Post by California gal on Feb 15, 2009 15:52:03 GMT -8
Originally posted Sept. 2007
“He hates me! He wishes I’d never been born! He wishes I’d been a boy to follow in his footsteps!”
Lily Fortune Gordon lowered the embroidery hoop to her lap to look up at the young woman leaning disconsolately against the porch railing, head down, gazing toward the lushly blooming roses on the ground below, but obviously not seeing them. “Rory….”
Aurora Allan West whirled, green eyes sparkling with both anger and near tears. “It’s true, Aunt Lily. I know it is! He won’t let me do anything I want to. All my friends are traveling this summer. Daddy doesn’t trust me to be out of his sight!” She had asked, begged, to be allowed to join in the excursion her girlfriends had told her about.
“That’s not true, Rory, and you know it,” Lily said quietly as she gazed at the young woman. Rory would be nineteen in a few weeks. She was maturing into a very beautiful woman, with rich dark hair that was currently piled into a bun at the top of her fine head, fastened with clips and combs. Her rosy mouth was perfectly proportioned for her face, as was her nose, though the chin was a tad prominent. Rory’s father claimed that her mother had possessed that same stubborn chin.
Lily thought it amusing that Rory had chosen to don a frock today. She had been residing with the Gordon family while her father was attending a special conference in Mexico, and except for the few times when the family went into town or another excursion, Rory had stuck to her favorite trousers and cotton shirt. Today she wore a white lawn gown trimmed in eyelet lace and a shiny emerald green sash around the slim waist. Did Rory believe that no one else was aware that her father had purchased that dress for her the week before he departed?
Rory surely was not the soul of tact. She had barely said hello to her father when she bombarded him with the request to accompany some friends on a trek to spend a few days on Catalina Island in southern California. Jim’s first response had been to inquire who else was going. Then he asked who would be the chaperone. Rory’s reply that the older sister of one girl would be accompanying them sealed the deal. That young woman’s reputation for reliability was not the best. Lily had tried to explain that to Rory, but Rory could not see anything except her father’s cruel refusal. Lily was also certain that when the two friends had been visiting yesterday to tell Rory about the excursion and invite her along, Rory had assured them she would certainly accompany them, allowing them to believe the decision was her own. Now she was going to suffer the humiliation of telling them her father forbade it.
The years had been kind to Lily Fortune Gordon. She still had her figure, if not quite the waistline she once possessed before the birth of two children, while her lovely face revealed few lines. The dark hair was liberally silvered, but her devoted husband stated those gleaming hairs were simply the reward of having been a loving wife and superb mother, that they were now her crown. Just a few months ago one of her former acting colleagues had visited California and tried to persuade her to return to the stage, even suggesting she would not be relegated to the roles of “matron” because her appearance was still so youthful. Lily had declined; like her husband, her life now was here on the farm, among the acres of orchards.
“Your father allows you to attend the university…” she went on.
Rory threw her hands in the air. “Because he wants to be rid of me!”
Over on the glider beyond the steps, India Gordon snickered. “Make up your mind, Rory. Either he is refusing permission for you to travel because he doesn’t want you out of his sight, or he sent you off to Stanford because he hates the sight of you.”
Rory West glared at her nearly four-years-younger “cousin.” “You don’t understand, India. Your parents love you and understand you.”
As India rolled her big brown eyes, Lily laughed softly. “That’s not what India often tells us. Rory, please understand. Your father is… being a father did not come naturally to him. You know you were a… a surprise.”
“And he resents me for disrupting his wonderful life!” Rory screeched before marching into the big house through the screened door, allowing it to slam loudly behind her.
James West looked toward the big white house as the banging sound reverberated in the early summer air. “If she broke that door, it comes out of her allowance.”
Artemus Gordon chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Artie knew that Jim had real difficulty refusing his daughter anything, let alone disciplining her.
Jim leaned his back against the fence of the corral where the two men had been watching the antics of the new black colt, a grandson of the magnificent black silk stallion who had served Jim West so well for many years. They had just been discussing a horse swap. “How do you do it, Artie? It’s been nearly fifteen years, and I still don’t have the hang of it.”
“Jim, you’ve done fine. Rory is a spirited young woman, that’s all.”
“I guess.” Jim looked toward the house again. Upstairs, in the front bedroom Rory used when she stayed here with the Gordons, a curtain moved. “She never has truly accepted me, Artie. She still resents the fact that I left her mother alone, seemingly deserted her to die. Rory won’t believe me when I tell her I did not know about her until it was too late.”
“She’s just going through a phase. You probably remember a time when you wanted to be treated like a child, taken care of and cosseted, yet you also wanted to be looked upon as a man, free and independent. I know we had that with Jamie, and it’s coming for India. She already shows the signs. Nevertheless, I’m still not sure you’re doing the right thing by not telling her the truth about what’s going on,” Artie added quietly.
“Have you told India?”
“Well… no. Not yet. Both Lily and Jamie agree that it’s best not to concern her right now. But I will tell her if the need arises, if we get word of sightings in the area.”
“Rory is so damned… she’s like her mother, Artie. Stubborn as all get-out. Wants her independence.” Especially from me. She can’t wait to get away.
“I know,” Artemus murmured, and prevented himself from smiling. He could have added that Aurora West also took after her father. He reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’ll pass, Jim. I promise.”
Sometimes, Artemus found himself experiencing a pang of surprise when gazing at his longtime friend. The white threads in the smooth dark hair and the trim mustache should not be there because otherwise James West was the same man he had been twenty, twenty-five years ago. Still trim and athletic, with only deepened sun lines at the corners of his eyes that might betray his age. Artemus knew Jim kept fit by working alongside his field hands in the vineyard and orchards on the farm across the valley that he had purchased a couple of years ago after finally retiring from the service.
Not quite twenty-four years ago, Artemus Gordon had finally persuaded the love of his life, actress Lily Fortune, to marry him, much to her mother’s dismay. However, the late Prudence Fortune Peters had been too busy at the time being happily married to her new, younger bridegroom to raise too much of a fuss. Artemus had reversed some of Lily’s previously stated objections by assuring her that he did not expect her to sit at home and knit while he was traveling the country as a Secret Service agent. He was not ready to retire, so why should he expect her to?
Thus, Lily had continued with her career, as did Artemus. Whenever their schedules coincided, they lived together at the home he purchased near Washington, D.C. Only when she became pregnant did Lily quit the stage temporarily. As soon as she felt comfortable leaving young James Artemus Gordon with a nanny she resumed her acting, though she did try to limit her appearances to theaters in the local area. Five years later, after the birth of India, Lily decided she would rather stay home, so she retired from the stage. A few years after that, Artemus turned in his resignation, at which time they purchased the California orchards to raise plums and apricots.
Jim West turned to look back at the colt, who was now nursing from its mother. “What do we do about Loveless, Artie?”
Jim once had told Artemus Gordon that the nearly snow-white hair suited him, but realized that Artie did not exactly consider that a compliment. When a beard he attempted also emerged pure white, Gordon had quickly abandoned it. Too many children addressed him as “Santa Claus” despite he did not have the girth for the role. Always youthful in attitude, perhaps the only other foremost sign of his years were the spectacles Artemus now needed to read the newspaper.
Jim’s former partner and still friend sighed and shook his head. “I don't know, Jim. Just be alert. It might be a false alarm.”
“No,” Jim said, shaking his head. “I’ve never believed he was dead. My gut tells me he’s out there.”
“Then where has he been the last fifteen, sixteen years? Man like Miguelito Loveless doesn’t drop from sight that long.”
“He might have,” West replied. “He managed to do that for shorter periods previously. Although the official version was that he died in a fire that was too hot to even leave any bones, if he did not die, he could have been injured. That was one hell of an explosion.”
Both he and Artemus bore scars from that blast which had occurred when, in his reckless desire to incapacitate and capture the two agents, Loveless foolishly tried to hurry a reaction which would have created a paralyzing gas. Hearing the shrieked warnings of the imminent danger from Loveless’s assistant, James West and Artemus Gordon had fled the building. Both were hurled to the ground by the force of the explosion, and actually had been rendered unconscious for a short spell. Upon awakening, they found the structure fully engulfed, the chemicals inside fueling the ultra-hot flames. Loveless was never found, never seen again… until recent information indicated he was on the scene once more.
Artemus did not protest his partner’s statement. Over the years, he had always sensed an odd connection between James West and Miguelito Loveless, almost as though they liked rather than loathed each other. Loveless had tried numerous times to murder the both of them, but his particular hatred had always been directed toward Jim West. Artie was certain that Loveless envied Jim’s strong body and handsome features, items nature had denied Loveless in some quirk of fate or genetics.
Jim glanced up toward the sun. “I guess I’d better drag my daughter to her hated home.”
Now Artie had to laugh out loud. “It’s not that bad, Jim. I have to tell you, she was up at the crack of dawn this morning, and at least three times asked me what time your train was expected in San Jose.”
