A Texan's Honor

by Leigh Greenwood

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Asking permission to bridle him,” one hand said, chuckling. But his laugh stopped abruptly when Bret slipped the bridle over the piebald’s head without any resistance.

  “Well, I’ll be a polecat’s daddy.”

  “You already said that. How about a skunk’s brother?”

  Bret slipped the noose from around the piebald’s neck, snapped on the lead shank, and started toward the corral fence where he’d left the saddle. The piebald followed as docile as a lapdog. Emily knew it was silly of her, but she felt proud of Bret. He looked so confident.

  “Think he can ride the piebald?” a cowhand asked.

  “I’m not sure he can get a saddle on him,” another said. “Some mornings he takes a disliking even to the blanket.”

  Bret wasted no time in dispelling any mystery about whether he could saddle the piebald. He handed the lead shank to Jem, then patted the piebald on the neck. He put the blanket on the horse’s back, making sure there were no creases in it. He gave the horse a couple more pats, then settled the saddle easily on his back. The piebald sidestepped nervously a moment but calmed down when Bret talked to him.

  “Let’s get closer so we can hear what he’s saying.”

  Bret adjusted the saddle, then tightened the straps. Again the piebald sidestepped and again he calmed down when Bret patted his neck and talked to him.

  “I’m going to ask Jem what he said.”

  “You think it’s some kind of spell?”

  “Can’t tell until I know what he’s saying.”

  “Stop yammering. He’s about to mount up.”

  Emily could feel the tension between her shoulders. Bret had taken care of his horses all during the trip, but being able to stay on the back of a bucking horse was something altogether different. Letting Jem hold the bridle, Bret took hold of the reins, put his foot into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

  The piebald went to bucking.

  The piebald wasn’t wild and he wasn’t mean, but he had to be convinced each day to let someone stay on his back. He fishtailed, switched ends, ran a few steps, then stopped abruptly, trying to throw Bret over his lowered head, but Bret stayed firmly in the saddle. After about fifteen more seconds of bucking, he suddenly stopped. Standing spraddle-legged, he lowered his head between his forelegs and threw his rear end into the air. Bret leaned back until his head was nearly on the piebald’s haunches, but he stayed in the saddle.

  “Damn,” one of the hands said. “I thought he was a goner for sure.”

  The piebald bucked some more, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. A few halfhearted kicks with his hind legs, and he came to a halt. Bret dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and he trotted around the corral.

  “I never thought he’d do it.”

  “The piebald didn’t put up much of a fuss.”

  “It was enough to plant your face in the dirt.”

  “Each of you owes me two bits,” Emily said, grinning in spite of herself.

  “We don’t have any money until payday,” one man said.

  “Then I’ll take it out in food. No dessert for a week.”

  The chorus of objections caused Emily’s grin to broaden. “Forget it,” she said. “I already knew he was good with horses.”

  “The real test will be to see if he can teach that dumb beast what to do with a cow,” Lonnie said.

  That didn’t bother Emily. Bret had already proved he knew how to handle a horse.

  “He done good, didn’t he?” Jem said when he reached Emily. He turned to watch as Bret rode the piebald around the corral, getting him used to responding to commands. “I never seen the piebald act so gentle.”

  “He wasn’t too gentle when Bret got on his back,” Emily pointed out.

  A few minutes later, Bret rode up to the fence and brought the piebald to a stop in front of Emily. “Where are those cows? It’s time to send this bad boy to school.”

  “I brought some in off the range yesterday,” one of the men said. “They’re in the far corral.”

  “I want you to saddle your best horse,” Bret said, turning to Emily.

  “What are you planning?” she asked.

  “I thought we might try showing the piebald what to do so he can copy it.”

  Emily hadn’t thought of that, but then, she’d always worked alone. “It’s worth a try. I’ll meet you at the corral in ten minutes.”

