Nora (6 page)

Nora gasped. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you from my window,” she said with a chuckle. “Don't look so shocked, Nora, I knew you were human. He is very attractive, and when he shaves and cleans up, he would be a match for any of your European friends.”

Nora shifted uncomfortably. “He is uncivilized.”

“You should spend more time out here. If you did, you would realize that clothes and a fine education do not always make a man a gentleman,” Melly said quietly. “There are men here in Texas who have no money, but who are courageous and kind and noble, in their way.”

“Like the heroes in my dime novels?” Nora chided. “That is all fiction. I have discovered the truth since I have come West, and it is disillusioning.”

“It should not be, if you do not expect people to be perfect.”

“I certainly do not expect it of Mr. Barton. He…accosted me,” she muttered.

“He kissed you,” Melly corrected, “which is hardly the same thing. Let me tell you, many of our unattached women in church would give much to have the elusive and stoic Mr. Barton kiss them!”

Nora glared at her cousin. “I would prefer that, too. He may kiss any of them he likes, with my blessing. I have no desire to become the sweetheart of a common cowboy.”

“Or of any man, it seems,” Melly murmured with a speaking glance. “You are very reluctant to discuss marriage and a family, Nora.”

Nora wrapped her arms around her body. “I have no desire to marry.”

“Why?”

She shifted. “It is something I cannot discuss,” she said, shivering with the memory of how ill she had been. How could she subject a man, any man, to a life of illnesses that would never end? How could she have a baby, and take care of it? “I shall never marry,” Nora said bitterly.

“With the right man, you might want to.”

Nora thought of Cal Barton's hot kisses, and her heart raced. She mustn't remember, she mustn't. She turned in time to see young Bruce Langhorn making a beeline for another young boy perched precariously on a rock, laughing.

“Oh, no!” Melly gasped, and before Nora could
open her mouth, her cousin broke into a dead run toward the children.

She hadn't realized what was going on until she saw the Langhorn boy reach out to push the other little boy, immaculately dressed, into the stream face-first.

“You little heathen!” the boy's mother cried, drawing everyone's attention to Bruce. “You shouldn't be allowed in decent company! The child of a divorced man!” she added with pure venom as she pulled her soaked, weeping child out of the water and began to comfort him.

Langhorn heard. He got to his feet and joined his son, who looked torn between tears and embarrassment.

“I tried to stop him,” Melly said, her eyes eloquent as they looked up at the tall man.

He didn't look at her, or seem to hear. He put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. “He's as good as your boy, Mrs. Sanders,” he told the flustered mother. “Of course, he does act like a little boy instead of a little statue sometimes.”

Mrs. Sanders's red face went redder. “He hardly has a moral example to follow, Mr. Langhorn.”

Langhorn just stared at her. “I thought this was a church party, where Christian people got together to have a good time.”

The woman froze, and suddenly became aware of people staring at her, and not very approvingly.

“It seems to me,” Nora inserted with exquisite poise, “that none of us is so perfect that he can sit in judgment
on others. Or is that not what church is supposed to teach us?” she added with a cool smile.

Mrs. Sanders bit almost through her lower lip. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Langhorn. I was frightened for Timmy….”

Langhorn's eyes spoke for him. He turned Bruce away. “You find some other little kid to play with,” he said loudly. “I want you around boys who aren't made of glass.”

Timmy wiped his eyes on his sleeve and jerked away from his mother with a furious glare.

Melly smothered a grin and followed Nora back to their picnic area.

It wasn't long before Langhorn and Bruce joined them. Both were grinning, and Melly was more flustered than Nora had ever seen her.

“You're a haughty one,” Langhorn told Nora with pursed lips. “I don't know that I like being defended by eastern aristocrats with toffee noses.”

Nora liked him at once. She grinned at him. “I don't know that I want to associate with a heathen,” she returned.

His eyebrows went up and he looked at Melly, who colored prettily.

