Titled Texans: Educating Abbie Part 23

Her body was still warm from his touch; she felt almost as if she glowed, as if everyone could see and know what they had done. She wondered if Cam knew. More than once she caught him watching her, a contemplative look on his face. She shrugged off her embarra.s.sment. She wasn't going to be ashamed of what had happened with Reg. No matter what the future brought, she had tonight to treasure forever.

She served coffee to her guests, then stood on the porch and waved as they departed, Reg riding away with his brother. He gave her a last look that might have been mistaken for an apology. Abbie nodded to him, as if to signal she understood. Despite wis.h.i.+ng otherwise, she knew tonight had not changed what the future held for them not really. Reg had set a course for himself and, like a mule who would only drive forward, he wouldn't turn back for anything or anyone.

Maura went in to bed, but Abbie stayed out a while longer, gazing at the stars and brooding over the hopelessness of her situation with Reg. "Time changes everything," her father had always said. Would time ever take away this ache in her heart when she thought of Reg?

Banjo raised his head and a low growl rumbled in his chest. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he stared off into the darkness to Abbie's left. She caught her breath and tried to make out whatever it was that had alarmed the dog.

"It's just me, Abbie. Didn't mean to startle you."

All the breath rushed out of her as Alan moved out of the shadows. "I came back to talk to you," he said. "Alone."

She glanced at the house behind her. A single lamp burned by the front window where she'd left it. "Maura's already gone to bed," she said.

"Good." He stepped up onto the porch beside her and stood staring at his boots.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Maura, and reluctant to disturb the nighttime stillness.

He shoved his hands in his back pockets. "I have a special favor to ask of you." He raised his head and looked at her, but she couldn't read his expression in the dim light. "We've been friends a long time now, but lately, I've started thinking about you a little differently."

"Differently?" A nervous flutter raced through her stomach.

He shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but for some reason I've just now realized how much of a woman you are. Maybe it's the dresses you've started wearing or something else, but I don't think of you as one of the fellows anymore."

The flutter was practically a storm squall now. What was Alan trying to say? Heavens! He wasn't going to propose, was he? "Now, Alan, hold on a minute "

"Hear me out now, Abbie. I've been working up the courage all evening to talk to you. I sure don't want to have to go through it twice."

She swallowed and nodded. For years, she'd dreamed of this moment, longed for it, and now she waited in dread. It was all Reg's fault, too. He'd set out to teach her how to win Alan's love, and all he'd really done was teach her that she couldn't love anyone but Reg himself.

"Up until now, I've been content to live as a single man," Alan said. He rocked back on his heels. "I always figured I'd marry up when the right woman came along. Then one day, I was standing in your kitchen, and I knew I'd found the woman I've been waiting for."

She took a step back, until she was pressed up against the porch railing. "Alan, are you saying ?"

"I'm saying it's high time I got married. That's why I'm asking you "

Abbie thought she might faint. Her heart pounded as if she'd just run a footrace with a jackrabbit. "Oh, Alan, I'm flattered, I really am. But I think it's best is you and I remain friends "

He frowned, puzzled. "Of course we'll stay friends. That's why I thought of you in the first place. I couldn't ask just anybody, and it had to be a woman."

Her panic began to ebb, calmed by a heavy blanket of disappointment. If Alan was going to propose, couldn't he at least throw in a few declarations of love and undying devotion? Being chosen over 'just anybody' wasn't likely to warm any woman's heart. "I really don't think " she began.

He reached out and took her hand, clasping it between both of his own. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for the words she was sure would come next. "Abbie, I want you to plead my case to Maura. Convince her to marry me."

Her eyes flew open. "Maura?" she managed to croak.

He dropped her hand. "I've been crazy in love with her almost from the moment I laid eyes on her. But she's used to fancy English gentlemen. I want you to convince her that I'll be a good husband to her."

She pulled her hand from his grasp and smiled up at him. "Alan, you don't need me to speak for you. I know Maura's quite fond of you."

"She is?" He grinned. "I mean, I thought she might care for me, but I wasn't sure if she thought enough of me to marry."

"I tell you what." Abbie tucked her arm in his and walked with him across the porch. "You go home and think about what you want to say. Then tomorrow, you come by and take Maura out riding and pop the question."

He looked over his shoulder at the silent house. "Maybe we should go wake her up now. . . "

"No. You are going to do this right and proper. Polish up that buggy of yours, and dress in your Sunday best. Flowers would be nice, too. Maura deserves a romantic afternoon to remember, don't you think?"

He nodded. "Thanks, Abbie. I guess I just needed a woman's point of view to help me get things straight in my head." He patted her arm, then made his way back across the yard to his waiting horse.

She watched him ride away. She felt relieved, and a little disappointed, too. She couldn't even get a man to propose to her so she could turn him down. And the one man she might say yes to well, she had little hope of changing Reg's mind.

"Looks like it'll be just you and me again, Banjo." She knelt and put her arms around the dog. If he noticed the tears that fell to dampen his coat, he didn't seem to mind.

Reg awoke the next morning to thoughts of Abbie. The lavender scent of her still filled his head. Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine her here beside him, naked and yielding, her skin like satin warming to his touch. . . Blast it, what was he doing? He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He must put all thoughts of Abbie from his mind. Hadn't his father taught him that duty came before pleasure?

