ToLoveaLady by Cynthia Sterling

around them in every direction like a great sea. Sunlight gilded the wintry grass, and etched the scrubby trees with gold. A cool breeze washed over them, bringing the scent of sun-warmed sage. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, locking the memory within her of this day and this place.  
    Charles’s letters had described Texas as a sunny, open land. But words could not convey the brightness of the sun here, or the grandeur of the terrain that stretched unbroken by wall or hedge for miles and miles into the distance. That vastness had made her ill-at-ease at first. She felt lost and insignificant, a speck on the planet. But she was gradually growing accustomed to the scale of things here, and felt herself expanding as well, not physically, but mentally.  
    For the first time in her life, she was truly on her own. Her days were her own, not regimented by the demands of a narrow society. She could say what she felt, befriend whomever she pleased, go where she wanted to go. This new freedom was as intoxicating as champagne.
    Even if Texas had not offered so much to her, she would have been content here, because Charles was here.
    “We’re on the Rocking W ranch now,” Gordon said. “We should be at Abbie Waters’ home in a moment.”
    Cecily looked around, but saw only more emptiness. After five minutes’ more riding, however, she spotted a small building in the distance. Made of logs, scarcely twenty meters square, it had a chimney at one end and an open veranda across the front. Apparently one of the cowboys or other retainers lived here. They must be close to the main house now.
    Gordon led them to the cabin. A black and white dog stood on the porch and barked at them, until a boy in denim trousers and blue-striped shirt hushed it. “Good day, Miss Waters.” Gordon removed his hat and bowed to the boy.
    “It is shaping up to be a pretty day. Why don’t y’all light and visit a spell.” The boy stepped down off the porch and came toward them.  
    Cecily slid from the saddle and straightened her skirts, trying to hide her confusion. The boy wasn’t a boy at all, but a young woman.
    “Lady Cecily Thorndale, this is Abigail Waters,” Gordon made the introductions.
    “Call me Abbie.” The young woman offered her hand and Cecily took it. Up close, she looked scarcely more than a girl, with brown hair curling around a fine-featured face, freckles dusting her cheeks. Her grasp was firm as a man’s, her hand bare, calluses scraping the fine cotton of Cecily’s gloves. “Pleased to meet you.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Miss. . . Abbie.”
    Gordon turned to the other women. “This is Madame LeFleur, Alice Rogers and Nick Bainbridge.”
    Madame LeFleur nodded, and Nick managed a smart bow. Alice stared at their hostess, dumbfounded.
    “Madame LeFleur is interested in the land you have for sale,” Gordon said.
    “Come in and have some refreshments, then we can ride over and you can take a look.” She led the way inside, accompanied by her dog, whom she introduced as Banjo. He curled up on a rug by the door while the others arranged themselves around the table at one end of the front room. “I made tea,” Abbie said, taking a kettle from the stove. “And I bought cakes in town.” She grimaced. “I’ll confess, I’m not much of a baker.”
    Not wanting to stare, but consumed by curiosity, Cecily studied their hostess through lowered lashes. Abbie wore the uniform of every cowboy Cecily had seen thus far: flannel shirt and denim trousers tucked into tall boots. The boots had elaborate stitching up the front, and two-inch high, sharply angled heels. Though odd garb for a female, the clothes seemed to suit Abbie. She was not the coarse oddity Cecily had feared when she’d first greeted them. Her voice was low and gentle, her speech, though not refined, was that of a woman with some education and manners. She had removed her hat when they entered the house, revealing a thick coil of brown hair pinned atop