“I can see that my reputation has preceded me,” he said heavily. He sat down on their cloth and lounged on his side. His dark eyes smiled at Nora and then slid reluctantly to Melly, who was trying to dish up chicken and rolls. “Am I invited to dinner?” he asked her softly.

Melly's hands shook. “If you like,” she stammered. “There's plenty.”

It was nothing tangible, but Nora felt herself wondering at the tension between this man and her cousin. She had told Nora that he wasn't interested in her, but he looked at Melly just a little too long for politeness, and she was shaken—more than shaken—by just his presence. He was attracted to her, but obviously he wasn't going to let her get any closer than this.

“Me, too, Melly,” Bruce pleaded. He grinned at her. “Were you gonna stop me? I saw you running my way.”

“I wasn't quick enough,” she muttered. “You're just impossible, Bruce. Really…!”

“Timmy pushed me in last time we went on a picnic,” Bruce explained. “I was just going to get even, that's all. His mom didn't say a word when it was me dripping wet.” He glowered. “I don't like her. She says I'm not good enough to play with Timmy.”

“Like hell you aren't,” Langhorn said easily. “Pardon my language,” he added politely to the ladies. He looked back at his son. “You don't judge people by their kin.”

“You shouldn't,” Nora corrected. “Unfortunately, people do.”

Langhorn studied Melly carefully as he accepted a plate from her unsteady hands and nodded his thanks. “You came to Bruce's rescue like an avenging angel. Thanks.”

Melly shrugged. “Mrs. Sanders is…a bit overbearing
at times. She's overprotective, too. Timmy is going to wish she hadn't been, one day.”

He smiled. “Maybe not. Your parents have protected you. It hasn't hurt you.”

“Hasn't it?” Melly asked without looking at him. She felt bitter, fiercely bitter, because if her parents hadn't smothered her with concern, she might have had some hope of a life with Langhorn. But that was in the past. He thought her too young, and perhaps she was.

Mrs. Terrell came sidling up a minute after Langhorn finished his chicken, smiling from under her lacy parasol. “I do hate to disturb you, Jacob, but I'm feeling just a bit faint. Would you mind very much driving me home?”

“But we only got here,” Bruce wailed. “And I haven't got to play with the other kids. There's a sack race…!”

“He can stay with us and we'll drive him to your place on the way home,” Melly offered, angry at the widow—who was obviously jealous—and hurt for Bruce. “Oh, do let him stay,” she pleaded when he hesitated.

He looked at his son quietly. “You mind her.”

“Yes, sir!” Bruce beamed.

Langhorn glanced at Melly with an unreadable expression and bent to pick up his weather-beaten hat. “I'll expect him home before dark,” he told Melly. “You have no business driving around the country in the dark.”

“Yes, sir,” Melly murmured demurely, peering up at him impishly.

His face froze, as if her teasing had an unwanted effect on him. He whirled on his heel, taking Mrs. Terrell's arm bruisingly to herd her down the path.

“Thanks, Melly!” Bruce said enthusiastically, grabbing for a slice of fresh-baked apple pie. “You're swell! That's twice you saved my life. Honestly, isn't Mrs. Terrell a hoot? She wants Dad to marry her, but he doesn't like her that way. I heard him talking to himself about her.”

Melly smiled to herself. It was nice to know something so intimate about Jacob Langhorn, even if it was only that he talked to himself. She glanced at Nora and sighed at the sympathy and caring in those deep blue eyes. She smiled at her cousin and shrugged.

The rest of the picnic was fun. Melly and Nora cheered Bruce in the sack races and watched him beat the others in the egg carry. There were horse races between the men, which Bruce said his dad was sure going to hate having missed, and music as well, because a couple of the men brought their guitars.

If Cal Barton had been around, Nora would have thought the picnic perfect. She wondered what he was doing, on his mysterious weekend absence.

