From the author of The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series and Forgotten Boxes, comes an intriguing new book series, the Spirits of Texas Cozy Mysteries.

When the tiny hamlet of Hannah, Texas goes up for auction, Hannah Duncan’s fun-loving uncle sees it as the perfect gift for her thirtieth birthday. After all, what’s more fun than a town bearing your own name?

Nestled in the beautiful Texas Hill Country, the ‘town’ isn’t much — a dozen or less buildings in various stages of disrepair—but it comes with a dedicated pair of caretakers, a menagerie of farm animals, a surprisingly generous trust fund, enough stipulations to make her head spin, and a handsome but maddening attorney to oversee the handling of the estate.

Originally a stagecoach stop, Hannah, Texas resolves around the historic and rather charming Spirits of Texas Inn. The old inn comes with a colorful past, the mystique of hidden treasure, loyal guests who still book summer vacations there, and three surprise residents: true spirits of the past, who didn’t cross over as expected.

Now Hannah has her hands full, coming to terms with her unexpected status as an innkeeper, adjusting to life in the country, fighting her attraction to attorney Walker Jacoby, plus dealing with ghosts!

To top it off, two fortune hunters arrive to search for the hidden treasure, and they don’t care who stands in their way. They’ll stoop to any means—including murder—to get their hands on the legendary stash of gold.

Don’t miss out on the excitement, right from the beginning. Book your visit to Hannah, Texas today!

Sneak Peek: Inn the Spirit of Legends

Chapter Nine

“I have a contractor coming out today, to give us a bid on turning the old store into a third cabin.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hannah said, looking up from the bowl of oatmeal she doctored with brown sugar and granola. She paused before stirring in the fresh cream.

Walker had shown her how the cream rose to the top of the milk, just waiting to be scooped off and enjoyed. Fresh cream, she adored. The milk, not so much. It had been several days now, and she still hadn’t acquired a taste for it.

Walker repeated his announcement as he dished out his plate of scrambled eggs and toast, next to his own bowl of oatmeal and a thick slice of country-style ham.

“And you did this without consulting me first.”

Something in the quiet timbre of her words snagged his attention. He jerked his head up, just in time to see the flash of fire in her blue stare. His voice remained calm. “That’s right.”

“And why is that? As you are so fond of reminding me, I am the owner of this—this kingdom now!” She spread her arms wide, to indicate the whole of the outdated kitchen, wood stove and all. She waved toward the tiny town beyond. “Don’t you think that was my decision to make, and mine alone?”

Not that she was opposed to the idea of another cabin. Ever since the crazy notion of improving and expanding had entered her mind, it was all she could think of. Truth be told, she was angry with herself for not thinking of this idea first. Turning the run-down old store into another rental cabin made perfect sense.

Still, he should have consulted her first.

Walker took his time, scraping out the last of the eggs and returning the skillet to the burner, making certain it was cool to the touch before doing so. “Perhaps your decision to make,” he conceded, sauntering across the room to join her at the table. He settled into the chair, added salt and pepper to his eggs, and continued, “But not alone, it’s not. I have a stake in this, too, you know. As executor of the trust, all major decisions and purchases have to go through me.” He stirred a spoonful of peanut butter into his oatmeal. “Keep in mind, I’m not ordering any work done yet, and certainly not without your input. I’m merely gathering bids, so that when the time comes, we can make an informed decision. Together.”

“You mean at the end of my thirty day imprisonment.”

“It’s not an imprisonment.”

“Says the man who is free to come and go at his leisure.”

“Are you saying you want me to cancel the appointment?”

Surprised—and pleased—that he offered to do so, Hannah blinked in surprise. “Uhm, no. No, that won’t be necessary.”

He ruined the moment by flashing his most charming smile. “Then we don’t have a problem, do we?”

The contractor drove a beat-up old truck with peeling paint and a slightly crooked magnetic sign that identified his business as Jobs Done Right. Hannah thought he should have done a better job making his own first impression right. What if his run-down truck was a reflection of his workmanship? He might leave the cabin in worse shape than it was now.

