Branded (26 page)

Her boldness seemed to take him by surprise. He stared speechless at her for a moment. He looked from her to the immovable dog who was still eyeing him fiercely. He stroked his mustache, his lips were drawn into a thin line.

"Get some sleep, Lacey. You look quite pale. I'll see you at breakfast." He turned on his heels to leave. "And please do something about that hair of yours."

She walked over to her dresser and peered in the mirror. Her skin looked ashen and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her hair had fallen out of the sleek chignon. It was a thick, unruly mass again. She lifted the lid of her traveling chest, threw the hairbrush inside, and dropped the lid with a satisfying thunk.

Lacey insisted on going on with her regular chores. She’d told Grady that otherwise, she would go mad with boredom.

She finished scrubbing the last pan before stepping outside for a breath of fresh air. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of the wild roses twining around the porch railing. She found herself scanning the fields for Slade. Off in search of that blasted wolf again, no doubt. She worried every time he left with his rifle. A habit she would have to break herself of. He’d made it clear that what he did was none of her concern.

The door shut softly, and she knew, instantly, Grady had joined her. She swivelled her head and smiled at him. It had occurred to her during the routine of her chores that she really hadn’t given him a chance.

He slid his arm around her waist and turned her to face him. His head dipped, and he made a tentative move to kiss her. He seemed to be asking her permission. Instead of resisting as her heart told her to, she allowed him to press his lips to hers. She owed it to herself, to their future marriage. His mustache tickled, and she had to swallow back a giggle.

His lips were warm and soft, certainly not unpleasant. His hand roved over her shoulder to rest at the nape of her neck. She realized, of course, that she was cataloging the entire proceedings as though she were an observer and not a participant.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her little experiment had only proved what she'd feared. She was weak to one man's touch alone. The loud crack of a gun made her pull away with a cry.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Grady shouted into the dark.

With a pretty fair idea of who he was yelling at, Lacey turned cautiously around.

"Wolf," Slade said. The rifle was propped atop his shoulder, a thin curl of smoke wended skyward. There was a nasty smile on his face. Dix, walking a pace behind, was shaking his head.

"Like hell. One of these days, I'm going to wipe that grin off your face."

"Now, we're getting somewhere." Slade's smile got meaner.

"Christ," Grady muttered, and forgetting Lacey in his anger, yanked the door open with window rattling force. He stomped inside, leaving her alone on the porch.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Her heart was racing like a rabbit's. "I was," she said in a thready whisper. He pinned her with a frigid blue stare. "That gunshot scared me near to death."

He held his lantern high so that it shone full on her face. She actually had to squint against its brightness. He gave a short harsh laugh. "Next time you're in the mood to break a man's heart, you should make sure he isn't armed."

"Very amusing." The light was so bright, it hurt her eyes to look at him. But she didn't need to see his face to know he was making sport of her.

# # #

Lacey broomed off the fine layer of dust that covered the entire porch. Yesterday, as the sun had set, a brutal wind had kicked up. The gusts had rattled the windows all night. Even Oliver had problems sleeping. The brief wind storm had left behind a cloudless, startlingly blue sky.

Dora opened the kitchen window as a rickety old wagon rumbled into the drive. A man with a greasy felt hat and an equally greasy buckskin jacket alighted.

"It seems we have a visitor. Lacey, would you fetch, Slade? Tell him the peddler with the seed is here."

Lacey searched her mind, desperate for an excuse and unable to come up with one, responded with a mumbled, "Certainly."

With a steaming mug in hand, Dix exited the house. "Would you happen to know where Slade Dalton is?" she asked him.

"You're lookin' for Slade Dalton, not that other Slade that hangs out here?" A teasing smile inched its way up his grizzled face. "Thought you two were more friendly than that."

Lacey responded with a frown.

"It's like that is it?" He rested his back against the porch post and took an annoyingly long sip of his coffee. When he brought the cup down, the smile had disappeared from his lips, but his faded blue eyes still crinkled in amusement. "He's on the cook shed roof. Where he's been for the last two days. Surely, you haven't missed the hammering?"

