A Texan's Honor (23 page)

“They're going from one watering hole to another,” Emily said. “The men see them all the time.”

“I used to like to watch the white-tailed deer come out of the trees in the early morning,” Bret said. “Even when they were frightened, they seemed to skim over the grass or melt soundlessly into the trees. I never could figure out how they did that. When cows or horses run, the ground seems to shake.”

“I can't imagine you paying that much attention to deer.”

“Have you ever watched a fawn?” Bret asked. “They look all around them, wide-eyed and nervous. The slightest threatening sound or movement and they're off like a shot. I know how they feel because that's how I used to feel.”

Emily couldn't imagine the Bret she knew being afraid of anything, any more than she could imagine him being a ten-year-old boy living on the streets. “It must have been awful.”

“It taught me how to survive.”

Odd how she could go from feeling that she had to hold on to Bret in order to be safe, to wanting to protect
him
. She could sense that behind the strength, behind the knowledge, behind the confidence, was a vast emptiness Bret kept hidden from the world, a place where some part of him wandered ceaselessly, looking for something he couldn't name. She moved closer and slipped her arm around his waist. “You make me feel guilty for having had such an easy life.”

“No life is easy. They're just hard in different ways.”

She looked up at him. “You ought to know I admire you very much.” He would have pulled away, but she didn't release him.

“I don't want to be admired. It makes me feel I have to live up to something. I just want you to like me.”

“I do. I like you very much.”

He slipped one arm around her. “Maybe you shouldn't. You don't know that I'm not trying to cheat you or find a way to use you to my advantage.”

“You'd never do that to someone you liked.”

“You take a lot for granted.”

“That's because I can—with you.”

Emily wasn't experienced with men, but Bret's look was odd by any standard. She couldn't decide whether he was surprised or upset. She seemed to be saying all the wrong things tonight. Maybe she should go inside and leave him to—

The feel of Bret's lips on hers snapped her thoughts like dry grass in a high wind. It was unexpected and unexplained, but that didn't keep her arms from tightening around him or her from returning his kiss. She was swept away by the unexpectedness of Bret's kiss as well as the wonder of it. It was hard to believe that anything as simple as a kiss could make her feel as if all her troubles had vanished . . . or make her unconcerned that they hadn't.

As abruptly as he'd begun, Bret broke the kiss and backed away. “I shouldn't have done that.”

“Why did you?” She was so breathless she could hardly speak.

“I don't know. One minute I was standing here acting like a sane man, and the next I was kissing you like I never wanted to stop. I'm supposed to be protecting you, not trying to make you fall in love with me.”

Bret looked like he was wound so tight he was about to explode, like he was on the verge of losing control. He stared at her with wild eyes, but she had the feeling that only part of him was seeing her, that something else was even more firmly implanted on his vision.

“You've only kissed me twice,” she reminded him.

“That was two times too many.”

“You said you liked me.”

“I do, but that doesn't mean I can go around kissing you whenever I like. Or that you should let me.”

The implication that he had wanted to kiss her more often made her feel warm all over. “You said friends could kiss.”

“I said
some
men could. I can't.” He paced three or four steps before turning around and retracing his steps. “What would your father think? Or Bertie? Lonnie would probably want to shoot me.” He stopped and faced her. “Hell, I
know
he would.”

“I wouldn't mind.”

He'd started to pace again, but spun around at her words. “You
should
mind,” he nearly shouted. “You're not the kind of woman a man goes around kissing unless he's got marriage in mind.”

“Have you ever had marriage in mind?”

“No, and it's a good thing I haven't. I can barely support myself. If I had a wife and children, we'd all starve.”

“If a woman really loved you, maybe she wouldn't mind being poor.”

“I'd mind.” He was pacing again. “What kind of man would I be to do that to a woman I loved?” He came to a halt in front of her. “You've been so rich all your life you can't have any idea what it's like to be poor, to work as hard as you possibly can day after day and wake up each morning a little further behind. It changes people.”

