A Texan's Honor (7 page)

The man was very tall with broad, well-muscled shoulders. He didn't appear to have an ounce of excess
fat, his torso tapering down to a narrow waist cinched by a wide leather belt. Worn jeans clung to a rounded bottom and muscled thighs in a way that caused Emily to feel warm. When the man turned and she recognized Bret, the heat turned into a flame.

“What are you doing dressed like that?”

“I didn't think the clothes I wore last night would be particularly comfortable today,” Bret explained.

“That didn't mean you had to go out and buy the clothes off some cowhand's back.”

There was that smile again, the one she hated, the one that said he knew something she didn't.

“These are my clothes. I thought the way they fit would have told you that.”

Emily felt herself blush. “You don't have to check the ropes,” she said to cover her confusion. “Nothing Lonnie ties comes loose.”

“He tied them himself,” Lonnie mumbled.

Okay, it was time to back up before she embarrassed herself beyond any possibility of recovery. “It appears I've misjudged you. Is there anything Lonnie or Jem can help you do before we leave?”

“I don't think so. I've already chosen another horse and saddled it.”

“What was wrong with the horse Lonnie picked out?”

“It looked like it was either asleep or near death. It's been a long time since I spent much time on a horse, but as I remember, a mount is supposed to be able to move faster than I can walk.”

“I didn't want to pick one that would run away with him,” Lonnie said when Emily looked to him for an explanation.

“Can I help you into the saddle?” Bret asked as he came to where Emily was standing next to her horse.

“Lonnie can help me.”

“I'm sure he can, but I'd like the chance to show you I'm not completely useless.”

She didn't want him to help her. She didn't want to be near him, didn't want him to touch her. She'd thought about him too much last night. Seeing him dressed in clothes that clung to his body like a second skin only made it more difficult to ignore him, to deny she was attracted to him.

“I never thought you were useless.”

“You thought I was helpless.”

She stood a little straighter. “I thought you'd have trouble fitting in out here, but anybody can see you're not the kind of man who would be helpless.”

He looked taken aback. “You surprise me. I thought you'd sized me up as a dandified young man who'd feel lost out of the city.”

“I had, but I've realized my mistake. Now, if you're going to help me mount, please do. It's nearly time to leave.”

She was prepared to have him hold out his hands so she could step up into the saddle. Instead he put his hands around her waist.

“When I lift you up, throw your leg over.”

Emily had never mounted a horse in that fashion and was about to tell him so when she felt herself lifted off the ground. She barely had time to collect her wits and throw her leg over before he settled her in the saddle.

“I don't usually mount that way,” she managed to say when she got her breath back.

“I don't like the bottom of a boot touching my hands. No telling where it's been.”

She didn't know what to think of him, what was real and what was an act. When she saw the horse he'd chosen led out from the livery stable, she was
certain nearly everything he'd done up until now was an act. It didn't surprise her that he swung into the saddle with the effortless grace of long experience or that he had the spirited gelding under control by the time his rear end hit the saddle. What she wanted to know was where he'd learned to do that.

“You're full of surprises.”

“I wouldn't be so surprising if you hadn't expected so little.”

She didn't intend to change her mind about Boston, but it was time to admit she'd been wrong about Bret. “You're right. I had expected you to be so uncomfortable you'd turn around and run. I should have known Silas Abbott wouldn't send anyone like that. He's too worried I'll marry some cowboy and sell my stock.”

“Let's forget what we thought of each other and start over again.”

She should have felt embarrassed. Usually she would have been furious at being so completely outmaneuvered, but Bret's smile seemed friendly rather than mocking.

“Okay. It seems only fair. Lonnie and Jem are saddled up. It's time to go.”

“You're coming back, ain't you, mister?”

Emily had completely forgotten the dirty little boy. He was standing dangerously close to Bret's horse, looking up at him with a kind of desperation.

“I will come back. Remember, if you need anything, talk to Frank in the hotel.”

“I didn't know you had an interest in street kids,” Emily said when Jinx disappeared around a corner.

“It's a long story,” Bret replied as they threaded their way through the early morning traffic of wagons making deliveries to hotels, mercantiles, warehouses, and saloons.

“It's a long trip,” Emily replied.

“Then maybe I'll tell it to you.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Emily had always wondered why people chose to live in a city. Even though it was barely an hour after sunrise, the streets were already crowded and noisy. The various smells that filled the air—manure, alcohol, human sweat—would only gain strength as the heat rose, until everyone had difficulty taking a deep breath. The buildings were so close together they blocked out all but the sky directly above. There was no room to move, to ride, to feel like you could relax without fear of running over or into someone—or having others do the same to you.

Still, it
was
nice to have several stores where she could buy things that made her feel pretty and feminine. She felt a little self-conscious that the packhorse carrying her suitcases was as heavily burdened as Bret's, but then, remembering the way he'd looked at dinner last night, she wished she'd bought a few more dresses. She didn't want him to think she was unstylish.

She was relieved that the morning air was cool and dry. Her horse felt restless under her. They'd both be happier when they finally left the city and she could let him break into a canter. As hard as it was on her patience, it was necessary to keep to a trot until they cleared the last of the houses that ringed the town. Children were as likely to explode from a side street or yard as a cow was to wander into their path.

“How long has it been since you've been on a horse?” Emily asked. They were riding ahead of Lonnie and Jem, each of whom was leading a packhorse.

“I did a little riding before I left Boston to get used to it again, but it's been almost six years since riding a horse was part of every day.”

“Did your family have a house in the country?”

Bret turned to look at her, his expression hard to decipher. “What do you mean by a house in the country?”

“Just what I said. I can't imagine your being able to do more than walk your horse in Boston.”

