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"Get out of the rain," he said gruffly. His eyes were opaque and nearly as gray as the day's storm clouds.

"Fine," she said and began slogging through the mud toward the house. Drawing in an angry breath, she turned to face him, her fists clenched at her sides. "I wish you'd stop giving me orders!"

"You're living under my roof, lady."

"And you think that gives you the right?"

"That about sums it up." His hat shadowed his face. She couldn't see the smug expression she was certain he wore.

"Your land, your house, your cattle--" With every step she named something he owned, failing, of course, to include herself in that list. Though, he owned her--heart and soul.

"That's right." His voice came from over her shoulder. The soft ground had muffled his steps. Now she could feel the heat of him at her back. "My land, my house, my woman." The last was uttered in an unsteady tone that seemed to echo her own raw emotions.

She hurried her stride.

"Didn't take you for a coward, Lacey."

She began to run, her boots making a sucking sound as they pulled up from the muddy earth.

"Lacey ... please." His voice sounded rough with anger and frustration.

Her heart in her throat, she wheeled around and ran in the opposite direction. Away from the house ... away from safety. Somehow, her steps seemed lighter, not mired in the mud as they had been. She felt as if she were nearly flying.

The angelic, graceful image was completely dispelled when she threw herself at him and heard his grunt of expelled breath. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clinging to his neck. She kissed him with a fierce, desperate urgency. He returned it with the same intensity causing her to melt in his arms.

"Looks like the rain stopped, Boss," a voice said from behind them.

She leapt from her six foot-two perch. Blue looked at them both like it was an every day occurrence that she’d be hanging around Slade Dalton’s neck, kissing him madly.

Slade had a secure hold on her wrist. "Did you come here to give me a weather report, Blue? Or do you need something?"

"You told me to hitch up the wagon. Said you were heading out," Blue said, sounding a little hurt.

"Oh, right. Thanks, Blue."

Blue trudged off dejectedly.

She looked down at the hold he had on her wrist. "You better not keep Miss Ludlow waiting."

"I could always cancel."

"Don’t be ridiculous." With a twist, she released her arm from his grip.

# # #

Lacey sat up in bed and mashed down her pillow. She twisted and turned, tangling herself in the quilt, finally kicking it off onto the floor. She was finding it impossible to sleep. It was all too quiet. The familiar sound of creaking wood was absent. She never thought she'd miss his incessant pacing, but she did. He'd taken it up with a vengeance last night when she'd cast him from her room.

Suzanne Ludlow looked like she came from a respectable family. Surely, her parents wouldn't allow her to spend a night with Slade Dalton.

She found herself staring a hole in the adjoining door when the dawn broke. The miserable man had never come home. She hauled herself out of bed feeling as creaky and old as an arthritic ninety year old.

She lifted the window shade and took a peek outside. His wagon wasn't parked in front of the house. After seeing to the calf, she'd take her frustrations out on the butter churn.

# # #

Lacey stepped out of the barn and stretched her back. She couldn't help feeling pleased with herself. This calf was thriving.

The drive was still deserted. It seemed Slade was having such a good time, he'd forgotten where he lived.

Lacey ladled the cream off the bucket of fresh milk and poured it into the churn. She took up the paddle.

The sound of a horse thundering down the road, threw her off her rhythm. And the sight of the familiar black hat set her heart to pounding.

"You son-of-a-gun, what'd you do? Get yourself hitched? I had visions of Ludlow holding a shotgun ceremony," Dix shouted.

Lacey looked up to find that he'd rid himself of jacket and tie. His eyes seemed to search her out. The moment they alighted on her, she glanced away and pretended to busy herself with the butter making.

"My axle broke," he said in a too loud voice. Lacey couldn't help feeling that his answer was directed more at her than at Dix.

"Yeah, right. Hey, his axle broke. Poor Suzanne, she must have been mighty disappointed with that development."

"Hush, Dix. His woman is over there," Blue commented, none too quietly himself.

Of course, Blue would believe she was Slade's woman after seeing them kissing in the pouring rain.

"That ain't his woman. She belongs to Grady Dalton," Dix said with annoyance.

