A Texan's Honor (15 page)

“You ready for the next horse?”

Surprised, she turned around to see Jem standing next to her with a brown gelding. She'd forgotten she was to ride a different horse each time. “Sorry. I wasn't paying attention.”

“Lonnie says that piebald is just as useless as he was an hour ago,” Jem said, “but it looks to me like he's going more kindly.”

“It looks that way to me, too,” Emily said. “Maybe I'll have to try this embarrassment theory the next time I get a horse like the piebald.” Jem held both horses while Emily dismounted from the mare, then mounted the gelding.

Jem scrunched up his face in a puzzled expression. “You think it'll work?”

“It's worth a try. Nothing I did worked.”

Jem shaded his eyes against the sun when he looked up at Emily. “Bret seems real nice. I don't know why Lonnie is against him.”

Jem was a top hand, dependable as well as capable, but he was satisfied to be right where he was. He had no reason to be jealous of Bret.

“He's coming back,” Jem said.

“How'd the piebald do this time?” Emily asked when Bret reached her.

“A little better. I can't decide whether he knows what he's supposed to do and doesn't want to do it, or if he simply hasn't figured it out.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “That sounds like a description of some people I know. Even myself on occasion.”

“I can't imagine you ever not knowing what you wanted to do or being reluctant to do it.”

Bret looked away from Emily. “I've spent most of my life in that position.” He patted the piebald's neck. “Maybe that's why I think I know what's going on in this big fella's head.”

Emily decided she didn't know how many more revelations she could take in one morning. “Should Jem saddle another horse?”

“Let's keep going as long as the longhorn doesn't go completely crazy on us.”

Emily told herself to concentrate on her work, but the gelding was as thoroughly trained as the mare. If the longhorn hadn't been about ready to jump the fence, she wouldn't have had anything to do but think of Bret's revelations.

From what she knew of him, it was nearly impossible to believe there'd ever been a time when he didn't know what he wanted to do or was reluctant to do it. He'd made his goals very clear from the moment
they met. She didn't understand how what he was doing now would achieve that goal, but she had no doubt he had a plan. How, then, could he consider himself indecisive?

That brought her back to what she kept telling herself: She didn't know much about him. There was something about him that felt honest, straightforward, unwilling to lie or deal in subterfuge. Maybe he was telling her about some tough times in his life in order to gain her sympathy, but they weren't the kind of stories most men told about themselves. Rather than build himself up, the stories sometimes revealed weaknesses or faults. And the only people he appeared to like and admire—possibly love—were his adopted family in Texas.

If he liked his family in Texas so much and disliked his family in Boston, why had he never moved back to Texas?

“I don't see why we need to show him around the ranch,” Lonnie said to Emily. “He's not going to stay here.”

“It would be rude not to,” Emily said. “He helped me with the piebald, after all.”

“Just because he can make that stubborn horse look a cow in the eye doesn't mean he knows anything about a ranch.”

“Charlie valued his opinion.”

“Charlie doesn't have to put up with him.”

They were waiting by the corral while Bret saddled his horse. Emily was certain that part of Lonnie's irritation was because Bret had picked out her best horse even though he'd never ridden any of them, a big mouse-gray gelding with a reputation for being hard to handle. Lonnie had warned him, but Bret said he'd like to try him anyway.

“He's a guest,” Emily told Lonnie. “You will treat him with courtesy.”

After his work with the piebald, the cowhands
were willing to accept Bret as an equal. That seemed to irk Lonnie even more.

“I hope he doesn't stay long,” Lonnie said. “I've got too much to do to be mollycoddling some tenderfoot.”

“You don't have to go with us,” Emily said.

“You think I'd let you go traipsing all over the ranch alone with him?” Lonnie asked in amazement.

“What could happen?”

“No telling with a man like him.”