  Emily chose a short-coupled paint that seemed to have a natural instinct for working cows. All the ranch hands were still at the corral when she got back.

  “Don’t you have any work for the boys to do?” she asked Lonnie when he lowered the bars for her to enter the corral.

  “They want to see what he can do.” Lonnie was clearly unhappy with Bret’s success. His hangdog expression implied he didn’t expect Bret to fail this time, either.

  “Even the best horses don’t learn how to cut a cow from a herd in one lesson,” she said.

  “I’m sure Mr. Nolan believes today will be an exception.”

  If Emily hadn’t been so unhappy over Lonnie’s attachment to her, his jealousy would have been amusing. She’d known Lonnie for more than ten years and thought she understood him perfectly. Now Bret was forcing her to question whether she knew men at all.

  “I appreciate his willingness to help,” Emily said.

  “I’d be glad to help,” Lonnie said. “So would any of the boys.”

  “Thanks, but you’ve got your own work to do.” She knew enough about men to know that spending large amounts of time alone with any one of them would cause jealousy and threaten their camaraderie.

  “How long is he going to stay?” Lonnie asked.

  Emily laughed. “He’s threatened to stay a year if it takes that long to change my mind, but I doubt he’ll be here more than a couple of weeks.”

  “That’ll be a couple of weeks too long.”

  Letting that comment go unanswered, she rode toward where Bret waited in the center of the corral. Six cows had bunched themselves into a tight group, moving nervously along the far side of the corral, their apprehensive gazes focused on Bret and the piebald. When she rode up, they started milling about.

  “They seem skittish,” Bret said. “Have they been pestered for any reason?”

  “I doubt they’ve seen a horse and rider since spring.”

  “I heard Lonnie talking about rustlers. Maybe they’ve been chased.”

  “You’ll have to ask Lonnie. I’ve been too worried about Dad to have time for much of anything but my horses.”

  Longhorns were essentially wild animals, but they had little to fear from a man on horseback. Except for roundups and doctoring for screw worms, they rarely saw a cowhand.

  “What do you want to do first?” Emily asked Bret.

  Bret glanced at the men hanging on the corral fence. “I’d like you to send them all about their work, but I realize they’re trying to figure out what kind of man I am. They’re jealous and contemptuous of me at the same time.”

  Emily couldn’t suppress a laugh. “How do you figure that?”

  “They’re jealous of me because I’m from a big city, I wear fancy clothes, and I’m a guest they have to treat with courtesy. They’re contemptuous of me for the same reason.”

  “Our boys aren’t like that.”

  “Of course they are. My brothers and I would have felt the same way. Besides, they dislike me.”

  “They don’t even know you.”

  “They don’t have to. Whether I want to marry you or just convince you to move to Boston, I’m trying to steal you away. To make matters worse, I’m an outsider.”

  “I don’t believe they feel like that.”

  Bret shrugged. “I want you to pick out a cow you want to cut from the herd and have your horse focus on it. Then I’ll try to get the piebald to do the same thing. If that works, we’ll go to the next step.”

  Emily selected the most distinctive cow in the group, one
with a lot of longhorn blood and a white coat with large splotches of black. She moved toward it until the paint and the cow made eye contact. She could feel the paint tremble with excitement. He knew what he was supposed to do and was anxious to do it. She hated to pull him back.

  “Your turn,” she called to Bret.

  He spurred the piebald forward until he was close to the cow, but the piebald seemed to take no interest in it or any other cow.

  “Try again,” Bret said.

  They repeated the maneuver two more times before the piebald finally directed his attention to the longhorn cow. By now the cows were so worked up, they scattered each time one of the horses approached them.

  “Let’s give them a moment to calm down,” Bret said.

  “Do you think the piebald has made any real progress?” Emily asked when they came together in the center of the corral.

  “A little.” Bret looked around at the cowhands still hanging on the fence.

  “I thought some of them would get bored and leave,” Emily said.

