Heart of Texas Series Volume 1: Lonesome Cowboy\Texas Two-Step\Caroline's Child (27 page)

Glen would come.
Ellie was genuinely relieved that she'd told at least one other person where she was headed, even if he disapproved. If she did turn up missing, Glen would leave no stone unturned. He'd look for the town until he located it again. Then he'd mount a search-and-rescue effort, enlist everyone's help. He wouldn't rest until he knew exactly what had happened and why. He was that kind of man. That kind of friend.

“I want to check the cemetery,” she decided as they left the mercantile.

“The cemetery? As jittery as you are?” Richard said. “Why?”

“I want to look for a grave. A little boy by the name of Edward Abraham Frasier.” Since the Bible had given no information about what had caused his death, perhaps a grave marker would.

“All right,” Richard agreed, but she could see he wasn't enthusiastic.

The sensation of someone following them grew less intense as they walked toward the outskirts of town. The gate to the cemetery hung by one hinge.

“Someone's been here recently,” Ellie said, stopping just inside the fenced area. The dirt had been churned recently to plant a rosebush.

“Savannah,” Richard said. “She was after some old roses and replaced the ones she took.”

“Savannah's been here?” Ellie wasn't completely surprised. Savannah scoured the highways and byways for old roses, hoping to find unfamiliar and unusual species. And replacing the roses she'd removed? Savannah never took without giving; it was her nature.

“What was the name again?” Richard asked.

“Edward Abraham Frasier.” Some of the graves were marked with wooden crosses that had badly deteriorated with age. And only a few names were legible on the stone markers. After a couple of minutes she gave up the effort.

“You done yet?” Richard asked, sounding bored.

“Yeah.” While she wished she'd found the grave, she didn't want to linger in town any longer.

Richard held her hand as they scrambled up the incline, then followed the rocky path that led to the truck. He helped her into the cab—obviously charm died hard—and climbed inside himself. “Put on the blindfold,” he instructed her, turning the ignition key.

Ellie complained under her breath. He had nothing to worry about; she had no intention of returning to Bitter End. She didn't know what had made her ancestors leave the town; all she could say was that she didn't blame them.

Once the blindfold was securely in place, Richard put the truck into gear.

The ride back to Promise was accomplished in half the time it had taken to drive out. Once again the truck pitched and bucked over the uneven terrain, leaving Ellie to wonder how he'd found Bitter End on his own. Of one thing she was sure—neither Glen nor Cal would have taken him there. Nor would Grady or Savannah. No one she knew would purposely return to Bitter End. She wouldn't. Never again. Glen was right; once was more than enough.

Richard dropped her at the feed store. “Thanks,” she said, and was about to open the door and climb out when he stopped her.

“Hey, there's no need to rush, is there?”

She did have work to do. “Well—”

“Don't you want to thank me?” he asked.

“I thought I already had.”

“A kiss wouldn't hurt.” Without giving her a chance to respond he reached for her shoulders and brought his mouth to hers. Technically it was a kiss, but Ellie experienced none of the warmth or gentleness she had with Glen. None of the surging passion. What Richard classified as a kiss was little more than the touching of lips.

Apparently he wasn't satisfied, either, because he opened his mouth and twisted it over hers. Ellie still felt nothing. Which surprised her, considering how attractive the man was.

Richard released her and smiled. “I'll give you a call soon,” he said as though nothing was amiss. “We could have something good together, Ellie. Think about it, all right?”

She stared at him, at a total loss for anything to say. The kiss that had left her cold had somehow convinced him they could become romantically involved.

“You're coming to the Cattlemen's dance with me, right?” he asked, when she finally climbed down from the truck.

“Ah...” She stood with one hand on the door, ready to close it. “I'll let you know for sure, but I don't think so.”

Richard's eyes widened with surprise. “But I'll see you there?”

“I...I don't know.” She wasn't in the mood for much partying. “Perhaps,” she said vaguely.

“In any case I'll see you soon,” Richard said cheerfully, and with a jaunty wave drove off.

Ellie walked into the store and George Tucker handed her a pile of pink slips. “Glen Patterson called three times,” he muttered in a way that told her he wasn't keen on being her secretary. George's expertise didn't extend to the office.

“Glen phoned?” Her heart reacted immediately.

“Would you kindly put that young man out of his misery?” George asked. “I've got better things to do than answer his questions about you.”

Smiling to herself, Ellie headed for her office in the back of the store. Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope that she and Glen could resurrect their friendship, after all.