“Because she was anticipating the gift I would be bringing.” He had, as usual, brought her a special present, this time a beautiful fringed shawl handcrafted in Mexico City. “I’m sure you noticed the wonderful, warm greeting she extended,” Jim said sourly as they started walking back toward the house. His daughter had been on the sofa in the parlor perusing a catalog. She glanced up, said, “Hello, Daddy,” and resumed her reading. He had been absent three weeks. He knew this was her way of punishing him, and damn it, she was successful. A few minutes later she started into her harangue about “needing” to go on this trip with friends. Artemus and Lily supported his decision, but that did not carry any weight with Rory.
Artemus was silent a moment. “You are, of course, aware that Jamie is crazy about Rory.”
Jim chuckled. “He can’t hide it.” Then he sobered, shaking his head. “I wish him luck. Rory has already told me a couple of times that she has no intention to ever marry. God help the man if he convinces her to change her mind.”
Artemus did not say anything further. He and Lily had discussed this often over the years, especially when Rory had been all but living with them while Jim continued his duties as an agent, before finally taking on a desk job—the job that eventually brought him to the decision to leave the service. Jim still acted as a consultant to the agency, thus the occasional lengthy trips. Both concurred that the biggest problem was that father and daughter were too much alike in temperament, with Rory perhaps having inherited a double dose by way of her mother.
Neither Artemus nor Lily had ever met Margaret Allan. In fact, Artie had been almost as stunned as Jim to learn that Margaret had borne Jim’s child. He had been under the impression that the woman who saved Jim West’s life by tending to his serious gunshot wound had been a much older woman. That had been the perception Jim had presented, anyway. Artemus had later come to the conclusion that Jim had become more emotionally involved with Margaret than he cared to admit, even to himself.
A little over twenty years ago, the two agents had been assigned to look into some gun smuggling in New Mexico Territory, near the Mexican border. Deciding to separate, with Artemus going in disguise while Jim presented his credentials publicly, they had been making progress on the case when Jim suddenly vanished. Not even his horse was found. After a couple of weeks of searching, a heartbroken Gordon had had to conclude that his partner had been murdered, his body hidden somewhere, the fine black horse likely commandeered.
Nearly two months after he disappeared, Jim emerged. He had been shot and gravely wounded from ambush, had escaped by clinging to his horse. The steed had carried him deep into the rugged mountains in the vicinity, until coming upon a remote cabin which happened to be occupied by a “widow” who took him in, nursed him back to health. Jim had presented the notion in his tale that the “old lady” was something of an eccentric who did not want nor welcome visitors, living by herself in the wilderness. He had discouraged Artemus from going to see her to express gratitude.
Almost five years later, James West received a letter that rocked his world and changed his life forever. He then had to confess to Artie and Lily that the “widow” had been young and comely, though fiercely independent. She had fled into the wilderness following the death of her abusive, duplicitous husband, shying from the civilization that had not helped her escape her miserable circumstances, to live by herself, reading and painting. She traveled to the nearest town, Antelope Wells, only rarely to pick up supplies.
With the receipt of the letter, Jim also admitted that as his health returned, in the confines of the small cabin, the inevitable had occurred, he and Margaret Allan had become intimate. He had tried to persuade her to return to civilization with him, she adamantly refused. Jim had never gone back to see her, as both had agreed that would probably be best. Jim also claimed he had not been in love with Margaret Allan, but he had admired her greatly.
The letter informed Jim that Margaret Allan was very ill, likely dying. James West needed to return to claim his daughter. Although not entirely convinced he had fathered the child, Jim had traveled to New Mexico. He had been too late to see Margaret; she passed away two days before his arrival. He later told Artemus that his skepticism about the child remained until the woman caring for young Rory brought her into his presence. The moment he saw the green eyes, he knew. He related, however, that the instant the four-year-old saw him, she fled the room in terror.
He brought the frightened child back to Washington, where Lily willingly took her in, even though with an infant of her own on the way. Jim eventually rented a home, hired a housekeeper, and brought Rory home to live with him when he was not in the field. He had hoped that doing so would help heal the rift between them. As far as Jim West was concerned, the effort had been a failure. Rory continued to resent him for what she perceived he did to her mother. As soon as she was able, she would be gone from his life forever.
“Would you go fetch Rory for me, India?” Jim asked as they reached the porch.
“Sure, Uncle Jim,” the girl cried, bouncing up off the glider.
At that moment, the screened door pushed open. “I’m here, Daddy,” Rory said, stepping out.
Lily glanced at her handsome husband, and caught the gleam in his brown eyes. Both of them thought that the fact that Rory always addressed her parent as “Daddy,” rather than the more formal “Father,” meant something, consciously or unconsciously. They knew that Rory West was very proud of her famous father, though they doubted she had ever told him, anymore than he had ever told his daughter how he adored her. Two stubborn people, peas from the same pod, so to speak.
Silently Jim stepped in through the door to pick up his daughter’s wicker traveling case. He had bought it for her in Bolivia a few years ago when he went to that country on an assignment. Though she never said anything except “thank you” upon accepting the gift, he did notice that she used it almost exclusively when traveling. She had taken it with her to Stanford University, along with a trunk full of other “necessities,” when she attended that institution the last two years. Well, it’s a nice case. Why wouldn’t she use it?
As he came back out onto the porch, Rory was giving her adopted aunt and uncle a farewell embrace, thanking them for their hospitality. Lily kissed her cheek. “I’ll telephone you soon to give you the details of Jamie’s birthday party.”
“You’re right,” Artemus said, with mock severity, “you will telephone. I’ll not go near that contraption!”
Jim and Lily laughed. Ever since the lines had been strung that allowed telephones in many of the homes in the valley, Artemus had resisted using the instrument except in the most dire situation. “I don’t see why we needed such a thing,” he grumbled more than once. “What was wrong with the telegraph? What’s wrong with letters, or better yet, face-to-face?”
“And don’t forget,” Lily went on, “the Ladies of the G.A.R. picnic.” She saw Jim West barely refrain from rolling his eyes. This was something she and her husband laughed about often. James West had at one time loved donning his best attire and attending fetes, galas, any sort of social occasion. Slowly but surely that attitude altered after his daughter came into his life. The only ones he enjoyed any these days were the ones where Rory was also involved, which was certainly the case with the picnic, a fundraising affair that would be held in the Gordons’ garden.
“We’ll be here!” Rory responded enthusiastically.
Jim put the case in the back of the buggy as Rory clambered into the seat, disdaining to wait until a male could assist her. She was at least wearing a dress today, and he recognized the frock. Not for him, Jim was certain. Likely she had expected Jamie to be around today. The Gordons’ son was visiting a friend in San Francisco and was due back any moment. Whenever possible, Rory preferred to wear boys’ trousers, in particular when she was riding horseback around the valley. She thought sidesaddles were foolish and uncomfortable. But despite her denials that Jamie Gordon was anything other than a friend and “cousin,” Jim had noticed that Rory often dressed her best when the young man was around.
India Gordon moved to stand beside her father on the porch, wrapping both her arms around his waist as they watched the carriage depart. Artemus rested his arm around her shoulders. “Papa,” India ask, “why is Rory so all-fired idiotic?”
Artie chuckled. “She’s no more idiotic than her father, honey. Neither one is going to be the first to bend.”
“I think they are also cowards,” Lily said as she gathered her sewing into the small case.
India looked around. “Cowards? What do you mean, Mom?”
“Each is afraid that to speak first would open themselves up to rejection, and perhaps ridicule, from the other.”
“I think you mother is right,” Artemus said slowly. “I know Jim West. He never was one for showing his emotions. We know they care for each other. Deep down, I’m sure each of them realizes it as well. But saying it aloud…”
“Let’s just hope,” Lily Gordon said softly, “that they come to their senses before it’s too late.”
“Did you do anything interesting these last few weeks?” Jim West asked to break the silence that settled between himself and his daughter as he guided the horse down the long dirt lane.
“Not really. India and I went to see a performance in San Jose. A poetry reading. I enjoyed it, but I’m afraid India did not really appreciate it. She is so young, Daddy.”
Jim bit back a smile. Over the years, the two girls had been best friends, but sometimes the age gap was very evident. In a few more years hence, he knew, it would disappear entirely. “Uncle Artemus mentioned you went to the shore.”
“Yes. We did that. We took a picnic to the beach at Capitola. It was quite nice, though very foggy on that day. I don’t mind the fog. I think I’d like to live on the shore one day.”
Jim almost pointed out to her that he had asked her, when considering buying property in California, whether she would prefer to live on the ocean side of the mountains. At that time she had expressed a wish to be as near as possible to her Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus. What she was saying now, he decided miserably, was that she planned to live on the shore one day without her father.
“Was your trip successful, Daddy?”
“As much as such a trip can be, hon. All-day meetings.”
“Well, it’s nice that they still respect your opinions after all this time.”
“Hey, you talk like I’m an old man!”
Her green eyes widened. “Well, gosh, Daddy, you are almost sixty!”
