Heart of Texas Vol. 3: Caroline's Child

What hurt Savannah most wasn’t the fact that Richard had destroyed her faith in him; it was learning that her brother was guilty of bilking immigrants. He’d helped get them into the country illegally, then forced them to live and work in deplorable conditions. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d confiscated their money. He’d been one of several men accused and convicted of a crime so heinous she cringed every time she thought about it. That her own flesh and blood had hurt innocent people in this way had devastated her. Men, women and children had suffered because of her brother.

“Richard told Travis about Bitter End,” Grady continued.

Savannah exhaled a deep sigh. “So Travis is here to find it?”

“That’s what he says.”

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know for sure. He’s a writer, so I imagine he’s doing research for an article about Bitter End.”

Savannah thoughtfully replaced her cup. “What did you tell him?”

Grady scowled, then met her eyes.

“Grady Weston, what did you do?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Now I know where Caroline gets that tone of voice. I should have recognized it was from my very own sister.”

“You were rude, weren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I told him to mind his own damned business. I said there wasn’t a soul in this town who’d help him, and advised him to give up his search now.”

“Oh, Grady.”

“I don’t think he’s going to take my advice.”

Savannah mulled over this information for a couple of minutes. “I’m beginning to think it might be a good idea to put the past to rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one knows what happened in Bitter End,” Savannah reminded him. “No one’s sure why the entire town up and moved. It almost seemed to take place overnight. From what Ellie told me, there were still cans on the shelves in the mercantile store. People left furniture, clothing, all kinds of valuables behind. They were in such a hurry to leave they couldn’t get away fast enough.”

“It was probably some disease or something to do with the water,” Grady reasoned.

“Perhaps. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what happened. All I’m saying is it’s time to find out what went wrong and why. And who better than a writer? Someone who knows how to research and how to separate fact from legend. A stranger. Someone who can approach this without the emotions and fears we all have about Bitter End.”

Grady didn’t look convinced. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s best not to disrupt the past.”

Savannah considered her brother’s words. “A year ago I would have agreed with you.”

“But not now?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Not now,” she said. “Having Richard home was a painful and bitter lesson. It taught me that turning away from the truth, ignoring trouble, is a dangerous thing to do.”

“It isn’t like we’re hiding anything,” Grady insisted. “No one knows what went wrong in Bitter End.”

“Then don’t you think it’s time we did?”

“Why?”

“Because, as the Bible says, the truth shall make you free.”

“I’m free now,” Grady said. He stood up and walked over to stare out the window above the sink.

“We aren’t free, Grady,” she offered gently. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be this afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” he countered sharply.

She didn’t contradict or challenge him, but she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Whatever had happened all those years ago in Bitter End still haunted them. In Savannah’s opinion, it was time to bring it into the light, expose it and deal with the consequences. Each generation has been influenced by Bitter End, whether they admitted it or not.

Savannah recalled the first time she’d heard about the ghost town. Grady had been the one to tell her. He’d heard their parents talking when he was a teenager, discussing this secret place and its mysterious past. Afterward Grady, Cal and Glen had decided to find the town and, in the manner of boys, went about making it their own private adventure. Savannah had wanted to join them, but they didn’t want a girl hanging around.

She would have gone to look for it on her own, except that Grady had said he’d take her to Bitter End once he knew where it was. Naturally she had to promise not to tell anyone, especially the Patterson brothers.

The three boys had eventually located the town. But Grady never did take her there; it was the first and only time he’d broken his word. All he’d tell her was that something horrible must have happened in that place. She remembered how he’d closed his eyes and shivered and vowed he was never going back.

His words had remained with her for a long time.

About a year ago she’d sought out the town herself. According to an article she’d read, abandoned cemeteries and homesteads were often a good source of nineteenth-century roses. That motivation was strong enough to let her put aside her apprehensions about the place. After weeks of searching, she’d stumbled upon the town, hidden deep in the hills. Only then did she understand what her brother had meant.

The instant she’d stepped onto the main street of Bitter End, a feeling had come over her, an eerie sensation of anxiety and dread. And yet she couldn’t have named the reason, couldn’t have said what she feared.

