Hill Country Cattleman

by Laurie Kingery

  “That’s just what I’m afraid of,” Edward muttered.

  It wasn’t as if she’d fallen in love at first sight, she told herself, even if the interested look in the depths of Masterson’s dark eyes had sped up her pulse. No, she loved Gerald, and he adored her, as he told her so often. When her time in Texas was over, she’d return to England and they’d be married, just as Gerald had promised.

  “You know how I feel about this notion of your being an authoress. You are a lady, Violet, the daughter and sister of a viscount. The nobility does not engage in trade, and selling a manuscript for money certainly constitutes that. I should think you’d understand by now that having your nose in a book all the time has left you naive....”

  It had been an oft-repeated refrain on this journey, and one she was too tired and hungry to listen to at the moment. She wanted to think about the cowboy she’d just met, and how she’d describe her book’s hero so that he resembled Raleigh Masterson.

  It was hard, being so far away from the man she loved, but she was determined to look on her time in Texas as an adventure. She would be richer in experience when she returned to Gerald, and then they could live happily ever after, she was sure of it.

  Chapter Two

  They were given the table in front of the bay window at the far end of the restaurant, but Violet knew she was the center of attention in the dining room of the Simpson Creek Hotel.

  “Why are they all staring at you?” Edward fumed over his roast beef. “You’d think they’d never seen a lady before.”

  “’Tis my modish dress, Edward,” Violet said softly, hoping those at nearby tables hadn’t heard his fussing. “It’s only natural London would be rather ahead of Texas in fashion.” She hadn’t brought any of her Worth gowns, of course, but a glance around at the simple ginghams and calicos she’d seen worn by the women coming out of the businesses and in this establishment told her she might need to obtain some clothing more in line with what she’d seen. Edward, too, was dressed far more formally than the ranchers and travelers who made up most of the diners, but he wouldn’t be staying long enough for it to matter.

  “Will you folks have anything else?” their waitress asked then, something sharp in her tone telling Violet she’d overheard her remark about Texas clothing being behind the times.

  Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to say anything derogatory, merely a statement of fact. There was no way to apologize, but at least she probably wouldn’t come in contact with the woman again.

  “I’d like a piece of that delicious-looking peach pie,” she said, indicating the dessert a nearby diner was enjoying. She gave the waitress what she hoped was a winning smile, but it did nothing to soften the other woman’s expression. “Why don’t you have some, too, Edward?”

  “Really, Violet, I don’t want to dillydally any further in getting out to Nicholas’s ranch,” Edward complained.

  “There’s no use being in a hurry, Edward—you can see from here that Mr. Masterson hasn’t returned with the carriage yet,” she said, pointing out the window by their table.

  Her brother craned his neck to look both ways out the window. “Bother,” he muttered. “The fellow probably found something more interesting to do and we’ll never see him again. Very well, miss, two pieces of peach pie.”

  After the waitress had left, Violet leaned over toward her brother. “Really, Edward, do stop being so critical. It probably takes some time to arrange for the rental of a carriage and hitch up a team of horses. I’m sure Mr. Masterson is hard at work at it this very minute.”

  * * *

  The cowboy who sat atop the buckboard wagon had undergone a metamorphosis since she’d last seen him. Gone was the beard that had hidden the fine planes of his cheekbones and made him look like an outlaw. The shirt he wore was no longer ripped, stained and dusty, but immaculate. He’d been interesting in appearance before, but merely grist for her writing mill. Now he was handsome.

  “Mr. Masterson, you...you’ve transformed yourself,” she said before she thought, and felt the heat of the blush that she knew was pinking her cheeks.

  He grinned. Sweeping his hat off with a flourish, he bowed, revealing hair that was still damp, but shiny clean and trimmed. “Why, thank you, Lady Violet,” he said. “I figured it was more’n time to spruce up a little and wash away all that trail dust.”