Jim laughed. He always enjoyed when she teased him, and he thought she enjoyed the moments too. In some ways it reminded him of himself and Artemus, always joking, almost as a cover for their real affection for each other. Yet he was never sure with Rory. Never had been, wondered if he would ever be. She rarely mentioned her mother now, but in her younger days her best weapon had been her accusation that he had deserted Margaret Allan, left her alone with a baby, and then to die.
Early on, after her initial shyness faded away, Rory had been rather demonstrative, always willing to share a hug, sit on his lap while he read and story to her. As time went on, perhaps as she became more cognizant of what had occurred between him and her mother, she began to ask more questions and throw accusations his way. Worse, no matter how he answered those questions and accusations, she never appeared to accept them as the truth. As far as Rory was concerned, James West was responsible for the death of her mother. Over the years, the situation had grown worse and worse.
I know I’ve spoiled her. Maybe Lily was right when she once asked me if I was trying to buy Rory’s love. But I can’t help it. I love her so dearly. I’d give her the moon in a golden bowl if it was possible. If only I could tell her. No, perhaps what I mean is, if only I could convince her. I don’t know if Rory will ever comprehend how I truly feel about her.
Aurora West stole a look at her father. He was such a handsome man. When he visited her at the university, all the other girls gaped in admiration, and were envious of her. Both Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus had told her that James West had always been popular with the ladies, and no wonder. He had looks and he had charm. At any social function he attended here, widows and spinsters vied for his attention. Even her mother had, apparently, succumbed to his allure. But why had Jim West not married Margaret Allan?
“Look there,” Jim said, calling his daughter’s attention to the vehicle on the road ahead of them.
“For heaven’s sake, what’s that?” Rory stared at the big closed-in wagon, like a box on wheels, grandly decorated with carved wooden furbelows and brightly painted pictures of flowers, elves, and toadstools. “A circus wagon?”
“Not likely. I think there’d be others if it was with a circus.” He guided the light buggy alongside to pass the big wagon, nodded to the heavyset man at the reins. “Maybe a peddler’s wagon, though they usually have a name and perhaps a picture of a product on the side.”
“A gypsy wagon?” Rory leaned around the bonnet to peer back at the plodding vehicle.
“That’s possible, though I haven’t heard of gypsies in this part of California recently. Maybe just someone who likes boldly painted wagons.”
Inside the wagon, the shrunken figure of a man sidled away from the peephole and settled back on a soft chair, easing his aching legs by stretching them out on the ottoman. Thoughtfully, he lit a big cigar, and watched the smoke swirl above his head. So that’s Mr. West’s daughter. Not surprising she is a beauty. Young and beautiful. James West is surely very proud of her, as well as fond, despite the circumstances. After all these years, I have found the perfect weapon to use against Mr. West. Even better than his partner. Aurora West is his blood. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Miguelito Loveless laughed, a cackling sound that reverberated in the small enclosure of the wagon. He knew he had done the right thing by staying out of sight all these years. Revenge was going to be all the sweeter for it.
Rory was descending the stairs when she heard the knock on the front door. “I’ll get it, Hannah!” she called toward the dining room where the housekeeper was busily dusting. They were not expecting guests, so very likely the caller was José or one of the hands. Rory always experienced an odd sense of pride that her father did not insist that the hired help use only the back entrances.
Thus, when she open the large heavy door, Aurora West was quite surprised to encounter a tall, blond, and very handsome young man with sky-blue eyes and a winning smile as he swept his hat off. “How do you do. I apologize in advance for the intrusion, but do I have the home of Mr. James West?”
Rory swallowed hard in a vain attempt to still her thudding heart. “Yes. Yes, you do. Mister….?
The smile increased. “My name is Derek Hagen. I’m a journalist. I’m hoping that Mr. West will allow me to write a book on his experiences.”
“Oh.” Rory was sure she knew the answer to that. Nonetheless, she could not allow this Adonis to escape that easily. “I… I don’t know. I’m his daughter. Aurora. I mean, they call me Rory.” She was babbling and she could not stop under his amused but admiring gaze. He was, she decided, in his late twenties. No older, surely. “Please come in. I’ll… I’ll find Daddy… I mean, my father.”
Rory escorted the visitor into the first parlor, wishing mightily that she had chosen to don a dress this morning rather than her trousers. She had seen the blue eyes sweep over her—though with no less appreciation—from her dusty boots to the shiny dark hair, which was trailing down her back today, held by a clasp at the back of her neck. She remembered to pause in the dining room to inform Hannah of the visitor and ask for coffee, then dashed out the back door.
“Daddy,” she cried breathlessly upon finding her parent where she expected, where she had been planning to join him, in the barn shoveling manure out of the stalls, “you have a visitor!”
Jim West halted his labors and rubbed his shirtsleeve across his perspiring forehead. “Yeah? Uncle Artemus?” Artie had promised to come by to discuss the Loveless problem further.
“No. His name is Derek Hagen, he’s a journalist, and he wants to write a book about you!”
Unfortunately her parent reacted just as she expected. He shook his head and picked up the pitchfork again. “Tell him thanks but no thanks.”
“Daddy! You can at least talk to him. That would be the polite thing to do.”
Curiosity, more than her plea to his gentlemanly nature, caused Jim West to lean the pitchfork against a stable wall and follow Rory back to the house. At her insistence, he paused in the kitchen to wash up as best he could, and even rolled his sleeves down, though he could discern that she wished he would race upstairs and don his best suit.
The man was comfortably seated in the first parlor, another indication that he was an honored guest insofar as Rory was concerned. Artemus and Lily, and others of their neighbors, always headed for the less formal room they called the “second parlor” on the opposite side of the foyer, where they could feel more at ease with its comfortable furnishings. Jim had furnished the “first parlor” with finer goods, on Hannah’s advice. The room had been used on few occasions to entertain rather highly placed guests.
Rory eagerly made the introductions and Hagen shook Jim’s hand heartily. “Mr. West, I can’t tell you what an honor this is. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hagen. My daughter tells me you are a journalist.” Jim did not miss how Rory’s green eyes were fixed on the fine-looking fellow.
“Yes, sir. Lately, I have been an employee of the New York Mirror, but I retired from that paper and emigrated west, feeling I would find more opportunities here. I have thus far not obtained employment on a western newspaper, but one editor I spoke to suggested that if I could get an interview with James West, and convince him to allow me to write his story… well, I’m sure you understand.”
Before Jim could respond, Hannah entered bearing a tray of cups and a silver carafe. “Miss Rory asked for coffee,” she said, a smile on her round dark face indicating she also understood why the young lady of the house wished to impress.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Jim said, with a nod. He had hired Hannah when they relocated to California. She had soon come to the conclusion that Mr. West and his daughter could not manage without her. At times Jim was pretty sure she was right. Next to Lily, Hannah had become the most important older woman in Rory’s life. The housekeeper had traveled to visit kin in southern California during Jim’s recent trip to Mexico, which had been the primary reason why Rory spent the three weeks with the Gordon family.
The coffee seemed to require that they all sit down. Rory poured and served it, wishing again that today of all days she had not chosen to wear her normal working attire. They had had no idea that a visitor would arrive, especially one so devastatingly handsome.
“Mr. West,” Hagen said once his coffee was properly sweetened, “I was told that you are very recalcitrant about publicity. But you must understand, your exploits are legendary. A book would be extremely popular… and bring in a fine sum for all of us.”
“I’m not interested in the money,” Jim replied tersely.
“Wouldn’t you like to leave a legacy for your lovely daughter?”
“This property will be her legacy.”
“Mr. West, forgive me, but I’m talking about a different sort of legacy. The truth about your adventures. Many stories are out there, some published in newspapers, some not. It’s the ones that are not, the ones that are simply circulated, that tend to warp the truth. For now, your reputation continues to be sterling. However, we all know what often occurs after a man has gone to his earthly reward. Dastardly money grubbers attempt to cash in on that reputation by soiling it, hinting at scandalous activities, merely to sell newspapers, or books. Do you want your legacy to be tarnished by that means?”
“To be frank, Mr. Hagen, I don’t really care. I’ll be gone. No, I have no interest in leaving any sort of personal memoir.”
Hagen was not to be dissuaded so easily. He leaned forward slightly. “Mr. West, consider your daughter, her children, her children’s children. Don’t you want them to be able to hold their heads up when they claim you as their ancestor?”
Rory, sitting beside Jim on the couch, clutched his arm. “Daddy! Um… Father, Mr. Hagen may be right. I mean, I know the truth, but what about when I’m an old lady, senile and unable to defend you!”
Jim did not laugh, though he felt like it. He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Rory. The story will get told. Your uncle has been working on it for years.”
“Uncle?” Derek Hagen looked from one to the other, then nodded. “Oh. You must mean your former partner, Gordon.”
“He’s still my partner,” Jim said mildly. Something about this fellow was irksome, perhaps only the way he kept looking at Rory. Hagen seemed to be insinuating that simply because they no longer worked together, Artemus Gordon and James West were no longer even friends. Whether he actually meant that or not…
“Of course he is. But he was involved in all your exploits. There may come a time when people will read his account—if it is ever published—and toss it aside as biased. He may even exaggerate his own activities to the detriment of yours. Now if….”
