by Jodi Thomas
I stood there in my underthings in front of the wood-framed, full-length mirror that once belonged to my mother. Where Lila used to dress her for galas probably much like the one across the bridge tonight, because my mother’s family came from some of the original money that settled in Houston, Texas. Marrying my father and taking on the cattle-ranching lifestyle on the outskirts may have changed some things, but she would have loved this party. From what I understood anyway.
She died the night I was born.
“All my couth disappeared, Lila,” I said, gazing into my own dark eyes.
“Nonsense,” she said.
“When the storm wiped out Galveston and cut us off,” I said. “When the herd got sick, when buyers stopped buying, and the Masons took part of our land, and then Daddy—” I shut my eyes tight against the burn.
“Listen to me, young lady,” Lila said, coming back up behind me, something draped over her arm. Her pale-blue eyes glittered with something between love and a desire to put me over her knee. “Your daddy was the most honorable man I’ve ever known. And he raised you to be the same. He knows that you’ve been pulling out all the stops and doing everything in your power to keep the Lucky B going since he passed. You are not a failure. He knows that you’re struggling. But he also expects you to hold up your head and be the lady of this house now. It’s been three years since he—”
“I’ve never been a lady, Lila.”
“Bullshit.”
My mouth fell open, and not even a shocked laugh could fall out. In my twenty-three years of life, I’d never heard Lila say anything stronger than “cockleburs,” and that was when I nearly burned down the kitchen attempting to fry sausage.
“Lila!”
“Oh, don’t act like you have virgin ears, baby girl,” she said, waving a hand. “You are a lady. You come from the finest lady I ever had the privilege to—call my friend,” she said, her eyes tearing up before she blinked them away. “And I did everything I could to nurture her spirit in you. You may not live it actively, Josie, but you have stronger stock in you than you think. And your parents would expect you to call upon that now. You’ve done everything else.”
“Everything else,” I said bitterly. “Except find a husband to save me?”
“To save this ranch,” she said, her jaw twitching with the same pain I felt. She averted her eyes to check my hair for the fiftieth time, as if it held all the answers. “I know how you feel about going to the Mason Ranch, but at least the party is no longer held on Christmas Eve, so there’s that. And there will be benefactors there, Josie. Possibly even that Mr. LaDeen, who has some calling twice.”
“Benefactors,” I said, swiping under my eyes. “Such a nice, benign word for available, rich men. And Mr. LaDeen is old enough to be my father. He never looks me in the eye either. He’s . . .”
“Rich?”
“Creepy.”
“Call him whatever you want, my girl,” she said with a sigh. “But the cold, hard truth of the matter is that you need help. And fast. You like saying ‘Masons’ like there are hordes of them lying in wait, but you and I both know there’s just one now. And you may not want to believe it, but Benjamin Mason didn’t take the bridge and creek junction of Lucky B property. He bought it fair and square to help your father.”
“He bought it to stick it to me,” I snapped—a little too hard. I took a deep breath and tried to blink back the sudden burn.
“You need to let all that go,” she said, walking up behind me and meeting my eyes in the mirror with a tired hardness. “Men make pretty vows when it serves their purposes, and a promise made under a silly plant is about as solid as oatmeal.”
I refused to let my mind drift back to the worn-out memory.
“Didn’t my father propose to my mother under the mistletoe?” I asked dryly. “I’m quite sure I’ve heard that story a time or twenty.”
“Your father was a romantic git,” she said. “And one of the few who always kept his word. Don’t think for one moment that because you’ve carried around this anger the past five years that Benjamin Mason had any memory of it two weeks later.”
“It wasn’t about any stupid promise,” I said. “It was all the lies preceding it.” I shook my head, pushing away the old memories. It served no purpose going there now. “It was personal, Lila, him buying that particular section,” I said. “I knew it, and so did he. If he’d really wanted to help us out, he could have just given Daddy the money free and clear.”
“If you think that was ever a possibility, sweet girl,” Lila said, scoffing, “then you didn’t know your daddy at all.” She held up what was on her arm. “Now—enough of this. Quit crying; you’ll mess up your face. Time to put on the dress.”
“I should go looking like I really do every day,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “If I’m trolling for a husband, shouldn’t they know what they’re paying for?”
“Josie, if you go over there dressed in men’s riding breeches and a top shirt, you’ll get more attention than you ever want, and not the good kind.” She hung the dress in front of me, layering a corset in front of it. “Put this on.”
The dress was a deep burgundy velvet, and simpler than what Lila had pushed on me in the past. A simple cut with a scalloped neckline and a tailored waist. The full-length sleeves were sheer. It was actually beautiful.
“Where did this come from?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it before.”
“Just put it on.”
“I’m not wearing the corset.”
“Josie.”
“It’s torture,” I said. “And they are going out of fashion anyway.”
She closed her eyes. “So am I, but I’m still necessary, it seems.”
“The dress?” I asked again.
Lila opened her eyes. “Was your mother’s.”
