Suited him just fine to stay away—from her, and from town while Violet was here. It wouldn’t be forever. She’d be gone someday.
Not for the first time, he began to wonder if he was meant to be a bachelor the rest of his days. Well, the Good Book said that was fine, didn’t it? Wasn’t the apostle Paul a bachelor, and perfectly content with it?
Even without considering Violet, Raleigh didn’t want to go to the barbecue since it was Ella inviting him. He knew instinctively that given any encouragement, she would consider his coming to the barbecue more meaningful than it really was, and then he would have to hurt her feelings.
Quint chuckled. “Can’t blame ’em for not wantin’ a bunch a’ feckless fellows like us. How come Ella made an exception for you, Raleigh?”
Raleigh shrugged. “I have no idea. I sure didn’t do anything to encourage her.”
Quint turned back to Shep, the fount of information. “Who’ve they got comin’ instead?”
“Miss Ella, she didn’t exactly say, but she sorta let on that they’d invited some fellers who own businesses an’ ranches and such, like that Allbright fellow from San Antone that just bought the ranch near Five Mile Hill. Serious gents who might actually be lookin’ t’ settle down with the right lady.”
“Whooeee! Looks like you’ll be in tall cotton, Raleigh,” Quint said, slapping him on the back. “Be sure and tell us how many a’ them nice ladies flutter their eyelashes at you.”
“I’m not going,” Raleigh said quietly, and hoped they would leave it at that.
Of course they wouldn’t. “Not going? Of course you are, old son,” Shep said. “Miss Ella invited you special. Think a’ the food, if nothing else! Be a nice change from beans ’n’ biscuits, wouldn’t it? And maybe that purty Englishwoman’ll be there.”
“I’m not going,” Raleigh repeated. “I’d planned to work with Blue on the road to get ready for the race, and I don’t want to encourage Miss Ella. She’s a nice girl, but I’m not looking to marry, so it’s best I don’t accept her invitation.”
He saw the other two exchange a look. “Well, if you ain’t goin’, you reckon Miss Ella’d mind if I took her up on the invite?” Shep asked. “Seems if she’s willin’ to ask one cowboy, another equally handsome one might do.” He jumped down from the buckboard, puffed up his chest and crowed like a rooster. “That is, if you’ll let me off my chores for the afternoon, foreman.”
Quint guffawed and playfully rubbed Shep’s beard-roughened cheek, easily ducking the other’s arm as Shep tried to shove him away. “You’d better go into town a couple hours early and have a session at the bathhouse, then, and I reckon it’s my duty to accompany you and make sure you come right home afterward. No stoppin’ at the saloon. That all right with you, Raleigh?”
Raleigh nodded, for Saturday was usually a quiet day around the ranch. “I guess so. But you two mind your manners, and like Quint said, no stopping at the saloon before or after. And I second his suggestion to stop at the bathhouse, Shep. You smell like a goat, and ladies don’t like that. Now, let’s get those supplies put away before Cookie uses our dinner to slop the hogs.”
Since some of the supplies were for the house, some for the bunkhouse and others for the barn, Raleigh was once again free to think his own thoughts without the chatter breaking into his peace.
What if the invitation had come from Miss Violet, rather than Ella? Would he have accepted, after what she’d said?
He knew he would have, despite everything. He was drawn to the beautiful Englishwoman like lightning to a lightning rod. Knowing that her feelings hadn’t diminished any for that fellow back in England had already singed his heart, but if it had been Lady Violet who had invited him to the barbecue, he knew he’d have gone no matter what. He’d better thank the Lord he’d been spared from that particular temptation.
Maybe he’d take advantage of Violet’s absence tomorrow afternoon to work Lady over the road between here and Five Mile Hill, he thought. Since he’d be riding the mare in one of the legs of the race, it would be a good opportunity to take her for a gallop. He still hadn’t decided whether to ride her first or second.
There was plenty of time to make up his mind about that, he reckoned. During his visit with the bank president after he’d had words with Violet, he’d learned that the race was to take place in a month, and that they were already considering the course he had been going to suggest, between the eastern end of Simpson Creek to the Colorado River, a distance of just over seven miles.