Carefully, Jim West placed his coffee cup and saucer on the small table beside his chair, then rose. He saw Rory’s alarmed glance, and the surprise in Hagen’s blue eyes. “Mr. Hagen, I thank you for your interest in this matter. I fully rely on and trust Mr. Gordon to present the incidents truthfully and, therefore, no other book will be needed. Especially not in competition with his. This is a working farm, and I am a working man. Allow me to see you to the door.” He quelled the temptation to simply walk away. He did not want to leave Hagen behind alone with Rory.
“Rory, will you get Mr. Hagen’s hat please?”
“Daddy,” Rory began, but saw the implacable expression on her father’s face. Her anger stirred, but she obeyed his order, rising to go to the hat tree in the foyer to procure the fine fedora. She knew that she would see Derek Hagen again. Fate will not be so cruel as to deny us! However, in the meanwhile, her father simply had to understand that she was not a child.
Rory smiled warmly at the man as he strolled down the paved stone path toward the gate and his waiting buggy, then waved as he drove off. As soon as he was on his way, she spun and raced back through the house, catching up with her father in the kitchen.
“Daddy!”
Jim paused with his hand on the screened door. Hannah was at the stove. She turned to watch, dark face somber. She had witnessed too many of these scenes.
“What is it, Rory?” Jim asked quietly.
“You were… rude! Terribly rude!”
Jim tipped his head to one side. “Was I? Seemed to me, he was the rude one, interrupting my day’s schedule without a previous appointment. He’s not the first man to approach me on this subject, Rory. But every other one has written to me first.”
“And you always wrote back with a refusal. I think Mr. Hagen was being very… very clever by not giving you the opportunity to say no without hearing him out.”
“I didn’t like what he said. I didn’t have to hear anymore.”
“Daddy, not everyone understands you and Uncle Artie. I mean, your friendship…”
“Which is why Uncle Artie is writing the book and not some hack writer.”
“Hack writer! Daddy, he’s a journalist! He worked for a New York newspaper! At such a young age…”
“Young? He’s probably thirty-five.” Jim glanced toward the housekeeper, saw her raised brows. Hannah agreed with him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped back. “I’m sure he’s not thirty. Probably closer to twenty-five. I think he’s truly the most attractive man I ever met. And he likes me. I can tell.”
“What about Jamie?” Jim asked then. “I thought you…”
Rory made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Jamie is nice. He’s more like… like a brother. He’s such a boy!”
“Rory, I realize Hagen is a very attractive man. But he’s nearly twice your age. Trust me.”
“Trust you!” Rory screeched. “The only thing I’d trust you with is to ruin my life! Daddy! It’s almost the twentieth century! I’m a woman, not a little girl, and things have changed for women. We do have brains. I can make decisions and judgments!”
Jim kept his voice level. “Hagen was flirting with you, I know. But you’ve got to understand, Rory, he was doing it because he hoped you would influence me.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Because I’m such an ugly hag, I suppose!”
“Of course, you know that’s not true,” Jim rejoined sharply. “I’m very aware that you are nearly nineteen. But as long as you live under my roof, you’re going to obey my orders. I won’t have you being chased by a man like that! Or for you to pursue him!”
Her green eyes were eyes of fire. “I know you hate me, Daddy. And I hate you!”
Jim West watched his daughter flee from the kitchen., then took a step to follow her before Hannah spoke. “Don’t, Mr. Jim. You know why she’s so upset? Because she knows deep down that you’re right. That man is closer to forty than to twenty-five! He’s one of those fellows that unless you look real close, that baby-face makes him look much younger.”
Hannah laughed softly before she continued. “Goodness, I remember my daddy telling me the same thing about the rules of his house when I was going to run off and marry Hector Parrish back in Arkansas. I didn’t like what Papa said about Hector, but I think way down deep inside, I knew it was true. He was a four-flusher, a cheat, a womanizer… I obeyed my father, and on his deathbed, I thanked him for saving me.”
Jim smiled ruefully. “I hope I don’t have to wait until I’m ninety before Rory realizes I might have a brain cell or two.”
Hannah laughed merrily. “Don’t you fret, Mr. Jim. That girl ain’t dumb. And don’t you believe her when she starts that ‘I hate you’ stuff. All kids do that.”
Jim thanked the housekeeper for her encouragement, and continued out the back door. Hannah was likely right, it would all blow over. Yet, every time something like this happened between him and his daughter, a new little hole seemed to be torn in his soul. He saw how both India and Jamie adored their parents, and displayed it often. Rory never behaved that way with him. As a small child, she had been somewhat more affectionate, but the older she got, the worse things had become. She…
He halted halfway to the barn to watch the farm wagon approaching at a fairly rapid pace. Faster than usual. The man holding the reins was half standing as he worked guided the team. Jim walked swiftly out to meet him. “José? What’s wrong?” They could not have finished with the fence yet.
The stocky Mexican jumped down after halting the team. “Señor West, I thought you should know… we saw some men hiding in the eucalyptus grove.”
Jim had warned his foreman to be on the alert for strangers and prowlers, although he had not given him all the details. “You sure it wasn’t just vagrants?”
“Very sure. Skinny and I walked out toward them, and the men, they ran. No campfires.”
Jim knew what he meant. Tramps had been known to occasionally hang out in that pleasant grove on the far northern edge of his property, but if they did, especially if there overnight, they built a fire. “See any of them close enough to get a description?”
“No. Like I said, soon as they saw us coming, they ran for their horses.”
Jim West nodded. Another clue that they weren’t the usual vagrants. “How many?”
“At least three.”
“Might be nothing. But… saddle my horse, José. I’ll go tell Hannah where I’m going.” He had also warned the housekeeper to be alert. Maybe the time had come to tell Rory about Loveless. No, not yet. Not until he was sure the danger was real.
Rory was standing at the open window of her room, allowing the breeze to cool her skin and her temper, when she saw her father riding out alongside José Morales, the farm’s head man. The pace they were riding indicated some urgency. She had seen José driving in with the wagon, and thought he was coming a bit rapidly, but really had not considered it much. Other things were on her mind.
Even now, as the two riders disappeared beyond the nearest orchard, her thoughts returned to the situation at hand. Daddy was wrong. So very wrong. Derek Hagen was not that old. Was he? She thought hard about the man who had been smiling at her in the parlor such a short while ago. Funny, she mostly remembered the smile and the blue of his eyes. Goodness, would she even recognize him if she saw him on the street?
Slim chance of such an encounter happening! Daddy was not usually so unfair. Surely he understood that Mr. Hagen was a young man trying to launch his career. James West had been in that position once. His talent as an agent had been recognized by General, later President, Grant, and his career had taken wing, to the point that he became the most recognized, respected, and feared agent in the United States’ service. A book about such a man would bring fame and fortune to the writer.
Naturally, she had known that Uncle Artemus was penning such a book. She had heard her father and Artemus Gordon discussing it several times over the last several years. But he was taking so long! Quite possibly, Mr. Hagen’s statement was correct, that the story would be slanted…
Rory shook her head physically, turning away from the window. No, Uncle Artemus would never do that. Mr. Hagen had made that comment in desperation. He did not mean it, certainly. Perhaps if he apologized Daddy would understand, and talk to him further. But how can I tell Mr. Hagen that? I don’t know how to contact him!
She found herself at her vanity, staring into the mirror there, at her own reflection, seeing the green eyes gazing back at her. Suddenly, Rory remembered the first time she had ever seen the man with the nearly identically green eyes, the day Mrs. Barrow came to fetch her, telling her that her daddy had come to take her with him.
Rory had been told that her mama had gone to heaven. She had not been entirely sure, at that age, what that had meant, although she remembered an old dog they had had who had suddenly not been around anymore. Mama had told her that old Spike had “gone to heaven.” As far as little Rory had been concerned, Spike was just gone. And now Mama was gone. Rory had known her mother was very ill. Mama had told her that she would be going away. “But your daddy will come for you, Rory. He will take care of you. He’s an honorable man.”
“Honorable” really had no meaning to a four-year-old, other than Mama thought it was good. Having lived her first four years in virtual isolation with her mother, Rory had been more curious than apprehensive to meet this “daddy” who would take care of her. She was not even certain what a “daddy” was. So she had allowed Mrs. Barrow to lead her into the front room of the house in Antelope Wells, where she saw for the first time the handsome man with the green eyes. Her own eyes. Suddenly panicked, she broke free to race back into the little room she had been sharing with Mrs. Barrow’s daughter, to the mirror on the wall. Only when she looked in that mirror and saw that her own eyes were still there did the panic subside. The new daddy had not stolen them out of her head.
She had never told anyone the story, not even her father. She thought he would laugh, not making fun of her, but in enjoyment. He had such a wonderful laugh. Yet she had not told him. She did not know why.
