The Shepherd's Daughter (Dry Bayou Brides Book 1) (4 page)

“So, uh, DuCastille, huh? I noticed your accent when we spoke earlier. Are you new to the country or have you been here for a while?”

His question seemed to take her by surprise, her coffee-brown eyes lighting with something like wariness, but it was quickly hidden behind a bland yet pleasant expression. “Yes, I am originally from Lyon, but I moved to New York ten years ago. I’ve been in the United States so long, I’d like to think of myself as an American.” Her smile wavered, oh so slightly, so he knew that particular topic was a touchy one.

Another topic, then.

“Do you have any family in Lyon?” Family was a safe topic, wasn’t it? He loved talking about his. He had plenty to share on that subject.

Her expression closed almost immediately and he found himself in the company of a tense, guarded stranger.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m trying to get to you know, just as I promised my ma I would. And I think it only fair to take the time to speak with you, after you travelled all this way.”

At the mention of his mother, her tight expression loosened slightly, and a smile returned to her face. “Your mother seems like a very lovely woman.”

“Oh, she is. She does a great job reminding me of that daily,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, suddenly eager to quit the house and run to find Ray, who could lighten the mood at a funeral.

He needed to see her, hear her, experience the lightness of heart and spirit that just being around her created.

Though, if he took the time to think on it… Lately, being around her felt
different
. He didn’t know what was different, exactly. After nearly fourteen years of brother-sister-best friend familiarity, he was noticing the rich, chocolate color of her eyes in the light of the sun, the softness of her skin beneath his hand when he brushed a spot of grime from her chin, or the scent of her hair when he snuck up behind her to scare the
be-jebus
out of her.

Not to mention how her body felt beneath all those skirts as she pressed against him or when she cried on his chest after her father died…

He wasn’t a greenhorn who didn’t know what happened between a man and woman. For heaven’s sake, he lived on a ranch. He’d even kissed a girl before—Dora Mosier—so he knew what it felt like to hold a girl. It wasn’t the physical act of holding Ray against him that got him so bothered. It was that it was
Ray
, his childhood friend. And she’d somehow grown into a beautiful
woman
.

Beneath the boyish mannerisms, mischievous grin, and bold talk, Ray was a grown woman and she had the lush femininity to prove it.

He had to wonder if she’d started to feel just as jumbled up about him.

His mind went right back to that afternoon by the barn, when he started to help Ray pick up all the fishing gear she’d dropped. She seemed agitated, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands or where to look or what to say—and that alone should’ve stirred up the dust in his brain.

She’d acted differently around him. And when she’d finally met his gaze, her eyes were filled with longing, like she
wanted
something from him.

In that moment, he’d wanted to cradle her face and kiss her. But he’d known that the moment his mouth met hers, everything would change between them.

Or would it?

He knew he would’ve braved it, would’ve kissed her if he had the chance. Her flame-red hair hung in a sloppy ponytail and the freckles kissing her nose and upper cheeks begged him to count each one. As for her lips, he wondered if they’d be as soft as they looked.

The urge to kiss her was powerful. Thankfully, his mother had arrived in time to keep him from ruining the only true friendship he’d ever had.

Ray would’ve certainly slapped his face and given him a flurry of angry words—then she might’ve left him standing there, his heart in his hands.

The sound of a cough ripped him from his heated memories. Miss DuCastille sat staring at him like she’d been talking to him and he hadn’t been listening.

Honestly, he hadn’t been.

“Sorry, you were saying something?”
Of course she was. Now sit up straight and make her feel like the only woman in the room—just like Ma taught you.

She didn’t snap at him as he’d expected her to do after his blatant disrespect. She offered him a knowing smile. “You seem a little distracted.”

Was he ever.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting a bride to show up on my porch today, so yeah, my mind is a little…cloudy. I didn’t mean to be rude, Miss DuCastille.”

He really didn’t. She truly seemed like a nice woman. He just didn’t know enough about her to…

To what? Marry her?

No, certainly not enough to marry her, but…if he were seriously considering courting her, as he promised his ma he would, he would stop letting his mind wander and actually focus on his potential, future betrothed.

She held up her gloved hand and a waft of something sweet and subtle teased his nostrils.

She even smells lovely.

“Dry Bayou seems like a wonderful little town, as much as I’ve seen of it. I’ve only been into the town proper twice now, but the people I’ve met have been hospitable.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Dry Bayou really was a one of a kind town. Originally a settlement founded thirty years ago by Leslie La Fontaine, a plantation owner’s son, and his wife, Cressida, the daughter of a slave. Not much was known about why they came west, but he did know they were from Louisiana. They’d left their lives behind in the pre-war south and decided to start a new life in Texas. The plaque on the fountain in the middle of the town gardens read:

DRY BAYOU, TEXAS

FOUNDED 1841

DRY BAYOU, TEXAS IS WHERE SOUTHERN CHARM MEETS THE WILD WEST, AND WHERE PEOPLE, NO MATTER THEIR HERITAGE OR PAST, CAN FIND HOSPITALITY, CREATE A COMMUNITY, AND BECOME A FAMILY.

“I think I could grow to love it.” There was a wistfulness in her expression that made Billy wonder if Rebecca wasn’t a little…heartbroken.

But he couldn’t wonder about that now.

“That’s good to hear, Miss DuCastille.” He hated sounding so formal, especially since they were supposed to be getting to know one another
better
.

“Please, call me Rebecca. And I hope that you’ll let me call you Billy.”

She read my mind!

He smiled at her willingness to break the all-important courtship rule. “You certainly may,
Rebecca
.”

