Chapter Two
NORA’S UNCLE WAS HOME in time for the evening meal, looking dusty and tired, but as robust and pleasant as ever. He welcomed her with his old enthusiasm. Later, while they sat together at the table, he passed along some worrying news to his family.
“There was some gossip today, about the West Texas combine not being pleased with my handling of the property. A visiting businessman from El Paso said that he knows the Culhanes and they have not gotten the results they expected from me,” Chester told the others, grimacing at his wife’s expression. “They must remember that I would have lost this ranch myself if they had not bought it—”
“Because of the low prices people were paying for our beef and produce,” his wife argued. “There is not enough money in circulation, and people are not buying agricultural products in enough quantity to let us make a profit. The Populists have tried so hard to effect change. And we have, after all, read that William J. Bryan has been nominated by the Populists to run against McKinley. He is a good man and tireless. Perhaps some changes will be made to benefit those of us in agriculture.”
“Perhaps so, but that will hardly change our situation, my dear,” Chester said heavily.
“Chester, they would not have let you manage the ranch for so long had they not had confidence in you. You are not responsible for low market prices.”
“It might not seem that way to a wealthy family.” He glanced at his niece placatingly. “Not yours, my dear. The family I’m worried about is from West Texas, and the father and sons head the combine. The Culhanes are a second-generation ranching family—old money. I understand from Simmons that they don’t approve of the fact that I haven’t adopted any of the machinery available to help plant and harvest crops. I am not, as they say, moving quickly into the twentieth century.”
“How absurd,” Nora said. “These new machines may be marvelous, of course, but they are also very expensive, aren’t they? And with people needing work so badly, why incorporate machinery to take away jobs?”
“You make sense, my dear, but I must do as I am told,” he said sadly. “I don’t know how they learned so much about the way I run the ranch when no representative has been here to see me. I could lose my position,” he said starkly.
“But where would we go if you did?” his wife asked plaintively. “This is our home.”
“Mother, don’t fret,” Melly said gently. “Nothing is happening right now. Don’t borrow trouble.”
But Helen looked worried. So did Chester. Nora put down her coffee cup and smiled at them.
“If worse comes to worst, I shall ask Mother and Father to help out,” she said.
She was unprepared for her uncle’s swift anger. “Thank you, but I do not require charity from my wife’s relations back East,” he said curtly.
Nora’s eyebrows rose. “But, Uncle Chester, I only meant that my parents would offer assistance if you wished them to.”
“I can provide for my own family,” he said tersely. “I know that you mean well, Eleanor, but this is my problem. I shall handle it.”
“Of course,” she replied, taken aback by his unexpected antagonism.
“Nora only meant to offer comfort,” Helen chided him gently.
He calmed at once. “Yes, of course,” he said, and with a sheepish smile. “I do beg your pardon, Nora. It is not a happy time for me. I spoke out of frustration. Forgive me.”
“Certainly, I do. I only wish that I could help,” she replied sincerely.
He shook his head. “No, I shall find a way to placate the owners. I must. Even if it means seeking new methods of securing a profit,” he added under his breath.
Nora noticed then what she hadn’t before: the lines of worry in his broad face. He wasn’t being completely truthful with his wife and daughter, she was certain of it. How terrible it would be if he should lose control of the ranch his grandfather had founded. It must be unpleasant for him to have a combine dictating his managerial decisions here; almost as unpleasant as it would have been for him to lose the ranch to the combine in the first place. She must learn what she could and then see if there was some way that she could help, so that he and his family did not lose their home and only source of income.
After that, conversation turned to the Farmers Congress in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and to the Boer War in South Africa, where a Boer general named De Wet was growing more famous by the day with his courageous attacks on the superior forces of the British.
THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed peacefully. The men were away from the ranch most of the day and, it seemed, half the night, bringing in the bulls. Within a couple of weeks, they would be starting the annual fall roundup. Nora’s opinion of the “knights of the range” underwent a startling transformation as she saw more and more of them from afar around the ranch.
