Page 17 of Roughing It with the Rancher (Love Along Route 14 #11)

Chapter Fifteen

REESE

A s we drive, Esmeralda holds the map in her lap, scanning it carefully. I glance in her direction expectantly a couple of times before asking, “What do you see, Treasure?”

The Supremes’ “Baby Love” plays in the background.

Quirking her mouth, her face stiff with focus, she says, “After the part about the shoe tree and High Water, it says ‘donatio mortis causa.’”

“More of that funny Latin stuff?” I scowl.

“Yes, and this part of the map has always scared me.”

“Why, Angel?”

“Because it translates as ‘the gift of death.’”

“Uh oh,” I growl under my breath, letting the words sink in. After the brush with the barn, I don’t feel too good about pronouncements like that. “Well, the death part aside, a gift is usually a good thing. Right?”

“Right, but?—”

“Nope, don’t finish that thought. After all, you’re the one who keeps emphasizing the importance of positive thinking. Instead of focusing on what might go wrong, how about more of those positive affirmations or whatever you call them.”

“You’re right,” she replies with a long, anxious exhale that doesn’t match her words. I choose to ignore it. “I’m a lucky girl who the Universe loves. Money comes freely and easily to me. Treasure finds me. So does love.”

My cheeks heat as I point out, “See, what I mean? That’s got to be part of how you found me, right?”

“Right.” She smiles, straightening and throwing her shoulders back with more confidence. “Positive thinking.”

“You know, after we get all this treasure stuff figured out, what would you say about coming off those pills and working on a family together?”

Her eyebrows fly into her hairline at the suggestion, and my stomach knots. I’ve finally taken things too far.

“But that would make our marriage permanent,” she observes breathlessly.

The words take me back a bit. After all, I kind of assumed after last night and this morning that we were well past the whole temporary thing. “Would it upset you if we started taking our marriage seriously, Esmeralda?” I ask, scrutinizing her face out of the corner of my eye.

She quirks her mouth. “No, but it’s a pretty big move, having kids with someone.”

I nod, teasing, “Are you afraid we wouldn’t make good-looking babies together?”

She laughs. “My no. They’d be adorable with those dimples of yours.”

“Well, they would be if they all looked like you. God help the daughters who take after my side of the family.”

“Daughters, yes. They don’t need facial hair and rugged jawlines. But our sons? I’d want everyone to look like you.”

“Everyone? How many are we having, Treasure?”

“Like I said before. As many as my body feels like making. Could be one. Could be ten. I’ll have to decide as we go along.”

“Fair enough.” I grin, reaching over and squeezing her hand.

Our eyes lock for one heart-stopping moment before she goes back to the map, concentrating hard against further distraction.

“Here we are,” I say as we pull up to what looks like an empty ocean of sagebrush. I get out, rounding the car quickly to open her door. Esmeralda steps out, immediately noticing the glittering broken glass beneath our feet.

“This is High Water,” I say grimly, putting my hands on my hips. “Or at least what’s left of it. Mind your step again. There are rusty old nails everywhere.”

“Should I worry about rattlesnakes, too?”

“Always in rural Nevada. Sometimes in the suburbs, too.”

“Alright then,” she sighs, choosing her steps carefully.

We spend hours looking through the ruins of the former ghost town, finding more remnants of a settlement the further we walk.

Besides pieces of glass, there are empty cans, parts of tools, and even discarded car parts from the earliest days of automobile history.

But no sign whatsoever that could match up with the ominous phrase: the gift of death.

By early afternoon, the place swarms with ghost hunters, many of whom I recognize.

They snap countless photographs, murmuring in low voices about tragic happenings that could explain a haunting.

I talk with a few of them, eavesdropping on their conversations, desperate for anything approaching a clue.

“Hey, Ralph,” I greet, approaching a familiar face wearing a Ghost Hunter shirt. “How’s the paranormal activity today?”

He shrugs. “We’ll have to review our photos and audio later. But apart from a few orbs caught on my digital camera, we’re not finding much.”

“Did you do much research on High Water before heading out here today?”

A gray-haired woman wearing a hot pink shirt and denim shorts chimes in, “I’m Cynthia. I know all about this place and the families who lived here.”

“Have you ever heard of anything that the phrase ‘the gift of death’ might allude to?”

They stare blankly at Esmeralda and me as the blonde slides up next to me, and I wrap my arm around her waist.

“‘The gift of death,’” Cynthia repeats, shaking her head. “Maybe try the cemetery?”

“Which way?” I ask sheepishly, feeling the embarrassment of not knowing my own property better. But I’ve never been much of a ghost town fan, and the cattle grazing is poor here.

“That way,” she points.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I tip my hat.

Esmeralda and I scan the distance to the spot where the woman pointed, squinting and making out a few bone-colored tombstones against the tan and mint of the earth and sage.

“I’m not sure how far the Caddy will make it in that rough terrain, but let’s see how close we can get.”

