Branded (10 page)

Before she could even catch her breath, another imposing man approached.

"Heard you were back in town, Dalton."

Lacey could tell by the set of Slade's jaw that he was not pleased.

The man's small, porcine eyes shifted from Slade to Lacey. He lifted his hat in exaggerated greeting. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure ... " His eyes drifted not so subtly downward, and Lacey quickly flipped open her fan and fluttered it discreetly over her breasts.

By the flick of his eyes, she knew that Slade found her modest tactic amusing.

"Careful, Banyon, you just might trip over your own tongue."

Banyon's cheeks turned a florid shade. "Dalton, it seems living by the gun hasn't improved your manners any."

"I'm Lacey." She interjected herself between the two men. "I am--"

"A friend of the family," Slade finished for her.

"Certainly, not a friend of yours, Slade. She's far too refined. I heard tell, Grady's got himself a wife. Would you happen to be her?"

Slade squared his shoulders and lifted his chin at an aggressive tilt. Lacey inched further in front of him. She could feel the heat of him on her back.

"We aren't married, yet. I'm staying at the ranch until he completes some business in Europe."

"How is the ranch, Slade? Your herd's looking a mite lean."

Slade hooked an arm around Lacey's waist and pulled her first to his side and then positioned her behind him. "Trouble is, I've got neighbors casting such a wide rope, they manage to lasso my cattle. I don't suppose you noticed any of my longhorns mixing with your herd? I'm only missing a few, mind you, about six hundred, give or take."

"You suggesting that we've been rustling your cattle?"

Fearing how Slade would respond, Lacey tugged at his coat hoping to provide a diversion.

"I'm not suggesting anything," Slade answered, his voice deadly calm. "I'm stating it."

Lacey walked a wide arc around Slade to avoid his restraining arm. "Mr. Banyon, would you be kind enough to take a turn on the floor with me? I've been dying to dance." She could see beads of sweat on the older man's brow.

Banyon jammed his hat back on his head. "Of course, Miss. I'd be honored."

She rested her gloved hand on his arm and took a furtive glance in Slade's direction. Those pale eyes, so devoid of emotion when she had first seen him, were now blazing with anger. Clever girl, she chided herself, fraternizing with a sworn enemy of the Daltons ... a perfect way to worm your way into the heart of a family.

"Pity your old man saw fit to leave the ranch to you, instead of Grady," Banyon said.

Although she was dreading dancing with the big buffoon, Lacey's fingertips pressed his arm lightly, hoping to lead him away. Obviously, too dunderheaded to pick up on her signal, he continued speaking in an over loud voice.

"Never could understand your pa's reasoning. 'Cause you'll never change, Dalton. There's always been the thinnest line between you and the men you track. I wager, the burden of this ranch will push you over that line."

Slade didn't seem the least bit interested in the man's opinion of him. He was now looking at her with a silent warning.

# # #

Lacey stepped out of the barn. From this distance, Slade looked relaxed, sitting on the bench, his boots propped on the porch railing. Yet somehow, she was struck more than ever by his lethal aura. She wished she hadn't taken the time to visit Irish. She could have walked in safely with Dora and Tait. Now, she would have to pass him, in order to enter through the front door.

Gripping her shawl tightly around her shoulders for comfort, she chided herself for acting like a silly child. What could he possibly want from her? Underfoot, the wood steps creaked, announcing her approach.

He swung his feet off the rail and stood. Directly in her path.

"Mr. Dalton," she said in greeting.

"Dance with me, Duchess," he said, his voice gruff.

Rendered speechless for a moment by his surprising command, she just stared at him before replying, "I'm tired."

"Damn, you sure the hell were lively tonight. Christ, you must have danced with near half the county." One corner of his lips kicked up into a nasty smile. "Surely you can spare me a dance."

"Here?" Her eyes measured the narrow porch. "There isn't enough room."

Without a reply, he leaned over the bench. She watched as he lifted the sturdy wood seat, the muscles in his arms bulging. With a heave, he sent it sailing over the railing. It cracked as it hit the dirt.

"Better?" he asked. His eyes burned into hers.

"Much." She heard the tremble in her voice. She had never seen this reckless side of him, and a shudder of apprehension crawled up her spine.

