The dog days of August dragged listlessly by as a smothering blanket of heat continued to cover the dry, parched land of southwest Texas.
The sleepy little town of Regentville was sleepier than usual. The wooden sidewalks and benches on the plaza were deserted most afternoons.
The heat was too much for Will Davis. He came to his downtown office each morning bright and early, but left at the noon hour, leaving a Closed sign hanging on the door. He would have departed for cooler climes if not for LaDextra. She hadn’t much longer to live. He couldn’t leave her.
It was so devilishly hot that Sally Horner no longer visited The Regent every day as she had at the beginning of the summer. She hadn’t the energy to make the long ride. She missed seeing Anna, but needed to preserve what little energy she had for the long romantic evenings with her always vigorous beau, Buck Shanahan.
So Sally stayed pretty close to home, amusing herself as best she could by watching the comings and goings of her neighbors and townsfolk on the streets below her house. The three-story Horner mansion sat on a gentle rise of land just above Regentville. From her bedroom window, Sally had a bird’s-eye view of all activity going on in town.
If and when there was any.
The uncomplaining Dr. McCelland, finding his sweltering square office almost unbearable in the broiling afternoon heat, was more than willing to make house calls. When a young messenger popped in to tell him that Mrs. Beverly Harris was in need of his immediate services, the physician eagerly grabbed his black bag.
Sally was at her bedroom window when the slender young doctor exited his office. Curious as to who might be sick, she watched with interest as Dr. McCelland rushed up the sidewalk heading north, left the plaza, went a block and turned onto Yucca Street.
Sally was still watching, wide-eyed, when, minutes later, Dr. McCelland stood on the porch of the pale yellow Victorian mansion where Beverly Harris lived. He raised his hand, but before he could knock, Beverly opened the door.
His first thought was that she didn’t look sick. She looked completely healthy and absolutely beautiful. Her flaming hair was expertly coiffed atop her head, and her full lips were painted a bright scarlet. She wore a stylishly cut afternoon dress of crisp, sky blue piqué, the neckline of which dipped low enough to reveal a generous expanse of her pale, soft bosom. She smiled at him and her eyes were glittering.
The doctor stepped awkwardly inside, cleared his throat needlessly and said, “I was told you are in need of my services, Mrs. Harris.”
“Please, call me Beverly,” she said, and immediately began leading him up the stairs.
“Uh… what seems to be the problem, Mrs.—Beverly?”
“It’s my heart, Doctor. It’s been about to speed right out of my chest all day and I’m so frightened.”
His brows immediately knitted. “Sounds like it could be rather serious,” he said, solicitously taking her arm in case she was weak and needed his support.
Inside her dim, cool bedroom, where all the heavy curtains were drawn against the blistering Texas sun, Beverly walked straight to the bed, turned about and sat down on its edge, folding her hands in her lap. She arched her back slightly and her breasts swelled against the low-cut blue bodice.
“I’m sure you’ll want to listen to my heart,” she said.
His skilled physician’s hands suddenly gone clammy, Dr. McCelland said, “Yes, it will be necessary to…to…”
He swallowed hard, took the stethoscope from his black bag and, standing above her, cautiously slipped the listening end of the instrument down inside Beverly’s dress and pressed it to her bosom.
“Hear anything, Doctor?” she asked, gazing up at him.
He shook his head to silence her, listened intently for several long seconds, moving the stethoscope farther down inside her dress to position it at the underside of her left breast, directly over her heart. Again he listened intently, trying very hard to ignore the soft, warm flesh pressing against his trembling hand.
At last he took the stethoscope away, hung it around his neck and told her in a soft, kind voice, “Perhaps this terrible heat has made you weak and caused you to feel as if your heart is racing.” He smiled boyishly at her then and added, “Let me put your fears to rest, Mrs. Harris. There is nothing wrong with your heart.”
Beverly wet her scarlet lips, reached up and took hold of both ends of the stethoscope dangling from around his neck. She slowly reeled his face down close to hers and said, “You’re mistaken, Doctor. There’s something very wrong with my heart.”
“No…no, I—I assure you, your heart is just fine.”
“No, it isn’t. It is hollow, just like me.” His eyes widened and he inhaled anxiously when she added, “Fix it for me, Doctor. Fill my empty heart…and me.”
Shocked by such bold behavior, Dr. McCelland stammered, “I—I sincerely, ah, wish I could—that I could be of help, but I—”
“You can,” she said, and pulled his face closer still, so close that only a couple of inches separated them.
“H-how?” he asked, perspiring nervously now.
“Doctor, do you find me attractive?”
“Well, yes, I…why certainly, you—you’re extraordinarily beautiful.”
Beverly smiled like the cat that got the cream. Her eyes focused on his mouth, she asked, “Do you ever get lonesome, Doctor?”
“Sometimes,” he replied. “Usually I’m too busy to—”
“I’m lonely, Doctor.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “So lonely.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea that someone like you…” His words trailed away.
“You don’t want me to suffer from severe loneliness, do you?”
“Of course not, but I—”
“Kiss me,” she cooed. “Please. Kiss me.”
