A Texan's Honor (33 page)

“I shouldn't have done that.”

She had to catch her breath before she could say, “I liked it. It gives me hope you might like me as much as I like you.”

“I have no right to like you, to love you,” Bret said. “I should have gone back to Boston before I let any of this happen.”

“You couldn't know I would fall in love with you.”

Bret took a moment to absorb what she'd said. “No, but I did know
I
was in danger of falling in love with
you
.”

She moved a step closer to him. Her heart felt too large for her chest, as if it were pushing out against her rib cage, demanding more room. She'd been so involved with her father's illness, the rustlers, Lonnie's betrayal, even Jinx and Joseph, she hadn't realized how much she'd come to depend on Bret, how
deep her feelings were becoming, until she was already in love with him. She'd had no warning, no time to protect her heart, no time to reason away the feelings she'd first taken to be friendship.

But none of that changed the fact that Bret was exactly the man she wanted in her life. She hadn't wanted him to come to Texas, but she'd liked him almost from the first. She hadn't wanted him in her life, but she'd started to depend on him just as quickly. Now it was impossible to think of her days without him. He fitted into her life as though the space had been made to measure for him.

She wondered if she was a fool to let herself be drawn into the battle of emotions that ruled Bret's life. She'd seen enough of men to know that for some, the need to satisfy an inner goal was more powerful than love. They would sacrifice loyalties, friends, family, even their own lives for it. She didn't know if Bret felt that way. If he did, there was nothing she could do to change it.

“Do you love me?” Her voice was a thread.

Bret's mouth opened, but no words came out. He tried a second time, but still no sound. She could feel a cold chill begin to spread through her. He didn't love her, and he didn't know how to tell her. Was he choking on a lie, or on the words he knew would hurt her? It didn't matter. Either would be equally painful.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It was unfair of me to ask that question.”

“You had every right.” Bret kept his distance, seemed even more uncomfortable than before. “I haven't answered because I don't want to hurt you.”

It was hard to swallow, but she managed without choking. “There's no rule that says you have to love someone just because they love you.”

Bret stepped forward, took her hands in his. “That's not the problem. I
do
love you.”

Emily had been jerked back from the edge of despair so abruptly that for a moment she felt dizzy, disoriented, but she understood enough to realize Bret had said he loved her.

“Hold me.”

When Bret hesitated, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him. He resisted a moment longer before enfolding her in an embrace. She didn't have words to describe how wonderful it felt to have his arms around her, to know he loved her. She'd never believed a man was necessary to her life, to her happiness. No matter how handsome or strong, none had even made a dent in her feeling of self-sufficiency. She wasn't sure Bret was necessary, but she knew she wanted him,
needed
him.

“I shouldn't be doing this,” he whispered against her hair.

“I want you to.”

“It'll just make it harder when I have to leave.”

“I don't want to think about that now.”

“We have to.”

“I don't,” she murmured against his chest. “All I have to think about, all I
want
to think about, is that you love me. All I want you to do is hold me.”

His arms tightened around her. “That's not all I want to do,” he whispered. He withdrew one hand from her back, placed it under her chin, and tilted her head up until she could look into his eyes. Even in the shadowy darkness, they seemed to glisten. Pinpricks of light like tiny stars gleamed down at her. “I've wanted to do this for so long it hurts.”

His kiss was slow and gentle. He seemed to be tasting her mouth, exploring it, consuming it, inviting her to do the same. She'd never kissed anybody other
than Bret, but her response was automatic, instinctive. Maybe that was what happened when two people were in love. They were so attuned to each other, they didn't need words or past experience. They simply meshed.

He was just the right height to bend down and kiss her, her arms just the right length to encircle his neck. He had just the right strength to make her feel safe and secure. She had just the right need for his kisses.

She rested her head against his chest and sighed. “I was afraid you didn't love me.”

“It would have been much easier if you didn't love me.”

“I don't want to talk. I just want you to hold me, to make me feel safe and loved.”

It was silly to think she could face the future alone. It wasn't enough that she had Bertie, even Ida and Charlie. They couldn't stand beside her, stand with her, the way Bret could. She wanted someone whose life would become so entwined with hers, their lives would become one, their needs and wants the same. She'd always thought of herself as independent of any need for a man. Bret had awakened a need in her she didn't know she had.

There would be difficulties to be faced tomorrow and the days after that, but she refused to think of anything except Bret's arms around her, the warmth of his body flowing into hers, the heat building up inside her so rapidly it threatened to spill over.

She couldn't get close enough to Bret. She wanted to crawl inside his clothes, inside his skin. It was an itch she couldn't scratch, because it was buried deep out of reach. Instinct told her that only Bret could relieve the tension.

Lifting her head from his chest, she looked up at him. He looked so troubled, she wanted to kiss his
worries away. Nothing was so difficult that they couldn't figure it out together. If they loved each other enough, if they—

“Emily.” It was Joseph's voice.

She didn't want to see Joseph, talk to him, even think about him. He was part of the problem that kept Bret from staying in Texas.

“Emily. Bret. Are you out there? Can you hear me?”

He sounded upset, but Emily and Bret kept their silence, hoping he would go away.

“Emily, you've got to come to the house immediately. Something is wrong with your father.”

Emily's feet were flying before the last of Joseph's words left his mouth. Bret was beside her, her hand held tightly in his.

Emily's body couldn't cry anymore, but her soul was awash in tears. She had known her father was going to die, but the reality of it was more overwhelming than she could ever have believed. Even though Bret had never left her side, even though Bertie had held her in her arms and cried with her, she felt bereft and utterly alone.

