Simmer All Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  "How perfect. You must do this, Lord Bennet. You must organize a society, an Anglo-Texan Society." She beamed a brilliant smile his way, then added, "You'll be its first president, of course."

  He drew himself up and his chest puffed with air. "Oh, well. Yes, I suppose I should accept the office if I am the man responsible for creating the organization." He pursed his lips, thought for a moment, then added, "I shall have to consider how best to structure a group such as this. Then perhaps I'll send out invitations to meet at my club in London once the Season starts. I imagine the majority of our potential members will come to town for the festivities."

  Chrissy summoned her most disappointed voice to say, "Oh. I had hoped you would organize the association sooner than that. I would love to be a part of it—if you allow women to join, of course. I'm sure my dear friend, Mrs. Kleberg, soon to be Lady Welby, would support the Anglo-Texan Society with her patronage, if females were allowed."

  Bennet's eyes brightened. "Of course, of course. I would not consider having it any other way. And now that I think about it, I don't see why I couldn't host the first meeting at Harpur Priory."

  "Wonderful." Chrissy clapped her hands in exaggerated delight. "How soon do you suppose you could arrange the gathering? I shall coordinate my visit with it and—" She broke off abruptly and clapped her hands. Though she'd been steering the conversation this way all along, she made it appear as though the thought had just occurred to her when she said, "Oh, Lord Bennet. I just had the most marvelous idea. Why don't we broaden the scope of the organizational meeting and make it a social event as well as a scholarly meeting."

  "A social event?"

  "I would imagine that by hosting the organizational meeting at your home, we'll find it more difficult to encourage some of the less enthusiastic potential members to attend. If we make it an event no one would want to miss, it will go a long way toward solving that problem."

  "Ah, I see now. An event. I like the idea, but I fear I don't know how such broadening of scope would be accomplished."

  "That's easy," Chrissy said, beaming. "We could take my grandfather's idea of the Texas Ball and elaborate on it. We could make it an authentic Texas weekend. We could all pitch in and give demonstrations of our particular talents in addition to the papers. You told me last night you have become quite proficient at lassoing your longhorns. Mr. Morgan does some amazing feats with a gun."

  Bennet frowned. "This sounds similar to Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. I don't want that. The show portrays the myth of the American West. I have serious, scholarly research to present."

  Chrissy waved a hand. "I'm not suggesting a show, but a demonstration, a reenactment. Perhaps Cole's trick shooting is a little too showy, but an exhibition of the proper way to lasso your longhorns would be the perfect complement to a barbecue." She smiled sweetly and added, "I'd be honored to make my chili if you'd like."

  "A barbecue," Bennet mused. Then his eyes rounded in horror. "You are not suggesting Mr. Morgan slaughter my longhorns, are you?"

  "No, of course not. Any beef cattle will do. Not pork, though. Real Texans eat beef barbecue. We'll have my chili and Lana's cornbread and potato salad and beans. If your guests bring children, we can have a taffy pull. And a dance, of course. No barbecue is complete without a dance. Everyone seemed to enjoy last night's entertainment. Why, the first meeting of the Anglo-Texan Society would make the earl's cowboy ball pale in comparison. Say you intend to make it an annual event and you'll have people clamoring to join."

  Bennet folded his arms and gazed into the future. "Yes. The Society will be a scholarly, yet social pursuit."

  "Destined to be one of the most prestigious associations in Britain, I imagine. And you, Lord Bennet, will be its founding father."

  He hooked his thumbs behind his lapels. "I shall have to get a new portrait painted. Perhaps I'll wear the cowboy hat I purchased in Dallas during my last visit."

  "Perfect, Lord Bennet. That sounds just perfect. Now, let's check a calendar and set a date, shall we? And if you'd care to write out the invitations before you leave Hartsworth, I'll make certain they are posted immediately."

  "Yes. I'll certainly do that."

  Chrissy left the state anteroom a short time later with a spring in her step, appointment book in hand, and Cole's probable reaction to her news playing like a Shakespearean comedy through her mind. He'd be both impressed and annoyed. He wouldn't be able to deny her plan was a good one, and he wouldn't like it that she'd bested him in the Declaration hunt yet again.

