Educating Abbie: Titled Texans -- Book Two

by Cynthia Sterling

  The train sounded a second blast. Reg pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and pressed it into the stableman’s hand. “Take good care of him,” he said, then turned and strode toward the depot.

  The area around the platform smelled of cinders and sawdust. Reg remembered the last time he’d stood here – the day he’d returned from Amarillo with Abbie. He had a sudden memory of her smiling as he’d introduced her to Cam. Even now, that memory had the power to make his pulse race and his heart pound.

  He forced himself to go on, to climb the steps into the first class car. He found a seat next to a window and stared out at the front of Pickens’ Mercantile. Old Hiram Pickens would certainly be sad to see him go.

  He thought of Abbie, and the tears that had glistened in her eyes when he’d seen her last. He’d never even stopped to say goodbye to her. What was it Cam had said, about him not being a coward? Oh, but I am a coward, he thought. I didn’t even have the courage to face her again.

  He’d called it bravery, to rush home to face his father’s wrath. But in truth, the Earl could care less whether Reg’s well struck water or found only more dry dirt. The ranch was just a parcel of foreign real estate to him, another business venture to dabble in for a short time. He’d rail at Reg because it was his habit to do so, but nothing Reg said or did would change the way things were between them.

  He remembered what Cam had said – that he was their father’s favorite son. If that were true, then he didn’t have to work for his father’s love. He already had it.

  If Cam was wrong, then would anything Reg did at this point change his father’s feelings for him? Surely their roles were set in marble now.

  Cam had called him a fool. A fool to leave Texas? He looked past the general store, to the gently rolling prairie that stretched to the horizon. The country was like his horse – the very things he’d disliked about Texas when he’d first arrived had grown to be the things he loved the most: the vastness of the land, the wildness that tested him at every turn, the rewards to be had in meeting each new challenge.

  This stretch of prairie had come to mean so much more to him. On these stark plains, beneath this achingly blue sky, he’d felt more at home that he’d felt anywhere in his life. He’d tested his mettle and found new friends, things worth taking risks for.

  And he’d found Abbie. Of all the treasures Texas had yielded to him, she was the one to be prized the most. He was more than a fool to ever think of leaving her.

  * * * *

  Abbie leaned forward along Toby’s neck and urged him on. “Faster, boy. We’ve got to catch him. You can do it.” The horse’s hooves pounded over the dried-out land, raising clouds of dust. She pulled her bandanna up over her nose and scanned the trail in front of her, watching for any approaching rider. The east bound train left the station at two; Reg might already be on his way to catch it.

  “Oh, Lord, please help me find him,” she prayed. He couldn’t leave before she had a chance to talk to him – a chance to tell him all that was in her heart.

  She’d wrestled with herself all morning, her father’s teachings of independence warring with the fear that she was passing up the one chance in her life for happiness. Maura’s words had made her realize how much pride – her own and Reg’s – had stood in the way of their feelings for each other.

  What were those feelings, really? In all their time together, they’d never said they loved each other. What if all the love was on her side only? Was she making a fool of herself, coming to bare her soul to Reg this way?

  Or would she be too late?

  She crested Dugout Draw and saw a horse tied to a scrub oak. Her spirits sank when she recognized Cam’ black stallion. She spotted Cam himself with another man in front of the dugout, and rode down the hill to them.

  Cam looked up at her approach. “Hello – Abbie, is that you?”

  She jerked the bandanna off her face. “Where’s Reg?” She was out of breath, her heart racing.

  He glanced at the other man. “Excuse us a moment, Mr. Emerson.” He motioned for Abbie to follow him around the corner of the dugout.

  “I’m too late, aren’t I?” she asked, twisting the reins in her hand.

  He pushed his hat back on his head and looked up at her. “The train stops at Magdalene, just up the track. If you hurry, you can catch him.”

  Magdalene was little more than a siding. She had a picture of herself flagging down the train like a bandit, demanding Reg surrender to her or else.

