A Texan's Honor

by Leigh Greenwood

  Maybe by then he wouldn’t want to return to Boston.

  Emily’s gaze didn’t focus on the familiar landscape of flat prairies and low hills as she and Bret headed back to the ranch. All day long she’d been going over in her mind what to say to Bret, where to begin. Finally she simply came out with it.

  “I’m not going to Boston, so you might as well give up on trying to change my mind.”

  Bret smiled. “You ought to know by now I never give up.”

  She wondered if Bret knew how seductive his smile was. “I didn’t expect you would, though I don’t know why you want to go back to people who treat you so poorly. I’d have thought you’d have gone back to your adopted family.”

  His smile disappeared, to be replaced by a hurt look. “My family’s in Boston. That’s where I belong.”

  “I think people belong where they can be happy. You haven’t said anything to make me think your family makes you happy.”

  “We all have different goals in life.”

  “I can’t understand why making yourself miserable should be one of them.”

  She feared she was taking the wrong approach. She was supposed to be convincing him to help her, not making him angry.

  “Sorry,” she said. “What you do with your life is none of my business, but I’d like to ask for your help. I’ve got to stop the rustling or I won’t have a ranch to manage. Since I don’t know whom I can trust, I want you to take on the job of finding out who’s behind it.”

  Bret’s surprise was evident. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Your crew will resent me.”

  “They’ll be so busy patrolling, they won’t have time to investigate. They’ll bring you any information they find so they’ll feel like they’re part of it.”

  “Lonnie won’t be fooled.”

  “The rustling has been going on for a month, and he didn’t notice. I can’t put much faith in his ability to find the rustlers.”

  “You still don’t believe he’s connected with the rustlers, do you?”

  “No.” Emily shook her head. “I’ve known Lonnie too long. He’s too loyal.”

  “What will your father say?”

  “I won’t know until I ask him, but I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  “And what are you offering? You know my uncle will be furious if I return without you.”

  “Dad said you had a plan to reorganize the company so it would make more money.”

  “I didn’t realize he’d discussed that with you.”

  “Dad discusses everything with me.”

  Well, maybe not everything.

  “I’ll give you the right to vote my stock in Abbott and Abercrombie,” Emily said.

  Bret laughed without humor. “I’ve already promised your father that, in exchange for the right to vote his stock, I’d convince you to move to Boston and look after you until you got married. I can’t please both of you.”

  Emily felt a little uneasy. She knew how much her father wanted her to go to Boston. She also knew that if he’d made a deal with Bret, he’d stick to it. There was only one solution. She had to convince her father to change his mind.

  “We’ll talk to Dad as soon as we get back,” Emily said and urged her horse into a fast canter.

  They were later getting back than she’d planned. After two days in the saddle, Emily wanted a bath. Bret was equally insistent that he clean up before he came to the table, but Bertie said they would eat supper while it was hot or she’d give it to the hogs. By the time they’d finished supper and Bertie had cleared the table, Emily was nearly boiling with impatience. Once her father had his brandy, Emily couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Bret tells me you made a deal with him,” she said. “In exchange for convincing me to go to Boston, you’ll let him vote your shares.”

  “That was a private conversation,” Sam said, looking angrily at Bret.

  “It would have remained so,” Bret said, “but your daughter made a counter offer.”

  “What?” Sam asked Emily.

  “I told Bret if he’d stay long enough to get rid of the rustlers, I’d let him vote my stock.”

  “You don’t have any stock,” her father reminded her. “I do.”

  “I don’t wish to be premature,” Bret said, “but I feel I should point out that the shares will belong to your daughter after you die.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Sam asked.

  “It would be better for everybody—not just me—if you and your daughter could reach a compromise. The way things stand now, I have to follow your wishes. After you die, I’ll have to follow your daughter’s. I couldn’t honor my understanding with you if I followed her wishes. That would compromise my integrity.”

  “I’m sure Dad would agree with me that getting rid of the rustlers comes first,” Emily said.

  “He may agree with you, but he wouldn’t necessarily want me to be the one to do it,” Bret said. “But there’s something else you need to consider. Your father is deeply worried about your future. He might be willing to lose the ranch if he thought that would force you to go to Boston, where he thinks I could see you were safely married.”

  Emily was furious. “Dad would never do anything like that.”

  Sam chuckled. “You have a devious mind,” he said to Bret. “That possibility had entered my thoughts.”

  Almost too shocked to speak, Emily turned to her father. “You wouldn’t give up the ranch. You love it too much.”

  “I’d give up everything I have if I could be absolutely certain you’d be safe after my death,” her father said.

  “But I love this ranch. I love training my horses. I’d be miserable in Boston.”

  “It would be different if you were married,” Sam said, “but you’ve never shown an interest in any of the young men you’ve met.”

  “That’s because I haven’t met anyone I could love.” She avoided looking at Bret. “I know the way you and Mama loved each other. I want that, too.”

