Texas Standoff

Pamela

Elise had memorized the empty words written to her father when, years later, she’d accidentally found the note secreted away among his personal papers. Her memories of her mother and the time she’d spent at her grandmother’s estate outside Devonshire were vague. All she recalled was that her mother had seldom been around. Lady Pamela quickly escaped the rigidity and boredom of the manor house and rejoined the social set she’d once run with in London. She was too engrossed in the whirlwind of lavish parties and polo matches to be bothered with the child she’d uprooted and placed in the care of stuffy strangers. Her “stint in the wild and woolly West of the American colonies”, as she referred to it, became a source of great entertainment for the wealthy bluebloods she partied with. Lady Pamela was more popular than ever. Since her presence was in demand in London, she was rarely present at the manor house or available to her daughter.

Nightly Elise prayed for her daddy to come to England and whisk her back to the warmth of Texas. Daily she wondered why he hadn’t done so. Only years later did her father admit that he’d been too numb with the pain of his wife’s desertion to act decisively. Then he became consumed with looking after a baby with special needs while at the same time trying to survive a drought that threatened to destroy his ranching operation. He said it didn’t excuse his delay in fetching her back, but explained the why of it. Finally her little-girl prayers were answered. Upon being notified by his former mother-in-law that Pamela had gone off to South Africa to live out yet another romantic escapade with a dashing mining magnate, this time forsaking her firstborn, Roe Winston immediately flew to England to reclaim his daughter. It was the happiest day of her young life.

The ache left in the three Winstons at having been rejected by the beautiful Englishwoman had healed and sealed them as a family unit. Buddy sometimes asked about his mother, but Roe didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. So father and daughter invented a lie to spare him from harsh facts that his gentle nature could not abide. They told him that she had died unexpectedly during a trip to her homeland when he was a year old. Truth was, Lady Pamela Walford-Winston died some twelve years later from ovarian cancer. She’d left husband number two and was supposedly ecstatically happy with number three when time ran out for her. Roe cabled flowers in the children’s names. Elise tried not to think too harshly of her. Buddy turned thirteen the day his mother was buried in the family plot in the east gardens of the Walford estate. Seven years later, Roe Winston suffered a brain aneurysm and was laid to rest under a shady old oak on a part of the ranch known as Blossom Bluff.

One parent Elise hardly remembered. The other she near idolized. Her father’s passing grieved her still. Life went on, but it was harder without Roe Winston’s sage advice and good humor to rely on. She never gazed on the portrait of her mother without remembering his reply the one and only time she’d questioned him about why he’d kept it prominently displayed throughout the years.

“I don’t exactly know why I never took it down. A lot of reasons, I guess. Lookin’ at her brings me pleasure and pain all at once. I suppose it sorta serves as a reminder to me that life don’t always go the way we’d like it to. The only thing we can count on for certain is that it’s bound to go on. No matter what occurred the day before, there’s always going to be a day after. Her leavin’ me like she did didn’t sour me on women. A pretty female still turns my head, as you well know. But after her exit I wasn’t willin’ to risk being made a fool of for a second time. I guess I gaze at that likeness of her the same way a reformed drunk pulls out a sealed bottle of good liquor from time to time, just so he can stare down his weakness. Right or wrong, it’s always had a sobering effect.”

So the portrait of Lady Pamela stayed up even after Roe Winston’s weakness for her had long since been put to rest in one of several graves on Blossom Bluff. It served as a constant reminder to Elise of how fickle and shallow her mother had been. She never wanted to be like her.

Buddy and she had grown even closer after their father’s death. She was the only one left now to look out for her brother’s needs, both material and emotional. Ever since he was a little boy, she’d promised they would always be together. They had the ranch; they had each other. Nothing could ever change that.

“You’re not listenin’ to me, E.Z.” Buddy’s peeved tone recaptured her attention.

“Sure I am,” she fibbed.

She noticed his attire-pajama top, jeans and sneakers-and was about to comment when he spoke up again.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun, huh?” He referred to the upcoming barbecue at Palos Altos Ranch.

Her heart sank, but for his sake she pretended to be as thrilled as he was. “Yup, should be quite a party.”

“Did ya get a new dress like ya wanted?”

“Sure did.” The thought of the lavender sundress prompted memories of the shopping trip into San Antonio, which reminded her of the storm and the man she’d rescued.

“Good thing it quit rainin’, huh? Else it woulda spoiled the party.”

Her smile melted away. It was as though Buddy had read her thoughts. Little did he know that the rainstorm of yesterday had already spoiled the party for her.

Buddy became absorbed in studying his right palm. He rubbed his fingers across it repeatedly. Sometimes he became fixed on an action or an object, and it was impossible to tell if he did so because he was intent on it or because he’d lost his train of thought.

Instantly Elise grew alert to his altered focus. Getting out of the swing, she came and sat down beside him, grabbing his hand and taking a look for herself.

“I got a blister,” he complained.

“You got a rope burn,” she fussed. “And a bad one. How many times do I have to tell you about wearing gloves when you work the stock?”

“I forgot,” he said.

