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The war was over—there wasn’t going to be any more killing in the name of glory.
The tangible smell of death had hung thick in the air. Teague Taylor finally spoke, his voice a harsh whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”
The men had stood paralyzed, hats in hand, tears rolling from the corners of their eyes as they viewed the carnage. Franz began to recite The Lord’s Prayer in a hushed, heavy German accent. P.K. suddenly bolted toward the bushes to be sick.
Finally, Teague spoke. “We can’t just leave them here. We have to bury them.”
They studied the young girl, maybe three, four years old, a rag doll still clutched tightly to the front of her bloody dress.
“Somebody’s got to bury them. It’s not fittin’ to leave them here like this,” Teague demanded.
P.K. and Franz quietly moved toward their horses for shovels.
As the sound of steel bit into earth, El said that he was going to search the wagon for valuables.
The others stayed back, trying to distance themselves.
Jumping down from the wagon a while later, El grinned, holding up a black velvet pouch for inspection. “Look at this.”
Teague eyed the sack warily. His filthy uniform was ragged, his shoes worn through at the soles and toes. “What is it?”
“Jewels. Priceless jewels.” El lowered his voice. “Rubies, sapphires, diamonds—there’s a king’s ransom here!”
The boy turned away. “Put it back. We can’t take it. It’s not ours.”
“Are you crazy? And leave it for someone else?” El’s eyes darted to Franz and P.K., then back to Teague. Thrusting the pouch into the boy’s clenched fist, he growled, “Look, I’m not proud of what happened, either, but it happened. Keep your mouth shut—I’m going to search the bodies.”
Teague watched as El rolled the farmer’s lifeless form onto its back and searched the coveralls. Removing a gold pocket watch, he tossed it to Teague.
Teague stared at the ill-gotten gain, fighting back a wave of sickness.
When he looked up again, P.K. had stopped short to lean on his shovel, his eyes fastened on Teague. His gaze hardened. Disgust was evident in his strained features.
Teague swallowed. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t his pouch or watch, that El had forced it on him, but his horror at what he had seen stilled his tongue. Words failed him. Loathing burned hot in P.K.’s eyes as he spun on his heel and walked off.
As the last spadeful of dirt covered the graves, P.K. Baldwin averted his eyes. A muscle worked tightly in his jaw, and condemnation burned brightly in his eyes.
The soldiers stood motionless, staring at the five fresh graves. They turned and walked back to the horses.
As El passed Teague, he grinned. “Keep your mouth shut.”
Teague winced. “Those jewels have blood on them!”
El’s features hardened. “Don’t be a fool. You’ve got a family to think of. We all do.”
Swinging into his saddle, El motioned the small party to move out.
Teague stared at the pouch, bile rising to his throat. Spiraling out of the saddle, he stumbled to the bushes and lost the little bit of food they’d scavenged that day.
Chapter One
Amarillo, Texas
1898—33 years later
The most memorable event in Vonnie Taylor’s life took place in rural Amarillo in the late summer of ’98 when Adam Baldwin predictably announced his engagement to Beth Baylor.
“I do declare that Adam Baldwin is the best-looking man in Potter County.” Hildy Mae Addison’s eyes were riveted to the gorgeous sight. “Just looking at him makes my heart flutter like a butterfly’s wings!”
“Hildy Mae!” Mora Dawson slapped a hand across her mouth. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“For what?” The young woman giggled. “I know a good-looking man when I see one.”
“Very good looks,” Carolyn Henderson concluded.
Vonnie edged away, eyeing the tray of cherry tarts, attempting a show of enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “My, doesn’t the pastry look wonderful?”
Mora sighed. “I wonder if Beth knows how lucky she is.”
Carolyn nodded. “She knows. And even if she didn’t, she’d say she did.”
Giggles broke out. Beth was known to go to any lengths to keep peace. At times she could be insanely agreeable. Yet, everyone knew the Baldwin/Baylor marriage was arranged by the senior Baldwin. Remember that, Vonnie. Arranged…but Adam had consented.
“Ladies,” Vonnie cautioned. “Beth is a lovely person.”
The murmurs readily concurred that Beth was the nicest person anyone could hope to meet. And the luckiest. When the eldest Baldwin son’s engagement to Beth Baylor was announced, the town’s eligible female population had groaned with envy.
Vonnie casually bit into flaky crust, feigning indifference to the conversation though her insides churned like a waterwheel. And now, the nicest person in Potter County would marry the best-looking man in Texas.
How utterly ideal.
The girls nodded when Janie Bennett and her fiancé, Edward Lassitor, strolled by.
“Evening, Jane, Edward.”
“Evening, Hildy.” Jane flashed friendly smiles at the women. “Mora, Carolyn, Vonnie.”
Simultaneous pleasantries prevailed.
“Janie’s so nice,” Carolyn said as the couple walked on. “I can scarcely wait to see her gown. Vonnie, you can’t keep us in suspense any longer! What’s it like?”
“Ah, but you’ll have to wait until the wedding.” Vonnie tried for a teasing tone, doing her best not to allow her true feelings to show. Beth might be the nicest girl in the county, but few wouldn’t agree that Vonnie Taylor was the prettiest. Coal-black hair, amethyst-colored eyes, dimples men found irresistible. Half Cherokee, half white. Yet no one ever spoke of Vonnie’s mixed heritage. Not even P.K. Baldwin.
“You’re not serious! You’re honestly going to make us wait until the wedding?” Mora and Carolyn chorused.
Hildy’s generous lips formed a pout. “You’re cruel!”
Her words held no malice. Vonnie knew she wasn’t just pretty fluff. Brides came from as far away as the West Coast to purchase one of her exquisite gowns. At the tender age of twelve, she had shown an astonishing ability with needle and thread. By fifteen, anyone who saw her work marveled that she was so gifted. She could craft a simple piece of lace into a work of art.
“I’ll bet the gown’s frighteningly expensive,” Mora guessed.
Carolyn sniffed. “Edward can afford it.”
“Edward won’t be paying for it. Tool Bennett is paying for everything,” Mora confided in a hushed whisper.
“Who said?”
“I overheard Mrs. Bennett telling Martha Gibbings at the church social last week. The wedding is costing a fortune, but Tool won’t hear of anything less than the very best for his only daughter.”
“Oh dear,” Hildy’s voice dipped to a reverent whisper. “Will you look at those eyes? Have you ever seen such a deep blue! There’s not a man here who could hold a candle to him.” To Vonnie’s consternation