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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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BOOK: A Lone Star Christmas
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“Yes, Papa, I do mean it.”
“That isn't something you will have to worry about, because you won't be seeing him anymore.”
“How can I help seeing him? He works here. He lives here. I see him every day,” Rebecca said. “What am I supposed to do? Should I just close my eyes every time he comes into view?”
“Don't be snippy with your father, young lady. You know exactly what I am talking about. When I say you can't see him, I mean you can't—see—him in a ... ,” he rolled his hands as he looked for the right word, “romantic way. He is not for you. I want something much better for you than an ordinary cowboy. Listen to me, girl, because I know what I'm talking about.”
“Papa. He is not, in any way you can imagine, an ordinary cowboy. He is so much more than you think he is.”
“He could be three times more than I think he is, and still not be worthy of you,” Big Ben said. “Rebecca, I know what it is like when a man and a woman of different—well, I don't want to say class, so I'll just say different backgrounds—fall in love. You may think that the love is stronger than any difference, but it isn't. You only wind up getting hurt.”
“You mean like with my real mother?”
“I ... ,” Big Ben started. It was obvious that he was surprised by Rebecca's response. “All right, yes, I don't mind saying it, because that is a perfect example of how two people from totally different cultures can destroy each other. That's why I know what I'm talking about when I say that you cannot see him anymore.”
“Papa, please,” Rebecca said.
“I know you think I'm being unfair, but please understand that your mother and I want only the best for you.”
“Which mother would that be?” Rebecca asked bluntly. “Would that be the one you are married to? Or the one who abandoned me?”
“That isn't fair, Rebecca. Julia has been as much a mother to you as she has to Dalton. And you know it.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,” Rebecca said. “I call her mother because she has been the only mother I have ever known. I had no right to say such a thing. But, Papa, I am twenty-one years old. I have feelings and emotions just as any woman has. You have no right to tell me who I can love, and who I can't love.”
“That's where you are wrong, Rebecca. As long as you live under my roof, I have every right,” Big Ben said. “And you forget, I can fire him, and then it won't be a problem anymore.”
“No, I beg of you, don't punish him. He hasn't done anything wrong,” Rebecca said. “I—I won't see him anymore.”
Big Ben put his arms around his daughter and pulled her to him. “Now you are being reasonable,” he said. “Trust me, Rebecca, this is for your own good.”
As they stood together in the parlor of the oversized house, Rebecca could see her reflection in the oval mirror that was on the wall above the fireplace behind her father. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the tears.
 
That night Rebecca lay in bed replaying the words Tom had said to her.
“You don't understand, Rebecca. I'm not worthy of your love. I'm not worthy of any woman's love, ever again.”
Why didn't he consider himself worthy of her love? And what did he mean, when said he was “not worthy of any woman's love ever again?”
Had he been hurt by a woman? He was the strongest man she had ever known. Could he really be so fragile that being spurned by one woman could cause him to never have the courage to love again?
Her father had told her that she couldn't see him again, and she had argued with him, but she knew, down inside, that her father was right. She couldn't see him again but not for the reason her father said. She couldn't see him again because she couldn't trust herself not to debase herself by pleading for his love.
Getting out of bed, Rebecca went over to her vanity and pulled out the letter she had received from her biological mother just before she went to Marshall. Lighting the lantern on her dresser, she re-read the letter that was the only tangible connection between her and the woman who had given her life. She hadn't paid too much attention to the invitation in the letter, because the proposal her mother had made seemed too far-fetched to consider. But now her mother's unexpected offer seemed to offer the best solution to her current problem.
After re-reading that letter, Rebecca knew exactly what she was going to do. Her mother was in Dodge City, and the Rocking H was driving a herd to Dodge City. She would go with the herd—though she would have to be careful that nobody, especially the Rocking H cowboys, knew about it. When her father discovered her gone, he would check the train depot and the stagecoach station. He would never think that she was going north with a trail drive.
Much later that same night, when she was certain that everyone was asleep, Rebecca cut her hair, which hung down to the middle of her back, to shoulder-length. She gathered the long auburn tresses she sheared off so they wouldn't be found and stuck them in a knapsack, along with two extra changes of clothes she had taken from her brother. Pulling on a pair of denim trousers and an ecru linen shirt, she started down the stairway, walking carefully to avoid any creaking steps. It was dark, but she was able to feel her way by holding carefully to the banister. Also, a full moon sent a splash of muted silver light to form a gleaming pool at the foot of the stairs.