  She couldn't wait to tell him.

  She tried the library first, but didn't find him there. She checked the billiard room, the gun room, the music room, the state rooms, and all the corridors before trekking out to the orangery where she found the earl once again tending his plants. "Grandfather, have you seen Cole this morning?"

  Thornbury glanced up from his seedling and said, "No, he was gone before I awoke."

  Chrissy froze. "What do you mean gone?"

  "It is a simple word, my dear. He has gone. He left. He departed Hartsworth before dawn this morning."

  * * *

  Cole wished for the thousandth time that he'd brought his own horse with him to England. He'd spent too many days traveling on trains, in coaches, and atop rented horses. His rear end would have appreciated the familiar comfort of his own saddle.

  Ten days after the cowboy ball, Cole returned to Hartsworth. He arrived with marriage licenses in his pocket and the proverbial burr beneath his tented saddle. In his absence he had discovered that Lady Bug had been stirring up trouble.

  "Don't ask me why I'm surprised," he muttered to himself as he swung from his saddle and tossed his reins to a groom. "I should have known Christina wouldn't take my orders lying down."

  Using "Christina" and "lying down" in the same sentence had been an unfortunate choice of words. The vision that blew through his mind made him hotter than a San Antonio summer.

  This was not the way to deal with the woman. It put him at a disadvantage. Cole would need all his wits about him when he explained what he'd done, and walking around with a poker in his pants tended to drain a man of his brains. To his great dismay, such a condition had become quite common of late. It happened almost every time he thought about Christina.

  He thought of her a lot.

  Entering Hartsworth through the servant's door at the back of the house, he wandered into the kitchen where he suspected he might find Lana baking kolaches or her children charming an afternoon snack from the cook. The room was full of people, though empty of Texans, and he had just opened his mouth to ask after Christina when Michael Kleberg came shooting through the doorway, his sister at his heels, and hollering, "It's four o'clock now, Mrs. Peterson. May we please have our cookies and milk? I mean our biscuits and milk."

  "Me too, Mis. Peterson?" Cole asked, offering the cook his most roguish smile.

  "Mr. Cole!" cried Sophie. "You're back!"

  "Thank goodness," Michael said with a grateful sigh.

  Cole sat with the children at a table tucked away in a far corner of the kitchen. Thanking the cook, he accepted the plate of shortbread cookies, and took a sip of the glass of milk she handed him. Then he shot the Klebergs a smile and said, "Yes, you scallywags, I'm back. So tell me why you said thank goodness?"

  Michael chomped away, swallowed, and answered. "Because Miss Chrissy has gone half crazy since you left. She's running a mile a minute working on Mama's wedding plans and putting together some big barbecue at that church house where Mr. Bennet lives."

  Cole frowned into his milk. "Yes, I heard about the Anglo-Texan Society meeting to be held at Harpur Priory."

  "That's it. Gonna be school and a barbecue. Miss Chrissy's been making list after list after list."

  Sophie's eyes went round and serious. "She's been working on her chili recipe, too. We think she's changing it, but we can't hardly believe it because it's already perfect just like it is. Mama says for us not to worry, that the Que
en of the Chili Queens won't ruin her recipe. She says with you gone Miss Chrissy doesn't have anyone to tussle with so she's full of pent up energy. Says she's like a pot of chili that has cooked too long without being stirred."

  Cole almost spewed his milk. Stirring Chrissy's chili, so to speak, was nearly all he'd thought about of late.

  He tossed back the last of his milk, then set the empty glass on the table and rose. "Well, reckon I'd best see to the woman. Do y'all know where I can find her?"

  Michael nodded. "She's up at the fishing pavilion on the middle lake. Got a package from Texas yesterday—some new fishing lures she ordered from Castaway Bait Company."

  "Really?" The news distracted Cole for a moment. He'd had some mighty good luck on Castaway's bait, himself. "In that case, I suppose I'll go fishing."

  Sophie daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Are you going to stir up Miss Chrissy while you're at it?"

  "I'll do my best."