Just the same, she followed Walker out to greet the carpenter. She wanted him to understand, right from the beginning, that he would be dealing with her, should he get the contract.

As the man crawled from the front seat of the truck, she felt Walker stiffen in surprise. “Who is that?” he muttered.

“Don’t you know him? You’re the one who called him!”

“I called Hank Ruby. That’s not Hank.”

They watched as a burly man stood outside the truck, preparing himself for the work ahead. He stuffed a pencil behind his right ear, tucked a measuring tape onto his cavernous overalls, and fumbled around on the dashboard until he came out with a clipboard. Adding a cap to his balding head and a flashlight to his pocket, he turned and saw that he had an audience.

“Howdy, folks. Pretty place you got yourself here.”

Hannah trotted alongside Walker, trying to match his purposeful stride as he greeted the man, more or less. His voice was as hard as steel. “I was expecting Hank Ruby. He and I spoke on the telephone yesterday.”

“Ah, yeah, about that.” The man scratched at his head and offered a sheepish smile. “The wife and I are down from Wichita Falls, visiting her family. Cousin Hank woke up deadly sick this morning, don’t you know. Could barely lift his head off the pillow or his be-hind off the commode, if you’ll pardon the reference, ma’am.” He bobbed his head in Hannah’s direction. “I have a contracting business myself, don’t you know, so I offered to come for him. You don’t mind, do you?”

Walker’s hesitation was obvious. “As long as you take good notes and measurements,” he slowly agreed, “I don’t see why it would hurt.” He extended his hand. “Walker Jacoby, Attorney at Law. And this is Hannah Duncan, owner of the property.”

“Owner, eh? You and your husband, I reckon? Is he here, too?” The man craned his neck to look for him.

“I’m not married,” Hannah said, taking an immediate dislike to the man. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Pardon the manners. Harry’s sudden sickness threw me for a loop this morning,” the man chuckled. “Name’s Tinker. Everett Tinker.” He thrust out a big, sweaty hand that Hannah reluctantly shook.

“Harry?”

“No, ma’am, Everett. Everett Tinker.”

“You said Harry’s illness. I thought your cousin’s name was Hank.”

“Oh, right, right. It’s a nickname my wife had for her cousin when they were kids. He had long hair, don’t you know, back in the day.”

Hannah wondered why Walker regarded the man with a frown. Perhaps he didn’t like the contractor any more than she did.

The stranger didn’t notice. He peered into the bright sun as he surveyed the property. “Which one of these buildings are we tearing down? Looks like they all pretty much need it.”

“We aren’t tearing down any of them. We’re remodeling that third building there. But perhaps we should wait until Hank is feeling better.” Walker’s voice was tight.

“No, no, we’re fine. I can get you fixed right up. I can even start the work tomorrow morning, don’t you know.”

“That won’t be necessary. All we need today is a bid.”

Everett Tinker looked disappointed. His eyes roamed over the town again, zeroing in on the old inn. “I reckon that one is next on your list. I can work up a bid on that one, too, don’t you know.”

“Again, that won’t be necessary. Just the one.” Walker’s reply was cool and firm.

“Hey, you’re the boss.” The contractor flashed a big smile, revealing his aversion to dentists.

“Actually, Miss Duncan is the boss.”

The man had the audacity to chuckle. “Well, sure, she is.” He may as well have acknowledged she was the tooth fairy, for all the conviction in his voice.

Hannah stiffened immediately. Walker put a hand to her waist and leaned in to whisper, “Easy there, tiger.”

Leroy came bounding up from unknown parts, none too happy to find a stranger in their midst. He barked wildly, charging right up to the man in baggy overalls.

“He—He don’t bite, does he?” The large man visibly paled.

“Not with one of us around. But I don’t recommend dropping by, unannounced,” Walker was quick to warn. He reached out his other hand to quieten the dog. “Leroy. Sit.”

The shaggy white beast obeyed the command with obvious reluctance. He growled low in his throat, just to state his position on the matter. Hannah leaned into Walker and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “I agree with Leroy.”

The three of them walked down to the old storefront, Leroy close on their heels. Walker gave the carpenter a brief description of the work needing done.

