a driver and a carriage to transport ourselves and our baggage....”
Then his brain caught up with his ears, and he realized that the foreign pronunciation of her words was an English accent.
“You folks kin of Mr. Brookfield?” he asked. Nick Brookfield was the only Englishman he knew, and he’d become well acquainted with him on the trail the past couple of months.
Now her face became as radiant as the sun on a spring morning. “Why, yes. You know him?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We just trailed two thousand head a’ cattle clear to Abilene together.”
Her eyes widened. “All by yourselves?”
He laughed. “No, ma’am. There were ten of us, countin’ the chuckwagon cook.” Modesty prevented him from saying he’d been the trail boss of the outfit.
The man she’d identified as her brother approached now, a pale fellow dressed like a fancy Eastern gent, wearing a bowler and a black frock coat with a brocade vest. He looked suspiciously at Raleigh before addressing his sister.
“Violet, is this man able to help us reach Nicholas’s ranch?”
Violet, that was her name. She looked more like a Rose to him, but he wasn’t about to quibble. Her name was none of his concern, anyway.
“Yes, sir,” he said. He thought about offering his hand, but he was hot and sweaty from a morning of chores, and he didn’t want to dirty the fancy gent’s gloves. “I’m Raleigh Masterson, foreman of the ranch right next to the Brookfields’, Colliers’ Roost. I’d be happy to help you get there. Reckon I could rent a rig at the livery.” Paying for the rental was no problem—he was flush with cash from his profit from the trail drive, and he knew Nick Brookfield would reimburse him if his visiting brother neglected to. Regretfully, he bade goodbye to the idea of a new shirt, bath and shave. At least for now.
“This is my brother, Lord Greyshaw,” Miss Violet said. “And I’m Miss Violet Brookfield, of course.”
He didn’t know why her brother had one last name, and she another, but he figured he could puzzle that out later.
Greyshaw gave him a lordly nod. “Very good of you. We’re much obliged.”
Miss Violet cast a wistful eye back at the hotel. “I was hoping for a bite to eat and a cup of tea while we were in town, Edward. The food at the stagecoach station was abysmal, wasn’t it?”
Raleigh saw her brother shudder in agreement.
“Perhaps you’re right, Violet. It’s still quite a distance to the ranch. If you wouldn’t mind the delay, Mr. Masterson?”
Raleigh saw a way to kill two birds with one stone. “Not at all, sir. And please, call me Raleigh. It’ll take a while for me to get a rig hitched up and load your luggage,” he said, nodding toward the stack of brass-bound trunks sitting in the dust where the driver had left them. “By that time you can have a nice, cozy dinner at the hotel. Meanwhile, no one will bother your trunks here.”
“Won’t you join us, Mr. Masterson?” Miss Violet asked. “I’d love to hear about the trail drive. I’ve never spoken with a real Texas cowboy before.”
There was nothing he’d like better, but her innocent invitation had left Violet’s brother looking like he’d swallowed a horned toad whole. And besides, with them eating a leisurely dinner at the hotel, he’d have time to run over to the livery and tell Calhoun what he needed to rent, knowing the liveryman would hitch up a team for him. While that was happening, he could buy a shirt at the mercantile, have a quick bath and a shave and be back by the time the pretty lady and her brother were done with their meal.
“That’s right kind of you, ma’am, but I’ve eaten,” he said. It wasn’t really a lie—he’d eaten Cookie’s biscuits and gravy at sunup. “I’ll just go arrange a rig while you have some vittles. Take your time, and I’ll have it waiting outside the hotel when y’all are finished.”
There wouldn’t be time to soak in hot soapy water till his fingers got pruney as he’d planned, but that was all right. He’d like to correct the unkempt impression he must have made, even though he knew an aristocratic lady like Miss Violet and he lived on separate planes entirely.
* * *
Violet watched the cowboy walk away, appreciating his easy, long-limbed stride and the way his spurs jingled over his boot heels with every step. Unconsciously, she let out another sigh of feminine appreciation.
“Violet Rose Alicia Brookfield,” sputtered Edward behind her. “Whatever were you thinking to invite the man to dine with us? You mustn’t be so familiar with a man you’ve just met, a mere cowboy. And don’t think I didn’t see the way you looked at him, young lady. I haven’t brought you across an ocean to protect your good name only to see you ruin it within your first few days in Texas. You must think of your position, your—”
“Edward, don’t be pompous,” she said, interrupting his tirade and taking his arm to steer him toward the hotel. She figured he was cranky from hunger. “This is America, after all, and you told me things are much more informal here. Besides, the man just offered to do us a service. I wish he had agreed to dine with us. You know I want to write novels about the West—interviewing a cowboy over a meal would certainly furnish me with ideas.”
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” Edward muttered.
It wasn’t as if she’d fallen in love at first sight, she told herself, even if the interested look in the depths of Masterson’s dark eyes had sped up her pulse. No, she loved Gerald, and he adored her, as he told her so often. When her time in Texas was over, she’d return to England and they’d be married, just as Gerald had promised.
“You know how I feel about this notion of your being an authoress. You are a lady, Violet, the daughter and sister of a viscount. The nobility does not engage in trade, and selling a manuscript for money certainly constitutes that. I should think you’d understand by now that having your nose in a book all the time has left you naive....”
It had been an oft-repeated refrain on this journey, and one she was too tired and hungry to listen to at the moment. She wanted to think about the cowboy she’d just met, and how she’d describe her book’s hero so that he resembled Raleigh Masterson.
It was hard, being so far away from the man she loved, but she was determined to look on her time in Texas as an adventure. She would be richer in experience when she returned to Gerald, and then they could live happily ever after, she was sure of it.
Chapter Two
They were given the table in front of the bay window at the far end of the restaurant, but Violet knew she was the center of attention in the dining room of the Simpson Creek Hotel.
“Why are they all staring at you?” Edward fumed over his roast beef. “You’d think they’d never seen a lady before.”
“’Tis my modish dress, Edward,” Violet said softly, hoping those at nearby tables hadn’t heard his fussing. “It’s only natural London would be rather ahead of Texas in fashion.” She hadn’t brought any of her Worth gowns, of course, but a glance around at the simple ginghams and calicos she’d seen worn by the women coming out of the