* * *
Staring at myself in my mother’s gown was . . . eerie. Not that I had memories to pull from, but I’d seen photographs. Elizabeth Ashford Bancroft had been a stunning beauty, with wavy, chestnut hair and an easy smile. Her eyes were light in the images, a pale blue according to Lila and my father, whereas I had inherited his dark-chocolate ones. Outside of that, I could pass for her. With my dark tresses done up and curled instead of the quick, single braid I went with daily, and her incredible dress forming to my every natural curve—to hell with that damn corset—it was like seeing that handful of photographs come to life.
The tears brimming in Lila’s old eyes said the same.
“I wish your father could see this,” she said, blinking them free and swiping them away.
“I never saw this in her trunk,” I said.
Lila waved a hand, tightening the laces in the back of the dress to make up for my audacity. “When we finally sorted her things, he asked me to keep this aside for you. He knew the Ashfords would go through the trunk and plunder her things, taking what they wanted, and he gave her this gown as a Christmas gift right after they married. He wanted it for you.”
I ran my hands along the elegant fabric. A gift from my father. Twice.
“Why didn’t he give it to me sooner?”
She shrugged. “Probably because he knew you’d never wear it.”
This was true. Running a cattle ranch didn’t call for fancy gowns and pretty coifs. I didn’t make up my face or stay out of the Texas sun to insure the feminine, milky-white complexion that men loved. I spent my days either on my horse—full saddle, thank you—checking on the dwindled herd, working with the stable manager on supplies, riding the perimeter for issues, or at my father’s desk poring over bills. Lately, that last one took up more time.
None of it worked well with skirts in the way. It never had. Even when we had more staff and I didn’t have to do as much. Ranch life was too busy for frilliness.
It was too busy for anything else.
I was the son my father never had, and I desperately needed to help him with the ranch. I was also the daughter he adored and very much wanted to see accepted
into nearby Houston society and married off—mostly to appease my grandparents. I couldn’t pull off both and was actually okay with that.
It wasn’t that I was averse to the idea of marriage and family, or even of men. I liked men. I accepted an occasional lunch date or a picnic out to my favorite pecan grove if the man could work it around my schedule and didn’t mind taking a horseback ride, but most didn’t understand that. Or me. Rarely did anyone come calling a second time.
I’d even go so far as to say I’d loved a man once, but that was a hard lesson learned.
It was also the reason for the dull ache behind my temples tonight, and the clamminess of my palms as I rode silently in the covered buggy we kept in the stable for special occasions. The damp chill was right on par for mid-December in Texas. No snow yet, but cold enough to seep into the bones after sunset and make me pull my coat tighter around me and adjust the blanket higher on my lap. It could have been thirty below, however, and my palms would still be sweaty as I headed to Benjamin Mason’s home.
Lila was right about one thing: We needed help, quickly. This evening would make or break the Lucky B. With everything failing so abysmally, taxes had been in arrears for the last two years. We’d limped our way through calfing season. All that I knew, all that I kept trying fell flat. Now we had till year’s end—literally less than two weeks away—to pay our debt in full.
I didn’t have it.
And unless I successfully sold my soul to one of the wealthier men tonight, convincing them to take on a hobbled cattle ranch as a dowry and bail me out, the Lucky B would belong to the bank on New Year’s Day.
My stomach roiled just thinking about it. My father would turn over in his grave.
Lila was right about something else as well. At least it wasn’t Christmas Eve, my birthday. That would have been too much. Benjamin’s uncle, Travis Mason, had always held this “community get-together”—that was what he’d called it—on the holiday itself back in his day. When Benjamin inherited the ranch and married, he’d carried on the tradition at first. Since his wife died giving birth to his daughter shortly afterward, however, he’d changed it to a few days prior. Probably in mourning over the love of his life. As if he knew what love was.
I shifted in my seat. Malcolm, the last stable manager left who I could afford to pay, insisted on driving for propriety’s sake, and sat silently as we jostled and listened to the carriage horse’s hooves. As with Lila, I let him have his way. Most of the time. They were only looking out for the woman they still saw as a girl. To be honest, I kind of felt like that girl again as we crossed the bridge that once connected our separate properties. Before Benjamin Mason made it his.
I’d made it a point not to come here except in passing, to inspect the fencing over the last five years, but once upon a time that young woman who’d thought she was all grown up then, met up with a certain ranch hand just on the other side on a fairly regular basis. To the little stone formations that were hidden from the eye on the other side, that made their way down to the water and a little cubby under the bridge. A beautiful, private spot.
That young woman had been a fool.
Chapter 2
1899 (five years earlier)
Josie
I slid down from my saddle, running a loving hand over Daisy’s neck. She turned to nuzzle my cheek, and I chuckled. Anyone could say whatever they wanted—and they usually did—but horses were the best kinds of friends. Loyal to a fault, silly when they wanted to be, fiery when they needed to be, and they were the absolute best keeper of secrets.
Daisy knew all of mine.
Being the only girl my age among a world of cattlemen didn’t provide much in female companionship, so when the mysterious new ranch hand arrived at the Lucky B, she heard all my thoughts.
Ben—I never asked for a last name, and he never offered one—was different from the others. Quiet and to himself. A little dark and sulky, maybe, but oh so beautiful. Light hair that wasn’t quite blond but not brown either, peeked out in wavy locks from beneath his wide-brimmed dark hat. Hazel, gold-flecked eyes gazed at me boldly when I’d gotten close enough to see them the first time, sending my insides into a flutter I’d never experienced before.