  She smiled back. “You’re welcome, but I’m not ‘Lady’ Violet. Our father was a viscount, one of the ‘lesser’ nobility, you see. I’m merely ‘the Honorable’ Miss Violet Brookfield—but ‘the honorable’ is only in writing. Miss Violet is fine.”

  “And ‘Miss Brookfield’ would be even better,” Edward added in a caustic tone. “What is that monstrosity?” he demanded, shifting the direction of his ire and jabbing a lordly finger at the roughhewn wagon Raleigh sat atop. “I assumed you’d arrange for a carriage, Masterson, not some rude freight wagon like this.”

  Raleigh blinked at the scorn in Edward’s voice, and Violet could practically see him gathering his reserves of tact.

  “I’m sorry, Lord Brookfield—I mean Lord Greyshaw—but Calhoun’s doesn’t have any carriages to rent right now, only a buggy. If I took you in a buggy, there ain’t—isn’t—a way to transport your trunks,” he said, pointing at the luggage that was stacked in the back. “I’m sorry. I know you must be used to much nicer than this buckboard, sir.”

  “But where is my sister to sit?” Edward retorted. “Or did you imagine she would sit on one of those trunks? There’s hardly room for all three of us on that seat.”

  Violet rather thought it would be delightfully cozy if she could sit next to Raleigh Masterson, and her brother ride out atop one of those hard, brass-bound trunks, but she knew that wouldn’t happen. Nor would she be allowed to ride the roan, which had apparently been left at the livery until his master returned. She wasn’t dressed for riding, anyway, she consoled herself.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve made your sister a nice soft place to sit, sir,” Raleigh said, pointing to a pile of furs behind the passenger’s side of the driver’s bench. “Calhoun lent us a buffalo robe.”

  “You expect my sister to ride for miles on the hide of a buffalo?” Edward was practically purple with indignation now.

  “I shall be fine, Edward,” she said, raising a hand to quell his wrath. “It looks quite soft. How very Western! I’ll enjoy writing home about that. Mr. Masterson, if you would assist me?” she said, extending a hand to him.

  He reached out to her, and before Edward could protest further, she had put her booted foot where he indicated and climbed aboard with what she thought was a very creditable grace.

  Edward could do nothing but clamber his way onto the other side of the bench seat, grumbling under his breath about the benighted country in which they found themselves.

  Violet enjoyed the ride from Simpson Creek southward over the gently rolling land with its blue hills in the distance.

  “It’s a beautiful place, your Texas,” she told Raleigh. “I hope I shall get some time to ride out among those hills while I’m here.”

  He looked back at her with interest. “You ride, Miss Vi—that is, Miss Brookfield?” he corrected himself hastily, after intercepting another glare from Edward.

  “Oh, yes. I love it. In fact, I rode to hounds at home,” she told him.

  He looked confused.

  “That is, I foxhunted with a pack of hounds back in England. There’s a lot of jumping of hedges and walls and fences as we pursue the fox. It’s great fun.”

  He looked startled. “You must be quite a horsewoman,” he said, respect lacing his voice.

  She shrugged. “I’ve been riding since my brother Nick first took me up in the saddle, before I was big enough for the pony my brothers had learned to ride on,” she said. “I was just about to get a hunter of my own—that is, as a loan for t
he season.” She shut her mouth, aware that Edward’s back had gone rigid on the seat ahead of her. He wouldn’t want her to speak about anything related to Gerald.

  Perhaps Raleigh sensed that it was an awkward subject, for he was tactful enough not to pursue it. “Yes, it’s pretty country to ride, Miss Brookfield. You should see it in the spring. The bluebonnets are out in mid-March and April, the fields are carpeted in them. It’s just like heaven.”

  He loves Texas, she thought, and her heart warmed to him even more. “Those red and gold flowers are glorious,” she said, pointing to a field just ahead.