  “Then you have to move to someplace like Boston. You’ll never find a husband stuck out here on this ranch.”

  She and her father argued—they’d covered the same ground so many times before—for several minutes without getting any closer to an agreement.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Bret said.

  “Not if it involves me going to Boston or selling the ranch,” Emily snapped.

  “As far as I can see, you each have to give a little, or nothing will ever be decided.”

  “What is your suggestion?” Sam asked.

  “First, we clear up the rustling.”

  “I agree,” Emily said.

  “I’m listening,” Sam said.

  “As you know,” Bret said, turning to her father, “the shares in Abbott and Abercrombie have paid very little in the last few years. Emily needs the income from the ranch to support herself.” He turned to Emily. “You’re unlikely to find a man you’ll want to marry if you stay here. Why don’t you agree to spend the winter in Boston? It’s too cold here to train horses anyway.”

  “I’d agree if you make that Fort Worth or Dallas,” Emily said to her father. “How about Galveston? No man I meet in Boston is going to want to live on a ranch in Texas.”

  “Who’s going to look after you?” Sam asked. “You can’t go running all over Texas by yourself.”

  “Bret can go with me,” Emily said. “I’d be safe with him.”

  “He can’t be in two places at once,” her father said. “The whole point of letting him vote our shares is so he can force Silas and my hateful brother to bring that company into the modern era. If they lose their money, they might have to come down here and live with us.”

  Emily was sure her father was speaking facetiously. She had only met the Abercrombies once, but she was certain they’d rather jump into Boston Harbor and drown than be forced to move to Texas.

  “Why can’t you spend the winter in Texas and the rest of the year in Boston?” Emily asked Bret.


  “That seems like a good solution,” Sam said. “You don’t have to be in Boston all the time to get that company shipshape. Let your other cousin keep an eye on things while you’re gone. Besides, one winter and Emily will have half the young men in Texas trailing after her.”

  “I won’t marry anybody I don’t love.”

  “I hear Galveston is growing by leaps and bounds,” Sam said. “That means lots of young men going there to make their fortune. You ought to go this winter. If I’m feeling well enough, I’ll go with you.”

  “Then I could stay in Boston,” Bret said.

  “No,” Emily said. “The deal is that you get rid of the rustlers and spend the winters in Texas until I get married. In exchange, you get to vote the shares whether Dad or I hold them. Is that okay with you?” she asked her father.

  “It’s not quite what I wanted, but it seems a good compromise.”

  “How about you?” she said, turning to Bret.

  Bret appeared to be undecided. She thought of several points she could use to advance her argument, but decided against voicing any of them. He understood the situation as well as she did. What he couldn’t know—and she didn’t intend to tell him—was that she believed she was beginning to fall in love with him. It was too soon to tell, because she really didn’t know how it felt to be in love. There was no point in talking to Bertie, because she didn’t like men. Emily would have to find time to visit Ida. She had to have an explanation for the confusion in her mind, for the unfamiliar feelings that assaulted her at odd times during the day. She was certain of only one thing. She had to find a way to keep Bret from going back to Boston until she figured out what she was feeling and what she wanted to do about it.

  “It wouldn’t be suitable for me to be the only chaperon of an unmarried woman,” Bret said. “If your father isn’t well enough to come with us, we’ll have to find someone else.”

  “Bertie,” Sam said.

  “Ida,” Emily suggested.

  “I was thinking of Isabelle,” Bret said. “She always spends part of the winter in San Antonio. Maybe I could convince her to go to Galveston instead.”

  “We can hire someone if Isabelle can’t go.” But Emily hoped she could. After all she’d heard, she wanted to meet the woman who could gather up a bunch of teenage orphan boys and head across Texas in a wagon.

  Bret and her father took a few more minutes to hammer out a couple of details about handling the voting power of the stocks, but Emily didn’t pay attention. She would keep the ranch and she wouldn’t have to go to Boston. The only question remaining was: did she want Bret? And if she did, could she get him?

  Bret enjoyed the solitude of the Texas night. He rarely walked at night in Boston because he was too tired or had work to do. He didn’t enjoy walking down crowded streets with houses on each side pressed up against the sidewalk. He would occasionally walk through the Commons, but it was usually thronged with people trying to enjoy a little open space. He had nothing against children or babies, but screaming children and crying babies didn’t contribute to the peaceful atmosphere he was looking for.

  Out here on the seemingly endless Texas prairie, he could turn his back on the ranch buildings and feel he was the only man in the world. The night had its own sounds—the howl of a coyote, the call of a whippoorwill, the sound of a horse blowing through its nostrils, the whisper of the breeze over the waving grass—but these sounds comforted rather than distracted. They were part of Nature’s plan for the night. They made Bret feel like he, too, was part of the plan.

