Hill Country Cattleman

“I can’t wait to try her. Might I do that this morning, Raleigh? If I’m not keeping you from things you need to attend to, that is?”

He nodded. “The boss gave me the morning off. There’s nothing that can’t wait. I’ll just take her out to the barn and tack her up while you change your clothes.”

“Oh, no, I want to saddle her,” Violet said. “I don’t wish to cause you more work, and a proper horsewoman prepares her own mount. I merely need you to show me where everything is kept in the stable and make sure I do it correctly the first time, since it’s a new type of saddle to me.” She’d done her own saddling and bridling at Greyshaw once she persuaded the stable boys her brother would never know. She realized that by saying so, she revealed the fact that she had taken over the stableboy’s job at home, but it was too late to retract her statement now. And seeing the approval in Raleigh’s eyes, she didn’t even want to.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she said, taking the skirt from Milly.

Half an hour later, wearing the divided skirt and a floppy-brimmed straw hat Milly had loaned her to protect her complexion, Violet had bridled and saddled Lady herself under Raleigh’s tutelage. She’d found the Western saddle a lot heavier than its English counterpart, and harder to lift gently onto the mare’s back, but Lady stood calmly as she did so. She patiently swished her tail as Raleigh taught Violet how to tighten and secure the girth, then she dropped her head and accepted the bridle with grave dignity.

“Oh, you are a lady, aren’t you? I can see how you got your name,” Violet cooed at her, and Lady again favored her with a friendly look from her deep, dark eyes. Violet was already halfway in love with this horse, and if the mare’s manners when ridden matched her behavior when merely being petted, she’d be a fabulous mount indeed.

“This mare has a soft mouth, Miss Violet,” Raleigh said. “You’ll never need a whip or spurs with this horse, just your knees and heels, and not much of the latter. Western horses usually neck rein, rather than bit rein,” he added, making gestures to show her that she’d hold the reins in one hand instead of two, with the pressure against the neck of the horse, rather than pulling the rein in the direction one wished to go. “That’s because cowboys often have to use the other hand to throw a rope, or shoot a gun,” he added matter-of-factly.

Violet nodded, absorbing all this. No doubt these details would come in handy for her manuscript.

Lady was not as tall as a thoroughbred, so Violet didn’t need a mounting block. Just as well, for she didn’t see one anywhere.

“You can put her through her paces in that open stretch just beyond the corral,” Raleigh suggested, and settled himself on the top rail to watch.

She found everything the cowboy had said about the mare was true. She was a “sweet goer,” as the hunting set would have said, responding to the lightest of neck and knee pressure to change direction as Violet directed her. She walked and backed and did figures-of-eight with the merest of cues. Her trot was smooth—which was fortunate, since Raleigh told her cowboys “sat the trot,” rather than posting. Her canter had an easy, rocking-horse quality to it.

When she and Lady came near the house again, Violet saw that Raleigh was still perched on the corral fence, watching her ride, and he’d been joined by Milly and her brothers, though Edward stood rather than sit on the top rail. She felt suddenly self-conscious, and checked to make sure her heels were down, her posture correct.

But she saw nothing but admiration in his eyes.

“Well, what did you think of her?” Raleigh asked after she’d ridden Lady over to the corral and dismounted.

“She’s perfect! So smooth and well-mannered. I’ll love riding her while I’m here.”

“Be careful, Raleigh, or she’ll try and talk you out of that horse by the end of her visit,” advised Nick wryly.

Violet grinned, finding the idea of showing off the piebald—pinto, she corrected herself—mare in England even more appealing than the blue roan had been. The hunt would be scandalized at the horse’s gaudy color, and she’d be a sensation. She’d start a fashion for paint ponies.

“Perhaps we could work out a trade,” Nick said with a wink. “Greyshaw’s best thoroughbred for one Indian pony.”

Edward snorted. “Highly unlikely. Where’d you learn horse trading, brother?”

“Well, I suppose I’d better get started on the noon meal,” Milly said. “I left beans simmering, but the rest of it sure won’t cook itself. Raleigh, don’t be a stranger,” she said, waving at the cowboy and turning to go back to the kitchen.

“I won’t—oh, hey, Miss Milly, I nearly forgot. Miss Caroline wanted me to ask y’all to come over to have supper with them tonight. I’d told them about the arrival of Nick’s English family, and they were eager to meet them, if y’all hadn’t any other plans, that is.”

“Why, that would be purely delightful!” Milly exclaimed. “Violet, you’ll love the Colliers. Raleigh, tell Miss Caroline we’ll start over about five, all right?”

Violet released the breath she’d been holding until Milly gave her answer, but hid the delight surging through her. She’d get another chance to see Raleigh—twice in the same day! She firmly squelched the voice within her that said it shouldn’t matter.

“Yes, ma’am.” He fingered the brim of his hat to Milly.

Now it was safe, and even appropriate, to smile up at him. “Raleigh, thank you so much for the loan of your horse,” she said. “I promise I’ll take good care of Lady.”

“You’re a right fine rider, Miss Violet,” he said, touching the brim of his cap to her.