  Cam must have sensed her hesitation. “My brother is a stubborn fool,” he said. “It may very well take being accosted at the station to bring him to his senses.” He smiled. “Or perhaps the sight of you will be enough to make him realize what he’s giving up by leaving.”

  She returned his smile. “All right. I’ll do it.” She started to turn her horse, then heard a shout behind them. She jerked her head up, and saw a horse galloping down the hill toward them.

  “It’s Reg!” Cam said.

  But Abbie’s body had already recognized the rider, her heart racing even before her brain registered that this was indeed Reg, coming back to her.

  He pulled up sharply in front of the dugout, his clothes covered with dust, his hat askew. Abbie dropped her reins and leapt from the saddle, as Reg slid from his. They both spoke almost at once.

  “I was on my way to see you, as soon as I talked to Cam,” he said.

  “Reg, I came to tell you I can’t let you leave – not until you know how I feel.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” He reached into his coat and pulled out his ticket. “Here.” He handed it to Cam. “I won’t be needing this now.”

  Then he took Abbie’s arm and led her away from the dugout. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Reg, what happened?” She studied his face for some clue to his emotions, but his solemn expression revealed nothing. Was he staying because of her – or because of something else? “What about your father?”

  “My father can get along fine without me.” He stopped and turned to her, his eyes alight with a feverish passion. “Sitting on that train, waiting for it to leave the station, I realized I’ve been struggling all this time to win my father’s respect – but what I was really looking for was something to respect within myself.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I want to stay and make something of this ranch.”

  She looked down at the dirt between their feet. Right now she felt as if her heart were somewhere down in that dirt, crushed. “So you came back for the ranch.”

  He gripped her so tightly she almost cried out. “No, I came back for you!” He put his face close to hers, so that when he spoke, his breath was hot in her ear. “The ranch doesn’t mean a thing if I don’t have you to share it with.”

  All the breath went out of her at his words. She raised her head and stared at him. “I’m trying to say I love you,” he said. “But maybe I’m going about it all wrong.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and covering her mouth with his own. The heat of that kiss seared her, melting away any lingering suspicion or resistance, thawing the cool shell she’d tried to wrap herself in these past weeks as protection against his leaving. His lips coaxed life back into her limbs – her skin began to tingle, every nerve awake and aware. When at last he raised his head, she felt a new exhilaration, like someone waking from a stupor.

  He smiled and stroked the hair back from her forehead. “I want to marry you, Abbie. If you’ll have me.”

  “I was going to ride to Magdalene and flag down the train,” she said. “To tell you I love you and I couldn’t let you leave. I didn’t dare hope you’d really stay – I only knew I had to tell you how I felt.”

  His expression grew serious once more. “Answer me one question.” He nodded toward the drilling rig. “If that well comes in or not – if I pull the ranch through or have to sell out, will you still love me?”

  She tightened her arms around him. “I’d love you
if you were a dirt-poor sodbuster and all we had was a shack like this one.” She grinned. “Or I’d love you if you were the King of England himself. I love you, Reg, not what you’ve done or what you have.”

  “I may never be much of a rancher.” He frowned at the creaking machinery.

  “And I’ll never be a proper lady. But that doesn’t matter, does it – as long as we love each other?”

  “That’s all I need to hear.” He grinned back at her and bent his head to kiss her once more. She pressed herself against him, savoring the feel of her body against his. She thought the sound she heard was the pounding of her heart, and the roar of her own blood in her ears. Then she felt a cool dampness on her head, and a spray of droplets on her skin. She opened her eyes and squealed. “The well, Reg. The well! You’ve found water!”

  A silvery flood poured from the shaft, fountaining up and raining down upon them and everything around. “We got a good one, Mr. Worthington!” the driller shouted. “Tapped into an artesian pocket. Your water worries are over!”

  Reg swept Abbie into his arms, then whirled her around in the refreshing shower until they were both dizzy and breathless from laughing. “Oh, Reg, let me go,” she gasped.

