Hill Country Cattleman

“I shall be fine, Edward,” she said, raising a hand to quell his wrath. “It looks quite soft. How very Western! I’ll enjoy writing home about that. Mr. Masterson, if you would assist me?” she said, extending a hand to him.

He reached out to her, and before Edward could protest further, she had put her booted foot where he indicated and climbed aboard with what she thought was a very creditable grace.

Edward could do nothing but clamber his way onto the other side of the bench seat, grumbling under his breath about the benighted country in which they found themselves.

Violet enjoyed the ride from Simpson Creek southward over the gently rolling land with its blue hills in the distance.

“It’s a beautiful place, your Texas,” she told Raleigh. “I hope I shall get some time to ride out among those hills while I’m here.”

He looked back at her with interest. “You ride, Miss Vi—that is, Miss Brookfield?” he corrected himself hastily, after intercepting another glare from Edward.

“Oh, yes. I love it. In fact, I rode to hounds at home,” she told him.

He looked confused.

“That is, I foxhunted with a pack of hounds back in England. There’s a lot of jumping of hedges and walls and fences as we pursue the fox. It’s great fun.”

He looked startled. “You must be quite a horsewoman,” he said, respect lacing his voice.

She shrugged. “I’ve been riding since my brother Nick first took me up in the saddle, before I was big enough for the pony my brothers had learned to ride on,” she said. “I was just about to get a hunter of my own—that is, as a loan for the season.” She shut her mouth, aware that Edward’s back had gone rigid on the seat ahead of her. He wouldn’t want her to speak about anything related to Gerald.

Perhaps Raleigh sensed that it was an awkward subject, for he was tactful enough not to pursue it. “Yes, it’s pretty country to ride, Miss Brookfield. You should see it in the spring. The bluebonnets are out in mid-March and April, the fields are carpeted in them. It’s just like heaven.”

He loves Texas, she thought, and her heart warmed to him even more. “Those red and gold flowers are glorious,” she said, pointing to a field just ahead.

“Indian blanket and Mexican hat,” he said. “And the pale yellow flowers are primroses. They don’t open till afternoon—”

“Oh! And what is that funny-looking bird there—see it?” A gray-brown bird about the size of a rooster dashed out from a clump of mesquite, spotted them with his pale yellow eyes, then sped ahead in a blur of motion before disappearing into a patch of cactus. She laughed in delight. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I interrupted you,” she said.

“No problem, ma’am. That was a roadrunner, or some call him a chapparal bird,” Raleigh said. “They’re so quick, they can even kill rattlesnakes and eat them.”

She shuddered. “Oh, dear. I hate snakes. It’s not likely I’ll see any, is it?”

“You might, but they want to avoid you as much as you do them. Out here we make it a point to watch where we walk, though.”

Violet made a mental note to always do exactly that.

He asked Edward questions about their sea voyage then—perhaps out of politeness since he’d been talking to her for so long. Afraid she would forget the names for the flowers and bird Raleigh had just taught her, she reached into her reticule and pulled out her notebook and pencil and began to write them down. She might well need them for her novel.

* * *

It took about an hour to reach Brookfield ranch, and in that hour under the Texas sun, Violet decided her stylish hat was definitely impractical. She could feel her nose and cheeks reddening under the rays as the horses trotted along, and she understood now why the men all wore wide-brimmed hats and the women, bonnets. She had hats with wider brims in one of her trunks, but she hoped her sister-in-law would be able to loan her a bonnet for everyday use, or she’d go back to England brown as an Indian.

And then Raleigh pointed out the wrought-iron arch over the ranch entrance in the distance. They turned off the road onto a long lane that led to a low ranch house built of fieldstone with a roof of shiny tin. Masterson pulled up in a yard between the ranch house and the barn.

A pretty, dark-haired woman came flying out. “Oh, dear heavens, can that be you, Edward? We just read your letter two days ago and learned you were coming!” She caught Edward in an enthusiastic embrace, kissed him on one cheek, then turned back to Violet. “And you must be Violet! I’m Milly, of course—welcome to Brookfield ranch! We’re so happy you’ve come to visit!” she said as she gave Violet the same kind of exuberant hug she’d bestowed on her brother.

