Pemberley Ranch Page 8

Early on a bright, sunny spring morning, Will Darcy walked up to a tall, brown horse and reached up to shake the rider’s hand.

  “Take care, Fitz! See you in June!” Gaby called out from the veranda.

  Fitz tipped his hat to Miss Darcy, his silver band flashing in the sun. He put the spur to Jeb Stuart, crying, “All right—let’s move ’em out!”

  The Pemberley riders began to shout, swinging their coiled lariats about their heads as they rode around the vast herd of cattle. Hundreds of longhorns moved ponderously to the north-northwest, a huge cloud of dust rising in their wake. The drovers dashed about watching for stragglers; the cook in the chuck wagon and the wrangler with the remuda, or spare horses, brought up the rear. The mass moved at a steady pace towards the river. It wasn’t long before the head of the drive reached Thompson Crossing.

  By then, Darcy on Caesar had overtaken the herd, and he and Fitz splashed across the river to Bennet Farm. They rode up to the farmhouse’s porch, where a group of people awaited them.

  “Mornin’, ladies, Mr. Bennet.” Darcy tipped his hat. “Are your cattle ready?”

  “Yep, they’re waiting in the corral,” Bennet replied as he walked towards it, Hill standing by the gate. “Twenty-five head. You won’t lose them, will you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

  “I’ll do my best to get ’em all to Abilene, Mr. Bennet,” Fitz said with a grin.

  “You’ll get paid the same for what gets there just like the rest of us, Mr. Bennet—less the per head fee—just like we agreed. We won’t cheat you.” Darcy’s face was far more relaxed than his words. He had not taken offense at Bennet’s comment; he was just reciting their deal.

  Bennet looked up at Darcy. “If I thought you would, Mr. Darcy, I wouldn’t have your people drive my cattle.”

  Darcy nodded, pleased that they understood each other. “Wait until we get the rest of the herd across the river before you open the gate. My boys will take it from there.” Fitz rode back to the crossing while Darcy looked towards the northeast. “Fitz will take them across the B&R, pick up their cattle and some extra hands, then cross Rosings Creek. Ought to make ten miles today and hook up with the Chisholm Trail by tomorrow.”

  The men watched the enormous herd pass south of the homestead after crossing the Long Branch. Hill waited until a couple of riders approached before opening the corral gate. The cowpokes expertly guided their charges towards the mass of walking beef.

  Bennet was impressed. “Smartly done, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy wore an easy smile. “Thank you; they’re good men. You wouldn’t think this is Fitz’s sixth drive, would you? He’s a natural—that’s why he’s my foreman.”

  “You don’t go with them?”

  Darcy’s look darkened. “No, not since—” he caught himself. “I don’t do that anymore.”

  Bennet nodded. “I understand—someone’s got to look out for your place.”

  Darcy just grunted and turned Caesar around. His eye naturally fell on the porch and the lovely brown-haired girl in dungarees. She stood next to her mother, arms crossed over her chest, unintentionally pushing her breasts out and filling her shirt. Darcy caught himself staring at her chest and turned away, missing the suspicious glare on the girl’s face. She did not see the admiration in Darcy’s face, but her father did.

  Mrs. Bennet was oblivious. “Will you stay for breakfast, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy forced himself into impassivity. “Thank you kindly, Miz Bennet, but my sister’s waiting for me, and I’d best be getting back.”

  “Another time, then?”

  Darcy, not trusting his voice, simply nodded at the woman before taking his leave of Mr. Bennet, who watched him ride off with a thoughtful expression.

  The light from the oil lamps filled George Whitehead’s office with a yellow glow. Whitehead was trying to get some paperwork done at his desk, but it was hard to concentrate while Denny paced in the middle of the room. Sally Younge, sitting on a couch across the room, shrugged her shoulders at Pyke, who was leaning against the far wall.

  “Denny,” Whitehead sighed, “will you stop that confounded walking back and forth and sit down? It’s distracting.”

  “I just don’t git it, Whitehead,” Denny grumbled while he continued to move about the room like a caged animal. “Why don’t we just move in an’ get rid o’ Darcy now?”