***

Glen hadn't been worth a plugged nickel all day. Glen and Cal had been out at Cayuse Pasture, which was approximately twelve miles square in size. They were grazing about 400 cows and yearlings there. Even the dogs didn't want anything to do with him, and Glen saw their point. His mood had been murderous all day. Three times he'd left Cal and the other hands to race back to the house so he could call Ellie. His frustration rose each time he was forced to leave a message with George. Now that he was back at the ranch house, he discovered his disposition hadn't improved. The answering machine showed that Ellie hadn't tried to call him back, which meant she was still with Richard in Bitter End. He didn't like it, not one damn bit.

“If you're so concerned about Ellie,” Cal said, “why don't you drive into town and find out what happened to her?” Cal himself would be driving into town later for his weekly visit to Billy D's, the local watering hole. Most single ranchers met at Billy D's for a cold beer on Friday and Saturday nights. Then some of them would wander over to the café in the bowling alley or the Chili Pepper for a barbecued steak. Adam Braunfels served up one of the best T-bones in the state. Glen would probably join his brother and friends—after he'd talked to Ellie.

“You're letting a woman mess with your mind, little brother,” Cal said with the voice of one who'd been disillusioned by love. He opened the refrigerator and reached for a can of soda. “Take my advice or leave it—that's up to you. But the way I see it, Ellie's already got a ring through your nose.”

“The hell she does,” Glen argued. Sure, she'd been on his mind, but
only
because he was worried about her and Richard visiting Bitter End.

“I was thinking about moseying into town early,” Glen admitted, making light of it.

“Yeah, fine,” Cal said with a decided lack of interest. “Why don't you just marry Ellie and be done with it?”

Glen frowned at his brother, but rather than become involved in a pointless argument he tore up the stairs to shower and change.

By the time Glen reached the outskirts of Promise, anger simmered just below the surface. He intended to check in with his friends at Billy D's in a while, but he wouldn't rest easy until he'd spoken to Ellie. He needed to see for himself that she was all right.

When he arrived at the feed store, George Tucker took one look at him and pointed him toward the business office. So Ellie was back, but she hadn't bothered to return his calls.

The door was half-open and Glen saw Ellie sitting at the desk, her fingers flying over calculator buttons. She glanced up when he walked into the room. Under normal circumstances he would have poured himself some coffee. Not this afternoon. At least not yet. He wanted to find out what her mood was like first.

“You went to Bitter End, didn't you,” he said quietly. Although he wished she'd taken his advice, his relief that she was safely home overrode any real anger.

“Did you honestly expect me not to?”

“No,” he said, knowing his actions the night of Ruth's party had made that impossible.

“I...I wasn't overly impressed with the town,” she admitted.

Well, he thought, that was a start in the right direction.

“Why didn't you ever mention it before?” she asked, and he noticed a hurt tone in her voice.

“I never talked about it with anyone.” He walked across the room and reached for the coffeepot. “If I'd told you, you would've wanted to see it for yourself—which you did.”

“To tell you the truth, I understand why you didn't want me there.”

That was what he'd figured. “I was worried about you,” he said.

“I know. I talked to Cal a few minutes ago.”

Glen frowned. He could just imagine what his brother had said. On second thought he didn't want to know.

“You plan on making a return visit?” he asked, instead, keeping the question light.

“Go back? Not on your life.”

“Good.” He raised the mug to his lips and took a sip of coffee.

“I think we should talk,” Ellie surprised him by saying.

“Talk?” He froze, not sure he liked the sound of this.

She laughed softly, and Glen realized how much he'd missed hearing that. She had a deep rich laugh, unlike a lot of women he knew who had delicate laughs. Ellie's was robust and confident, as if she didn't need to prove her femininity by being reserved. He found her unique in any number of other ways.

“We can try to ignore it, pretend we've forgotten it, but the best way to deal with...what happened is to discuss it.”

His eyes held hers. “Are you talking about...” He was having as much trouble saying the word as she was.

“The...kiss.” There, she'd said it.

“The kiss,” he repeated in low tones, as though this were something dark and dangerous. He was beginning to think it was.

Ellie laughed, and soon he did, too.

“We should acknowledge that we were caught up in a momentary impulse,” she suggested primly. “And... Oh, hell, let's just forget it.”

Leaning against the edge of her desk, Glen cradled his coffee mug in both hands. “I don't think that'll work.”

“Why not?” Ellie stood and replenished her own coffee.

Because they'd been friends all these years, Glen knew exactly what she was doing. What had prompted her sudden burst of activity wasn't a craving for more coffee but an effort not to let him see what was in her eyes.

He set his mug aside and touched her shoulder. She jerked around as though he'd burned her.

“I don't want to forget the kiss,” he said with blinding honesty. He didn't recognize it as the truth until the words left his lips.