In fact, Emily was wishing Bret wasn't quite so well-behaved. She didn't like being so strongly attracted to him, but she was even less happy that he didn't seem attracted to her. She was certain there were lots of more beautiful women in Boston, certainly more sophisticated and more knowledgeable, but she wasn't used to being ignored.

Bret emerged from the barn leading the gray.

“Wait until he gets in the saddle,” Lonnie said.

“He handled the piebald,” Emily reminded him. “I expect he'll do fine with the gray as well.”

“I really appreciate your taking the time to show me around,” Bret said to both of them when he came up beside them. “I know you have work you'd rather be doing.”

“I plan on enjoying the ride,” Emily said. “I haven't gotten away much since Dad got sick.”

Lonnie moved quickly to help her into the saddle before Bret had a chance to offer. She was annoyed, because she'd enjoyed the experience of Bret lifting her into the saddle as though it were easy to do. She gathered the reins, settled into the saddle, and waited for Bret to mount the gray. Lonnie was waiting, too. Emily thought she could detect a smile in Bret's expression.

When Bret started to put his foot in the stirrup, the gray sidled away from him. When it happened a second
time, Bret led the horse to the corral and positioned him next to the fence. The gray tried to bolt when Bret mounted up, but Bret quickly tightened the reins.

“Don't be so anxious,” Bret said to the horse. “You'll have plenty of chances to show your stuff.”

“He likes to make mounting him as difficult as possible,” Emily said. “Most of the hands don't like riding him.”

Bret patted the gray on the neck. The horse responded by throwing his head about, fighting for control. “You've been getting off easy,” Bret said to the horse. “I'll see what I can do about that.” And with a few more words, he got the gray to settle down and trot peacefully alongside Emily's mare.

Emily knew she shouldn't have been amused to see Lonnie forced to swallow his anger, but his dislike of Bret was unfair. Maybe Lonnie wasn't able to separate the messenger from the message. She disliked the thought of having to move to Boston, but it was impossible to dislike Bret.

“Dad controls well over a hundred thousand acres,” Emily said as they rode away from the ranch buildings.

“It's closer to two hundred thousand,” Lonnie said.

“That's a lot of land,” Bret observed.

“Mr. Abercrombie is a very wealthy man,” Lonnie said.

Once Lonnie got started talking about the ranch, he gradually forgot his dislike of Bret. Emily realized he was trying to impress Bret with her father's wealth; even she didn't know some of the things Lonnie was saying. She'd been so busy taking care of her father and training her horses, she hadn't fully understood the vastness of her inheritance or all the problems of safeguarding it.

“Are you having much trouble with rustlers?” Bret asked.

“When you have as many cows as Mr. Abercrombie, there'll always be somebody trying to steal a few,” Lonnie said, making it seem as though it weren't a problem.

“Jake never liked it when he lost a single cow,” Bret said. “He said if anybody wanted a cow, they had the right to work hard enough to own one.”

“It's not worth the trouble trying to chase down every two-bit rustler,” Lonnie said. “We don't have the men or the time.”

They had been riding for over an hour and were well away from the ranch. Post oak, blackjack oak, elm, pecan, cottonwood, and ash bordered the creeks. The slopes of the flat-topped hills featured Spanish oak, live oak, and mountain juniper. The prairie was covered with a variety of grasses—big and little bluestem, Indian grass, Texas wintergrass, blue grama, and buffalo grass—that produced fat cows because her father refused to put more cows on the range than it could support. Emily could remember as a little girl riding through grass up to the belly of her horse.

“We've got the best grazing land in the area.” Lonnie waved his arm in a half circle, indicating grass-covered prairie that stretched to the horizon.

“We've had several offers to buy the ranch,” Emily said. “I'm not interested in selling, but folks seem to think I won't be able to hold on to it after Dad dies.”

“I'd be more worried about the rustling,” Bret said.

“We don't have much rustling, do we?” Emily asked Lonnie.

“More than I let on.” Lonnie's eyes became hooded.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Emily demanded.

“You had your hands full with your dad. Taking care of the rustling was my job.”