After leaving the bank, Raleigh had ridden out to the land that was to be the race prize. The former Daugherty ranch was five hundred acres of rolling, grassy land with plenty of trees and what had once been a small, tidy house. It looked neglected now, with a weed-overgrown vegetable garden and broken glass in the windows, evidence that someone had shot the glass out from pure mischief. But he saw the possibilities of the place. He’d repair the windows, enlarge the house and round up some mavericks in the scrubland of south Texas to fatten as they grazed on the abundant grass here.
A man would be lucky to win this place. It glittered like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow to someone like himself, who’d never had the prospect of being much more than a cowboy. But even if he won it, it would feel like a hollow victory without Miss Violet at his side.
For the thousandth time, Raleigh wished the heated confrontation at the creek had never happened, or that he knew how to cross the chasm that now yawned between the Englishwoman and himself.
He didn’t regret kissing her, though, even if it had spoiled him for all other women forevermore.
Chapter Eleven
The days dragged by for Violet after the incident at the creek, each one seemingly longer than the last. There was no lack of things to do—helping Milly with the endless cooking, playing with her nephew Nicky, sewing lessons, writing her book. Nick took her out and taught her how to shoot a Colt pistol. She wasn’t bad for a beginner, though she’d never win any shooting contests.
She continued to write to Gerald, too, cheerful, newsy letters of her doings. But it was still weeks before she could expect any answering missives from him, and getting harder and harder to remember his voice, his face.... Only the ring she still wore secretly on a chain beneath her clothes confirmed Gerald Lullington’s reality. Was he having a similar problem remembering why he cared so much for her?
Violet had heard nothing from Raleigh, and hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of him in the distance. She’d hoped to see him at church, and have an opportunity to apologize for jumping his horse without asking him first. But he didn’t appear. Apparently, he was avoiding her.
She did, however, have a chance to tell the preacher’s wife about her need to learn more about Indians, which resulted in an invitation to the parsonage the following Tuesday morning. Accordingly, she rode into town with Josh when the Brookfields’ old foreman went to fetch supplies at the mercantile.
Over freshly baked cookies and lemonade, Faith and her preacher-husband, with the old reverend sitting nearby, answered her questions about the Indians’ appearance and ways and spoke of their ordeal when they’d been the captives of a band who had camped in the hills a few miles away earlier this year.
Violet’s jaw dropped when Faith told her about being bound hand and foot to a wooden post while her husband battled with a bloodthirsty savage bent on their deaths.
“I would have died of fright,” Violet told her frankly. “How on earth did you manage to endure the terror while you waited to see if you would live or die?”
“The Lord was with us every moment,” Faith told her with a smile. “Saint Paul’s advice to ‘pray without ceasing’ came in very handy then. Of course, I had just come back to the Lord after spending a long time away from Him, so it was still a terrifying event, of course.”
There it was again, that easy, natural
talk about the Lord, and about faith, that seemed to be common among all those she’d spoken to at any length in Simpson Creek. And so foreign to Violet. Then she thought more closely about Faith’s last sentence.
“You had just come back to the Lord? What do you mean?” Violet asked. “Hadn’t you been attending church all your life? Weren’t you about to marry the preacher?” She glanced at Gil and saw a half smile playing about the young preacher’s lips.
Faith glanced at her husband. “We loved each other, yes, but Gil didn’t know I had recovered my faith when he came to rescue me, so he hadn’t proposed. But as far as attending church, it’s like assuming you’re a biscuit because you were put in an oven. That is to say, God loves every one of us and wants a personal relationship with each of His children.”
Violet was silent then, half wishing she hadn’t asked the question. There was that idea again, that she was lacking something she should have found in church, something Raleigh had. And now that they had had words she might not get the chance to determine what that something was.
* * *
The day of the Spinsters’ Club barbecue finally came. If it had not, Violet was very sure she would have ridden straight over to Colliers’ Roost and sought Raleigh out.