Tinker squinted in the sunlight and stabbed a beefy finger toward the structure next door. “Might need to see one of the other cabins, don’t you know, so’s I can get a feel for what you’re looking for.”

After exchanging a look with Walker, Hannah shrugged and pulled out her keyring. Tinker grinned as they moved to the small cabin.

The carpenter poked through the space, opening doors and examining hinges, sliding out first one panel, then the next, testing the sturdiness of a wall or the bottom of a drawer. He had even looked under the bed.

“Mighty fine workmanship in here,” he commented at last.

“Thank you,” Walker said stiffly.

“Hank did this, did he?” When Tinker ran his hand under the edge of the bar, Hannah hoped he came out with a long, sharp splinter.

“As a matter of fact, I did this,” the attorney replied.

Hannah and Tinker both snapped their heads in his direction. All Hannah could manage was a stunned, “You?”

Tinker, on the other hand, droned on about first one thing, and then another. He liked the sliding panel over the television. Were there other hidden surprises? He had suggestions for where the electrical panel should have been… where was it, by the way? Where was the main breaker box for the property, just in case he needed to know? Some old buildings had a false floor, or a lowered ceiling. What about these? Any crawl spaces he could know about?

“Let’s take a look at the other cabin,” Tinker suggested eagerly.

“Honestly, Mr. Tinker, all we’re asking for is a bid on the old store.” Walker glanced at his watch. “I have another contractor scheduled for two o’clock.”

“Oh, well, sure, sure. I can be done by then, don’t you know.”

“Actually, I don’t know,” Walker replied smoothly. “Let’s go fine out, shall we?”

Hannah breezed past his outstretched arm, her grin stretched wide. For once, the lawyer’s smirk was directed at someone other than her.

A trail of dust still hung in the air behind Everett Tinker’s old truck. Hannah turned on Walker and charged, “I do not like that man!”

“That makes two of us.” Putting a hand onto Leroy’s head, he felt the great beast tremble with controlled energy. “Correction. Three.”

“I wonder why Leroy kept barking like that, running back and forth between the inn and the store.”

“He obviously didn’t like Tinker, any more than we did.”

“And what was with all the banging and tapping? We’re going to tear down the inner walls and remodel. What’s it matter if they’re hollow or solid? And why are you still staring toward the road?” Following his gaze, a thought occurred to her. She instinctively moved a step closer and dropped her voice. “Do you not trust him to truly leave the property?”

“I don’t trust him at all.”

“Then why did you call him?”

“I didn’t. I called Hank Ruby, remember?”

However, Hannah was on a roll, still peppering him with questions. “And why didn’t you tell me that you did that work in the cabin? The craftsmanship is amazing! Why do we even need a contractor? You could just remodel the old store.”

He was too distracted to respond to her compliment. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“I know,” Hannah sighed, deflating like a balloon. “You have a law practice. Not enough hours in a day to work on the building, too. It doesn’t add up.”

“No, not that. Well, yes that, but I was referring to Tinker. He said he was from Wichita Falls.”

“So?”

“His truck has Kansas plates.”

By silent accord, they turned and started toward the inn.

“Maybe he meant Wichita, as in Wichita, Kansas. Maybe he added ‘Falls’ by mistake.”

“I admit, he’s not the hottest burner on the stove, but surely he knows where he lives.”

Hannah looked doubtful. After a moment, she brightened. “We don’t need his bid, anyway. We have that other contractor coming at two.”

Walker opened the inn door and held it for her, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “There’s no other contractor,” he admitted. “I just told him that to hurry him along.” With a wicked wink, he added, “Don’t you know.”

Hannah laughed along with him, but warning bells sounded in her head.

He’s married. Married, married, married. He may have spent the last five nights here, helping you out and making you feel safe, not a wedding ring in sight, but he is OFF limits. No use in noticing his sexy laugh and his to-die-for smile. Get over it.

“I’ll throw some lunch together,” she offered, eager to get away from the smile she tried so hard to ignore. “Do you have time before you leave?”