 

D
OWN NEAR
B
EAUMONT
, T
EXAS
, a grimy Cal Barton was helping his drill foreman put the final touches on their newest rig while his brother Alan looked on. Immaculate in his suit and tie, Alan wasn't about to get
himself dirty. Irritably Cal thought that the snooty Miss Marlowe would have found Alan just her cup of tea.

“That should do it. Let's get started,” Cal told the other man, climbing down to join his brother on solid ground.

“You hit a dry hole first time,” Alan reminded him. “Don't get too optimistic.”

“It's my money, son,” Cal reminded him with a cool smile. “Aunt Grace's money, actually, but I was her favorite and she had a passion for oil. That's why you and King were left out. She thought I had the touch.”

“Maybe you do. I hope you don't run out of money before you hit the big one.”

“That geologist said the oil is here,” Cal reminded him. “I'd have come three years ago if I'd had the backing, but none of you believed I knew what I was doing. Least of all King. He made his opinion of foolish ventures crystal clear before I left home.”

“King has mellowed just recently, thanks to Amelia,” Alan mused. “You really will have to come home long enough to meet her. She's quite a girl.”

“She must have a backbone of solid steel to cope with our brother,” he said flatly.

“She threw a carafe at him.”

Cal's eyes widened. “At King?”

“He's still laughing about it. She's more than a match for him. One shivers to think what sort of children they'll have. I want to move away to a safe place before the first one comes along.”

Cal chuckled. “Well, I'll be. I thought he was going
to marry Darcy, and there were times, mind you, when I thought he deserved to marry her.”

“Shame on you. I wouldn't wish such a cold fish on King. Amelia is much more his style.”

He glanced at Alan curiously. “I had a letter from Mother about her. She thought you were the one with marriage in mind.”

Alan looked uncomfortable. “I was, when she seemed gentle and in need of protection. After her father's death, she changed. She was more woman than I could handle.” He smiled ruefully. “I'm not like you and King. I want a gentle, sweet girl, not a warring Valkyrie.”

“Not me,” Cal said, eyeing the rig. “If I marry, I don't want a woman I can browbeat. She'll need to be spirited and adventurous to keep up with the way I want to live. If I strike anything here, I'll move onto the place and never leave it.”

“Camp out here, you mean?”

“Something like that. I don't need a city woman with snobbish attitudes.”

“That sounds suspiciously like you've met one already.”

“Who, me? Go home, Alan. You aren't suited to drilling. You'll just get in the way. I don't know why you came.”

“I'm on my way to Galveston for some fishing. It's just the second week in September, and I won't be gang-pressed into roundup by Father until the end of the month at least. I need a break. This was just a
stop on the way,” he said, grinning. “I have a train to catch.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don't know. Maybe after next weekend. Maybe a little later.” He frowned. “I did want to see a man in Baton Rouge about some ranch business as well. Maybe I'll go on east first, and then double back. I'll cable you.”

Cal clapped his brother on the back. “Go carefully, young Alan. We may be oil and water, but we're family. Never forget.”

“I won't.” Alan smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I'll need it.”

Alan climbed onto his hired horse and waved at Cal as he started back toward Beaumont. Cal watched him with a peculiar sensation in his chest, a feeling of loss. He laughed at his own foolishness and turned back to his chores. He had very little time left before he had to get back to Tyler Junction and the Tremayne ranch. He envied Alan that fishing trip. Drilling for oil was an occupation that was expensive, physically exhausting and not a little dangerous. Just last week, a derrick had toppled on a nearby piece of property, and a prospector had been killed. The dry hole was an occupational hazard as well, and after days of hope for a strike, it was a bitter break. Cal hoped that this next attempt would be more successful. He hated to leave the drilling crew alone, but it couldn't be helped. He was putting all his spare capital into the venture.
He needed what he made as foreman at the ranch to supplement his income.

Besides, it gave him the opportunity to keep an eye on the family's massive investment in the Tremayne ranch. He hated spying on Chester, but it couldn't be helped. As much as the combine had paid to take it over, the Tremaynes stood to lose the most. In these unsafe days, it was better to cover a bet than risk the hand. He had to keep Chester solvent, for the family's sake as well as Chester's. If only he could bring the man around to some modern thinking. He'd have to work on that angle when he got back.