  “Have patience. We’ll take care of Mr. Darcy when the time’s right.”

  “But Fitzwilliam an’ half the Pemberley hands are gone to Kansas. He ain’t got nobody there! We can take ’em easy—just ride up, an’…” He whipped out his Colt and pantomimed shooting it. “Everything’s over.”

  Whitehead sighed and put down his pen. “And then what? Assuming we got past the other half of Darcy’s men—you don’t think he’s undefended, do you? But let’s say for argument’s sake we were successful in storming Pemberley. What do you think would happen then? Governor Davis might be an Abolitionist Republican, but he can’t ignore the murder of Long Branch County’s most prominent citizen. He’d have the U.S. Cavalry or his new State Police on us in no time. And then where would we be? How can we hold on to Pemberley or the B&R with soldiers poking in to everything?” Whitehead laughed. “‘Everything’s over’? Yes, by God, everything would be over—for us!”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “Do what you’ve been doing, Denny! For God’s sake, haven’t you paid attention to anything I’ve said in the past three months? Everything is coming to fruition—better than we originally hoped!” He stood up, crossed over to the table near Pyke, and poured four drinks. He carried two and handed one to Sally, while Pyke helped himself. “Your men are well positioned at the B&R. Burroughs doesn’t even realize she’s lost control of her own ranch.” He handed a drink to Denny. “We already have half the county in our hands. Once this latest deal goes through, we’ll control the rest—including Pemberley—without firing a shot!”

  Denny took a big swallow of his whiskey. “Controllin’ ain’t ownin’, Whitehead.”

  “True.” Whitehead returned for his own glass. “But once we have everything in place—and all the money—then, well… if Will Darcy fell afoul of some desperados some evening, it will be up to Sheriff Denny to look into it, the man appointed by Mayor Whitehead. Understand?”

  Denny threw back the rest of his drink. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Big talk. But when? When is this all gonna happen? I’m tired o’ waitin’!”

  “Soon. By the end of this year, as long as you do as you’re told.”

  “An’ them settlers? They ain’t all leavin’ yet.”

  “They will when the foreclosures start in earnest. But we can’t move too quickly, or we’ll invite an investigation. Just trust me, Denny.”

  The gunman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a cold light in his eyes. “I’ve been trustin’ you. But my boys are gettin’ restless. You better come through, an’ soon.”

  “I will.”

  “If’n you’ve been playin’ me—”

  “Now, that would be incredibly stupid on my part, wouldn’t it? I need you, Denny—you’re my partner.” Whitehead grinned. “Why don’t you go over to the saloon and get a drink? It’s on me.”

  Denny hesitated, then nodded, and left the room. Whitehead exhaled the breath he had been holding and returned to his desk.

  “He’s dangerous, you know,” Sally said as she got up from the couch.

  “She’s right, boss,” added Pyke unnecessarily.

  “Really? That’s fucking observant of you two.” Whitehead took a drink. “Pyke, go keep an eye on him.”

  Pyke quickly scrambled out of the room as Sally crossed behind Whitehead, running her hands through his hair. “I mean it. There’s no tellin’ when he’s gonna turn on you, George. Where did you find him, anyway?”

  Whitehead allowed Sally’s ministrations to soothe his rage. “I met Denny in a barroom in Fort Worth, where I went to lick my wounds after Darcy ran me off Pemberley. Can you be
lieve my bad luck? There was nothing for me back in Illinois, with my father dying during the war, and I had to go to this godforsaken place to make my fortune. I worked my ass off to get a political appointment from the Texas governor, and he sends me to the hometown of one of my prisoners from the war. I didn’t realize he was the same Darcy till he came riding up as I was paying court to Miss Gabrielle after her father died. Damn, she was ripe for a seduction! Another week or so, and there would have been nothing Darcy could have done about it but call me brother.

  “I knew I needed a new plan to get what I want, and I needed men to back me up. Don’t get me wrong, my dear,” he smiled. “My investment in your establishment has been profitable, but I have bigger plans than being the owner of a whorehouse.

  “Denny and his boys seemed a good candidate, and a couple of drinks later he agreed to throw in with me. It didn’t take much to get Mrs. Burroughs to agree to use him on the B&R.”