She told herself that she didn’t notice the graceful play of muscles along his arm, either, when he consulted his wristwatch. “I should have time for a quick bite. If we have pork chops left from last night, I can warm one of those.”

She nodded and hurried off to the kitchen.

Walker found her there a few moments later, staring into the refrigerator. She had plates and a tub of leftover potato salad on the counter, but no pork chops. He peered over her shoulder. “Where’s the meat?”

“That’s what I’d like to know!” She tossed him a suspicious look. “Was that you I heard last night, banging around in the kitchen? Did you get hungry and have a midnight snack?”

He backed away, palms offered up in a gesture of innocence. “I thought that was you down here.”

“I have a strict policy about not wandering around in the dark.” Not after the other night, she added silently. She took the empty platter from the refrigerator shelf and wagged it toward him. “If you didn’t eat these, who did?”

“It must have been Leroy, because I’m telling you, I didn’t eat them.” He went so far as to frown in disappointment. “And I already had my taste buds all set for them.”

“Leroy did not open this refrigerator and get out the pork chops. You did this, Walker Jacoby,” she accused.

“I swear, I did not eat the left-over pork chops. Scouts honor.” He made an official looking sign with his fingers.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Were you ever a scout?”

“No, but that’s beside the point. I still didn’t eat the pork chops.”

She merely huffed. “Looks like you’re eating sandwiches, then.”

“Fine with me. Hey, have you seen that folder I left on the check-in counter? I went to grab it just now, and it’s not there.”

“Haven’t seen it.”

“Hmm. Maybe I left it somewhere else.”

Hannah fretted while she pulled together the makings for sandwiches. Carrying the offering to the table, she finally voiced her troubled thoughts.

“Walker? You don’t think… I mean, surely she wouldn’t… she seemed more sad than dangerous, but—but could Caroline have moved your file and eaten the pork chops? You don’t think she somehow managed to get in, do you, and… and snooped around?”

He didn’t answer right away. He seemed to give the idea serious merit before answering, albeit indirectly. “I’m certain that Caroline did not eat the pork chops,” he assured her.

“How can you be so sure? Is she a vegetarian?”

He smiled at the very thought. “I doubt it. But trust me, Caroline didn’t eat them.”

Hannah wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Because you did!” she accused.

“I did no such thing.”

“Well if you didn’t, and Leroy and I didn’t, and now you insist Caroline didn’t, then who in the heck ate the pork chops?” Hannah demanded.

Walker stared toward the great room, and the front door beyond that. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His brows drew together in a frown. “I just don’t know.”

Chapter Ten

“Like taking candy from a baby.”

Delroy slipped into the front seat of the old pickup and held up a manila folder. His thin face split with a grin.

“What is that?”

“Some sort of contract. Lots of ‘wherefores’ and other such nonsense. It looked important, so I took it.”

“What’s in the other hand?” his brother asked, pulling away from the shoulder of the road. Del had been waiting in the trees, just as planned.

“That, dear brother,” Del said, popping the last of the morsel into his mouth and smacking his lips, “was just about the best pork chop I ever did taste.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your midmorning snack,” his brother jeered. “What else did you find? I stalled as long as I could, giving you more time to snoop.”

“I couldn’t snoop too much,” Del complained, licking his fingers clean. “That woman was watching me.”

“What woman? There ain’t another woman out there. I’ve been casing the place all week, don’t you know.”

“Don’t know how you could miss a fine woman like her. Long blond hair, skin as fair as day, a pretty yellow dress that hung all the way to the floor. Mighty fine looking woman.”

His brother flung his beefy arm out, walloping him in the chest. “I sent you in there to find something useful, you fool, not to flirt with the cook!”

“I found this, didn’t I?” the younger man scoffed, waving the folder in the air triumphantly.

“What is it, then? What’s it say? Does it have a copy of the map inside?”

“Well, let’s just take a look-see and find out.” Delroy opened the folder and scanned the first place. “It says here the party of the first part is demanding su—sufficient r—re—renumeration,” he struggled with the words, “for concentration of expenses in—incurred—”

“You mean compensation.”

