Texas Standoff. Ruth Smith Alana

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