He was especially eager to escape his aunt’s nagging. “Aunt Martha, I left a bank book on the foyer table. I put money into an account for you so you have your own funds.”
Her eyes widened and she looked like a fish opening and closing her mouth. “Why, that’s… a surprise. Have you become thoughtful of a sudden?”
Ignoring her left-handed compliment, he fastened his saddlebags. “Don’t either of you worry about me. The salesman at the store demonstrated how to use all the equipment. I also have his written instructions. Our cook wrote out some of her recipes.”
His aunt harrumphed and walked away.
Phyllis grabbed his arm. “You know you have to abide by the legacy rules or suffer the terrible consequences.”
He sent his sister a pitying look. “Believe me I’m not worried by some mythical curse.”
Phyllis poked his chest with her index finger. “The curse is real and you could lose your life by ignoring the terms.”
He leaned down and kissed his sister’s cheek. “Goodbye, dear Phyllis. Take care of yourself.” He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and strode out of the house toward the horse that a stable boy had saddled. Bret slid his rifle into the saddle sheath and fastened his saddlebags securely. He also had a packhorse loaded with camping equipment and had hidden money in various places.
Eager to be on his way, he headed west. He had no particular plans other than exploring whatever appeared interesting as he traveled toward California. He’d deliberated asking a couple of his friends to come with him, but he was eager to prove himself capable of surviving on his own.
Due to his partying until late last night—actually early this morning—he’d almost decided to postpone his departure by a day. He’d already told his friends goodbye and hated to wait another minute to begin his adventure. That he’d never been camping didn’t worry him at all. He had detailed instructions for setting up the tent and cooking over a campfire. Besides, he’d read in his dime novels how such things were managed.
Turning twenty-five last month meant he’d come into the fortune left him by his father. Supposedly—and Bret doubted the story was true—his family received their share of money in 1734 from defeating a pirate ship carrying Inca gold. The myth that the wealth carried a curse was total nonsense.
He was surprised his intelligent sister believed that twaddle. Like many of her friends, Phyllis bought into mysticism and the occult. Women weren’t capable of rational thinking, though he hadn’t been foolish enough to share his opinion with his sister.
By the time he was out of Fort Worth and into the countryside, his spirits were as high as the hawk soaring overhead. The bright blue sky promised a dry, warm day. He broke out in song as he rode down the trail.
***
Palo Pinto County, Texas
Charlotte Dunn stared at her late husband’s open grave as two cemetery employees shoveled dirt on top of the casket. She hugged her stepchildren to her. Rustlers had killed their two ranch hands, Stubby Jones and Quirt McKay, and had stolen over half their cattle. At the same time they’d shot her husband, Ike. Her husband had managed to ride home but eventually died from his wounds three weeks later.
Twelve-year-old Davie clenched his jaw and stood straight but his lips trembled. Ten-year-old Susie clung to Charlotte and wept. Seven-year-old Jimmy wiped tears from his eyes and leaned against her.
When the last of the mourners had gone the kindly minister laid his hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte, you know you can come to Kathryn and me any time with any problem.”
“Thank you, Reverend Pendleton. I appreciate your giving such a nice sermon for Ike.” She guided the children away from the cemetery and toward the family wagon.
Davie helped his brother into the vehicle. “What are we gonna do now?”
Jimmy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Harry said we’ll have to go to an orphanage. Is that true, Mama? You gonna send us away?”
“How can you even ask?” Charlotte took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. After she’d handed him the cotton square she kissed his forehead and hugged him before she climbed onto the wagon seat.
“Listen and remember, you’re my children and I love you and nothing—and I mean nothing and no one—will ever change that! We’re going to our home and do the very best we can to hold on to the ranch. Davie, you know your father intended you to take over when you’re grown. We have to protect all the hard work he put into making our place successful.” She released the brake and snapped the reins to start the horses moving.
Susie turned on the seat to look at her younger brother. “I told you not to listen to that stupid Harry Alexander.”
Jimmy thrust his upper body over the back of the seat to speak in his sister’s face. “It wasn’t Harry’s idea. His mama told him that ’cause we’re not really Mama’s blood relatives she won’t keep us.”
Charlotte would like to smack Mrs. Alexander, the gossipy old hag. “Mrs. Alexander spoke out of turn and was mistaken. We’re a family and we’ll stay together no matter what happens.”
Davie, who was mature beyond his years, sat on the other side of Susie. “Sure will be hard with so few cattle and no hands to help.”
“I know, son, but we’ll continue to do the things Papa did. With fewer cattle, perhaps we’ll be able manage successfully. By the time fall roundup is here, we’ll be seasoned ranch hands.” Charlotte didn’t know how they were going to make it but she was determined to hold on to the ranch.
Davie leaned forward to look at her. “I heard Mr. Winfield offer to buy you out. I was afraid
