Heart of Texas Volume 1: Lonesome Cowboy

“Oh, Caroline, don’t allow one negative experience to sour you forever.”

Sadness dimmed her eyes, although Caroline made an effort to hide it. “Some people are meant to fall in love, and then there are people like me...” Her words faded and she looked away.

Savannah’s heart went out to her, but she didn’t know what else to say.

* * *

Laredo heard Wiley whistling in the back of the bunkhouse. The old coot was certainly in a good mood. By nature the foreman appeared to be an easygoing sort, but this afternoon he was downright cheerful.

Stitching a stirrup, Laredo inserted the needle into the worn leather. No one had asked him to repair the saddle, but he had time on his hands, and keeping himself occupied was better than sitting around doing nothing. He wasn’t a man who could remain idle long.

Although it was none of his concern, he’d visited the barn and inspected the horses. They were well cared for and in good health. Widowmaker, the stallion kept for breeding purposes, reminded Laredo of Grady. Man and beast shared the same temperament—although he figured he’d have a better relationship with Widowmaker than he ever would with Grady. Horses instinctively recognized Laredo as a friend. He shared an affinity with them that was the key to his success as a wrangler. From the time he was a toddler he’d enjoyed working with his father and their horses.

One of his fondest childhood memories was of his father holding him high enough to pet and talk to Midnight, a beautiful roan gelding. Memories of his father were few and far between. Laredo had been six when word came that Russell Aaron Smith had been killed in a country with a name he couldn’t pronounce. He’d bled to death in a rice field six thousand miles from home. Shortly afterward Laredo’s mother had moved back with her parents, into the very house where she’d been born, and had never remarried. His grandfather was a good man, patient and caring, but he’d owned an office-supply store and didn’t understand Laredo’s love of the country or his passion for horses.

As a teenager Laredo had started working summers on local ranches. His talent was soon recognized. To please his mother he’d graduated from high school, but the instant that diploma had been placed in his hand he was gone. She’d dated Clyde Schneider for years and Laredo had always assumed that once he was out of the picture they’d finally get married, but it hadn’t happened.

His mother would love Savannah, Laredo thought, but he hesitated to say anything in his next letter home for fear she’d give the relationship more importance than it warranted. Laura Smith wanted grandchildren and brought up the subject at every opportunity, reminding him that it was time he settled down, started a family. He’d dismissed her heavy hints; he didn’t consider himself the marrying kind. Not now, anyway, when he had nothing to offer a woman other than a few hundred dusty acres he’d bought in Oklahoma and a stallion he’d recently spent his life savings to acquire. Laredo was on his way to pick him up. Renegade—the horse he’d pinned his dreams on. The horse he hoped would sire a dynasty of quarter horses. But right now that was all he had—and Savannah Weston deserved a damn sight more. If he was ever in a position to entertain marriage, he hoped he found a woman like her. No, he couldn’t mention Savannah to his mother; if he did he’d never hear the end of it.

Wiley broke into song and Laredo gave an involuntary shudder at the off-key rendition of an old Kenny Rogers hit. He couldn’t recall the title, but it was some ballad about a woman not taking her love to town. In Wiley’s version the words were barely distinguishable, the tune not at all.

When Wiley appeared, his hair was wet and slicked back, his boots polished. He wore a tan suede jacket and string tie with a turquoise piece the size of a silver dollar. He reeked of cologne so strong, Laredo’s eyes watered.

“You’re lookin’ right pretty,” Laredo teased the foreman.

Wiley laughed. “I’m off to visit the Widow Johnson in Brewster. Grady can work himself into an early grave if he wants, but I’ve got places to go, people to see. Don’t be concerned if I’m a bit late this evening.” He winked and all but danced out the door.

If Laredo remembered correctly, Brewster was at least a hundred miles east of Promise. Wiley’s cheer was contagious, though, and he couldn’t keep from smiling at the older man’s pleasure. His task finished, Laredo carried the saddle back into the barn and returned his tools. He’d watched Savannah walk out to the car this morning, a Bible in her hand, and knew she was headed for church.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d darkened the door of a house of worship.

As twelve-thirty approached he found himself listening and watching for Savannah. He would have enjoyed spending more time with her, but her watchdog of a brother made that difficult. Every time they were alone for more than a few minutes, Grady showed up. Rather than place Savannah in the awkward position of having to defend her actions, widening the rift that already existed between brother and sister, Laredo made his excuses and left. He’d dined with them only once, the night of his arrival, preferring to eat with Wiley in the bunkhouse ever since.

When he left the barn, Laredo saw the car, which meant Savannah was back. He must have stood in the same spot for five minutes trying to decide what to do. Grady was out checking the herd, so he’d probably be away for several hours. This was the perfect opportunity to seek out Savannah’s company. A tempting thought.

