Page 83 of Texas Honor

The thought disturbed her. She’d been wrong about Dennis. What if she was wrong about Gabe? It was different, living with someone. You never knew people until you lived with them.

He turned his head, studying her in a somber silence. “You’re too quiet,” he said. “Say something.”

“She’s always quiet,” Becky told him. “She doesn’t talk much.”

“She used to,” Gabe returned with a grin. “She never shut up, in fact.”

“I only blabbered because you made me nervous,” she shot back, and then cleared her throat when she realized what she’d confessed.

“Your mama had a crush on me,” Gabe said arrogantly, lifting his chin at a cocky angle as he studied Maggie with knowing eyes. “She thought I was the best thing since buttered bread.”

Becky giggled, and Becky’s mama ground her teeth together. “Why didn’t you marry my mama, Uncle Gabe?” Becky asked suddenly.

Maggie wanted to get under the horse. She bit her lower lip while Gabe stared at her under the wide brim of his hat and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“I was afraid she wouldn’t be happy with what I had to offer her, back then,” he said matter-of-factly and without embarrassment. “We weren’t always well-to-do, young lady,” he added with a gentle smile. “We had some hard times here for a while. It was during those hard times that I lost track of your mother.”

Maggie stared at him, fascinated. Was it just for Becky’s benefit—a little white lie—or was he telling the truth?

He caught her intent scrutiny and grinned, his pale eyes making a joke of it. She smiled back, but something inside her closed up like a flower in the darkness: she’d wanted it to be true.

“Down this way,” Gabe said suddenly, turning Becky’s mare. “I’ve got something to show you.”

There was a little path down to the creek, and near it were several cows with calves.

“Baby cows!” Becky burst out. “Could I pet one?”

“Oh, Gabe, no, those are longhorn cows!” protested Maggie, who’d once been chased by a mad mama longhorn.

“These are old pets,” Gabe replied easily, dismounting. “They won’t hurt her. Come on, baby.”

He reached up his arms. Becky hesitated, but in the end she let him swing her to the ground. And this time he made sure she didn’t see him grimace.

“These are just a few weeks old,” he told her, keeping between the young girl and the old cows. “Go easy, now. You can win over most any creature if you’re just slow and careful and talk soft. Ask your mama.”

Maggie blushed furiously as he glanced over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Mercifully, Becky didn’t understand what he was saying. Her wide eyes were on the calves. She moved close to a young one and touched it between the eyes, where it was silky. It tried to nibble on her hand, and she jerked back with a delighted laugh.

“Oh, isn’t she pretty?” Becky cooed, doing it again.

“He,” Gabe corrected. “That youngster is going to grow up to be a good young bull.”

“Not a steer?” Maggie asked.

“Not this one. See the conformation?” he asked, gesturing toward the smooth lines of the young animal. “He’s already breaking weight-gain ratio records. I want to breed this one.”

“How do you keep up with so many cattle?” Becky asked unexpectedly.

“I have a big computer in my office,” he told her. “I have every cow and calf I own on it. Ranching is moving into the twentieth century, honey. We don’t use tally books too much anymore.”

“What’s a tally book?”

He explained it to her, about the old-time method of counting cattle, about the days when every ranch owner would send a rep to roundup to make sure none of his cattle were being appropriated.

“That’s still done in these parts, too,” he added, leaning against a tree to smoke a cigarette while Becky stroked the calf. “We have quite a crowd here when we start branding and moving cattle, and at the end of it I throw a big barbecue for the neighbors. We help each other out, even on a ranch this size.”

“Do you really use those airplanes to round up cattle?” Maggie asked.