They had moved into a slow canter, a stride that allowed the horses to cover a lot of ground without using too much energy. Bret moved smoothly and effortlessly into the rhythm of his mount's stride. He might not have ridden in a long time, but he was clearly an experienced rider.

“I rent a room a few blocks from where I work. If I have to go somewhere that's too far to walk, I take a cab.”

She remembered the cabs from her trip to Boston: smelly, cramped carriages pulled by horses whose iron-shod hooves made a terrible noise on the cobblestones.

“My parents are dead.” Bret looked away. “They never had a house in the country.”

“I'm sorry.” She'd lost her own mother and was facing her father's death, so she thought she would have known how he felt, but he seemed angry rather than bereaved. “Was it recent?”

“My mother died when I was born, my father when I was seven.”

It must have been difficult to grow up without parents. “You were lucky to have a family to take care of you.”

The look he gave her when he turned to face her was so full of tightly held anger, she nearly recoiled.

“My family didn't want me. I was put in an orphanage.”

There were more ways to stumble when talking to this man than holes in a prairie dog town. She pulled her horse to a halt, waved Lonnie and Jem on when they came abreast of her. “I've done nothing but embarrass
myself since I met you. I think it's time you told me about yourself. I don't like constantly saying the wrong thing,” she added when he didn't respond. “I'm not cruel or insensitive.”

Bret's sudden smile was unexpected. “I never thought you were. I'm not angry with you.”

“Look, I'm a strong-minded woman who likes to get her way. I'm willing to accept all the difficulties that come with that, but I'm not willing to take the blame for something I didn't do.”

“We'd better go,” Bret said. “Lonnie will be upset if we lag too far behind.”

“I'll ride if you'll talk.”

“Okay, but no digging for details.”

She'd worry about details later. Right now all she wanted was to know enough about him to keep from making embarrassing comments.

“My mother's family disowned her when she married an idealist who cared more for his causes than her family's approval. They hated the publicity he said was necessary to advance his causes. After my mother died, he went south to agitate against slavery. Seven years later, he was hanged in Texas for helping slaves escape. After my father's death, my uncle refused to take custody of me. The war had started by then, so rather than travel back to Boston, I was put into an orphanage in Texas.”

“That must have been awful,” Emily said.

“
I
was awful,” Bret said. “I was angry at the whole world. I ran away, got into fights, stole, lied, did everything I could to make the people at the orphanage throw me out. They did, and I lived on the streets for over a year before Isabelle found me.”

Now she understood what he meant when he said he knew all the tricks of trying to con people. “Who is Isabelle?”

“A wonderful woman who rounded up eleven orphans nobody wanted and gave us a home and all the love we could want.”

“She must have been rich to do all that by herself.”

Bret chuckled, smiling at what must have been a sweet memory. “She didn't have a penny. She was a teacher who'd been an orphan herself. She was taking us to work for some farmers, but we ended up at Jake's ranch.”

He smiled so broadly, she almost asked him what made him so happy.

“You never saw two people go at each other like they did. They were at it, hammer and tongs, practically from dawn to dusk. Jake wanted to turn us into cowhands, but Isabelle insisted we needed love and understanding. Jake got his cowhands, we got love and understanding, and they got married and adopted us. They gave us a home, a feeling of belonging, a sense that no matter what happened, there was a place we'd always be welcome.”

Emily couldn't imagine anyone being brave enough—or crazy enough—to adopt eleven orphans.

Bret turned to look at her. “I lived and worked on that ranch for nine years.” He urged his horse into a fast canter. “We'd better catch up before Lonnie does permanent damage to his neck looking over his shoulder.”

Emily wondered what kind of man she'd come up against. If he had worked on a ranch for nine years, he probably knew more than how to ride. She also wanted to know more about Isabelle, Jake, and the other orphans. She wanted to know why he had left people who loved him for relatives who had turned their backs on him.

Her curiosity was not to be satisfied that day. They stopped several times to give the horses a rest and
give themselves a chance to stretch their legs. Bret would unsaddle his horse immediately, find some graze, and stake both his horses while he checked the packhorse to make sure the suitcases were still secure and that there were no creases in the blanket that might cause sores.

“Jake always said if we took care of our horse first, it would take care of us,” Bret said when she asked him why he was so careful with his horses. “I used to spend as much as a week away from the ranch by myself.”

Bret spent much of the rest of the day telling her about Boston, but it didn't feel as if he was putting pressure on her. He talked about the beauty of the harbor, the museums and theaters, the shops, the beautiful residential areas, even about sailing in the bay.

She noticed the conspicuous absence of the names of any young women. The only people he mentioned with affection were his grandmother and a cousin, Rupert Swithin.

“I never knew either of my grandmothers,” Emily said. “Your grandmother sounds nice.”

“I had a letter she wrote my father when he was in Virginia, asking him to let me stay with her until he could settle down. I read it over and over until it fell apart,” Bret said. “When I finally got the courage to write her, she was happy to hear from me. I'd been content on the Broken Circle ranch, but I always felt like my true home was with my
real
family.” He turned to look at her. “Now you know everything. It's your turn at the confessional.”

Emily had the feeling she'd seen only a quick overview of the path his life had taken. It seemed impossible that he could be orphaned so tragically, spurned by his family, then leave his adopted family for the very people who had cast him out, without a
stronger reason than a single letter from his grandmother.

“There's hardly anything to tell,” she said. “I've spent most of my life in Texas. My mother died when I was nine, and I've been terrorizing my father ever since.”

“The strong-minded woman who likes to get her way.”

Emily laughed. “Dad would like to keep me a little girl, but I took over the household years ago. I know he's worried about what will happen to me after he dies, but I don't understand why he thinks I'd want to move to Boston and allow a stranger to run my life.”