T
HE NEXT WEEK,
C
AL HAD
a telegram from Alan in Galveston, mentioning the fine weather and asking about progress on the rig. Cal took time enough to wire him back and tell him, tongue in cheek, that he'd hit the biggest strike in Texas history and hoped Alan wouldn't be sorry he missed it.

He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Alan got the message, although his brother knew him very well and wasn't likely to fall for the joke. He went back to work, but his mind wasn't on it. He was thinking about his new venture and worried about the capital he was investing. Perhaps he was trying to build a life on dreams after all. King had said as much when Cal announced his intention to go looking for a big oil strike near the Gulf. But, then, King was practical and a realist. He was content to manage the ranch and
oversee the combine with their father. He wasn't a risk taker.

Nora was out walking when he made his way to the bunkhouse late that evening. He looked unusually solemn.

“Hello,” she said gently, hesitating when he stopped just in front of her. “Goodness, you look somber. Is something wrong?”

He'd deliberately avoided her since his return Monday afternoon. The way he felt about her confused him. He wanted to make her uncomfortable, to hurt her because of her arrogance, her treatment of Greely. But when it came right down to it, he hadn't the heart.

He studied her quietly, aware that for the first time, she wasn't moving back or wrinkling her nose at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed in the dusk light, and they were curious as they searched his strong, lean face.

“It's nothing I can share with you,” he said slowly. “A…personal matter.”

“Oh, I see.” She paused. “Life is not always what we would wish, is it, Mr. Barton?” she asked absently.

He scowled at the proper use of his name. “I have kissed you,” he reminded her curtly. “How can you still be so formal with me?”

She cleared her throat and folded her hands at her waist. “You embarrass me.”

“My name is Callaway,” he persisted. “Usually I'm called Cal.”

She smiled. “It suits you.”

“What is Nora short for?”

“Eleanor,” she replied.

“Eleanor.” It sounded right on his tongue. He smiled as he studied her in the fading light. “You shouldn't be here. The Tremaynes are very conventional people, and so, I think, are you.”

Her blue eyes searched his face. “You are not.”

He shrugged. “I have been a rake, and in some ways, I still am. I make my own rules.” His eyes narrowed and he spoke involuntarily. “While you are a slave to society's rules, Eleanor.”

Her name sounded magical on his lips. She hardly heard what he was saying. She wanted to touch him, to hold him. He made her think of beginnings, of pale green buds on trees in early spring. These were feelings that she had never before experienced, and she coveted them. But he was a cowboy. She couldn't imagine what her parents would think if she wrote that she had become infatuated with a working man, with a hired hand. They would have a fit. So would her aunt Helen. Just the fact of speaking with him, alone like this, could cost him his job. Why had she not realized it?

“I must go in,” she said uneasily. “It would not please my people to find me here with you like this.”

His fingers caught hers and soothed them, eased between them. The contact was shocking. He made a rough sound deep in his throat and had to fight the urge to bring her body into his and kiss her until he made her lips sore. It was in his eyes, that terrible need. It
had been a long time since he'd had a woman; surely that was the reason he reacted so violently to her!

He let go of her hand abruptly and moved back. “It is late.”

“Yes. Good night, Mr. Barton.”

He nodded. He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him.

Aunt Helen was standing on the porch, looking worried when Nora came up the steps.

“Nora, you should not be outside so late,” she said gently. “It looks bad.”

“I was only getting a breath of air,” Nora said, avoiding the older woman's eyes. “It is so warm….”

“I see.” Helen smiled. “Indeed it is. My dear, there was the most terrible story in the paper today, about a family of missionaries massacred in China, with their little children. What a terrible world it is becoming!”

“Yes, indeed,” Nora replied. “How nice that we are safe here in southern Texas.”

