A Texan's Honor (17 page)

Which brought him to the problem of how he felt about being in Texas again. He'd never wanted to stay in Texas. All of his plans had been built around his life in Boston. Yet the moment he'd entered Texas a few days ago, everything felt different.

And nothing had changed since.

He felt comfortable on a horse, pleasantly surprised that all the skills, the little bits of knowledge required to know how to ride really well, came back without any effort. He'd enjoyed working with the piebald. The rope had felt good in his hands; he'd relished wrestling the calf to the ground. He hadn't used his body that way in years, and it almost ached with pleasure. Even the clothes felt more comfortable than the suits he wore every day. He felt as if his life had been turned upside down without his knowing how or why.

Maybe he was simply tired and frustrated—tired because he'd worked so hard and frustrated because his uncle still hadn't looked at his recommendations—but this feeling of dissatisfaction had more than that behind it. Now that he thought back on it, it had started before he reached Texas. It had started when he finished his plan. It was as if it had taken all his energy, leaving him with nothing more to give.

After working late every night for more than a year, buoyed by the excitement of what he was doing, he'd suffered an emotional letdown when it was done. Having his uncle shove his plan aside just made the dissatisfaction worse. Only Rupert and his grandmother's support had kept him from tearing the whole thing up. But if he really had to pin his reaction down to one thing, it would be his uncle's parting comment.

What if I can't bring her back?

Then don't come back yourself.

Everything he'd done had been for naught. He was still where he had been six years ago.

Okay, so Boston wasn't going to be the big success he'd hoped for, but did that mean he wanted to move back to Texas? He had enough experience to get another job up North. Some of his uncle's competition would be thrilled to get their hands on his recommendations. In the cutthroat world of business, people would pay well for information like that.

But he had developed the plan in order to gain recognition and acceptance for his contribution. No wonder he'd been terribly disappointed when it didn't come. But that still didn't explain why he felt as if he'd come home when he reached Texas.

Could he fall in love with Emily? What would he do if he did? For as long as he could remember, he'd been focused on returning to Boston and convincing his family to accept him as an equal. That hadn't happened yet, so his plan for his life hadn't developed beyond that point. He'd always wanted a wife and family, but those pleasures had been put off until he achieved his primary goal.

Now he had to face the possibility that he'd never reach it. That thought should have crushed him, because it meant he was a failure. He was frustrated, annoyed, even angry, but he didn't feel like a failure. Why not?

He could have understood it if he had an alternate plan, a second goal, but he didn't. Everything depended on his success in convincing Emily to move to Boston, on convincing his uncle to implement his plan. What happened if he couldn't do either? He'd never allowed himself to consider the possibility of failure before. Did the way he felt now mean he'd changed, that failure wouldn't be the end of the
world? And if that were true, what had brought about the change?

Fortunately, he didn't have to go back to Boston right away. By sending him to Texas, his uncle had unknowingly given him the opportunity to find the answers he needed in order to discover what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

“Dad had a restless night,” Emily told Bret at breakfast the next morning. “I don't think he's any better than he was yesterday.”

She didn't look like she'd slept at all. Bret had offered to help with her father, but he wasn't surprised when she'd refused.

“When do you plan to take him to Fort Worth to see a doctor?”

“Mr. Abercrombie won't have anything to do with doctors,” Bertie said from her position at the stove. Because of her father's illness, Emily was eating in the kitchen with Bret.

“Mama was in a lot of pain before she died,” Emily explained. “Dad never forgave the doctors for not being able to help her.”

“Doctors aren't miracle workers,” Bret said, “but they might be able to help your father.”

“I know,” Emily said, “but Dad's stubborn. Besides, I don't think he'd survive the trip to Fort Worth in a wagon. He can't ride, and I'd have to tie him to his seat if we took a buggy.”

“Mr. Abercrombie would rather die than put up with that,” Bertie declared.

Emily managed a weak smile, tilted her head in Bertie's direction. “Mama used to say Bertie and Dad were cut out of the same block of wood.”

“An oak doesn't blow over in the wind,” Bertie
said. “Its roots go straight down and take a real good hold.”

Bret was no expert on the root structure of trees, but he did know Sam's hold on life was loosening. That made it all the more imperative that Emily come to some decision about her future. But the very fact of her father's illness made it inappropriate for him to push for that decision just now. Once Emily was forced to make decisions about the future, maybe she'd be more willing to listen.

“Are you going to work with your horses this morning?” he asked.

“I'm afraid to leave Dad. I'm thinking I ought to send them back to their owners. I don't know when I'll be able to get back to them.”

“Would you trust me to work with them?”

It was clear from her expression that Bret's question had caught her unprepared. He couldn't decide whether she looked surprised, shocked, or upset. When she didn't give him an answer right away, he figured she was looking for a polite way to refuse him.

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” Bertie had moved from the stove to stand next to the table. “If he can handle that piebald, he can handle the rest of them.”

“That's okay, Bertie,” Bret said. “If she feels uncomfortable—”

“No, no, that's not it.” Emily's guilty smile confused him further. “I've been trying to think of a way to ask you to do that without sounding like I was taking advantage of you.”

“A woman's supposed to take advantage of a man.” Bertie moved back to her stove. “What else are they good for?”

Bret could think of several answers but decided to keep them to himself. He liked having Bertie on his side.

“I'm a little rusty, but I think things will come back,” Bret said. “I can't sit around all day doing nothing.”

“But you need help with the piebald.”

“Maybe you can let me have Jem for the day. I want to ride over some more of the ranch this afternoon, and I need somebody to show me around.”

“What are you looking for?”

“It's unusual for someone to simply rebrand calves. Most of the time they want steers ready for market so they can sell them quickly. Whoever is doing this will have to come forward to claim the calves when they're ready for market in three or four years.”