For one thing, there were as many black and Mexican cowboys as there were white ones. But whatever their color, they were mostly dirty and unkempt, because working cattle was hardly a dainty job. They were courteous and very polite to her, but they seemed to be shy. This trait had first surprised and then amused her. She went out of her way to flirt gently with a shy boy everyone called Greely, because it delighted her to watch him stammer and blush. The stale ennui of European men had made her uneasy with them, but this young man made her feel old and venerable. She had no thought of ridicule. It was the novelty of his reaction that touched something vulnerable in her. But she’d flirted with him once in front of Melly, and Melly had been embarrassed.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she told Nora gently but firmly when Greely went on his way. “The men don’t like being made fun of, and Cal Barton won’t stand for it. Nor will he hesitate to tell you to stop it if he ever catches you.”
“But I meant no insult. I simply adore the way he stammers when I speak to him,” she said, smiling. “I find this young man so refreshing, you know. And besides, Mr. Barton has no authority to tell me what to do, even if he did catch me,” Nora reminded her.
Melly smiled knowingly. “We’ll see about that. He even tells Dad what to do.”
Nora took the remark with a grain of salt, but she stopped playing up to poor Greely just the same. It was unfortunate that she should mention him, and why he amused her, later to her aunt when Greely was within earshot. After that, she had no opportunity to see him. His absence from her vicinity was pointed, and he had a somber, crushed look about him that made Nora feel guilty until finally he seemed to disappear altogether.
NORA WAS INVITED OUT to watch the cowboys work, and she accompanied Melly to a small corral near the house where a black cowboy was breaking a new horse to the remuda, the string of horses used by the men during roundup. Melly explained what would happen in the upcoming roundup, all about the long process of counting and branding cattle, and separating the calves from their mothers. Nora, who had known nothing of the reality of it, was appalled.
“They take the little calves from their mothers and burn the brands into their hide?” she exclaimed. “Oh, how horribly cruel!”
Melly hesitated, a little uneasy. “Now, Nora, it’s an old practice. Surely in all your travels, you have seen people work on the land?”
Nora settled deeper into her sidesaddle. She couldn’t bring herself to ride astride, as Melly did, feeling that it was unladylike. “I have seen farming, of course, back East.”
“It’s different out here,” Melly continued. “We have to be hard or we couldn’t survive. And here, in East Texas, it’s really a lot better life than on the Great Plains or in the desert country farther west.”
Nora watched the cowboy ride the sweating, snorting horse and wanted to scream at the poor creature’s struggles. Tears came to her eyes.
Cal Barton had spotted the two women and came galloping up on his own mount to join them. “Ladies,” he welcomed.
Nora’s white face told its own story as she stared at him coldly. “I have never seen such outrageous cruelty,” she said at once, dabbing at her eyes with an expensive lace-edged silk handkerchief. “That poor beast is being tormented by that man. Make him stop, at once!”
Cal’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Make him stop,” she repeated, blind to Melly’s gestures. “It is uncivilized to treat a horse so!”
“Uncivi… Good God Almighty!” Cal burst out. “How in hell do you think horses get gentle enough to be ridden?”
“Not by being tortured, certainly—not back East!” she informed him.
He was getting heartily sick of her condescending attitude. “We have to do it like this,” he said. “It isn’t hurting the horse. Jack is only wearing him down. It isn’t cruel.”
Nora dabbed at her face with the handkerchief. “The dust is sickening,” she was saying. “And the heat and the smell…!”
“Then why don’t you go back to the nice cool ranch house and sip a cold drink?” he suggested with icy calmness.
“A laudable idea,” Nora said firmly. “Come, Melly.”
Melly exchanged helpless glances with Cal and rode after her cousin.
Nora muttered all the way home about the poor horse. It didn’t help that a gang of tired cowboys passed them on the way back. One was mad at his sidekick and using colorful language to express himself. Nora’s face went scarlet at what she overheard, and she was almost shaking with outrage when they reached the barn at last.