 

T
HAT
S
ATURDAY
there was a storm. Cal and the other men were out getting the livestock seen to, while the water rose to unbelievable levels and tore down fences. They were kept busy all day, and when they came in late that afternoon, they looked like mud men.

Cal came up onto the porch, apologizing to Helen and the women for his appearance.

“Chester wanted you to know that he's all right,” he said without preamble, wiping a grimy sleeve over his dirty face. “We had to pull cattle out of the mud
all afternoon, and we lost a few head in the flood. Chester's gone with two of the other men over to Potter's place, to see if he and his wife are all right. Their house is close to the river.”

“Yes, I know,” Helen said worriedly. “What an odd storm, to come out of nowhere like this. They have said that in Arizona there have been unusual changes in the weather, causing many people to become ill. Imagine, and it is only the tenth of September!”

Cal looked uneasy. “The weather has been very odd,” he agreed. “I'd like to know if things are this bad along the coast.” He didn't add that his brother was there and he was concerned.

“We will know soon enough, I suppose,” Helen said. “Do go and have your meal, Mr. Barton, you look so tired.”

He smiled wanly, glancing at Nora. “None of us has had much rest. Chester will be home soon, I'm certain.”

“Thank you for coming to tell us.”

He nodded wearily and turned toward the bunkhouse. Nora had to bite her lip not to call after him. If she had the right, she would tuck him up in bed and look after him. Imagine, she told herself, how silly it would sound if she voiced such a longing. She moved back into the house without saying a word.

It wasn't until Monday that the news reached Tyler Junction about the incredible tragedy in Galveston. A hurricane had come ashore in the seaside city about midmorning the previous Saturday, submerging the
entire city underwater. Galveston was almost totally destroyed, and early estimates were that thousands of people had been killed.

 

W
HEN
C
AL HEARD THIS
, he was on his horse and gone before anyone had a chance to question him. It was assumed that he was going to Galveston to help with rescue efforts. No one knew that he had a brother visiting there or that he was terrified that Alan might be among the dead. He didn't cable home on the way. If no one in El Paso heard about the tragedy for a few days, he might have something to tell his family before they knew of Alan's danger.

He managed to get on a train heading toward Galveston, but when he got to the city, all lines were down and the tracks were destroyed. He had to borrow a horse from a nearby ranch to get into the city. What he saw would give him nightmares for years afterward.

It wasn't until he saw the devastation firsthand that he realized how impossible it would be to find his brother among the dead. Among the smashed, piled-up buildings of the city, there were more pitiful broken and mangled bodies than he'd ever seen in his life, even in the Spanish-American War. He took it for a few hours, trying to do what he could to help, and then he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of his brother in that tangle of lifelessness. He rode out of town without looking back, sick at heart and soul.
A saint would have a hard time reconciling what he'd just seen with any sort of divine love.

Disillusioned, shocked, grief-stricken, he couldn't bring himself to go back to the Tremayne ranch just yet. He rode until he found a depot with a train bound for Baton Rouge, with no clear idea of where he would go after that.

He booked a room in a hotel where his family usually stayed when they traveled here on business and collapsed on the bed. He lay in bed until dawn and went down to breakfast bleary-eyed and exhausted. He wondered if he would ever sleep again.

Memories of his brother and their lives together had tormented him. He and Alan had never been as close as he and King had, but Alan was very special to him, just the same. It had been Alan who'd continued to encourage him about the oil business, even as he teased him about dry holes. The boy had inspired him to do the things he wanted to do, and he was going to miss him terribly. He wondered how he would manage….

Morose, dead-spirited, he didn't hear the door of his room open and barely felt the hard clap of a hand on his shoulder. “Well, what are you doing here, for God's sake? I've just gotten in from a little town back on the bayous, and saw your name on the register. I was visiting the family of a young lady I've taken a shine to…. Cal?”

Cal had Alan in a bear hug, a bruising grip, and his eyes closed on a wave of relief so great that he almost sobbed aloud with it.