THE NIGHT OF THE DEVIL’S REUNION
[/center]“He hates me! He wishes I’d never been born! He wishes I’d been a boy to follow in his footsteps!”
Lily Fortune Gordon lowered the embroidery hoop to her lap to look up at the young woman leaning disconsolately against the porch railing, head down, gazing toward the lushly blooming roses on the ground below, but obviously not seeing them. “Rory….”
Aurora Allan West whirled, green eyes sparkling with both anger and near tears. “It’s true, Aunt Lily. I know it is! He won’t let me do anything I want to. All my friends are traveling this summer. Daddy doesn’t trust me to be out of his sight!” She had asked, begged, to be allowed to join in the excursion her girlfriends had told her about.
“That’s not true, Rory, and you know it,” Lily said quietly as she gazed at the young woman. Rory would be nineteen in a few weeks. She was maturing into a very beautiful woman, with rich dark hair that was currently piled into a bun at the top of her fine head, fastened with clips and combs. Her rosy mouth was perfectly proportioned for her face, as was her nose, though the chin was a tad prominent. Rory’s father claimed that her mother had possessed that same stubborn chin.
Lily thought it amusing that Rory had chosen to don a frock today. She had been residing with the Gordon family while her father was attending a special conference in Mexico, and except for the few times when the family went into town or another excursion, Rory had stuck to her favorite trousers and cotton shirt. Today she wore a white lawn gown trimmed in eyelet lace and a shiny emerald green sash around the slim waist. Did Rory believe that no one else was aware that her father had purchased that dress for her the week before he departed?
Rory surely was not the soul of tact. She had barely said hello to her father when she bombarded him with the request to accompany some friends on a trek to spend a few days on Catalina Island in southern California. Jim’s first response had been to inquire who else was going. Then he asked who would be the chaperone. Rory’s reply that the older sister of one girl would be accompanying them sealed the deal. That young woman’s reputation for reliability was not the best. Lily had tried to explain that to Rory, but Rory could not see anything except her father’s cruel refusal. Lily was also certain that when the two friends had been visiting yesterday to tell Rory about the excursion and invite her along, Rory had assured them she would certainly accompany them, allowing them to believe the decision was her own. Now she was going to suffer the humiliation of telling them her father forbade it.
The years had been kind to Lily Fortune Gordon. She still had her figure, if not quite the waistline she once possessed before the birth of two children, while her lovely face revealed few lines. The dark hair was liberally silvered, but her devoted husband stated those gleaming hairs were simply the reward of having been a loving wife and superb mother, that they were now her crown. Just a few months ago one of her former acting colleagues had visited California and tried to persuade her to return to the stage, even suggesting she would not be relegated to the roles of “matron” because her appearance was still so youthful. Lily had declined; like her husband, her life now was here on the farm, among the acres of orchards.
“Your father allows you to attend the university…” she went on.
Rory threw her hands in the air. “Because he wants to be rid of me!”
Over on the glider beyond the steps, India Gordon snickered. “Make up your mind, Rory. Either he is refusing permission for you to travel because he doesn’t want you out of his sight, or he sent you off to Stanford because he hates the sight of you.”
Rory West glared at her nearly four-years-younger “cousin.” “You don’t understand, India. Your parents love you and understand you.”
As India rolled her big brown eyes, Lily laughed softly. “That’s not what India often tells us. Rory, please understand. Your father is… being a father did not come naturally to him. You know you were a… a surprise.”
“And he resents me for disrupting his wonderful life!” Rory screeched before marching into the big house through the screened door, allowing it to slam loudly behind her.
W*W*W*W*W
James West looked toward the big white house as the banging sound reverberated in the early summer air. “If she broke that door, it comes out of her allowance.”
Artemus Gordon chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Artie knew that Jim had real difficulty refusing his daughter anything, let alone disciplining her.
Jim leaned his back against the fence of the corral where the two men had been watching the antics of the new black colt, a grandson of the magnificent black silk stallion who had served Jim West so well for many years. They had just been discussing a horse swap. “How do you do it, Artie? It’s been nearly fifteen years, and I still don’t have the hang of it.”
“Jim, you’ve done fine. Rory is a spirited young woman, that’s all.”
“I guess.” Jim looked toward the house again. Upstairs, in the front bedroom Rory used when she stayed here with the Gordons, a curtain moved. “She never has truly accepted me, Artie. She still resents the fact that I left her mother alone, seemingly deserted her to die. Rory won’t believe me when I tell her I did not know about her until it was too late.”
“She’s just going through a phase. You probably remember a time when you wanted to be treated like a child, taken care of and cosseted, yet you also wanted to be looked upon as a man, free and independent. I know we had that with Jamie, and it’s coming for India. She already shows the signs. Nevertheless, I’m still not sure you’re doing the right thing by not telling her the truth about what’s going on,” Artie added quietly.
“Have you told India?”
“Well… no. Not yet. Both Lily and Jamie agree that it’s best not to concern her right now. But I will tell her if the need arises, if we get word of sightings in the area.”
“Rory is so damned… she’s like her mother, Artie. Stubborn as all get-out. Wants her independence.” Especially from me. She can’t wait to get away.
“I know,” Artemus murmured, and prevented himself from smiling. He could have added that Aurora West also took after her father. He reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’ll pass, Jim. I promise.”
Sometimes, Artemus found himself experiencing a pang of surprise when gazing at his longtime friend. The white threads in the smooth dark hair and the trim mustache should not be there because otherwise James West was the same man he had been twenty, twenty-five years ago. Still trim and athletic, with only deepened sun lines at the corners of his eyes that might betray his age. Artemus knew Jim kept fit by working alongside his field hands in the vineyard and orchards on the farm across the valley that he had purchased a couple of years ago after finally retiring from the service.
Not quite twenty-four years ago, Artemus Gordon had finally persuaded the love of his life, actress Lily Fortune, to marry him, much to her mother’s dismay. However, the late Prudence Fortune Peters had been too busy at the time being happily married to her new, younger bridegroom to raise too much of a fuss. Artemus had reversed some of Lily’s previously stated objections by assuring her that he did not expect her to sit at home and knit while he was traveling the country as a Secret Service agent. He was not ready to retire, so why should he expect her to?
Thus, Lily had continued with her career, as did Artemus. Whenever their schedules coincided, they lived together at the home he purchased near Washington, D.C. Only when she became pregnant did Lily quit the stage temporarily. As soon as she felt comfortable leaving young James Artemus Gordon with a nanny she resumed her acting, though she did try to limit her appearances to theaters in the local area. Five years later, after the birth of India, Lily decided she would rather stay home, so she retired from the stage. A few years after that, Artemus turned in his resignation, at which time they purchased the California orchards to raise plums and apricots.
Jim West turned to look back at the colt, who was now nursing from its mother. “What do we do about Loveless, Artie?”
Jim once had told Artemus Gordon that the nearly snow-white hair suited him, but realized that Artie did not exactly consider that a compliment. When a beard he attempted also emerged pure white, Gordon had quickly abandoned it. Too many children addressed him as “Santa Claus” despite he did not have the girth for the role. Always youthful in attitude, perhaps the only other foremost sign of his years were the spectacles Artemus now needed to read the newspaper.
Jim’s former partner and still friend sighed and shook his head. “I don't know, Jim. Just be alert. It might be a false alarm.”
“No,” Jim said, shaking his head. “I’ve never believed he was dead. My gut tells me he’s out there.”
“Then where has he been the last fifteen, sixteen years? Man like Miguelito Loveless doesn’t drop from sight that long.”
“He might have,” West replied. “He managed to do that for shorter periods previously. Although the official version was that he died in a fire that was too hot to even leave any bones, if he did not die, he could have been injured. That was one hell of an explosion.”
Both he and Artemus bore scars from that blast which had occurred when, in his reckless desire to incapacitate and capture the two agents, Loveless foolishly tried to hurry a reaction which would have created a paralyzing gas. Hearing the shrieked warnings of the imminent danger from Loveless’s assistant, James West and Artemus Gordon had fled the building. Both were hurled to the ground by the force of the explosion, and actually had been rendered unconscious for a short spell. Upon awakening, they found the structure fully engulfed, the chemicals inside fueling the ultra-hot flames. Loveless was never found, never seen again… until recent information indicated he was on the scene once more.
Artemus did not protest his partner’s statement. Over the years, he had always sensed an odd connection between James West and Miguelito Loveless, almost as though they liked rather than loathed each other. Loveless had tried numerous times to murder the both of them, but his particular hatred had always been directed toward Jim West. Artie was certain that Loveless envied Jim’s strong body and handsome features, items nature had denied Loveless in some quirk of fate or genetics.
Jim glanced up toward the sun. “I guess I’d better drag my daughter to her hated home.”
Now Artie had to laugh out loud. “It’s not that bad, Jim. I have to tell you, she was up at the crack of dawn this morning, and at least three times asked me what time your train was expected in San Jose.”
