Educating Abbie: Titled Texans -- Book Two

by Cynthia Sterling

  “Charles,” Reg said, tearing into the envelope from his oldest brother.

  “And this one’s yours, too.” Cooky handed him a familiar blue envelope, crest at the corner. Reg stuffed the letter in his vest. He’d stack it with the others, unopened, in the box on his desk.

  Cooky rode off in search of Donnie Best, and Reg scanned the scrawled lines of Charles’s letter. “He says the Earl’s health is much improved, to the point where he’s terrorizing everyone within earshot.”

  “I suppose a weak body was no match for his strong spirit,” Cam said. “Does this mean Charles will be returning to Texas soon?”

  “I’m looking for news of his plans.” He read further, skimming over news of crop yields and the latest neighborhood gossip. He came at last to a sentence that made his spirits sink, at the same time his heart was warmed.

  “What is it?” Cam leaned toward him, eyes filled with concern.

  Reg cleared his throat. “Cecily is expecting her first child.”

  “Jolly good news!” Cam slapped him on the back. “Charles must be busting his buttons over the news.”

  Reg nodded. “He does sound rather pleased.”

  “But you don’t.” Cam leaned back and studied him a moment. “You were counting on him to be here to help you out, weren’t you?”

  Reg nodded. “Selfish of me, I know. I can’t very well expect that Cecily will be wanting to leave her mother and home at a time like this.”

  “What does the other letter say? The one from father.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He pulled the pale blue envelope from his waistcoat and stared at it, curiosity warring with dread.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” Cam asked.

  “Why? I know what it will say. Every letter the Earl sends is a variation on a theme.”

  “Well I’ll read it, then.” Cam grabbed the letter and neatly tore off one end. He shook a sheet of paper and a large square of pasteboard into his hand. Unfolding the paper, he began to read.

  Reg watched as his brother’s face paled. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “Is he all right? Has he taken ill or something?”

  Cam shook his head. “Nothing like that.” He looked up, his expression grim. “He’s ordering you home. At once.”

  A chill swept over Reg at the words. “He can’t be serious. My year isn’t up yet. I still have time –”

  “He’s serious all right.” He held up the pasteboard square. “He sent your ticket.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Reg snatched the ticket from Cam’s hand and stared at it. The Earl had booked first class passage from Galveston, with a departure date less than two weeks away.

  “What are you going to do?” Cam’s voice broke through his daze.

  “I’ll have to put him off.” He looked up at his brother. “I can’t possibly leave yet. Not when everything’s in such a state.”

  Cam stared out at the dead cattle and the poisoned tank. “You’ll only make him angry if you delay.”

  Reg’s stomach clenched. He was no stranger to his father’s anger. But this time he had sworn things would be different. This time he’d expected to sail home in triumph. “Then I’ll have to work quickly to turn things around before I depart.”

  Cam jerked his head around to stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “What other choice do I have?” He raised his head, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

  “You can’t bring these cattle back from the dead. And didn’t you just tell me, without water the ranch is doomed? Or do you think you can conjure a sudden flood?”

  “I’ll drill a well.”

  “And gamble away what little capitol you have left?”

  “Abbie says it can be done.”

  “Alan advised against it, didn’t he?”

  “If I drill a well, the ranch will have the water it needs. With the new stock I bought in Amarillo, we’ll have a chance for profit in the fall.”

  “What if you drill and don’t find water?”

  He looked back at the ticket in his hand. Better to hold his head up in defiance than come meekly crawling home. “Father expects me to fail – well then, I’ll fail on a grand scale.”

  Cam shook his head, then started to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Reg asked.

  “Us. Grown men, still letting the old man rule our lives.”

  “The Texas thirst for independence has infected you, hasn’t it?” Reg took the envelope from his brother’s hand and slid the ticket inside. “We’re bred to obedience and duty, Cam. Our ancestors have sworn fealty to king and country, and lesser lords, for centuries.” He tucked the envelope inside his coat. “It will take more than a few months on the plains to purge that impulse from our veins.”

  Cam sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He watched Reg gather his reins. “Where are you going now?”

  “If I’m going to drill a well, I’d better get started.”

  Cam’s eyes sparked with interest. “You’re going to see Abbie, aren’t you?”

  Reg looked away from his brother’s searching gaze. If he could think of any way to avoid it, he wouldn’t see Abbie again. Last night had proved he could no longer trust himself with her. No matter that his reason told him a liaison with her was wrong – in her presence emotion overruled all logic.

  “You and she certainly spent a great deal of time in the barn together last night,” Cam said. “I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps there isn’t something between you and our lovely neighbor.”

  “You are the one who insists on wooing every woman you meet, not I.” Reg gave his brother a cool look. In this case, Cam’s own interest in Abbie might prove useful. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me to the Rocking W? I want to ask Abbie what I need to do in order to drill a well.”

  To his surprise, Cam declined. “No, I think you’d better handle this on your own. All that talk about business would only bore me.”

  “Any other time, you’d be chomping at the bit to come along.”

