Heather Graham's Haunted Treasures, Page 2

  He felt the breeze again. Soon, he thought, soon.

  He'd tried hard to ignore it. Tried to say that legend was legend, and superstition was just plain silly!

  But it wasn't, was it?

  And how damned odd that he could feel it, just feel it, in a breeze, and know that it was near.

  Evil.

  Don't leave her, Johnston! Jem thought. Don't leave her. I'm old and I'm worn, and it's going to be damned hard to make you believe, but he's out there. Watching her. Wanting her.

  Stay. Help me...

  * * *

  Not far away, David Drago stood on a rise that overlooked the tiny town of Green Valley. He looked down at the cluster of small farms and ranches, and smiled slowly. It was so good, the night was so good. He could feel the pulse of life within him so strongly. He could feel it, almost taste it.

  Soon...

  He was a tall man, well-built, striking, with dark hair and golden eyes. Eyes that carried a hint of another color, but few people could ever really see that color, or guess at it, until it was too late. As he stood on the rise, a passerby might have thought him very attractive indeed. There was a European sophistication about him that was fascinating. He was a man of the world, accustomed to dealing with any circumstance that might arise. Of course, the world might best him at times, but in the end...

  Well, he always bested the world.

  Green Valley. How quaint a place when compared with London, Paris, Madrid. And what interesting people. These rough Americans, and the curious red savages.

  It was a playground—a playground, indeed.

  He'd already found it immensely satisfying.

  And down there in one particular farmhouse... she waited.

  He smiled, concentrating, and knew that she was with someone. That didn't matter. He could take care of it. He had plenty of time.

  He turned and lifted his arms, raising his black cape to the breeze.

  Not far away, stone angels and crosses decorated a cluster of gravestones. But where he stood was unhallowed ground. Without Christian adornment. Indigents were buried here. Heathens. The refuse of humanity.

  The earth was rich with suffering... just as the night seemed rich with evil.

  His smile deepened.

  Dawn was breaking. He was weary. But the shadows would come again.

  They always did.

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks later

  "ANNE Pemberton!" Cissy McAllistair exclaimed.

  "You just can't mean to tell me that you have yet to meet David Drago!"

  Anne smiled patiently, biting the thread she'd been using to mend Uncle Jem's good winter jacket. She tied a quit knot before answering Cissy. She really did hate to put a damper on Cissy's excitement. Cissy was young, barely twenty. She'd grown up out here in the wild west of Texas, and although she'd learned plenty about the Apaches, she was innocent of the ways of the world. She'd never had to watch white men killing white men, like they had back East.

  "Cissy, I'm sorry, but no, I haven't yet met this paragon of virtue. I've heard people whispering about him, though. They say he's having a big house built on some acreage he bought on the edge of town. Apparently, he intends to stay in Green Valley."

  "Oh, I hope so! I hope so!" Cissy said. She was a pretty girl, with cornflower-blue eyes and the kind of white-blonde hair men seemed to go crazy over. Not that Anne felt any jealousy for the girl. Sometimes, she felt very old and worn—in just three years, she'd be thirty! Then again, Uncle Jem was always telling her that it wasn't the years, it was the experience that counted, and she'd certainly chalked up some experience; they all had. But she was comfortable with herself. Michael thought that she was beautiful—at least, he said so fairly often—and for her, that was enough.

  In any case, it didn't really matter how perfect this new fellow, David Drago, was. She might be as stubborn as Uncle Jem said she was, but she was in love with Michael. And Michael was pretty close to being perfect himself. He had wonderful deep-gray eyes and sandy hair that he let grow too long. He had a rugged face—a really fine one, with handsome features—and there was something indefinably masculine about those hard features that made him a very sexy man.

  She had once been certain that only a truly bad woman could possibly share such intimacies as she shared with Michael and not be married. But the woman she was now was very different from the innocent girl she had once been. Besides, she was going to marry him, one day soon.

  Just as soon as she managed to twist him around to her way of thinking.

