A Texan's Honor (12 page)

“I distrust Joseph and his father only a little less than I distrust my brother. I agree we have to be cautious with Bret, but you can't believe everything Joseph says. I hate to say this, but your twenty-five percent of Abbott and Abercrombie is probably more attractive to him than you are. And that doesn't take into consideration the rest of your inheritance.”

Emily hated to think of herself as a commodity, but she'd been the only child of a wealthy man too long not to understand the importance of her inheritance to potential husbands. It was part of the reason she wanted to stay in Texas and run the ranch herself. It was part of the reason she tended to trust Joseph. He was already wealthy and socially prominent. He didn't need her inheritance.

“My inheritance would be even more attractive to Bret,” she said.

“Probably, but he was spared the influence of the Abbotts for the first twenty-one years of his life. He might actually be a decent member of that snobbish family instead of rotten to the core like the others.”

“If you dislike them so much, why do you want me to go to them?”

Her father took her hand and squeezed it. She hated to see him look so weak and pale. He used to be a vibrant man who could work longer and harder than any other man on the place. He'd loved nothing better than to be in the saddle riding over his land. Now he leaned back against his pillows, exhausted from his evening with Bret.

“I don't want to send you to them, but I haven't made a very good job of my life. I have lots of enemies and no friends. I'm forced to fall back on family.”

“I'd rather fall back on Lonnie and the boys.”

Her father's grip tightened, his eyes narrowed, and
the stern look she remembered so well from past years rammed into her like a fist. “Are you thinking about marrying Lonnie after I'm dead?”

Angered, Emily pulled her hand from her father's grasp and glared at him. “I would if I loved him.”

“Don't get your back up.” He reached out and pulled her back down next to him. “I'm just worried about you.”

“Ida said Lonnie's been in love with me for years.” She settled down on the bed again. “I didn't mean to do anything to mislead him.”

“You haven't done anything wrong, but we've got to put our heads together and figure out what's best for you after I die.”

“Bret seems like a nice man, but we don't know him.”

“After being with him for two whole days, you've gotten to know him better than I do.”

Emily sighed. “If it weren't for Joseph's letter, I'd be ready to trust him with just about anything. I know he's kind, because he went out of his way to help an orphan boy in Fort Worth.”

He leaned away to peer at her. “You didn't tell me about that.”

“I didn't tell you Charlie's boys took to him immediately, either. They swear he can judge the quality of a horse at a hundred paces. Charlie says Bret knows everything about ranches, and Ida says he's probably as dangerous as he is handsome.”

Her father chuckled. “And what do you think?”

Emily didn't know whether it was wise to tell her father what she thought, but they'd never kept secrets from each other. “I think he's the most intriguing man I've ever met. Except for being out of sorts when he got off the train, he's been kind, thoughtful, and
courteous. He rides a horse like he was born on one, but he wears a suit and sits at a table like he was born and bred in Boston.”

Her father studied her closely. “Sounds to me like you're in love with him.”

Emily laughed. “I could easily become infatuated with him, but there's too much about him I don't know. He seems very open and straightforward, but I get the feeling some very strong passions flow well below the surface, passions that are possibly more important than even he knows.”

“Are you sure you're not infatuated already?”

“No, but I'm captivated,” she teased. “By the time he leaves for Boston, I intend to know everything about him.”

“Be careful he doesn't know everything about you as well.”

“I'm not worried about that. I have nothing to hide.”

But having said that, she realized it wasn't quite the truth. She was hiding that she didn't quite trust him. He was a handsome man who apparently had very few resources. What could be more to his advantage than to marry a wealthy woman who just happened to own a large portion of the company he worked for? In one fell swoop, he would gain financial security, influence in the company, and a secure place in his family. It would be difficult for an ambitious man
not
to consider such a plan, and she had no doubt that Bret Nolan was a very determined as well as an ambitious man.

“He told me he was an orphan on the streets for two years,” her father said.

“That's all the more reason to wonder if I can trust him.”

“What would you do if you decided you could?”

“We'll have to wait and see about that.”

But Emily already knew the answer. If she decided she could trust him, it would be nearly impossible not to fall in love with him.

Emily was shocked to find Bret in the kitchen drinking coffee when she came down the next morning. She was even more surprised to see Bertie talking to him like he was an old friend. Bertie didn't encourage men to invade her kitchen.

“After your long ride, I thought you'd be sleeping late,” Emily said to Bret. “You didn't have to get up.”

Bret stood and held her chair while she seated herself. Emily could tell from Bertie's smile of approval their cook had already succumbed to Bret's charm, something she would have never thought possible. She continued to underestimate this man.

“If I'd stayed in bed, it would have reinforced your opinion of me,” he said.

“And just what
is
my opinion of you?” She was curious to know what he thought, but she wondered if he would tell her the truth or try to get away with some clever answer that didn't mean anything. “Got any fresh coffee left?” she asked Bertie. “Ida never could make it like yours.”

“I just finished making this for Mr. Nolan,” Bertie said as she took a cup and poured coffee from the pot on the stove.

Emily accepted the coffee and settled across the small kitchen table from Bret. “You should have had time to think up a good answer by now.”

“I won't have no carrying on in my kitchen,” Bertie announced.

Emily laughed, but she felt slightly annoyed, too. “I was just asking for his opinion on me as a person, Bertie, not a declaration of love.”

Bertie didn't back down. “Could be the same thing.”

“I'm sure it's not.”

“It's probably best if I save it for later,” Bret said with one of those smiles that thoroughly confused her. “It'll give me time to perfect my answer.”

She felt certain he had a ready answer on the tip of his tongue, but she was perfectly happy to play his game. That implied he meant to spend at least part of the day with her. Though she didn't want him or Bertie to know it, she was anxious to spend some time alone with him.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Bertie asked.