“But you're not that poor.”

“Not yet.” He went stiff, as if something had occurred to him all of a sudden. “I don't know what I'm doing talking to you like this. You must think I'm crazy. We'd better go in. It's time for both of us to be in bed.”

She didn't want to go in. She had dozens of questions she wanted to ask, but she could tell it would be useless to try to learn anything further tonight. Still, she'd learned two important things.

First, he liked her so much he wanted to kiss her . . . often. He was fighting that urge so hard, she knew it had to be more than just a friendly kiss. A man would give a friendly kiss with a teasing smile and maybe a joke. Bret was so serious, he was upset.

She'd also learned he was very unsatisfied with his life in Boston. The question was would he become so dissatisfied he would make a change? And if so, would he consider returning to Texas?

Bret forced himself to go to his bedroom. Though he undressed, he didn't get into bed after he blew out the lamp. He stood at the window, staring out into the night, trying to figure out what had caused him to lose control so badly with Emily. It wasn't just the kiss, though that was serious enough. It was everything else—what he'd said, what he'd done, and what both implied.

Having failed to control himself tonight, it would be harder to do so in the future. Standing with Emily on the side of the hill, letting down the barriers enough to talk about things important to him, had been a heady experience, such as he hadn't had since leaving Jake's ranch. He felt that Emily understood him in a way the Abercrombies never could, even his grandmother and aunt. But her empathy just caused him to think of a future that could never be. Emily would never agree to go to Boston. It was best to put that dream out of his mind while he still could.

The worst part was, he might have set up expectations in Emily's mind he couldn't fulfill. He didn't know if she liked him enough to consider marrying him, but he wasn't the kind of husband she needed. She needed a Texan who was proud to be a Texan and didn't want to live anywhere else. She needed a man who loved ranching and would be happy to spend half his life on horseback. She needed a man who enjoyed exercising his body as much as his brain. And she needed a man who didn't come with a past he couldn't forget.

He sighed deeply, turned, and got into bed. He had a hard day ahead of him and needed his rest. He also had a lot of questions he needed to answer. The difficult part was that each question seemed to hinge on his response to a question for which he had no answer. His brain felt like a logjam. Until one important log broke free, all of them would stay locked together.

“He insisted on coming with me,” Tom told Emily. “He said Mr. Nolan was expecting him.”

Emily didn't know who surprised her more, the orphan she'd seen Bret talking to in Fort Worth or the Indian and the black man who were with him now on horseback.

Jinx had slipped off his horse and walked up to Emily, his hat in his hands, his threadbare clothes barely covering his body. He had some bruises she didn't remember seeing before.

“What I told your man wasn't exactly the truth,” Jinx said, “but Mr. Nolan said he'd take care of me.”

“He promised to do that when he got back to Fort Worth,” Emily said.

“I couldn't wait. Mr. Nolan left some money for me with Frank at the hotel, and Lugo was hopping mad
about it. He said a worthless scamp like me didn't deserve that much money, that
he
ought to have it for putting up with me.”

From what Bret had told her about Jinx's boss, Emily didn't find that hard to believe. The man was a thief. From the looks of Jinx, Lugo was a bully as well.

“Lugo tried to get Frank to give him the money, but Frank said he couldn't do that, that Mr. Nolan had said he wasn't to give it to anybody but me. When I wouldn't give it to him, Lugo beat me. I tried to run away, but he chased me and beat me again. If these fellas hadn't found me, I'd probably be dead.”

These fellas
were the black man and the Indian.

“I appreciate your watching after Jinx,” Emily said to the men, “but you didn't need to come with him. Tom would have made sure he got here safely.”

“We weren't babysitting the kid,” the Indian said. “We came because your man said you had rustlers and needed some extra hands.”

“We've had a bit of experience with rustlers,” the black man said. “Haven't come up against any we couldn't handle.”

