Chapter 11
They’d crossed into Texas, and ever since, Beckett’s nerves had been stretched tighter than a corkscrew in an old whiskey bottle.
The words in the book he’d been reading aloud blurred before his eyes, and he paused.
Sitting on the settee across from him in their train car, Hyacinth paused her swift sewing, and he could feel her gaze upon him.
They’d been traveling for three days and had fallen into a comfortable routine.
During the first stop of the day, they disembarked and walked to stretch their legs and get fresh air.
They had breakfast once they were back on the train.
He spent the mornings visiting with some of the other wealthy men in the gentleman’s car and discussing politics, the state of the country, and cattle and horses.
By the time he returned to his private train car, Hyacinth was finished writing her daily letter to Violet and ready to play a game with him. They usually got in a couple of rounds of conquian, a rummy-type game from his childhood that he’d taught Hyacinth.
They disembarked at noon at the next train stop and ate at the depot if it had a dining room, or they found a restaurant nearby.
In the afternoon, they visited with other passengers, rested, and played more card games.
The dinner stop was shorter, and afterward, they sat together in the train car, with him reading aloud while she hemmed the new garments that he’d purchased for her.
She was a skilled seamstress, more so than he’d realized, and she talked about her desire to one day own a sewing machine and have her own tailoring business. She also loved listening to him read—or at the very least pestered him to keep going every time he tried to stop.
Not that he didn’t enjoy the reading. He did.
Sunshine had always read to him and had passed on a love of books.
In fact, Sunshine had taught him many things during his younger years and had eventually hired a tutor to continue his education.
He was grateful to her that he wasn’t illiterate like so many cowboys.
The first day of the trip, he’d purchased a couple of novels to help them pass the time.
He alternated between Around the World in Eighty Days and Far From the Madding Crowd.
Course, he liked the first one for its adventure, and Hyacinth liked the second one for its romance—although she wouldn’t admit to it.
With either book, she eventually set aside her sewing and listened with rapt attention.
He hated that he was now interrupting the story, since she was enjoying it so much.
But he’d been unable to focus on much since they’d entered the Texas Panhandle that evening.
He hadn’t wanted to know when they’d finally made it to Texas.
Didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to even consider it.
But a haunted breeze had seemed to blow through his veins as they’d crossed the border, almost as if the Texas air knew he’d returned and was tormenting him.
When he’d ridden away, he’d told himself that nothin’ would ever get him to return. He’d shaken the Texas dust off his coat and hat in good riddance. But after seven years, here he was, riding back to the place he loathed.
He’d prove to Dickinson that he’d met Sargeant’s requirement and had brought his wife back.
Once the ranch was officially his without any worries about Richard Turner, Beckett would finally be able to do whatever he wanted with it.
Namely, make the reparations that were long overdue.
If that included giving up some of the land—especially parcels that had been stolen over the years—then so be it.
Once that was done, he would give the deed of the ranch to Rodrigo, who loved the land and the people on it. Beckett didn’t need or want the ranch. His inheritance was large enough without it. After that, he’d leave and never go back to the Double T.
“What’s wrong?” Hyacinth’s soft question cut through the growing restlessness inside him.
He closed the book, placed it on the end table, and stood. He let himself stare at Hyacinth, taking in everything about her, hoping it would distract him.
Usually, looking at her made him lose his focus so that he could only think about her.
At the moment, with her dark hair dangling in curls, her pretty lips pursed, and her green eyes radiating concern, she was incredibly beautiful.
The new yellow gown she was wearing showcased her comely figure and the soft tan of her skin.
But even with her sitting an arm’s length away, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the train was rolling through Texas now, plunging him back to a time in his life that he didn’t want to remember, that he’d fought hard to escape.
He paced to the window and peered outside.
Although the sun had set, he could picture the landscape anyway.
The miles of flat, dusty plains that contained little but the buffalo grass, blue grama, and switchgrass that had made the area profitable for ranching over the past decade.
The settlements were newer and the area tamer than the southern part of Texas that bordered Mexico, where battles had been ongoing since the first Anglos had arrived and settled in the land belonging to the Tejanos.
Battles that his family had participated in all too frequently and willingly.
His gut cinched as memories pushed for release—memories of the last year of violence, bloodshed, and death. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and now was his chance to make restitution for the damage he’d perpetuated.
“I can tell something is bothering you.” Hyacinth spoke again, as forthrightly as always.
He appreciated her frankness, but tonight he didn’t want her probing.
He stepped away from the window and jammed his fingers into his hair.
