“So, Houston,” Austin asked, “what are your plans? Are you going to rope yourself a filly and claim your share of the ranch, or is this just a visit?”
Their father leveled a probing gaze on Houston, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, son, what are your intentions?”
He sidestepped the question, responding with a humorous tone. “That remains to be seen, since I might not be able to find a woman willing to put up with me.”
Several of his brothers laughed, but Pa’s lips formed a thin line. Only one answer would have suited him, and Houston wasn’t ready to give it in front of the others. This was between his father and him.
Ten more tense minutes passed before the last tamale was eaten. Pa stood, and the others followed suit, heavy chairs scraping on the wooden floor. Three of his brothers greeted him on their way out of the spacious dining room, welcoming him back. Bowie gave a curt nod accompanied by a grunt of acknowledgment, but Pa left without a word.
Houston, alone in the room, paused to admire the letters SHH carved into the crest rail of his chair. All these years his place at the table had sat empty, a silent reminder of his absence. No wonder Pa’s reception had been cool. Not that Houston had expected a warm welcome. He’d made it clear when he left that he wanted to make his own way in the world.
And he had. Alone. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. He’d dreamed of taking Coralee with him. She’d been sweet on him for years, and he’d finally wised up enough to see it. The Southern beauty was everything he’d wanted in a wife, but she’d turned him down. He would never forget the shocked look on her face when he’d asked her to marry him, head to California, and lead a life free of their family’s expectations. He was ready to leave his, but she’d said she couldn’t leave hers. What she’d meant was she wouldn’t. If she’d loved him as much as he’d loved her, she would have put him first. But she hadn’t.
Enough! Dwelling on that gut-wrenching scene did no good. He was sure to see Coralee at some point, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her rejection had nearly brought him to his knees. She’d gone on with her life, and he’d done the same. His might not have turned out the way he’d envisioned, but he’d done well for himself—without any help from his family.
But twelve years was a long time. When Travis’s letter with Pa’s edict arrived, Houston had fought an internal battle. He didn’t particularly want a share of the 7 Heart, but he did want to be part of his family again, and the two went together. His brothers might have trouble believing he wanted to embrace his Hart heritage since he’d been so eager to leave, but he would show them. He’d work hard, and in time, they’d see that he was serious about being a rancher.
Pa could be harder to convince. Their parting hadn’t been pleasant. So far, their reunion hadn’t been, either. Houston could understand his father’s wariness. The 7 Heart meant everything to him, and Houston had turned his back on it. But he was older and wiser now. If accepting his share of the ranch was what it took to earn Pa’s approval, so be it. Mother would have been glad her middle son was willing to make his peace with his father, provided that was possible.
Mother. The very word brought with it a flood of memories. He glanced at the life-sized portrait of Victoria Elizabeth Hart over the mantel. As always, her beauty struck him, but remorse caused him to tear his gaze away. His sweet mother was gone, and he hadn’t been here to say good-bye.
Houston made his way to his mother’s parlor upstairs, drawn there by a force so strong he was powerless to resist. He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Unlike the dark, masculine rooms throughout the rest of the house, her room was feminine, with green and gold furnishings and pretty knickknacks throughout. Being there brought a rush of memories—her sweet smiles, her soft hands that had caressed his face with such tenderness, her floral perfume. For a moment he was sure he smelled it, but then he spied the vase of roses.
There were dance lessons, too. She’d insisted on teaching each of her boys how to handle themselves on a dance floor. He’d treasured those times when it was just the two of them, with his petite mother guiding him through the dance steps as she looked up at him with love and acceptance. Pa might not understand him, but she had.
His announcement that he was leaving for California had created a ruckus, with his brothers all talking at once. Pa had scowled, but Mother, seated at the end of the table opposite him, had caught Houston’s eye and nodded once, a dip of the chin so slight he suspected no one else had seen it.