Wild Is the Night (33 page)

The shopkeeper, a plump little man whose face beamed from behind the counter, gave her a friendly smile, then returned to weighing a mound of potatoes. “Will that be all, Elvira?” he asked the small, frail woman on the other side. When she nodded, he placed her groceries in a basket. The scale bounced back to zero, but not until the shopkeeper walked away.

“You ready, Amanda?” Luke called to her and she joined him, still watching the procedure behind her. This time another man was buying apples. The scale registered a bit more than the three pieces of fruit warranted, and Amanda frowned in annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Luke noticed her interest and her silent speculation. “I got good directions. They say it’s just outside of town.”

“That storekeeper was fixing the scale,” Amanda commented. “I swear he was.”

“What are you talking about?” Luke glanced back at the ruddy-faced man who was cheerfully balancing a sack of flour. “They say his name’s Mitchell. He’s been here for years.”

“He puts his thumb on the scale to add to the weight,” Amanda reasoned. “Think about it. Every time he walks away, the scale bounces back as if pressure is off. And those apples weighed two and a half pounds. I did a lot of work with scales in school, and there’s no way that fruit could have been more than two. He must have made a fortune cheating these people.”

“Amanda.” Luke had a warning in his voice. “We’re just moving in here. It wouldn’t be the best way to start out by accusing someone of thievery. Let’s go find the ranch. Do you have any introduction or a copy of the will?”

Amanda nodded, her thoughts reluctantly diverted from the store, then withdrew an elegantly penned envelope. “It’s from the lawyer who settled the estate.”

Luke scanned the letter, amazed at the writing and the rich quality of the stationery. The note was from Richard J. Phipps, attorney at law, and simply stated that a Mr. Austin Rutherford had bequeathed his ranch to Amanda Edison, aka Fess Tyson, in deep appreciation for the many hours of enjoyment she had given him with her books. Frowning, Luke pocketed the missive, then turned their wagon east.

The homes that lined the street grew less bawdy and impressive as they got farther from the heart of town. Ranches sprawled far and wide in a country that was untainted by man. Cattle roamed freely, branded by the cowboys, inciting range wars as hungry ranchmen gave into the temptation to obliterate a prior mark with their own. Longhorns ranged the prairie, along with an occasional Angus. Mesquite waved softly in the wind, and prickly brush grew everywhere, causing the cowboys to wear chaps in order to prevent the sticky weeds from tearing their legs. In the black lands, cotton studded the landscape, growing rich and prolific.

In short, there was opportunity here. Land, water, and cattle were in abundance for the taking. Luke surmised that the ranch would need a good deal of work, but that was something that never frightened him. Already he could picture his own range, thick with grass and roaming with cattle. It was a place where he could begin again, maybe even start a family.

He glanced at Amanda, but she was staring straight ahead, fascinated by everything she saw. He smiled as he thought of her that morning, sated from lovemaking through the night and giggling like a schoolgirl. There was a softening about her that was terribly appealing, even in the way she wore her hair. Her tight bun was gone, and instead, her thick chestnut curls tumbled loosely around her shoulders, held back with a leather cord. Her lips parted, dewy with excitement, and her eyes widened in astonishment. Luke’s eyes followed hers, then he dropped the reins as they spotted the sign for the Triple Bar Ranch.

“My God,” he breathed. “I didn’t have any idea. Did you?”

Amanda shook her head in the negative. Before them stood a great stone mansion with tall white columns, looking like a southern plantation house that had dropped out of the sky onto the range. Land surrounded it, good fertile blacklands that flourished with grass—a paradise for the roaming cattle. In the distance, Amanda could see the Mexican
vaqueros
riding the ranch, whirling their lariats as the wild calves bawled in protest. It was a ranchman’s dream. Amanda dismounted in stunned surprise, unable to believe this was hers.

“Looks like Austin Rutherford did all right,” Luke remarked as they walked toward the house. “This is some estate! I guess he had no heirs.”

Amanda shrugged, her hand tightening around Aesop’s cage. Even the little owl seemed stunned by the magnitude of the land as he stared from behind his gilded bars.