On the other hand he wasn’t doing her any favors by leading her on. He had nothing to offer her other than a few stolen kisses. Besides, he’d already decided that, once he’d earned enough to pay for the truck repairs, he’d be on his way. And yet...

He shook his head. He barely knew the woman, and even if a relationship developed between them, it would do no good. He’d be living in a small secondhand trailer while he built his business from the ground up. It’d be years of blood and sweat before he had anything to show for his efforts. One day in the distant future his stock would be legendary; he was certain of it. But until then...

When he left Promise, he wanted to go without regrets. Savannah was sweet and gentle, and he’d rather cut off his right arm than hurt her. He wasn’t stupid; he saw the look in her eyes. Even though she tried to hide it, she was interested. Damn it all, so was he!

She was the type of woman a man introduced to his mother. Savannah deserved more than a flirtation. He should go back to the bunkhouse now before he started something he couldn’t stop. Something he had no right to start.

The decision was taken from him when Savannah stepped onto the back porch. When she saw him standing there, staring at the house like...like a stunned steer, she paused. A look of pure joy lit up her face.

“I was just about to ask you to join me for lunch,” she said.

He knew he should politely decline, but he hadn’t the heart to disappoint her—or deny himself the pleasure of her company. “I’ll wash up and be inside in a minute.”

On his way toward the house he started whistling; when he realized what he was doing, he stopped. He shouldn’t be this happy. Damn it all, he was looking at trouble with his eyes wide open and grinning like a schoolboy.

The scent of roast beef greeted him as soon as he entered the kitchen. Savannah was bent over the stove, pulling a tray of biscuits from the oven. The scene was a homey one. After years of meals on the run, it was a rare treat to sit down at a real table, to have lunch with a woman, to eat in a civilized and leisurely fashion.

“When did you have time to make those?” he asked. She couldn’t have been home more than ten minutes.

“Early this morning,” she said, scooping the biscuits from the tray and placing them in a breadbasket. Everything else was already on the table.

He seated her and bowed his head while she said grace, then reached for a biscuit. It was too hot to hold, and he tossed it between his hands, making Savannah laugh. A man could get used to hearing this woman’s laugh, he mused. Warning signs flashed in every direction, and again Laredo ignored them.

“They’re buttermilk biscuits,” she said. “The recipe was my mother’s.” She waited for him to take his first bite.

The biscuit was incredible. The best he’d ever tasted. He told her so and watched her eyes light up at the compliment.

“It’ll just be the two of us. Grady’s busy just now.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

Laredo already knew as much. “Would you rather I ate in the bunkhouse?” he asked.

“Oh, no! I like being with you.”

“Me, too.” He supposed he shouldn’t tell her that but found it impossible to keep to himself.

Savannah started passing him serving dishes. “How was your morning?” she asked, handing him the platter of sliced roast beef.

He wanted to tell her he’d missed her; instead, he helped himself to the carrots and potatoes. “I wrote a couple of letters,” he said as he set the bowl aside.

Their conversation felt stilted and awkward in the beginning, as if they were unsure of each other, afraid of saying too much or too little. But gradually he grew comfortable speaking with her again. There was a naturalness about Savannah. When she asked him questions, her interest was so obviously sincere that he couldn’t help responding with equal sincerity.

Following the meal, they sat and lingered over coffee. Savannah asked about his family and perhaps because he’d written to his mother earlier, he described his early years in Texas before his father had gone off to war.

She was such a good listener that Laredo continued, recounting his father’s death and the move to Oklahoma to live with his mother’s parents, both dead now. He told it all as casually as if he was discussing the weather. In an unemotional voice, he talked about the painful details of those early unhappy years, things he’d rarely shared with anyone.

He sensed that Savannah intuitively understood the significance of the memories he confided in her. She understood and appreciated that he was sharing a piece of his soul, although he made light of it, even joked. But he suspected that the pain revealed itself in the pauses, the unspoken words, and that she was attuned to it.

Her questions were thoughtful and perceptive. After a time he thought he should reciprocate. “What about you, Savannah?” he asked. “Tell me about your family.”

She left the table so fast he wondered if his question had offended her. She stood with her back to him, supporting herself on the kitchen counter. He longed to place his hands on her shoulders. Apologize.

He of all people should know enough to respect the privacy of another’s pain. After talking about himself nonstop for more than an hour, with her constant encouragement, he’d felt a certain right to ask. It was a right he didn’t have. Savannah owed him nothing. Nothing. He was the one in her debt.

“Savannah, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He raised his hands to touch her and dropped them just as quickly.

She was still turned away from him, her head still lowered. “Did you know I have two brothers? Grady and Richard.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Richard’s younger than me. He’s twenty-nine.” She turned then, to face him.

“Does he live close by?” he asked gently.