  The cool, dry breeze felt good against his skin. This was Texas, and he was tempted to take off his coat, loosen his tie, and open his shirt collar—he’d changed into a suit for dinner—but the habit acquired in Boston was strong. The struggle was brief, and Texas won. He removed his coat and tie and spread them over a mesquite bush. Walking down the trail that led to Fort Worth, he stopped on the edge of the flat-topped hill Sam had chosen for his ranch house. He stood with feet apart, arms crossed, face into the gentle breeze, wondering what the hell kind of mess he’d gotten himself into.

  Every time he opened his mouth, he got more firmly enmeshed in Emily’s life in a way guaranteed to complicate his life in Boston. Uncle Silas would be furious when he didn’t bring Emily back with him, but that wouldn’t compare to his rage when he learned Bret had been given the right to vote twenty-five percent of the company stock. Bret might be able to force his uncle to accept the proposed changes, but there was no way he would ever be accepted by his uncle outside of the office. Joseph would probably hate him as well. Working in Abbott & Abercrombie would be like fighting a perpetual war.

  Bret hadn’t realized until he had been at the ranch a few days that he was tired of fighting. His whole life had been a struggle of one kind or another. Except for the years spent on Jake’s ranch, none of those struggles had ever ended up making him happy or feeling good about himself. He was constantly struggling to keep from losing everything he’d gained.

  But what had he gained? After six years of working long hours, he was barely making enough money to pay his bills. He certainly couldn’t afford the clothes, horses, carriages, fancy restaurants, parties, and balls of his cousin’s social world. Yet because he was a member of the Abbott family, he was pretty much cut off from the social world he could afford. Professionally, the prospects were equally dismal. His work wasn’t appreciated, his ideas were resented, and his uncle wished he’d never left Texas.

  What was he trying to prove, and who would care whether he succeeded or failed?

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Bret had heard a door close, but he hadn’t been aware that Emily had followed him until she spoke.

  “Not for a hundred dollars,” he said, turning to look at her. “They’re just a lot of questions.”

  “Can I help you find any answers?”

  “I’m still trying to sort out the questions.”

  She couldn’t help, because she was part of the problem. The more he got to know and like her, the more his life in Boston seemed a futile exercise in blind determination to achieve a goal he now wasn’t sure he wanted. He’d started off wanting to be accepted as part of the family. He’d been accepted wholeheartedly by some and grudgingly by others. Yet he didn’t feel accepted. He’d wanted to prove his ability. His work had gotten glowing praise from his boss, but his uncle’s resentment denied him the feeling that he was respected. Who was he living for, himself or his uncle?

  “Dad says you’re a man with a lot of ghosts in your past.”

  Bret’s laugh was harsh. “Not all of them are ghosts.”

  “Would it be easier if they were?”

  “It might be even worse if they were ghosts. Then the problem could never be worked out.”

  As long as he could remember, he’d carried a pocket of boiling anger in the pit of his stomach. Even during the best times, his determination to go back to Boston had never weakened. It was the memory of his uncle’s letter saying he didn’t want him that had given him a reason to stay alive when he lived on the streets. It was the anger boiling in his gut that had kept him warm through two winters of sleeping in alleys—or barns when he could find an unlocked door.

  “You don’t look like a man with terrible problems.”

  Bret couldn’t help smiling. “You look too pretty to have problems, either, but we both know you do.”

  “You’re better at covering them up than I am.”

  Bret turned away, stared out over the prairie. “When you live from hand to mouth on the street, you learn never to let people see what you feel.”

  “What did you feel?”

  It would be impossible to explain. Total rejection, total isolation had to be experienced to be understood. “Mostly anger at the people who’d hanged my father, and at my family for not wanting me.”

  “Then why did you go back?”

  “To prove something.”

  “What?”

  He turned toward her.
“At one time I could list all the reasons without stopping for breath. Now I’m not sure.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He turned away again. “No.”

  He could hear her sigh. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about the rustling?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about that, either.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “What you’re going to do when you go to Galveston this winter. The parties—”

  Her soft laughter caused him to turn to face her. “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re worried about your job, rustlers, and me, and you want to talk about parties.”

  “Not parties. You. I need to know what you’re looking for in a husband.”

  She sobered and walked a few steps away from him. “I’ve never thought much about a husband, but I guess I’d better start thinking.”

  “It’s not likely you’ll find a husband and get married right away. Even if you find somebody you like and who likes you, a few months’ acquaintance probably won’t be enough to base a marriage on. And you can’t be sure he’ll still be interested when you go back the next winter.”

  She turned around to face him. “Then he couldn’t really love me, could he?”

  Her head was tilted to the left, her expression akin to a young girl trying to accept bad news without showing it. Despite her father’s wealth, she’d had her share of hurt. Her mother’s early death, her father’s illness, and now wondering if she could find a husband who would love her rather than her money.

  “He might take your leaving Galveston to mean you didn’t love him.”

  “He would know. I would have told him.”

  “Young ladies don’t tell gentlemen they love them.”

  “Then how is he going to know?”

  “If he really loved you, there’d be a feeling between you that didn’t exist with anyone else.”