“Yeah, that too.” Del scanned the rest of the document, until he reached the last page. “Okay, here we go. This says that Opal Finke is demanding seven thousand and fifty-two dollars from Hill Country Home Insurance.”

“Who the heck is Opal Finke?”

“The poor woman who’s house flooded when the water pipe broke. Ouch! Whatdidya hit me for?” He shrank into himself, but he couldn’t pull far enough away to escape his brother’s wrath. Bigs slapped at him blindly, swatting anything his flapping arm came in contact with. The truck swerved a crazy path down the blacktop road. “Watch it, Bigs! You nearly run us off the road!”

“I’ll not only run you off the road, I’ll run you out of town!” Snatching the cap off his head, Bigs used it to extend his reach. His continued to swat at his brother, who now hovered against the far door. “I’ll run you off the dad blamed planet! That file you stole ain’t got nothing to do with the hidden treasure, you idiot. That’s just some old lady suing her insurance company. I swear, sometimes you ain’t got a lick of sense!”

“Big Daddy always said it was the curse,” Delroy defended himself. “The curse that little German gal put on our family, when Great Granddaddy Patch didn’t go back and marry her.”

“You ain’t cursed,” his brother denied. “You’re just plumb stupid.”

Chapter Eleven

Humming along with the music streaming from her phone, Hannah studied the ledgers scattered in front of her. Fortunately for her, Miss Wilhelmina kept excellent documentation through the years, even though it was all done by hand. With nothing recorded electronically, Hannah had to search through each ledger, one by one. It was a slow process, but she was making progress.

She was buoyed by the totals in the margins. The Spirits of Texas Inn was, indeed, a profitable business, just as Walker reported that first day. It helped that a substantial deposit was made in late 1970, and again the following year. Smaller but still significant amounts followed for the next five years. With a healthy bank account to fall back on, the inn could afford a few lean times.

Most interesting of all was the fact that Miss Wilhelmina, like the innkeepers before her, made side notes throughout the ledgers. In many ways, the notes read like journals.

Some notes were brief and to the point: Raining. Or, Construction on the new highway.

Others gave a brief recap of guests, and events in the area. Sweet couple, here for first anniversary. Or, Trail ride and reunion for Bottoms Family. And, Lecture at library over hidden treasure. Should get their facts straight.

“Hidden treasure!” Hannah read aloud. “Knowing JoeJoe, that’s the whole reason he bid on this crazy place.” She blew away a tendril of dark hair that kept falling into her face. There was a bit of a draft in the room. “As if the man needs any more money,” she grumbled. “He just loves the thrill of the hunt.”

Despite his crazy, impulsive ways, she adored her uncle. He was the only family she had.

True, her mother was still living, but their relationship was hardly described as that of ‘family.’ They were more like polite strangers, exchanging Christmas cards and occasional texts. When was the last time she had heard from her mother in person, anyway? Sometime around husband number five, she thought. The producer who claimed he could revive her career and get her the type of leading roles she deserved. No more achy joint commercials and dowdy grandmotherly-type roles for the talented actress; she was a star, and he would help her shine. When that same husband and producer polished off her bank account a few months later, Jacqueline called her daughter. “Just to talk,” her mother claimed, but Hannah knew the drill. Her mother only called when she needed something.

Back then, Hannah was in a position to help her mother when times got rough. With no one else to spend her hard-earned money on other than herself, Hannah could afford to be generous, in more ways than one. She would graciously overlook her mother’s lack of parenting skills and send a note of encouragement after each hard-luck phone call. She always tucked a check in along with it, something to tide her mother over until her next big break came along.

Jacqueline called Hannah’s father the dreamer, but it was she who lived in a fantasy world. Life in rural East Texas never suited the voluptuous brunette. She wanted something bigger, something better, than a wildcatter husband who worked in the oil fields. Even when it meant leaving her only child behind, Jacqueline could no longer resist the lure of fame and fortune. Terrell could chase his dreams of finding oil; Jacqueline had dreams of her own, and they led her to Hollywood.