Her father had apparently suffered a massive heart attack. By the time she reached the house, he was past suffering. His face was no longer creased with care or distorted by pain. His features had relaxed until he was the man she'd known all her life. Now he was gone. She felt that her support had been pulled out from under her.

“We can't keep on sitting here,” Bertie said softly. “We've got to get your father ready for burial.”

Emily had sat by her father's bedside all night. Jinx had tried to stay awake but had finally gone to sleep in a chair by the window. Joseph had stayed with her
until he yawned so much, Bret sent him off to his bed. Bret hadn't spoken since.

“I don't want to let him go,” Emily murmured.

“You can't hold on to him anymore,” Bertie said. “It's time to let him be with your mother.”

Her mother was buried in a plot between the ranch house and the small stream. Emily's father had put an iron fence around the gravesite with enough room for at least a dozen other members of his family to rest alongside him and his wife someday. She knew the men would prepare the grave today, but it was up to her to decide when her father would be buried.

Emily thought of Ida and Charlie. They'd want to pay their respects to Sam Abercrombie. They'd lived on the ranch for so many years, they felt like family. Then there were the ranchers who participated with him in the roundups, the people he knew in Fort Worth, friends elsewhere. Waiting for Ida's family would mean two more days, the ranchers another day after that. That was too long.

“We'll bury him this evening,” she said to Bertie. “Will you get him ready?”

“I'll do it.” Bret said.

“I couldn't ask you to do that,” Emily said. “You—”

Bertie put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “I think Mr. Sam would like that.”

Bertie was probably right. Her father had been a modest man.

“What do you want him to wear?” Bertie asked Emily.

How could she think of anything as unimportant as clothes when her father lay dead? It didn't matter what he wore. He was gone and was never coming back. She would never see him smile again, hear him call her name. He would—

Emily caught herself before she broke down again. She had to think. She had to make decisions. She'd have more than enough time to cry after the funeral.

“You decide,” she said to Bertie. “Make it something nice, but not fancy.”

“I've got a nice suit all pressed and ready,” Bertie said. “A fresh white shirt, too.”

Emily kissed Bertie's cheek. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Probably hire some flighty female who would burn the biscuits and serve the beef underdone.” Bertie stood. “Come. You need to lie down for a while. You didn't sleep a wink all night.”

“I don't want to lie down. I can't sleep.”

“I know, but you need to rest. It won't be easy to bury your father.”

Emily stood, turned to Bret. She didn't know how to say what was in her heart. His presence had meant so much. His offer to prepare her father's body for burial was as generous as it was unexpected. She reached for his hand. “One of these days I hope I'll be able to tell you what your being here has meant to me.”

“There was no one to stand by me when they hanged my father,” he said. “I think I know.”

Every time she thought something truly terrible, something almost unbearable, was happening to her, she learned that something even worse had happened to Bret.

“You need some rest, too.”

“There'll be plenty of time later.”

He kissed her on the cheek, then glanced at Bertie, who took that as a signal to lead Emily out of her father's bedroom.

The morning sunlight poured in the windows facing the east, but the house was eerily quiet. There were no smells of breakfast, no aromas of bacon and
coffee to start her mouth watering. No sounds of the cowhands downing their breakfast, talking amongst themselves about the day ahead. No Bertie bustling about the kitchen, and no Jinx dashing about with childlike energy. It seemed the whole world had stopped to show respect for her father.

“I think you are right to bury your father tonight,” Bertie said. “If you want, you can do something with everybody else later.”

“I don't know. I'll think about it.”

She couldn't decide anything right now. She wanted to talk to Bret, to feel his arms around her. She wanted to lean on him and let his strength support her. She felt he was all she had left, and she didn't mean to let him go.

Bret stood outside Emily's bedroom door unable to decide what to do. Everyone in the house had gone to bed and fallen into exhausted sleep, but Emily was awake and crying. His heart urged him to comfort her even if it meant entering her bedroom. His head warned him he could hardly do anything more dangerous.

It hadn't been a difficult task to ready Sam for burial. Jinx had insisted upon helping. Despite his youth, he seemed to understand the significance of what they were doing and was uncharacteristically quiet. For himself, Bret found it was surprisingly difficult. He hadn't realized how attached he'd become to the old man. His emotions had been very close to the surface all day.

“Is he really dead?” Jinx had asked.

“Yes.”

“He doesn't look dead,” Jinx had said. “He just looks like he's asleep.”

Hawk had supervised the men who dug the grave.
The ground was hard and rocky. It had taken all of the men working in shifts to get it finished by late afternoon. Emily had decided she wanted to inter her father as the sun sank in the west.

They had stood in a solemn group around the grave and inside the iron fence. Emily had tried to lead the brief service, but her voice failed. It was seeing Joseph about to offer his help—and the withering glance from Bertie—that had spurred Bret to step forward.

Afterwards everyone had gone up to the house for supper. All the cowhands spoke to Emily before they returned to the bunkhouse. Bret hoped it would be a comfort to her to know her father was so well liked by the men who'd worked for him. Joseph had behaved well, seeming to be genuinely sorry that Sam had died. Emily appreciated his comfort, but Bertie continued to regard him as she might a coiled snake.

But it had been Jinx who'd offered her the greatest comfort. Bret was certain Jinx didn't know what he was doing, that he was looking for comfort more than giving it, but he'd stood next to Emily from the time she emerged from her bedroom until he was sent to bed. He'd held her hand. He'd put his arm around her. Maybe knowing he was in need of comfort had given her something to think about other than her own loss.

Things had been awkward when they all returned to the house. Everything had been said, but everybody seemed to feel it was wrong to just disappear. Finally, Emily had said she was tired and was going to her room. Ten minutes after she'd left, only Bertie, Joseph, and Bret remained.