As she reached the bottom step, the grandfather's clock that stood in the foyer suddenly whirred, then came to life with two loud gongs. Although she had grown up listening to the clock, its unexpected loudness made her jump with a quick fear. Grabbing harder onto the banister, she stood there for a moment until her racing heart stilled again.
Outside, she could still smell the residual aroma of the side of beef that had been cooked that day. She thought of the celebration, the joy shared by everyone, not only those of Live Oaks, but the people from the Rocking H as well. Did she really want to leave this? Couldn't she just stay, and leave things as they were?
No. It was too late for that now. She had made her decision and she wasn't going back on it.
Carrying through with her plan, she saddled her personal horse, then led him away from the barn. She glanced toward the two bunkhouses, their white paint gleaming in the reflection of the moonlight. Tom was in one of them right now, no doubt sleeping the sleep of the innocent, unaware that she was leaving.
What if she went there, right now, awakened him, and asked him to leave with her?
For one insane and wonderful moment, Rebecca considered that. But she knew that he wouldn't agree to it. In his mind he would think that he was the cause of her losing her family and her birthright. And in some sense of “doing the right thing,” he would insist that he leave instead, and she stay.
Abandoning that idea, Rebecca walked her horse through the compound of house and outbuildings until she believed she was far enough away to be able to ride without being heard. Mounting her horse, she rode him at a brisk trot over the three miles that separated the two ranches. When she reached the Rocking H Ranch, she dismounted, removed the saddle, then turned her horse loose and smacked it on the rump, knowing it would return home. Then, finding a hay-softened spot in Walter Hannah's barn, she slept.
C
HAPTER
S
IX
“What are you doing here, boy?” a man's gruff voice asked.
Opening her eyes, Rebecca saw that it was daylight.
“I want to go on the trail drive,” Rebecca said.
The man who had awakened her was John Cornett, the Rocking H foreman. Cornett had known Rebecca for most of her life, so this would be a really good test as to whether or not her disguise was working.
Cornett chuckled. “Well you damn near slept through it,” he said. “Better get on out there, Mr. Hannah is signing on the riders now.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca said, smiling with relief that she had not been recognized. She picked up the little canvas bag that held her other clothes, then went outside. There were ten or eleven young men standing around a table. Walter Hannah was at the table, signing them up.
“Who's next?” Hannah called.
When nobody else stepped up to the table, Rebecca did. Hannah looked up at her and for a moment, she thought she saw recognition in his eyes. But thankfully, that moment passed.
“How old are you, boy?” he asked.
“I'm sixteen.”
“You think you can handle the work?”
Rebecca was an excellent horsewoman, and she had cut cows at her father's ranch many times.
“Yes, sir, I'm certain I can,” she replied.
Hannah stared at her for a moment longer, then shrugged and picked up his pen.
“Pay is ten dollars a week, and found,” Hannah said. “Figure six weeks there. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said.
“What's your name?”
Rebecca had already thought this out. Her saddle had the initials RC worked into the side flaps.
“Ron,” she answered. “Ron Carmody.”
“All right, Carmody. Go see Julius Jackson. He's the wrangler, and he'll help you select your string. You have a saddle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Julius was a black man, shorter even than Rebecca. He helped her pick out three horses, which she would rotate during the drive. He, on the other hand, as the wrangler, would be responsible for keeping the remuda together for Rebecca and the other cowboys.
“Gracious Lord, boy,” Julius said when he saw Rebecca's saddle. “That is one bodacious saddle.”
Live Oaks, July 5
“Rebecca hasn't come down for breakfast yet?” Big Ben asked as he split open a biscuit and lathered butter onto it. “That's odd, she's always an early riser.”
“Well, we did stay up late last night for the fireworks display,” Julia said. “Perhaps she is just tired.”
At forty-eight years old, Julia's blonde hair was now showing flashes of gray. She was five feet six inches tall, more than a full foot shorter than her husband. But if they were mismatched in size, they were a perfect match in background, for Julia had come from a very wealthy family. Her father, Justin Caldwell, owned a bank in Fort Worth.
