“You came, Raleigh, at last! Oh, I was hoping you would...” she said, standing in front of him. “Will you waltz with me? I’m sure my partner wouldn’t mind if you cut in....” Then she seemed to realize he was not dressed for such a gathering, but wore dusty denims and a frayed shirt that had seen better days. She hesitated, stepping back slightly.
He hated to dash her hopes, but he had to. “I’m sorry, but I’m not here to dance, Miss Violet. I’m here to find Doc Walker. Cookie’s took sick.”
The joy faded from her lovely face, replaced by alarm. “Your old cook? What’s wrong with him? Can I help somehow?”
Raleigh saw the man Violet had been waltzing with coming up behind her, his handsome face a mixture of annoyance and concern. The fellow hadn’t liked Violet leaving him on the dance floor like that, Raleigh thought with grim amusement. He reminded himself to concentrate on his reason for coming.
“Please, I need to find the doctor, Miss Violet,” he said, his gaze leaving hers to search the crowd once more. A buzz rose in the room and the music died away.
Somehow Nolan Walker had caught wind that he was needed, and he materialized at Raleigh’s side, with Mrs. Walker trailing behind. “Someone said you needed a doctor, Raleigh?”
Raleigh briefly relayed what he’d observed. An hour or so after eating what all of the rest of them had eaten, Cookie had been taken with a painful griping in his abdomen. He was doubled over in the wagon bed, he told Dr. Walker.
“I’d better have a look at him right away,” the doctor said. “Sarah and I will join you at my office immediately.”
Milly and Nick, accompanied by Jack and Caroline Collier, had sensed trouble and left the dance floor also and come to join the others.
“Raleigh, is there anything I can do?” Violet asked. “I’ll sit with you in the doctor’s office if you wish.”
Please wish it, her luminous blue eyes pleaded.
He wanted to take her up on her offer. It would be a comfort to have her there while he waited to see if there was anything seriously wrong with Cookie. But the fellow from San Antonio had come up behind Violet and put an arm around her shoulders, his eyes glaring at Raleigh.
Raleigh didn’t have time to deal with him, not now. Not with Cookie lying in the wagon bed in pain, his face so gray and pale. And it wouldn’t be at all proper for Violet to ride home with him alone in the dark later. But he loved seeing the care and the worry for him shining in her eyes, despite the other fellow’s touching her.
“No, I’m sure it’s best you go on home,” he murmured. “I’ll send word tomorrow.” He started to follow Walker out of the ballroom, then hesitated, looking back at Violet.
“See, there’s nothing you can do, Miss Violet,” Allbright said then, his head bent low so he was practically speaking into her ear. “Why don’t you let me take you home in my buggy? It’s well sprung, infinitely more comfortable than riding in a buckboard....”
Raleigh saw Violet’s face tense. “No, thank you, Mr. Allbright. Let me bid you a good evening, and thank you for your company. I’m afraid I’m much too fatigued and worried now to be good company.”
“But, my dear—”
“I believe the lady’s made her preference known, sir,” Raleigh growled, standing in Allbright’s path, so he either had to let go of Violet or walk right into him.
The newcomer’s face darkened, and his jaw grew rigid, but he seemed to recollect his surroundings and to consider the repercussions of taking on Raleigh here.
“Very well, Miss Violet,” Allbright said stiffly, bowing. “I’ll call upon you soon.”
Raleigh saw Violet gazing after him, looking relieved, before he turned to follow Dr. Walker out to the wagon.
Chapter Thirteen
How silly she must have seemed to Raleigh, assuming he’d had a change of heart and come to claim the last dance with her, when instead he had come on a much more important mission. It was a gaffe worthy of a girl still in the schoolroom. He would probably have laughed out loud at her, if he hadn’t already been so worried about the old cook.
He’d said, “I’ll send word,” not “I’ll come and tell you what happened.” Clearly, he’d found her mistake ridiculous, or he was still angry at her for jumping Lady, or both. At least he had discouraged Allbright when he wanted to insist upon escorting her home, but he was only being chivalrous, nothing more.