Violet smiled back at her sister-in-law, dazed at the warmth of her welcome. We’re so glad you’ve come to visit. There was no guardedness, no tinge of reproach, no hint that Violet’s coming was anything more than a pleasure trip. She was sure her brother had written of the disgrace and scandal that threatened to shadow her name, yet Milly’s blue eyes held nothing but joy at meeting her and seeing Edward once again.

Milly drew back for a moment and called, “Raleigh, thanks so much for bringing them out here! Won’t you come in and have some lemonade?”

Violet hoped he’d agree, for she didn’t know when she’d ever see him again, but he just touched the brim of his hat respectfully and said, “Thanks, but I’d best be moving along. I’ve got to return Calhoun’s wagon and horse. I’ll just bring the trunks inside before I go.”

“Well, at least take a jar of lemonade to wet your whistle on the way. Go on in, y’all, before you faint from the heat—I know you’re not used to it,” she said. “I’m just going to ring the bell so Nick will know you’re here.” Stepping over to a big iron bell hanging from the porch, she pulled on a rope and set up a clanging that made Violet jump and the horses that had pulled the buckboard lurch against the traces. Inside, Violet heard a small child calling.

“Goodness, I’ve woke little Nick up,” Milly said with a chuckle, following behind them. “I reckon he’ll be excited to meet his aunt and uncle.”

The back door led into a spacious kitchen with an iron stove, a long rectangular table and chairs. It was lit only by the sun that filtered through the curtains and relatively cool compared to the outside.

Violet remained at the door to hold it open for Nick while Milly disappeared down a hall to retrieve her child. She returned, carrying a brown-haired toddler who hid his face against his mother’s shoulder at the sight of strangers.

Raleigh brought the first trunk inside.

“Would you take that to the guest room down the hall to the right, please?” Milly asked Raleigh. “Put them all there, and we can sort out whose is whose later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“This is Richard Nicholas, but we call him Nicky,” Milly told them proudly. “Nicky, this is your Aunt Violet and Uncle Edward. He’ll lose his shyness in a minute or so,” she added when he buried his face once more. “And I can see his father riding in from the north pasture,” she added, shading her eyes with her free hand as she peered out the window in front of the table.

Violet turned, eager to see the brother she hadn’t laid eyes on in five years. He’d come home on leave from India when their father died, but hadn’t returned to England after he’d been drummed out of the Bombay Light Cavalry in a scandal that was none of his own making. Disgraced, he’d gone directly to Texas to serve at the embassy branch in Austin.

Nick had never taken up that post, of course, for he’d ridden up to the hill country first on a lark to meet Milly, the lady who’d placed an advertisement for bachelors to come to Simpson Creek, and had ended up marrying her.

Violet now followed Milly’s pointing finger. First she saw a cloud of dust, then picked out the figure of a man leaning low over the back of a galloping bay. What was it about Texas that made it possible for men to ride as if they were one with the horse like that? The hunt set used a French phrase for it—“ventre à terre.” Would she be able to ride like that by the time she returned to England? Perhaps, once Edward went home, she’d even ride astride.

The daring thought made her smile as she held the door open for Raleigh again. He smiled, too, and looked as if he wanted to say something, but at that moment Nick’s horse reached the yard and slid to a dust-raising halt. Nick shouted her name, and she forgot everything else and ran to embrace the brother she hadn’t seen for so long.

He was older, of course—there were lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, and his hair had gone from pale to tawny gold, with hints of gray at the temples. Even older and weathered by the suns of India and Texas, though, he was still the best-looking of the Brookfield brothers.

“Violet, I’m so happy you’re here!” he said against her hair, hugging her tightly. “I only just found out you were coming when I got back from the trail drive two days ago, and we had no idea when exactly to expect you. Milly’s been in a flurry of making curtains, cleaning and airing out the guest rooms....”

“I’m glad to be here,” she murmured against his chest. “And so pleased to see you again, and meet your lovely wife and your darling son.”