Oddly enough, both realized their dreams, at the same exact time. Duncan Drilling hit a huge vein of oil, launching them into the big time, on the very day that Jacqueline landed the roll of Rhonda in Doctors’ General, the most popular soap opera on television. With both of their careers spinning out of control, neither had time for an inquisitive little girl. Hannah bounced between the two of them like a ping-pong game that neither wanted to play. JoeJoe became the bright spot in little Hannah’s life, the only person who ever seemed to have time for her.

Her uncle was just an overgrown kid, himself. Technically, he was a partner in Duncan Drilling, a business the two brothers inherited from their father. Terrell ran the company while JoeJoe finished his education and squandered his share of the profits on things like cheap women and expensive birthday presents for his only niece. By the time Terrell died in a rig explosion, the company was almost broke. Hannah inherited her father’s share, but promptly sold it to her uncle. She wanted no part of the business, blaming it for taking her father’s life and for driving her mother away, all those years ago. One year later, her uncle was daring enough—or foolish enough—to throw in with an innovative new oilfield product coming out of Dubai. It made him an instant millionaire, several times over.

Now her uncle was a very rich overgrown kid, still buying extravagant gifts for his only niece.

Hence, here she sat, queen of her own little sad kingdom, reading over ledgers recorded in longhand.

The music began to cut in and out. Hannah picked up her phone and checked the signal. Something was playing havoc with the connection, causing interference.

Too bad, because the music kept the strange noises at bay.

A building as old and rambling as the inn made all sorts of odd and unexpected sounds. Nights were the worst, when silence settled in, broken only by the creak and groan of shifting seams and aging beams. And when Walker was away, and the house was empty save for her and Leroy, the noises came again, reminding Hannah of her isolation and her vulnerability. It was best to drown out the sounds with the radio, or Leroy’s shuddering snores, or by whatever means she could find. Television, unfortunately, was not an option. The subscription to the satellite service had lapsed, and new equipment was required before the system could be restored. A technician wasn’t scheduled until early next week.

Curious about the mention of a hidden treasure, Hannah typed it into her phone’s search engine. The slow connection was excruciating. Deciding it was time for a break, she went upstairs to use her laptop. The inn’s computer was password protected, and until the elusive Sadie and Fred returned, there was no getting in.

Hannah was surprised to read that, according to local legend, there was a hidden treasure buried somewhere in the nearby hills. In the late eighteen seventies, notorious outlaw Sam Bass and a ragtag team of bandits perfected their robbery skills, targeting stage coaches before moving on to the more modern—and lucrative—steam-powered locomotive. Most of their hits were smalltime efforts, executed more for experience than for wealth. However, legend had it that one of the stages carried covert cargo: two huge crates of gold and silver.

The Army was transferring a sizable fortune from Fort Worth to San Antonio. The plan was to send a decoy troop of soldiers by rail, armed to the hilt but in fact guarding empty crates. While attention was drawn to the pomp and circumstance of army pageantry, the real gold traveled by stage, protected only by three undercover officers and the usual stage driver. The plan worked so well that two separate teams of bandits held up the train, fifty miles apart, and were taken into custody with minimal loss of life.

All went well until the stage neared the Hannah stop. As the vehicle neared South Grape Creek, a lone rider came up from the south and attempted to flag down the stage. Behind him, the Bass gang rode into view at the top of the hill, intent on overtaking that very same stage.

No one knew exactly what happened next. The only eyewitness left to tell the story was one of the officers, and he was in little shape to tell his tale. Best as anyone knew, fate played a cruel trick upon the men that day. When the officer grabbed his chest during the beginning stages of a heart attack, his fellow officers thought he had been shot. In the confusion, they over-reacted and assumed it was a robbery. Before Sam Bass and his gang made it down the hill and toward the crossing, two officers and the driver were dead, the third officer was mistaken as such, and the lone rider was injured. The crates spilled out on the ground, revealing their fortune.

No one knew for certain how much money was at stake. The Army refused to give details. Some denied the freight was even on the stage to begin with; a blunder such as this did not look good for their reputation. Bass and his gang, now plus one, were smart enough to keep their good fortune quiet. Right there at the creek crossing, they decided to hide the money and lay low. No need in spending a sudden unexplained fortune. When the time was right, they would return to the area and claim their booty.

