Diana Palmer - Denim And Lace

Nita spent the next ten minutes raving over the Italian count she’d met in that fabled city and discussing the delights of nude bathing in the count’s private pool. Bess sighed without meaning to. She’d never gone bathing in the nude or had an affair or done any of the modern things that with-it young women did. She was as sheltered as a nun. Gussie led and she followed. Sometimes she wondered why, but she always did it. That seemed to irritate Cade more than anything, that Gussie got her own way and Bess never argued. But Cade didn’t want Bess. He’d made that clear three years ago, when Bess had turned twenty, and in a way, it was just as well. Gussie had bigger fish than Cade in mind for her daughter. She disliked Cade and made no secret of it, although Bess had never found out why. Probably it was because the Hollisters lived in an old house with worn carpets and linoleum and drove used cars and never seemed to get ahead. Cade dressed in worn denim and leather boots, and he always smelled of calf and tobacco. The men Bess was allowed to date smelled of Pierre Cardin cologne and brandy and imported cigars. She sighed. She’d have traded them all for one hour in Cade’s arms.

She turned, idly scanning the crowded room. This coffee was for a newly engaged socialite. It was one of a round of coffees Bess had been to lately, and they were as boring as her life. Drinking coffee from old china stirred with silver spoons, aimlessly passing the time talking about holiday resorts and investments and the latest styles. And outside those immaculately clean windows, real life in the South Texas brush country was passing them all by. Real people lived in that world, which Bess had only caught a glimpse of. Real people who worked for a living, challenged the land and the weather, wore old clothes and drove old trucks and went to church on Sunday.

Bess glanced at Nita and wondered if she’d ever been inside a church except during the ceremony of one of her three failed marriages. Bess had gone once or twice, but she never seemed to find a place where she felt comfortable. The Hollisters were Baptist. They went to the same church where Cade’s grandfather had been a deacon, and everyone knew and respected the family. They might not be rich, but they were well-thought-of. Sometimes, Bess thought, that might be worth a lot more than a big account.

Several minutes later she escaped out the door and climbed behind the wheel of her silver Jaguar XJ-S, sinking into the leather seat with a long breath of relief. At least here she felt at home, out in the country with no one to tell her what to do. It was a nice change from the house.

She headed home, but as she passed the dirt road that led to the Hollister homestead, she saw three calves wandering free of the cattle grid. Her brown eyes narrowed as she noticed a break in the fence. She scouted the horizon, but there was no one in sight. Turning onto the dirt road, she told herself that it was a necessary trip, not just an excuse to see Cade. It wouldn’t do for the Hollisters to lose even one calf with the cattle market down so far because of the continuing drought. Hay had been precious and still was, and the calf crop was dropping early, because it was February and a month before Cade’s cows usually dropped their calves. These little ones were obviously the product of cows who’d ignored Cade’s rigid breeding program. She smiled to herself, thinking how brave those cows were, to defy him for love.

She was getting silly, she told herself as she wheeled into the yard, where chickens scurried to get out of her way. Her eyes moved lovingly over the big two-story clapboard house with its long porch. A weathered porch swing and two rocking chairs rested there, but only Elise Hollister, Cade’s mother, ever had time to sit in them. Cade and Robert, his youngest brother, were always out on the ranch somewhere working. Gary, the middle brother, kept the books for the outfit, and Elise took in sewing to augment the money Cade won at rodeos. He was a top hand with a rope, and he’d made a lot of money on the rodeo circuit in calf roping and team roping. He was good at bareback bronc riding and steer riding, as well. Bess worried about him. Last time, at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas in December, he’d pulled a tendon in his leg and it had been weeks before he could walk without a limp. He had scars all over his arms and chest from the falls he’d taken and a couple of mended bones, as well. But without that extra money, they’d never have made their mortgage payments. Cade was a keen businessman, and since his father’s death years ago he’d had the bulk of the responsibility for the ranch. It had aged him. He was only thirty-four, but he seemed mature and very adult, even hard, to Bess. Not that it affected her feelings for him. Nothing ever seemed to change that sad fact.

She got out of the Jaguar, pausing to pet Laddie, the black-and-white border collie that helped the men work the cattle. Cade would get angry if he saw her because Laddie was a cattle dog, not a petting dog. He didn’t like her showing affection to anything on his land, least of all to him. But she thought he might like to know about the wayward calves.

Elise Hollister was in the kitchen. She called for Bess to come in, and Bess opened the screen door, careful not to bang it, because the spring had come loose and there was a small hole in the screen. The linoleum floors were cracked and faded. Compared with the big Samson house the Hollisters’ home was a shack, but it was always clean and neat as a pin because Elise kept it that way. Bess always felt at home on Lariat, and the lack of luxury didn’t bother her one bit. It bothered Cade. He never snapped at her more than when she came here, which was rarely. She hadn’t really had a good excuse since her father had persuaded Cade three years ago to give her riding lessons, and that hadn’t lasted long. Gussie had managed to stop them just after they started, and Cade had seemed relieved. Of course it had been just after his successful attempt to get Bess to stop chasing him, and it had been something of a relief, even to her. Cade’s callous behavior had upset her. She often wondered if he regretted it. She did, because it had left her slightly afraid of him. But her stubborn heart had never found another man to fasten itself on. Despite everything, it was still Cade.

He only came to the house to see her father, and that had been a very recent development. His attitude was somehow different. Gussie’s hauteur bounced off him these days, for the most part, but the way he looked at Bess was new and a little unsettling. It was as if he was looking for something in her.

But he didn’t like her on Lariat. She wondered if it might be because he disliked having her see how he lived, comparing his lifestyle with hers. But why would that matter to him when he wanted no part of her? She couldn’t quite figure Cade out. She was in good company there. He was a mystery even to his mother.

Elise Hollister had gray hair, but she was elegant in her way, tall and slender and sharp featured, with kind, dark eyes and a ready smile. She was wearing a cotton print shirtwaist dress, and her eyes twinkled as she moved away from the sink to wipe her hands on a dishcloth.

“Hello, Bess,” she said, welcoming the younger woman like a long-lost daughter. “What brings you here?”

“Cade’s got some calves out on the highway,” she said. “The fence is down, and I thought I’d better tell somebody.” She blushed, thinking how transparent she must seem to this warm, quiet woman.

Elise smiled. “That’s very kind of you. You look pretty this morning.”

“Thank you. I’ve been to a coffee,” Bess said with a kind of sophisticated cynicism. “The daughter of one of Mama’s friends is getting married, so I had to make an appearance.” She grimaced. “I wanted to go riding, but Mama says I’ll fall off the horse and break something vital.”