  "Good." Michael plunked an entire cookie into his mouth, then sputtered crumbs as he said, "Mama told Sophie and me we didn't have to worry, that you'd take care of things once you got back. Mama told us you are just the man for the job."

  "I'm the only man for the job," Cole countered.

  Leaving the Kleberg children in the kitchen, he strolled outside and started down the path that led to the fishing pavilion. The brisk exercise combined with the anticipation of seeing Christina again invigorated him, and by the time his destination came into view, he was feeling quite the cock-of-the-walk.

  "Pent up energy? Needing a stir?" He lengthened his stride. "Reckon it's time, then, that I turn up the heat. Just a little bit, though. Want to take it slower this time." He glanced up at the sky, noted the position of the sun, and smiled. "Don't look now, Lady Bug, but you are going to simmer all night."

  * * *

  Chrissy had always loved to fish. Some of the happiest memories of her childhood were the long summer days spent with Jake and Cole along the banks of the San Antonio River. Back then, using bacon for bait, they'd lure crayfish—or crawdads, as they called them—from their homes along the muddy banks, and name them after the teacher at school or the bad-tempered clerk who manned the mercantile candy counter. They'd bait hooks with breadcrumbs and pull sunfish and perch out of the water by the dozens. When they were in the mood for more serious fishing, they'd dig worms and dangle their hooks for black bass and bluegill.

  A few years ago at Christmas, in a rare display of discerning gift-giving, Jake had given Chrissy a tackle box filled with artificial baits made by a Galveston manufacturer called Castaway Bait Company. Even though she still loved to fish, Chrissy had outgrown her willingness to put worms on a hook. The artificial bait not only solved that problem, they added the challenge of accurate casting to the mix and made fishing all the more enjoyable.

  Upon learning Hartsworth had a fishing pavilion and visiting it for the first time last week, Chrissy fell in love with the place. Positioned at one end of a small, ornamental lake, and flanked by a pair of boathouses, the stone structure was the size of an average Texan house, but much more richly appointed. From its plasterwork ceiling, to walls hung with gilt-framed oil paintings depicting sea serpents and sirens, to furnishings fine enough to grace a palace and a thick, rich carpet that stretched from wall to wall, the fishing room was a world away from the muddy river bank where Chrissy was accustomed to throwing out her line.

  The earl had joined her on her third visit in as many days, and she had mentioned how much she enjoyed the peaceful privacy of the place. Anxious as always to spoil her, he issued instructions that the building be kept for Chrissy's exclusive use every afternoon. Because safety's sake required she have company whenever she took a boat out onto the lake, most often she contented herself to cast her line from the fishing room's central Venetian window, which extended out over the water.

  On those days, an attendant accompanied her to the pavilion, fired up the boilers that supplied hot water to the adjacent plunge bath, lit the fireplace, and then departed, leaving Chrissy to delight in her privacy. Today was one of her solitary days and she reveled in the pleasure of being alone.

  I'll catch one more fish, then head for the plunge bath, she thought, casting her line through the window into the water below. The water should be warm by now.

  The plunge bath had quickly become Chrissy's favorite amenity at Hartsworth. From the fishing room, the bather entered an antechamber with tiled walls and an elaborate mosaic chimneypiece depicting Poseidon's kingdom. From there, double doors led into the skylit plunge pool chamber where a double staircase swept around a central plinth holding a statue of a bathing Diana. Two circular flights of steps with curved ends led from there down to an oval-shaped pool.

  It was such a cozy, inviting place that Chrissy contemplated bringing a bed down from Hartsworth and moving in. Here she had the quiet to think and to dream. Here she had no memories of Cole leaning against a fireplace or flipping through a book taken from library walls. Here she could literally let down her hair and don her most comfortable clothes without risking her reputation.

  Sunshine beamed through the open window and glinted off the threads of gold woven through the scarlet sash she wore tied around her waist. Setting her fishing pole aside, she lifted one end of the sash and held it up, moving it forward and backward, playing with the sunlight. How good she felt this afternoon, dressed in her Chili Queen clothes without a corset or bustle in sight. She'd slept well last night, too. For the first time in over a week—ten days to be exact—her dreams had been innocent fancies rather than restless, erotic tales with Cole Morgan cast in the starring roll.

