Heart of Texas Vol. 3 (16 page)

“Where did you get the cookbook?” he asked.

“The library,” Ellie said. She couldn't see investing a lot of money in the project until she was sure she was up to the task.

“Do I dare inquire what's for dinner?”

“Tamale pie, cooked in a kettle.” She had all the ingredients assembled on the kitchen counter. Her sleeves were rolled up and she'd tucked a towel into her waistband. If she
looked
capable and in control, she figured she might
feel
that way.

“That's your first mistake,” Glen said knowingly.

“What?”

“Following a recipe. Use your instincts.”

“I don't have any,” Ellie muttered. Her upbringing hadn't been traditional. From early childhood, it was understood that she'd be taking over the family business. Instead of spending time in the kitchen with her mother learning the conventional domestic skills, she'd been with her father learning about types of feed and tools and worming medications.

“You've got instincts,” Glen insisted. “You just don't know it yet. Here, let me read the recipe.”

“Glen…” she protested but knew it would do no good. In the months since their marriage, she'd managed to acquire a few skills. Dovie had given her cooking lessons and taught her the basics. Still, Glen continued to tease her.

“Tamale pie,” he read over her shoulder. “Look at this,” he said with disgust. “There's no mention of jalapeños.”

“There's chili powder in the sauce.”

“Instincts, Ellie, instincts.”

“I'll add jalapeños as soon as I develop some,” she said. “Instincts, I mean.” She booted him firmly out of the kitchen. “Scoot. Go read the newspaper. Watch television. Worry about the price of beef—whatever—but leave me to my own devices.”

He gave a disgruntled shrug, then did as she requested. She'd purposely chosen this recipe because it looked simple enough even for her. If all else failed, she had a frozen entrée tucked away in the freezer.

After reading the recipe twice, she started her task, remembering what Dovie had taught her. One step at a time. Everything went smoothly and she was beginning to think that there might be some Martha Stewart in her, after all. She'd actually enjoyed this, although the kitchen was a disaster. For now, she planned to bask in her success and leave the dirty dishes for later.

The beauty of this recipe was that the entire dinner was cooked on the stove. The cookbook warned against removing the lid and checking on the cornmeal topping until the required time had passed. While she waited, she glanced through the other recipes, finding three or four casseroles that looked tempting. Glen would eat his words, or more accurately, he'd eat her tamale pie and rave about it.

“How much longer?” Glen shouted from the living room.

“Not long.”

“Are you making a salad?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Want any help?”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed as though she'd made a major concession. In truth, she was pleased. Glen used his much-vaunted instincts to concoct salads, and tossed together the most amazing creations. He started with the traditional lettuce and tomatoes, then added whatever else he could find, including cheddar cheese, shredded carrot, sliced Bermuda onion and even seedless grapes.

“Cal mentioned something interesting the other day,” her husband said, his head stuck inside the refrigerator. He reappeared, loaded with ingredients, both plain and exotic.

“Cal is always interesting.”

“He said Nell and that reporter friend of hers are looking into solving the mystery of Bitter End.”

This was news. “How?”

“He didn't say. At first I was opposed to the idea and said so.”

“I'd rather they bulldozed the entire town and set it on fire,” she said, not realizing until now that her feelings ran this strong. She'd been there once with Richard Weston, and that had been enough to last her two lifetimes. Never, ever would she return. Of course it didn't help that her companion had done his best to scare her half to death.

Richard had started by blindfolding her for the drive so she wouldn't be able to find the way on her own—as if she'd want to. When they arrived, he'd promptly disappeared. Then he'd popped up in front of her, frightening her so badly she'd nearly fainted.

“At first I felt it was best just to let things be,” Glen said.

“You've changed your mind?”

He washed the lettuce and patiently tore it into small pieces. “Cal's right about Bitter End.” His tone was thoughtful. “Ever since Richard was airlifted from the town, there's been plenty of speculation about it. Not many people had heard of it before, but more and more have learned it's there. Because of Richard.”

“So we have another thing to thank Richard Weston for,” Ellie said sarcastically. It infuriated her to remember she'd actually dated that lowlife. He'd pretended to be enthralled with her, had even proposed marriage. On the other hand, though, if it wasn't for Richard, Ellie doubted she would have recognized how much she loved Glen.

Her husband had been equally blind. When he did finally figure out he was in love with her, he'd managed to humiliate her in front of the entire town. Naturally Richard had encouraged that. Even worse, he'd succeeded in convincing Glen that Ellie was going to marry
him.
That Glen actually believed it was a huge affront to her pride. But in the months since, he'd more than made it up to her.

Glen was a good husband, and when the time came, he'd make a good father. She loved him immensely, and her love grew stronger every day.

“In this instance,” Glen said, “I do think we should thank Richard. Bitter End has been a blight on our history for a lot of years.”

“Something horrible happened there.” One trip to that awful town had proved it. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl.

“But what?” Glen asked in challenge. “Isn't that the real mystery?”

“Yes,” she agreed but stopped herself from saying more. The timer on the stove went off, signaling dinner was ready. She cast an eye to her husband and sincerely hoped this meal turned out to be as appetizing as the cookbook had promised.

Glen finished preparing his salad, adding last-minute touches of almond slivers, cilantro and goat cheese, tossing everything together with a panache she'd never possess. They carried the meal to the kitchen table and for a while were too busy eating to bother with conversation. Her tamale pie was pronounced an unqualified success and Ellie was thrilled.