  “I’ll never let you go.” He began to hum a waltz, and to dance with her in the gathering mud.

  “Reg, you’ve gone crazy!”

  “I was lost the day I first looked into those emerald eyes of yours,” he said. He stopped and smiled down on her. “I ended up in the mud that day, and look where I am again.”

  “As long as we’re together, Reg – that’s all that matters.”

  “That’s all that matters,” he agreed and kissed her once more, water falling in a silver shower over and around them.

  Epilogue

  “A toast to the bride and groom. Or, I should say, the brides and grooms.” Cam stood and held his glass of champagne aloft. He smiled at the couples flanking him at the table. If he did say so himself, his brother looked quite dashing in his morning suit, and Abbie shone in her confection of satin and lace. Maura, dressed in white silk and pearls, only added her beauty to the day. Alan Mitchell looked a little stiff in his formal suit, but there was no mistaking his happiness as he smiled at his bride. “May Abbie and Reg, and Maura and Alan, find eternal happiness.”

  Glasses clinked around the table, and the guests echoed their own congratulations. Cam returned to his seat at the head of the table and addressed the lavish wedding breakfast Cooky had prepared. One thing was certain; Reg wouldn’t go hungry any time soon. Cooky had agreed to take over kitchen duties at the Ace Clubs, now that Maura was moving on to the A7 and Mrs. Bridges was returning to the Double Crown.

  “I have an announcement of my own to make.” Reg pushed back his chair and stood. He smiled at his guests. Cam had never thought of his brother as a smiling man, but Texas had changed a lot of things about Reg. As far as he could determine, it was all for the better.

  “Abbie and I are entering a partnership together.” Reg grinned at his bride. “Both a personal and a business partnership. We plan to start a breeding program with stock from both ranches.”

  “From the looks you two are giving each other, I’d say you’ll be breeding more than cows,” Joe Dillon boomed. Abbie flushed red, but joined in the laughter along with everyone else. Reg sat down and took her hand.

  “It looks as if the Ace of Clubs will do all right this year, since Reg drilled that well.” Abbie smiled proudly at her husband. “A lot of other ranchers in the area are following his example. In fact, Pete Emerson’s scheduled to come out to my place – I mean our place – next week.”

  “And you’ve never had any more trouble from whoever poisoned that water hole, have you?” Alan asked.

  Reg shook his head. “No. Tuff Jackson seems to have disappeared. No one’s seen him since the day the well came in.”

  Cam helped himself to another serving of coddled eggs. “Oh, I imagine our boy Tuff is wandering London High Street as we speak,” he said archly.

  “What?” Abbie gasped.

  Reg narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  “When I realized you weren’t going to be needing your ticket, I gave it to him.”

  “Whatever for?” Reg asked.

  He shrugged. “I could see the man wanted to emulate you. I thought I would give him the chance.”

  Cooky appeared in the doorway, his considerable bulk swathed in a white apron. “Sorry to interrupt, folks, but this here special delivery jus’ come from town.”

  “Special delivery? Let me see.” Cam held out his hand.

  Cooky gave him a withering look. “It’s addressed to Mister Reg.” He walked past Cam and handed the envelope to Reg.

  Everyone waited in silence as Reg slit open the envelope with his table knife and shook the contents into his hand. He stared at the single sheet of paper for a long time.

  Abbie reached up and touched his arm. “Reg, what does it say?”

  “It’s from the Earl.” He handed her the letter.

  Cam stiffened. After the day at the well, Reg had cabled their father, announcing that he wouldn’t be returning home, and why. It didn’t take much imagination to picture the Earl’s reaction to such uncharacteristic disobedience. It’s a wonder they hadn’t heard the explosion across the Atlantic.

  “He says ‘despite your deliberate disobedience’ he’s nevertheless impressed.” Abbie looked up in wonder. “He says the gamble you took with the well reminds him of something he might have done in his younger years.”

  Reg nodded, his jaw tight. Cam suddenly realized that instead of being angry, his brother was simply too moved to speak.

