Titled Texans: Educating Abbie Part 10

"It's a hard life out here. It demands a lot of people. That's the way it is."

"I'm not sure if I can accept that. I'm used to living life on my own terms."

She raised her eyes to meet his once more, and this time her gaze held a challenge. "My father used to say, 'The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.'"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think it means you can be too proud for your own good. It doesn't hurt to let the other man win the small battles, as long as you win the war."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you saying I should give in to Tuff?"

"Why ask for trouble?"

He shook his head. "I didn't ask for it, but now that it's here, I won't run away."

She was silent for a moment, and he thought she would leave. Then she raised her hand and lightly touched his wrist. "This is about more than what he said at dinner, isn't it?"

He hesitated. When all was said and done, Abbie was one of these people. How much could he trust her? "What is your opinion of Tuff Jackson?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Everyone says he's a good man with cattle. He's lived here a long time."

"Yes, but what do you think?"

"I don't really know him that well, but I guess I don't really like him that much."

"I don't trust him," he said. He glanced at the men nearby. They were sleeping, or visiting in small groups. He bent his head close to Abbie, until he could feel the warmth of her skin, smell the clean scent of her hair. "What can you tell me about branding?"

She frowned. "What do you want to know?"

"Are there ways to brand a calf but not really brand it?"

"Well, there's hair branding."

"What's that?"

"That's when the brander presses the iron against the calf just long enough to burn off the hair. It looks good from a distance, but after a few days or weeks, someone can come along and re-brand the calf with another mark."

"In other words, steal the calf?"

He heard the sharp intake of her breath. "You don't think Tuff's hair branding, do you?" she whispered.

"Certainly not every animal. But I watched him today and he seemed awfully quick with some of them."

She shook her head. "I don't know. Tuff has lived here for a long time. Grady trusted him, and Mr. Preston, who owned the ranch before that. Why would he risk everything to steal a few calves?"

"I found out today he already has his own herd."

She nodded. "My father would never allow that sort of thing. But some folks think it's a way to keep a good man working for you."

"I don't like it, but I don't suppose I can do anything about it now. One thing I know I'll be watching Jackson very closely from here on out. I don't intend for anyone to cheat me out of what is rightly mine."

Her eyes were huge in the darkness, deep pools drawing him in. Her lips parted and in an instant Reg was back in that cave, ready to lose himself in her kiss. His heart pounded and he forced himself to step back, distancing himself from a danger as great as any Tuff Jackson presented.

"Be careful," she whispered.

The words lingered in his ears as he turned away. Of all the complications he might have expected to make his work here more difficult, he'd have never thought a physical attraction to a fellow rancher would be one of them!

Nothing would come of these feelings, he'd see to that. Not only were he and Abbie totally unsuited for each other; he'd already promised to help her win another man. A man he counted as one of his only friends.

He looked out across the campground, trying to sort out his muddled feelings. A familiar figure stepped out from the shadow of the hoodlum wagon, which held the cowboys' bedding. Tuff Jackson gave him a malevolent glare, then moved on into the darkness, like a highwayman lying in wait. Reg clenched his hands into fists. Jackson and the rest wouldn't get the best of him. He wouldn't go home a failure again.

Chapter Ten.

Reg had never spent so much time out of doors in his life as he did during the next few days. Even in his sailing years he'd had the solid feel of oak planks beneath his feet and the confining walls of a ship's cabin to block out the sky. Now he had no such refuge. The Texas plains stretched around him, an endless sweep of wind-bent gra.s.s beneath a pale banner of sky. How could one help but feel insignificant in the face of such vastness? Perhaps the Texans' brashness was only an attempt to keep from losing themselves in the great expanse of land.

He found himself viewing the land as a challenge to be met in the same way he fought to overcome the Texans' prejudice. He vowed to learn to sleep on the hard ground without complaining, to lean into the wind that constantly buffeted him, and to ignore the swirling dust that found its way into his shirt and his food and his blankets.

In spite of the hardships, he discovered things to admire in the landscape. Wildflowers bloomed in profusion in places, carpeting the prairie as if some painter had spilled his pallet. Deer, quail, prairie hens, and a host of other wildlife that he never tired of watching for lived here. At night, the stars shone so bright and clear, they looked like shards of diamond against a field of black velvet.