“What have you been doing about it?” she asked.

“I've got the boys on patrol.” Lonnie sounded defensive. “We haven't seen any signs of rustling lately.”

Emily wasn't satisfied with that answer, but she decided to wait until they got back to the ranch to question Lonnie further. She didn't like the idea of anyone stealing her father's cows.

Bret and Lonnie traded stories about rustling and what some ranchers had done to stop it. Emily was interested at first, but after a while it sounded like a game men played with each other. Her attention had begun to wander when Bret pulled up, his sentence unfinished.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Why isn't that calf wearing the same brand as the others?” Bret asked, pointing to a calf no more than three months old among a group of cows and calves. “I thought we were well within the limits of your father's land.”

Emily was confused, but Lonnie seemed agitated. “Maybe he got lost from his mother,” Lonnie said.

“There's one way to find out,” Bret said. “Let me use your rope.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Rope that calf. If its mother is anywhere around, she'll come running.”

“I don't like anybody using my rope,” Lonnie said.

“Fine. You rope him.”

Lonnie hesitated, and Emily wondered if he was afraid he couldn't rope the calf. Usually the cowhands did that kind of work, not the foreman.

“Here, use my rope,” Emily said, handing hers over to Bret. “Next time, bring one for yourself.”

Bret built a loop quickly and efficiently. The calf had moved away and broke into a run when Bret rode toward it. Emily found it exciting to watch him ride after the calf, sitting high in the saddle, the rope making a perfect circle in the air above his head.

“He's just showing off,” Lonnie said. “He's probably never roped a calf before in his life.”

Before Emily could remind Lonnie that Bret had spent nine years on a ranch, the rope settled over the calf's head, and Bret brought his horse to an abrupt stop.

“Then I guess he's doubly lucky today.” Emily was so anxious to reach Bret, she didn't bother to look back to see if Lonnie was following her. By the time she dismounted, Bret had wrestled the calf to the ground and was examining its brand.

“This definitely isn't the same brand as its mother is wearing.”

“How can you tell?” Lonnie asked as he joined them.

“Because the only cow that didn't disappear over the rise is wearing the Abercrombie brand. This calf isn't. How long ago did you brand your calves?”

“More than a month,” Emily said.

“I'd say this brand is fresh.”

Emily got down next to the calf. The brand was still surrounded by freshly burned hair.

“If you look really close,” Bret said, “you'll see the brand is uneven. Someone has put this new brand on over the old one.”

Emily had never looked at a brand in that way before, but it didn't take long before she could see exactly what Bret was talking about.

“Someone may be rustling your cows, but someone is also going through your herd rebranding calves.”

“So they won't have to worry about where to hide them,” Emily said. “Our hands will automatically
separate them out when it comes time to choose the steers to sell. But that doesn't make sense. How can they claim the steers without being identified as rustlers?”

“Once the calf is weaned, you won't be able to tell it's a false brand without killing the steer and looking at the underside of the hide. Any one of your neighbors could register that brand, claim their cows had strayed on your land over the years, and there'd be nothing you could do about it. Do you recognize that brand?”

“No. Lonnie, do you know it?”

Lonnie looked white, shook his head. “I've never seen it before.”

“What can we do about it?” Emily asked Bret.

“Several things, but we ought to talk to your father first. It's his ranch.”

“Lonnie and I make most of the decisions now,” Emily said. “We try to spare Dad as much as possible.”

“This is something he'll want to know about. But before we say anything, we ought to see if we can find any more calves bearing this new brand.”

It didn't take them long to find several others. But what disturbed Emily almost as much was finding the remains of a fire used to brand the calves.

“They've got plenty of nerve,” Bret said. “They're branding your calves on your own land, right out in the open.”

“It's impossible for us to watch all the grazing land all the time,” Lonnie said.

“I'm sure Mr. Abercrombie would have expected you to have discovered this before now. From the numbers we've seen, it's been going on for at least a month.”