She felt her lip quivering, and the sting of tears in her eyes, but she could not give way to them here in front of everyone. She would have to wait until they were back at the ranch and she was finally alone in her room. But it would take so long to get there—she wasn’t sure if she could maintain her composed facade so long.
“You know, with everything that happened I purely forgot to mention my surprise, ladies,” Nick said as they reached the wagon.
“Surprise?” Violet heard Milly ask.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve arranged for us to spend the night at the hotel and booked us a couple of rooms. As late as it is, I thought we wouldn’t want to ride all that way home, then try to come back for church in the morning,” he said.
“But little Nicky—” Milly began to object.
“Will be fine with Mrs. Detwiler until they join us at church in the morning,” Nick said. “She was in on the surprise, so don’t worry. You saw how he took to her when we dropped him off there before the barbecue. She’s a born grandma. This way we can have a nice breakfast in the hotel tomorrow morning that you ladies don’t have to cook, then go to church.”
“But the expense! And I haven’t brought so much as a hairbrush,” Milly said. “Let alone—”
Nick held up a hand. “We can afford a little luxury once in a while. And I managed to smuggle both your hairbrushes into a poke after you ladies went out to get in the wagon,” he told them.
Violet saw her brother grin, clearly very proud of himself. And she watched the idea of the surprise night at the hotel take hold of Milly’s imagination. She imagined Milly hadn’t had much time away from the ranch since marriage and motherhood had brought added responsibility. The Simpson Creek Hotel wasn’t the equal of the fancy hotels in London, of course, but it would be a nice break for Milly and Nick.
And she would be free to give way to tears in the privacy of her room at the hotel so much sooner than if they had to travel all the way back to the ranch.
“What a nice surprise, brother,” she said. Perhaps, if she regained her courage overnight, she could slip over to the doctor’s office after breakfast and church to see if Raleigh and his cook were still there. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t hurt to say a little prayer for the Colliers’ Roost cook’s recovery.
* * *
Drew Allbright allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as he drove out of town. He wished the lovely Englishwoman was as taken with him as he was with her, but he’d give her time. He’d win her over eventually.
He’d been one of the few to regret the war’s ending, but at least he’d picked the winning side. Now he sought a way to better the cards he’d been dealt in life. Thanks to the profiteering he’d done, he’d had ready cash when he’d come to Texas to make his mark. He’d accomplished his first goal, to find and purchase a ranch big enough to suit his ambition until he could rise higher. Someday, he wanted to take the reins of government in Texas, either as its governor or one of its senators. It was a good time to be a Yankee in politics, for the state was still in the hands of the army and the federal government, and the former rebels could barely hold on to their property, much less hold office.
But deep down inside he knew he wasn’t the equal of the landed aristocrats that had once owned uncounted acres of plantations in Texas. He’d come up from nothing, and despite owning a big spread now, he needed the next thing to achieve political power—a rich wife who would add to his wealth and his status when she appeared on his a
rm.
He hadn’t had any luck with the former Southern belles who, despite the vast change in their fortunes, nevertheless scorned him as an uppity carpetbagger and parvenu. Violet Brookfield had called him a carpetbagger, too, but she’d done it almost playfully, as a foreigner who couldn’t understand the real scorn attached to the word by Southerners.
Yes, Violet Brookfield could be his entrée into the upper class. Who could disdain a man married to the sister of an English viscount?
He’d have to proceed slowly, but efficiently, since she’d indicated she wasn’t sure how long she’d be visiting in Simpson Creek. But he had full confidence in the power of his charm to persuade her to his way of thinking, even if the blood of kings ran in her veins and he didn’t know for sure who his own father was.