“Knights of the range, indeed!” she raged on the way to the front door, having left the horses in the charge of a young stable hand. “They stink and curse and they are cruel! It is nothing like my stories, Melly. It is a terrible country!”
“Now, now, give it a chance,” Melly said encouragingly. “You’ve only been here a short while. It gets easier to understand, truly it does.”
“I cannot imagine living here,” Nora said heavily. “Not in my wildest imaginings. How do you bear it?”
“I love it,” the younger woman said simply, and her brown eyes reflected her pleasure in it. “You’ve lived such a different life, Nora, so sheltered and cushioned. You don’t know what it is to have to scratch for a living.”
Nora’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “I have never had to. My life has been an easy one, until the past year. But I know one thing. I could never live here.”
“You don’t want to go home already?” Melly asked worriedly.
Nora saw her concern and forced herself to calm down. “No, of course not. I shall simply have to stay away from the men, that is all. I do miss Greely. He, at least, was a refreshing change from those barbarians out there!”
“Greely hasn’t been around lately,” Melly agreed. “I wonder why.”
NEITHER KNEW THE ANSWER to the question of Greely’s absence. Days passed, and the cowboys began to look a little less like dirty tramps and a little more like men as Nora’s first impression began to waver and then fade. Nora became able to recognize faces, even thick with dust and dirt. She recognized voices, as well, especially Mr. Barton’s. It was deep and slow, and when he was angry, it got deeper and slower. She marveled at the way he used inflection to control his men, and the way they responded to even the softest words. He projected authority in a way that made her wonder about his past. Perhaps he’d been in the military. He could have been, with that bearing.
He came riding up the next to the last Friday afternoon of August with a bunch of disheveled, hot and dirty men. He dismounted at the front steps and tossed his reins to the stable hand, so that his horse could be attended to.
Nora, who was on the porch, stepped back when he approached, because he was dirtier than she’d ever seen him, and he had a three days’ growth of beard. She thought that if she met him on the road, she’d expect him to have a pistol in either hand and a mask over his nose and mouth.
He noticed her withdrawal with cold fury. Since her remarks out at the corral, he’d been waiting for an opportunity to tell her how much her superior attitude irritated him. She had no right to look down her nose at hardworking men because they didn’t smell like roses or live up to her idea of civilized behavior.
“Where’s Chester?” he asked curtly.
“Why, he drove my aunt and Melly into town in the buggy,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
He pursed his lips and studied the lines of the sleek, soft gray dress that clung to her slender figure. “Do you always dress like that?” he asked with cool mockery. “Like you were going to some fancy city restaurant in one of Mr. Ford’s fancy automobiles?”
She bristled. “The automobile is more civilized than a horse, I tell you,” she said haughtily. “And we have electric streetcars back East as well as automobiles.”
“What a snob you are, Miss Marlowe,” he said pleasantly. His smile didn’t reach his cold, silver eyes. Not at all. She felt chilled by them. “One wonders why you came out here at all when you find us and the work we do so distasteful.”
She wrapped her arms across her small breasts and felt herself shiver. The heat was uncomfortable. She hoped she wasn’t having a chill, because she knew what it presaged. No. She couldn’t have an attack here, she just couldn’t!
With her dignity intact, she smiled at him. “Why, I came because of the books.”
“Books?” he asked, frowning.
“Yes! I’ve read all about cowboys, you know,” she told him seriously. “Mr. Beadle’s dime novels portray the cowboy as a knight of the range, a hero in chaps and boots, a nobleman in spurs.”
He shifted his stance and glowered at her.
“Oh, and cowboys are the courtliest gentlemen in the world. That is, when they’re not robbing banks to feed little starving children,” she added, recalling two of her favorite books.
The glower got worse.
