Loose rocks crunched under her feet as she stepped through the entrance. Tucker experienced a satisfying sense of pride as he saw her gaze skim across the glittering crystals in the walls. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful. The walls look like stars.” She took a step forward, but stopped abruptly when her stare landed on the old trunk standing against the back wall. “How in the world did that get here?”
“Apparently a lapsed Methodist.”
She laughed. “Who?”
He shined the flashlight toward a line of letters scratched with rock chalk above the chest: Property of Rev. Frederick Fluesche. “I did a little research. Seems a Methodist preacher bearing the same name became infamous when he took to robbing stagecoaches in the 1880s. It’s not a stretch to think he ended up in Ruin.”
“That’s a stagecoach trunk?”
“Yes. It’s called a Jenny Lind. You can tell by the shape. If you look at the end, it looks like a loaf of bread. This one is in near mint condition.”
“Wow. How cool is this? It should be in a museum.”
“Maybe. But Angelica is still trying to find an appropriate home for some of the stuff we found when we renovated the inn. I figure this stuff has remained tucked away safe and sound in this cave for a hundred and thirty years, so a little more time won’t hurt. Besides, I get a kick out of knowing it’s here, and that I stumbled on it.”
“So, is it filled with anything? Wells Fargo gold?”
“There is something inside. Like I said, it’s right up your alley. Take a look.”
Gillian crossed to the chest and went down on her knees. She lifted the lid, and Tucker knelt beside her to reach the hinge that would hold the trunk lid in an open position when fixed.
The items inside lay in the order in which Tucker had initially found them. As he’d expected, she reached for the matching hair combs first. Made of tortoiseshell with gold filigree shaped like leaves that cradled red stones—rubies, Tucker guessed—they must have been a wealthy woman’s adornment.
“How beautiful,” Gillian breathed.
They glowed like fire. Tucker wanted to see them in her hair.
“These are no everyday hair combs.” Tearing her gaze away from the items, she looked at Tucker. “This really is a treasure. You shouldn’t leave it unguarded in this cave.”
He shrugged. “Again, it’s been a hundred and thirty years. It’s not like we have hundreds of tourists snooping around the canyon this time of year.”
“There are tourists here every weekend. Jackson’s show at the dance hall this weekend is sold out, and that’s definitely hundreds of people.”
“They’re all at the Last Chance dancing and drinking beer and listening to music. They’re not off hiking obscure animal trails.”
“The inn attracts plenty of hikers.”
“Who are given trail maps and are accompanied by a guide if they come into this part of the canyon.”
“Still…” She set aside the combs and picked up the lone other piece of jewelry in the box, a gold watch chain with textured oval links and smoothly moving clasps. “This is pretty too. Is there a watch to go with it?”
“Not in this trunk, but I have one that we found in the inn with some other stuff. It’s very cool; the gold case is etched and personally engraved. The face has Roman numerals. Keeps time like a charm.”
“What does the engraving say?”
“‘To my love.’ I have it at the trailer. Remind me to show it to you later.”
She shot him a look, and he sheepishly grinned. “I couldn’t get a table at the restaurant. Angelica tore a strip off my hide for even asking, but I managed to wrangle a kid to deliver our dinner. It’s gonna be a nice evening. We will sit out beside the fire pit and share an excellent meal and not be alone on Valentine’s Day.”
She nodded. “Okay. That sounds lovely except my offer earlier still stands. I’ll pay the check.”
“Let me provide the wine, and we have a deal.”
She held out her hand for him to shake. Tucker took it, briefly considered, then shrugged. What the hell. He tugged her toward him, signaling his intent with a look, and when she didn’t resist, he captured her mouth with his.
He’d intended it to be a quick, seal-the-deal smooch, but once he got his mouth on hers, he didn’t want to stop. She tasted, well, glorious. Sweet and something else … something exotic. Ginger. She tasted like ginger, like his favorite molasses and ginger cookies. Her lips were soft and moist and, oh yeah, kissing him back.
Tucker took his time, leisurely exploring with his tongue as his fingers twined through her hair. Thick and silky soft, just like he’d imagined it. He groaned low in his throat and pulled her closer. She fit him perfectly, her curves and mounds an ideal match to his angles and planes. Her arms stole around him, and her fingers laced at the back of his neck. He could have stayed right here, doing this, doing more, for hours. Maybe even days.
But this was a first real kiss, and he’d best not veer from the strategic route he’d plotted on the trail up. So reluctantly, he lifted his mouth from hers and released her. He cleared his throat. “Wow, Glory. You pack a punch.”
She blinked rapidly. “I’m a little shell-shocked myself.”
Tucker stared at her. He couldn’t help himself. Her lips were wet and swollen. Her blue eyes luminous and soft. It took all his willpower to stop himself from swooping in again.
She fussed with her hair and then returned her attention to the trunk. “So, what else is in here? You said it’s right up my alley?”
“Yeah.” He folded back the cotton fabric lying atop the trunk’s contents and revealed the gown underneath. He picked up the dress by the shoulders and stood. Gleaming ivory satin flowed from the chest like a waterfall.
“A wedding gown!” Gillian exclaimed with delight. The dress had a high neck and long sleeves and a bodice covered in beads and lace. The waist was tiny. The train long enough to cover a good chunk of the cave’s floor. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thought you’d like it.”
“Don’t you wonder how it got here? I wonder if it was worn at a wedding and tucked away as a keepsake. Or has it ever been worn? Did you see any stains on it?”
“I didn’t look all that closely.”
“Oh, man. I’d love to know its history!” Gillian began inspecting the gown carefully, studying the seams, wondering aloud about the seamstress who made it and the woman for whom it had been made. “Maybe a young bride was traveling to meet her groom, and your Reverend Fluesche robbed her stagecoach. Or maybe she was a runaway bride who ended up on hard times.”
“A fallen lady at the Last Chance brothel on the road to Ruin.” Tucker shot her a grin. “My family has been passing down a story about a bad-luck wedding dress for a hundred and twenty-five years.”
She looked up from the dress just long enough to grin at him. “A bad-luck wedding dress? Really?”
“Apparently an ancestor was a seamstress who made it. I’ll tell you about it over dinner. We should probably start thinking about making our way back. Dark comes on fast this time of year.”
“Okay.” Gillian gave the gown one last wistful look, then handed it over to him. She watched his pitiful attempt to fold the garment and shook her head. “Let me do it.”