Hill Country Cattleman

“She does favor Mother, doesn’t she? But you’re saying I needn’t worry about Masterson pressing...shall we say ‘inappropriate attentions’ on Violet once I leave?” Edward asked.

Again, she heard that edge in his voice.

“Raleigh? Of course not.”

Edward gave an inelegant snort. “He’s not a saint, is he? Any man could be tempted by a lovely female, lady or not, and Violet can be impulsive, you know. She walked directly up to him in the street.”

Again, Violet had to suppress the urge to dash into the parlor and read Edward the riot act, but she checked herself. It was true that an eavesdropper never hears any good about oneself. And she wanted to hear how Nick would respond.

“I might have agreed with you before we went on the cattle drive, Edward,” Nick said. “Drovers are known to be rather a wild lot, especially when they get to town after a long cattle drive. But something happened to Raleigh on the trail...something that’s changed him. For the better.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, if you see him again before you leave?”

“Perhaps I shall, if the opportunity presents itself. But for now, I think I’ll seek my bed. Between the stagecoach and that buckboard wagon, I feel jolted into powder.”

Nick chuckled. “I imagine you do. But then you are getting along in years, brother....”

“You always were an impertinent pup.” It was affectionately said.

Violet barely had time to scramble silently back to her room and close the door as quietly as she could before she heard the two men enter the hallway she’d just left. She had to stifle a giggle. How embarrassing it would have been if they’d caught her listening to them talking about her.

She waited till later, after the house had grown quiet again, to go get the glass of water she’d wanted. In the meantime, she entertained herself by wondering what had happened on the trail drive to change Raleigh Masterson “for the better,” as Nick had said. Perhaps she’d ask him about that, if they got a chance to talk again.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t affected Masterson’s ability to know a pretty woman when he saw one, she thought, smiling in the dark.

Later, her thirst quenched, she mentally planned a letter to Gerald. She’d tell him all about their journey, and the exotic flora and fauna she’d seen, and the beautiful blue roan stallion the cowboy had ridden. She’d write nothing at all about the cowboy himself, of course. There was no point in making Gerald fear he had a rival for her affections, after all. Raleigh Masterson would merely be the model for her book’s hero, and what a hero he would make! He would fairly light up the pages of her manuscript.

It wasn’t Gerald who appeared in her dreams that night, though. It was Raleigh Masterson.

* * *

Violet first felt a tentative touch on her cheek, so light a moth’s wing might have made it. She started to brush it away, thinking a moth might well have landed on her in the night, but before she could, she felt a more insistent poke, like that made by a small child’s finger. A sticky finger, at that. She caught the scent of strawberries.

“Mornin’, An’ Vi’let,” a childish voice said by her ear.

Violet opened a tentative eye to see little Nick staring at her, his face only inches from hers. She’d fallen asleep with her arm hanging over the edge of the bed, and now her nephew stood right by her, watching her curiously.

Sunlight streamed through the east-facing window, little hindered by the sheer muslin curtains, illuminating the jam smeared on both of the child’s cheeks. His brown hair was tousled.

“Good morning, little Nick,” she said, amused by the sight of him. “Already had breakfast, have you?”

He scowled. “Not lil’. Big boy,” he informed her.

Just then Milly bustled into the room. “So that’s where you’ve gotten, Nicky! I’m so sorry, Violet. I told Nicky he had to be quiet out in the kitchen because his aunt was sleeping, and when I went to get a cloth to wipe his face, he took that as a hint he was to come wake you.”

“It’s all right,” Violet assured her. “I normally don’t sleep past dawn.”

“You must have been tired after your journey,” Milly said, then chuckled. “The last time I went somewhere in a stagecoach, I thought my brains would rattle right out of my head.”

“An’ Vi’let ’wake!” crowed little Nick.

“Yes, she is, thanks to you,” agreed his mother. “Now come with me and let me wipe off your face and hands, Nicky. I declare, you have more jam on your face than you swallowed. Violet, come out to the kitchen for breakfast when you’re ready. No need to hurry.”

Violet smiled as she watched them go. She quite liked Milly, she’d decided. Her brother had chosen well. Such a romantic story, his coming to this part of Texas to meet the woman who had placed a newspaper advertisement for eligible bachelors, and losing his heart to her. To think she’d been running the ranch with only her sister and a few cowboys before that! She must have had considerable spirit to have coped with it all. The very day Nick had arrived in Simpson Creek, Edward told her, the ranch had suffered a savage Indian attack. It was just as exciting as the novel she planned to write.