He wasn’t sure why that solemn-faced cowboy had made it his business to intrude when he’d tried to talk Miss Violet into letting him take her home, but it hadn’t been the time or place to challenge him, nor would it have helped his cause with the Englishwoman. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, lay between Miss Violet and that cowboy—Raleigh, she’d called him?—but he’d have to get that brother of hers on his side. No brother worthy of his salt wanted his sister sweet on a penniless cowboy if she could have an ambitious rancher who was going places, and who would make a big mark on the state of Texas, maybe even on the U.S. of A.
He’d stopped and purchased a bottle of whiskey at the Simpson Creek Saloon on his way out of town, and now he opened it and took a swig.
Once he’d married the beautiful Englishwoman, he would teach her who was boss. There’d be no more telling Drew Allbright “no” in that clipped, cool way she had. Not ever.
* * *
Violet had told her brother and sister-in-law, who were lingering over their morning coffee in the hotel restaurant, that she was just going to check on the Colliers’ Roost cook at the doctor’s and would meet them at church. When she arrived at Dr. Walker’s surgery, however, the Walkers were just emerging from their house in back of the office, and were clearly headed for church.
“Cookie? Raleigh took him back to Colliers’ Roost in the middle of the night,” Dr. Walker said. “I’m satisfied it was nothing more than a bad bellyache from too much of his own cooking, so I gave him a dose of paregoric. I told him to eat lightly for the next couple of days and go easy on the chili powder for a while. I’m thinking he’ll be fine.”
Violet was thankful for that, of course, but it did nothing to soothe her fear that she had looked foolish to Raleigh.
She joined her family at church. Mrs. Detwiler had delivered Nicky back to his mother, and was full of tales about the fine time they’d had. The toddler had evidently decided Mrs. Detwiler was his new best friend and insisted she sit next to him in the pew. Good thing I’m not the jealous sort, Violet thought, amused at being demoted in her nephew’s esteem.
She saw no sign of Raleigh, but Violet hadn’t really expected to. He’d have to be tired after arriving back at Colliers’ Roost in the middle of the night with Cookie.
At least Drew Allbright hadn’t come to church, either. She still wasn’t in the mood to fend off his persistent attentions, but she had begun to feel as if she had not been altogether fair to him the night before. He had been an attentive, considerate companion, and had made sure that she never lacked for a dancing partner. It wasn’t his fault that her heart was already occupied. It was obvious Raleigh wanted nothing further to do with her, except in the most superficial, civil sort of way.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss Allbright’s friendship while she was visiting here—but she’d have to make it clear to him that she wouldn’t be interested in anything further than friendship.
Following the hymn singing, Violet settled down to listen to the sermon. Its scripture verse was “In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy path.”
Maybe she should take that as a sign. She hadn’t let the Lord direct too much of her life; hadn’t even known He desired to. But He could hardly make more of a mess of it than she had. In her short life she had already managed to dip her little toe into the pool of scandal and get herself temporarily exiled from her home and country. She hadn’t the least notion of what it meant to follow God’s path, but perhaps she ought to give it a shot.
Lord, help me, please, she prayed, to listen to Your guiding. And if I’m meant to make things right with Raleigh, help me in that, too.
* * *
Ranch chores waited on no one, even a fellow who’d been out half the night driving a wagon to and from town with a sick old man, Raleigh thought, yawning as he rose with the sun as usual.
Cookie seemed to be back to his old cantankerous self, but Mrs. Collier had insisted on taking over the bunkhouse’s cooking for the day. This left the old fellow with nothing much to do but sit on a stool outside the bunkhouse and whittle, carping at the cowboys as they set off to work on the tasks Raleigh had assigned.
Raleigh took refuge in the barn. The tack room needed reorganizing, he decided, and it was as good a place as any to get away from Cookie’s short temper. The smell of leather and horses filled his nostrils as he began sorting saddles and bridles, making a pile of what needed to be repaired, another that needed a dose of saddle soap and elbow grease.
