Heart of Texas Volume One (36 page)

“Well if it ain't Glen Patterson himself,” Billy called out when Glen walked in.

A couple of ranchers lounging against the bar raised their hands in greeting.

Glen tipped his Stetson a little farther back on his head.

“You want a cold one?” Billy asked.

“Sounds good.” Glen stepped up to the bar and set some money down on the counter.

With practiced ease Billy slid the thick mug down the polished bar and Glen grabbed it before it flew past.

“Keep your money. It's on the house,” Billy said, smiling broadly.

Glen arched his brows and lifted the mug to his lips. Nothing tasted better than a cold beer on a hot day, especially when it was free. It slid down the back of his throat, easing away the taste of several hours of eating dust.

“Any reason you're giving away beer this afternoon?” he asked when he'd downed half the mug.

“Only to you,” Billy informed him.

“What's so special about me?”

Billy gave him a look that suggested he open his eyes. “I figure you're gonna set Richard Weston on his ear. In fact, I'm waitin' to see it.”

Glen frowned. “I don't have any fight with Weston.” Ellie would probably love it if he acted like an idiot—yet again— but he was finished with that game. Those two were welcome to each other. Glen had decided to wash his hands of the whole thing. If Ellie wanted to marry Richard, then he wasn't going to stand in her way.

“You don't care?” Billy looked as if he wanted his beer back. “Richard's been by, and to hear him talk, he's done everything but put an engagement ring on Ellie's finger. You aren't going to let that happen, are you?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Glen asked, hardening his heart in order to avoid showing his feelings.

Billy frowned. He braced both hands on the bar and leaned forward as though to get a better look at Glen. “You're serious about this?”

“Damn right, I'm serious.”

“That's not the impression I got Saturday night. The three of you are the hot topic of conversation this week, dancing that Texas two-step of yours. Some folks've started placing bets on which of you is gonna marry Ellie.”

“As far as I'm concerned Richard can have her.” It was a bald-faced lie, but Glen considered it damage control. For his ego
and
his reputation.

“Personally I think you're the better man,” Lyle Whitehouse said. His back was to the bar and he'd rested his elbows behind him. Lyle worked at a ranch closer to Brewster than to Promise, but he'd worn out his welcome at more than a few places. He had a reputation as a hothead, although he hadn't started any fights at Billy D's. Yet.

Jimmy Morris stood beside him, his stomach pressed to the bar and one boot on the brass foot rail. “When you're talkin' marriage, it isn't a matter of bein' better,” he said ponderously. “Ladies choose who they choose.”

“True enough,” Lyle agreed. “But it doesn't hurt to try a bit of persuasion…” He winked. “You know what I mean.”

“Richard seems to think he's got an edge on you,” Billy informed Glen, “and no one likes a man who's too confident.”

“Even if he does buy the drinks,” Jimmy added.

“Richard's celebrating already?” Glen asked, wondering if Richard knew something no one else did. Maybe he'd already asked Ellie and maybe she'd given him an encouraging response. The thought twisted his gut. To this point he'd trusted Ellie's judgement. More or less. He was miserable and uncertain about her and Richard, but he'd always supposed that in the end Ellie would turn to him. Because of their friendship and everything they had in common…and their kisses.

Those kisses in the wee hours of Saturday night had been wonderful, the best of his life. He found it hard to believe they'd meant so little to her.

“Weston's so sure of himself he's taking odds.”

“Making himself the favorite,” Billy said, his mouth thinning with disapproval.

“Naturally,” Jimmy muttered and took a swallow of beer.

“We were kinda hopin' you'd set him down a peg or two,” Lyle said in a tone that suggested more than one rancher had pinned his hopes on Glen.

Glen didn't know what it was about Richard Weston. He'd never met anyone so likable, yet so universally disliked. He could be charming, witty and fun, and at the same time he was the biggest jackass in the state of Texas.

“What do you think?” Billy pressed.

“You're not gonna take this sittin' down, are you?” Lyle asked.

“You gotta do something,” Jimmy added. “We got money on you!”

All three men looked to Glen. Unfortunately he didn't know
what
the hell to do.

 

O
NE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT
things Richard Weston had ever done was return to Promise—broke, his tail between his legs, seeking a handout from his family. Once he was home again, he figured he'd die of sheer boredom inside a month. Promise was about as Hicktown, U.S.A., as it could get. He stared at the walls of his old bedroom and sighed. Never in a million years did he guess he'd end up back here.

What intrigued him was how gullible folks in Promise were. Everyone—well, except for the sheriff and he couldn't
prove
anything—accepted his lies without pause or question. In fact, he'd gotten a little careless, but it didn't seem to matter. He'd certainly been right in assuming that he'd be safe here, at the ranch—safe from his troubles back east.

The boredom, though. He sighed. And the cows…

It'd taken him the better part of six years to get the stench of cattle from his skin. He'd never understood the attraction of following a bunch of pathetic-looking beasts from pasture to pasture. As far as he was concerned, cattle were headaches on the hoof. Yet his father and his brother had always acted as though there was nothing more wonderful in life than ranching. But it sure wasn't for him; never had been, never would be. The mere thought of sitting in a saddle all day made him want to puke, although God knew Grady had done his best to get him to do some work around the place. Thus far, he'd managed to avoid doing anything of consequence. He'd volunteered to run errands, which gave him free use of the pickup—something that had come in handy for other reasons. The tradespeople around Promise trusted him, assumed he was taking care of ranch business. And he was. But he was seeing to his own needs, as well.