Little Nick was appealing, too, she decided. He had his father’s smile and adventurousness, but his dark eyes were shaped just like Milly’s. Hearing him call her “An’ Vi’let” had quite won her heart.

Hearing her brothers’ voices in the kitchen, she decided to get dressed rather than appear in her nightgown and wrapper. She picked the simplest dress she’d brought, a flower-sprigged cotton more suited to the heat of Texas than her traveling ensemble yesterday had been. She twisted her long blond hair into a knot at her nape.

“Good morning,” she wished them all when she entered the kitchen and seated herself at the long, rough-hewn table.

Nick looked up from the newspaper he’d been showing Edward. “Good morning, Violet. I hope you found your room comfortable?”

“Perfectly,” she replied. It was certainly different from her tower room at home with its flocked wallpaper and Aubusson carpet and the ancient, canopied bed. But she rather liked the guest room’s simple whitewashed walls, the bed with its brass-railed headboard, blue-ticking mattress and muslin sheets. By the bed, there was a braided-rag rug she suspected Milly had made herself. There were pegs on the wall for some of her dresses, a chiffonier for her other clothing. By the bed stood a small table with a lamp, a basin and ewer, and Milly had brought in a vase full of the same pretty Indian paintbrush flowers she had seen on the ride out from town.

“Thank you, Milly,” she murmured now as her sister-in-law placed a plateful of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast in front of her. “I trust you slept well, Edward? You and Nick didn’t stay up talking too late?” she inquired innocently.

“I slept very well,” he said.

Was there suspicion in his eyes? Had he heard that floorboard creak just before she’d reached her room?

She ate her breakfast in silence, listening to the two men talk about politics in England, but just as Edward finished verbally dissecting Disraeli, Violet heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching the house from the direction of the road. She lifted an edge of the curtains back just in time to see Raleigh Masterson dismounting from his blue roan. Violet felt her pulse quicken at the sight of the good-looking cowboy.

He held a rope attached to the halter of another horse, too, a striking black-and-white piebald perhaps a hand shorter than his mount. As she watched, he tied the rope to the hitching post by the house.

Milly glanced out the window, too. “Well, well...if it isn’t your driver from yesterday,” she murmured, eyeing Violet, who strove mightily to look as if the arrival of Masterson held not the least importance.

“Mornin’, everyone,” Raleigh said as he came through the door, but his eyes went directly to Violet.

“Good morning, Mr. Masterson,” she said. “I thought you’d be hard at work already, busting broncos,” she said lightly. “Isn’t that what they call horse breaking here in Texas?”

He grinned. “So you’ve been picking up the Western lingo,” he said. “No, at the moment we’ve no broncs to bust. But you’ll want a horse to ride, and after asking your brother ’bout an hour ago if it was all right—” he nodded at Nick “—I decided to bring over a horse from my own string I thought might be perfect for you while you’re here. Why don’t you come see her and tell me what you think?”

He’d brought the piebald mare for her.

Violet scrambled out of her seat with unladylike haste and fairly flew to the door and threw it open. Then she whirled and looked back at the smiling cowboy.

“You’re not joking with me, are you? Oh, Raleigh, she’s lovely!” Violet cried, forgetting she shouldn’t address him by his first name in front of Edward. She started to run outside, but realized she must not frighten a strange horse by dashing at it and squealing.

The mare looked up from the grass she had been nibbling, faced Violet with calm, kind eyes and nickered, her ears pricked toward her.

Violet approached slowly. “Oh, yes, you are lovely, aren’t you?” she crooned, reaching up a hand to stroke the horse’s velvety nose. The horse snuffled softly, seeming to savor her touch, then stamped her hoof.

“She likes sweets,” Raleigh said, following her outside. The others had come, too, but remained under the sheltered porch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, then unfolded it to reveal a couple of lumps of sugar.

Violet took them from him and offered them to the mare on her flattened palm. She smiled as the horse lipped the lumps delicately from her hand. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” she said. She loved the horse’s bold coloring. The mare’s head was all black but for a narrow blaze, and her body was black, too, but with big white irregularly shaped patches scattered over her shoulders and flanks.

