at the way the Englishman was dressed. Luke controlled his own urge to chuckle, and he could already guess Nial Bentley was backed by old money, probably came from some English family of wealth. Maybe he was a lord or had some other damn fancy title. Whatever the case, he was certainly a handsome man. Luke guessed him to be a little older than himself.
"Go get Mommy," he told Pearl.
The girl ran inside, and Luke nodded to Bentley. "Afternoon."
"Good day, sir!" the man answered, dismounting. He tied his horse at a hitching post and climbed the steps, putting out his hand. "I already know from your man here that you are Luke Fontaine," Nial said with his strong British accent. "I am Nial Bentley, as you have probably already guessed. I thought it was time we met, Mr. Fontaine, since my land borders yours to the south. Your wife invited me to come and tell you about the beef I plan to raise there. She thought you might be interested in buying a few head yourself."
Luke reached up and shook the man's hand, squeezing just enough to let Bentley know he'd better not underestimate him just because he was in a wheelchair. "I'm willing to listen," Luke answered. "But like most of the other ranchers around here, I doubt anything but the shorthorns we've been breeding around here for years can survive."
"Ah! And where did the shorthorn first come from? England!" Nial removed his hat and laid it on a nearby table. "They were bred with the sturdy Texas longhorns, and you ended up with some of the finest beef in the world. I'll wager you bought your first cattle out of Oregon?"
Luke shifted in his chair, wincing with pain. "I did. The last few years I've mostly been breeding my own."
"Yes, well, you started out with good stock. The shorthorns managed to survive being herded clear across the country when Oregon was first settled. They've proved their worth. You had great foresight to buy up all that you could back when there was a surplus in Oregon." He winked. "Little did those people know just how valuable that beef was going to be some day. Am I right?"
Luke nodded, wanting to like the man. He was amiable enough, and he certainly knew his cattle, and American history. Too bad he had an eye for Lettie. Maybe Will had just exaggerated. "You're right. You seem to know an awful lot about the subject, for a foreigner."
Bentley laughed. "Well, I don't feel like a foreigner. My family has owned property and businesses in America for years. I myself studied at Harvard, and I own quite a large cattle ranch in Wisconsin. My father is the one who could see there would be a demand for beef after your Civil War ended. He invested in this new breed, raises them in England. He had several hundred shipped to America a few years ago. I've been raising them in Wisconsin. I brought a few hundred into Montana this summer, but I've kept them close to the main house, so you probably didn't notice them when you herded your cattle over my land on the way to Cheyenne this past spring. At any rate, these cattle are worth much more on the hoof than shorthorns because of their weight. I already have a contract with Patterson's Meat Supply in Omaha. Perhaps your wife told you a buyer from Patterson's is coming here next spring to talk to you and the other cattlemen?"
Luke watched him carefully. "She told me."
Lettie came out then, and Luke noticed her stiffen slightly at the sight of Nial Bentley, who quickly rose in respect, his eyes lighting up with delight. Luke felt an irritating jealousy at the way the man looked at her. No man had looked at his wife that way since they'd been here in Montana. He knew the other ranchers and his own men couldn't help but see she was beautiful, but they showed her complete respect, as the woman who belonged to Luke Fontaine.
"Well, hello, Mr. Bentley. So, you accepted my invitation to pay Luke a visit. You should have warned us. I could have prepared a fancier supper than what I have already planned." Lettie walked to stand behind Luke, putting her hands on his shoulders.
Nial bowed slightly, wishing this flutter Lettie Fontaine created in his soul would go away. He was hoping that when he saw her again, dressed more plainly as she was