He held her at arm’s length and studied her. “When I left you were still in the schoolroom, and now look at you. You’re all grown-up.” It was half accusation, half loving observation.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if Edward was coming out, but he wasn’t. Thankful her eldest brother was giving her a moment for a private reunion with Nick, she turned back to him. “Yes, and now I’ve taken your position as the black sheep of the family, dear brother,” she said ruefully. “I’m sure Edward told you all about it in the letter—how he had to spirit me out of England to restore the good name of the family, just ahead of the scandal that was brewing.” She spoke lightly, but even she could hear the bitterness tingeing her tone. She hugged Nick again. “Edward doesn’t believe an older man could love me honorably, but Gerald—the Earl of Lullington, that is—does, I know he does. You must believe me, Nick!” she cried, looking pleadingly up into his yes.

“We’ll sort it all out, Vi,” he promised, using the nickname he’d given her when she was a baby. “As one black sheep to another, I promise you, it’s going to turn out all right.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she returned his gaze, and she remembered why, of all her brothers, she had always loved this one best. When Nick promised, he always came through. He’d rescued her from innumerable scrapes when they were growing up, and now she believed he would do so again.

“Edward was so angry when we sailed,” she told Nick. “Amelia said if it had been a generation ago, he would have challenged Gerald to a duel. Even Richard told me he was disappointed in me,” she added, referring to their other brother, who was vicar of Westfield. “But, Nick, Gerald never did anything improper—on my honor, he didn’t! We only just kissed....” She felt herself blushing, remembering how close she’d come to ruin after Edward had stopped them from eloping to France. They’d get married in a little chapel in Paris, Gerald had promised, and it would be so romantic. Once they crossed the channel, her brother could do nothing to keep them apart, for she would be his wife. A widower, he’d had many love affairs before her, but Gerald insisted she was the love of his life.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that, little sister,” Nick told her. “For now, let me thank Raleigh.”

She released him and watched as Nick strode over to Masterson and shook his hand.

“Much obliged to you for bringing them here, Raleigh,” she heard him say. “How’d you manage that? We weren’t sure when they’d arrive.”

“Happy to do it, Nick,” Raleigh assured him. He shrugged. “It just so happened I got to town right after that rascally stagecoach driver from Lampasas refused to take them to the ranch. Well, I’d better get going—I’ve got chores waiting.”

She marveled at their informality. Nick was a ranch owner, and Raleigh merely an employee at the neighboring ranch, but there was no standing on ceremony in Texas, no order of precedence to worry about. No “my lord,” and “my lady.” Yes, she was going to like it here.

“Goodbye, Miss Brookfield,” Raleigh said, fingering the brim of his hat again. “Reckon I’ll see you around, too, bein’ as we’re neighbors and all. Maybe you’ll be at church come Sunday?”

She blinked in surprise. This handsome cowboy attended church? Her own churchgoing consisted of listening to the local vicar droning on and on from the raised pulpit in the centuries-old Norman chapel at home. Gerald boasted of never attending divine service, preferring to sleep late after nights at card parties and balls during the Season. She could not imagine Raleigh in a fancy frock coat and hat such as gentlemen wore in England when attending church.

“Perhaps,” she murmured, wondering if Milly and Nick rode all that way from the ranch to the small church she’d seen in Simpson Creek every Sunday.

“And you’ll have to meet the ladies of the Spinsters’ Club. They’re nice, and they’ll enjoy making your acquaintance, too.”

It would be nice to make some friends while she was here, Violet thought. “I look forward to meeting them,” she told Raleigh. And seeing you again. If Raleigh was half as good-looking in a frock coat as he was in everyday cowboy clothing, he would provide quite an inspirational figure for her novel.

That wasn’t being disloyal to Gerald, was it?

Chapter Three

Raleigh was thoughtful as he drove the wagon back into town and retrieved Blue from the livery. The Honorable Miss Violet Brookfield—he grinned at the fanciful title—was certainly the most beautiful lady he’d ever clapped eyes on, from the tip of her dainty laced-up boots to the fetching hat atop her golden hair.

He wondered how long she’d be visiting the Brookfields, and whether her dragon of a brother was staying as long as she was. The oh-so-proper Englishman sure hadn’t liked his sister talking to the likes of him. Not that he blamed the fellow. If he had a sister as beautiful as Miss Violet, he reckoned he’d watch her like a hawk, too. He knew there were plenty of men who’d be so tempted by her that they’d do anything to possess her, even for a little while.