She stroked her neck, and the mare responded by arching it proudly.

“Are we friends now? Oh, Raleigh, I like her! What is she called? Where does she come from?”

“Lady. She was one of my string of horses on the trail drive, so I know she’s well-trained and reliable. I’d be right proud for you to borrow her while you’re here, Miss Violet.”

“Lady,” Violet repeated, and the horse bobbed her head as if to agree. “You know your name, don’t you? She looks like an Indian pony,” she said. “I’ve heard they favor piebald horses.”

“Yes, but we Texans use the Spanish term pinto, or paint, not piebald. You can use that saddle, there,” Nick said, pointing to a lady-size stock saddle that straddled the porch railing farther down.

Violet darted a look at Edward. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth a thin tight line.

“Ladies do not ride astride,” he proclaimed indignantly. “It’s not decent. She needs a sidesaddle.”

But Milly had come out behind him, and held out a divided skirt. “Violet can be perfectly respectable in this. It’s mine, but you can use it until I can make you one of your own, Violet.”

“You’re too kind,” Violet said, amazed at her sister-in-law’s generosity. “But I’m afraid I’d be keeping you from riding. That’s your saddle, isn’t it?”

Milly smiled. “I don’t get much chance to ride these days, what with Nicky, here,” she said, nodding at the boy, who was holding on to her skirt. “And keeping house and all. But if I do, I’m just as apt to hop on Ruby, out yonder—” she pointed at a red roan mare in the corral by the barn “—bareback.” She grinned at Edward. “Sorry if I’ve scandalized you, dear brother-in-law. Nick was a little surprised, too, until he saw how much fun it was to ride double, bareback.” She winked at Violet.

Violet couldn’t help grinning back. She saw that Nick was smiling as if at a fond memory, and she became newly aware of how much in love these two still were. It was the kind of love she yearned to experience herself. She and Gerald would have that kind of love someday, she promised herself.

Edward just shook his head and shrugged. “I suppose that would be all right, but don’t plan on bringing these hoydenish Texas ways home with you, Violet.” His lips curved upward, though, as he nodded toward Milly, which softened his words.

“I can’t wait to try her. Might I do that this morning, Raleigh? If I’m not keeping you from things you need to attend to, that is?”

He nodded. “The boss gave me the morning off. There’s nothing that can’t wait. I’ll just take her out to the barn and tack her up while you change your clothes.”

“Oh, no, I want to saddle her,” Violet said. “I don’t wish to cause you more work, and a proper horsewoman prepares her own mount. I merely need you to show me where everything is kept in the stable and make sure I do it correctly the first time, since it’s a new type of saddle to me.” She’d done her own saddling and bridling at Greyshaw once she persuaded the stable boys her brother would never know. She realized that by saying so, she revealed the fact that she had taken over the stableboy’s job at home, but it was too late to retract her statement now. And seeing the approval in Raleigh’s eyes, she didn’t even want to.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she said, taking the skirt from Milly.

Half an hour later, wearing the divided skirt and a floppy-brimmed straw hat Milly had loaned her to protect her complexion, Violet had bridled and saddled Lady herself under Raleigh’s tutelage. She’d found the Western saddle a lot heavier than its English counterpart, and harder to lift gently onto the mare’s back, but Lady stood calmly as she did so. She patiently swished her tail as Raleigh taught Violet how to tighten and secure the girth, then she dropped her head and accepted the bridle with grave dignity.

“Oh, you are a lady, aren’t you? I can see how you got your name,” Violet cooed at her, and Lady again favored her with a friendly look from her deep, dark eyes. Violet was already halfway in love with this horse, and if the mare’s manners when ridden matched her behavior when merely being petted, she’d be a fabulous mount indeed.

“This mare has a soft mouth, Miss Violet,” Raleigh said. “You’ll never need a whip or spurs with this horse, just your knees and heels, and not much of the latter. Western horses usually neck rein, rather than bit rein,” he added, making gestures to show her that she’d hold the reins in one hand instead of two, with the pressure against the neck of the horse, rather than pulling the rein in the direction one wished to go. “That’s because cowboys often have to use the other hand to throw a rope, or shoot a gun,” he added matter-of-factly.

Violet nodded, absorbing all this. No doubt these details would come in handy for her manuscript.