“It might help if you talked about it—”
“Talking isn’t the answer to every problem.” His comment contained a note of irritation, but he couldn’t help it. He started to pace, which wasn’t easy on a moving train.
She resumed sewing for a few stitches before setting it down on her lap again. “Avoiding something isn’t the answer either.”
He blew out a scoffing sound. “That’s mighty fine coming from the queen of avoidance.”
“Queen of avoidance?” The question was cold. “If I’m the queen, then you’re most definitely the king.”
What was he doing starting a fight? Because with the accusations, that’s exactly where this conversation was headed.
He’d been doing so well over the past few days in trying to show her that he was a decent fella. But what if he hadn’t changed enough?
“Listen, darlin’.” He blew out an exasperated breath—this one aimed at himself. “I’m in no mood to talk tonight. That’s all.”
“Close yourself off if that’s what you prefer.” Her tone turned haughty.
“Believe it or not, some folks don’t like to share every little blasted thing that’s wrong in their lives.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was taut.
“You don’t have to share.” She started sewing again, her shoulders stiff and her movements jerky. “I really don’t care. I was just trying to be nice.”
“I don’t need you to be nice.”
“Fine.” She spat the word, and her eyes flashed with anger. “I won’t be nice.”
Their argument was ridiculous and turning petty.
He huffed. “I’m going out for some air.”
She rolled her eyes. “That would be perfect. You can have a conversation with yourself, since you’re closed off to everyone else.”
Without responding, he stalked to the rear door, then stepped outside onto the covered platform. He closed the door, then reached for the railing to steady himself. The train, at twenty miles an hour, wasn’t going much faster than a galloping horse. He wasn’t in any danger standing here.
At least, he wasn’t in danger yet. But he would be once he got closer to the ranch.
He’d already decided that he would have Dickinson send an armed group to escort him when he left the train in Corpus Christi and rode the rest of the distance to the house.
He wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Hyacinth traveling with him.
Maybe he needed to be more honest with her so that she would know what to expect when they entered the south of Texas, where his family was well known and their enemies too numerous to count.
Those enemies probably hadn’t gone away over the seven years he’d been gone.
When they learned he was home, they wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate him.
With a sigh, he dragged in a breath of the night air, which was warm and dusty.
She was right that he’d closed himself off. He’d become an expert at it over the past years. A part of him had needed to close off all that had happened for his own sanity. He’d needed the time and distance to let himself forget and move on.
He’d been doing just fine with his new life in Colorado, and he didn’t want that to change. All he had to do was get through the next month, and then he could go back to the peaceful existence he’d carved out for himself on the Noble Ranch.
He stared up at the sky with its endless stars and forced his mind to move on to other things.
In talking ranching with a couple other fellas on the train, Beckett had started ruminating on another new breed that he might be able to develop for the Nobles.
He’d already helped Sterling with the Durford steers, which were more winter hardy and provided a better cut of meat that they could sell at a higher price.
While he was in Texas, he’d do more research into the possibilities.
One good thing that had come from his ranching on the Double T was that he’d learned a lot from Sargeant and his pa.
Both had been innovators and entrepreneurs.
They’d always looked for ways to expand the ranch and its operations, including more successful breeds of cattle that could weather the hot, dry Texas plains.
When the lights in the train car finally went out, Beckett waited a short while longer before going back in.
Hyacinth was in bed, and hopefully he’d given her enough time to fall asleep.
He knew he owed her an apology for his attitude earlier and for starting the fight, but he’d wait and give it to her in the morning.
He quietly pulled his blankets and pillow out from underneath the bed, then he shed his shirt and shoes before lying down.
He slept with his trousers and gun belt on because he always wanted to be ready for any danger.
It was an old habit he hadn’t been able to give up.
Now, with Hyacinth to take care of, he was even more reluctant to part from his gun for even a minute.
He settled back on his pillow and shut his eyes. He couldn’t hear Hyacinth’s breathing over the clacking of the train wheels, but he sensed that she wasn’t yet asleep since she was too motionless and tense.
Should he apologize now?
He opened his mouth but stalled. Should he also tell her more about the situation that had led him to leave Texas?
With a shake of his head, he clamped his lips closed. He didn’t want to talk about it tonight. If and when he revealed more, he’d do it during the day when they weren’t tired.
He should have just shared with her tonight. She’d been considerate and sensitive to see that he was having a hard time, and she’d only wanted to help bear his burden because that’s how she was.
After the past few days of making progress in earning her trust and getting her to like him a little, now all he’d gone and done was make a mess of things again.