“Go check on her,” Big Ben said.
Though Big Ben didn't say anything about it, he was thinking about the discussion he and Rebecca had had last night, and he had a bad feeling about it.
That feeling was confirmed when Julia came back into the dining room a minute later with a confused and worried look on her face.
“She isn't there,” Julia said. “Rebecca isn't in her room.”
“I knew it!” Big Ben said, slapping the table. “Damn it, I knew it!”
“You knew what? Ben, what is wrong? Where is Rebecca? What has happened to her?”
“I don't know,” Big Ben said. “But I intend to find out.”
Big Ben walked out to the cookhouse. He could smell the biscuits and coffee before he got there, and he could hear the conversations and laughter from the cowboys at their breakfast. When he stepped inside the cookhouse most of the conversation stopped, and all the cowboys looked toward the ranch owner, curious as to why he might have come into the building. Though he owned the building and had every right to come into it any time he wanted, the cookhouse, like the bunkhouses, were generally regarded as the private domain of the cowboys.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Conyers,” Dusty said. “Do you need something?”
Big Ben looked around the cookhouse and saw Tom Whitman at the table with Dusty, Mo, and a half-dozen other cowboys. Seeing Tom here surprised him, because he was almost certain that Rebecca had run off with him. Big Ben studied Tom's face for a long moment to see if he could detect a look of guilt or nervousness, but he saw nothing.
“Uh, no, nothing,” Big Ben said.
 
Beyond the cookhouse and the two bunkhouses sat a row of ten small, green-painted clapboard houses. Most of them were one-room houses, with the bedroom, kitchen, dining, and sitting rooms combined. But one house, considerably bigger than the others, had three rooms: a bedroom, sitting room, and kitchen-dining room combination. This was the house of Clay Ramsey, the foreman of Live Oaks.
At the moment, Clay was having breakfast with his wife, Maria. Without being asked, she got up from the table and poured a second cup of coffee for Clay.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Clay said.
“I made some cinnamon sopapillas,” Maria said. “Would you like one?”
“You are being awfully sweet to me this morning, Maria, pouring my coffee and offering me sopapillas. Is there something I should know?”
Maria sat down across the table from him and as she looked at him, a huge smile spread across her face.
“
Estoy embarazada
!” Maria was so excited that she spoke the words in Spanish, then translated. “I am with child!” she said.
“What? Are you sure?” Clay asked, his smile now as wide as Maria's.
“Si! I have thought so, but I wasn't sure. I talked to Mama and she said it is so.”
Clay walked around the table, and when she started to get up, he put his hand on her shoulder.
“No, you should be careful now,” he said. “I will come down to you.”
Clay leaned over and embraced his young wife.
“Are you happy, my husband?” Maria asked.
“Happier than I can tell you, Maria,” he said. “And I don't care if it is a boy or a girl.”
“It will be a boy,” Maria said.
“How do you know it will be a boy?”
“Because I had a dream. And in my dream, my
abuelo
came to visit me, and he said it would be a boy.”
“Your
abuelo
? Your grandfather?”
“
Si
.”
“Your grandfather is dead.”
“Even the
muerto
can visit you in your dreams,” Maria said as if it were something everyone should know.
“It would be good if it is a boy, but I will be happy no matter what it is,” Clay said.
A loud knock on the door interrupted their conversation and Clay went to open it. Big Ben was standing there, and he was obviously agitated.
“Have you seen her?” he asked.
Clay had a confused look on his face. “Have I seen who?”
“Rebecca,” Big Ben said, as if it should be obvious. “She's gone. Have you seen her?”
“No, I haven't. When did she leave?”
“She left in the middle of the night,” Big Ben said. “Turn out all the men, Clay. We have to find her.”
 
All work stopped while everyone searched for Rebecca. The mystery was deepened when they discovered that, while her saddle was gone, her horse was not, though it wasn't in the corral. They found her horse cropping grass about half a mile from the Big House.
Clay and Tom rode into town to check the railroad and stagecoach depots, but neither of them reported that Rebecca had bought a ticket.
“Tom, is there something going on that I don't know about?” Clay asked as the two men started back toward Live Oaks.
“What do you mean?”