“You look lovely,” Milly announced as Violet turned in front of the cheval glass to survey the back of the matching waist and skirt her sister-in-law had helped her make. A peach-colored cotton so light it was practically muslin, it featured a beautiful wide lace-trimmed V-shaped neckline. The sleeves were elbow length and had double lace-trimmed flounces. The peach overskirt was shirred up along the bottom to show the solid lace underskirt. The pointed bodice was banded with a darker peach trim at the lower edge of the bustle and beneath the buttoned front.
It was the most lightweight outer fabric Violet had ever worn. It would have been much too thin to wear in chilly, rainy Britain, but it was perfect for an outdoor party in Texas.
“Thank you,” Violet said, giving Milly a hug. “I love the dress, and I’m so glad you’re coming along.”
“It’s one of the privileges we graduate spinsters enjoy,” Milly said, returning the embrace, “chaperoning the parties for the as-yet unmarried members and their guests and seeing new couples making matches. Have you heard from R—”
“Is Nick coming?” Violet asked quickly. Why would she know if Raleigh was coming? It wasn’t as if she were his confidante, after all. Nevertheless, though, it was a question she wished she could answer.
After giving one of her swift, all-too-perceptive glances, Milly nodded. “He and the other husbands will help set up the tables, then stand around in the corners talking man-talk—cattle, horses and war stories,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’ll suddenly appear at their wives’ sides when it’s time to eat, of course, then again when it’s time for the last dance of the evening, which is always a waltz. They’re mainly there to make sure all the bachelors behave themselves, but generally that’s not been a problem.” She gave Violet’s cheek a pat. “You’ll be the belle of the barbecue, Violet dear.”
Violet smiled back, but without any real conviction. If Raleigh came and showed by his manner that he was still angry with her or, worse yet, seemed glued to Ella or some other girl, she would wish she had stayed at the ranch cooking beans for the cowhands.
What was she doing, fretting over Raleigh and what he did or didn’t do? She was going to this barbecue merely to occupy herself until she could return to England and Gerald. She had provided the funds so Ella Justiss could have the self-confidence a new dress would bring, and if that meant Ella danced every dance with Raleigh Masterson, it was no concern of hers.
* * *
“Just let me help Milly down, and then it’s your turn, Violet,” Nick said, lifting a hand to assist his wife in descending from the buckboard.
“No need,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “I’ll be happy to help the beautiful lady to alight.”
Violet looked down to see a stranger standing on her side of the buckboard, his hand already raised to her.
“I’m Andrew Allbright, at your service, Miss—?”
“Brookfield,” she supplied automatically as she took his hand. “Miss Violet Brookfield.” She studied the man who smiled winningly up at her. He had thick tawny-gold hair, a lock of which fell boyishly forward on his forehead, but there was nothing boyish about the face. His eyes were a cool blue, his chin strong and determined. A thin gold mustache lined his upper lip and called attention to startlingly white teeth. Just medium height, he was nevertheless a commanding figure.
“Enchanté, Miss Brookfield,” Allbright murmured as Violet stepped from the wagon. “Do I detect a British accent? Charming, if I may say so, and so unexpected to one’s ears in the Texas hill country.”
She had only nodded when Nick stepped forward and extended his hand. “You must be the fellow that bought the ranch over by Five Mile Hill. I’m Nick Brookfield, Violet’s brother, and this is my wife, Milly. Yes, Violet is visiting us from our home in England.”
“Mrs. Brookfield,” Allbright said, bowing politely. “Yes, I’m your new neighbor—in Texas terms, of course,” he added to Nick with a chuckle. He turned back to Violet. “I must admit when I heard there was a British lady who would be present at our humble barbecue, I was most intrigued. If I’d had any idea how lovely you were, Miss Brookfield, I’d have been even more so.”
She smiled automatically at the fulsome compliment, but darted a surreptitious glance around her for Raleigh. She found Allbright’s manner rather too ingratiating on such short acquaintance.