He dressed quickly, anxious to immerse himself in the list of tasks he'd set himself for the day. Thank G.o.d for work to occupy his mind and body.

He was pulling on his boots when a hard knock sounded on his door. He looked up. "Come in."

To his surprise, Donnie Best opened the door. The foreman stood, hat in hand, just inside the door, his expression grim. "What is it?" Reg asked.

Best shook his head. "It's bad," he said. "You'd better come see for yourself."

Twenty minutes later, Reg stared out on a scene that turned his stomach. Dead, bloated cattle sprawled around the watering hole. The air buzzed with the whine of flies. He pulled his bandanna over his nose to block out the stench of rotting flesh, but the odor seemed to have permeated his clothing, hanging thick in the air around him. He forced himself to walk the horse closer, to memorize the pitiable scene, as if memory might prevent it from happening again.

This particular watering hole, or 'tank' as the Texans called it, had once covered half an acre, but now it had shrunk to less than twenty feet across. The earth around it was scored with cracks, dried clay curling up like peeling plaster. What water that was left had turned a putrid green.

"Don't let your horse drink that water, sir," Best said.

"You think the tank was poisoned?" The same thought had occurred to him.

"Looks that way." He pointed across the water. "There's a dead coyote over there. Looks like whatever killed the cattle killed it, too."

"Then let's get the rest of the cattle out of here as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir." Best rode off to do his bidding.

"I say, do you suppose this is Tuff Jackson's doing?"

Reg looked around and saw Cam's stallion picking its way among the carca.s.ses. "This doesn't strike me as an act of idle vandalism," Reg said. "I'd say Jackson is my first suspect."

"So what do you intend to do?" Cam reined in beside him and joined him in staring into the putrid water.

Reg sighed. "I've already ordered the men to move the remaining cattle out of this pasture. This afternoon, we'll set about dragging the dead cattle into the tank and filling in the whole thing. I'll also send a sample of the water to the state agricultural agency. Depending on what's in the water, it may be years before we can graze this pasture again."

"No. I meant what are you going to do about Jackson?"

Reg shrugged. "Seeking revenge on Jackson won't bring my cattle back or give me water when I need it. I'll leave him to the sheriff."

"What if he goes after you again?"

"He may have gotten what he wants with this." Reg swept his hand across the scene in front of them. "He knows I can't sustain this kind of loss indefinitely. Worse than the cattle, this is one of the last watering holes left to me. Without water, there won't be a ranch."

"You mean you'd have to sell?"

He nodded. "I can almost hear the Earl now, chiding me for yet another failure. He'll add it to the list which he delights in reviewing whenever I'm in his presence."

"You've got him wrong, you know."

Reg glanced at his brother. "What do you mean?"

Cam gave Reg a searching look. "You think he hates you, when actually, you're his favorite."

"Ha!" The idea was absurd. "What have you been drinking, to put that idea into your head?"

"I speak the truth. Of all of us, you're the son who resembles him the most in looks and temperament. You're a perfectionist, like him, even if you won't admit it. The both of you are as immovable as rock when you've made up your minds on an issue."

"Perhaps I represent only those things he detests in himself. Why else does he demand the impossible from me?"

"Open your eyes. He demands the impossible from all of us."

Reg snorted. "I never noticed you suffering."

"That's because you were too caught up in your own battles." Cam folded his hands atop his saddle horn and stared out toward the horizon. "I had my own crosses to bear my expectations to meet, and my failures as well."

Cam, failing? The spoiled youngest son the vicar? "Name one."

"The reason I came here it wasn't only to do with my patron's sister. There was a dust-up with group of miners at the Eversole mines. I took the wrong side of an argument they had with Eversole." He turned hurt-filled eyes on Reg. "You don't think I wanted to leave home, do you? I was forced to leave, under threat of being defrocked."

Reg nodded slowly. "What are you going to do?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I enjoyed my brief time as a missionary in Canada. Perhaps I'll call on the Episcopal Bishop in Houston and see if there's a circuit available."

"You're wedded to the cleric's life, then?" He still had a difficult time seeing his lighthearted brother in the role of spiritual guide.

"I've grown up these past few years while you were away." Cam forced a smile. "Who better to minister to the fallen than one who came so close to falling himself?"

"Then you really didn't come here to spy on me?"

"Father asked me to look in on you. He worries about you."

"He has a fine way of showing it."

Cam shook his head. "He has a soft spot for you and fears revealing himself. But I can see it in his eyes whenever he speaks of you. Why do you think he keeps calling you home from the Navy, from India? It's because he misses you."

A s.h.i.+ver ran up Reg's spine at the words. Could Cam be right? Did the Earl wish for his failure only as a means of keeping him close to home? He shook his head. He'd like to believe such a thing was true, but how could he?

"Mail call!" A familiar voice sang out to them. He looked up and saw Cooky riding toward them. "You has sho' nuff got a mess on your hands here," Cooky said, wrinkling his nose as he reined in beside them.

"Find Donnie Best and he'll put you to work helping to clean up," Reg said.

Cooky nodded. "Just come from town. Got a couple letters here for you, boss." He fished in his vest and came up with two envelopes. The first was a buff-colored paper addressed in a firm hand.

"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 b.u.t.tons 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."