  Of course, that might not happen. Michael was damned stubborn, too. And he was responsible, and honorable, and all those other things.

  He was a lot like Joe Pemberton had been. And she had loved Joe very much. Maybe not as deeply as she loved Michael, even though she had been married to Joe. But she and Joe had scarcely wed before a bullet had severed the ties between them.

  She was going to marry Michael. Soon. Her heart started to beat a little more quickly at the thought. How odd that after all his constant urgings, she was going to say yes. She was going to have to, for the sake of the child she had realized yesterday she was carrying.

  But she wasn't going to tell him just yet. Not until she had tried every way she could think of to get him to quit the militia!

  "You don't understand because you haven't met him yet," Cissy told her, with wide-eyed eagerness. She wagged a finger at Anne. "But you will. Mrs. Simmons has invited him to her dinner party tonight, and you are coming, right?"

  Anne shrugged with a slight frown. "I suppose so. But Michael hasn't returned from his trip out to Mescalero country. I won't have an escort."

  Cissy smiled. "Then you can join the rest of us whose little hearts are fluttering for David Drago."

  "Cissy—" Anne began with a touch of impatience.

  Cissy waved a hand in the air. "Oh, Michael is handsome, I'll give you that. And he's tall and rugged, and everyone has always envied you, the way he's so determined to have you—even if you are a widow just a shade past your first youth—"

  "Thank you, Cissy," Anne managed to interject.

  "Michael is wonderful. Why haven't you married him? Really, Anne, perhaps you should, before you—"

  "Dry up completely?" Anne finished for her.

  Cissy blushed crimson. "Oh, Anne, you're beautiful, and you know it! But you are getting on!"

  "Well, I probably will marry Michael. Sometime soon."

  "My father says you don't like him belonging to the militia," Cissy said. "But if he were to leave it, what would happen to the rest of us? Think about it, Anne. He isn't making any demands on you. What manner of man would he be if he let you push him around—especially when Green Valley needs him so much!"

  Anne smiled. Cissy did have a point. But then, Cissy didn't know what it was like to read in the newspaper that someone you loved very much was lying dead on a distant battlefield.

  "Well, it's too bad you're not married to Michael. Then you'd be out of the running for David Drago."

  "I'm not going to be in the running," Anne assured her.

  "But you have yet to meet him!"

  "As you say, I will meet him tonight," Anne said with a wry grin. "But I won't join your panting crowd of girls—still in the flower of their first youth! I'll have Uncle Jem take me. Then I'll observe this Drago character from the side!"

  Cissy bounded up, very smug. "You'll see!" she promised. "Wear something absolutely fetching! You'll be glad you did!"

  Anne sighed as she rose to see Cissy out. She leaned against the door frame as she watched Cissy go, her full calico skirt bouncing behind her. Cissy was so full of life, so sweet, so generous, so warm. She was like a lot of the inhabitants of Green Valley, and it was one of the reasons Anne liked the place so very much. People didn't ask a lot of questions about the past here. A new town, it gave people new chances in life.

  "Well, Cissy," she murmured aloud, "I hope your David Drago falls absolutely in love with you. I hop
e you love him in return and you both live in his big new house happily ever after!"

  Cissy turned a comer. Anne's gaze moved up the street. Far beyond it, she could see the rise on which the cemetery was located. There was the graveyard with its wrought-iron sign swinging slightly in the breeze, gGreen vValley cCemetery it read. To the right of the fenced-in area, there were more graves. Years ago, the folks in Green Valley hadn't been quite so generous and open-minded as they were now. Back then, as in much of Texas, lawlessness had abounded here. Rapists, thieves, murderers, and general riffraff had passed through and called the town home. And when they had died, or killed themselves, they had been buried in the section to the right of the fenced-in area. On unhallowed ground.

  Their graves were marked not with handsome angels shipped in from the East, as in the more holy section of the cemetery. But with crosses crudely formed from tree branches tied together and thrust hard into the ground.