Emily had no doubt of that. She'd never seen two men who looked more capable of handling any kind of trouble that might come their way. The Indian wore a dull yellow shirt with a brown vest and jeans, a typical cowhand outfit. It was the feather hanging down the back of his neck that was the jarring note. The black man wore only a vest and jeans. His skin gleamed with sweat over his heavily muscled body.

“I'm not the one who decides if you get the job,” she said. “My foreman—”

“We don't mind waiting,” the black man said.

Emily turned to Tom, who looked rather anxious.

“I know I was to bring four cowhands,” he said,
“but there weren't nobody else around these two trusted.”

“We're careful who we work with,” the black man said.

“Especially when we're chasing rustlers,” the Indian added.

“I'm sure . . . You see . . . What are your names?” she asked in frustration.

“I'm Zeke Maxwell,” the black man said.

“Hawk Maxwell,” the Indian said. Emily was sure it was her confused look that caused him to add, “We were adopted.”

Emily didn't know exactly what to do. She couldn't invite them into the house, because her father wasn't well enough for visitors. She didn't want to send them off to the bunkhouse before Lonnie had had a chance to decide if he wanted to hire them. Then there was the problem of what to do with Jinx. She had just about decided to turn him over to Bertie when he yelled,
“Mr. Nolan!”
and took off running. She turned to see Bret coming around the side of the house from the direction of the corrals.

Jinx practically threw himself at Bret, talking a mile a minute. Bret made him stand back so he could look at the bruises. Even at a distance, Emily could tell he was angry. When Jinx pointed back at the two strangers, Emily was surprised at the look that came over Bret's face. He looked shocked. Then a smile slowly spread over his face. Jinx was still talking a mile a minute, but Bret was walking toward the men, his gaze fixed so firmly on them, Emily doubted he knew she was present.

“Zeke beat the stuffing out of Lugo,” Jinx was saying. “If Hawk hadn't stopped him, he might have killed him. I wish he had.”

“Never wish anybody dead,” Bret said to Jinx without taking his eyes off the men.

“You didn't think we'd come, did you?” Zeke asked Bret.

“I knew you'd come if you could.”

“We had to see what you're like now you're a rich man,” Hawk said.

“You know these men?” Emily asked Bret.

“Yeah. Jake and Isabelle adopted all three of us.”

“You mean they're your brothers?” Jinx asked.

“Yes. That's what I mean.”

“Jumping Jehoshaphat!” Jinx exclaimed. “I never heard of anything like that.”

Neither had Emily. She was only just beginning to realize she didn't know much about the years Bret had spent in what must have been an extraordinary family.

“Is your mother the lady you said might take me in?” Jinx asked.

“That's the one,” Bret said, “but what am I going to do with you until then?”

“Hawk and Zeke said they're going to catch rustlers. Can I help?”

“What do you boys say?” Bret asked his brothers.

“I say he'd make a damned fine scarecrow,” Hawk said.

“If we stuck some straw out of his ears, the crows would never know he wasn't real,” Zeke said.

“You wouldn't let them do that, would you?” Jinx asked Bret anxiously.

“Not if you behave yourself. I think you ought to introduce yourself to Miss Abercrombie and ask very nicely if she'll let you stay.”

Jinx didn't look at all happy about it, but he mustered his courage and walked over to Emily.

“I'm Jinx, ma'am,” he said. “I don't have no last name. Nobody knows where I come from. Jinx is not even a real name. One of the ladies who took care of me when I was a baby used to say I was a jinx, that after she took me in she had nothing but trouble. I guess everybody agreed, because the name stuck.”

Emily had been trying to make up her mind what to do with Jinx, but hearing how he got his name—knowing how it must hurt every time he heard it—convinced her to let him stay. She didn't know what to do with an eight-year-old boy, but Bertie would.

“I know you don't want nobody like me hanging around,” Jinx said, “but I can slop hogs, feed chickens, fetch water and wood, just about anything you want.”

“I'll be glad to have you,” Emily said.