“Because she was anticipating the gift I would be bringing.” He had, as usual, brought her a special present, this time a beautiful fringed shawl handcrafted in Mexico City. “I’m sure you noticed the wonderful, warm greeting she extended,” Jim said sourly as they started walking back toward the house. His daughter had been on the sofa in the parlor perusing a catalog. She glanced up, said, “Hello, Daddy,” and resumed her reading. He had been absent three weeks. He knew this was her way of punishing him, and damn it, she was successful. A few minutes later she started into her harangue about “needing” to go on this trip with friends. Artemus and Lily supported his decision, but that did not carry any weight with Rory.
Artemus was silent a moment. “You are, of course, aware that Jamie is crazy about Rory.”
Jim chuckled. “He can’t hide it.” Then he sobered, shaking his head. “I wish him luck. Rory has already told me a couple of times that she has no intention to ever marry. God help the man if he convinces her to change her mind.”
Artemus did not say anything further. He and Lily had discussed this often over the years, especially when Rory had been all but living with them while Jim continued his duties as an agent, before finally taking on a desk job—the job that eventually brought him to the decision to leave the service. Jim still acted as a consultant to the agency, thus the occasional lengthy trips. Both concurred that the biggest problem was that father and daughter were too much alike in temperament, with Rory perhaps having inherited a double dose by way of her mother.
Neither Artemus nor Lily had ever met Margaret Allan. In fact, Artie had been almost as stunned as Jim to learn that Margaret had borne Jim’s child. He had been under the impression that the woman who saved Jim West’s life by tending to his serious gunshot wound had been a much older woman. That had been the perception Jim had presented, anyway. Artemus had later come to the conclusion that Jim had become more emotionally involved with Margaret than he cared to admit, even to himself.
A little over twenty years ago, the two agents had been assigned to look into some gun smuggling in New Mexico Territory, near the Mexican border. Deciding to separate, with Artemus going in disguise while Jim presented his credentials publicly, they had been making progress on the case when Jim suddenly vanished. Not even his horse was found. After a couple of weeks of searching, a heartbroken Gordon had had to conclude that his partner had been murdered, his body hidden somewhere, the fine black horse likely commandeered.
Nearly two months after he disappeared, Jim emerged. He had been shot and gravely wounded from ambush, had escaped by clinging to his horse. The steed had carried him deep into the rugged mountains in the vicinity, until coming upon a remote cabin which happened to be occupied by a “widow” who took him in, nursed him back to health. Jim had presented the notion in his tale that the “old lady” was something of an eccentric who did not want nor welcome visitors, living by herself in the wilderness. He had discouraged Artemus from going to see her to express gratitude.
Almost five years later, James West received a letter that rocked his world and changed his life forever. He then had to confess to Artie and Lily that the “widow” had been young and comely, though fiercely independent. She had fled into the wilderness following the death of her abusive, duplicitous husband, shying from the civilization that had not helped her escape her miserable circumstances, to live by herself, reading and painting. She traveled to the nearest town, Antelope Wells, only rarely to pick up supplies.
With the receipt of the letter, Jim also admitted that as his health returned, in the confines of the small cabin, the inevitable had occurred, he and Margaret Allan had become intimate. He had tried to persuade her to return to civilization with him, she adamantly refused. Jim had never gone back to see her, as both had agreed that would probably be best. Jim also claimed he had not been in love with Margaret Allan, but he had admired her greatly.
The letter informed Jim that Margaret Allan was very ill, likely dying. James West needed to return to claim his daughter. Although not entirely convinced he had fathered the child, Jim had traveled to New Mexico. He had been too late to see Margaret; she passed away two days before his arrival. He later told Artemus that his skepticism about the child remained until the woman caring for young Rory brought her into his presence. The moment he saw the green eyes, he knew. He related, however, that the instant the four-year-old saw him, she fled the room in terror.
He brought the frightened child back to Washington, where Lily willingly took her in, even though with an infant of her own on the way. Jim eventually rented a home, hired a housekeeper, and brought Rory home to live with him when he was not in the field. He had hoped that doing so would help heal the rift between them. As far as Jim West was concerned, the effort had been a failure. Rory continued to resent him for what she perceived he did to her mother. As soon as she was able, she would be gone from his life forever.
“Would you go fetch Rory for me, India?” Jim asked as they reached the porch.
“Sure, Uncle Jim,” the girl cried, bouncing up off the glider.
At that moment, the screened door pushed open. “I’m here, Daddy,” Rory said, stepping out.
Lily glanced at her handsome husband, and caught the gleam in his brown eyes. Both of them thought that the fact that Rory always addressed her parent as “Daddy,” rather than the more formal “Father,” meant something, consciously or unconsciously. They knew that Rory West was very proud of her famous father, though they doubted she had ever told him, anymore than he had ever told his daughter how he adored her. Two stubborn people, peas from the same pod, so to speak.
Silently Jim stepped in through the door to pick up his daughter’s wicker traveling case. He had bought it for her in Bolivia a few years ago when he went to that country on an assignment. Though she never said anything except “thank you” upon accepting the gift, he did notice that she used it almost exclusively when traveling. She had taken it with her to Stanford University, along with a trunk full of other “necessities,” when she attended that institution the last two years. Well, it’s a nice case. Why wouldn’t she use it?
As he came back out onto the porch, Rory was giving her adopted aunt and uncle a farewell embrace, thanking them for their hospitality. Lily kissed her cheek. “I’ll telephone you soon to give you the details of Jamie’s birthday party.”
“You’re right,” Artemus said, with mock severity, “you will telephone. I’ll not go near that contraption!”
Jim and Lily laughed. Ever since the lines had been strung that allowed telephones in many of the homes in the valley, Artemus had resisted using the instrument except in the most dire situation. “I don’t see why we needed such a thing,” he grumbled more than once. “What was wrong with the telegraph? What’s wrong with letters, or better yet, face-to-face?”
“And don’t forget,” Lily went on, “the Ladies of the G.A.R. picnic.” She saw Jim West barely refrain from rolling his eyes. This was something she and her husband laughed about often. James West had at one time loved donning his best attire and attending fetes, galas, any sort of social occasion. Slowly but surely that attitude altered after his daughter came into his life. The only ones he enjoyed any these days were the ones where Rory was also involved, which was certainly the case with the picnic, a fundraising affair that would be held in the Gordons’ garden.
“We’ll be here!” Rory responded enthusiastically.
Jim put the case in the back of the buggy as Rory clambered into the seat, disdaining to wait until a male could assist her. She was at least wearing a dress today, and he recognized the frock. Not for him, Jim was certain. Likely she had expected Jamie to be around today. The Gordons’ son was visiting a friend in San Francisco and was due back any moment. Whenever possible, Rory preferred to wear boys’ trousers, in particular when she was riding horseback around the valley. She thought sidesaddles were foolish and uncomfortable. But despite her denials that Jamie Gordon was anything other than a friend and “cousin,” Jim had noticed that Rory often dressed her best when the young man was around.
India Gordon moved to stand beside her father on the porch, wrapping both her arms around his waist as they watched the carriage depart. Artemus rested his arm around her shoulders. “Papa,” India ask, “why is Rory so all-fired idiotic?”
Artie chuckled. “She’s no more idiotic than her father, honey. Neither one is going to be the first to bend.”
“I think they are also cowards,” Lily said as she gathered her sewing into the small case.
India looked around. “Cowards? What do you mean, Mom?”
“Each is afraid that to speak first would open themselves up to rejection, and perhaps ridicule, from the other.”
“I think you mother is right,” Artemus said slowly. “I know Jim West. He never was one for showing his emotions. We know they care for each other. Deep down, I’m sure each of them realizes it as well. But saying it aloud…”
“Let’s just hope,” Lily Gordon said softly, “that they come to their senses before it’s too late.”
W*W*W*W*W
“Did you do anything interesting these last few weeks?” Jim West asked to break the silence that settled between himself and his daughter as he guided the horse down the long dirt lane.
“Not really. India and I went to see a performance in San Jose. A poetry reading. I enjoyed it, but I’m afraid India did not really appreciate it. She is so young, Daddy.”
Jim bit back a smile. Over the years, the two girls had been best friends, but sometimes the age gap was very evident. In a few more years hence, he knew, it would disappear entirely. “Uncle Artemus mentioned you went to the shore.”
“Yes. We did that. We took a picnic to the beach at Capitola. It was quite nice, though very foggy on that day. I don’t mind the fog. I think I’d like to live on the shore one day.”
Jim almost pointed out to her that he had asked her, when considering buying property in California, whether she would prefer to live on the ocean side of the mountains. At that time she had expressed a wish to be as near as possible to her Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus. What she was saying now, he decided miserably, was that she planned to live on the shore one day without her father.
“Was your trip successful, Daddy?”
“As much as such a trip can be, hon. All-day meetings.”
“Well, it’s nice that they still respect your opinions after all this time.”
“Hey, you talk like I’m an old man!”
Her green eyes widened. “Well, gosh, Daddy, you are almost sixty!”