“Aren't you the least bit curious about Bitter End's history?” Glen pressed.

“Yes,” she admitted with some reluctance, “but at the same time I'm afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Unearthing skeletons I'd prefer remained buried,” she murmured. “Suppose it was my ancestors who were responsible? I'd never be able to hold up my head again.”

“No one's going to blame you for something that happened over a hundred years ago.”

“Don't be so sure.”

“It could have been my family,” Glen said, resting his fork beside his plate. “Or the Westons. Whatever made Richard the kind of person he is—well, that had to come from somewhere. There could be a whole lot of dirt disclosed.”

“You still feel Nell and her…friend should go ahead with this?”

“Yes,” he said, “for a lot of reasons. I'd rather deal with some embarrassment than have a kid get hurt out there because he's curious about the mystery.” His voice grew uncharacteristically serious. “Secrets are dangerous, Ellie. They lead to fear and repression. Remember what the Bible says—‘The truth shall make you free.'”

“The Bible,” Ellie repeated. She'd found one among her dad's things. When she opened it, she'd read the names handwritten in the front. She'd studied the births and deaths that had been listed. One death had occurred in Bitter End. A boy of five, Edward Abraham Frasier. It was what had drawn her to the ghost town. She'd wanted to find his grave, but the markers had been impossible to read. Richard had lost patience and she'd given up, eager to escape the town and the dreadful feeling that had come over her while she was there.

“I found something else in my father's things,” she said. “I don't think I showed it to you. A six-inch square of material fell out of the Bible.”

“What kind of square?”

Ellie shrugged. “At first I thought it might be part of a quilt, but no one would make a quilt with this picture on it.”

“What was it?”

“A giant grasshopper,” she said. “Huge. The stitching was all very tiny and neat, but frankly it was quite ugly. For a while I thought of having it framed, seeing as it's so old, but eventually I decided against it. A grasshopper isn't something I want hanging in our bedroom.”

“I don't know,” Glen said, with a teasing glint in his eyes. “I find it rather romantic.”

“Romantic?”

“I'm buggy over you.”

Despite herself, Ellie laughed.

Glen laughed, too, but then his expression sobered. “I wonder if you should tell Nell and her writer friend about this.”

Ellie wasn't sure yet if that was something she wanted to do.

N
ELL SQUINTED AT THE COMPUTER
screen, amazed that something smaller than a board game was capable of such magical feats. Travis had brought his laptop into the house, and by plugging in a few wires had connected it to her kitchen phone. Afterward he'd reached the Web site for one of the state universities and begun reviewing the files on state history.

After an hour she'd taken over the task. Sitting at the kitchen table, she'd become fascinated by what she was reading. So much information available with such little effort! It astonished her. She had to force herself to remember what they were looking for. She feared that even if she did find the answer, she wouldn't recognize it.

“Mom.” The back door swung open and Jeremy appeared. He stopped short when he saw Travis, his delight unmistakable. “Travis!”

“Jeremy, my man, how's it going?” Travis held out his palm, and Jeremy slapped it.

Nell rolled her eyes. Before she could comment, the door opened again and Emma burst in. Seeing Travis, she squealed with pleasure and raced toward him. He lifted her into his arms and hugged her.

In less than three weeks' time, Travis Grant had worked his way into their hearts. And hers.

“I told my teacher who you really are,” Jeremy announced on his way to the refrigerator.

“And?”

If Jeremy didn't notice the hesitation before Travis spoke, Nell did.

“She didn't believe me. That's the thing about teachers,” her son said with all the wisdom of his years. “They get jaded because so many kids lie these days.”

“Give me her name and address, and I'll have my publisher mail her an autographed book.”

“Would you?” Excitement flashed in Jeremy's eyes.

“Will you mail one to me?” Emma asked.

“Sure,” he said, putting her down.

Jeremy tossed her an apple, which Emma deftly caught. “You want a cookie?” he asked Travis. “They're some of Mom's best.”

“Of
course
I want a cookie.”

Emma brought a pitcher of milk from the refrigerator.

Soon the three sat at the table, chatting. They were so involved in their conversation, Nell thought she might as well be invisible. She smiled to herself. Despite her fears about Travis's leaving, she'd learned something this afternoon. A lesson from her own children.

Both Jeremy and Emma accepted that eventually he'd return to New York. Instead of fretting about it or complaining that he'd disrupted their lives, they were grateful for his visit. Grateful to have met him.

Nell, too, had plenty of reasons to be grateful to Travis. Not only had he pulled her out from her protective shell, he'd also warmed her heart. She knew what it was to feel passion again, to feel that quickened interest in life. To feel what a woman felt when she was falling in love with a man. Nell didn't flinch from the thought.

Another thing: her children's reactions to him revealed how much they needed a father figure, a male role model. For years she'd been bogged down in her grief and refused to see what should have been directly in front of her.

Dinner that night was an informal affair. Ruth was in town with friends playing bridge, and the kids were content with leftovers. While she assembled sandwiches, Travis showed Jeremy how to play a couple of computer games.

“I want to learn, too,” Emma insisted impatiently.

“Wait your turn,” Jeremy muttered, not removing his gaze from the screen.

Nell thought to remind both kids that there would be no computer after Travis left, in case they thought she'd run out and buy them one. Fortunately she stopped herself in time. Perhaps in a year or two, when the dude ranch was successful, she'd be able to afford a computer. The technology was fast becoming part of everyday life, and she would need one as her business grew. That, and a dishwasher.