“Dad said he didn't understand that, either,” Emily said. “He wanted me to send Lonnie out to see what he could find.”

“I didn't mean to be taking over Lonnie's work,” Bret said.

“I'd like for you to do it,” Emily said. “With Tom gone to hire more hands, we're short right now.”

Tom had ridden out last night with authorization to hire four more hands. Just before he left, Bret had given him a telegram to send to his adopted brothers, Hawk and Zeke. He had a feeling he was going to need someone he could depend on to be on his side.

Emily took a bite of sausage, washed it down with coffee, and got to her feet. “I'd better go back to Dad.”

Bertie blocked Emily's path. “You haven't finished your breakfast.”

“I've been away from Dad too long.”

“Then take your breakfast with you.” Bertie pointed to Emily's plate. “I won't have you looking like death warmed over. And that plate had better be clean when I come after it.”

“Just in case you think I run the house, you've just seen proof I don't,” Emily said with a wan smile at Bret.

Bertie gave Emily a stern look. “Don't you go wearing yourself out. If he takes a nap, you take one, too.”

Emily agreed to all Bertie's strictures, picked up her plate, and left.

“She's no more going to listen to me than if I was talking to the chickens,” Bertie fumed.

“I'd like to help with Mr. Abercrombie,” Bret said.

Bertie turned her grim gaze on him. “Then make Miss Emily forget her worries for a few hours each day.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“If you can't figure that out with all your looks, then you're not half as smart as that piebald.”

Bret couldn't suppress a smile. “I don't think she's in the mood for romance just now.”

Bertie looked at him like he was so dumb that talking to him was a waste of her time. “Every woman's got time for a good-looking man if he has a little sense and can think of something besides horses and whiskey.”

It was impossible for Bret to ignore the irony of the situation. His uncle had given him strict instructions to stay away from Emily romantically. Now Bertie was ordering him to do just the opposite.

“I don't think she'll leave her father's side,” Bret said.

“I'll get her out of that room. You just make sure she doesn't come back for an hour or two. Do you think you can manage that?” Bertie acted as if she were talking to a troublesome child.

“I'll try. Now, before you think of something else to get me into trouble, I'd better get started with the horses.”

“How can entertaining Miss Emily for a few hours get you into trouble?”

“Just talking to a woman can get you into trouble.
Making her think you like her is the same as putting a noose around your neck.”

“Or shackles on your legs?” Bertie said and grinned.

“That, too.” Bret decided to escape while he could. Being around Bertie was not good for his health.

“What are we looking for?” Jem asked Bret.

“I'm not sure. I don't see the logic in what we've found so far. There must be something we're missing.”

“I guess we should have been riding out every day,” Jem said.

“You haven't been?”

“Lonnie said we could take it easy for a little while. We'd just been over the whole place branding calves. He said there wasn't nothing likely to go wrong this quick.”

Bret didn't agree with that, but he could understand the reasoning. The men and horses must have been tired after the work of branding the new calves and cutting out and road branding the steers to be sent to market. Most ranchers depended on their cows to take care of themselves for much of the year. Some even dismissed their crews entirely during the winter months.

“We did ride out some to keep an eye on things,” Jem said, “but there's not much to do in the summer.”

They had spent the last several hours checking along the creek bottoms and anywhere else trees grew close enough together to offer shade. It was a hot day and most of the cows had sought out shady spots to chew their cuds and wait for the cool of evening before venturing out to graze again. Because the cows weren't in plain sight, it was difficult to tell if the count was down or to gauge how many calves had been rebranded.

Whoever was rebranding the calves only did it in one part of the ranch, the part that hadn't been ridden over since the roundup. It had to be an inside job. And what really worried Bret was the knowledge that it would have been easiest for the foreman to arrange everything and escape suspicion.

“Was there any problem with rustling right after your boss got sick?” Bret asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jem said. “There was some people in here at first wanting to buy the place, but most of them stopped coming when Miss Emily told 'em she meant to run the place herself.”

“Who kept coming back?”

“Old man Dockery. He's been wanting this place for years, but he's already got most of three counties. He wouldn't steal Mr. Abercrombie's cows. He hates rustlers something awful. He hanged two just this past winter. Some people say he's too quick to hang a fella, but he says a fella shouldn't be where he don't belong if he likes his neck the way it is.”

“Looks like another fire,” Jem said, pointing to a blackened circle in the prairie.

Bret dismounted when they reached the spot. The circle was less than two feet in diameter, a small fire. From the look of the torn-up grass, the rustlers had branded several calves within the last couple of days. Clearly the rustlers hadn't stopped.

“I think we've seen enough,” Bret said as he mounted up.

“What are you going to do?” Jem asked.

“Talk to Sam. He'd got to know.”

“You think it's one of us, don't you?” Jem said.

Jem was so quiet and self-effacing, it was hard to tell what was going on in his mind. Bret didn't think Jem was dumb, just that his mind seemed unengaged a lot of the time. Still, he had a feeling that Jem saw
and understood more than anyone guessed. Bret turned in the saddle to face him.

“What do you think?”

Jem's eyes clouded. “I think someone is telling the rustlers where we're going to be riding.” He shook his head. “They shouldn't do that.”

“Don't say anything,” Bret said. “I could be wrong.”

They had ridden in silence for a while when Jem asked, “Is Emily going to Boston when Mr. Abercrombie dies?”

“She says she intends to run the ranch by herself.”

“She's gonna need a husband to do that.”

“Why?”

“Men don't like taking orders from a woman. It makes them feel they aren't men. I don't expect many of the boys will stay after Mr. Abercrombie dies.”