  Cam smiled. “Only because I sensed you didn’t want me.” He gathered his reins. “Haven’t you learned by now? It’s in my nature to be contrary. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some errands in town.” He tipped his hat, then rode away.

  Reg glared at Cam’s retreating back. He was genuinely fond of his brother, but at times Cam was the most frustrating person on earth to deal with, outside of the Earl himself. He frowned. If it was true that Reg had inherited their father’s stubborn desire for perfection, then the Earl had passed along his obstinacy to his youngest son.

  He began walking his horse slowly away from the poisoned tank. He had to see Abbie, but not alone. If Cam wouldn’t come with him, who could he ask?

  Only one man came to mind. He kicked the horse into a trot and headed for the A7.

  He found Alan Mitchell in the barn, polishing a buggy. It seemed an odd occupation for a man who traveled everywhere by horse. “Hello, Reg,” Alan said, looking up from the task.

  Reg came to stand beside the buggy. The black painted wood sides shone so that he could see his reflection in the surface. “I came to see if you’d like to ride over to Abbie’s with me.”

  Alan stopped polishing the buggy’s already gleaming exterior. “What are you going to do at Abbie’s?”

  “I need to talk to her about drilling a well.”

  He waited for Alan to ask why he needed to know about well drilling, but the rancher merely resumed polishing the buggy. “I can’t go with you right now, Reg. Gotta get this buggy polished. Sorry.”

  “Might I ask, why are you polishing this vehicle? I’ve never seen you use it.”

  To his amazement, his friend actually blushed. “Well, uh, it’s kind of personal,” he said. “But I’ve got to get it done this afternoon.”

  “Then suppose I wait until you’re finished? We can ride over to Abbie’s then.” He crossed his arms and leaned against an empty stall, prepared to wait all afternoon rather than risk facin
g Abbie alone.

  Alan frowned and continue to burnish the buggy’s surface. “Well, I suppose that’d be all right,” he said after a while. “But we’ll have to go in the buggy.”

  Amused at his normally easygoing friend’s insistence on this odd condition, Reg nodded. “All right. We’ll go in the buggy.”

  * * * *

  Approximately two hours later, Alan emerged from his house. “I’m ready now.”

  Reg looked up from his seat on the edge of the porch. His eyes widened as he stared at his friend’s transformation. In place of the drab cotton shirt and leather vest he’d been wearing, Alan had donned a well-tailored black suit. He wore a crisp white shirt, a paisley four-in-hand tie, and a low-crowned black hat. Black boots, polished to a mirror shine, completed the outfit.

  “Whatever you are about this afternoon, I would say it is serious business,” Reg said.

  “It is.”

  Smiling, Reg followed his friend to the buggy. He climbed in, Alan took up the reins, and they were off.

  As they drove, he tried to compose himself for his meeting with Abbie. He wanted to prepare a list of questions, things he’d need to know in order to drill a well as quickly as possible. But his wayward thoughts insisted on ruminating on the woman herself.

  He’d met many women in his years of travel, but none had affected him as Abbie had. He’d been drawn to her from their first meeting, intrigued by her combination of strength and tenderness, touched by her longing for home and family. He thought often of late of putting aside his wanderlust and settling down. But what woman would he choose as his bride? After last night, how could he ever accept any woman other than Abbie by his side? Taking Abbie to England was out of the question. He might as well try to transplant a Texas bluebonnet to the chill English moors.

  What if she were pregnant? The thought brought a cold sweat to his forehead. Of course, he’d marry her then. But how could he bear to watch her wither and fade away from her beloved Texas plains? Perhaps he’d find a way, in a few years, to return here. . . He shook his head. He couldn’t risk his own and Abbie’s future on idle dreams. Better to pray that their joining last night did not result in a child.

  Banjo’s barking pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Abbie’s ranch house in front of them. The dog raced around them, barking and wagging his tail. Alan braked the buggy beneath a tree and reached behind the seat. He pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle of yellow roses. Reg raised one eyebrow in surprise. Well, well. It appeared the ‘personal’ business to which Alan referred might be of a romantic nature.

  By the time the two men had crossed the front porch, Maura stood in the door. “Good afternoon Alan, Mr. Worthington,” she said, smiling.

  “Good afternoon, Maura.” Alan held out the roses. “These are for you.”

  Her eyes twinkled with delight. She took the flowers and inhaled deeply of their perfume. “Oh, Alan, they’re ever so nice.” She and Alan gazed adoringly at each other for a full minute, until Reg cleared his throat.

  “Oh!” Maura started, and blushed a becoming pink. “What can I do for you gentlemen this afternoon?”

  “I’m here to see Abbie,” Reg said. He glanced at the roses in Maura’s arms. “On business.”

  “Oh yes, m’lord.” She stepped to one side. “She’s in the parlor.”

  “I’m right here.” Abbie appeared behind Maura. “Come on in, Reg.” Even as she spoke, she didn’t look at him.

  Maura stepped aside to allow Reg to pass, but made no move to follow him inside. Reg hesitated. He would prefer Alan and Maura come with him. “Reg, come in,” Abbie said again.