Jim laughed. He always enjoyed when she teased him, and he thought she enjoyed the moments too. In some ways it reminded him of himself and Artemus, always joking, almost as a cover for their real affection for each other. Yet he was never sure with Rory. Never had been, wondered if he would ever be. She rarely mentioned her mother now, but in her younger days her best weapon had been her accusation that he had deserted Margaret Allan, left her alone with a baby, and then to die.
Early on, after her initial shyness faded away, Rory had been rather demonstrative, always willing to share a hug, sit on his lap while he read and story to her. As time went on, perhaps as she became more cognizant of what had occurred between him and her mother, she began to ask more questions and throw accusations his way. Worse, no matter how he answered those questions and accusations, she never appeared to accept them as the truth. As far as Rory was concerned, James West was responsible for the death of her mother. Over the years, the situation had grown worse and worse.
I know I’ve spoiled her. Maybe Lily was right when she once asked me if I was trying to buy Rory’s love. But I can’t help it. I love her so dearly. I’d give her the moon in a golden bowl if it was possible. If only I could tell her. No, perhaps what I mean is, if only I could convince her. I don’t know if Rory will ever comprehend how I truly feel about her.
Aurora West stole a look at her father. He was such a handsome man. When he visited her at the university, all the other girls gaped in admiration, and were envious of her. Both Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus had told her that James West had always been popular with the ladies, and no wonder. He had looks and he had charm. At any social function he attended here, widows and spinsters vied for his attention. Even her mother had, apparently, succumbed to his allure. But why had Jim West not married Margaret Allan?
“Look there,” Jim said, calling his daughter’s attention to the vehicle on the road ahead of them.
“For heaven’s sake, what’s that?” Rory stared at the big closed-in wagon, like a box on wheels, grandly decorated with carved wooden furbelows and brightly painted pictures of flowers, elves, and toadstools. “A circus wagon?”
“Not likely. I think there’d be others if it was with a circus.” He guided the light buggy alongside to pass the big wagon, nodded to the heavyset man at the reins. “Maybe a peddler’s wagon, though they usually have a name and perhaps a picture of a product on the side.”
“A gypsy wagon?” Rory leaned around the bonnet to peer back at the plodding vehicle.
“That’s possible, though I haven’t heard of gypsies in this part of California recently. Maybe just someone who likes boldly painted wagons.”
W*W*W*W*W
Inside the wagon, the shrunken figure of a man sidled away from the peephole and settled back on a soft chair, easing his aching legs by stretching them out on the ottoman. Thoughtfully, he lit a big cigar, and watched the smoke swirl above his head. So that’s Mr. West’s daughter. Not surprising she is a beauty. Young and beautiful. James West is surely very proud of her, as well as fond, despite the circumstances. After all these years, I have found the perfect weapon to use against Mr. West. Even better than his partner. Aurora West is his blood. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Miguelito Loveless laughed, a cackling sound that reverberated in the small enclosure of the wagon. He knew he had done the right thing by staying out of sight all these years. Revenge was going to be all the sweeter for it.
W*W*W*W*W
Rory was descending the stairs when she heard the knock on the front door. “I’ll get it, Hannah!” she called toward the dining room where the housekeeper was busily dusting. They were not expecting guests, so very likely the caller was José or one of the hands. Rory always experienced an odd sense of pride that her father did not insist that the hired help use only the back entrances.
Thus, when she open the large heavy door, Aurora West was quite surprised to encounter a tall, blond, and very handsome young man with sky-blue eyes and a winning smile as he swept his hat off. “How do you do. I apologize in advance for the intrusion, but do I have the home of Mr. James West?”
Rory swallowed hard in a vain attempt to still her thudding heart. “Yes. Yes, you do. Mister….?
The smile increased. “My name is Derek Hagen. I’m a journalist. I’m hoping that Mr. West will allow me to write a book on his experiences.”
“Oh.” Rory was sure she knew the answer to that. Nonetheless, she could not allow this Adonis to escape that easily. “I… I don’t know. I’m his daughter. Aurora. I mean, they call me Rory.” She was babbling and she could not stop under his amused but admiring gaze. He was, she decided, in his late twenties. No older, surely. “Please come in. I’ll… I’ll find Daddy… I mean, my father.”
Rory escorted the visitor into the first parlor, wishing mightily that she had chosen to don a dress this morning rather than her trousers. She had seen the blue eyes sweep over her—though with no less appreciation—from her dusty boots to the shiny dark hair, which was trailing down her back today, held by a clasp at the back of her neck. She remembered to pause in the dining room to inform Hannah of the visitor and ask for coffee, then dashed out the back door.
“Daddy,” she cried breathlessly upon finding her parent where she expected, where she had been planning to join him, in the barn shoveling manure out of the stalls, “you have a visitor!”
Jim West halted his labors and rubbed his shirtsleeve across his perspiring forehead. “Yeah? Uncle Artemus?” Artie had promised to come by to discuss the Loveless problem further.
“No. His name is Derek Hagen, he’s a journalist, and he wants to write a book about you!”
Unfortunately her parent reacted just as she expected. He shook his head and picked up the pitchfork again. “Tell him thanks but no thanks.”
“Daddy! You can at least talk to him. That would be the polite thing to do.”
Curiosity, more than her plea to his gentlemanly nature, caused Jim West to lean the pitchfork against a stable wall and follow Rory back to the house. At her insistence, he paused in the kitchen to wash up as best he could, and even rolled his sleeves down, though he could discern that she wished he would race upstairs and don his best suit.
The man was comfortably seated in the first parlor, another indication that he was an honored guest insofar as Rory was concerned. Artemus and Lily, and others of their neighbors, always headed for the less formal room they called the “second parlor” on the opposite side of the foyer, where they could feel more at ease with its comfortable furnishings. Jim had furnished the “first parlor” with finer goods, on Hannah’s advice. The room had been used on few occasions to entertain rather highly placed guests.
Rory eagerly made the introductions and Hagen shook Jim’s hand heartily. “Mr. West, I can’t tell you what an honor this is. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hagen. My daughter tells me you are a journalist.” Jim did not miss how Rory’s green eyes were fixed on the fine-looking fellow.
“Yes, sir. Lately, I have been an employee of the New York Mirror, but I retired from that paper and emigrated west, feeling I would find more opportunities here. I have thus far not obtained employment on a western newspaper, but one editor I spoke to suggested that if I could get an interview with James West, and convince him to allow me to write his story… well, I’m sure you understand.”
Before Jim could respond, Hannah entered bearing a tray of cups and a silver carafe. “Miss Rory asked for coffee,” she said, a smile on her round dark face indicating she also understood why the young lady of the house wished to impress.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Jim said, with a nod. He had hired Hannah when they relocated to California. She had soon come to the conclusion that Mr. West and his daughter could not manage without her. At times Jim was pretty sure she was right. Next to Lily, Hannah had become the most important older woman in Rory’s life. The housekeeper had traveled to visit kin in southern California during Jim’s recent trip to Mexico, which had been the primary reason why Rory spent the three weeks with the Gordon family.
The coffee seemed to require that they all sit down. Rory poured and served it, wishing again that today of all days she had not chosen to wear her normal working attire. They had had no idea that a visitor would arrive, especially one so devastatingly handsome.
“Mr. West,” Hagen said once his coffee was properly sweetened, “I was told that you are very recalcitrant about publicity. But you must understand, your exploits are legendary. A book would be extremely popular… and bring in a fine sum for all of us.”
“I’m not interested in the money,” Jim replied tersely.
“Wouldn’t you like to leave a legacy for your lovely daughter?”
“This property will be her legacy.”
“Mr. West, forgive me, but I’m talking about a different sort of legacy. The truth about your adventures. Many stories are out there, some published in newspapers, some not. It’s the ones that are not, the ones that are simply circulated, that tend to warp the truth. For now, your reputation continues to be sterling. However, we all know what often occurs after a man has gone to his earthly reward. Dastardly money grubbers attempt to cash in on that reputation by soiling it, hinting at scandalous activities, merely to sell newspapers, or books. Do you want your legacy to be tarnished by that means?”
“To be frank, Mr. Hagen, I don’t really care. I’ll be gone. No, I have no interest in leaving any sort of personal memoir.”
Hagen was not to be dissuaded so easily. He leaned forward slightly. “Mr. West, consider your daughter, her children, her children’s children. Don’t you want them to be able to hold their heads up when they claim you as their ancestor?”
Rory, sitting beside Jim on the couch, clutched his arm. “Daddy! Um… Father, Mr. Hagen may be right. I mean, I know the truth, but what about when I’m an old lady, senile and unable to defend you!”
Jim did not laugh, though he felt like it. He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Rory. The story will get told. Your uncle has been working on it for years.”
“Uncle?” Derek Hagen looked from one to the other, then nodded. “Oh. You must mean your former partner, Gordon.”
“He’s still my partner,” Jim said mildly. Something about this fellow was irksome, perhaps only the way he kept looking at Rory. Hagen seemed to be insinuating that simply because they no longer worked together, Artemus Gordon and James West were no longer even friends. Whether he actually meant that or not…
“Of course he is. But he was involved in all your exploits. There may come a time when people will read his account—if it is ever published—and toss it aside as biased. He may even exaggerate his own activities to the detriment of yours. Now if….”