“Thank God,” he said huskily. “Thank God!”

Alan pulled back, curious as he saw his brother's ravaged face. “Why, whatever is wrong?” he asked.

Cal took a minute to get a grip on himself before he spoke. “Haven't you…heard?”

“About what?”

“About Galveston,” Cal said heavily. “It's been destroyed. Totally destroyed. Bodies everywhere…”

Alan was very still. His face was pasty. “I haven't seen a paper or talked to anyone except Sally for days. When?”

“It hit Saturday, but we didn't get the news until Monday in Tyler Junction. I thought you were there. I went at once.” He smoothed back his hair, his eyes terrible. “I almost went mad when I saw what had happened. You can't imagine. I've been through a war, but this was worse. My God, you can't imagine the devastation,” he said in a terse tone as the horrible memory of the things he'd seen and heard left him sick inside.

Alan let out a breath. “And to think that I could have been there, right in the middle of it. My God! I decided Friday to leave Galveston and come here, and took a train out that very night. The weather was worse than usual Saturday, and of course, there was some flooding. But I never dreamed of such tragedy! What of Mr. Briggs and his family? I was staying with them…. Have they identified any of the dead, Cal?”

“They'll never identify them all,” Cal said, turning away. He still couldn't bear to remember the things he'd
seen. “I'll have to cable the ranch,” Cal said. “They may hear about the hurricane and they won't learn all of it. We have to let them know that you're all right.”

“You didn't cable them from Galveston?”

Cal's eyes darkened. “The lines are down,” he said evasively. “I'll go over to the Western Union office and do that right now. I'll be back in a minute.” He smiled warmly at Alan. “I'm glad you're alive.”

Alan nodded. “So am I.” He smiled, too, because it was nice to know that his brother cared so much about him. Like King, Cal didn't show his feelings often, or easily.

 

A
LAN STAYED ON IN
B
ATON
R
OUGE
while Cal got on the next train for Tyler Junction, and slept with pure relief most of the way there. The stories he heard on the way about the flood in Galveston made him even sicker, now that he'd seen it for himself. He hoped that one day he could forget the sight, even as he thanked God that he hadn't had a relative there. The horror grew daily, along with the threat of terrible disease. He might have offered to help again, with Alan safe, but he had his own job to do back in Tyler Junction, making sure that the Tremayne ranch's cattle weren't lost as well. And there was no shortage of volunteers to help in Galveston, for the moment.

There were reports of severe flooding all over Texas, and he prayed that Galveston's tragedy wouldn't be repeated anywhere else. If the rivers that lay on each side of the Tremayne property ran out of their banks
again, there could be devastation for the combine as well as Chester and his family. They had to be his first concern, now that Alan was out of danger. He could do nothing for the dead. They would have to be left to providence and their poor, grieving relatives. He could have wept for their families.

Despite his relief at his brother's safety, he arrived back at the Tremayne ranch pale and depressed. He said nothing about what he'd seen, although Chester had heard enough to turn his stomach; things he hadn't dared share with the women.

Cal had enough to do for the first couple of days after his return home, making sure that the Tremayne cattle were safe. He'd cabled Beaumont from Tyler Junction to make sure that his rig was still standing. The lines had been down at first, but he'd made contact with his drill rigger, and everything was all right. That was a relief. He dreaded hearing that the wind had cost him his investment. Perhaps this was an omen that he was on the right track.

His melancholy was noticed, however, and remarked upon. He came to report to Chester a few days later while Nora was sitting on the porch alone.

He hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings since his return. Nora had noticed his preoccupation, and she had a good idea what had caused it.

She rose gracefully from the settee where she'd been perched, and stopped him just as he was about to knock on the front door.

“You're still brooding about Galveston, aren't you?”
she asked gently. “There was a terrible hurricane on the East Coast last year. I lost a beloved cousin. And I have seen floods, although not one on such a scale. It is not difficult to imagine the devastation.”