Not waiting for him to comply, Beverly lifted her wet, red lips and kissed him soundly.
Then it was his heart that raced alarmingly. Knowing how she was affecting him, Beverly drew the stethoscope from around his neck. She put the earpieces into her ears, unbuttoned his shirt, slipped the stethoscope inside, placed it over his heart and listened.
“Oh, my,” she said, removing the earpieces, “your heart is fairly thundering in your chest, Doctor. Better sit down here until you’ve calmed a bit.”
Dr. McCelland said nothing, just sank down onto the bed beside Beverly and didn’t protest when, again slipping her hand inside his half-open shirt, she spread her fingers on his naked chest and adroitly urged him down onto his back on her soft bed.
“There, isn’t that better?” she whispered, and finished unbuttoning his shirt.
By the time Dr. McCelland, totally spent and smiling foolishly, left Beverly’s house, the biting sting was gone from the heat because the searing summer sun was sliding toward the western horizon.
Sally Horner, dressed and ready for the evening’s engagement with Buck, took one last glance out her bedroom window before going downstairs. Her eyes grew big as saucers.
Dr. McCelland was just now leaving Beverly’s house. He had been there all afternoon! Surely Beverly Harris wasn’t that ill.
At The Regent, life had slowed just as it had in town. Anna was so hot and miserable herself, she naturally supposed that LaDextra’s worsening lack of energy was due to the sweltering summer weather. LaDextra assured her such was the case. Still, Anna insisted that the pale, weak LaDextra rest all afternoon, and to make sure she did, Anna sat with her. She read to her. She passed on any interesting gossip she could recall. She listened as LaDextra reminisced about the days when she herself was young and had first come to Texas.
Anna kept the older woman company.
It was a satisfying time for them both. The tired, aged LaDextra was the indulgent, loving, white-haired grandmother Anna had never had. The young, healthy Anna was the spirited, golden-haired granddaughter LaDextra had lost and finally found.
Anna had been back from San Antonio for only a couple of days when she confided to LaDextra that she wanted to start learning—immediately—more about the day-to-day operations of The Regent. At her admission, LaDextra’s pale eyes brightened and she quickly agreed that it would be a wise thing to do.
“I know just the man to teach you and—” LaDextra began.
“Not Brit,” Anna anxiously interrupted.
“I wasn’t going to suggest Brit,” LaDextra said. “He’s far too busy these days to bother with you.”
“Yes, of course,” Anna replied.
“No, I was thinking of Cheno Martinez. Cheno’s one of the oldest vaqueros on the ranch, but he’s still a vigorous man at age seventy-three, and he knows everything there is to know about the workings of the ranch.”
Anna brightened. “Do you suppose he’d mind educating me a little?”
“Why, Lord knows, he’ll be thrilled to death,” LaDextra said with a smile. “Cheno’s not only one of the most knowledgeable men on the ranch, he’s the most patient, as well.”
“Could Cheno start teaching me tomorrow?” Anna asked excitedly. “I could ride with him every morning, except, of course, those days when I’ll be going with Dr. McCelland to visit the various division headquarters.”
“My, my,” said LaDextra, “you’re going to be mighty busy, honey.”
“Yes,” said Anna, hoping she’d be so busy she wouldn’t have time to think about Brit more than a thousand times a day.
At sunup the very next morning, a short, stocky, silver-haired vaquero stepped up to the back fence, smiling sunnily. He was leading a big roan gelding, along with Anna’s gentle sorrel mare, Dancer.
When Anna came out of the house, Cheno swept the big straw sombrero from his head and bowed grandly.
She reached him and he greeted her warmly. “Señorita Anna, I am Cheno Martinez.”
“So nice to meet you, Cheno,” Anna said, extending her hand.
The vaquero took it in his own brown, work-roughened fingers and said, “La Patrona has told me you wish to learn more about The Regent.”
“Yes, yes I do. I want you to teach me everything you know about this ranch and the way it runs.”
“It will be my great pleasure,” said Cheno, smiling widely.
Anna smiled back at the portly, sun-wrinkled vaquero and said, “I hope you’ll still think it’s a pleasure when I’ve driven you half-loco with my stupid questions.”
Cheno threw back his head and laughed heartily, his dark eyes twinkling. “No, no, señorita, ask anything you wish and I will answer as best I can.”
Anna nodded and said, “Cheno, you and I are going to be good friends, no?”
Pleased, the old vaquero beamed and replied, “Señorita Anna, we are going to be good friends, yes! Now, are you ready to take a little ride?”
“I can’t wait,” she replied.
The two rode together each morning thereafter, Cheno taking Anna out on far-reaching excursions of the big spread. As they rode farther and farther from the house, he was often amazed by her ability to correctly identify the various landmark mesas and washes and canyons that cut across the rugged ranchland.
She was, he had no doubt, a true Regent.
He gladly explained to her the need for the four divisions and the many separate pastures that made up The Regent. He was a well of information, and Anna felt she learned a lot from the old vaquero.
Cheno talked fondly of his life on The Regent, said he had been at the ranch for the past fifty-five years. He remembered well the day that the patrón, Robert Regent, had brought his bride home to Texas from Kentucky.