To his surprise he'd discovered some pleasant distractions in Promise. Ellie Frasier, for one. She was a sweet thing, pretty, too, if a guy didn't mind small breasts and skinny legs. Personally he preferred a more voluptuous woman, but Ellie came with certain monetary compensations. A prosperous business, plus a healthy inheritance from her daddy, who'd doted on his only child.

It wouldn't hurt him any to get his hands on old-man Frasier's money. He could use it. He was in trouble, but all it took was money in the right places and his problem would vanish.

For now he was safe enough in Promise. No one knew about his family, and even if they managed to track him to Texas, they'd never find his hiding place.

He had Savannah to thank for that. He'd always been lucky— at least until his present difficulties. But then, everything had a way of working out. This latest episode was a good example.

No, he decided, lying on top of his quilt, hands folded behind his head, there could be worse things in this world than marrying Ellie Frasier. He'd ask her soon, and if she was opposed to selling the business, then he'd take it over. He could do well with it, too—aside from the fact that it would provide collateral for raising quick cash.

Actually Richard liked the idea of becoming a local businessman. He could remember one of his teachers, Lily Moorhouse, telling him he should be a politician. The old biddy just could be right. In a year or two he might even consider running for mayor. Promise could use his kind of leadership. This hayseed town needed someone to bring it into the twenty-first century.

The town had real possibilities, if he could convince people to listen to his ideas. For starters they needed to close down the bowling alley; in his view it gave the place a white-trash image. He'd buy up land outside town and get some investors to build a shopping complex. If not that, he'd bet he could get one of the big discount stores interested in the area. It was time the local shop owners found out about competitive pricing.

Everything hinged on Ellie. They'd kissed a couple of times, and although she didn't exactly set him ablaze, she wasn't bad. He knew she was sweet on Glen Patterson. That might be cause for concern if Patterson wasn't so intent on putting his foot in his mouth, which he seemed to do with increasing regularity. Fortunately for Richard.

Poor guy was out of his league with women, unlike Richard who had the whole mating ritual down to an art. The way he figured it, Ellie would agree to marry him before the end of the month. Maybe sooner. When he turned on the charm, there wasn't a female within six states who could refuse him. Little Ellie Frasier didn't have a snowball's chance in hell.

And over at Billy D's Richard stood to pick up a few extra bucks betting on his own chances in the Texas two-step.

Altogether a sweet deal.

 

F
OR MOST OF HIS ADULT LIFE
Glen had been confident and self-assured. He'd taken over the family ranch with his brother, worked hard, kept his nose clean. Romantic involvements had been light and ultimately insignificant, causing no pain when they ended. Until now there'd been little to disrupt his calm existence.

Any problems he either solved himself or sought advice from Cal. This was the first time since he was thirteen years old that he felt the need to speak to his father about girls. Women. What his grandfather used to call “personal matters.”

His parents had moved into town a few years ago. His father had suffered a heart attack, and although the doctors had said he was good as new following his bypass surgery, his mother wasn't taking any chances. For years they'd talked about moving into Promise one day. His father had insisted he wasn't ready to retire, so they'd bought the Howe Mansion, which wasn't really a mansion, just the largest house in town. Before another year was up it'd been renovated and turned into a bed-and-breakfast.

Glen had had his doubts about this venture. Cal, too. But their parents had proved them both wrong. The bed-and-breakfast was thriving, and so were Phil and Mary Patterson.

His mother complained that she didn't see near enough of her sons. That being the case, she certainly looked surprised to see Glen when he walked into her kitchen.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, slipping up behind her and kissing her cheek.

Mary Patterson hugged him as though it'd been a week of Sundays since his last visit. “Taste this,” she said, sticking a spoon in his face.

“What is it?” Glen asked, jerking he head back. He preferred not to be part of a culinary experiment.

“Chili. I'm practicing for the cook-off.”

“Mom, that's not for months yet.”

“I know. This is a new recipe I've been playing around with. What do you think?”

Despite his better judgment, Glen tried the chili and tried to hide his response. It tasted…well, not like food. Not like something you'd seriously consider eating.

“It needs work, right?” she asked, studying him.

He nodded. For her guests his mother generally stayed with plain basic food. Good thing. “This recipe needs a rethink, Mom.”

She sighed and tossed the spoon into the sink. “I was afraid of that.”

“Where's Dad?” Glen asked, hoping to make the inquiry sound casual.

“Upstairs. The sink in the bathroom's plugged again.” Her gaze didn't waver from his. “Something on your mind?”

He nodded. He could never hide anything from his mother.

“Does it involve Ellie Frasier?”

“Yeah.”

She grinned and pointed toward the stairway off the kitchen. “Talk to your father, but if you want advice about how to romance her, talk to me. Your father doesn't know a damn thing about romance.”

Hiding a smile, Glen headed for the stairs. Just as his mother had said, he found his dad lying on the tile floor staring up at the sink, wrench in hand.

“Hi, Dad.”

“I thought I heard you downstairs talking to your mother.” Phil Patterson slid out from beneath the sink and reached for a rag to dry his hands. “And to think she was worried about me working too hard on the ranch. If anything's going to kill me, it'll be this sink.”

Glen sat down on the edge of the tub.

“Did you have something you wanted to ask me, son?”

Leaning forward, Glen removed his Stetson, slowly turning it in his hand. “How many years have you and Mom been married?”

“Well, your brother's thirty-six, so this year we had our thirty-seventh anniversary. Thirty-seven years! Damn, it doesn't seem that long. Hell if I can figure out when I got old.”