“But there was nothing about the odor,” she added with quiet honesty. “People hardly expect a knight of the range to smell bad, or be caked in blood and mud and…ahem…other substances,” she pointed out. “I don’t expect you get many social invitations, Mr. Barton.”
His pale eyes narrowed. “I don’t accept many,” he corrected, his face set. “I’m particular about the company I keep.”
“One supposes that the reverse is also true,” she replied, and wrinkled her nose.
His pale eyes flashed. “I don’t like your condescending manner, Miss Marlowe,” he added with magnificent honesty. His eyes held no warmth whatsoever. “And while we’re on the subject, I especially don’t like having you flirt with my men to embarrass them.”
She colored. “I did not mean…”
“I don’t care what you meant,” he said levelly. “Greely is just a kid, but when you started teasing him, he worshipped you. Then he overheard you discussing him, confessing that you only played up to him to watch him stammer and stumble about. He was shattered.” He looked down into her embarrassed face with cool disregard. “No decent woman does that to a man. It is beneath contempt.”
She felt the words like a cut on soft skin. Her chin lifted proudly. “You are right,” she confessed. She didn’t add that she was so accustomed to sophisticated men who liked to flirt and see a woman flustered that it had secretly delighted her to find a man so vulnerable to a woman’s attention. But she didn’t say that. “Honestly, I did not mean to hurt him.”
“Well, you did, just the same,” he said curtly. “He quit. He’s gone over to Victoria to get work, and he won’t be back. He was one of the best men I had. Now I have to replace him, because of you.”
“But surely he did not take it so to heart!” she exclaimed, horrified.
“Out here, men take a lot to heart,” he said. “Keep away from my cowboys, Miss Marlowe, or I’ll have your uncle send you home on the next train.”
She gasped. “You cannot dictate to my family!”
He met her eyes levelly, and chills ran through her at the intensity and power of the look. “You’d be surprised what I can do,” he said quietly. “Don’t tempt me to show you.”
“You are only a hired man, after all!” she added haughtily. “Little more than a servant!”
His expression was suddenly dangerous. His hand clenched at his side, and the glitter in his eyes had the same effect on her as a rattlesnake coiling. “While you, madam, are an utter snob, with greenbacks for blood and parlor manners for a heart.”
Her face went rosy. Impulsively she reached out to strike him, but his steely fingers caught her wrist before she got anywhere near that strong, lean cheek. He held her without effort until he felt the muscles relax. Under his fingers, he felt the sudden increase of her pulse. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the faint flicker of awareness that she couldn’t hide, and her eyes betrayed her surprise and helpless attraction. A slow, cunning smile touched his hard mouth. Why, she was vulnerable! It made his mind spin with dark possibilities.
With a short laugh of triumph, he drew her hand to his broad, damp chest and pressed it into the muscle. He felt her gasp, and knew that she didn’t find him distasteful, because he was watching her face.
“Do eastern men stand for being slapped?” he drawled. “You’ll find that we’re a bit different out here.”
“No doubt a man of your sort would find it acceptable to strike me back,” she said with bravado. Under her long skirts, her knees were shaking.
He searched her wide, uneasy blue eyes with quiet confidence. Either she knew less of men than he knew of women, or she was a good actress. Chester had said that she was something of an adventuress, a globe-trotting modern woman. He wondered just how modern she was, and he had a mind to find out for himself.
“I don’t strike women,” he said easily. His pale eyes narrowed and he slowly stepped in closer. He wasn’t blatant or vulgar, but with that simple action he made her aware of his size and strength and of her own vulnerability. “I have…other ways of dealing with hostility from a female.”
She was left in no doubt as to his meaning, because he was looking at her mouth as he spoke. Incredibly, she went weak all over and her lips parted helplessly. Since Edward Summerville’s hateful advances, she had never liked men close to her. But her traitorous body liked this one, wanted to incite him even closer, wanted to know the touch of his warm strength in an embrace.
Because her thoughts shocked her, she jerked back against his restraining hand. “Sir, you smell like a barn!” she stammered angrily.