“You have everyone on the ranch talking about you. None of us have ever known anyone as smart as you are. You are from back East, but you ride a horse like you were born in the saddle. There is something in your past, something that you don't want anyone to know about.”
“I'm told there are a lot of men out here who have pasts that they don't want to share,” Tom said. “That's one of the reasons I came West.”
“So there is something in your past. What is it?”
“You said it yourself, Clay. It is something that I don't want anyone to know about.”
“Are you wanted by the law?”
“Is Dusty wanted by the law?” Tom replied.
“Dusty? Well, I—I don't know.”
“Why don't you know?”
“Because I've never asked him.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Because it is different with you,” Clay said. “Maria tells me that Rebecca has set her cap for you. Now, I don't know about such things, but Maria does, and if that's what she says, then that's the way it is. And if that is true, then sure as hell, it's not something that Big Ben would approve of. So I'm going to ask you right out. Is there something going on between the two of you? Do you know where Rebecca is?”
“I don't know where she is,” Tom said. “But I think it is my fault that she is gone.”
“Why would it be your fault?” Clay asked.
“I'm afraid I hurt her.”
“Clay stopped riding and glared at Tom. “Tom, did you hit that girl?”
“What? No, no,” Tom said quickly.
“You didn't hit her, or—do anything to her? Because if you did, friendship be damned, I'll have you fired off this place and run out of Texas.”
“It was nothing like that, Clay,” Tom said. “I promise you. I guess I just told her something she didn't want to hear.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her that I didn't love her.”
Clay was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can see how that could be more than she wants to deal with.”
“The thing is, I lied to her,” Tom said.
“Why did you lie?”
“Under the circumstances, I thought it might be best,” Tom said.
“Yeah, with Big Ben, I see your point,” Clay said. “I'm not sure how he would take it, his daughter being in love with one of his hired hands. She's probably hurt now, because she's young, and young people feel this more.”
The circumstances Tom was referring to were his own circumstances, not Big Ben's, but it was easier to let Clay think that.
“All right, I believe you. But do me a favor, will you? Don't say anything about this to anyone else. And especially not to Big Ben.”
 
Tom had no intention of talking about it to Big Ben, but as it turned out, he didn't have any choice. When he and Clay returned from town, Big Ben was waiting there for them. And as soon as he learned from them that Rebecca had not taken a train or a stagecoach, he asked Tom to come into his house and talk to him.
Tom glanced over at Clay, but if he was looking for some support from the foreman, he got none, because Clay merely stared down at his own boots.
Tom followed Big Ben into the parlor. This was the first time he had been in the parlor since that first day when Big Ben hired him.
“I'll get right to the point, Whitman,” Big Ben said.
Tom flinched at the way Big Ben addressed him. Clay had made it a point to call all of his cowboys by their first name. That he referred to Tom as ‘Whitman' couldn't be good.
“I want to know what has been going on between you and my daughter.”
“Going on? Mr. Conyers, nothing has been going on per se.”
“Nothing has been going on per se? That doesn't tell me a damn thing,” Big Ben said. “What do you mean per se? That means something has been going on.”
“By per se, I mean that your daughter has not been compromised in any way.”
“Something is happening,” Big Ben insisted. “She told me that she loved you. Is that true?”
“Yes, she told me that.”
“And she told me that you said you didn't love her.”
“That's not exactly true,” Tom said.
“What's not exactly true? Are you calling my daughter a liar?”
“No, I did tell her that. But I was lying, Mr. Conyers. The truth is, I do love your daughter. I love her more than I thought would ever be possible.”
“Then why did you tell her that you didn't love her?”
“Because I am not deserving of her love.”
Big Ben blinked in surprise, for he had not expected that answer. Then he nodded.
“Do you have any idea where she is, Tom?” This time the words were soft, and non-accusatory. They were pleading. “I'm not asking you this as an angry employer, but as an anguished father. Do you know where she is? Did she say anything to you before she left?”
“No, sir, she said nothing to me before she left, because I didn't know she was going to leave. And I have no idea where she is. Mr. Conyers, if it is your wish, I will leave the ranch.”
Big Ben shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, there is no need for that. Clay likes you, all the cowboys like you. Damn it, I like you. I just don't think that a marriage between you and Rebecca would be for the best.”
“And on that subject, you and I agree,” Tom said.
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