at Daniel, Elizabeth explained, “Barb, Daniel here is from New York City.”
“Really? I’m hearing a lilt of an accent. South Carolina. Got an aunt from round that way.”
“I call New York home now.”
She deadpanned, “Whatever you say, sugar.” Her focus jumped to the other side of the booth, where Elizabeth was making herself comfortable. “Can I fetch you a menu, hon?”
“Just coffee,” they said together.
The waitress inspected her near-empty pot. “Need a fresh one.” She headed off. “Back in a flash.”
Elizabeth set her handbag down then clasped her hands on the table. “Now that we’re here, I might as well go ahead and tell you the story behind the club’s plaque.”
If he hadn’t left so abruptly, she’d have told him last night. But the situation had changed.
“No need,” he said.
Her smooth brow furrowed. “Oh? Why not?”
Because I’m throwing in my hand. Giving up and going back to where I belong. But he didn’t need to spill his guts, just because she was sitting here across from him, making him feel all jumpy, that amazing mane of hair cascading over her shoulders while she radiated curiosity and “you know you want to hold me again” vibes.
When he realized he was leaning over the table, stomach muscles clenching, he cleared his throat and lied. “A pressing matter’s come up. I need to get back to the city as soon as possible.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Just business.”
“Then I’d best not keep you.”
She made to stand but instead of doing the smart thing and letting her go, he lightly caught her hand. That same jet of sensation swam up his arm and, while he wanted to hang on, he let go fast. Physical contact was out, but now that coffee was ordered, he might as well sit back and listen.
“I really wouldn’t mind hearing that story,” he admitted.
She considered him for a moment before her expression eased and she lowered back down. “Well, if you have time. It goes way back to the War with Mexico. Did you notice the park next to the club headquarters?”
He got comfortable. “Sure.”
“Back in the early eighteen hundreds, just beyond that park, a parcel of missionaries set themselves up. The adobe church is still there. You’d know all about those.”
“Vaulted ceiling,” he said. “Naves that were slightly taller than they were wide. Few windows although the light was organized to illuminate the altar to dramatic effect. The walls needed constant remudding to stand a chance against the New World elements.”
She sent an impressed smile. “Ten out of ten.”
Sitting back, they let Barb fill their cups before going on.
“Back in the War with Mexico,” she said, when the waitress had left, “around 1846, a Texas solider found a fallen comrade. The soldier tried to save his life, but it was too late. It wasn’t until he was burying the body that he came upon the jewels. A black opal, an emerald and a red diamond. The dead man had no identification so the solider decided he’d take the jewels back with him to Royal. They’re so rare, each on its own is priceless, back then as well as now.”
“Did anyone ever find out why the fallen soldier had them?”
“Never, which makes the legend all the more mysterious, don’t you think?”
He grinned, spooning sugar into his cup. “So how do these gems relate to the plaque?”
“Apparently red diamonds are the gems of kings. That’s how the first quality of the plaque came to be—leadership. The black harlequin opal is perhaps the rarest. It’s said that this particular type of opal possesses healing powers and also an inner light that illuminates honesty, integrity or, more simply, justice.”
“The plaque’s second quality. And the emerald?” he asked, thinking of how her eyes were sparkling like priceless jewels as she spoke.
“For many centuries around the world emeralds have been thought to be the stone of peacemakers.”
“Leadership, Justice and Peace.” He nodded and smiled. “Nice. So where are these mysterious jewels now?”
“No one knows for sure. The story goes that the soldier had wanted sell them, buy an even bigger spread, build himself a whopping great mansion. But when he got home he struck oil.”
“Black gold.”
“Ended up he didn’t need to sell the jewels to make it rich.”
“Has anyone ever tried to find them?”
“Way back, even before Tex Langley’s time—”
“The founder of the Cattleman’s Club.”
“That’s right. A group of men got together, the legend goes, to guard the stones. Others say they were simply some of Royal’s leading citizens who’d made a pact to protect the town and its citizens. There are even some disbelievers who say those men just made up the story to build their motto around.”
“You don’t believe that?”
Her eyes flashed. “The legend’s far more exciting.”
“So, if the jewels exist, where do you think they are now?”
“Somewhere safe. Not that Royal’s big on crime. We’re big on oil and cattle.”
“There are always visitors,” he said, looking at her over the rim of his cup as he sipped.
She sent him a teasing look. “Are you aiming to go treasure hunting?”
He laughed and set his cup down. “Not this visit. You look as if the thought of a treasure hunt excites you.”
“I like finding new and beautiful things. A painting I can look at all day long. A song that gives me goose bumps because the words and tune are so full of meaning. Know what I mean?”
He smiled, nodded. Yeah, he knew.
“What’s your favorite piece?” he asked.
“Of music?”
“Of treasure.”
She stared into her cup for a long moment, considering. “I don’t know that I have one.” Her glittering eyes met his. “At least not yet.” She tipped forward. “Do you have any hidden treasures?”
The question took him aback. He did have one. Something he rarely took out because it was that precious. It mightn’t make sense to some, but the feelings it evoked … he could barely bring himself to look at it. But Elizabeth didn’t need to know any of that.
“No,”