He laughed, because he saw through the anger to the hidden excitement. “Why, isn’t that natural? A cowboy spends a good portion of his time with animals. Or didn’t your dime novels tell you so?”
She straightened her cuff, still feeling his touch there. She couldn’t remember ever being so flustered. “I am learning that my novels are not altogether accurate.”
His firm mouth tugged up at the corner. It pleased him that as a ragged cowboy, he could have such a devastating effect on an adventuress who had been on safari and lived a modern life. None of the women of his acquaintance had dared to flout convention. He found this woman exciting beyond measure, and the thought of leading her down the garden path in his disguise was appealing. If nothing else, it would teach her not to jump to conclusions about people. Taking a man at face value, judging him on his appearance alone and by eastern standards of conduct, was hardly worthy of such a traveled aristocrat. But, strangely, she lacked that glossy veneer that he would expect a hardened adventuress to possess. Now, as he stared down at her flushed face, he thought that she seemed not much more than a flustered girl.
“You are very pretty,” he remarked gently. In fact, she was, with that wealth of chestnut hair and her fair skin and deep blue eyes.
She cleared her throat. “I must go inside.”
He swept off his hat and held it to his heart. “I will count the hours until we meet again,” he said on an exaggerated sigh.
She wasn’t certain if he was serious or teasing. She made a funny sound, like a stifled laugh, and moved quickly back into the house. She felt as if she might suffocate.
Cal watched her go with a pleased smile and speculation in his silver eyes. She was going to make an interesting quarry, he thought as he put his hat back on his head and slanted it over his eyes. When he got through with her, she was going to think twice before she looked down her nose at a man again, regardless of how he smelled.
AFTER THAT, CAL BARTON seemed to be everywhere she went. He was blatantly attentive, and he looked at her with such worshipful eyes that Melly began to tease her lightly about his devotion.
She wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t playing some monumental joke on her. She didn’t respond to his displays of interest, which made them all the more obvious. He made a point of speaking to her with warm affection, regardless of whether she was alone or in company at the time. He was making his company felt, and the way he looked at her made her toes tingle. She had never been actively pursued by a man whom she felt attracted to, and she wasn’t certain that she could handle this situation. She didn’t want to become attached to Mr. Barton. But the more he pursued her, in his gentlemanly, teasing manner, the more unsettled she became.
She worried about Cal Barton so much that she couldn’t sleep at night. To make matters worse, the cowboys had come in from the roundup. The noise from the bunkhouse that night was deafening. She knew that alcohol wasn’t allowed unless the cowboys went into town. But they went into town on weekends, and when they came back, more often than not, they were audibly inebriated. Nora was used to noise in the city, but it was disturbing when she heard raised male voices close to her open window. These sounded sober, which was reassuring, but they were loud anyway.
“I won’t!” a raspy male voice asserted. “I’m damned if I will! He ain’t puttin’ me to digging postholes, with my rheumatism in such bad shape! I’ll quit first!”
“Dan, your rheumatism is awful convenient,” came the amused reply. “It only hurts when you have to work. Best not rile Barton. Remember what happened to Curtis.”
There was a pause, and Nora felt the new information about Barton sinking in with deadly meaning.
“Guess I do like it here since Barton came,” the first man said on a sigh. “He got us better pay and he made the boss replace those damned worn-out horses. Hard to work cattle on a rocking horse.”
“Sure it is. And he replaced the cook, too. I don’t mind eating in the bunkhouse these days.”
“Me, neither.” There was a chuckle. “Sort of tickles me, about Curtis. There he was, throwing his gunman reputation around, intimidating the new kids. And he drew that big pistol on Barton and got his brains half knocked out with it for his pains.”
“Barton’s no sissy with a gun. I expect he’s shot some. He was in Cuba with Teddy Roosevelt—one of them Rough Riders.”
