“Collision doesn’t do them any good either.”
“I’d think not.” She drove more cautiously as she peered from side to side. “You just introduced me to a whole new issue. And I thought Dallas drivers were dangerous.”
He chuckled. “Give me a few critters to tussle with any day.”
Up ahead, the road dead-ended in front of a dense growth of twisted trees and entwined undergrowth. Green, brown, thorny. Surely it was much like the original, impenetrable Cross Timbers.
She stopped and looked from right to left. “Did I make a wrong turn?”
“Independent cusses settled Wildcat Bluff. They wanted safety and privacy. They got it.”
“Do you mean we walk in from here?” She imagined carting her belongings up a narrow trail to a dusty cabin. Despite rave reviews, the spring might be a muddy hole in the ground. Who knew what wild animals shared the water? She sighed. Her day kept getting more complicated the closer she got to Wildcat Bluff.
“Dogleg right, then back left.”
She looked at him in exasperation. “If you hadn’t noticed, there’s an impenetrable wall in front of us, and the road ends here.”
“Trust me.”
Not much other choice. She turned sharply to the right, looked left, and saw a gap wide enough for trucks or campers, two or three abreast. Nobody would ever guess there was an entrance here.
“Go on.” He pointed forward. “Plenty of room to drive horses and wagons through there back in the day.”
She followed the wide road upward. As she reached the summit, the sun bathed Wildcat Bluff in a golden glow. She gasped. Christmas had come to the Bluff, and the town was awash in red and green, gold and silver, white and blue. Multicolored lights blinked on and off where they had been strung from building to building along the town’s rooflines. Country Christmas songs filled the air. She’d really fooled herself into thinking she could get away from all the Christmas folderol. If Dallas had been holiday mad, Wildcat Bluff was outrageous.
She braked and shut her eyes. First, fire. Now, Christmas. She didn’t know how she was going to survive the emotional onslaught. When tears burned behind her eyelids, she sniffed to keep back the moisture.
“I know,” Trey said. “It can catch you by surprise and bring back all your wonderful childhood memories.”
She swallowed hard, unable to respond. She absolutely would not be overwhelmed by her emotions. She’d had sixteen years of practice at putting those feelings in a closet and slamming the door shut. She was a grown, professional woman and she could handle anything Wildcat Bluff threw at her. She’d simply focus on the present and whatever lay beneath shiny tinsel and country charm. And do her job.
A long row of one-and two-story buildings built of rock and brick nestled behind a white portico that covered a long boardwalk. Sunlight glinted off shop windows. Once more, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time into a Western town like the ones she’d seen in old tintype photos that Aunt Cami had shared with her. Yet everything appeared as fresh as if it’d been constructed yesterday.
“Wildcat Bluff spreads out from Old Town in streets named after trees and cats. We’ve got architecture from Victorian to Art Deco to Midcentury Modern to Ranch Hacienda. Modular housing, too. Offices are in homes or in the business and warehouse district to the south. You name it, we’ve probably got it.”
“Sounds eclectic.”
He chuckled. “More like a lot of hard-headed mavericks built across the centuries to suit their own whims.”
“I like it.”
“Glad you do. I’m right partial myself.”
“Are these original structures?” She was proud of her steady voice and clear thoughts.
“Here on Main Street, yes.”
“They’re beautiful. And the buildings are so perfectly maintained. But how did they get built here? I mean, who had those skills?”
“Italian masons.”
She looked harder at the buildings, trying to reconcile skilled masons with the old West. She noticed more details. “Saloon” was painted in tall yellow letters near the roofline of a brick two-story building. Next door was the Wildcat Hotel with a second-floor balcony enclosed with a stone balustrade supported by five fancy columns.
“I don’t understand.” She pointed from one building to another. “Back then, this town would have been on the frontier of Texas. Where would they have found European masons?”
“I guess most people don’t know the history anymore. Back then, there were coal mines over to the west of here. And the Choctaw Nation had coal mines in Indian Territory near McAlester. Those old train engines were hungry beasts—ate coal by the ton load. Italian miners came over to work the mines with locals. Some of those guys were masons.”
“Wildcat Bluff must be quite the tourist attraction.”