  “This is a competition,” Bret said. “Nobody is leaving until the winner is decided.”

  Emily was relieved when the cows finally settled down.

  “Let the paint cut the cow out of the herd,” Bret said.

  Emily gave the paint his head, and he went to work eagerly, focusing on the longhorn, pursuing it as it moved back and forth trying to evade the horse. After five minutes, the paint had isolated the cow. Emily reined him in and rode back to where Bret waited.

  “Was he paying attention?”

  “We’ll find out in a minute.”

  The piebald did focus his attention on the harried longhorn, but Bret had to work hard to get him to attempt to cut the longhorn off when it tried to escape. After ten minutes, Bret turned the piebald and rode back to where Emily waited.

  “Try it again using the same cow.”

  “It’s thoroughly spooked by now.”

  Bret patted the piebald’s neck. “I don’t want to change until he figures out what he’s supposed to do.”

  Emily was proud of the way the paint went to work. In a matter of minutes, he had the longhorn isolated once more. Emily turned him away and rode back to Bret.

  The piebald seemed to have a better idea of what Bret wanted him to do, but he was slow to respond to Bret’s commands and didn’t keep his eyes on the longhorn. Emily began to despair of ever turning him into a cutting horse. He was quick and strong, but he didn’t have either the motivation or the intelligence.

  The same couldn’t be said of Bret. Emily didn’t mind that the piebald was taking a long time to learn his lessons—she was enjoying watching Bret. She was still amazed at how handsome he was, how wonderful he looked in the saddle. For a long time she hadn’t been able to decide whether she preferred a well-dressed man or a capable cowboy. In Bret’s case it didn’t matter. He was perfect as either.

  But it was the person inside that impressive physique that most interested Emily. She didn’t know how long it would take him to teach the piebald to cut a cow from a herd, but she was certain he would keep at it until the horse learned. While that was fine for the horse, she wasn’t all that thrilled about Bret’s directing his determination at her. It made her uneasy to know his future rested on getting her to Boston. He had every reason to be committed to his future—no reason to be committed to hers.

  She couldn’t believe there was anything truly evil about him, but she couldn’t relax as long as their purposes were in direct conflict.

  “He’s not a stupid horse,” Bret said as he rode up on the piebald, “but he is mighty lazy. I want to try it again, but I want you to change horses.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m hoping it will embarrass him. You know, if all the other horses can do it, then he has to do it, too, or be at the bottom of the pecking order.”

  Emily took the paint back to the corral and returned shortly with a sorrel mare.

  “Do you want to use the same cow?”

  “Yes. He needs all the hints he can get. He won’t master anything today. I’ll be more than satisfied if I can just get the right idea through his head.”

  The mare was eager for her work and approached the harried longhorn with all the calm of a professional. Within moments, she had succeeded in isolating the cow.

  “You’re obviously a savvy trainer,” Bret said when she returned to his side. “Your horses don’t waste any time or movement.”

  Emily had accepted extravagant praise from grateful owners and equally sincere compliments from their cowhands, but she was surprised at the pleasure Bret’s compliment gave her.

  “I enjoy it,” she said, hoping a blush didn’t betray the heat in her face. “I’ve always liked horses.”

  “I used to hate them,” Bret said. “I couldn’t ride and was scared of them.”

  She couldn’t believe that a man who rode a horse as well as Bret could ever have been afraid of horses. But what surprised her even more was that he would admit it. “How could you grow up in Texas without being able to ride?”

  “My father had no use for the skills most men consider necessary. If it wasn’t in a book, it wasn’t worth knowing. The orphanage where I ended up didn’t have money for horses. When Isabelle rescued me, it didn’t take me long to realize I was very lucky to have landed on Jake’s ranch. I decided I’d either learn to ride or die trying. Now, I’d better put this horse back to work before he forgets what little he knows.”

