Claret-colored wallpaper. Walnut wainscoting. Ornately woven rugs. Plush sofas and comfortable-looking wing chairs.
And the people. A lovely, brown-haired young lady wearing a lavender skirt and white blouse sat on a sofa, Hays claiming the empty seat beside her. A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man leaned against the mantel, his jaw set into a hard line. Annie started slightly at the man’s missing left eye and burn-scarred face. A couple with their arms around each other seemed oblivious to everything else. She figured this was probably Chisholm and his new bride.
Beside a wing chair that seemed a child’s plaything next to his taller-than-tall height, stood the man who could only be George Washington Hart. Though his hair had whitened, and he looked a bit thinner, little else about the man had changed. He immediately advanced, grasping his son’s hand.
“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days, Travis.” His tone was deep and unmistakably Texan. “Been keeping busy with all those ailing people, I bet. Who’s this you brought with you?” He turned his clear-eyed gaze on Annie.
“This is Annie Lawrence, Pa. Annie, you’ve met my father, GW Hart.”
Though he wore no Stetson, the man tipped a nod. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Welcome back to El Regalo, Mrs. Lawrence. We heard of the loss of your husband, and our deepest sympathies go out to you. He died fighting for a fine cause, ma’am, as I’m sure you already know.”
Annie returned the smile. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Hart. I’m very pleased to have returned to Hartville. I enjoyed my stay in Galveston, but it’s good to be home.”
“My sentiments exactly, ma’am. There’s no place I’d rather be than here in this most beautiful country. No offense to any other part of Texas, of course.” He looked down, as if noticing Robbie for the first time. “Let me guess. You’re the new ranch hand. Am I right?”
While Robbie had warmed instantly to Hays, he seemed a bit taken aback by this giant of a man. He took a step behind Annie.
“Say hello to Mr. Hart,” Annie said quietly, though she hardly blamed the boy. She’d always been a little frightened of Travis’s father as a child. Who wouldn’t be? He seemed to tower over even the trees.
“Come now. I expect any ranch hand of mine to know how to talk.” GW looked on the verge of a smile.
Robbie hesitated, hung behind Annie’s skirt an instant more, then stuck out his hand. “Howdy.” An endearing grin stole across her son’s face. “I’m Robert Stuart Lawrence. Ma says I’m too young to be a ranch hand, but that I can start practicing real soon. She’s dead-set on making me learn to read and do my sums, but I’d a sight rather ride the range. Everybody says your ranch is the finest around these parts, and I’ve been real anxious to see it. Can I? Can I see your cows, Mr. Hart?”
“Well, now.” GW cocked his head as if in deep consideration. “I suppose that could be arranged. Provided you don’t give your ma any fuss next time she wants to teach you your numbers. I won’t have ignorant ranch hands on my land, so you’d best study hard if that’s what you’re aiming for.”
“I won’t make a lick of a fuss. Honest.”
“Then why don’t you and Hays go outside. He’ll show you ’round, won’t you, Hays?”
At Hays’s mournful glance toward the pretty lady at his side, GW said, “And don’t you fuss none about leaving your bride. She won’t run off. Will you, Emma?”
The lovely woman exchanged a smile with her new husband. “Not a chance.” She crossed the room and stood by Chisholm and Caro.
GW turned back to Annie. “Now, come on in and sit yourself down, Mrs. Lawrence. You, too, Travis.”
Annie allowed Travis to lead her to the sofa vacated by Hays and Emma. Unlike the newlyweds, they sat on each end, a respectable distance apart.
A perfectly respectable distance that frustrated her far too much.
They belonged together. He’d sensed it when they were young, and he knew it now. Sitting beside her at El Regalo, the sleeve of her dress brushing his arm, her laughter soft, like a dozen butterfly wings, had given him such a sense of being alive that he could almost taste the exhilaration. With his father’s announcement hanging in the air, might this be God’s way of opening the door to Travis’s future? Though Annie was unaware of the edict, such a thing wouldn’t stop her from caring for him. It couldn’t. Not when it mattered so little to himself.
The bodice of her dress rose and fell with gentle breaths as Annie bent over some sewing in her father’s parlor, candles lighting the room with soft-etched shadows. A strand of hair spiraled from her hapless bun, falling downward and landing against the creamy skin of her exposed neck. His fingers ached to follow the ringlet’s path, to touch that tempting swath of pink-tinged skin. Was it as soft as it looked? Did it smell of violets like her hair?