“A couple of eggs with—”

“I was asking our guest,” Bertie said. “He comes first.”

Bret tried, but he didn't dip his head fast enough to hide his smile. As soon as she got him away from the house, Emily meant to ask him what he'd done to charm Bertie. Not even her father got that kind of treatment.

“I'll have whatever Emily usually has,” Bret said.

Bertie gave Emily the evil eye. “You don't have to be afraid of her. You can have whatever you want.”

There was no question about it now. His eyes positively danced with amusement. “I'm not afraid. I've got to talk her into doing something she's dead set against, so I'm trying to get on her right side.”

Emily had never seen anything like it. He could tell a disagreeable truth and everybody loved him all the more for it.

“Ain't nobody ever made her be sensible when she's set her mind against it. Now what do you want to eat? I'm not sweating over this hot stove because I like it.”

“Would some eggs with ham and hot biscuits be too much to ask for?”

“Eating like that won't put any meat on your bones. I got potatoes and gravy, some pork chops, canned peaches, and stewed tomatoes. The hands like to know they got something in their stomach.”

“I'll eat whatever you fix,” Bret said.

“Now that's a gentleman,” Bertie said to Emily. “You'd do good to listen to what he says.” Then she turned her back on the two of them and addressed herself to her cooking.

“Talk is cheap,” Emily said.

“Not around here,” Bertie muttered.

“You might as well stop trying to hide your grin,” Emily said to Bret, beginning to feel annoyed. “I know you're laughing at me.”

“I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't try to hide it,” Bret said.

“I'm beginning to wonder if you're a gentleman at all. You show up and suddenly everybody's questioning everything I do.”

“We've always been questioning it,” Bertie said without turning around. “You just ain't been listening.”

“I'm not listening to him either,” she said to Bertie's broad back.

“I didn't expect you to. Anyhow, I'm too old to start fainting.”

Emily considered going back to her room until Bertie called her for breakfast, but that would mean admitting defeat.

“What did you have in mind for me today?” Bret asked.

“I always work with my horses in the morning, but I thought I could show you some of the ranch this afternoon.”

“What are you doing with your horses? Maybe I could help.”

“I train horses to be cow ponies. Right now I'm teaching them to cut a cow from the herd.”

“How many are you working with?”

“Eleven. I had twelve, but a piebald gelding can't seem to get the idea, so I'm sending him back to his owner. It's a shame, because he's a very nice horse.”

“Maybe I could give him a try. I did spend nine years on a ranch.”

“If you want.”

She didn't know what he'd done when he was on that ranch. It was one thing to make sure your horse hadn't picked up any stones or that the packsaddle wasn't rubbing any sores. It was another to know how to convince a stubborn horse to cut a cow from a herd. The horse had to be intelligent, cooperative, and want to do his job. Emily wasn't sure the piebald was any of those.

“If you want her to go to Boston,” Bertie said, “you're going to have to take those horses with you.” She harrumphed. “She don't care about anything else.”

“That's my work,” Emily said.

“You ought to get married and let your husband worry about all that. You need to be having babies. Your papa ought to see one grandson before he's put in his grave.”

The part about getting married and having babies simply annoyed Emily, but the part about her father dying without seeing any grandchildren hurt. She glanced at Bret to see his reaction, but his face was expressionless. Emily was relieved when Bertie sat a bowl of peaches and a plate of potatoes and gravy on the table. Those were followed quickly by a platter of ham and eggs.

“Take what you want now,” Bertie said. “I've got to
feed the boys before they come in here wondering if I've dropped dead in front of the stove.”

Neither Bertie nor Emily missed Bret's look of surprise.

“The men prefer to eat by themselves,” Bertie said. “Mr. Abercrombie makes them nervous, and Emily makes them choke on their food.”

“If you don't stop telling him stories, he's going to think we're the worst people in Texas,” Emily complained to Bertie.

“I can't help it if you don't like the truth.”

“I'm not afraid of the truth. It just sounds different when you tell it.”

“Imagine that,” Bertie said and turned back to her stove.

Emily decided that eating her breakfast in silence might be the safest way to get through the next few minutes. Bret had come knowing she was dead set against her father's wishes. Now he probably thought she was spoiled and self-centered. She
was
used to getting her way, but not because she was spoiled. She'd been given the responsibility to make decisions. It wasn't her fault if people didn't like all of them.

She watched Bret out of the corner of her eye. He'd looked mighty handsome in his suit, but there was something different about him in a tan shirt, denim jeans, and boots. He looked more virile, more exciting, more . . .
masculine
. His suit coat had emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, but his shirt allowed her to see the ridges of bone, the swell of muscle, the movement of sinew as he ate his breakfast. She'd been around men all her life, but she felt as if she'd never really seen one before now.

She hadn't realized she'd practically ignored her
breakfast until Bret wiped his mouth and put his napkin next to his plate.

“That was an excellent breakfast,” he said to Bertie. “A worthy companion to last night's dinner.”

“Don't you go trying to get around me with your pretty smiles,” Bertie said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her pleasure at his words. “This ain't nothing compared to what you have all the time in a fancy place like Boston.”

“I spent more than half my life in Texas. You make me feel like I've come home.”

Emily didn't know Bret well yet, but she was developing a feel for the times when something touched a part of him he couldn't hide. A couple of times she'd sensed that things were slipping past his guard, getting around his defenses, reminding him of something he had tried to forget—or had refused to remember.

“Eleven kids around the table couldn't be anything like this morning,” Emily said.

“It's the food, the air, the warmth of the breeze.” He chuckled. “It's the hot biscuits with jam and butter. You can't know how many memories that brings back. Isabelle turned into a good cook, and she made fabulous biscuits.”