  “Was that the same time you met that Elton fella?”

  “No, that was later. Hah, Fort Worth’s been pretty good to me.”

  Sally frowned. “I don’t trust Denny. Why don’t you get rid of him?”

  Whitehead shook his head, interrupting Sally’s massage. “I can’t; I need him for now—him and his gang. That’s my army against Darcy. But don’t worry. Kid Denny’s days are numbered. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He took another drink. “He needs to get his mind off things. Go send him a girl—a young one, I think. He likes the young ones.”

  Sally dropped her hands. “George, no. Don’t ask me that. He’s an animal—he hurts the girls.”

  “Did I ask your opinion?” Whitehead abruptly stood up and grabbed one of her arms. “Don’t forget, my dear, who is the senior in our partnership. If I hadn’t come along and bailed you out when I first got to Rosings, you would have lost the saloon and been forced to trade your wares on the street.” He sneered as he ran his free hand over her cheek. “And such lovely wares they are.”

  Sally was desperate to stay on Whitehead’s good side. She drew close, pressing herself against him hungrily. She put her lips to his ear. “Don’t be mad, sugar… Let’s go to bed. I’ll give you a good time, you’ll see.”

  He laughed. “Still trying to set your brand on me? Don’t fool yourself in believing that I’ll choose you over Miss Darcy or Miss Burroughs. I haven’t given up on that part of the plan. True, they lack your… expertise,” he said as he groped her, “but thousands of acres of land makes up for much. I’ll get one of them once this is all over, one way or the other—it doesn’t matter which one.”

  “I know that, sugar, but you won’t forget your Sally.” She tried to kiss him, but he pushed her away instead.

  “Do as I said—go get a girl for Denny.” He sat down and continued, “I suppose it ought to be Camille. She should be able to handle him.”

  Sally nodded, relieved that he had suggested the one whore in her stable who seemed to enjoy the rougher types, rather than one of the more delicate girls. She turned to leave.

  “And bring back a bottle with you—the good stuff. Not that rotgut shit you serve the cowpokes.”

  She turned, but Whitehead was already back to his ledgers. “Sure, George, sure. Nothin’ but the best for you.”

  George Whitehead didn’t answer as he continued to work.

  May

  Summer came on fast in Central Texas. It was the middle of May, and the temperature was already reaching the ninety-degree mark. It made riding the range hot work for man and beast, as Darcy was experiencing.

  Caesar walked along the ridgeline, head hanging low, as a sweaty Darcy watched his cattle. With half the workforce riding north along the Chisholm Trail with the herd heading for market, Pemberley needed every hand it had to do the everyday chores. So it was that Darcy fell back into his old job of supervising the herd as he had done before and after the war, before his father’s passing. The work was long and hot, but Darcy paid it no mind—it was what he was born to do. Besides, it gave a man the time to think.

  Darcy’s thoughts, as much as he tried to steer them elsewhere, kept coming back to the mystery that was Beth Bennet. She was a mystery to him, at least.

  It was midday, and the sun beat unmercifully upon Caesar, so Darcy moved towards the river, intending to wash his face in the cool water. He found himself a bit upriver of Thompson Crossing, which brought Beth back into his thoughts. He worked his way south along the trees and brush that lined the riverbank, making his way to the ford.

  He would later have no idea why he stopped well short of his goal. He would recall no particular sight or sound, just a feeling. He looked around, but only saw dense bushes near a large oak, its branches hanging low. Darcy dismounted, tying Caesar’s reins to a branch, and began to make his way through the brush. He could make out the faint sounds of splashing, so he half-crouched, removing his hat in the shade and cover. A couple of feet from the bank, he sat back on his heels and carefully peered through the undergrowth.

  It was a vision right out of his most intense dreams. A brown-haired nymph was playing in the water just off the opposite bank. She was swimming in what best could be described as a small cove shielded on three sides by trees hanging right over the water. Darcy realized that he was in the one perfect spot to observe her; a few feet to the left or right and the leaves from the overhanging limbs would conceal the cove completely. It took him a moment to realize that the nymph was Beth Bennet.