Carefully, Jim West placed his coffee cup and saucer on the small table beside his chair, then rose. He saw Rory’s alarmed glance, and the surprise in Hagen’s blue eyes. “Mr. Hagen, I thank you for your interest in this matter. I fully rely on and trust Mr. Gordon to present the incidents truthfully and, therefore, no other book will be needed. Especially not in competition with his. This is a working farm, and I am a working man. Allow me to see you to the door.” He quelled the temptation to simply walk away. He did not want to leave Hagen behind alone with Rory.
“Rory, will you get Mr. Hagen’s hat please?”
“Daddy,” Rory began, but saw the implacable expression on her father’s face. Her anger stirred, but she obeyed his order, rising to go to the hat tree in the foyer to procure the fine fedora. She knew that she would see Derek Hagen again. Fate will not be so cruel as to deny us! However, in the meanwhile, her father simply had to understand that she was not a child.
Rory smiled warmly at the man as he strolled down the paved stone path toward the gate and his waiting buggy, then waved as he drove off. As soon as he was on his way, she spun and raced back through the house, catching up with her father in the kitchen.
“Daddy!”
Jim paused with his hand on the screened door. Hannah was at the stove. She turned to watch, dark face somber. She had witnessed too many of these scenes.
“What is it, Rory?” Jim asked quietly.
“You were… rude! Terribly rude!”
Jim tipped his head to one side. “Was I? Seemed to me, he was the rude one, interrupting my day’s schedule without a previous appointment. He’s not the first man to approach me on this subject, Rory. But every other one has written to me first.”
“And you always wrote back with a refusal. I think Mr. Hagen was being very… very clever by not giving you the opportunity to say no without hearing him out.”
“I didn’t like what he said. I didn’t have to hear anymore.”
“Daddy, not everyone understands you and Uncle Artie. I mean, your friendship…”
“Which is why Uncle Artie is writing the book and not some hack writer.”
“Hack writer! Daddy, he’s a journalist! He worked for a New York newspaper! At such a young age…”
“Young? He’s probably thirty-five.” Jim glanced toward the housekeeper, saw her raised brows. Hannah agreed with him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped back. “I’m sure he’s not thirty. Probably closer to twenty-five. I think he’s truly the most attractive man I ever met. And he likes me. I can tell.”
“What about Jamie?” Jim asked then. “I thought you…”
Rory made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Jamie is nice. He’s more like… like a brother. He’s such a boy!”
“Rory, I realize Hagen is a very attractive man. But he’s nearly twice your age. Trust me.”
“Trust you!” Rory screeched. “The only thing I’d trust you with is to ruin my life! Daddy! It’s almost the twentieth century! I’m a woman, not a little girl, and things have changed for women. We do have brains. I can make decisions and judgments!”
Jim kept his voice level. “Hagen was flirting with you, I know. But you’ve got to understand, Rory, he was doing it because he hoped you would influence me.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Because I’m such an ugly hag, I suppose!”
“Of course, you know that’s not true,” Jim rejoined sharply. “I’m very aware that you are nearly nineteen. But as long as you live under my roof, you’re going to obey my orders. I won’t have you being chased by a man like that! Or for you to pursue him!”
Her green eyes were eyes of fire. “I know you hate me, Daddy. And I hate you!”
Jim West watched his daughter flee from the kitchen., then took a step to follow her before Hannah spoke. “Don’t, Mr. Jim. You know why she’s so upset? Because she knows deep down that you’re right. That man is closer to forty than to twenty-five! He’s one of those fellows that unless you look real close, that baby-face makes him look much younger.”
Hannah laughed softly before she continued. “Goodness, I remember my daddy telling me the same thing about the rules of his house when I was going to run off and marry Hector Parrish back in Arkansas. I didn’t like what Papa said about Hector, but I think way down deep inside, I knew it was true. He was a four-flusher, a cheat, a womanizer… I obeyed my father, and on his deathbed, I thanked him for saving me.”
Jim smiled ruefully. “I hope I don’t have to wait until I’m ninety before Rory realizes I might have a brain cell or two.”
Hannah laughed merrily. “Don’t you fret, Mr. Jim. That girl ain’t dumb. And don’t you believe her when she starts that ‘I hate you’ stuff. All kids do that.”
Jim thanked the housekeeper for her encouragement, and continued out the back door. Hannah was likely right, it would all blow over. Yet, every time something like this happened between him and his daughter, a new little hole seemed to be torn in his soul. He saw how both India and Jamie adored their parents, and displayed it often. Rory never behaved that way with him. As a small child, she had been somewhat more affectionate, but the older she got, the worse things had become. She…
He halted halfway to the barn to watch the farm wagon approaching at a fairly rapid pace. Faster than usual. The man holding the reins was half standing as he worked guided the team. Jim walked swiftly out to meet him. “José? What’s wrong?” They could not have finished with the fence yet.
The stocky Mexican jumped down after halting the team. “Señor West, I thought you should know… we saw some men hiding in the eucalyptus grove.”
Jim had warned his foreman to be on the alert for strangers and prowlers, although he had not given him all the details. “You sure it wasn’t just vagrants?”
“Very sure. Skinny and I walked out toward them, and the men, they ran. No campfires.”
Jim knew what he meant. Tramps had been known to occasionally hang out in that pleasant grove on the far northern edge of his property, but if they did, especially if there overnight, they built a fire. “See any of them close enough to get a description?”
“No. Like I said, soon as they saw us coming, they ran for their horses.”
Jim West nodded. Another clue that they weren’t the usual vagrants. “How many?”
“At least three.”
“Might be nothing. But… saddle my horse, José. I’ll go tell Hannah where I’m going.” He had also warned the housekeeper to be alert. Maybe the time had come to tell Rory about Loveless. No, not yet. Not until he was sure the danger was real.
Rory was standing at the open window of her room, allowing the breeze to cool her skin and her temper, when she saw her father riding out alongside José Morales, the farm’s head man. The pace they were riding indicated some urgency. She had seen José driving in with the wagon, and thought he was coming a bit rapidly, but really had not considered it much. Other things were on her mind.
Even now, as the two riders disappeared beyond the nearest orchard, her thoughts returned to the situation at hand. Daddy was wrong. So very wrong. Derek Hagen was not that old. Was he? She thought hard about the man who had been smiling at her in the parlor such a short while ago. Funny, she mostly remembered the smile and the blue of his eyes. Goodness, would she even recognize him if she saw him on the street?
Slim chance of such an encounter happening! Daddy was not usually so unfair. Surely he understood that Mr. Hagen was a young man trying to launch his career. James West had been in that position once. His talent as an agent had been recognized by General, later President, Grant, and his career had taken wing, to the point that he became the most recognized, respected, and feared agent in the United States’ service. A book about such a man would bring fame and fortune to the writer.
Naturally, she had known that Uncle Artemus was penning such a book. She had heard her father and Artemus Gordon discussing it several times over the last several years. But he was taking so long! Quite possibly, Mr. Hagen’s statement was correct, that the story would be slanted…
Rory shook her head physically, turning away from the window. No, Uncle Artemus would never do that. Mr. Hagen had made that comment in desperation. He did not mean it, certainly. Perhaps if he apologized Daddy would understand, and talk to him further. But how can I tell Mr. Hagen that? I don’t know how to contact him!
She found herself at her vanity, staring into the mirror there, at her own reflection, seeing the green eyes gazing back at her. Suddenly, Rory remembered the first time she had ever seen the man with the nearly identically green eyes, the day Mrs. Barrow came to fetch her, telling her that her daddy had come to take her with him.
Rory had been told that her mama had gone to heaven. She had not been entirely sure, at that age, what that had meant, although she remembered an old dog they had had who had suddenly not been around anymore. Mama had told her that old Spike had “gone to heaven.” As far as little Rory had been concerned, Spike was just gone. And now Mama was gone. Rory had known her mother was very ill. Mama had told her that she would be going away. “But your daddy will come for you, Rory. He will take care of you. He’s an honorable man.”
“Honorable” really had no meaning to a four-year-old, other than Mama thought it was good. Having lived her first four years in virtual isolation with her mother, Rory had been more curious than apprehensive to meet this “daddy” who would take care of her. She was not even certain what a “daddy” was. So she had allowed Mrs. Barrow to lead her into the front room of the house in Antelope Wells, where she saw for the first time the handsome man with the green eyes. Her own eyes. Suddenly panicked, she broke free to race back into the little room she had been sharing with Mrs. Barrow’s daughter, to the mirror on the wall. Only when she looked in that mirror and saw that her own eyes were still there did the panic subside. The new daddy had not stolen them out of her head.
She had never told anyone the story, not even her father. She thought he would laugh, not making fun of her, but in enjoyment. He had such a wonderful laugh. Yet she had not told him. She did not know why.
W*W*W*W*W