Galveston Between Wind and Water - By Rachel Cartwright Page 0,67

and cleared her throat as discreetly as possible. “Bret is an old family friend, but since his trip abroad we’ve lost touch.”

Miss Armstrong strode past Gabrielle toward the window overlooking the garden. “Your vines need pruning,” she commented. “Before you realize, they will overrun your walls and garden and cut off the sunlight to the smaller flowers.”

“Thank you for your advice. I’ll be sure to have Verna attend to them this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Miss Armstrong turned around. “Sometimes only the strongest poisons are effective once they’ve taken root where you don’t want them to be.”

“Having my garden overwhelmed by vines is easily remedied with a few snips and cuts. It is so much more difficult to remove other unwanted creatures once they get inside your house. Wouldn’t you agree Miss Armstrong?”

The young woman took a few steps toward Gabrielle. “Have you seen Bret much since his return?” she asked.

“Miss Armstrong.” Gabrielle clasped her fingers together in front of her skirt. “As a courtesy to your uncle I agreed to meet you on such short notice, but frankly, I cannot understand the purpose. What is it that is so urgent to—”

“Bret,” interrupted Miss Armstrong, with a half-suppressed sigh.

“Indeed. And what is your concern with him?”

“You’ve known him for many years, Miss Caldwell. What kind of man is he really?”

Gabrielle felt her throat going dry. She swallowed before speaking. “Is your family thinking of undertaking a partnership with him? I wouldn’t risk investing in his oil drilling venture if you were considering that.”

Miss Armstrong ran her fingers across the top ridge on the back of Gabrielle’s reading chair. “Not business per se, although it will figure prominently in our relationship.”

Gabrielle moistened her dry lips and felt her skin redden through the rouge on her cheek.

“Yes. I believe Bret will ask my uncle for my hand in marriage soon,” she continued.

Gabrielle felt no impulse to cry. She was too angry imagining what Bret might have done to this poor, foolish girl to convince her of such a ridiculous proposition or that his intentions were, for once, honorable.

She remained silent trying to control the heaving motion of her blouse and relax the strained corners of her eyes, but she knew they were betraying her moment by moment in the presence of this threatening woman: the last person she ever expected would expose her vulnerable heart. “How . . . sudden for both of you,” Gabrielle said, at last breaking the silence.

“I’ve always dreamt that this is how love should be. Being swept away by an ocean of desire and joy.” She whirled like a schoolgirl at play. “Do you know what I mean, Miss Caldwell? The impulsive, divine kind of love.”

Gabrielle gazed at this beautiful young woman, as if lost in a mood over which she had no control. There was a time, she was certain, her love for Bret would have been as long as life and stronger. “Then, I must congratulate you.”

She tried to steady her nerves and extended her hand to Miss Armstrong. “For succeeding where others have failed. Having a man like Bret McGowan declare his love and devotion to you must be a wonderful feeling.”

Miss Armstrong clasped Gabrielle’s hand, her fingers feeling even cooler to the touch than her own. “And of course. As you’ve said. Having a man like Bret . . . sometimes you have to look for other indications, other tokens of love and affection.”

She let Gabrielle’s hand drop. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Miss Caldwell, to find out all that I can about him. He can be so intense sometimes, as I’m sure you well know.”

Gabrielle drew in a long breath. Perhaps Bret hasn’t declared his love for her yet. She lifted her chin and spoke. “For all his public bravado and devil-may-care attitude, Bret has always been a very private person, very guarded about his emotions and thoughts.”

She held her breath, fearful of what might yet be revealed. “Most women would find that difficult to tolerate in a friend, let alone a husband.”

Miss Armstrong stepped to within an arm’s length of Gabrielle. Every line and shading of the young woman’s face was as clear as the silent slap of her muted animosity. “And you would not?”

Gabrielle walked toward the window and looked out at the garden. “I’ve come to understand Bret over the years and, lately, why he may be acting differently than he did before.” She turned to her guest. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of his behavior, in fact