  It just went to show, Anne thought, how far Green Valley had come along since those early times. Much of the West was still wild and lawless. Gradually, though, Green Valley had begun to appeal to a gentler variety of folk. Nothing terrible had happened here in years now.

  Then again, maybe the war had exhausted a lot of the men, and they had just been seeking peace since then. Whatever the reason, a time of quiet had come to Green Valley.

  But as Anne stared at the cemetery she had seen every day since she had first come to this town, she felt a strange uneasiness creep along her spine. She gave herself a shake, but the feeling persisted. It was like the other night...

  The night when she had awakened and Michael had been gone; she had felt the most awful chill encircle her. She'd remembered her dream about a dark shape obliterating the light of the moon.

  But then Michael had come back to her, and held her, and the fear had gone away. Strange, how it was back now...

  Good grief! She was too old to be getting shivers in broad daylight. Maybe she was afraid because he wasn't back yet. He should be back. He and the militia should have met up with the Apache chief, talked and vowed their peace promises, and returned this morning.

  The later he was, the more convinced Anne grew that something was dreadfully wrong.

  All kinds of things might have happened. They might have been invited to a special ceremony. They might have met with some inclement weather.

  They might have been scalped and murdered by the Mescaleros!

  No, she couldn't think that way. She couldn't live with such fear. Of course, it wouldn't hurt to tell Michael when she did see him just how scared she had been! It might help him understand.

  Then again, maybe Cissy was right. Maybe she had no right to ask him to give up the militia. What would happen to the town without his expert protection?

  She didn't care, she thought selfishly.

  Yes, she did.

  Anne hurried back into the house. "Uncle Jem?" she called. When he didn't answer, she walked through the parlor, with its attractive love seat and Victorian drapes, and passed into the back hallway. Uncle Jem was out back by the corral. He was leaning over the white fence, patting her Appaloosa's nose absently.

  "Uncle Jem!" she called again. Still, he didn't look her way. There was a troubled frown on his face.

  "Uncle Jem?"

  He swung around that time, and there was a guilty look on his face. Then his expression seemed as innocent as a babe's. "Annie! What is it?"

  She walked out to the corral, studying him. He gave himself a little shake, like a man trying to ward off some unwanted feeling. Just as she had been trying to rid herself of her lingering unease just moments ago.

  "What's wrong?" she asked him. Tamarin, her Appaloosa mare, snorted loudly. Anne patted her nose and the horse came close, then snorted again suddenly, backed away, and started running wildly around the corral. "Seems like everyone around here is kind of spooked," Anne murmured.

  Jem stiffened, a lock of white hair falling over one rheumy blue eye. "I'm not spooked, young lady. Now what made you say a thing like that?"

  Anne shrugged. "Fine. You're not spooked. But I need you to take a bath and get dressed up a bit. I've decided to go to Mrs. Simmons's party tonight."

  "What about Michael?"

  "He's not back yet."

  "You want me to get gussied up just for some fool dinner party?"

  "Please?"

  He sighed. "Humph."

  "Does that mean you'll do it?"

  "Why are you suddenly all fired up to go?"

  Anne shrugged again. "That newcomer is going to be there. David Drago. Everyone has been talking about him. I'm curious, that's all."

  "Curiosity killed the cat!" Jem warned her.

  "Uncle Jem, I just want to meet a new neighbor." She sighed. "All right, if you won't go with me—"

  "You'll stay home?"

  She shook her head. "No. I'll go alone."

  "Dag-nabbit, girl!" He glared at her, then sighed. "No, you're not going alone. It wouldn't be right. Someone has to look out for you."

  She smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Jem. And don't forget the bath," she added, turning around. She still had a lot to do before getting ready herself. She had to make out some checks today and straighten out her credit accounts or she wouldn't be able to feed her horses and stock much longer. And there were piles of mending.

  But curiously—and pleasantly!—her day moved along quite quickly. She was actually ready early and managed to get Soukie, their half-Cherokee stable boy, to make two trips hauling in water for a bath.