“Well, that don’t mean he knows Teddy personally,” the other man chuckled. “Come on. We got things to do before we bunk down. Roundup will start middle of next month, more’s the pity. A cowboy’s work is never done, is it?”
Murmuring voices and jingling spurs died away into the night. Nora curled deeper into her pillow with a sense of uneasiness. She was not used to rough men, and the only guns she’d seen used were in pursuit of wild game. She knew about war, that men fought in the unsettled regions of the country and sometimes with guns. But even on her previous trips to Texas, it had never occurred to her that she might meet men who had killed other men outside of war.
It was chilling to think of Mr. Barton with a smoking pistol in his hand, and suddenly she remembered one cold look from those silver eyes in that unsmiling, lean face, and realized what a formidable adversary he might be across the barrel of a gun. But he wasn’t like that with her now. He was gentle, attentive, and he smiled at her in a way that made her heart race.
She began to look forward to their frequent chance meetings, because that smile made her feel so wonderful. She turned over abruptly, trying to force it from her thoughts. What good did it do to dream when there was no hope for a future? She had nothing to give to Cal Barton. But knowing that didn’t stop her heart from racing every time she thought about him.
IT WAS NOW the second week of her visit, and as she saw more of the enigmatic Mr. Barton, she began to understand the gossip she’d overheard that night outside her window. Watching him send the men about their chores was an education. He never raised his voice, even when he was challenged. His voice became softer in anger, in fact, and his eyes took on a glitter like sharp-edged steel in sunlight. But whenever he saw Nora, his firm mouth tugged into a smile, and he looked oblivious to everything except her.
“Nice day, Miss Marlowe,” he commented as he passed her on his way to the stable, his lean fingers holding a pair of stained work gloves. He glanced at her neat lacy little gloves. She was just pulling them off, because she and Melly had only returned from town. “How dainty you are,” he mused. “And always so fastidious.” His silver eyes wandered down her body in the high-necked middy blouse and flaring dark skirt that reached to her high button-topped shoes. The intensity of his interest was disturbing. It made her knees weak. “You make my breath catch,” he added softly.
She was drowning in his deep, soft voice, in the eyes that held hers so hungrily.
“Please, sir, this is not proper,” she faltered.
He moved closer step by step, aware that they were in a very public place in the middle of the yard. He stopped just in front of her and smiled slowly, slapping the gloves absently into the palm of one hand. “What is not proper?” he asked gently. “Is a man not allowed to tell a woman how sweet she looks in her lacy finery?”
She swallowed. She had to look up a long way to see his face. It was hard to remember that she was supposed to be a sophisticated, traveled intellectual when her heart was trying to crawl up into her throat.
“Your attentions could be…misconstrued,” she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “By someone else? Or by you?” He reached out and traced a loose strand of her hair, making incredible sensations along her nerves. His voice dropped in pitch, softened. “I find you fascinating, Miss Marlowe. An orchid barely in bloom.”
Her lips parted. No one had ever said such things to her before. She was enthralled by his deep voice, by the look in his eyes, his presence. The odors of horse and leather and cigar smoke that clung to him were not even noticeable in her state of excitement. Helplessly her blue eyes went from his deep-set eyes to his straight nose and high cheekbones and down to the wide, thin lines of his firm mouth. The lower lip was a little thicker, almost square, as if it had been chiseled out of stone. She felt her pulse quicken as she wondered shamefully how it would feel to kiss him.
He saw that speculative look, and he smiled. “You are very quiet, Miss Marlowe. Have you no scathing comment to make about the condition of my clothes?”
“What?” She sounded, looked, dazed, as her eyes were forced back up to his by the question.
He bent toward her, so that his eyes filled the world, so that under the wide brim of his hat, she could feel his warm breath right on her lips.
“I said,” he said softly, “do you not find me offensive at such close range?”
She shook her head in a helpless little gesture. She could feel his strength, like a rock, in front of her. She wanted to lean forward and press her breasts into his chest. She wanted to drag his hard mouth down over her lips and kiss him until her knees gave way. Other, shocking, images flashed through her mind, and she gasped.