“Yeah, well, it’s dangerous not to do as I say, Buddy. Remember what happened to Lefty that time he roped without gloves?”

“I forget.” He stared at her, his eyes blank. He truly had no recollection.

“The rope cut clean through two of his fingers,” she reminded him.

A spark of comprehension flared in his eyes. “He had to go to the hospital and get ‘em sewed back on,” Buddy said.

“And it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been wearing gloves.” She hammered home the point, hoping the mental picture of Lefty’s misfortune would make an impression on Buddy.

He grinned at her. As always, that childlike smile tugged at her heart. “You gonna put a Ninja Turtle band-Aid on it? It’s my favorite.”

She squeezed his fingertips and laughed out of frustration, half amused, half worried that he hadn’t really understood the reason for her lecture. “Sure,” she said.

“But first we’re going to put some salve on that burn.”

Ruffling his flaxen hair, she stood up. Buddy scrambled to his feet, anxious to receive the bandage.

“You need to finish dressing for bed, too.”

“I know. I remembered,” he responded a bit too defensively. “I was gonna take off my jeans. I just wasn’t ready, is all.” He tilted his head, the moonlight illuminating his aristocratic good looks. The royal European bloodlines were plainly evident in him, while she strongly resembled their father, even to the trace of Cheyenne blood mingled in the Winston ancestry.

“Howdy, miss,” A voice greeted from the darkness beyond the porch.

She squinted to make out the man in the moonlight.

“Heya, Willie.” Buddy instantly recognized the Voice.

The stocky figure of Will Butler stepped out of the shadows onto the moonlit walkway. Will had come to Cheyenne Moon straight out of prison-an ex-con looking for work. Though he had a tough demeanor, Elise appreciated his being straightforward about his time behind bars and the reason for it. Willie had a fondness for hard liquor, and when he drank, he became meaner than a polecat. Twice he’d been convicted on assault charges. The first time he’d been put on probation. The second offense involved a baseball bat, which got him a deadly-weapon charge and five years in the state pen. Everyone knew Will had a temper, but he mostly kept it in check. He’d promised to abstain from hard liquor while at Cheyenne Moon, and so far he’d been true to his word.

He’d been with Elise for nearly a year now. Not a hand on the ranch worked harder than Will. Not a man on the place was more appreciative of the lady boss. After all, she’d given him a job and a new lease on life when nobody else would. During the past twelve months, the cowhands had begun to recognize the signs that Will’s gratitude to Miz Winston had developed into a full-fledged crush. All the boys knew it, but not a one of them teased him about it. No one wanted to test Will’s rehabilitation to that extent. So they pretended not to notice his mooning looks and the way he invented excuses just to be around her. Elise only noticed his loyalty and the fact that he was especially good with Buddy. The entire Cheyenne Moon crew kept tabs on her brother, but Willie made an extra effort. So, no matter his shady past, she found herself liking the man.

“I didn’t mean to disturb ya, miss.” He doffed his hat and stood fingering the brim. “I was a bit restless tonight. Thought a walk might settle me down. I, uh, heard y’all talkin’ and just wanted to check on the two of ya,” he said haltingly.

“We’re fine, Will. I was about to turn in. You enjoy the fresh air.” She favored him with a smile before nudging Buddy to follow her inside.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll sure do that, all right.”

“See ya in the mornin’, Will,” Buddy said. “Gotta go get a Band-Aid. Got a rope burn.” He held up his hand to show him.

“Better let your sister take care of that there burn afore gangrene sets in,” Will teased, moving on toward the bunkhouse.

Buddy sobered. “People die from gangrene, don’t they, E.Z.?” he half whispered, not wanting Will to know such a possibility bothered him.

“He’s joshin’ with you, Buddy,” she reassured him, opening the back door.

Buddy lingered at the threshold, drinking in the starfilled sky. “Wow!” was her only warning before he bolted for the railing, almost knocking her off her feet in the process. “Look, E.Z. A shootin’ star.” He pointed excitedly and instantly began reciting the childhood rhyme she’d taught him.

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.”

She came to join him at the railing as the distant star burned itself out against a backdrop of black velvet.

“Wish I may, wish I might.” Buddy chanted.

She concentrated on the brilliant streak and spoke without realizing it. “Feel again what I felt last night.”

“You weren’t supposed to wish aloud,” Buddy scolded. “Now it won’t come true. You jinxed it, E.Z. Besides, your buttin’ in made me mess up my wish.”

She felt foolish. “Sorry. I meant to keep it to myself.”

Buddy wasn’t one to hold a grudge. “It’s okay. There’ll be another.”

“Come on. Let’s doctor that burn.” Elise had more on her mind than bungled wishes.

Not so with Buddy. He stayed behind, his face full of uncertainty, his eyes following her across the porch. “Jinxin’ a wish ain’t good. Maybe we oughtta sit out awhile longer. There might be another shootin’ star. You could wish again and make it all right.”

“You worry too much. It’s no big deal,” she said, scoffing at his concern. “How’d you like a dish of ice cream before bed?” She knew bribery was the best way to budge him.

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