Free Nora by Diana Palmer Page A

hand. He had to keep Chester solvent, for the family’s sake as well as Chester’s. If only he could bring the man around to some modern thinking. He’d have to work on that angle when he got back.

Chapter Four
    T HE NEXT WEEK, C AL HAD a telegram from Alan in Galveston, mentioning the fine weather and asking about progress on the rig. Cal took time enough to wire him back and tell him, tongue in cheek, that he’d hit the biggest strike in Texas history and hoped Alan wouldn’t be sorry he missed it.
    He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Alan got the message, although his brother knew him very well and wasn’t likely to fall for the joke. He went back to work, but his mind wasn’t on it. He was thinking about his new venture and worried about the capital he was investing. Perhaps he was trying to build a life on dreams after all. King had said as much when Cal announced his intention to go looking for a big oil strike near the Gulf. But, then, King was practical and a realist. He was content to manage the ranch andoversee the combine with their father. He wasn’t a risk taker.
    Nora was out walking when he made his way to the bunkhouse late that evening. He looked unusually solemn.
    â€œHello,” she said gently, hesitating when he stopped just in front of her. “Goodness, you look somber. Is something wrong?”
    He’d deliberately avoided her since his return Monday afternoon. The way he felt about her confused him. He wanted to make her uncomfortable, to hurt her because of her arrogance, her treatment of Greely. But when it came right down to it, he hadn’t the heart.
    He studied her quietly, aware that for the first time, she wasn’t moving back or wrinkling her nose at him. Her blue eyes were shadowed in the dusk light, and they were curious as they searched his strong, lean face.
    â€œIt’s nothing I can share with you,” he said slowly. “A…personal matter.”
    â€œOh, I see.” She paused. “Life is not always what we would wish, is it, Mr. Barton?” she asked absently.
    He scowled at the proper use of his name. “I have kissed you,” he reminded her curtly. “How can you still be so formal with me?”
    She cleared her throat and folded her hands at her waist. “You embarrass me.”
    â€œMy name is Callaway,” he persisted. “Usually I’m called Cal.”
    She smiled. “It suits you.”
    â€œWhat is Nora short for?”
    â€œEleanor,” she replied.
    â€œEleanor.” It sounded right on his tongue. He smiled as he studied her in the fading light. “You shouldn’t be here. The Tremaynes are very conventional people, and so, I think, are you.”
    Her blue eyes searched his face. “You are not.”
    He shrugged. “I have been a rake, and in some ways, I still am. I make my own rules.” His eyes narrowed and he spoke involuntarily. “While you are a slave to society’s rules, Eleanor.”
    Her name sounded magical on his lips. She hardly heard what he was saying. She wanted to touch him, to hold him. He made her think of beginnings, of pale green buds on trees in early spring. These were feelings that she had never before experienced, and she coveted them. But he was a cowboy. She couldn’t imagine what her parents would think if she wrote that she had become infatuated with a working man, with a hired hand. They would have a fit. So would her aunt Helen. Just the fact of speaking with him, alone like this, could cost him his job. Why had she not realized it?
    â€œI must go in,” she said uneasily. “It would not please my people to find me here with you like this.”
    His fingers caught hers and soothed them, eased between them. The contact was shocking. He made a rough sound deep in his throat and had to fight the urge to bring her body into his and kiss her until he made her lips sore. It was in his eyes, that