His hand circled her waist, toppling her forward, until she was nested between his hips. He did not lead, instead his arms circled her lower back, his hands resting provocatively close to her bottom. She felt her shawl slide off her shoulders. Her hands were trapped between their chests.

The rough shadow of his beard rubbed her forehead as he swayed gently from side to side. She had expected him to reek of whiskey. He was acting so oddly. But blast it, if he didn't smell wonderfully of soap and his own masculine scent. Her heart quickened.

"I had quite an interesting talk with Ned Banyon."

"Found Banyon a fine conversationalist, did you?" His hand strayed to the base of her spine.

She took a shivering breath.

"Living under a Dalton roof and dancing with a Banyon. Traitorous, little brat."

His hand slid lower, cupping her bottom, pulling her in tight until she was aware of his hardening desire. She couldn't bring herself to pull away. Surprising herself, she wantonly pressed against him.

He lowered his head to kiss her, and she reminded herself that his kisses were nothing to get excited about. Yet, her heart set to fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

His lips were a whisper away when she pushed herself off of him. He was the wrong Dalton. The dangerous one.

His chest was heaving with the same frustration that she felt.

"I don’t abide a tease." His voice sounded raw.

Lacey hadn’t realized how seriously a man might take an interruption in an amorous moment. She hadn't meant to be a tease. She'd just made the mistake of giving into her own desires.

"I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to--,"

"What? Press yourself against me? Make me think, you wanted me?"

"Exactly," she responded.

"Exactly." His lips curled with a surly expression as he repeated her ambiguous answer.

"Well good night, then." She whisked past him and through the door.

# # #

Slade rode the long dirt path to the main house on Triangle B Ranch. Two ranch hands had seen him enter the gate, and before he could tip his hat, they'd mounted and spurred their horses. The man on the buckskin sped past him, riding in the direction of the house. He was sure the other was headed toward town. As he neared, he noticed the buckskin tethered to the porch.

The door swung open and Banyon stepped out onto the veranda. He'd changed a lot in the last ten years. Muscles had turned to fat. Obviously, Banyon spent many a night dining on his own prime beef. Or more accurately, Dalton prime beef. Nearly tripping on his heels, were his overgrown twin sons. Following close behind them were his men, both wearing enough hardware to take on a small army.

"Neighbor," Banyon greeted him with a thin-lipped smile. "Nice dance, huh? Sure enjoyed my turn with that pretty little gal. Too bad for you that your brother snagged her first. He always was the smart one." He puffed out his chest and thrust his thumbs into his vest pockets. His gut flopped over his waistband.

"You know, I'm not here to talk about the dance, Banyon." Slade swung himself out of the saddle.

"Why'd you bother coming back, Dalton. Nothing here in this town for you, anyway. Always did tell my sons, you could tell the mettle of a man by how he makes a living. Man-hunting just ain't a proper occupation. Hell, any son-of-a-bitch can heft a gun."

Impressed by his own wit, he grinned at his sons. He turned back to Slade, focusing his squinty, mud-colored eyes on him. "Your father would be damned ashamed about the way the ranch looks now. You actually prepared to do some real work, boy?"

The fingers of Slade's right hand curled involuntarily. Shooting the man wouldn't be near as much fun as putting a fist into his smug, meaty face. "I can see just how hard you've been working, Banyon." Slade looked pointedly at Banyon's overflowing belly. "Those fork fulls get awful heavy."

Banyon's face turned an unhealthy red. His lips pulled into an ugly sneer. "Seems to me, Dalton, you haven't got the time to make these social calls. Go on back home, boy. And see to that sorry plot of yours."

"There ain't nothing to see to, Pa. He could count the number of cattle he's got on one hand," one of the twins said. The other chortled in appreciation.

Slade watched Banyon's eyelids flicker as he hitched his coat flap behind the holster, effectively exposing the gun riding on his hip. He dropped his arm casually to his side as though the gesture had been harmless. Just a man adjusting the fit of his coat. Banyon's face darkened with the implied threat.

"Look, Dalton, I know why you're here. You got it in that fool head of yours we've taken some of your cattle." He inclined his head in the direction of the fields. "Sons, let's make our neighbor happy. Roust up a few of the longhorns. Let him check out the brand."