Lady was not as tall as a thoroughbred, so Violet didn’t need a mounting block. Just as well, for she didn’t see one anywhere.

“You can put her through her paces in that open stretch just beyond the corral,” Raleigh suggested, and settled himself on the top rail to watch.

She found everything the cowboy had said about the mare was true. She was a “sweet goer,” as the hunting set would have said, responding to the lightest of neck and knee pressure to change direction as Violet directed her. She walked and backed and did figures-of-eight with the merest of cues. Her trot was smooth—which was fortunate, since Raleigh told her cowboys “sat the trot,” rather than posting. Her canter had an easy, rocking-horse quality to it.

When she and Lady came near the house again, Violet saw that Raleigh was still perched on the corral fence, watching her ride, and he’d been joined by Milly and her brothers, though Edward stood rather than sit on the top rail. She felt suddenly self-conscious, and checked to make sure her heels were down, her posture correct.

But she saw nothing but admiration in his eyes.

“Well, what did you think of her?” Raleigh asked after she’d ridden Lady over to the corral and dismounted.

“She’s perfect! So smooth and well-mannered. I’ll love riding her while I’m here.”

“Be careful, Raleigh, or she’ll try and talk you out of that horse by the end of her visit,” advised Nick wryly.

Violet grinned, finding the idea of showing off the piebald—pinto, she corrected herself—mare in England even more appealing than the blue roan had been. The hunt would be scandalized at the horse’s gaudy color, and she’d be a sensation. She’d start a fashion for paint ponies.

“Perhaps we could work out a trade,” Nick said with a wink. “Greyshaw’s best thoroughbred for one Indian pony.”

Edward snorted. “Highly unlikely. Where’d you learn horse trading, brother?”

“Well, I suppose I’d better get started on the noon meal,” Milly said. “I left beans simmering, but the rest of it sure won’t cook itself. Raleigh, don’t be a stranger,” she said, waving at the cowboy and turning to go back to the kitchen.

“I won’t—oh, hey, Miss Milly, I nearly forgot. Miss Caroline wanted me to ask y’all to come over to have supper with them tonight. I’d told them about the arrival of Nick’s English family, and they were eager to meet them, if y’all hadn’t any other plans, that is.”

“Why, that would be purely delightful!” Milly exclaimed. “Violet, you’ll love the Colliers. Raleigh, tell Miss Caroline we’ll start over about five, all right?”

Violet released the breath she’d been holding until Milly gave her answer, but hid the delight surging through her. She’d get another chance to see Raleigh—twice in the same day! She firmly squelched the voice within her that said it shouldn’t matter.

“Yes, ma’am.” He fingered the brim of his hat to Milly.

Now it was safe, and even appropriate, to smile up at him. “Raleigh, thank you so much for the loan of your horse,” she said. “I promise I’ll take good care of Lady.”

“You’re a right fine rider, Miss Violet,” he said, touching the brim of his cap to her.

His compliment warmed her, for she sensed this man didn’t give them lightly.

“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to add, “I’ll see you later, Raleigh,” but Edward was still present, and besides, she had no way of knowing if the foreman of the Colliers’ ranch took his meals with his employer and his wife, or not.

But one could hope so, she thought as she watched Raleigh mount and canter away. Oh, yes, she certainly hoped so.

Chapter Four

She should go help Milly prepare the meal, Violet thought after Raleigh and his roan had disappeared down the road. But a proper horsewoman always saw to her mount’s unsaddling, unbridling and rubbing-down before anything else.

“I’ll take care of her for you, Miss Violet,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned to see a towheaded, lanky young cowboy coming from the direction of the bunkhouse. He blushed as she focused on him, but continued gamely, “I’m Bobby Gibson, one of the cowhands. I’m sure you’ll meet the rest later, but they’re all out in the fields, tendin’ th’ stock, ’ceptin’ my uncle Josh, and he’s cookin’ beans and biscuits in the bunkhouse.”

“Nice to meet you, Bobby,” she said. “And I’ll take advantage of your kind offer, this once, since today I should like to help Milly with the cooking.”

After giving Lady a last pat, she washed her hands at the outside pump. How could water in such a hot sunny climate be so cold? It must be a very deep well indeed.