Of course, she hadn't missed it. The incessant pounding went on from dawn to dusk. It had never occurred to her that Slade was the one toiling away atop the roof. She knew he was afraid of heights.

The opportunity to avoid Slade stood right in front of her--looking at her with eyes far too wise and perceptive for her comfort. "Dix," she said sweetly, "could you tell Slade--" she resisted the urge to tack on his surname again, "--Dora needs him." Certain he would consent, she began sweeping again.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I value my hide too much. Asked him something today, real gentle like, and he looked like he wanted to plant that hammer in my skull. But I'll come with you and back you up." He gestured grandly toward the steps.

"Lovely," she said and propped the broom against the house. She lifted her skirts, though this particular dress had a practical hemline that cleared the ground easily. She was hoping to hide her shaking hands in its ample folds.

"Tell your mister, I've got some fine Timothy seeds, and alfalfa that'll turn his cattle so meaty and tender, it'll make your mouth water just lookin' at them," the man shouted to her as she passed by.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she peered up into the white-hot sunlight. "Mr. Dalton--Slade." Embarrassingly, her voice cracked.

There was a skidding, sliding sound, and then he was at the edge of the roof. His feet apart, he managed to balance himself on the slope. A man like Slade, didn't let his fear get in the way of anything.

Lacey's stomach plummeted as though she was the one on top of the roof. He was shirtless. His skin, darkened by the sun, glistened with sweat. There were more gold lights threading through the brown of his hair. He glowered down at her, and she swallowed hard.

"Dora needs you. There is a man selling grass seed. She wanted you to talk with him."

Without a word, he climbed down the ladder. He snatched his shirt from the timber stack. Lacey fidgeted a bit with her apron, watching him through lowered lashes, as he tugged his shirt onto his sweaty body. She knew full well, she had no business lingering there. "Grass seed, huh?"

"Yes, alfalfa and Timothy. He says they'll help fatten up your cattle," she said nearly quoting the salesman and feeling an utter dolt for doing so.

With a shy sweep of her lashes, she looked at him. There was the slightest hint of a smile on his face. His eyes appeared even bluer and paler in contrast to his tanned face.

"I doubt either of those grasses is durable enough to withstand those damn sheep flocks," Dix scoffed. "Saw some of those wooly little bastards crowding Thorpe's idea of a fence. I swear, they had plans for that pasture you sowed last week."

Slade dried the sweat on his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. "Well, Thorpe can help me fix the fence tomorrow."

They turned toward the house, and Lacey followed a few steps behind. Dix clapped Slade on the back, and then realizing that the sweat had soaked through Slade's shirt, wiped his hand on his pants. "You frustrated or something, boy? Never seen anyone work so hard."

"Frustrated, hell. Hammering all damn day, and I still have to fight the urge to put my fist through a wall."

Dix slid Lacey an accusing look over his shoulder.

How ridiculous for Dix to assume that somehow, she was to blame. But the mere idea of it, caused her to trip. Slade, with his unerring senses, heard her nearly soundless stumble and turned. Thankfully, she had managed to maintain her balance.

"Careful, Duchess."

Grady was already talking with the peddler when they walked up. "Don't think we've much need for what you're selling," he said. He removed his derby and dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. "It's best you move on down the road."

"Let's see what he's got," Slade said as he approached.

"The most durable type of seeds, sir." The peddler addressed Slade with an obsequious smile. "As I told your pretty lady here, this stuff will fatten your cattle before your very eyes." He gave Slade a huge, nearly toothless grin. "Johnnie, bring out that sack of alfalfa from the back."

A huge, muscular man with straight black hair hanging to his waist threw back the canvas and dropped to the ground from the back of the wagon. There was a thick, puckered scar running from his temple to his chin. The man had a ragged-edged hatchet tucked into his waistband and a foot-long knife blade strapped to his thigh. He looked more than menacing. She took a steadying breath. Without realizing she was doing it, she positioned herself between the two brothers.

The man untied the sack and moved closer to give Slade a look at the seeds. Although Lacey knew she had no reason to be afraid, she curled her fingers around Slade's hand. It hadn't been a conscious choice of which Dalton she would look to for comfort. It was instinctual. She felt safe with Slade.