  Reluctantly, he went inside. Abbie shut the door behind him, then crossed the room and sat on the sofa. “Now, what did you need to see me about?” She busied herself plumping a sofa pillow. Was it his imagination, or were her cheeks more flushed than usual?

  He told himself he shouldn’t look at her, but he could not keep his eyes from her. She was dressed as he had first seen her – in men’s trousers and faded flannel shirt, her hair in braids. The trousers clung to her thighs and hugged her hips. The shirt lay soft against the swell of her breasts, the top button undone, showing a triangle of creamy skin. He felt the immediate physical response in his groin, and turned away from her, hoping to disguise his arousal.

  “Please, sit down.” She moved over to make room beside her.

  He sat in the chair across from her instead, holding his hat in his lap. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

  She sighed, a regret-filled sound that tugged at his emotions. “Don’t hurry on my account. Besides, I imagine Alan and Maura will be gone a little while.”

  “Gone?”

  She nodded toward the window behind him. He turned to look and his heart stopped beating for a moment as he saw Alan drive the buggy away, Maura at his side. “Where are they going?” he exclaimed, rising from his chair.

  “Just for a ride. They’ll be back in a little while.” She settled back against the sofa, looking, Reg thought, entirely too pleased with herself. “We have all the time you need.”

  He sank down in the chair and took a deep, steadying breath. The scent of lavender assailed his nostrils. Abbie shifted on the sofa and the sound seemed amplified, so that he could identify the scrape of fabric of her trousers against the upholstery. The room suddenly felt too small to contain the both of them safely.

  Business, Reg, he reminded himself. Concentrate on business. “I’ve decided to drill a well,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A well? What made you decide that?”

  “I’ve given a lot of thought about what you had to say last night, and it seems like a sensible precaution against drought.”

  She studied him a moment. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

  She knew him too well. He nodded. “Someone appears to have poisoned the tank over in the north pasture – the one they call Red Rock. We lost at least a dozen cows before one of my men saw the vultures and rode out to investigate.”

  “Oh, Reg!” Her voice carried all the anguish he felt. “Who would have done such an awful thing?”

  “I have my suspicions, but no proof.”

  “You don’t think Tuff would do something so terrible, do you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. That doesn’t particularly concern me at the moment. Right now I need to find a new source of water for my stock, before the few tanks I have left go completely dry.”

  “You heard what Alan said last night. Digging a well is a gamble.”

  “One I feel compelled to take.” He leaned forward. “I want to act as quickly as possible. I was hoping you could tell me who to contact to arrange for the drilling, and everything else I’ll need.”

  “I can give you some names.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “But I don’t know. . . you could be throwing your money away.”

  “I thought you’d decided to drill a well yourself.”

  “I said I was thinking about it. But Alan has a good point. He was right about it not being something my dad would have done.”

  “But it’s your ranch now – your decision.”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I’ve always followed my dad’s teachings in running the ranch. He never steered me wrong.”

  Reg caught her gaze and held it. He felt the warmth of her fire even as he cautioned himself not to move close enough to get burned. “I didn’t know your father, but I know you,” he said. “You’ve been my best teacher in all my time here, and I don’t think you would ever have considered drilling a well if there were not some merit in the idea.”

  “Some merit, yes, but I don’t know if it’s worth the risk. Why not wait a little longer? It might rain, or you might find another solution.”

  He shifted in his chair. “I don’t have time to wait. I must have the well in place in less than two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Why so soon?”

  He looked away, a feeli
ng of dread weighting him in his chair. “My father has ordered me home. He sent my ticket today.” Telling Abbie made the words seem so much more real. He’d thought he would have more time to get used to the idea of saying goodbye, but here it was upon them, and he was far from ready.

  He heard her gasp. “But why?”

  He shook his head. “The Earl keeps his own council.”

  “And you must obey.”

  He nodded. “It’s my duty to do so.” He cleared his throat. “You will of course, let me know, if there are, uh, consequences from last night.”

  “You mean if I’m pregnant?” She raised her chin defiantly. “I’ll be fine by myself. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

  He frowned. “I suppose I can’t blame you for being angry. I never should have –”

  “Don’t say it. I’ll never be sorry for what happened last night. What we shared was. . . special. To me, anyway.” She lowered her head, but not before he saw the brightness in her eyes of unshed tears.

  The thought that he’d made her cry was like a stabbing pain to his heart. In two long strides, he crossed the room and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. “Last night was special to me, too,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the obligations we each have. You must stay here and run this ranch. I must return to England.”

  “Because of duty? Well I say damn your duty.”

  He flinched. How could he explain to her his reasons for leaving her behind? He stroked her work-roughened hands, fighting the urge to pull her close, to hold her and kiss her until they’d both forgotten about anything but their need for each other. “Tell me, Abbie,” he said softly. “Your father spent his life teaching you to run the ranch, did he not?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you ever have considered going against his wishes and doing something else, something besides ranching?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  He sighed. “My father instilled in all his sons a desire to please him, to do his will – a sense of duty to the family name, he called it. It’s something we can’t quite shake.”