And at eighteen, I’d had plenty of opportunity lately.
My grandparents on my mother’s side were active in Houston’s social circle, and hell-bent on pulling me from “that ranch life” that they felt was beneath me. It was beneath them, really. I couldn’t wrap my head around the endless galas and dinners and teas and formal etiquette they loved so much. I’d find myself on the other end of some boring so-and-so’s son’s diatribe about what he was going to college to do, or what business his father or uncle or grandfather was in to . . . and staring out a window at the land in the distance. Fantasizing about being back on my land. Sitting under the pecan groves and feeling the grass under my fingers. Riding Daisy until my hair shook loose from my perpetual braid.
My father insisted I go. I knew it was to keep the peace with his in-laws. Maybe even assuage some guilt that my mother left them behind and then died having me . . . I didn’t know exactly what his reasons were. But he told me to keep my mind open, and that I could do both. I could love the ranch and still be cultured in polite society. I could marry a suitable businessman and still be connected to my own family’s legacy. The ranch was doing well, rising in status every year in the cattle auction circles. The Lucky B was making a significant name for itself, and I would be considered quite the catch.
I felt quite the catch, all right, every time I met a new suitor. Like I had a sign around my neck listing my assets for bidding.
Ben, however . . .
Ben wasn’t interested in my assets. Or not those.
Ben would smile when I’d accidentally on purpose ride by where he was working, or resting, or taking a break. While the other hands I knew were warned not to look at me that way or speak to me in any manner other than as the boss’s daughter, he would meet my gaze and the darkness would leave his face, and that smile—that smile made my whole day. Every day.
And once we started talking, we never stopped.
He knew about my mother, my life, my inevitable shoveling off to some business heir one day. I learned that he was four years older and from Colorado. A rebel of sorts, come to Texas to work for the great Travis Mason, our nearest neighbor and a horse rancher, and my father’s oldest friend. Mr. Mason soon traded Ben for one of our hands, sending him to work for us. Ben hinted at disagreements being the reason, but that wasn’t my business. He was trying to stay out of trouble, he said.
I told Ben that I secretly dreaded Christmas because it made my father sad. I knew he tried not to be, to give me the excitement of Christmas and my birthday, but I always saw it in his eyes.
I learned that Ben had recently broken off a serious relationship back home—with a tempestuous girl who he realized he barely liked anymore, much less loved. Leaving his whole world behind, he’d come here to start over. He said that he didn’t have to worry about marrying anyone now because no one would want to deal with his past, and he learned with our first timid kiss that I very much wanted him. Past or no.
My father would hate it. My grandparents would revolt. It was unacceptable and improper from every possible angle for Ben and me to meet in secret the way we did. The way I was today, waiting in our spot under the bridge that connected the Lucky B to the Mason property.
I didn’t care. Once he’d kissed me, it was all I could think about. Those lips on mine. His hands, rough and callused, on my face, threading into my hair, which I’d pull down loose just for him. The way he’d groan against my mouth when I’d press close, and then break away, holding me at arm’s length but looking at me with those eyes like—oh, God, I knew it was wrong and improper in a hundred different ways, but I couldn’t get enough. I was falling for the wrong man and couldn’t stop it if I tried.
I was shaking with anticipation when I heard the gait of hooves overhead, and pushed m
y palm against my stomach to stem the flop it did when he appeared, jogging down the rocks that ran alongside the little bridge, ducking to avoid hitting his head as he joined me on the rocky ledge. It was beautiful here, watching the water bubble by, tucked away in our own little world. Even more beautiful, as he set his hat on a protruding stick and sprawled out on his side next to me, his head propped on his hand.
Something was different, though. There was trouble in his eyes. Trouble he didn’t want me to see as he smiled and reached for me.
“You aren’t cold?” he asked, noting my riding jacket on the rock underneath me.
“It’s a beautiful and rare dry day. It doesn’t get better than this in Texas,” I said with a smile. “Haven’t you learned that yet, Colorado boy?”
“Come here,” he said, tugging gently on my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing that the next five minutes won’t cure,” he said, pulling my head down to his.
I couldn’t agree more. Kissing Ben made the whole world go away. All the incessant letters from my grandmother, the stress on my father’s face, the nagging from Lila to be a lady, when all I really wanted to worry about was whether the herd had food and medical attention, and what calves were due to be birthed. What fence needed tending.
And lately . . . how I could keep my tumbling, crazy heart at bay.
“Ben,” I said breathily against his mouth, almost lying next to him but holding myself up by sheer will. “Tell me.”
He shook his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as if studying me. Or gauging what to say. His fingers played with a lock of my hair.
“It’s not important.”
“Important enough to make you frown,” I said, running a finger between his eyebrows and relaxing the muscle there. I kissed it, and he closed his eyes. “Talk to me.”
“The Christmas party is coming up,” he said.
Thrown by that, I backed up an inch. “Mr. Mason’s party?” I asked. “The one he has every year?”