Page 49 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
He’d slipped outside for a while but was now settled cross-legged by their fire, looking as if he sat on the ground all the time.
Perhaps he did.
He nodded towards the door. “I checked on Charon—gave him some of our water. It’s still snowing, thick n’ heavy. No sign o’ the moon.”
She came to sit beside him. Not on the chair but on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and gathering her skirts close round her. Making more room, he scooted over, giving her the prime spot, right where the fire glowed hottest.
Clearing her throat, she said, “What is it you do, in Texas?”
He didn’t answer right away, surveying her through half-closed eyes, as if weighing up how much she’d be interested in hearing.
“I work on a ranch with near ten thousand head o’ Longhorn cattle. Three times a year, we drive a couple thousand to the railroad in San Antonio.”
“That sounds like hard work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But also quite exciting.”
That smile; his mouth, quirking up on one side.
“There’s nothin’ like spending the night in the wide, wide open, with nothin’ between you and the stars: Orion, Cassiopeia, Scorpius…and Ursa Minor, o’ course. Named for you, lil bear.”
Ursula hoped it was dark enough to conceal the flush creeping through her. It was his voice—that long, slow drawl. That and the way he was looking at her.
“You shouldn’t call me that.” She attempted a reproving look. “I’m Ursula or Miss Abernathy.”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” He tipped off his hat then settled it back, staring at her still from behind its rim.
He didn’t look sorry.
He was laughing at her; she was certain of it, but she was determined to keep their conversation civil.
“What else do you miss?” she asked. “Your family I suppose.”
Again, he took a moment before answering. “Most everythin’, truth be told—but my dog especially.”
Her shoulders relaxed a smidge. Here was a subject they could talk of without her feeling awkward. She’d had a dachshund some years ago and had been thinking of purchasing another. Once she came into her money, she’d do just that. She could have five if she liked! There would be no one to say she couldn’t.
The thought brought her a wave of pleasure.
Her current situation wasn’t what she would choose, but it was an adventure of sorts, and it wouldn’t be for long. Soon, she’d have the financial independence to make her own decisions.
“What breed is he, your dog?”
“A blue and tan Lacy.” Rye gave her a genuine smile now—one that had nothing to do with teasing her. “Helps herd the livestock. He’s smart as they come, and loyal with it.”
“All dogs are loyal, aren’t they?” Ursula sighed. “More reliable than people on the whole.”
“It’s like the story of Argos.” Rye moved his weight to one side. “You know it, right? After twenty years o’ his master wandering, he was the only one to recognize him.”
He’d readThe Odyssey?Of course, why shouldn’t he? They had books in Texas, just like everywhere else.
Rye continued. “That poor dog’d been neglected all the time Odysseus was away. He was unloved, weak and full o’ lice, but it dint stop him waggin’ his tail on his master’s return. He lacked even the strength to walk over to him, and Odysseus couldn’t go to him for fear of discovery, but Argos showed he was loyal. Content at last, the old fella lay down and died, and Odysseus couldn’t do anything but wipe away his tears—not wantin’ his enemies to see and guess who he was.”
Ursula couldn’t help but notice that Rye’s eyes were glistening.
“The bond between a dog and his master puts most human loyalties to shame,” she said softly. Perhaps it was the firelight, or the brandy from before, but she felt softer altogether, as if she was letting go of something that had been wound tight inside.
