Nora. Diana Palmer
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volunteers to help in Galveston, for the moment.
There were reports of severe flooding all over Texas, and he prayed that Galveston’s tragedy wouldn’t be repeated anywhere else. If the rivers that lay on each side of the Tremayne property ran out of their banks again, there could be devastation for the combine as well as Chester and his family. They had to be his first concern, now that Alan was out of danger. He could do nothing for the dead. They would have to be left to providence and their poor, grieving relatives. He could have wept for their families.
Despite his relief at his brother’s safety, he arrived back at the Tremayne ranch pale and depressed. He said nothing about what he’d seen, although Chester had heard enough to turn his stomach; things he hadn’t dared share with the women.
Cal had enough to do for the first couple of days after his return home, making sure that the Tremayne cattle were safe. He’d cabled Beaumont from Tyler Junction to make sure that his rig was still standing. The lines had been down at first, but he’d made contact with his drill rigger, and everything was all right. That was a relief. He dreaded hearing that the wind had cost him his investment. Perhaps this was an omen that he was on the right track.
His melancholy was noticed, however, and remarked upon. He came to report to Chester a few days later while Nora was sitting on the porch alone.
He hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings since his return. Nora had noticed his preoccupation, and she had a good idea what had caused it.
She rose gracefully from the settee where she’d been perched, and stopped him just as he was about to knock on the front door.
“You’re still brooding about Galveston, aren’t you?” she asked gently. “There was a terrible hurricane on the East Coast last year. I lost a beloved cousin. And I have seen floods, although not one on such a scale. It is not difficult to imagine the devastation.”
He was surprised by her perception. His pale eyes narrowed as he searched her earnest face. “It’s something I’ll never speak about,” he said tautly. “Least of all to a woman.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Am I made of glass, sir?”
His gaze went down her body in the slim skirt and white embroidered blouse. “I wonder, considering the blazing path of some of your contemporaries through saloons with axes.”
She giggled softly at the reference to the zealous temperance leagues. “Wouldn’t I look at home with an ax in my hand?”
He shook his head. “It wouldn’t suit you.” He frowned at her. “You’ve been subdued since your arrival. You ride well, and Chester mentioned that you can even handle a fowling piece. Yet I’ve not seen you indulge your fondness for it.”
She could shoot, but not well. She had missed her shot in England and blown out a priceless stained-glass window that dated to the Tudor period. Her host had taken the loss of his prize window with stiff-lipped good grace, but Nora hadn’t been invited back. She hadn’t handled a gun since then, either. “It’s too hot to shoot,” she said evasively.
“It has been unseasonably cold lately.”
She searched desperately for a reply.
He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for it.
She cleared her throat. “Very well, if you must know, I do not like guns and I find most of them too heavy for my arms,” she said proudly. “I miss.”
He chuckled softly. “You fraud.”
“But I can shoot, after a fashion,” she said curtly. “It is only that I have difficulty with the weight of a rifle.”
“And what of the safari in Africa?” he persisted.
She paled and averted her eyes. “I do not like to speak of Africa. It is a…tarnished memory.”
He wondered at her wording and the expression on her face. What a puzzle she was becoming.
“There is a Women’s Club social at the courthouse on Saturday evening,” he recalled. “I have been appropriated for it, by one of the organizers. Would you partner me?”
Her heart stopped and then ran away. Her mind whirled through her wardrobe and she looked up at him with barely subdued excitement. “Partner…you?”
“I dance rather well for a cowboy,” he told her amusedly. “And I promise to wear my best boots and plenty of cologne. You may trust me to be discreet.”
She colored, because her aunt Helen had repeatedly made her aware of the social distance between them. To be seen with a ranch foreman in public would embarrass not only her, but her family.
He saw her conflicting expressions and his face closed up. “Perhaps one of the town girls would be a better choice after all,” he said tautly. “One of them would not be so far above me on the social scale.”
Before Nora had time to react, he knocked curtly on the door and was admitted. When he left, he didn’t even look her way. He was fuming. Back in West Texas, women had vied for his attentions. The best families from back East had invited him to stay, in hopes of making a match between him and one of their daughters. He was as accustomed to wealth and position as Nora herself, but he was in the position of a man at a masquerade. He could not tell her the truth.
And the more he considered it, the angrier he became. It was a good thing that he saw her as she actually was, he told himself. Had she met him under normal circumstances, he might never have known what an appalling snob she really was.
THE SOCIAL EVENING was hosted by the local Women’s Club, of which Aunt Helen was secretary, and the club’s colors of green and white were used in the decorations. Nora wore a simple black silk gown trimmed in duchesse lace and diamonds. Melly wore white organdy, and Aunt Helen wore black taffeta, but their jewelry was made of rhinestones. They were elegant, in their way. But none of the women could hold a candle to Nora, who was so fashionable that she drew most of the attention.
Cal Barton escorted a pretty young girl who was a daughter of one of the organizers of the event. He was attentive to the girl, and once, while he danced with his partner, he gave Nora a look that made her feel two inches high. Her dignity and social position were not enough to compensate for the contempt she saw in his pale eyes. He wouldn’t know that Aunt Helen had been very firm about Nora’s conduct, and felt a working man would not be a suitable escort for such a lady of quality. Even if Nora had been willing to defy convention on her own, she couldn’t shame her aunt and uncle or spoil Melly’s chances of marrying well. She resigned herself to losing Cal Barton’s company, but very reluctantly.
A middle-aged visiting politician asked her for a dance, and she accepted with grace, smiling up at him with all her charm as they circled the floor. He seemed to be fascinated by her, because he monopolized her through three more dances until her befuddled aunt pleaded with her not to allow one man so much familiarity with her. Embarrassed, Nora retired to the party table. It seemed that she could do nothing to please her aunt.
“Is our Mr. Barton mad at you?” Melly asked when they were standing around the hors d’oeuvres table, where a huge candelabra lit the silver coffee service and savories on silver trays.
“It seems to be my lot in life to be the recipient of his ire, when I am not accidentally creating scandals,” Nora said resignedly.
“You mustn’t mind Mama,” Melly said gently, with understanding. “She means well, but it has been hard for her out here. Like your mother, she was a lady of quality, and now she feels her loss of status keenly. It is only that she wants a better life for me than she and Father have to endure. That’s why she’s so concerned about convention.” She touched Nora’s arm lightly. “She doesn’t know that you have a…a feeling for Mr. Barton. And I would not dare tell her. But I am sorry for you.”
“It is of no consequence,” Nora said stiffly. “I could hardly expect anything to come of it, considering the difference in our positions.” She tried not to feel the wounding of the quiet words.