Sam had success with a similar plan the year before, when he and the Collins Gang robbed a train in South Dakota and got away with sixty thousand dollars in newly minted gold. After that heist, the men broke off in pairs, each with their share of the money. The poor fools who spent their money openly were now dead, while Sam, on the other hand, still rode free.

The lone rider from the stagecoach, injured and in need of care, entrusted his share to Sam. Even a poor farm boy from Kansas had heard of the great Sam Bass. He was known as a fair outlaw, if such a thing existed. To prove his trustworthiness, Bass drew a map, gave the only copy to the injured fellow, and took him to the nearest farmhouse, which just happened to be the stage stop. They concocted a story about the fellow being on the stage and injured when an outlaw rode up and robbed them, single-handed.

It was weeks before anyone knew the real story, or parts of it, at best. The surviving officer tried to set the record straight, but his speech was weak and slurred. He had difficulty relaying the conversation he overheard that day, about a band of outlaws hiding the gold. Eventually, it was determined that the injured man recuperating in Hannah was actually the lone outlaw. Before they could take him into custody, however, he somehow managed to escape. Most believed he had an accomplice, and some thought it was the young girl from the stagecoach stop, young Lina.

According to legend, the treasure was never recovered. While the lone rider recovered from his injuries, too weak to retrieve the gold, Bass and his gang rode into Round Rock, intent on robbing the bank there. The notorious outlaw was injured in a gunfight and died. People spoke of Bass’s other hidden treasure, the money from the Dakota train robbery, but no one knew about the stagecoach heist. Not until the officer told his garbled story and the lone rider escaped in the night, never to be seen again.

Hannah read the story with a sense of mild amusement. Funny, how rumors and legends came into being. If there was ever any hidden gold to begin with, the lone rider probably took it with him when he left the country. She supposed it was more interesting, however, to imagine that it still hid somewhere in the hills, just waiting to be discovered. It was one of those stories people told their kids, in random moments when they had nothing else to talk about, or those times when they wanted to distract them and pull their minds away from current circumstances. It was something to tell visitors to the area, when there was little else to hold their attention. A fun tale to recite around a campfire, or when you ran out of ghost stories.

Hannah could definitely see her uncle falling for such a ruse, caught up in the thrill and romance of the old-west legend.

“So much for that,” she said, closing down the website with a click of her tongue. “If you ask me, legends of hidden treasure just never seem to pan out. Stories like that are for dreamers.” A wicked thought occurred to her, and she giggled aloud. “And if hell freezes over and my mother ever comes to visit, I’ll share the story with her. That might just be her best shot of getting any money out of me these days. Alas, my well—therefore, her well—runneth dry.”

As Hannah descended the stairs, her mind went back to the ledgers. She had spent the past few days studying them. Mention of hidden treasures aside, the books for the old inn boasted a healthy bottom line. If staying captive for the full thirty days meant a generous bonus for improvements and remodeling, she might very well be sitting atop a hidden treasure of a different kind. The sort that required a little imagination, a lot of hard work, and an investment of time and energy. The kind that paid off in the long run.

Was she up to the challenge? Hannah pondered the enormity of the question as her foot hit the last step. This meant making a commitment. This meant no wiggling out of the contract terms. This meant no quitting in a year, even after she earned the second bonus.

And that sound she heard meant someone was in the kitchen…

Hannah picked up the pace.

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About the Author

Becki Willis, best known for her popular The Sisters, Texas Mystery Series and Forgotten Boxes, always dreamed of being an author. In November of '13, that dream became a reality. Since that time, she has published eleven books, won first place honors for Best Mystery Series, Best Suspense Fiction and Best Audio Book, and has introduced her imaginary friends to readers around the world.

An avid history buff, Becki likes to poke around in old places and learn about the past. Other addictions include reading, writing, junking, unraveling a good mystery, and coffee. She loves to travel, but believes coming home to her family and her Texas ranch is the best part of any trip. Becki is a member of the Association of Texas Authors, the National Association of Professional Women, and the Brazos Writers organization. She attended Texas A&M University and majored in Journalism.

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