“I count myself fortunate that I’ve succeeded in making your acquaintance before any of the other gents present,” Allbright went on. “Unless, of course, you have a beau meeting you here?”
He’d caught her surveying the guests instead of focusing on him. “No, nothing of the kind,” she answered quickly, forcing her gaze back to his. “I’m only visiting my brother, not remaining in Texas, so...” She let her voice trail off, hoping her tone would suggest that any interest she would have in the male guests was temporary.
“Well, well, we’ll just have to see if we can change your mind about that, won’t we?” Allbright said, steering her away from the wagon, Nick and Milly.
“You’re not from Texas originally, are you?” Violet asked, hearing a faintly nasal quality to his speech, and a lack of the slurred Rs and twang of Texas. “From the north, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “You have a good ear for regional differences in accents, Miss Violet—if I may call you that, of course.” He went right on without waiting for an answer. “Yes, I’m from New York, actually. I found myself wanting to take advantage of new opportunities after the war, and—”
“Does that make you a ‘carpetbagger’?” Violet asked, making sure her face was all innocence. She wanted to take him down a peg.
Andrew Allbright look startled for a second, then threw back his head and laughed. “You say what you think, don’t you, Miss Violet?” He slapped the side of his leg. “I like that in a lady! But you must be parched after your long ride in from town,” he said. “Let me fetch you some punch to quench your thirst.”
His departure allowed Violet the chance to look more openly around her. Sarah and Prissy waved flies away from a food-laden table underneath the spreading branches of a live oak tree near the grand-looking house. Kate Patterson, who stood next to her friend Ella, winked at her. A couple of cowboys whom Violet thought she recognized from Colliers’ Roost had just brought them cups of punch, too.
Ella was positively transformed in a teal-colored taffeta skirt and fitted peplum jacket with buttons of black velvet. The dress featured leg-of-mutton sleeves with teal-and-white striping at the cuffs that was repeated at the triple-flounced hem. The jacket scarcely seemed practical on this hot day, but Violet hoped Ella wore a blouse beneath it
and could remove the jacket if she grew overwarm. She’d arranged her hair in sausage curls held back with a teal ribbon.
It seemed the outfit had given Ella the confidence she lacked, just as Violet had hoped, for she was chattering animatedly with the cowboys, fluttering her lashes and giggling at them.
Ella was actually pretty when she wasn’t glowering, Violet thought, and felt good that she had secretly helped the waitress.
As if she had felt the weight of Violet’s thoughts, Ella turned then and spotted Violet. Violet quickly looked elsewhere, but too late—Ella’s eyes had already gone cold.
Inwardly, Violet groaned. Was the girl going to cause a scene right here at the party? Had she noticed Allbright paying her attention when she arrived, and was she going to take exception to that, too? She saw the girl say something to her companions, then take a step forward. Then she stopped still.
The reason was apparent in the next instant. “Oh, there you are,” Maude Harkey exclaimed, swooping down on her with an exuberant hug. “I’m so glad you came, Violet! And I see you’ve found someone to bring you some punch, too,” she added as Andrew Allbright returned to them carrying two cups of a pink liquid with raspberries floating in it.
“Would you care for some punch, Miss Harkey?” Allbright asked, offering her one of the cups.
“Aren’t you the gallant one? But no, Mr. Allbright, thanks, as I’ve just had some. You two have fun, now!”
It seemed Allbright thought the president of the Spinsters’ Club had meant for him to “have fun” with Violet for the entire party, for he stuck to Violet’s side like a burr. He found a shady place for them to sit on the veranda and chattered away about the remodeling and enlarging he was doing to his ranch house, the stock he had shipped in to run on his thousand acres, and his activities during the war—which seemed to consist mostly of speculating in munitions, foodstuffs and cotton.
Violet was about to politely excuse herself when he said, “But enough about me, my dear. It’s said you are the sister of an viscount back in England, and that you have a lovely estate built around the ruins of an old castle. How interesting—you must tell me more. We Americans have such a fascination with British nobility, though we certainly fought hard to rid ourselves of it.” He chuckled at his own joke.
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