“I received many fan letters from him, but he never indicated anything of the kind. He seemed merely appreciative. I even gave him an acknowledgement once, in
Colorado Gunfight.
He sent me several books on Texas that were immensely helpful.”

They reached the gothic-styled porch, and before Amanda could even turn the shiny brass knob, the door opened and a manservant stepped out. Mexican and as brown as a nut, he wore a dazzling smile, and his eyes brightened like lighted sherry as they fell on Amanda. His dark hair curled around his face like a halo, and his worn mustache prickled beneath his broad nose like a furry mouse. His skin, as leathery as an old saddle, revealed his age, but his quick step and agility belied his years. Wearing a soft pair of khaki pants and a brightly colored tunic that seemed well suited to the climate, he nearly danced in suppressed delight as if greeting an old friend.

“Amanda? Miss Amanda Edison?” His smile grew impossibly wider as Amanda hiked Aesop’s cage onto her arm and stretched out a hand. “Amanda Edison! Fess Tyson! I cannot believe I meet you at last! It is really you?” He pumped the extended hand vigorously. “I wait all my life to meet you. How I wish Austin were here to see you at last! Do come in, I am Pedro.” He reached for Aesop, then, with a second thought, glanced up to Luke. “Is he with you?”

“Yes.” Amanda smiled. “This is my…husband, Luke Parker.”

“Ah. Husband. That is very good.” Luke’s hand got the same treatment as Amanda’s. “Any husband of Fess Tyson is a friend of mine. Come in, the sun is very hot. I cannot wait to show you the ranch. Amanda Edison, here at last.”

Luke stared at Amanda in amazement as the author stepped inside the house with the bedazzled manservant. Pedro accidentally shut the door, and Luke faced the closed portal with a disgusted glare, then opened the door and let himself in.

The interior of the house was even lovelier than the outside. Amanda stood in the foyer, drinking in the beauty of the polished marble floors, the pale blue walls, the rose draperies and the polished mahogany furniture. Everything was in perfect condition, from the good paintings of hunting scenes adorning the walls to the Chippendale furnishings.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed in appreciation.

Pedro grinned. “Not what you think, eh Fess Tyson? Senor Rutherford keep this house very well. He made much money growing cotton during the war, then in cattle. The carpetbag men tried to take this place from him, but Senor Rutherford paid the taxes and they could get nothing. It is a good place for a man to settle, but not good for a woman alone. He would be happy that you married.”

“I can see that.” Amanda wandered into the kitchen, then onto the patio in the rear of the house. The tiny portico was lined with stones and landscaped with prairie flowers and cacti. Benches were placed at advantageous parts of the garden where one could seek refuge from the sun, or catch the waning rays.

Pedro put Aesop on a mahogany sideboard, then gestured to the stairs. “I must show you your rooms, and I have another surprise for you upstairs. Please follow me. Oh, you can come, too, Mr. Edison.”

“Parker,” Luke snapped. “It’s Mr. and Mrs. Parker.”

“Ah, I am sorry,” Pedro apologized, then nodding endlessly, led them up the lavish staircase.

Upstairs, Amanda immediately fell in love with her room. It was smaller than the other rooms and less imposing. A lemon-yellow quilt covered the pine poster bed, and a comfortable dresser and chair stood on the opposite wall. But immediately beside the bed was a writing desk, and with it, a tufted wingback chair and a good gaslight. The desk was beside a window, and when Amanda peered out of the spotless glass, she could see the entire town of Waco and miles of sprawling cattle range beyond.

“It is wonderful.” Amanda turned to Pedro. “But whose room was this? Surely, Austin didn’t provide all this just for me?”

Pedro’s smile dimmed a bit. “He had a daughter once. She was
muy bonita,
and very bright. She would have been like you, smart in school. She read all the time. But she caught the fever and died when she was very small. Senor always thought of you in the same way he would think of her. He wanted you to have her things.” He ran a finger over the desk and held it out to Amanda for inspection. “I keep it very clean.”

“It’s lovely, just like the rest of the house. Is this what you wanted me to see?”

