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Lauren explained the friendship between her guardian and the rancher. “For years, they corresponded, but the letters had lagged for the past decade or so. Still, on his way home from a business trip to New York, Ben decided to pay his old friend a visit.”
“How long have you lived with this guardian?” Was he being too nosy? He didn’t want to offend her, and no man in his right mind would cross Ben Lockett. However, she answered him readily enough and without self-consciousness.
“My father was a clergyman, too. Abel Prather was his bishop. I was twelve when my father died. The Prathers gave me a home with them.”
“Your mother?” Travers asked quietly.
“I was three when she died giving birth. The baby—a boy—was stillborn.” Her voice was suddenly soft and pensive. Travers noted that she touched the brooch watch pinned to her shirtwaist just above the gentle swell of her breast.
The small brooch was all she had of her mother’s possessions. That and a picture taken of her parents on their wedding day. She vainly tried to remember moments she had shared with the pretty, petite woman in the picture, but no memories would come. Lauren had no inkling of the personality that had lived behind the shy eyes captured in the photograph. In stressful times, or when she longed for the parent she couldn’t remember, she touched the watch with her fingertips as if the action brought her in contact with her mother. But this was a habit Lauren wasn’t conscious of.
After his young wife’s death, Gerald Holbrook had totally dedicated himself to his work. He delved into religious dogma and contemplated theological doctrines in the hours when he wasn’t actively serving his congregation or preparing his inspired sermons. If the care of his young daughter fell to his current housekeeper, that was the price one had to pay for absolute commitment to Christ. Lauren knew that, in his way, her father loved her and wasn’t bitter over his neglect—though she felt it. She would have welcomed a more demonstrative relationship, but knew her father lived on a higher plane—like God.
She was a well-behaved child, quiet and unobtrusive as she sat near her father when he studied in his library. She learned to read at an early age, and books and the characters in them became her playmates and confidantes. Her classmates weren’t particularly inclined to include the “preacher’s kid” in their pranks. Out of loneliness, Lauren acquired a talent for creating her own diversions.
When Gerald Holbrook died, Lauren barely missed him. She moved into the Prathers’ house and assumed their routine without question. They were kind and, because of their childlessness, welcomed the adolescent girl into their home. Their generosity extended to giving Lauren piano lessons. She was musically gifted, and the piano became a passion along with literature.
No one ever left the Prathers’ gaudy, crowded house without knowing their pride in Lauren. She had never betrayed their trust or disappointed them.
Except with William. How unfair was their changed attitude toward her! She was blameless!
“Miss Holbrook?” Ed Travers asked for the third time, and finally succeeded in gaining her attention.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Travers. What did you say?” Lauren flushed under her hat at being caught so deep in her own thoughts.
“I asked if you would like a drink of water,” he said, reaching under the seat for a canteen, which he had filled before leaving the depot.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Lauren reached for the canteen. Never having drunk from one, she felt like a pioneer as she tipped it back and took a tentative, ladylike sip.
Just then, the wagon hit a deep rut in the road, and some of the water sloshed onto her shirtwaist. She wiped her dripping chin and laughed delightedly. Her merriment was checked when the figure in the back of the wagon groaned and cursed vehemently.
“Sonofabitch!”
Chapter 2
Lauren whirled her head around so quickly that the motion hurt her neck. Jared’s hand came up and clamped the hat more firmly over his face. He adjusted his long body to another position, contracting and relaxing muscles that Lauren didn’t know existed. But then, she had never seen a masculine physique like this before. His languid movements were repelling and thrilling at the same time. It was like watching some pagan god who was beautiful even in his decadence.
She looked at Ed Travers, who was blushing furiously. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Holbrook. Don’t pay any attention to his language. He—”
She interrupted with a question. “What’s the matter with him?” She was afraid that Ben’s son was seriously ill.
“He… uh… must’ve tied one on last night.” When Travers realized her total lack of comprehension, he reluctantly explained. She might as well learn about Jared now. “He drank too much, don’t you see,” he said anxiously, “and got—”
“Drunk?” she asked incredulously. “He’s got a hangover?” She stared with fixed horror at the prone figure. Never in her twenty years had she witnessed intoxication. A cordial glass of sherry and wine with Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were the extent of alcohol consumption in the parsonage.
Jared had apparently slipped back into unconsciousness. Gentle snores were coming from under the black hat.
“Yes. Please don’t fret about it, Miss Holbrook. It happens all the time. We’re just lucky the sheriff didn’t pick him up and take him to jail to sleep it off. Fortunately he made it to my office early this morning and asked me to meet your train and drive the two of you to Coronado. He passed out about an hour before you arrived.”
“Ben told me that if he couldn’t come to Austin himself, he’d send someone else. I imagine that Jared wasn’t too happy over being appointed the emissary,” Lauren commented.
“Whether he liked it or not, he knew he’d better do what his daddy told him to. Despite their differences, Jared respects his father.”
Lauren sniffed as she cast one last reproachful glance over her shoulder. “I can’t see that Jared Lockett has much respect for anyone or anything.”
Ed Travers chuckled as he diverted the wagon around another collection of deep ruts. “You’re probably right, Miss Holbrook.”
He turned his attention to private musings, and conversation between them waned. Lauren gazed at the landscape around her.