His lean hand came to her cheek and his thumb pressed suddenly, hard over her mouth, bruising the soft tissues. His glittery eyes looked straight into hers. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered roughly. “Shall I put it into words, or is it enough that I know?”
She was too far gone to register the words at all. His thumb played with her mouth and she let it, standing hypnotized by his gaze, his closeness. He pushed her lips against her teeth in his fervor, and she looked up into his eyes with desire plain in her own. For an instant, time ceased to exist….
She realized quite suddenly what was happening to her, and it was frightening. With a tiny sound, she jerked away from him and ran into the house without a backward glance, her lips still stinging from the tender abrasion of his thumb.
She swept into the house red-faced, met by her amused aunt.
“Mr. Barton is in pursuit again, I presume?” the older woman murmured dryly.
Nora’s eyes were very eloquent, even without her hectic flush. “He is…disturbing.”
“He is the soul of courtesy with women, but never have I seen him so attentive,” her aunt replied softly. “He is a personable young man, and very intelligent, especially about ranch management. Chester could not operate so large a property without his help. He was very somber and businesslike before, but I have to admit that he has changed since you came.” She hesitated then, as if it disturbed her to have to speak when she added, “Of course, there is no question of him becoming a serious suitor, you understand.”
Nora didn’t, at first. She frowned, slightly.
“He is a fine young man, but so far beneath you socially, Nora,” her aunt continued gently. “You must not become involved with a man in such a low social station. Your mother would never forgive me if I did not advise you thus. It is amusing that Mr. Barton finds you irresistible, but he is not suitable in any way as a contender for your hand.”
Nora was shocked. She should have realized how her aunt, as much a descendant of European royalty as her own mother, would feel about Cal Barton paying her so much attention. And they were right. A dirty cowboy was hardly a match for a socialite with a wealthy background.
“Oh, I have no interest in Mr. Barton in that respect,” she said quickly, laughing to cover her shock. “But I have noticed that the cowboys respect him. Mr. Barton has had to calm his men down every night.”
“They are high-strung,” her aunt said with a smile. “And surely you’ve become used to noise in your travels.”
“Not really,” Nora recalled as she stood by the window and gazed out over the flat horizon. “I was protected from anything really upsetting, even from the smells and sounds of camp life. And I was always among relatives of one sort or another.”
“Relatives?” her aunt asked pointedly. “And not suitors?”
Nora sighed, and a slight frown marred her lovely face. “I fear that I am…unusual in that respect. I do not encourage the advances of men, although I like them very well as friends.”
“But, my dear, you are lovely,” she said. “Surely you will want to marry one day, and have children….”
Nora’s face closed up. She turned jerkily. “Melly and I have planned to picnic by the river tomorrow.” She glanced at her aunt. “I have a…fear of rivers, but Melly says that this one is shallow and not very fearful.”
“And she is right,” Aunt Helen said, curious about the wording of Nora’s remark. “It will be pleasant for you both, and as it is near the house, it is quite safe to go there unescorted. The heat and dust are terrible this time of year, but it is cool beside the river. Except for the mosquitoes,” she added with a grimace.
Mosquitoes. Nora felt queasy.
“There, now, the mosquitoes are worst in late afternoon,” her aunt said soothingly. “Do not worry.”
Nora turned and then she knew that her mother had told Aunt Helen everything. It was almost a relief to have someone know the truth. She bit her lower lip. “It frightens me.”
Helen touched her shoulder gently. “You had a bad time of it. But you will be fine here. Do go with Melly and enjoy yourself. It will be all right, my dear, truly it will. Why, doctors are often wrong. You must always keep hope. It is God who decides our fate, not the medical profession. Not always, at least.”
“I should have remembered that. Very well,” she said after a minute, and smiled. “I suppose there are worse things than insects,” she added solemnly as she walked out of the room.