A Texan's Honor

by Leigh Greenwood

  Lifting her head from his chest, she looked up at him. He looked so troubled, she wanted to kiss his worries away. Nothing was so difficult that they couldn’t figure it out together. If they loved each other enough, if they—

  “Emily.” It was Joseph’s voice.

  She didn’t want to see Joseph, talk to him, even think about him. He was part of the problem that kept Bret from staying in Texas.

  “Emily. Bret. Are you out there? Can you hear me?”

  He sounded upset, but Emily and Bret kept their silence, hoping he would go away.

  “Emily, you’ve got to come to the house immediately. Something is wrong with your father.”

  Emily’s feet were flying before the last of Joseph’s words left his mouth. Bret was beside her, her hand held tightly in his.

  Emily’s body couldn’t cry anymore, but her soul was awash in tears. She had known her father was going to die, but the reality of it was more overwhelming than she could ever have believed. Even though Bret had never left her side, even though Bertie had held her in her arms and cried with her, she felt bereft and utterly alone.

  Her father had apparently suffered a massive heart attack. By the time she reached the house, he was past suffering. His face was no longer creased with care or distorted by pain. His features had relaxed until he was the man she’d known all her life. Now he was gone. She felt that her support had been pulled out from under her.

  “We can’t keep on sitting here,” Bertie said softly. “We’ve got to get your father ready for burial.”

  Emily had sat by her father’s bedside all night. Jinx had tried to stay awake but had finally gone to sleep in a chair by the window. Joseph had stayed with her until he yawned so much, Bret sent him off to his bed. Bret hadn’t spoken since.

  “I don’t want to let him go,” Emily murmured.

  “You can’t hold on to him anymore,” Bertie said. “It’s time to let him be with your mother.”

  Her mother was buried in a plot between the ranch house and the small stream. Emily’s father had put an iron fence around the gravesite with enough room for at least a dozen other members of his family to rest alongside him and his wife someday. She knew the men would prepare the grave today, but it was up to her to decide when her father would be buried.

  Emily thought of Ida and Charlie. They’d want to pay their respects to Sam Abercrombie. They’d lived on the ranch for so many years, they felt like family. Then there were the ranchers who participated with him in the roundups, the people he knew in Fort Worth, friends elsewhere. Waiting for Ida’s family would mean two more days, the ranchers another day after that. That was too long.

  “We’ll bury him this evening,” she said to Bertie. “Will you get him ready?”

  “I’ll do it.” Bret said.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Emily said. “You—”

  Bertie put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “I think Mr. Sam would like that.”

  Bertie was probably right. Her father had been a modest man.

  “What do you want him to wear?” Bertie asked Emily.

  How could she think of anything as unimportant as clothes when her father lay dead? It didn’t matter what he wore. He was gone and was never coming back. She would never see him smile again, hear him call her name. He would—

  Emily caught herself before she broke down again. She had to think. She had to make decisions. She’d have more than enough time to cry after the funeral.

  “You decide,” she said to Bertie. “Make it something nice, but not fancy.”

  “I’ve got a nice suit all pressed and ready,” Bertie said. “A fresh white shirt, too.”

  Emily kissed Bertie’s cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Probably hire some flighty female who would burn the biscuits and serve the beef underdone.” Bertie stood. “Come. You need to lie down for a while. You didn’t sleep a wink all night.”

  “I don’t want to lie down. I can’t sleep.”

  “I know, but you need to rest. It won’t be easy to bury your father.”

  Emily stood, turned to Bret. She didn’t know how to say what was in her heart. His presence had meant so much. His offer to prepare her father’s body for burial was as generous as it was unexpected. She reached for his hand. “One of these days I hope I’ll be able to tell you what your being here has meant to me.”

  “There was no one to stand by me when they hanged my father,” he said. “I think I know.”

  Every time she thought something truly terrible, something almost unbearable, was happening to her, she learned that something even worse had happened to Bret.

  “You need some rest, too.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time later.”

  He kissed her on the cheek, then glanced at Bertie, who took that as a signal to lead Emily out of her father’s bedroom.

  The morning sunlight poured in the windows facing the east, but the house was eerily quiet. There were no smells of breakfast, no aromas of bacon and coffee to start her mouth watering. No sounds of the cowhands downing their breakfast, talking amongst themselves about the day ahead. No Bertie bustling about the kitchen, and no Jinx dashing about with childlike energy. It seemed the whole world had stopped to show respect for her father.

  “I think you are right to bury your father tonight,” Bertie said. “If you want, you can do something with everybody else later.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

  She couldn’t decide anything right now. She wanted to talk to Bret, to feel his arms around her. She wanted to lean on him and let his strength support her. She felt he was all she had left, and she didn’t mean to let him go.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bret stood outside Emily’s bedroom door unable to decide what to do. Everyone in the house had gone to bed and fallen into exhausted sleep, but Emily was awake and crying. His heart urged him to comfort her even if it meant entering her bedroom. His head warned him he could hardly do anything more dangerous.