"Do the stars look like this in England?" Abbie rode her horse up beside his as he took his turn at watch one evening.

He glanced over at her. She wore a man's blanket coat against the night chill, and her hair was tucked under her hat. But the masculine garb did little to conceal her ident.i.ty. Something about the slightness of her shoulders, or the tilt of her chin, telegraphed her femininity to one who knew what to look for. How could he ever have thought she was a boy, that day they first met?

He reluctantly pulled his gaze from her and looked up at the sky once more. "They're never this bright in England. I don't think they're this bright anywhere else on earth."

She moved closer, until her leg practically touched his. "My father used to tell me every star was an angel's lantern, waiting to guide some soul home." She sighed. "I used to wonder which one belonged to my mother."

He couldn't keep from looking at her. She had her chin pointed skyward, her neck looking very white and smooth. "I'm trying to imagine you as a little girl," he said.

She laughed. "More like a little boy, really." She looked at him, smiling. "No petticoats and pinafores for me. I wore pants and boots and rode my own pony. When I was five, Daddy gave me my first little rope to twirl."

"But why? Why not dress you in pinafores and give you dolls to play with? Why make you something you're not?"

Her face took on a fond expression. "We were alone. Daddy had work to do. He needed a helper, someone who could ride and rope and take over the ranch one day when he was gone."

"He needed a son."

"He never once said he regretted having me instead." She leaned forward and stroked her horse's long mane. "I can't complain. Not many women my age have what I have land and cattle and money in the bank." She raised her chin and gave him a defiant look. "That ought to count for something, don't you think? After all, you can't take fine manners and pretty dresses to the bank."

"Or tailored suits and a British accent either, I'm afraid." He stroked the lapel of his suit coat. In the darkness, the dirt and bloodstains didn't show. Not that they bothered him so much anymore. He was beginning to think of the stains as battle scars, proof that he'd fought and lived to tell the tale. In the end, he hoped to count himself among the victors.

Abbie edged her horse out in front of him. "Ride with me while I make a circuit," she said.

His horse fell in step with hers as they circled the herd in a slow walk. "Teach me another lesson," she said after a moment.

He blinked. So despite her talk of liking her lot in life, Abbie hadn't given up on their scheme to win Alan. "What do you want to know?"

"When Alan comes to visit about the horse, what shall we talk about?"

"Don't ask him about business," he said.

"Why not? Didn't you tell me before to talk about what interests him?"

"Business is the one thing the two of you have always had in common. He won't think of you any differently if you remind him of that."

"Then what should we talk about?"

"Ask him if he ever gets lonely."

"Why should he be lonely? He lives with his father and they must have twenty cowboys working for them."

Reg smiled into the darkness. "A man can be surrounded by other men and still be lonely for the company of a woman."

"Oh."

He could sense the comprehension overtaking her. He wondered if she was blushing, but the darkness and the shadowing hat brim hid her face from view. "Don't you get lonely, Abbie?" he asked gently.

"Yes."

The word was filled with longing. He felt as if a hand clamped around his heart. He tried to imagine all the years Abbie had spent alone in that little cabin, waiting for the right man to come along and see beyond the cowboy clothes and mannish ways to the woman she truly was. Would Alan ever realize what a great prize she offered him? He swallowed. "It's all right to tell Alan that, if you want," he said.

"All right." She nodded. "What else?"

"By then we trust Alan will be carrying his end of the conversation and things will move along nicely."

"But what if he doesn't?"

Reg frowned. Then he's blinder than I thought. "You might mention how nice you imagine it would be to come home to someone every evening."

"Maybe I should tell him how much I like children."

The fist around Reg's heart squeezed tighter. A picture of Abbie cradling a golden-haired baby flashed through his mind. The image had a haunting appeal. He resolutely shoved the thought aside. "No, I wouldn't mention children just yet," he said. "He might think you're trying to trap him."

"But that's exactly what I'm trying to do, isn't it?" She sighed again, a heavy, sad sound. "I don't know, Reg. Why can't Alan love me just because I'm me?"