Afterward she managed to convince herself that she’d imagined the entire episode. So she returned. But she’d been right the first time. Something was there—not a ghost, but a persistent feeling of intense sadness, a haunting sorrow.

“Let him do it, Grady,” she said, releasing a pent-up sigh. “Let him find out what happened in Bitter End. Let Travis Grant expose whatever wrongs were committed there.”

“You think a stranger can do that?”

“He can start.”

Her brother pondered her words, his face thoughtful. Then he slowly shook his head. “It isn’t often I disagree with you, but I do now.”

“You’re not going to help Travis find Bitter End?”

“No.”

She accepted his decision, but deep down, she wondered how long it would take him to change his mind. Grady was having second thoughts already; otherwise he wouldn’t have come to her in the middle of the day. Especially during the busiest time of the year.

Savannah knew she was right, and she knew Grady would eventually see it. Beneath his doubts he, too, felt a need to lay this matter to rest once and for all.

TALK ABOUT STIRRING UP a hornets’ nest, Travis mused as he sat and stared at his blank computer screen. Nell had avoided him all day. And after speaking to Grady Weston, it wouldn’t surprise him if the other man was busy rounding up ranchers to tar and feather him. All this because he’d asked a few questions about a ghost town. Why were they so intent on keeping this secret, whatever it was?

He wondered if the people here even knew what had happened in that town. Perhaps they were being influenced by fears and vague suspicions rather than facts.

Travis preferred to face problems, not let them fester. He believed in knowledge and the power of truth. Shutting down the computer, he leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head, reviewing his options. Soon, however, he discovered that his thoughts weren’t on Bitter End anymore.

Instead, he was thinking about Nell. Despite her disapproval of his plans, he admired her strength and courage. He was attracted to her, he admitted that, and he sensed she felt the same way. Even if she preferred to ignore it.

Travis decided to get a breath of fresh air and he reached for a sweatshirt. He walked out of the bunkhouse and around the yard, stopping to say hello to Yucky. As he neared the front of the house, he was pleased to find Ruth sitting outside in a rocker, crocheting.

“Travis,” she said with a friendly smile. “Come join me.”

After Nell’s silence and Grady Weston’s explosive anger, Travis was more than grateful for a cordial greeting. He climbed the steps and leaned against the porch railing.

“Was that you I saw on Twister yesterday morning?” Ruth asked.

“Yeah,” he said, not mentioning that he considered himself lucky to be in one piece.

“That gelding’s got a mind of his own.”

“So I discovered.”

Ruth laughed, and he grinned himself. The older woman’s fingers agilely worked the yarn, never slowing. It amazed him that she could carry on a conversation without disrupting her work.

“What are you making?” It wasn’t what Travis wanted to ask—he had questions about Nell. However, any inquiries would have to be a natural part of the conversation. Unobtrusive.

“An afghan,” she answered. “I find crocheting relaxes me.”

He started to comment, but Ruth broke in. “You’re curious about Nell, aren’t you?”

Her directness surprised as much as pleased him. “I won’t deny that I am.”

Ruth nodded. “She’s interested in you, as well. I haven’t lived with her all these years not to understand the way she thinks. Have you kissed her yet?”

Slightly embarrassed, Travis laughed. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And it was very good.”

“You plan on bedding her?”

“That’s none of your business,” Travis said. He wasn’t accustomed to discussing his love life with elderly women, or with anyone else, for that matter. However, he’d certainly fantasized about making love to Nell. She was a passionate woman. Their one kiss had given him a glimpse of that. She was also a woman who didn’t believe in half measures; it was all or nothing. He knew that when it came to love, loyalty or friendship, she held nothing in reserve.

For that very reason, she was reluctant to become involved with another man. The potential for pain was too great.

That was something Travis understood. The breakup of his marriage had been one of the most painful ordeals of his life. He’d loved Valerie and been stunned to learn that she wanted out of their marriage, that she’d viewed their lives together as a temporary thing until someone “better” came along.

She’d been intrigued with Travis because he was a writer. Later she’d urged him to give it up and get a real job. Everyone knew there wasn’t any real money in publishing. Not unless you were Stephen King. She’d been scornful about his financial prospects.

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