A half-hour later, we park on the flattest spot I can find, and Esmeralda and I comb the cemetery, walking out in larger circles with each pass. Looking for anything that sticks out. Anything that could point to the treasure.

“Reese, come here!” Esmeralda calls from a distance, and I bring my hand up to cover my eyes, straining against the sun to see her in the distance.

“Should I bring shovels and gear?” I ask, knowing we won’t be able to get any closer with the car.

“Yes, bring all your gear. I think this is it!”

My heart races as I unlock the trunk, pulling out as many digging implements as I can manage and stuffing a backpack with food and beverages. Just in case she’s right, and we’re out here for a while.

Closing the distance to Esmeralda, excitement grips me as I see what she’s found.

An ancient mound of dirt with a weathered, dark brown wooden tombstone covered in toys, cars, costume jewelry, stuffed animals, books, and every other gift you can imagine.

There are even a couple of bras hung over the tombstone.

“Could this be it? The gift of death?”

I shrug, setting the shovels and pickaxes down along with the backpack. “What say we have an ice-cold beer and snacks before we start digging?”

“Wait, are we really going to dig up a grave?”

I eye the distant ghost hunters, wondering what we can get away with out here. Shifting my weight, I furrow my brows. “We’ve come this far. We can’t give up now.”

“Yes, but exhuming a body? Won’t that make us grave robbers?”

“Treasure, I’d wager you all my winnings that there are no human remains beneath this swatch of soil. Just buried Aztec gold. But we’ll never know until we dig.”

Esmeralda nods, her face tight with resignation and concern.

As we dig in, Esmeralda strains to break the ground. “This soil is rock-hard. Like concrete.”

I frown, running a hand over my forehead. “Nevada dirt. If you can really call it that. That’s why my digging tool of choice is a pickaxe. Why don’t you step back while I give it a few swings to loosen up the ground.”

A few swings turn into hours of intense labor as the sun beats down on us, putting perspiration thick on my forehead and back.

The work is punishing, straining the injuries from yesterday.

After removing my shirt, Esmeralda gasps.

“Your back looks so angry and bruised, and you’ve reopened some of those lacerations by digging.

You’re bleeding. You need to take a break. ”

“But we’re so close,” I say through gritted teeth as I hammer away at the ground, noticing that it softens the deeper I go, making the work easier as I continue busting through layers.

“You’re starting to sound like my grandpa again.

So caught up with this treasure you can’t think about anything else.

” She delivers the words in an exasperated tone, concern written on her face.

“I’ve watched one good man obsess over what might honestly turn out to be a curse.

Please don’t make me watch another.” Her lush lower lip quivers.

I drop my pickaxe, sauntering towards her and wrapping her in my arms. I reassure her, “It might look like I’m obsessed with this treasure.

But what’s really driving me is making you happy.

If this treasure really exists, I’m hellbent on finding it because it means something to you.

And I can’t stand the thought of seeing you disappointed.

Especially because of something I have control over. ”

Esmeralda’s large doe eyes water as she takes me in, her mouth parting slightly. I lean in to kiss her, drawn by the call of her delicious mouth as my hands run up and down her back. “Truth be told, I’d rather be in the Caddy, showing you the skill of my tongue.”

Her eyes sear me.

“But we’re so close, and you’ve come so far, Okie. We can’t stop now.”

“But Reese, this won’t change anything between us. Whatever we do or don’t find, right?”

I chuckle, stroking her delicate jawline. “I’ve said it all along, and I’ll say it again. You’re the real treasure. And if I have my way, I aim to keep you forever. What do you think about that?”

“I think I love you, Cowboy.”

My heart dances around in my chest at her unexpected words, my eyes swirling with moisture. “Well, I know I love you. Known that ever since you decided to impart a little of your luck on me. How about you work on that again now?”

“Okay,” she says, straining on her tiptoes to kiss me. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, husband. No matter what happens, finding you is the luckiest strike I’ve ever had.”

Through layer after layer, I bust the thick gray ground until the pickaxe hits something hard. I continue digging and scraping, the metal making a hollow sound against the wooden structure the work reveals. “Shit, Esmeralda.”

“What is it?” she asks breathlessly, headed in my direction.

I put up a hand to stop her, eyeing the baby coffin I’ve uncovered.

The last thing my woman needs is to see something grisly.

“Stay back, Angel. This may not be for your eyes,” I warn, my heart sinking as I lean down, feeling the cool of the smooth wood.

I’m not especially fond of the idea of grave robbing, either. But I’ve come too far not to find out.

The lid feels stuck, and I groan, straining to open it. I pry at it until my fingertips are sore, making no headway.

Desperate to reveal the contents, I take the pickaxe to the wood. It feels like desecration, my stomach churning with each hollow thud the pick axe makes until I break enough from one edge to pull back to the lid. My heart drops like a heavy weight as I eye the contents.