  It hadn’t been a difficult task to ready Sam for burial. Jinx had insisted upon helping. Despite his youth, he seemed to understand the significance of what they were doing and was uncharacteristically quiet. For himself, Bret found it was surprisingly difficult. He hadn’t realized how attached he’d become to the old man. His emotions had been very close to the surface all day.

  “Is he really dead?” Jinx had asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t look dead,” Jinx had said. “He just looks like he’s asleep.”

  Hawk had supervised the men who dug the grave. The ground was hard and rocky. It had taken all of the men working in shifts to get it finished by late afternoon. Emily had decided she wanted to inter her father as the sun sank in the west.

  They had stood in a solemn group around the grave and inside the iron fence. Emily had tried to lead the brief service, but her voice failed. It was seeing Joseph about to offer his help—and the withering glance from Bertie—that had spurred Bret to step forward.

  Afterwards everyone had gone up to the house for supper. All the cowhands spoke to Emily before they returned to the bunkhouse. Bret hoped it would be a comfort to her to know her father was so well liked by the men who’d worked for him. Joseph had behaved well, seeming to be genuinely sorry that Sam had died. Emily appreciated his comfort, but Bertie continued to regard him as she might a coiled snake.

  But it had been Jinx who’d offered her the greatest comfort. Bret was certain Jinx didn’t know what he was doing, that he was looking for comfort more than giving it, but he’d stood next to Emily from the time she emerged from her bedroom until he was sent to bed. He’d held her hand. He’d put his arm around her. Maybe knowing he was in need of comfort had given her something to think about other than her own loss.

  Things had been awkward when they all returned to the house. Everything had been said, but everybody seemed to feel it was wrong to just disappear. Finally, Emily had s
aid she was tired and was going to her room. Ten minutes after she’d left, only Bertie, Joseph, and Bret remained.

  “How long can you stay?” Bertie had asked Bret.

  “I ought to leave in the morning,” he replied.

  “You have to stay for the reading of the will,” Joseph had said.

  “Why? Emily is his only heir.”

  “It may be a formality, but it’s a necessary part of settling her father’s affairs.”

  Bret was certain Joseph expected that his father would be designated to handle Emily’s financial affairs. Since the voting rights to the shares in Abbott & Abercrombie was Joseph’s and his father’s real concern, Bret was certain there’d be a lot said that would make his return to Boston even more difficult.

  But all of that would be taken care of tomorrow. He couldn’t keep standing at Emily’s door, undecided as to whether to go to his room or check on her. Unable to hear her crying and do nothing about it, Bret knocked softly on Emily’s door.

  “Who is it?” Her words were muffled, barely understandable.

  “It’s Bret. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound like it.”

  She started crying again. “I’m okay, really.”

  He couldn’t stand it. He opened the door. Emily was sitting up in her bed, surrounded by a halo of light from the small oil lamp on the table next to her. Dark shadows shrouded the edges of the room, making it appear that the lighted area was detached from its surroundings, that she existed in a reality all her own.

  He entered the room and eased the door closed behind him.

  “I couldn’t sleep knowing you were so unhappy,” he said as he approached the bed.

  “I knew Dad was going to die, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon,” Emily said through her tears. “I’ll get used to it, but it’ll take a while. He was all I had.”

  “You’ve still got Bertie,” Bret said, drawing near the bed. “I’m sure Ida would come stay with you as long as you need her.”

  Emily lowered the handkerchief from her tear-filled eyes and looked up at Bret. “Do I still have you?”

  Hoping he wasn’t promising more than he could fulfill, he sat down on the edge of the bed and took Emily’s hand in his. “You have me for as long as you need me.”

  Emily’s hand gripped him hard. “What if I never stop needing you?”

  Bret didn’t know how to answer that question. Loving someone, he’d come to realize, didn’t solve life’s problems. In their case, it had just created more.

  “It wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t feel lost, even abandoned, right now. But you’ll start to feel stronger in a couple of days. Before long, you’ll be raring to get back in the saddle, back to training your horses. You’re a very strong woman.”

  “I don’t feel strong.”

  The appeal in her eyes was so potent, the hurt so deep, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her until the sadness went away. He didn’t because he was afraid if he did, he might never let her go. He’d thought he had his feelings under control, but that was before he was forced to watch Emily suffer. Dark circles around her eyes caused them to appear sunken into her head. They were slightly swollen from crying, but her tear-stained cheeks were still creamy without a single red blotch. She had let her hair down from its usual bun and allowed it to fall over her shoulders. Somehow it made her look more vulnerable. Even helpless.

  “Do you want me to stay a little while?” he asked.

  “I never want you to leave.”

  That was more than he’d bargained for, but his response to her plea was something else that would be left until tomorrow.