“You don't?” She sounded startled.

“Do you?” He was a fool to ask, but he couldn't have held back the question for anything.

“I...I don't know.”

“Yes, you do.” If he could hang out his pride to dry, then she'd damn well better be prepared to do the same thing.

She blinked twice. “All I want is for us to be friends.”

“We are. That hasn't changed.”

“But it
has!
” she cried, gesturing wildly with her hands. “That kiss changed everything. I used to be able to talk to you.”

“You still can.”

“No, I can't.”

“Try me,” he challenged.

She threw back her head and laughed, but this time her amusement lacked sincerity. “We can talk about anything, can we?” she flung at him. “Fine, then we'll talk about how Richard's kisses leave me cold and how all I could do was compare the way I felt when I was in your arms.”

Glen didn't hear anything beyond the first few words. “So you're kissing Richard now. Is there anyone else I don't know about?”

“See?” she cried, tossing her arms in the air. “My point exactly.”

“What point?”

“We can't talk.”

“We're already talking! What do you mean?” This was the kind of convoluted conversation women suckered a man into—giving him just enough rope to hang himself. Glen had seen it happen often enough and had always managed to avoid it with Ellie. Until now.

“You said there wasn't anything I couldn't discuss with you, and already we're at each other's throats.”

“I am not at your throat!” he shouted, his patience gone. The entire day had been a waste. First he'd fretted about her with Richard in Bitter End. Then he'd attempted to revive their friendship, only to learn she'd been locking lips with Richard Weston.

“You're welcome to him,” he said, setting the mug down forcibly enough to send coffee sloshing over the sides. “As far as I'm concerned, you and Richard deserve each other.”

“Oh, please, now you're acting like a jealous fool.”

He was out the office door before he realized he'd had more than one reason for seeing Ellie. He walked back and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms.

Ellie glanced up and waited.

“You going to the dance?” he asked finally, as if her answer didn't really matter.

“I...haven't decided yet. Are you going?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I probably will, too.”

“See you there?” he asked, his mood brightening.

She nodded. “Will you wait for me?”

He nodded, grinning.

She smiled back.

Five

A
s the evening wore on, Glen's feelings toward Richard Weston grew even less friendly. He resented the other man's putting Ellie at risk by escorting her to Bitter End. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he got. Richard's dating Ellie had never set right with him, either. Especially now, when she was at a low point in her life following her father's death and her mother's move to Chicago. Although Ellie generally had a level head, Glen didn't want Pretty Boy taking advantage of her.

And then there was his own unresolved—and unexpected—attraction to her.... But no, the real concern was Ellie's vulnerability to a superficial charmer like Richard.

The only thing to do, Glen decided, was speak to Richard personally. Clear the air. Set him straight. He'd wait for the right opportunity. He was well aware that Ellie wouldn't appreciate his having a chat with Richard on her behalf, but she didn't need to know about it, either. Someone had to look after her interests. Glen liked to think of himself as her guardian. Okay,
guardian
was probably the wrong word, seeing as they were close to the same age. What she could use was a sort of...advocate. A concerned friend. Yes, that was it. An advocate. Someone who had her best interests at heart. Stepping in where needed.

With his role clear in his mind, he held off until late Wednesday afternoon before driving out to the Yellow Rose Ranch and confronting the youngest Weston. This was between him and Richard. Man-to-man.

He turned into the drive and parked in the yard beside Grady's truck, then slowly climbed out of the cab. Savannah was in her rose garden wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun. Richard sat on the front porch, strumming a guitar, apparently so involved in his music that he didn't see or hear Glen's approach. Rocket, Grady's old black Lab, slept on the porch, sprawled out on a small braided rug.

Carrying a wicker basket filed with fragrant pink roses, Savannah waved and walked toward Glen.

“Howdy, neighbor,” she said, smiling her welcome.

“Savannah.” He touched the tip of his Stetson. “Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“Lovely,” she agreed.

“I'm here to see Richard,” Glen announced, narrowing his gaze on the man who still lounged on the porch.

“He's practicing his guitar.” She gestured unnecessarily toward Richard. He'd leaned the chair against the side of the house and propped one foot on the porch railing.

“Would you care for a glass of iced tea?” Savannah offered.

His throat was dry; something cold and wet would be appreciated. “That's mighty kind of you.”

Richard's sister moved toward the house, then paused at the bottom step and turned. With a slight frown she said, “Is there trouble, Glen? Between you and Richard?”

“Not at all,” he was quick to assure her. He was determined that this would look like nothing more than a friendly conversation between neighbors. And if he just happened to mention Ellie...

