Romantic Refinements - Page 1
September 1882, Texas Hill Country
Even the jerking and jostling of wooden wagon wheels travelling on uneven ground didn’t drop Marion McDermott’s gaze from the herd of rangy cowhands watching the action in the corral. Why, the thought that her future husband might be in the batch of hardened, heavy-working, hat-wearing men set her heart a-thumping—something the dandies back in Austin hadn’t been able to achieve. Poppa’s smile would surely shine when he heard how seriously she’d taken his warning about marrying a man for his good looks, alone.
Yet as Aunt Mattie steered their outfit toward the white pickets which surrounded the familiar verandah-decked house, Marion nervously smoothed the lap of her periwinkle day dress. With its layers of ruffles and lace it hadn’t been the most practical choice for the hour trip from Austin, but as headmistress Mrs. Collins had repeatedly said, Marion should continue to work on virtues such as practicality even now that she’d graduated from the Jeanette C. Austen Academy for Young Ladies.
Over by the corral the cowhands gazed in Marion’s direction even though the object of their recent attention still bucked with abandon in the corral behind them.
Spotting a familiar handsome face sent a hundred butterflies flittering in her stomach. Mr. Jeffrey Whelp could very well be the man to leave this ranch with a proprietary hand on her back.
As he left the rail and sauntered her way with the rest of the men, Marion faced the front, her gloved hands closing the silk parasol that matched her fancy travelling dress.
Aunt Mattie reined in the team beside the fence where Marion’s favorite yellow roses rambled along the white pickets.
Marion leaned down from her seat for a satisfying whiff of their heavenly scent. “Everything’s always the same.”
Aunt Mattie tied off the lines. “Not much changes on a ranch, except for the men. You’ll recognize most of them, especially the ones your poppa sent over. My brother is as stubborn as they come, but he believes in family and I value the support he has shown over the years since your Uncle Raith died. All his blustering at the beginning was only because that is what he thought a big brother was supposed to do. But he came around.”
She nodded toward the outbuildings. “I don’t think you’ve met my foreman, yet.”
A tall cowboy in a black hat stood on the stoop of the foreman’s quarters. His off-white shirt and denims were much like the clothes of the other cowhands, but when he stepped down and headed her way, he lacked the rolling saunter of someone who spent hours in the saddle. Instead, his limping stride appeared jerky and torturous. Beneath a wide brim, his sun-creased face lacked signs of youth and Marion guessed him to be about thirty or so. With his strong, clean-shaven jawline and wide shoulders his overall appearance was that of a striking man any woman would have a hard time forgetting.
Their gazes locked, his directness questioning hers.
She looked away, annoyed that she’d been caught staring.
Even the jerking and jostling of wooden wagon wheels travelling on uneven ground didn’t drop Marion McDermott’s gaze from the herd of rangy cowhands watching the action in the corral. Why, the thought that her future husband might be in the batch of hardened, heavy-working, hat-wearing men set her heart a-thumping—something the dandies back in Austin hadn’t been able to achieve. Poppa’s smile would surely shine when he heard how seriously she’d taken his warning about marrying a man for his good looks, alone.
Yet as Aunt Mattie steered their outfit toward the white pickets which surrounded the familiar verandah-decked house, Marion nervously smoothed the lap of her periwinkle day dress. With its layers of ruffles and lace it hadn’t been the most practical choice for the hour trip from Austin, but as headmistress Mrs. Collins had repeatedly said, Marion should continue to work on virtues such as practicality even now that she’d graduated from the Jeanette C. Austen Academy for Young Ladies.
Over by the corral the cowhands gazed in Marion’s direction even though the object of their recent attention still bucked with abandon in the corral behind them.
Spotting a familiar handsome face sent a hundred butterflies flittering in her stomach. Mr. Jeffrey Whelp could very well be the man to leave this ranch with a proprietary hand on her back.
As he left the rail and sauntered her way with the rest of the men, Marion faced the front, her gloved hands closing the silk parasol that matched her fancy travelling dress.
Aunt Mattie reined in the team beside the fence where Marion’s favorite yellow roses rambled along the white pickets.
Marion leaned down from her seat for a satisfying whiff of their heavenly scent. “Everything’s always the same.”
Aunt Mattie tied off the lines. “Not much changes on a ranch, except for the men. You’ll recognize most of them, especially the ones your poppa sent over. My brother is as stubborn as they come, but he believes in family and I value the support he has shown over the years since your Uncle Raith died. All his blustering at the beginning was only because that is what he thought a big brother was supposed to do. But he came around.”
She nodded toward the outbuildings. “I don’t think you’ve met my foreman, yet.”
A tall cowboy in a black hat stood on the stoop of the foreman’s quarters. His off-white shirt and denims were much like the clothes of the other cowhands, but when he stepped down and headed her way, he lacked the rolling saunter of someone who spent hours in the saddle. Instead, his limping stride appeared jerky and torturous. Beneath a wide brim, his sun-creased face lacked signs of youth and Marion guessed him to be about thirty or so. With his strong, clean-shaven jawline and wide shoulders his overall appearance was that of a striking man any woman would have a hard time forgetting.
Their gazes locked, his directness questioning hers.
She looked away, annoyed that she’d been caught staring.