  She came to him in a rush, her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder, as the tears started again. He didn’t know it was possible for a person to cry so much without running dry. He’d been nearly overwhelmed by heartbreak and loneliness after his father died, but fear had locked his tears inside his heart. Years later, when it was at last safe to cry, the tears had been absorbed into his determination to return to Boston.

  But Emily had no such ghosts, no such fears, no such loneliness. She was free to mourn. Later she would be free to take up her life where she’d left off. But for tonight she needed him. And though he didn’t like to admit it, he needed her to need him, to want him, to look to him for comfort, for courage to face the days ahead.

  Almost as a reflex, his arms tightened around her as he kissed the top of her head. Her hair felt soft against his cheek, against his lips. In the semidarkness, her hair looked almost black, the blond highlights barely noticeable. He’d never thought of Emily as delicate, but through the thin material of her nightgown, her body felt almost fragile. She was so soft, she fit so well against him, he had to close his mind to the thought she was meant to be in his arms. He reminded himself that the courses of their lives were too far apart ever to join.

  He asked himself why he couldn’t make himself stick with that thought. Did he have to go back to Boston? Was it possible to convince her to go with him? Could he be happy if she stayed in Texas?

  The woman in his arms had caused him to question the nature of the drive that had imprisoned as well as supported him during the last twenty years.

  “I’m soaking your clothes,” Emily murmured.

  He was wearing only a robe with nothing underneath. “I don’t care.” He wouldn’t care if she drenched him as long as it made her feel less miserable.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to be here.”

  “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”

  She gave him a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know why your family doesn’t adore you. I could give them a dozen reasons why you’re the most wonderful man I know.”

  Bret chuckled, though he didn’t know why. “You can put it all in a letter to my uncle.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Bret agreed. But the question in his mind at the moment was, what did he deserve, and could it possibly include Emily?

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “I am now that you’re here.”

  “If you’re better—” He started to release her, but her arms tightened around him.

  “Don’t leave yet.”

  He knew he shouldn’t stay. Things he wanted to do, things he longed to do, crowded his mind. He told himself they were all inappropriate during this time of grief, but he couldn’t stop himself. He held a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman who loved him, a woman he loved in return. It was impossible for a young man not to think of making love to her, just as it was impossible for a man of honor to take advantage of her at a time such as this. He would hold her and comfort her. He would stay with her as long as she needed him, but he would leave without dishonoring her or himself.

  “Could you lie down with me?” Emily asked. “I’m sitting at an awkward angle.”

  Bret’s heart nearly jumped into his throat. He couldn’t stop his body from going rigid. She was asking him to do the one thing he couldn’t do and remain in control of himself. “I’ll keep you awake.”

  “I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You’ve got a house full of people. You’re not alone.”

  She pulled away. “If you don’t want to stay with me—”

  “It’s not that,” Bret said, desperate to think of something to say that wouldn’t require him to explain she was pushing him to the edge of his self-control. “Bertie should be the one sitting with you.”

  “I don’t want Bertie. I want you.”

  How could he leave after that? But how could he stay, knowing his body was stiff with desire? Emily moved to the other side of the double bed, making plenty of room for him. Maybe, if he could keep his distance, he could make it through the next half hour without losing his honor. Making sure to keep space between him and Emily, he swung his legs onto the bed and propped himself up against the headboard.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortab
le lying down?” Emily asked.

  “I’m liable to go to sleep.” That was absolutely impossible, but Emily didn’t need to know it.

  “That’ll be okay.”

  His laugh was mirthless. “I don’t want to think what Bertie would do if she came in and found me asleep in your bed.” And if by some miracle Bertie didn’t kill him, Hawk and Zeke would.

  “You said it was okay for friends to kiss. Surely it’s harmless to lie side by side in the same bed.”

  The last bit of his control snapped. “Are you trying to drive me crazy, or are you so naive you don’t understand what you’re saying? You said you loved me. I said I loved you. This is not a matter of friends lying down on a hillside to take a nap after lunch. We’re in bed together. Even in the wilds of Texas, that means trouble.”

  “I don’t want to drive you crazy. I just want to be next to you, to have you hold me.”

  “That’s what I want, too.” However, it wasn’t all he wanted.

  She looked at him, questioning, waiting for him to make the first move. Yielding to the inevitable, Bret put his arm around her shoulders. With a contented sigh, Emily moved over until their sides touched.

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t mean like a friend. I love you like someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Emily, we’ve already been through this. Our lives are—”

  “They don’t have to remain separate.” Emily sat up and turned so she could face him. “You don’t like Boston, and your family doesn’t like you. You’re happy in Texas and you love your adopted family. You shouldn’t go back to Boston. You should stay here.”

  If she had any idea how much he wished he could stay in Texas, wished he could spend his life with her, she’d never stop trying to convince him to change his mind. “I know you don’t understand, but I’ve known my whole life what I have to do. I probably stayed in Texas longer than I should because I was leaving people who loved me for a family that had rejected me at every opportunity.”