Chapter One #5
“Always seemed to me you thought you had to, too,” Royal said with equal seriousness.
“They tell me you was trying to break horses when most boys were trying to get up on ponies. I’ve seen you hanging out with the hands when you could’ve been giving orders from the front porch.
I learned from you as much as I worked for you—both of you.
Not only did you take me in when I had nothing…
but I’ve got a good bit of money now, and not just from my work.
You and Josh showed me how to invest…Lord, what ordinary ranch hand knows about investments? ”
“You were never an ordinary ranch hand,” Gray said.
Then he said impatiently, “All right, who’s the girl?
And where in hell did you meet her? If you say Celia’s or Big Sally’s, I’ll have to pound some sense into your head.
A man gets lonely out here—but not plain crazy. You can’t settle down with a whore.”
They’d reached the house now, but Royal only reined up and stared at Gray.
“What girl?” he asked, genuinely startled.
“The one you’re going to settle down with and leave us to build that home for,” Gray said.
“Well, I ain’t met her yet,” Royal said. “I’m only saying that I got to thinking it’s time I did.”
Gray sighed again and stared at him, before he slid down from the saddle and threw his reins to Royal.
He laced two hands at the small of his back and stretched.
“No, it’s time you did something else,” he said, wincing as he looked up at Royal.
“When was the last time you took a break? Thinking about women is one thing, but when a man starts to thinking about settling down with one that he hasn’t even met, it’s sure that he needs to do more than think about them.
Next time I leave this place, you’re coming with me. ”
“I don’t think theaters and whorehouses hold my answer, Gray,” Royal said with a smile.
“They sure as hell might help you ask a better question,” Gray said as he limped away to the house.
Royal’s smile slipped as he watched the fair-haired man make his painful way up the short stair to his house. When Gray limped as badly as that, it meant he was in considerable pain; he must have done some hard traveling.
Gray took the three steps to his porch, silently cursing each one as he did.
His leg ached most, but it was only adding its bit to the symphony of discomfort he felt.
But for all he wanted a seat that didn’t move beneath him, he wanted one in a hot bath first. He paused in his hallway before he attempted the long stair to his bedroom.
Not because of the pain in his leg. He picked up the letters from the hall table, and stood holding them in his hand as though weighing them, although there was nothing he wanted more at the moment than to read his brother’s words.
Because there was no one he loved more on the earth.
His brother was a decade older than he himself.
A self-made man, one who’d gone to work at men’s jobs when he’d been a boy; a man who’d given up his youth so that his younger brother could have a chance to enjoy his, a man who’d sacrificed what he’d wanted most in life: an education, so that his brother could have one.
Now Josh Dylan was one of the richest men in the country, and so then, too, was his brother.
And now Josh lived in New York City, where he directed the family fortune he’d made, and he wanted his brother to come live with him—to help him, as he said in every letter he wrote.
As if Josh needed any help, Gray thought with a wry smile.
There was no man on earth Gray loved more.
Yet though Josh had never been less than reasonable with him, there was no man on earth Gray feared more—or at least, no man’s deeds.
Because he never knew how he could measure up to him, although he’d spent his life trying.
Trying, he thought, as he looked up the long stair he’d have to climb in a moment, even though it seemed he’d have to break every bone in his body to do it, and still not succeed.
No, brother, he thought, sadly staring at the letters, in New York, I’d just be what I’ve been all my life: Josh Dylan’s lucky little brother.
Here, I’m your brother, but by God, at least they know how hard I try to be more.
He let out his breath and faced the staircase.
The horse that had crushed his leg so badly it couldn’t be set right had been too wild for him then; just as the stair in his house was too high for him now.
But he’d gotten on one to prove a point, and he’d refused to take down the other to make another.
He gathered up his mail and his carpetbag, and clenched his teeth. And had got halfway up the stairs when he heard his housekeeper cry out in alarm.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” Mrs. Ryan keened, watching him with distress, knowing too well to offer assistance. “I’ll have old Ryan fetch your bath,” she mumbled as she hurried away, offering the only help she could.
It was only when he was undressing that he found the paper he’d stuffed into his pocket before he’d left town. It was that paper he read as he finally sank into his hip bath. And that paper that made his grave face brighten at last, when he picked it up again after he’d read Josh’s letters.
Because it was a handbill listing new performances to be presented at the theater where he’d just seen that pretty little redheaded actress he’d spent a night with—Josie?
—no, Joyce—or something like that, he thought, as the memory of her face receded with her name.
The handbill spoke of pleasures even more ephemeral than the meeting of bodies, and yet in a way, more satisfying, because it reminded him of a better way of escaping from himself.
That’s where he’d take Royal, and soon, he promised himself.
As he sank into the water and felt it leach the pain from his limbs, he thought with a smile, that with all he had, and that was a lot, he needed more.
But that unlike Royal, he knew what it was.
And that for both of them, the play would, indeed, be the thing.