  “Indian blanket and Mexican hat,” he said. “And the pale yellow flowers are primroses. They don’t open till afternoon—”

  “Oh! And what is that funny-looking bird there—see it?” A gray-brown bird about the size of a rooster dashed out from a clump of mesquite, spotted them with his pale yellow eyes, then sped ahead in a blur of motion before disappearing into a patch of cactus. She laughed in delight. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I interrupted you,” she said.

  “No problem, ma’am. That was a roadrunner, or some call him a chapparal bird,” Raleigh said. “They’re so quick, they can even kill rattlesnakes and eat them.”

  She shuddered. “Oh, dear. I hate snakes. It’s not likely I’ll see any, is it?”

  “You might, but they want to avoid you as much as you do them. Out here we make it a point to watch where we walk, though.”

  Violet made a mental note to always do exactly that.

  He asked Edward questions about their sea voyage then—perhaps out of politeness since he’d been talking to her for so long. Afraid she would forget the names for the flowers and bird Raleigh had just taught her, she reached into her reticule and pulled out her notebook and pencil and began to write them down. She might well need them for her novel.

  * * *

  It took about an hour to reach Brookfield ranch, and in that hour under the Texas sun, Violet decided her stylish hat was definitely impractical. She could feel her nose and cheeks reddening under the rays as the horses trotted along, and she understood now why the men all wore wide-brimmed hats and the women, bonnets. She had hats with wider brims in one of her trunks, but she hoped her sister-in-law would be able to loan her a bonnet for everyday use, or she’d go back to England brown as an Indian.

  And then Raleigh pointed out the wrought-iron arch over the ranch entrance in the distance. They turned off the road onto a long lane that led to a low ranch house built of fieldstone with a roof of shiny tin. Masterson pulled up in a yard between the ranch house and the barn.

  A pretty, dark-haired woman came flying out. “Oh, dear heavens, can that be you, Edward? We just read your letter two days ago and learned you were coming!” She caught Edward in an enthusiastic embrace, kissed him on one cheek, then turned back to Violet. “And you must be Violet! I’m Milly, of course—welcome to Brookfield ranch! We’re so happy you’ve come to visit!” she said as she gave Violet the same kind of exuberant hug she’d bestowed on her brother.

  Violet smiled back at her sister-in-law, dazed at the warmth of her welcome. We’re so glad you’ve come to visit. There was no guardedness, no tinge of reproach, no hint that Violet’s coming was anything more than a pleasure trip. She was sure her brother had written of the disgrace and scandal that threatened to shadow her name, yet Milly’s blue eyes held nothing but joy at meeting her and seeing Edward once again.

  Milly drew back for a moment and called, “Raleigh, thanks so much for bringing them out here! Won’t you come in and have some lemonade?”

  Violet hoped he’d agree, for she didn’t know when she’d ever see him again, but he just touched the brim of his hat respectfully and said, “Thanks, but I’d best be moving along. I’ve got to return Calhoun’s wagon and horse. I’ll just bring the trunks inside before I go.”

  “Well, at least take a jar of lemonade to wet your whistle on the way. Go on in, y’all, before you faint from the heat—I know you’re not used to it,” she said. “I’m just going to ring the bell so Nick will know you’re here.” Stepping over to a big iron bell hanging from the porch, she pulled on a rope and set up a clanging that made Violet jump and the horses that had pulled the buckboard lurch against the traces. Inside, Violet heard a small child calling.

  “Goodness, I’ve woke little Nick up,” Milly said with a chuckle, following behind them. “I reckon he’ll be excited to meet his aunt and uncle.”

  The back door led into a spacious kitchen with an iron stove, a long rectangular table and chairs. It was lit only by the sun that filtered through the curtains and relatively cool compared to the outside.

  Violet remained at the door to hold it open for Nick while Milly disappeared down a hall to retrieve her child. She returned, carrying a brown-haired toddler who hid his face against his mother’s shoulder at the sight of strangers.

  Raleigh brought the first trunk inside.