  The next thing Darcy knew he was sitting down in his little spot, an audience of one for the erotic show. He couldn’t see all that much, as Beth’s head was the only portion of her body above the water, her long hair trailing behind. But even ignoring the bundle lying carefully on the opposite bank, the river was clear enough for him to know, with an electric charge racing through his body, that the lovely lady was without a stitch of clothes on.

  Decency, honor, a lifetime of training—all fled in an instant. Darcy could not tear his eyes from what he now realized was his one desire. Trembling, he breathed as slowly as he could, so as not to reveal himself. Darcy existed in a world of agony and ecstasy; he knew he should turn away, but could not. He wanted to jump in the river, swim over to her, and take her—love her— again and again. Instead, he sat as still as he could, sweat dripping down his face, his jeans becoming as tight as his breathing.

  Beth dropped beneath the surface. At this, Darcy became alarmed, but before he could move a muscle, she came up again, only to lie back and float in the lazy current. Darcy froze; her breasts were exposed, their perky perfection kissed by the dappled sunlight through the canopy. Time stood still, all sound ceased, as Darcy was frozen by the siren song of desire, a real-life Calypso unknowingly taunting Odysseus. Lust and passion roared through his veins, and he felt he was going to explode.

  By the time Beth dipped underwater again, Darcy found himself on one knee, beginning to move to the riverbank. He stopped himself and pulled back, just as she rose again, this time for good. She moved to the shallows and stood up, her back to him, water cascading from her shoulders and hair, running down her pale form, caressing her lovely buttocks, before dripping back into the river. Mesmerized, he watched her reach for a towel and had a glimpse of her dark treasure as she dried herself. Then she was gone—a bush hid her from view as she dressed herself.

  Darcy sat back, panting as if he had run a great distance, feeling both great discomfort and intense guilt. He knew that spying on the girl was wrong, terribly wrong. And he shook from the realization that he had been mere moments from revealing himself, to her almost certain horror and his assured everlasting shame. And yet his traitorous body cared not a bit—it only craved release between her soft, warm thighs.

  Darcy took a long, trembling breath and slowly made his way back to Caesar. The horse seemed to give him a curious look as he loosened the reins. He walked the horse in the hot sun like a pilgrim seeking penance until they reached Thompson Crossing. There he drew Caesar to the river and allowed him to drink
while he splashed water on his face and neck. Darcy’s mind was in utter confusion, except for one thought. He would certainly need to go to confession this week before Mass.

  Beth quickly dressed in the private little glen she and her sisters used for their forbidden swims. Charlotte had introduced the Bennet sisters to this watering hole the first summer they arrived, and Beth and the others enjoyed it immensely, even though their father was uneasy about it, and their mother had strictly prohibited such unladylike activities. The girls paid no mind—the place was secret, hidden from view, and it was too blasted hot in the summer not to go swimming.

  She was making her way back to the house when she heard a horse whinny. Turning towards the ford, she strained to see a tall man riding away from the crossing on a black horse. A chill ran through her, glad that the swimming hole was so well hidden. She would have been mortified to death had anyone come upon her like that!

  Mary was fidgeting on the seat of the family wagon as Beth, next to her, handled the reins. Her sister had to hide her smile—Mary claimed her excitement was over the first meeting of the Rosings Musical Society, but Beth was sure her sister’s nerves were more unsettled by the expectation of the attendance of their host, Reverend Tilney. The wagon rolled easily down the road into town, giving Kathy and Lily, in the bed of the wagon, little reason to complain. That they did anyway was in keeping with their characters.

  All the Bennet girls were going to the outing. Mary, of course, was one of the organizers of the society, and Beth owned a lovely singing voice. Kathy and Lily, on the other hand, were not known for their musical prowess, preferring to listen and dance rather than perform. Still, given the choice of putting on a nice dress and going into town or staying at home to churn butter, the two youngest Bennets claimed to be the greatest music lovers in Texas.

  The girls arrived early, even after stopping by the Bingleys’ to pick up Jane. Beth and Lily moved to secure the horses while the others went into the church, Mary almost running. They were happy to receive assistance from a couple of friendly passersby.