On the trail to Abilene and back, Nick Brookfield had never mentioned his privileged background or put on airs, but it had been obvious from the viscount and his sister’s clothing and speech that the English Brookfields were as wealthy as they were aristocratic. But Miss Violet had that same lack of pretentiousness that Nick had, Raleigh thought. Just look at how she had come right up to him in town, smiling at him as if he was some knight in shining armor when he’d agreed to help them.

He glanced down at his clothing and chuckled. Even considering his new shirt, his clothing was about as far from shining armor as it could get.

With her wealth and beauty, Violet Brookfield would be a prize for some lucky gent back home in England. She’d probably left a string of beaux there, if not one special suitor. Yet she was no flirt. Raleigh sensed an innocence about her that was very appealing to him.

It didn’t matter, though, because they were of completely different worlds. He was just a cowboy, even if he had risen to trail boss and foreman of Colliers’ Roost. He got a little more pay than the rest of the Colliers’ Roost cowhands, but he slept in the bunkhouse same as they did.

A lot of cowboys never married, and the only women they were comfortable around were the ones in saloons and worse. But Raleigh had decided those women weren’t an option for him—not after that stampede just before they reached Abilene. The Lord had been trying to get Raleigh’s attention for quite a while—during the turmoil and danger of the war, in which he’d fought for the Confederacy, and in that incident when he’d nearly been hanged for something he didn’t do in Blanco. But He’d finally succeeded in the midst of the stampede that had changed Raleigh’s life forever.

Violet Brookfield would return to England one day. In the meantime, he’d have to be content to see her at church, or on the rare occasions that the Brookfields visited their neighbors, the Colliers. It would have to be enough.

And yet he longed to have a wife and children and a piece of land to call his own. His brushes with death had given him a hunger for something more permanent than the life he’d been living.

Maybe someday he could find a Texas version of the Englishwoman. But in the meantime, he thought about what Miss Violet had said about her love of riding.

She’d need a horse for the time she was here, and from what he knew of the Brookfield horses, none would suit her. It was a well-known fact that Milly’s Ruby wouldn’t let anyone on her back but Milly. But he thought he might just have the solution to her need—and it would be the perfect excuse to see her again.

* * *

“Edward, your letter troubled me, of course,” Nick said that night after Violet and Milly had gone to bed, and the two men were alone in the comfortable parlor. “I wanted to sail to England and beat the fellow into a bloody pulp. He’d already begun this sort of behavior when I was on furlough from India, as I recall.”

“Yes...but these are modern times, and one can’t merely get out the dueling pistols, select a second and show up on some patch of green at dawn to blow a hole in the cad,” Edward said.

“Pity,” Nick agreed, knowing his eldest brother’s dry wit was a shield for the protective fury he felt because the scoundrel had come close to ruining their innocent younger sister.

Nick began, “You don’t think—”

“That the blasted roué had already seduced her?” Edward finished for him. “No, I don’t, though it was a close thing. Violet’s incensed at me, of course, for making her give back the hunter and separating the two of them by an ocean.

“I’m sure she thinks I’m worrying over nothing,” Edward went on, “as she firmly believes Gerald Lullington’s blather, even though I could give her chapter and verse on Lullington’s amours.”

“You don’t believe Lullington would dare come to Texas in pursuit of Violet, do you?”

Edward gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s far more likely that upon my return home I’ll hear that he’s already hot on the trail of another impressionable, gullible young miss with a sufficient fortune to repair his tumbledown wreck of a castle and pay off his debts at the gaming establishments in London. He still needs an heir, you know—that sickly lad of his isn’t likely to make old bones. Still, in the unlikely event he did show up here, I know I may count on you to take care of the matter.”

“Indeed. He’d never even get close,” Nick promised, looking Edward in the eye.

“Good man.” Edward steepled his fingers and looked thoughtful. “I don’t think she’ll do anything foolish while she’s here, Nick. She’s expressed excitement about being in Texas—fancies herself an authoress, you know. Wants to write novels about the Old West. Who knows if she’ll succeed, but I’d vastly prefer her having the reputation of being a bluestocking to her being one of the blasted earl’s many ruined conquests. I think this time in Texas will be good for her, and she’ll return to England having realized what a big mistake she nearly made.”