  “Would you take that to the guest room down the hall to the right, please?” Milly asked Raleigh. “Put them all there, and we can sort out whose is whose later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This is Richard Nicholas, but we call him Nicky,” Milly told them proudly. “Nicky, this is your Aunt Violet and Uncle Edward. He’ll lose his shyness in a minute or so,” she added when he buried his face once more. “And I can see his father riding in from the north pasture,” she added, shading her eyes with her free hand as she peered out the window in front of the table.

  Violet turned, eager to see the brother she hadn’t laid eyes on in five years. He’d come home on leave from India when their father died, but hadn’t returned to England after he’d been drummed out of the Bombay Light Cavalry in a scandal that was none of his own making. Disgraced, he’d gone directly to Texas to serve at the embassy branch in Austin.

  Nick had never taken up that post, of course, for he’d ridden up to the hill country first on a lark to meet Milly, the lady who’d placed an advertisement for bachelors to come to Simpson Creek, and had ended up marrying her.

  Violet now followed Milly’s pointing finger. First she saw a cloud of dust, then picked out the figure of a man leaning low over the back of a galloping bay. What was it about Texas that made it possible for men to ride as if they were one with the horse like that? The hunt set used a French phrase for it—“ventre à terre.” Would she be able to ride like that by the time she returned to England? Perhaps, once Edward went home, she’d even ride astride.

  The daring thought made her smile as she held the door open for Raleigh again. He smiled, too, and looked as if he wanted to say something, but at that moment Nick’s horse reached the yard and slid to a dust-raising halt. Nick shouted her name, and she forgot everything else and ran to embrace the brother she hadn’t seen for so long.

  He was older, of course—there were lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, and his hair had gone from pale to tawny gold, with hints of gray at the temples. Even older and weathered by the suns of India and Texas, though, he was still the best-looking of the Brookfield brothers.

  “Violet, I’m so happy you’re here!” he said against her hair, hugging her tightly. “I only just found out you were coming when I got back from the trail drive two days ago, and we had no idea when exactly to expect you. Milly’s been in a flurry of making curtains, cleaning and airing out the guest rooms....”

  “I’m glad to be here,” she murmured against his chest. “And so pleased to see you again, and meet your lovely wife and your darling son.”

  He held her at arm’s length and studied her. “When I left you were still in the schoolroom, and now look at you. You’re all grown-up.” It was half accusation, half loving observation.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see if Edward was coming out, but he wasn’t. Thankful her eldest brother was giving her a moment for a private reunion with Nick, she turned
back to him. “Yes, and now I’ve taken your position as the black sheep of the family, dear brother,” she said ruefully. “I’m sure Edward told you all about it in the letter—how he had to spirit me out of England to restore the good name of the family, just ahead of the scandal that was brewing.” She spoke lightly, but even she could hear the bitterness tingeing her tone. She hugged Nick again. “Edward doesn’t believe an older man could love me honorably, but Gerald—the Earl of Lullington, that is—does, I know he does. You must believe me, Nick!” she cried, looking pleadingly up into his yes.

  “We’ll sort it all out, Vi,” he promised, using the nickname he’d given her when she was a baby. “As one black sheep to another, I promise you, it’s going to turn out all right.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she returned his gaze, and she remembered why, of all her brothers, she had always loved this one best. When Nick promised, he always came through. He’d rescued her from innumerable scrapes when they were growing up, and now she believed he would do so again.

  “Edward was so angry when we sailed,” she told Nick. “Amelia said if it had been a generation ago, he would have challenged Gerald to a duel. Even Richard told me he was disappointed in me,” she added, referring to their other brother, who was vicar of Westfield. “But, Nick, Gerald never did anything improper—on my honor, he didn’t! We only just kissed....” She felt herself blushing, remembering how close she’d come to ruin after Edward had stopped them from eloping to France. They’d get married in a little chapel in Paris, Gerald had promised, and it would be so romantic. Once they crossed the channel, her brother could do nothing to keep them apart, for she would be his wife. A widower, he’d had many love affairs before her, but Gerald insisted she was the love of his life.