Anna loved to listen to the vaquero tell of those early days at the ranch. She encouraged him and he told of how, in the beginning, there had been only a handful of ranch hands, several hundred longhorns and a small two-room house in which the newlywed Regents had lived.
Then Robert Regent had slowly expanded—bought up land surrounding his spread, stocked it with cattle and hired more men—and built for La Patrona the big mansion he had promised her.
Cheno was telling about the first blooded cattle to arrive at the ranch when he stopped suddenly and asked, “Can you keep a secret, señorita?”
“Try me.”
“I should not be disloyal to the good man who brought me to The Regent, but the truth is the young patrón, Brit, is a much better rancher and businessman than Robert Regent ever was.”
At the mention of Brit’s name, Anna stiffened. But the vaquero never noticed, and he began to speak affectionately about the capable man who he remembered as a sullen, suspicious twelve-year-old boy, and of all the trouble La Patrona had had with the orphaned, rebellious Brit.
“He wasn’t really a bad boy, but he felt that he was in the way, that nobody wanted him and he didn’t belong here.”
Anna said, “I know the feeling well.”
Cheno went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Finally La Patrona convinced Brit that she loved and wanted him, that The Regent was his home for as long he wanted to stay.”
“That was very kind of LaDextra,” Anna coolly commented.
“It was, and Brit has repaid that kindness. As he matured, he became a very responsible, hardworking man. And so smart. Muy inteligente. So, four years ago La Patrona made him the general manager of the entire Regent, the boss over all bosses.” Cheno shook his head as he added, “She loves Brit like a son.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Brit, he is a good boss. First thing he did when he took over was gather a few trusted advisors and draft a code of rules for the ranch. The first rule is that the abuse of horses, mules or cattle by a cowhand will not be tolerated on The Regent. Brit made it clear that if any man strikes a horse or in any way abuses the creature while in his charge, the offender will be immediately dismissed.”
“Has he ever actually dismissed anyone?”
Cheno shook his silver head and smiled. “Never had to. Brit possesses that—how you say—mysterious quality that makes people want to please him.”
“Really?” Anna managed to ask, then gritted her teeth. Cheno spoke the truth. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to please Brit Caruth. The servants adored him, his men respected him, LaDextra loved him to death. Even Anna, knowing full well that he meant to have her exiled from The Regent, had wanted to please him so badly she had fallen right into his arms.
“…And to insure the suitable functioning of this vast enterprise,” Cheno was saying, “Brit demands regular reports from his division foremen.” The vaquero thought for a minute, then continued, “I tell you, señorita, the livestock affairs of this gigantic ranch are so, um, complex they demand Brit’s constant care.”
“I’m sure that’s true. What are the biggest concerns?”
“Always there are the pressing problems of adequate pasturage, water, herd handling and control. And with this long terrible drought…” Cheno paused, drew a breath and said, “Brit has the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Eager to get off the subject of Brit, Anna said, “Tell me more about the roundups.”
The somber vaquero brightened as he began to talk about his favorite of all ranch tasks, the spring and fall roundups. He told her that the last roundup had been in April—right before she had come back home. He said that on roundups the cowhands each had twelve to fifteen horses—circle horses, cutting horses, roping horses and night horses. He talked for the next half hour about the hard work and satisfying rewards of a roundup, explaining exactly what happened from the time they began herding the cattle out of the many distant pastures until the day the beef were shipped to market.
When Cheno had imparted every detail he could think of, the two of them were far, far away from the house, out on the eastern boundaries of the ranch.
“Señorita, look there!” Cheno drew rein and pointed at a trio of riders in the near distance. “Is the patrón.”
Anna squinted. Sure enough, there was Brit astride his stallion, Captain, surrounded by a bawling herd of Hereford cattle.
Cheno said, “Ah, I know what they are doing now.” He turned in the saddle and looked at Anna. “This is something to see, señorita. A bull has gotten in with the cattle. Brit and the others are going to cut it out of the herd and get it out of here. Is dangerous work. That’s a mean Spanish bull and he can hurt a horse badly.”
Anna nodded, then watched as Brit, controlling his mount with his knees, sailed a lasso up over his head, whirled it several times, then threw it. He didn’t rope the bull. He roped a large thorny cactus, pulled it with the rope until it came out of the ground. He drew the cactus up, got hold of it by the roots and slung it at the bull’s back. The prickly cactus hit its target squarely. The angered bull made a lane right through the herd of cattle, scattering them. A cowhand waited at the open pasture gate to shoo the snorting beast out.
Cheno laughed and applauded.
“Shh,” Anna cautioned, not wanting Brit to know that she was here watching him. “Let’s go, Cheno,” she said, and turned her mare away.
The vaquero followed.
Knowing that she had been there all along, Brit finally turned tortured eyes in her direction and watched her ride away. She was bouncing slightly in the saddle, her small waist and flaring hips accentuated by her tight-fitting riding britches, her long golden hair spilling from under her hat.
Brit felt his chest tighten.
God, how he wanted her gone.
God, how he wanted her.