She leaned forward and picked up the cup and saucer, then took another ladylike sip. “So, Billy, tell me what it is you do. Your father has written several letters, detailing your work with breeding stallions, your education—and he spoke of how handsome and well-mannered you were…”

His pa had done an awful lot of sharing without informing Billy he’d ordered him a
wife
. Too bad the information he’d shared lacked important details; like how his education was shaped by the scholar Mr. La Fontaine hired to chronicle the inception and progress of Dry Bayou. When the man wasn’t in a small office at The Maison, he was at the ranch teaching Billy reading, writing, and algebra.

“He did, did he?” Billy finally responded. Why was there a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach?

“Yes, he did. But, I’d love to learn more about you, straight from the horse’s mouth, as I’ve heard your father say.”

If his pa had taken so much time and effort to impress this lady on Billy’s behalf, then his father was definitely set on him marrying her.

Aw-dingit
, Ray’s usual exclamation came to mind.

That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach dropped right into his boots.

R
ay rolled over
and grumbled, angry at the bright, happy sunlight shining through her bedroom window. She punched her pillow and refused to move from the bed—she had nothing to get up for, though her mother and the sheepherders would disagree.

There were chores to do. She groaned. Her body still ached from all the work she’d done the day before. And the day before that. Sometimes Ray wondered if she’d ever go back to her carefree life—the one she’d shared with Billy.

She groaned again, this time at her own stupidity. She and Billy were grown. They had important things to do, responsibilities.

While the greater part of Dry Bayou Ranch was run by the Ducharmes and their ranch hands, the sheep operation was run by Ray and three
caporales
, men who once answered to her father. At least, that was until her cousin, Seamus, arrived two months later to take over.

She flopped onto her back and stared at the rough-wood ceiling, finding little comfort in the knotholes she’d counted endlessly over the years.

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…Billy’s gettin’ married.

It had been her first thought upon waking up because it was her last thought before sleep claimed her the night before. She’d lain awake long after her mother had gone to bed, watching the shadows play in the corners of her room, wondering if Billy were lying awake thinking of his new bride…wanting to marry her or kiss her.

That thought propelled her from the bed.

She sat up, threw off the blankets, and made short work of her morning routine. She donned a plain leather skirt, a red plaid shirt, tied a red kerchief around her neck, and pulled on the same old boots she’d been wearing for nigh on three years. They were worn but they did their job—even if they weren’t as pretty as Miss DuCastille’s fine, fawn-brown half boots.

By the time Ray was dressed and in the kitchen, her mother was placing plates of ham, eggs, and potatoes on the table.

Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, the scents of breakfast made her mouth water. She forced herself to swallow.

Ray caught sight of the third plate on the table, the spot where her pa used to sit. Her heart ached.

Ma refused to deny Pa a place, though he’d been gone for three months. Her pa was a hardworking man and the Ducharmes had counted on him to help them manage and grow the sheep herd. Now the Ducharmes were forced to find someone to replace her father. Ray and her ma had to find a way to cope with it.

Ray had dealt with it as she’d done everything else; she thought on it, felt the emotion all at once, and then focused on whatever came next. Her ma, on the other hand, was still…dealing. After her pa’s passing, Ray’s ma had also taken on part of the responsibility of the sheep operation. Ray was no good with numbers, so her ma took care of that.

But both were eager for her cousin, Seamus, to arrive so he could relieve them of their extra duties—things that kept Ray busy for most of the day and her ma overburdened when she should be mourning. If Ray thought it would help, she’d take on all the work.

“So, ye’re up. Was wonderin’ if ye’d be layin’ abed all morn.” Her mother looked at her, her eyes narrowing on Ray’s face. “What’s got ye bothered, bairn?”

Of course, her ma knew something was wrong. For years, she’d been telling Ray that she had “the sight”, how she could see into people’s souls, could read their thoughts just by studying their eyes.

Ray avoided looking at her mother’s face and plopped into her chair. Determined to eat quickly and get out of the house before her mother tried to read her troubled thoughts.

Ray shoveled in three mouthfuls of food before her mother clicked her tongue at her. “Not gonna taste yer food that way. Show some respect for the pig who gave his life for yer ham.”

The food suddenly felt like a rock in her stomach. “Sorry, Ma.” Her ma, probably using “the sight”, left the table to retrieve a mug of coffee, then placed the steaming drink in front of Ray and sat down again. “There, drink that. I think ye may need it.”

Ray sipped the black-as-coal coffee, savoring the bitterness. It kicked the last of her morning fog from her brain.

Billy’s gettin’ married…to a
real
lady.

In that moment, she hated herself because she wasn’t sweet enough, refined enough, or pretty enough. No wonder Billy agreed to court Rebecca DuCastille. He’d hung around Ray so much that a real lady was too tempting to resist.

The woman was short, had hair as fine as spun gold, a manner as fine as Mrs. Ducharme’s, and a pretty face.

Ray abandoned her coffee and offered her mother a weak smile. “I’ll get to my chores.”

Her ma nodded. “Right then, see ye for dinner, love.”

Ray grabbed her hat from the hook beside the door, eager to leave the house, but the mirror on the wall called to her. In a huff, she glared at her reflection. Her frizzy hair was in its usual sloppy ponytail, her freckles were like little dots of mud across her nose and cheeks, and her skin was a choppy mix of red and tan—a consequence of all her time in the sun.

She sighed. She wasn’t a fine lady, didn’t even look like a
woman
.

Billy’s gettin’ married and I’m gonna lose him.

It took her an hour longer than usual to finish her morning chores, because she was just too distracted by her own darn thoughts. She’d bend over to clean the ewe’s hoof and wonder if Billy was taking a ride with Miss DuCastille or if he was smiling at her like he did last night on the porch. Ray would heft a bag of feed for the cloistered lambing ewes and her silly brain would conjure up memories of Billy’s strong, wide shoulders and flexing muscles when he lifted bales of hay into the wagons a few days before.