Yes, why can't he? Reg shifted in the saddle, wrestling with the question. "I suppose, knowing you all your life, he has formed a certain image of you in his mind, an image of you as just another rancher, a cowboy. It's similar to a horse wearing blinders he sees only what is in front of him. We have to find a way to take those blinders off, to allow Alan to see all the things you are in addition to being a rancher. We have to show you to him as a woman."

"Is that why it's so easy for you to see me as a woman because you haven't known me all my life?" She leaned toward him. "Or is it because you're different in other ways?"

"Because I'm English?" He shook his head. "I cannot say we have a reputation as being particular connoisseurs of women."

"It's more than that. You're more thoughtful. You notice things."

"My father said I was the daydreamer in the family. A serious fault in his eyes."

"It's not a fault at all." She glanced around. "A person can be too practical, you know. There's more to life than cows and horses."

He raised one eyebrow. "Such blasphemy from a Texan?"

She laughed. "We're not that different, are we, Reg?" she asked. "My father made me into what he wanted so I could take over his business. It sounds to me as if your father tried to make you into his kind of businessman, and you refused to be poured into that mold. I'd say that was a kind of success in itself."

His stomach quivered. No one had ever, ever seen his defiance of his father as a success. He let out a deep breath and shook his head. "No, that's not success. Just stubborn foolishness. It never brought me anything but failure."

"But you won't fail this time, will you? Alan said as soon as you had things running smoothly, you intended to return home."

He nodded. "I have to. I intend to prove to my father once and for all that I can succeed on his terms."

She turned away from him, and stared out across the still prairie. "I've never known anyone quite like you, Reg. I'm going to miss you when you go."

He tried to shrug off the sudden melancholy that blanketed him. "I'll be here for many months yet. By the time I leave, you may be glad to see me depart."

She turned to look back at him. He could feel the caress of her gaze, even though he couldn't see her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever be glad to see you go, Reg. I'd as soon you stayed forever." Then she turned her horse and rode away from him, fading into the shadows somewhere on the edge of the herd.

Reg stared after her. The words weren't idle sentiment; he knew she meant them. Worse still, he realized he'd miss her. How strange to think he'd wandered half the world, only to find his first real friend on the vast Texas plains.

Abbie gazed blindly out over the backs of the sleeping cattle, silently cursing her wayward tongue. Why had she told Reg she didn't want him to leave? A real lady would never come right out with her opinion like that, unasked.

She'd been trying to let him know she liked him as a friend. He'd seemed so down and all about his dad; she'd wanted to cheer him up. Instead, she'd managed to once again confirm what he already knew that she was a hoyden who said, and did, the first thing that popped into her head.

She sighed and shifted in the saddle. At least she didn't have to worry about Reg getting the wrong idea about her feelings for him. He'd been nothing but a gentleman since they'd kissed in the cave, as if he realized the kiss had been prompted by curiosity, not pa.s.sion.

So why did she feel this twinge of regret? After all, Alan was the man she wanted to attract, not Reg. Reg was a good friend, and her teacher.

He was also her pupil, though not the most cooperative student she'd ever come across. She didn't know when she'd met a man whose pride could be so easily offended. Every time he had to ask her for help, you'd have thought he was being forced to eat ground gla.s.s for supper. He could hardly get the words out.

A figure on horseback moved out from the remuda. She glanced up at the moon, high in the sky. Time to change watch. As the rider headed toward her, she recognized Tuff Jackson's familiar form. Tuff had been cowboying in these parts ever since she could remember. He'd worked his way up from horse wrangler to top hand in just a few years. Folks said there wasn't a better cowboy in Texas than Tuff Jackson.

Too bad he and Reg got off on the wrong foot, she thought as Tuff rode up. The foreman could have taught Reg a lot.

"Evenin'," she said.

He grunted and reined his horse in beside her.

She watched as he pulled a twist of tobacco from his pocket and bit off a hunk. "It's quiet tonight," she said.

He nodded, jaw working. "Saw you talkin' to Little Lord Fauntleroy," he said after a moment.

She stiffened. "Reg isn't at all like you think."

Tuff leaned over and spat on the ground. "I had him pegged the day he walked in the door and took the first look down his long nose at me. His kind won't last long out here. Hard livin' wears them down fast."