Sommers,” Tobe rushed, anxious to make sure she didn't think ill of the man who was his idol. “Luke drinks, but he's no drunk.”

“Of course not.” But she was saddened by the thought that he might be on the road to becoming one, then shook it off as no concern of hers and focused her eyes on the rolling land around them. The distinctive shape of a barn's hip roof jutted into view. “Is that the ranch up ahead?”

“Yup. It's just around that hill.”

Angie glanced at the girl seated in the middle. “You've been very quiet, Dulcie. I don't think you've said a single word this whole trip.”

In response, she dipped her chin lower and squirmed ever so slightly.

“Dulcie never talks much,” Tobe inserted. “She's a little shy.”

Angie leaned sideways, at a confiding angle. “Don't tell anyone, but I was, too, when I was your age.” Dulcie slanted her a look loaded with skepticism. “It's true. Cross my heart,” she insisted, making a quick crisscrossing gesture with her fingers. “Especially around people I didn't know. I was always afraid I would say something silly and they'd think I was stupid. So I wouldn't say anything, just listen and try to be invisible.”

“You're not shy now.” Hidden within the observation was a question that Dulcie wasn't quite bold enough to ask.

“Nope. I'm not,” Angie agreed, with a bright twinkle in her eyes. “That's because the more I listened, the more I realized that everybody says something silly sooner or later. Others sometimes laughed, but they didn't think worse of the person. So I decided I might as well open my mouth and laugh, too.” She tipped her head closer to whisper, “You need to try it sometime. It's a lot more fun.”

To Dulcie's relief, Angie, straightening to sit erect once more and looking around with interest when they pulled into the ranch yard, didn't seem to expect a reply. Tobe drove straight to the trailer and laid on the horn. As the tires crunched to a stop near the steps, he hit it once more, then switched off the engine. The dust plume that had trailed them from the highway now swept forward to encircle the pickup in a billowing tan cloud.