"Huh?" Blue answered.

Lacey concentrated on the butter. Slade nudged the barrel with the toe of his boot. Blue and Dix were obviously having this conversation without him. She had to admit, he did have a streak of what could have been axle grease on his cheek.

With unnecessary exaggeration, he tossed a splintered rod toward the firewood pile. It seemed an odd thing to bring the worthless piece of wagon home. It didn't look repairable. "My axle broke," he repeated as though the entire ranch hadn't heard his over loud comment.

"'Tis a shame."

"I've never seen anyone give butter such a thumping before. If you aren't careful, you'll give yourself calluses like these." He held his palms up for her to see. They were covered with grease.

He hunkered down on his haunches in front of her. Clearly, he wanted her to know that he had not been wooing Suzanne Ludlow.

"You have a bit of grease on your face." She demonstrated by swiping a finger across her own cheek.

"Here?" he asked, rubbing the area and depositing a lot more of the black on his face. "Did I get it?"

She tried to keep her expression serious as she nodded her head, but she succumbed to a fit of giggles. He knew instantly and checked his hands. The look in his eyes went from contrite to sly. She knew what was coming and jumped off the stool, toppling it over.

She was no match for his long legs. Besides, she'd chosen to run in the wrong direction. She'd been hoping to make it through the barn door, but some fastidious soul had shut it. Laughing, he caught her around the waist and then flipped her so she was staring straight at his chest. His hands were on either side of her face, and when she made a move to duck beneath his arm, he moved his body forward, effectively trapping her between two very hard things.

He lowered his head and rubbed the greasy side of his face against hers. "Stop," she screamed with laughter. "Your beard hurts." Her fingers were curled in his shirt. She found, she was pulling him closer, instead of pushing him away.

His smiling lips hovered over hers.

"Mr. Dalton," she said, nearly breathing the words into his mouth, "did you truly break your axle?"

His smile tipped into a lopsided grin. "Truly, Miss Jarrell. Would you like to help me fix it?"

"Suzanne didn't have the proper tools?"

"No," he said rubbing his lips over hers.

She could hear the men still talking loudly behind them, and she wished they would disappear.

"Hey, Slade," Dix shouted. Dix rarely called Slade by his given name. With a sense that something was wrong, they parted.

Dix was hurrying over to them. She'd never seen him move so fast. "Grady's home. He's almost at the gate."

Slade made a move to snag her hand, but she dodged him and ran toward the house. She wasn't laughing anymore.

# # #

Slade watched her run away from him toward Grady without a second’s hesitation. He plowed his fist into the barn door, snapping off a hinge. He wasn’t going to stick around for this. Watching Grady and Lacey together would be a ticket to his own private hell.

This seemed as good a time as any to face a different sort of nightmare. He’d head to town and ask around about Purdy. More than instinct, told him that Jared had managed to worm his way out of a hanging. The most recent holdup had been in the Colorado Territory. The description in yesterday's newspaper of the robbery suspect had fit the bastard too well to be discounted. If Jared had indeed survived, Slade needed to find out if he was anywhere in the vicinity, lurking near enough to hurt the people he cared about. If Purdy was hoping to get revenge for Silas’s untimely and rather undignified demise, Slade would be forced to hunt him down. No one he loved would pay for his dangerous choice of profession.

Lacey looked into the mirror and rubbed her skin hard. The streak of black grease was proving stubborn. As stubborn as the man who’d put it there.

Her hands trembled, but she wasn't sure why. She wasn't the least bit anxious about seeing Grady. Or the least bit excited, either, she thought regretfully. She'd barely had a chance to get to know him before she'd left England. He was little more than a stranger to her.

She brushed her hair until her arms grew tired. Then she tied it up loosely with a midnight blue, satin ribbon. The color was a perfect match for the piping on the cream-colored dress she'd decided to wear.

She twisted around to look at her rear. She adjusted the bustle and shook out the layers of ruffles cascading below it. She had to rummage around in her belongings to find her little pot of rouge. A decadent purchase from her last visit to Paris. She dotted her lips with a tiny bit of color and took one last look in the mirror.