At Greyshaw, she would have nothing more to do than plan her ensemble and daydream about the coming evening until the bell for luncheon rang, Violet thought while she changed her clothes. But perhaps if she kept herself busy, the hours until she could see the handsome cowboy would not be so endless. Besides, she didn’t want to look like Nick’s spoiled, lazy sister while his wife worked so hard.

Finding her sister-in-law in the kitchen, she said, “Please, may I help you? I’d quite like to.” Would Milly allow it? At home, Cook ruled the roost in the Greyshaw kitchens and no “outsiders”—even the family who paid her salary—were welcome in her little bailiwick.

Milly looked surprised, but she smiled. “You don’t have to, but I’d welcome the company. Go tie on that spare apron over yonder,” she said, pointing to that item hanging from a hook on the wall.

“I must confess I’m totally out of my element here,” she admitted to Milly. “Cook’s quite the dictator belowstairs at home. But I would love to learn to cook, especially Texas specialties.”

“Well, Texas cooking is pretty uncomplicated compared to what you’re probably used to,” Milly said, “but we also eat a lot of dishes the first settlers picked up from the Mexicans. Today we’re having one of those—enchiladas. And the beans I started earlier, too.”

In no time, Violet learned to brown the meat, roll it up in the soft tortillas and lay them next to one another in a pair of rectangular baking pans, then mix the spicy sauce and pour it over the rolled-up tortillas. Milly sprinkled on some cheese and stuck the dishes into the oven to bake.

“Does Bobby’s uncle Josh do all the cooking for the cowboys?” Violet asked while they set the table. What they had prepared was clearly only enough for the family.

“Most of it, though I took him some of the beans earlier, and when I bake bread I share the loaves with them. He’s been the foreman here since I was a little girl, but now that he’s getting along in years, the other men do most of the work and he just supervises and handles the cooking. He cooks a lot of chili and ‘son-of-’—that is, um...I suppose we should call it ‘cowboy stew.’ The actual title is most unsuitable for a lady’s ears. I guess I’ve developed some careless habits of speech out here with all these rough men.”

Violet grinned. She loved Milly’s genuineness and lack of airs.

They drank cold tea while they waited for the enchiladas to cook. It didn’t take long for the appetizing aroma to pervade the kitchen. Edward wandered back in from a stroll around the ranch and sat down with them.

“Mmm,” Violet breathed. “If that dish tastes as good as it smells, I believe I’ll take the recipe home and teach Cook a thing or two.

“It wouldn’t hurt the old tyrant to add to her cooking repertoire,” Edward agreed. “I had them when I was here before and found the dish quite tasty.”

* * *

On the way home from the Brookfields’ ranch, Raleigh decided not to join the others at the Colliers’ table tonight, but to keep to his normal practice of taking his meals with the rest of the men in the bunkhouse. He’d never felt he was superior to those over whom he’d been made foreman—he’d been one of them until his boss had promoted him. Cookie’s grub suited him fine, as a rule.

Of course, he had a standing invitation to meals with Jack and his wife whenever he wanted to join them, and he did so when he had ranch business to discuss with his boss. He figured if he’d been sparking one of the Simpson Creek girls, Miss Caroline would be more than happy to promote the romance by inviting them both to supper.

But Miss Violet—Lady Violet, as he liked to think of her—was no local girl. And while he could invite himself for a meal with the Colliers anytime he liked, sitting down at supper where Miss Violet and her brother were the guests of honor would be a whole different matter. The Englishwoman’s proper, stuffy brother would glare at him like he was a skunk at a picnic. And he wasn’t sure Nick Brookfield would be pleased to know Raleigh was attracted to his sister, either. He’d taken to Texas like a duck to water, but he probably had higher ambitions for Violet—like marriage to a duke, if not a prince.

So he’d make himself scarce when the Brookfields came calling at Colliers’ Roost at suppertime. Perhaps he’d get to see Lady Violet out riding his mare one day. And for now he could remember how she had blushed with pleasure when he had complimented her riding.

What he wouldn’t give to be the one to make her blush like that on a regular basis. Dream on, cowboy.

* * *

Violet couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed an evening more. Caroline Wallace Collier was a natural hostess, and soon even Edward was smiling and praising her cooking. And when Caroline, who’d been the town schoolteacher until she’d married Jack Collier, discovered Violet was an avid reader, she’d begun talking about books a mile a minute, asking Violet what she’d read, offering to loan volumes from her library and asking if Violet had brought any reading with her.