  Abbie glanced at the letter again. “From what I understand, your quick thinking has saved the ranch,” she read. “As for your decision not to return to England, I cannot say I am pleased with the prospect of not seeing you again. I know you think I have been harsh with you, but it was only my intention to equip you to realize your full potential.

  “Congratulations on your marriage. This lady rancher you’ve wed sounds like a remarkable woman – all the more so because she has chosen you. I hope you both will honor me with a visit soon.” Abbie looked up, eyes shining. “He sounds like someone I’d like to meet. Not nearly as. . . as fierce as I thought.”

  Reg shook his head. “It’s not exactly the reaction I expected from him.”

  “Perhaps the old boy’s mellowing in his old age.” Cam raised his glass again. “To the Earl of Devonshire,” he said. “And to the lessons he has taught us.”

  “To the Earl,” came the echo.

  Reg and Abbie gazed at each other, eyes filled with devotion. Cam watched them over the rim of his glass, until the tightness in his chest forced him to look away. Would he ever know a love like that? The prospect seemed as remote as the North Pole.

  And yet — if roaming Reg could settle down to happily-ever-after and make a success of a failing ranch, who was to say Cam couldn’t turn his life around also and find his place in the world, and the right woman to fill the emptiness in his heart?

  Read Cam’s story in The Runaway, the final volume of the Titled Texans trilogy.

  Thank you for reading Educating Abbie. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book. Consider writing a review, or recommending the book to your friends. Follow me on Facebook, or on Twitter @CMyersTex. And thank you!

  You might also enjoy these books by Cynthia Sterling:

  To Love a Lady –Titled Texans: Book One

  Educating Abbie – Titled Texans: Book Two

  The Runaway – Titled Texans: Book Three

  Patchwork Hearts A Quilting Romance

  The Christmas Quilt A Quilting Romance novella

  A Willing Spirit A Ghostly Romance

  Great Caesar’s Ghost A Ghostly Romance

  San Antonio Rogue

  A Long, Sweet Ride

  Enjoy this excerpt from The Runaway:

  Camden Worthington
was not a man who courted trouble, but sometimes trouble courted him. How else to explain the farmer with the shotgun who roused him from peaceful slumber in the hay-strewn horse stall? “Stand up, you lazy son of a bitch and take your punishment like the man you wish you were.”

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Cam shoved up out of the hay, gaze locked on the single unblinking orb that was the business end of a long-barreled shotgun. The moment had the irrational quality of a nightmare, and he might have believed he was dreaming, if not for the sunlight streaming through the open barn door behind the farmer, the fecund smell of straw and manure that filled the air, and the muffled whiffling of his horse that punctuated the air with a familiarity too vivid for dreams.

  He wet his lips and tried that favorite refuge of all Worthington men, fearless charm, “You ought to be careful where you point that thing, old chap. Someone might get hurt.”

  “Well it ain’t going to be me, is it?” The farmer, a black-haired, black-eyed, and no doubt black-hearted Texan dressed in faded denim trousers and a blanket-plaid shirt, jabbed the gun barrel into Cam’s chest. “Now move!”

  With a pretense of more serenity than he felt at the moment, Cam picked up the suit coat he’d been using as a blanket and shrugged into it. He brushed hay from the coat, combed his fingers through his hair to neaten it as much as possible, then fished the celluloid cleric’s collar from his front waistcoat pocket and fit it into place at his neck. Only then did he comply with the farmer’s order and move out of his shadowed corner into the sunlit main aisle of the barn.

  “Oh my!” The feminine gasp drew his attention to the doorway, and the two figures silhouetted there. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out a tall man and a woman. He would have called her a girl, if not for the obvious pregnancy belling her gown out in front of her. She was strikingly pretty, with great dark eyes staring at him out of a china doll’s face. He ventured a polite nod in her direction. Surely the crazed farmer wouldn’t shoot him dead in front of a woman in such a delicate condition.