His compliment warmed her, for she sensed this man didn’t give them lightly.

“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to add, “I’ll see you later, Raleigh,” but Edward was still present, and besides, she had no way of knowing if the foreman of the Colliers’ ranch took his meals with his employer and his wife, or not.

But one could hope so, she thought as she watched Raleigh mount and canter away. Oh, yes, she certainly hoped so.

Chapter Four

She should go help Milly prepare the meal, Violet thought after Raleigh and his roan had disappeared down the road. But a proper horsewoman always saw to her mount’s unsaddling, unbridling and rubbing-down before anything else.

“I’ll take care of her for you, Miss Violet,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned to see a towheaded, lanky young cowboy coming from the direction of the bunkhouse. He blushed as she focused on him, but continued gamely, “I’m Bobby Gibson, one of the cowhands. I’m sure you’ll meet the rest later, but they’re all out in the fields, tendin’ th’ stock, ’ceptin’ my uncle Josh, and he’s cookin’ beans and biscuits in the bunkhouse.”

“Nice to meet you, Bobby,” she said. “And I’ll take advantage of your kind offer, this once, since today I should like to help Milly with the cooking.”

After giving Lady a last pat, she washed her hands at the outside pump. How could water in such a hot sunny climate be so cold? It must be a very deep well indeed.

At Greyshaw, she would have nothing more to do than plan her ensemble and daydream about the coming evening until the bell for luncheon rang, Violet thought while she changed her clothes. But perhaps if she kept herself busy, the hours until she could see the handsome cowboy would not be so endless. Besides, she didn’t want to look like Nick’s spoiled, lazy sister while his wife worked so hard.

Finding her sister-in-law in the kitchen, she said, “Please, may I help you? I’d quite like to.” Would Milly allow it? At home, Cook ruled the roost in the Greyshaw kitchens and no “outsiders”—even the family who paid her salary—were welcome in her little bailiwick.

Milly looked surprised, but she smiled. “You don’t have to, but I’d welcome the company. Go tie on that spare apron over yonder,” she said, pointing to that item hanging from a hook on the wall.

“I must confess I’m totally out of my element here,” she admitted to Milly. “Cook’s quite the dictator belowstairs at home. But I would love to learn to cook, especially Texas specialties.”

“Well, Texas cooking is pretty uncomplicated compared to what you’re probably used to,” Milly said, “but we also eat a lot of dishes the first settlers picked up from the Mexicans. Today we’re having one of those—enchiladas. And the beans I started earlier, too.”

In no time, Violet learned to brown the meat, roll it up in the soft tortillas and lay them next to one another in a pair of rectangular baking pans, then mix the spicy sauce and pour it over the rolled-up tortillas. Milly sprinkled on some cheese and stuck the dishes into the oven to bake.

“Does Bobby’s uncle Josh do all the cooking for the cowboys?” Violet asked while they set the table. What they had prepared was clearly only enough for the family.

“Most of it, though I took him some of the beans earlier, and when I bake bread I share the loaves with them. He’s been the foreman here since I was a little girl, but now that he’s getting along in years, the other men do most of the work and he just supervises and handles the cooking. He cooks a lot of chili and ‘son-of-’—that is, um...I suppose we should call it ‘cowboy stew.’ The actual title is most unsuitable for a lady’s ears. I guess I’ve developed some careless habits of speech out here with all these rough men.”

Violet grinned. She loved Milly’s genuineness and lack of airs.

They drank cold tea while they waited for the enchiladas to cook. It didn’t take long for the appetizing aroma to pervade the kitchen. Edward wandered back in from a stroll around the ranch and sat down with them.

“Mmm,” Violet breathed. “If that dish tastes as good as it smells, I believe I’ll take the recipe home and teach Cook a thing or two.

“It wouldn’t hurt the old tyrant to add to her cooking repertoire,” Edward agreed. “I had them when I was here before and found the dish quite tasty.”

* * *

On the way home from the Brookfields’ ranch, Raleigh decided not to join the others at the Colliers’ table tonight, but to keep to his normal practice of taking his meals with the rest of the men in the bunkhouse. He’d never felt he was superior to those over whom he’d been made foreman—he’d been one of them until his boss had promoted him. Cookie’s grub suited him fine, as a rule.

Of course, he had a standing invitation to meals with Jack and his wife whenever he wanted to join them, and he did so when he had ranch business to discuss with his boss. He figured if he’d been sparking one of the Simpson Creek girls, Miss Caroline would be more than happy to promote the romance by inviting them both to supper.

But Miss Violet—Lady Violet, as he liked to think of her—was no local girl. And while he could invite himself for a meal with the Colliers anytime he liked, sitting down at supper where Miss Violet and her brother were the guests of honor would be a whole different matter. The Englishwoman’s proper, stuffy brother would glare at him like he was a skunk at a picnic. And he wasn’t sure Nick Brookfield would be pleased to know Raleigh was attracted to his sister, either. He’d taken to Texas like a duck to water, but he probably had higher ambitions for Violet—like marriage to a duke, if not a prince.