  Bret didn’t have to work quite as hard this time to show the piebald what he was supposed to do, but Emily had a hard time concentrating on the horse’s progress. How could a man who’d never been on a horse until he was twelve, and had spent the last six years in Boston, ride so well? Why did he care about proving to Emily and the ranch hands that he was just as capable as they were?

  And why had he admitted his weakness to her?

  A Texan would rather die than be thought a coward. When Charlie was foreman, he used to say it was easier to take care of the ranch than it was to keep the young hands from stupid attempts to prove their manhood. Bret had just admitted having been afraid of the one thing a cowboy couldn’t afford to be afraid of—his horse. She wasn’t sure whether she admired him for his honesty or was simply too shocked to know what she felt. Joseph’s admonition not to trust him, that Bret would do anything to achieve his ends, had stayed in the back of her head. She didn’t believe that Bret did anything by accident, even confessing his fear of horses. Everything he did had to be part of his plan.

  “You ready for the next horse?”

  Surprised, she turned around to see Jem standing next to her with a brown gelding. She’d forgotten she was to ride a different horse each time. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Lonnie says that piebald is just as useless as he was an hour ago,” Jem said, “but it looks to me like he’s going more kindly.”

  “It looks that way to me, too,” Emily said. “Maybe I’ll have to try this embarrassment theory the next time I get a horse like the piebald.” Jem held both horses while Emily dismounted from the mare, then mounted the gelding.

  Jem scrunched up his face in a puzzled expression. “You think it’ll work?”

  “It’s worth a try. Nothing I did worked.”

  Jem shaded his eyes against the sun when he looked up at Emily. “Bret seems real nice. I don’t know why Lonnie is against him.”

  Jem was a top hand, dependable as well as capable, but he was satisfied to be right where he was. He had no reason to be jealous of Bret.

  “He’s coming back,” Jem said.

  “How’d the piebald do this time?” Emily asked when Bret reached her.

  “A little better. I can’t decide whether he knows what he’s supposed to do and doesn’t want to do it, or if he simply hasn’t figured it out.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That sounds like a description of some people I know. Even myself on occasion.”

  “I can’t imagine
you ever not knowing what you wanted to do or being reluctant to do it.”

  Bret looked away from Emily. “I’ve spent most of my life in that position.” He patted the piebald’s neck. “Maybe that’s why I think I know what’s going on in this big fella’s head.”

  Emily decided she didn’t know how many more revelations she could take in one morning. “Should Jem saddle another horse?”

  “Let’s keep going as long as the longhorn doesn’t go completely crazy on us.”

  Emily told herself to concentrate on her work, but the gelding was as thoroughly trained as the mare. If the longhorn hadn’t been about ready to jump the fence, she wouldn’t have had anything to do but think of Bret’s revelations.

  From what she knew of him, it was nearly impossible to believe there’d ever been a time when he didn’t know what he wanted to do or was reluctant to do it. He’d made his goals very clear from the moment they met. She didn’t understand how what he was doing now would achieve that goal, but she had no doubt he had a plan. How, then, could he consider himself indecisive?

  That brought her back to what she kept telling herself: She didn’t know much about him. There was something about him that felt honest, straightforward, unwilling to lie or deal in subterfuge. Maybe he was telling her about some tough times in his life in order to gain her sympathy, but they weren’t the kind of stories most men told about themselves. Rather than build himself up, the stories sometimes revealed weaknesses or faults. And the only people he appeared to like and admire—possibly love—were his adopted family in Texas.

  If he liked his family in Texas so much and disliked his family in Boston, why had he never moved back to Texas?

  Chapter Nine

  “I don’t see why we need to show him around the ranch,” Lonnie said to Emily. “He’s not going to stay here.”

  “It would be rude not to,” Emily said. “He helped me with the piebald, after all.”

  “Just because he can make that stubborn horse look a cow in the eye doesn’t mean he knows anything about a ranch.”

  “Charlie valued his opinion.”