The handful of longhorns they led out had one ear tagged in the grub fashion. Slade considered it a ham-handed way to mark cattle. Instead of a small notch an entire ear had been removed.

"Nice job. Didn't know you had a butcher working for you," Slade said.

The Lazy Heart brand was a simple outline heart resting on its side. It was an easy brand to alter and given that the Banyon ranch was called the Triangle B, they'd accomplished it easily by bisecting the heart and creating both a triangle and the letter B.

"Funny. I don't remember your brand looking like this before. As I recall, the triangle used to sit above the B."

"Maybe your memory's slipping, Dalton."

Slade walked around the steer, which was too busy munching grass to pay him any mind. He hunkered down on his haunches and inspected the animal's underside.

"Lose something down there, Dalton? Or are you trying to size his up next to yours?" This struck the trio of Banyons as guffaw worthy.

Slade felt the back of his neck crawl. He straightened up and saw two riders kicking up dust in the distance. Banyon's man had returned with Sheriff Talbot.

Banyon's sons relaxed from their sentry positions and greeted the sheriff like an old friend.

Slade touched the brim of his hat. "Sheriff."

"It sure is interestin’ how trouble seems to kick up when you’re around, Slade." The big man heaved himself out of the saddle.

The sheriff tucked a big plug of tobacco in his cheek before addressing Banyon. "What's the problem here, Ned?"

"Seems this boy's gotten it in his head that I've taken his cattle."

"That right, Dalton? Don't seem like a very neighborly thing to accuse someone of." Sheriff Talbot acted as though this was the first he’d heard of Slade’s grievance.

"I'd advised you to drop this, son," he muttered under his breath as he stalked past Dalton. He examined a few of the longhorn’s hips. "I don't see your father's brand. Looks like Banyon's mark to me. Son, it's obvious these ain't your cattle. Why don't you just head on home and don't cause any more problems."

Slade gave a slow nod and walked back to his mount. He pulled himself atop the horse and unhooked his rope from the saddle. He wheeled his horse around, loped toward the cow, and spun his lasso. With an overhead toss, he neatly snared the steer's horns. With a jerk, he landed the animal on its side. He tied the rope off on the saddlehorn before jumping to the ground. He threw himself over the dazed beast to keep it down. To his right, he heard the unholstering of a gun.

Banyon muttered, "What the devil?"

Slade looked over at the sheriff. "Sheriff, I want to show you something."

Sheriff Talbot looked skeptical but plodded over anyway.

Slade traced his finger around the lopsided heart burned into the inner thigh. "My pa and I always double-branded our stock for insurance."

"Enough of this circus. I've extended my hospitality long enough. Sheriff, I want this man off my property and I want him off immediately." Slade couldn't help noticing that all the guns were unholstered now, with the exception of the sheriff's and his own.

"It's not even worth taking on the Banyons for a few head of cattle," the sheriff said, dropping his voice so only Slade could hear him.

Slade collected his rope. "Once again, Sheriff, you've proven yourself to be an outstanding lawman."

"I'm warning you, Dalton, stay out of trouble," the sheriff said through gritted teeth.

# # #

"Enjoy your visit, Dalton?" Dix asked as he sauntered over. "Wished you'd invited me along. Wouldn't have minded a word or two with Banyon."

Blue joined them, taking a seat atop the fence.

Slade leaned against the corral fence and drew a cheroot from his coat pocket. He cupped his hand around the match as he lit it. "Those are definitely our longhorn. Checked the hidden brand. Interesting thing happened. Sheriff Talbot dropped by while I was there."

"Well that's proof even Talbot can't deny," Dix said. "So what's he gonna do about them thieves?"

Slade exhaled a plume of smoke. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Blue repeated.

"Either the man's blind to everything but the color of Banyon's money, or he's afraid," Slade said.

Dix spat out a chunk of tobacco. "I think there's another option. I think he's just one inept lawman."

"Well, ain't that something," Blue said dejectedly. "There goes our last chance to build up the herd."

Dix looked long and hard at Slade before speaking. "What are you gonna do, Dalton?"

Slade pushed himself off the fence and tossed the stub to the ground, extinguishing it under his boot. He thumbed the brim of his hat up and looked at Dix. "I'm going to get my cattle back."