  "Oh, don't think about him," she grumbled softly. "It's too nice an afternoon to spoil."

  Thinking about Cole would definitely spoil the day. She still couldn't believe he'd left without a by-your-leave to her. The shock, the fear, that gripped her when her grandfather announced his departure had shaken her very foundation. Thank goodness Welby knew of his plans and had been able to assure Chrissy that he'd left only on some mysterious errand and had promised to return to Hartsworth as quickly as possible. The scope of her relief had appalled her and sparked an anger that had brewed ever since. When she wasn't dreaming about him, that is.

  Searching for a distraction, she rearranged her chair until it sat scandalously in the sun. "You wicked woman," she said with a grin, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her stockings. One of the main purposes of the fishing pavilion was to allow ladies to dabble a hook without subjecting them to sunshine.

  Happy to risk the scandal of a few freckles, she propped her bare feet up on the window sill, the fishing line threaded between two of her toes, and tipped her chair back so that it rested on only two legs.

  Warm rays of sunlight kissed her skin, soaked into her bones. "Hmm..." she murmured, stretching languidly. Confident of her privacy, she tugged up the hem of her scarlet-colored skirt and the white petticoat beneath, baring her legs to the sun's heat. From the fireplace behind her drifted the pleasing aroma of chili as it cooked in the Dutch oven she'd appropriated from the kitchen at Hartsworth.

  Shutting her eyes, she allowed her mind to wander and soon found herself at home in Texas. She was reclining along the bank of the San Antonio River on a beautiful autumn afternoon. Floating along on the soft, gentle breeze came the scents and sounds of the Plaza de Las Armas a short distance away. Chili con queso and patent medicine hawkers and music—bold, soul-stirring notes that seeped into a woman's blood and made her feet want to dance. And Cole, the man she loved, talking to her. Scolding her. Whipping her skirt down over her legs as he said, "Dammit, woman. Anyone could come walking by and get a right fine eyeful. Don't you have any sense?"

  Everything happened at once. She jerked open her eyes, a fish yanked on her line, and she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor, landing hard on her behind. "Cole!" she exclaimed, staring up in astonishment.

  His gaze shifted from her bare legs to her naked shoulders the
n back to her legs. "Oh, Bug."

  Tension flared like a match flame between them. A part of Chrissy wanted to cover herself and demand to know where he'd been. For ten long days now her anger had simmered. He'd left without a word, without so much as a note, and she'd be hanged if she'd allow a man to treat her so rudely.

  Yet for those same ten days, another newly awakened side of her had done its share of simmering. That Chrissy wanted to lie back and beckon him to follow, to use her mouth for things other than talking.

  "Oh, Bug," he breathed again.

  Time hung suspended, finally broken by the clatter of her fishing pole falling to the ground. Cole jerked as if he'd been hooked himself. "You have a catch, Christina. Do something with it."

  Oh, don't I want to.

  When she didn't move, he gave an exasperated snort and reached for the pole himself, grumbling beneath his breath all the while. "Fool woman. Won't pay attention. Waste a good bait." He reeled in the fish, a nice two-pound trout, then removed the hook and tossed the fish out the window and into the stream as he continued his complaints. "Doesn't have the sense God gave a goat. Brand new Castaway Musky Minnow. Makes it all the way across the Atlantic then dang near gets lost in a Derbyshire stream. No business fishing if you can't pay attention."

  He propped the pole against the wall, washed his hands in the nearby marble sink provided for that purpose, then grabbed a towel and glared down at Christina.

  Feeling needy and itchy and oh-so-glad to see him, Chrissy reacted in her natural manner. She yanked back her foot, then kicked him in the shin.

  "What do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that? And that was my fish. You had no right to throw it back."

  "I beg to differ," Cole fired back. "You were torturing the poor thing with your inattention. You were asking to lose your lure."

  "I was not. I still have my lure. I have plenty of lures."

  "Then learn how to use them right."

  "You don't think I can use my lures properly?"

  "I sure haven't seen a sign of it so far."