"Perfect," she told herself and then proceeded to flop down on her bed and smother her face in a pillow.

Who was she fooling? Primping like she was dying to impress her betrothed. She had barely given him a moment's thought since she'd laid eyes on his blue-eyed brother. The only feelings she had when she thought about Grady Dalton were feelings of regret. How awful she was being. How terribly unfair to him.

"Lacey, dear? Grady is waiting for you." Dora sounded pleased to have her son home again. Dora seemed oblivious to the hostility between Grady and Slade. Or, Lacey reasoned, because she loved all the Dalton men, she chose to ignore it.

Lacey hurled the pillow across the room, successfully knocking over the candlestick perched on her dresser.

"Are you all right, Lacey? What was that noise?"

"Sorry, Dora, I dropped my hairbrush. I'll be out in a minute."

"Do hurry, dear. Grady is eager to see you."

Lacey heaved herself off the bed and began to repair the damage. She fixed her hair again, reapplied a touch of rouge to her lips, and plumped up her bustle.

She stopped momentarily in the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping through it. She could hear Grady's voice resonating in the hall.

Lacey stepped demurely into the parlor. Grady stood to greet her.

"Ah, Lacey, sweetheart. There you are. What took you so long?"

He was not quite as tall as she had remembered. He stepped forward and gave her a chaste hug.

Over Grady's shoulder, she could see Slade in the kitchen. He’d taken his knife down from the hook, and he was buckling on his shoulder holster. It looked like he was preparing for danger. The thought caused her stomach to do a flip-flop.

Grady stepped back and took her hands in his. She found herself unable to look him in the eye and focused, instead, on his perfectly trimmed mustache.

"I've forgotten how pretty you are," Grady said.

"You must have a short memory," Slade commented as he headed to the door. Clearly, he’d had no intention of greeting his brother.

"Surprised to find you hangin’ around here, Slade," Grady said.

Squaring his shoulders, Slade turned to face them. Lacey glanced away unable to bear the dark look he’d directed at her. It was ridiculous, but she felt like she was betraying him.

"It’s my home. What’s so surprising about it?"

"Home? You haven’t been here for ten years."

"I’m back now. Get used to it."

Grady smoothed his mustache over a sneering smile. "I doubt I’ll be able to do that. Thankfully, we’ll only be here for a short while. In the meantime, get your things out of that room, Slade. I’ll be sleeping there until we leave for Boston."

Slade pulled the brim down low, shading his eyes. But not before giving Lacey a warning look.

"I’m going to town Dora. Don’t hold dinner for me."

As Slade left, he slammed the door hard. Dora's knickknacks rattled in the parlor cabinet.

"I just remembered I need some more thread for my wedding dress. I’ll only be a minute," Lacey said, trying not to sound too frantic.

She raced down the porch steps not really knowing what she was going to say to him. Only knowing that she had to talk to him before he left. After watching him load himself down with weapons, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. She was worried that he’d been serious about returning to his old profession.

He was checking the cinch on his saddle as she approached. She could see his shoulders tense. He knew she was there, but he kept his back to her.

"Slade, where are you going?"

It seemed to take forever for him to turn around and look at her. When he did, his eyes slid over her with such insolence, she wanted to slap his face.

"Do you still intend to marry my brother?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Well, then where I go, shouldn’t matter to you."

She thrust out her chin. "You’re absolutely right." She pivoted hard on her heels. A tug on her frilly bustle brought her up short. She turned to glare at him.

"Sure did gussy yourself up for him," he commented.

"I would hardly call this gussied up." She held her arms out to her sides and looked down at her attire. She hoped he didn’t notice how badly she was trembling.

He stepped closer. His expression remained unchanged as he reached up and rubbed his thumb roughly over her bottom lip.

He held up his thumb to show her. It was stained pink from the rouge.

She pushed his hand away. "And it shouldn’t matter to you what I put on my lips," she snapped.

He grabbed her and pulled her against him. "That's where you're dead wrong, Lacey." He lowered his face to hers and kissed her so hard, it nearly frightened her. He pushed her away from him, still gripping her arms.