“Well, if this is how you show gratitude…”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
They both turned to find the colonel bowing slightly, then he held his hand towards Elizabeth. “May I?”
And thus, passed of the evening. Each time Bryson would command Elizabeth’s company, a different man would permit him only a moment before cutting back in. Often it was the colonel himself, but he had obviously enlisted the efforts of all his men, as well as a few others from town.
At one point, the colonel was leading her away from the dance for some refreshment. “Is it wise, sir, to instigate an open rivalry with a man you are obliged to work with?”
The colonel glanced over his shoulder to where Jake stood, a beer in his hand, and his head turned so as not to make it obvious that he was watching them.
“Do not worry on my account, Miss Bennet.”
“Perhaps I am worried on my own. Much as I appreciate your efforts at monopolising my company this evening, you only frustrate a man who is known for a short temper. You are not likely to out-stay Jake Bryson, who was born and will remain in the area.”
He stopped and looked at her carefully. “You do not think he would trouble you in retaliation after my assignment is up?”
“I think he is a child who has had his toy taken away and is liable to behave unpredictably.”
“A toy!” He scoffed. “I should hope you think of yourself as much more than some filthy cowherd’s plaything, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I only offer my opinion of his feelings and actions, not my own. You may be assured that I do not intend to put myself in his way, but neither will it profit me to humiliate him for my own amusement.”
“Pray, allow me to curry his displeasure. I can handle Bryson. I only sought to offer you and your sisters some protection from the likes of him.”
She laughed. “Whatever did we do before you and your men came to town?”
He took a glass for each of them and passed one to her. “What did you do?” he asked seriously. “And why is it that your father is not here to watch over his many daughters?
She took a careful sip of her drink, not looking him in the eye.
“Miss Elizabeth? Have I offended?”
She shook her head. “No. I was trying to decide how to explain it. Papa is considered by many in town to be bad luck.”
“Bad luck? Is that all?”
“It is rather serious, actually. We used to have a ranch, you see. Longbourn, known all around for the finest stock.”
He nodded. “I heard something of that. Lost them all to a strange disease, did you not?”
“Papa is quite knowledgeable. He was never formally trained, but I think he might have made a fair doctor, if he had not inherited the ranch. It was not a large spread, certainly not so large as some, but we had the best water in the valley. That is wealth of a different sort—lifeblood for any ranch. We also had an exceptionally fine bull, and our purebred calves were much sought after. But one day, some of our calves were feverish. The next day, a few more came down with it.
“It turns out that ours were only the first. For nearly ten miles around, different ranches began losing their calves. Papa was often called out to look at our neighbours’ calves and to give his opinion, but there was nothing he could do. I am not so certain that he did not make it worse for everyone else, for after his visits, it seemed whatever disease it was spread even more quickly. It was not his fault, of course, but so many people lost all their calves that summer that Papa’s name became associated with the disease. He was convinced someone was poisoning the animals, but no one believed him. He could not go to town, but someone would try to spit or curse at him for all their losses.”
“And what of your own herds?”
She shrugged. “I still do not know why, but we lost more than the young ones. Most of our mothers either lost the young they were carrying or died themselves of the same ailment. But the day we lost our bull… that was when Papa decided he was finished. He sold off what was left the following day, but he got a pittance for it. Everyone was convinced that Papa and our land were the source of it, and no one wanted to take it on.”
“Who did buy it?”
She nodded towards the dancing crowd. “Jake Bryson’s father.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”
“He had made some money already, selling off the mustangs to wealthy English investors, who then contracted with the Army. I suppose he thought he could bear the risk.”
“And your father works for him, then?”