  She luxuriated in the bath for a long time, sudsing herself with imported soap from back East. It was a pity that Michael wasn't back, she told herself, inhaling the soap's sweet scent. Then she realized that her thoughts were wandering down decadent paths and she firmly diverted them. Still, after she rose from the tub, she lingered long over her wardrobe. The dinner wasn't a formal occasion, but she found herself choosing from among her best dresses. The yellow silk with the amber bodice was her best gown, and although it went well with her dark hair and golden eyes, she should save it for when Michael would be there to see it.

  She started to set it back on its hooks, but some power other than her own seemed to take hold of her. Before she knew what she was doing, she was climbing into the yellow dress.

  She stared at herself in the floor-length mirror. The gown was beautiful, the bodice a darker shade in embroidered velvet. The low-cut neckline emphasized her full bosom, while the corset gave her a minuscule waist which flared into curvaceous hips. She'd left her hair loose, flowing down her back.

  She frowned as she continued to stare at herself, wondering why she had felt compelled to display her feminine charms. Had Cissy's words made her feel old? That she had to prove her attractiveness to this newcomer?

  She didn't know. With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror. Even as she did so, fear and unease rippled along her spine.

  If only Michael would come home!

  "Annie, you ready?" Uncle Jem called. "The horses are all hitched up."

  "I'm coming," she assured him, and hurried out to meet him. He whistled at her in appreciation. She smiled and curtsied to him.

  "How do I compliment a beautiful young thing like you?" he asked affectionately.

  "The same way I rate a dashing older gent like you!" she teased in return. Then she frowned suddenly. The moon was out. A black shadow seemed to sweep across it, then disappear. She shivered fiercely.

  "Annie?" Jem asked with a frown.

  What was the matter with her?

  "All set, Uncle."

  He helped her into their shiny black carriage. Old Thorn, the carriage horse, sprang into action at Jem's urging. In a matter of moments, they were traveling along the road to Mrs. Simmons's huge gingerbready mansion on the hill.

  "Looks like the entire town turned out," Jem said, nodding at the array of carriages and buckboards drawn up on the grounds.

  "Looks like," Anne agreed.

  Jem found a plac
e to leave Thorn and their own vehicle, then lifted Anne down from the carriage. He drew her hand through his arm and escorted her up the porch steps to the front door. Lollie Simmons, Civil War widow a decade older than Anne, stood at the doorway, anxious to greet her. "There you are, Anne Pemberton! I'd heard that you wouldn't be coming if Michael Johnston didn't make it back, but I'm so glad you're here. Jem, you old goat, welcome. Anne, I am so aggravated with those boys in the militia! They've just about ruined my seating arrangements, and with so many of the young, handsome, and available gone off, all the girls are just pestering Mr. Drago to death."

  Anne kissed Lollie on the cheek. "I'm pretty upset with Michael myself," she assured her. "But the house looks lovely, Lollie. And everything smells divine. I confess, I can't wait for supper."

  "Well, you'll have to wait just a few minutes, my dear. You see, Mr. Drago has been dying to meet you."

  "Oh?"

  "Well, you are such a lovely creature, dear. He's heard about you, of course."

  And just what had he heard? Anne wondered. That she was sleeping with a man she refused to marry?

  "Ah, there he is now, dear!"

  Just as Lollie finished speaking, it seemed as if the crowd parted, breaking away as if by command, just so that she and David Drago could stare at each other.

  And she did stare. She felt as if she had become frozen in time and space, suspended there, trapped by his gaze.

  He was very tall, perhaps even taller than Michael. He was dark, his hair nearly jet, combed back in a masculine and handsome manner. He was very well-dressed in a dark Eastern suit. His skin was pale, but his face...

  It was a striking face, one of an indeterminate age. The planes and angles were sharp, nearly gaunt, but very striking nevertheless, classical in their proportions. For all that he was so pale, he appeared to be strongly built, well-muscled and lean. His mouth was broad, full, sensual.