Obviously relieved, Savannah disappeared into the house, and Glen approached Richard. The younger man ignored him until Glen pulled at the chair beside his and plunked himself down.

Richard's fingers paused over the strings. “Howdy, Glen.”

“Howdy.” Although Glen had mulled over what he intended to say, he found that actually speaking his mind was surprisingly difficult. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Richard set the guitar down on the porch, holding it by the neck. “I've always got time for a friend.”

Friend.
Glen hesitated, since he didn't exactly view Richard that way.

“What can I do for you?” Richard asked companionably.

“Well...” Nope, he wasn't very good at expressing himself, Glen thought. “I've been concerned about Ellie.”

“Really?” Richard asked. “Why?”

“Her father dying and then her mother leaving so soon afterward.”

Richard nodded. “I see what you mean. She seems to be handling it pretty well, though, don't you think?” He picked up the guitar, laid it across his lap and played a couple of chords.

“That's the thing about Ellie,” Glen explained, speaking with authority. After all, he knew Ellie far better than Richard did. “She can put on a good front, but there's a lot of emotion churning beneath the surface.”

Richard chuckled. “You're right about that! She's a little fireball just waiting to explode. I've always been attracted to passionate women.” His tone insinuated that he'd been close to getting scorched by Ellie a few times—as if he knew her in ways Glen never would.

Glen shifted uncomfortably, angered by the insinuation, but was saved from responding by Savannah, who carried out a tray with two tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of homemade oatmeal cookies.

“Thanks,” Glen said, accepting a glass.

Richard had reached for his, plus a cookie, before Savannah could even put the plate down. “I can never resist my sister's cookies,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “No one bakes better cookies than Savannah.”

His sister smiled at his praise, then quietly returned to the kitchen. Glen watched her go, and realized that with very little effort, Richard had won over Savannah, too—despite all the grief he'd brought the family. No doubt about it, the guy was an expert when it came to manipulating women. Glen felt all the more uneasy, wondering how to handle the situation. He wanted Richard to keep his distance from Ellie, but he didn't want to be obvious about it. If he made a point of warning Richard off, the bum would be sure to tell her what he'd said. Probably snicker at him, too.

The best way, he decided, was to state his concerns in a natural straightforward manner. “Ellie told me you took her to Bitter End,” he began, struggling to disguise his anger.

Richard threw back his head and laughed boisterously. “I scared the living daylights out of her, too.”

Glen hadn't heard about that and was forced to listen to Richard's story of how he'd blindfolded her, then slipped out of the truck and hidden.

By the time he finished, Glen's jaw hurt from the effort it took not to yell at the man. “I don't think it's a good idea to be taking anyone up to that ghost town,” he said as calmly as he could, realizing anew that he actively disliked Richard Weston. He hadn't cared for him as a teenager and liked him even less as an adult.

“I couldn't agree with you more,” Richard said, once his amusement had faded. “It was a mistake to even mention Bitter End. Once I did, she was all over me, wanting to see the place. When I finally said I'd take her, she wasn't in the town five minutes before she wanted to leave.

“Surprising how much of that town's still standing,” Richard said next, helping himself to a second cookie.

Glen figured if he didn't take one soon, Richard would devour the entire plateful before he'd even had a taste. Deliberately he reached for a cookie, then another. He took a bite; they
were
as good as Richard claimed.

“How'd you find the town?” Glen asked.

“Since you, Cal and Grady didn't see fit to include me when we were kids, I didn't have any choice but to seek it out on my own.”

“But why now?”

“Why not?” He shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I've got plenty of time to kill while I wait to hear on my next job. I work for an investment company.”

“I didn't realize that.”

“I don't tell a lot of people,” he said. “Most recently I was working with a smaller institution, specializing in loans and investments. Unfortunately, as you're probably aware, the larger institutions are swallowing up the smaller ones, and I was forced to take a short vacation while the company reorganizes. It seemed as good a time as any to visit my family.”

“Investments? Really?” Richard certainly possessed the polished look of a professional. And he knew how to talk the talk. Glen was a bit confused, though; he'd been under the impression that Richard had a different sort of job—sales or something. Oh, well, he supposed it didn't matter.

“Yup.” Richard ran the guitar pick over the strings and laughed easily. “I bet you didn't know I'd made a quite a name for myself, did you?”

Glen sobered when he realized how smoothly Richard had diverted him from the subject of Bitter End, but he wasn't going to allow the other man to get away with it for long.

“You won't be taking Ellie back to the ghost town, will you?” Glen asked in a tone that told Richard he was in for a fight if he did.

“Not likely!”

“Good.” Then, in case he might consider showing the town to others, Glen added, “Or anyone else?”