* * *

My love for Gerald is not a mistake, Violet thought, frozen in the hallway only a few feet away. She clapped a hand over her own mouth to smother the impulse to storm in and inform Edward just how wrong he was about Gerald. She’d been padding down the hallway in her bare feet on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water and approached the parlor just in time to overhear Edward and Nick talking about her.

It wouldn’t do any good to argue with Edward again, she thought miserably. She knew her brother loved her and wanted only her good, but he was completely mistaken about Gerald. Edward didn’t believe a man such as Gerald could be changed by love, but Gerald had changed. She was sure of it. Why would he have given her a ring, if he hadn’t meant to love her only and forever? She felt for it now on its golden chain beneath her nightgown and wrapper, and was reassured by the solid feel of it. It wasn’t the big Lullington signet ring with its cabochon ruby, but a smaller copy he’d had as a boy that would fit her smaller finger. Of course she hadn’t dared to wear it openly, and Edward didn’t suspect she had it.

She heard Nick ask Edward if he thought it possible Gerald would come after her.

How romantic, if Gerald followed her across the Atlantic and stole her away! It would be like some medieval knight storming his enemy’s castle walls to rescue his chosen bride.

In her heart, though, she knew Gerald wouldn’t do so. He couldn’t, poor dear. Her brothers thought she didn’t know her love’s financial condition, but she did. He couldn’t afford to leave England right now while his business affairs were so time-consuming. He’d had some setbacks, true, but he’d given up gambling for her sake and was well on the way to restoring his fortune. He’d told her he would use the time they were parted to solidify his holdings and do some redecorating of Lullington Castle so it would be a fitting residence for her when she arrived there as his bride.

She’d be happy to give him control of her money when they were married. They’d use it to make his string of racehorses the pride of England. They’d win the Epsom Derby and every other race, and perhaps even come to America to compete. The Lullington stud would be world-famous for breeding champion racehorses and hunters.

She’d give Nick and Milly no cause for worry while she was here, Violet resolved. She and Gerald would bide their time, and when she returned to England, their reunion would be gloriously romantic. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it? They’d write beautiful, romantic letters, and their love would blossom on the pages they exchanged.

She only hoped Nick wouldn’t make it difficult for her to mail them. She’d manage, after Edward departed, even if she had to use all her ingenuity. After all, she had enough money for postage, if not to book passage back home. She’d spotted the post office when they’d driven through Simpson Creek.

Violet was about to tiptoe back to her room so her eavesdropping wouldn’t be discovered, but then she heard Nick ask, “So, how long can you stay with us? The longer, the better, for Milly adores you, of course, and loves having company, but I know Amelia will be missing you.”

Edward sighed. “Only until Saturday, I’m afraid. I trust you won’t mind conveying me back to Lampasas Saturday afternoon for the stagecoach? It leaves at the awful hour of six Sunday morning back to Austin. I’ve some business to conduct in New York before I sail home, and I’m to present a bill in the House of Lords.... By the by, Amelia and I wish you could come home for a visit one day, you know.”

“I’d like that, too, someday. Money’s still a bit tight, though we made a handsome profit on the cattle in Abilene, thanks to Raleigh Masterson, the fellow who brought you out here. He was in charge of the trail drive—the ‘trail boss,’ as the others called him.”

“He mentioned something about that,” Edward remarked.

“He knows longhorns,” Nick said, respect in his voice. “They’re the wiliest, most unpredictable and contrary beasts alive, but he knew how to handle them.”

“I believe he found our sister quite captivating,” Edward said then, an edge to his voice. “He looked at her as if she was Venus reborn.”

He had? Violet found herself grinning in the darkness. She’d thought she’d seen admiration in Raleigh Masterson’s eyes, but to hear her brother put it the way he had was even more thrilling. Not that she wanted any man but Gerald, of course, but any girl would be flattered to know a man like Raleigh appreciated her.

“He’d have to be blind not to,” Nick said. “Violet was all eyes and legs, like a spindly filly, when I was last home, but she’s grown quite beautiful. Puts me in mind of that portrait of Mother that hangs on the landing at Greyshaw Hall.”