“Oh no, senora, there is one other surprise. This may have been Senorita Belinda’s room, but Senor Rutherford planned something especially for you. Come look.” Taking Amanda’s arm, he led her down the hallway, then stopped and spoke to Luke. “Oh, I almost forget. That room is yours.” Pedro indicated a large bedroom decorated in golds and brown, then continued down the hallway, oblivious to Luke’s sarcastic glance.

“This is it.” Opening the last door, Pedro could barely suppress a grin as Amanda stepped inside and gasped in delight.

There were books everywhere. From one wall to the other, from the ceiling to the floor, they lined the room like readable wallpaper. Amanda lovingly fingered a volume on Shakespeare, then Homer, then Carlyle, Dickens, Twain. There were biographies, fiction books, mysteries, and classics. Books on geography, on history, on folklore and Indian tribes. There were romances and books of poetry, sonnets and scripture. Then, directly in the center, was a reading desk, where every one of her books, written as Fess Tyson, were separated from the rest in a special shelf, with obviously well-worn covers.

“I can’t believe this.” Amanda turned to the manservant, her eyes filled and misty. “He gave all this to me?”

“This was his library.” Pedro beamed proudly. “Senor Rutherford loved your books, Miss Edison. He think you are the world’s best novelist. I cannot read, so he would read the stories to me at night. He was a good man, and you brought him much joy. He only wanted to give some back to you.”

Amanda nodded, then slowly sank to the floor where she could examine each book, one precious volume at a time. Nothing could have meant more to her, not the even the riches of a sultan’s temple or the wealth of a southern plantation. She was like a child, scurrying from one treasure to another, lost in the works of her beloved philosophers and poets.

Luke stood out in the hallway, seeing her transformed from the Amanda he knew on the trail, the woman who used her unbelievable mind to thwart him, to this scholarly and obviously successful novelist. He’d never been confronted with her career before, but now it struck him with full force. Amanda Edison was not just any other woman, but she was apparently well known and something of a celebrity. It was a disturbing thought, especially to a man who’d experienced self-doubt and loss. As he closed the library door behind him, he realized Amanda didn’t even look up, she was so buried in her books. That was all she needed before she’d met him.

Perhaps, it was all she’d need now.

It was late before she left the library, and that was only because Pedro’s timid knock brought her back to reality. The manservant entered the room, then stood before Amanda, as if afraid to speak.

“Senora, it is well past dinner time. I call for you earlier, but you didn’t even hear me. I thought perhaps you would like a bath and a change of clothes,
sí?”

“Oh my God, what time is it?”

“It is past nine. Senor Parker just came in from the range. I did not wish to disturb you, but you should eat something.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll have a bath right now. And could you bring a tray to my room? Enough for two?” Amanda asked.

“Sí.”
Pedro looked very relieved. “I’ll do that right away.”

When he left, Amanda walked slowly to her room, deep in thought. This was no way to start out, instinctively she knew that. Luke obviously hadn’t gone to see a solicitor, and hadn’t made a single mention of divorce since their arrival. Perhaps he meant to make this a real marriage, to run the ranch together in an equal partnership as husband and wife, and to one day have children….

That thought deepened her blush. Smoothing her gown, she noticed that she was still wearing the same trail-worn dress she’d arrived in. Her hair fell in blatant disarray down to her waist, and her boots were covered with dust and badly scuffed.

In her room, Amanda found a steaming tub, along with several fragrant soaps. She undressed and slipped into the water, sighing with bliss as the fragrant bubbles closed around her. After days on the trail, the water felt like silk against her bare skin. She washed her hair, and then wrapped it in a thick fluffy towel as she reluctantly stepped from the tub and dried before a lit fire. Pedro knocked softly, then handed her tray inside the door while Amanda waited behind the concealing portal.

It felt good to be thoroughly clean again. Slipping into the one acceptable nightgown she owned, threadbare cotton though it was, she felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. Amanda gazed into the mirror, surprised to see that she had gotten thinner, that the hollows in her cheeks were more pronounced, and that her eyes looked enormous. Her hair showed the wear of the trip, looking ragged and uneven. Thankfully, the second drawer contained a sharp pair of scissors, and within a few minutes, she had restored her coiffure to all its former glory.