“Hardly.” Richard's response was immediate; but Glen noted the way his hand stilled momentarily over the guitar. “I wouldn't have taken Ellie, but like I said, once I mentioned it she was all over me, wanting to see the place. It was either drive her there myself or let her go looking for it on her own.”

That much was true, Glen conceded.

“Do you and Ellie have something going...romantically?” Richard surprised him with the directness of the question.

Glen hesitated, unsure how to respond. Before he allowed himself to confess what he'd denied to everyone, including himself, he shook his head. “We're just friends.”

“That's what I thought.” Richard sounded smug and satisfied.

“Any particular reason you're asking?”

“Yeah. I'm interested in her myself, and I don't want to step on your toes if I can help it.”

Glen frowned. “Like I said earlier, this is a bad time for Ellie.”

“She needs someone like me,” Richard said, bending over the guitar and tightening a couple of strings. “What I'd like to see her do is sell that business and get on with her life. Her daddy stuck her with that feed store, but there's no need for her to hold on to it.”

Glen shook his head. Ellie loved the store with the same intensity her father had. She recognized her contribution to the community and took pride in meeting the needs of the local ranchers. The feed store had become the unofficial gathering place in town, and that was because Ellie, like her father, made folks feel welcome.

Everyone dropped in at Frasier Feed, to visit, catch up on local news and gossip, swap stories. The large bulletin board out front offered free advertising space for anyone with something to trade or sell. The pop machine was there, too, with a couple of chairs for those who wanted to take a load off their feet.

Ellie sell out? Never. Apparently Richard didn't know her as well as he thought.

“She's interested in me, too, you know,” Richard added.

This definitely came as surprise to Glen. She'd admitted the two of them had kissed, but in the same breath had told him she preferred his kiss over Richard's. At least, that was what he
thought
she'd said. The last part of their conversation had been lost on him. They'd snapped at each other, gotten annoyed with each other and instantly regretted it. Glen had come to mend fences with her, not destroy them, and he'd turned back to ask her about the dance. He'd made it clear that he looked forward to spending the evening with her.

She'd told him basically the same thing. They'd meet there. He'd wait for her.

“She's attending the dance with me,” Richard stated nonchalantly.

“With you?” Glen couldn't believe what he'd just heard. “The Cattlemen's Association dance?”

“Yeah. She had some concern about the two of us being there together, though. Neither of us wants to start any talk.”

“Talk?”

“About seeing one another exclusively.”

“I see.” Glen's hand tensed around the cold glass.

“You going?” Richard asked pointedly. “If I remember correctly, this dance is one of the biggest social events of the summer.”

“I'll probably be there,” Glen said. And he'd make damn sure Richard kept his paws where they belonged, because the first time he saw Mr. Investment Manager touching Ellie, Glen would be dragging him outside and rearranging his dental work. Even if Ellie
did
prefer Weston, as it now appeared.

“Who are you taking?” Richard probed.

“I...don't know yet,” Glen confessed, and then because he didn't want it to look like he couldn't get a date, he added, “I was thinking of asking Nell Bishop.”

“Sure,” Richard said with an approving nod. “Ask Nell. I bet she'd be happy to go with you.”

Glen gulped down the rest of his tea and stood. “Glad we had this conversation,” he said, when in reality he was anything but. Only this time his anger was directed at Ellie. She'd played him for a fool. A fool! She'd led him to believe she didn't have a date. Moreover she'd indicated in no uncertain terms that she'd welcome his company there.
Wait for me,
she'd said.

What she intended, he now realized, was that he'd arrive and then stand there twiddling his thumbs while she danced her way across the room in Richard Weston's arms. Well, if that didn't beat all. The why of it wasn't too clear, but he figured Ellie was still mad at him and this was her revenge.

“Don't be a stranger,” Richard said as Glen started toward his truck. “And don't worry about me taking Ellie up to Bitter End again, either.”

“I won't.” He wouldn't worry about a lot of things concerning Ellie, he mused, his anger festering. If it wasn't for Richard letting slip that she'd agreed to be his date, Glen would have arrived at the dance completely unawares.

Maybe Cal was right. Maybe women
couldn't
be trusted.

***

Frank Hennessey had been the duly elected sheriff of Promise for near twenty years. He knew everyone in town and they knew him. Because he'd been in office for so long, folks were comfortable coming to him with their problems. Minor ones and ones that weren't so minor. Sometimes he suggested they talk to Wade McMillen, the local preacher, and other times he just listened. Mostly folks felt better after they'd talked. More often than not a solution would present itself, although he'd barely say a word. Then folks would credit him when the answer had been there all along buried deep within themselves.