Lady Violet sure looked pretty last night, he mused as he worked. In the brief seconds he’d watched her waltzing before she’d caught sight of him, he’d marveled at her lithe grace. He’d purely hated not being the one dancing with her.
He wished it were somehow possible to call back his angry words at the creek. He’d yelled at her for something that could have happened, not something that had happened. He’d been a fool. When he’d seen her sitting in the creek, drenched but laughing at herself instead of wailing like most women would have been, he should have waded in and helped her up, maybe teased her, not criticized her.
Before that day, and despite all logic and reason, Violet Brookfield had begun to care for him. His tirade that day should have ended any chance that he could regain her regard, and he’d avoided any encounter with her, even going to church on Sunday. Because of it, he’d skipped going to the party and that slick newcomer from San Antonio had been the one dancing with Violet, not himself.
And yet, she’d clearly been glad to see him when he appeared at the party, before he told her why he’d come.
He stopped stock-still amid the rows of saddles and bridles and horse blankets he’d reorganized. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make amends, after all. He’d promised to let her know how Cookie was faring. It was the perfect excuse to ride over and see her.
He’d saddle up after the midday meal and do just that.
Yet when he did so, Milly Brookfield told him that Drew Allbright had shown up half an hour earlier and invited Violet to go for a ride with him. She knew Violet would be happy to hear that Cookie was feeling better.
* * *
“I just wanted to say how much I regretted the way we parted last night,” Drew said as soon as they left the barnyard. “I was pushy and insensitive to your delicate sensibilities, Miss Violet. Blame it on my Yankee way of seizing the moment, or whatever you will, but please forgive me.”
“I already have,” she told him, “so please let us forget about it.” But she resolved to remain on her guard.
“You’re a fine horsewoman, Miss Violet,” he said a little later as they rode along a track that wound between rolling hills.
“Thank you, Drew. It’s kind of you to say so.”
The family had just finished dinner when Allbright had suddenly appeared on their doorstep with his invitation to Violet to take a ride with him. She had planned to spend the afternoon writing, but, feeling guilty that she had refused to let him see her home the night before, she thought she ought to go. But she had insisted on one of the hands coming with them as a sort of
chaperone. Accordingly, lanky young Bobby followed some distance behind them on a rawboned dun from the remuda.
“You know, you didn’t have to have that fellow come along,” Drew said now, sulkily glancing back at Bobby. “I’m a perfectly trustworthy fellow.”
“But, Mr. Allbright, we only met last night,” she said. “Perhaps the standards are stricter in England, but at home I’m expected to take a groom with me if I go riding.” Expected was the proper word; in actuality she’d escaped Greyshaw’s stables without a groom much of the time, and always when she stole out to meet Gerald. Her brother would have had an apoplexy if he had known.
“It’s Drew, remember? I suppose it would behoove me to understand your English ways,” he allowed, “at least until you know me better. So what do you think of my horse, Miss Violet?” he asked, changing the subject. “Pollux is a fine fellow, isn’t he?” He stroked his mount’s sleek neck as he waited for an answer. Pollux snorted and curvetted as if in agreement.
Violet gave the fiery black stallion another assessing look. He’d already told her the horse was one of the pair he’d entered in the coming race. The other one, the sire of Pollux, was Castor, of course, and Drew had told her Pollux was the spitting image of his sire.
“He’s a beautiful horse,” she said approvingly, for it was true. Though the race was for local stock horses, this one had more than a touch of thoroughbred to him. As to whether the black would be any competition for Blue and Lady, she couldn’t judge, for they kept the horses to a gentle walk over the mesquite-lined path. The horse had plenty of fire, and Drew had to keep him on a tight rein. Lady had already made it clear with laid-back ears that she wasn’t interested in Pollux’s attentions whenever the stallion got too close, but perhaps he merely wanted a good run.
Violet didn’t tell Allbright that one of the horses Pollux would be racing was the mare beside him. It might work to Raleigh’s advantage if she kept that knowledge to herself.
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