She prayed her skirts made it impossible for Grady to see her betrayal. Yet for all her worry, she did not release Slade’s hand.

Slade's eyes flicked almost imperceptibly in her direction, and then he rubbed her hand with the tips of his fingers.

As Slade sifted through the seeds and haggled over price, Grady stalked off. Lacey could hear him muttering to himself about the waste of time and money.

# # #

Lacey tried to adjust her eyes to the thin, early morning glow seeping from the edges of the curtains. She rolled to her side and stared at the settee. She couldn't help recalling how adorable he looked, all six feet plus of him, stretched out on that dainty couch. She pressed the heel of her hands against her lids hoping to staunch the flow of tears. Her heart was aching for him.

Now Grady was sleeping next door, and Slade was holed up in the cramped, dusty room in the attic. Since Grady's arrival, Lacey had done some furniture moving. Her heavy traveling chest now sat in front of their adjoining door. How pathetic to be locking out the man she was to marry. Still, the only man she wanted visiting her in the middle of the night was Slade Dalton.

How awful it must be for Slade to have no room to move around. The attic ceiling was so low, he'd have to stoop. If he couldn't wear himself out with pacing, she wondered, how was he managing to get any sleep at all.

She patted Oliver on the hip to wake him, he barely lifted his lids. "Come on Ollie, move." She gave him a gentle push. "Dora's already got the kettles steaming."

Dora was buzzing around the kitchen, seemingly busier than usual. "Morning, Lacey," Dora said with a broad smile.

"You certainly are filled with good cheer this morning," Lacey commented as she reached for the egg basket.

"I've already collected them, dear," Dora chirped, while chopping the potatoes with enthusiasm.

Lacey actually found herself resenting Dora taking over one of her tasks. Dora was a tad to perky this morning.

"I wanted to save you time, seeing how it's such a special day and all."

Puzzled, Lacey took a quick glance around the room. Nothing seemed different. "Dora, I'm sorry, but special how?"

"I'm referring to the picnic, of course."

"Oh ... the picnic." Lacey wondered how she'd missed the large straw hamper on the floor beside the table. Did Dora have a beau she'd been keeping a secret? "You're bound to have lots of fun, Dora."

Dora laughed and tossed the damp potatoes onto the griddle. The potatoes hit the hot pan with a loud sizzle. She took a step back from the flying grease.

"I don't think Grady would take it too kindly, if I were to intrude on your outing."

For the first time this morning, Dora stopped bustling around the kitchen. "I wonder why he didn’t tell you about it." She hurried to flip the smoking potatoes. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise. What a yapper I have."

"Don't worry, Dora. I'll try to act surprised." Surprised, she might be able to pull off, but happy--never. She wanted to kiss Dora for giving her the time to think up an excuse.

The men trudged into the kitchen. And like every morning, their loud cursing stopped the instant they saw Dora and Lacey. As usual, Dix removed his hat, nodded contritely in their direction, and offered the "Sorry, ma'ams," for all the men.

Moments later, Slade entered. He gave Dora a peck on the cheek and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Lacey didn't expect him to say anything to her, and he didn't disappoint. He'd barely spoken to her since Grady's return. She had to will her hands to stop shaking as she served him his breakfast. He did not even lift his eyes to her.

"Lord, it reeks of cattle in here." Grady stalked through the kitchen like he owned it. As usual, he was immaculately attired. He wore a dove gray jacket and matching trousers. His collar was so stiff with starch, Lacey wondered, it didn't cut into his neck.

"How do you lovely ladies stand it?" He walked over and kissed Lacey and Dora's cheeks.

Dora gave him a welcoming smile. "Sit down, son. I've fixed the eggs the way you like 'em."

He gave the seat of the chair a wipe with his handkerchief before sitting down. "Don't give me too many, Dora. I'm saving room for later."

"Could use some help mending fences, Grady." Slade's voice was devoid of all emotion.

"Not today, brother. I've got better things to do." He winked at Lacey, and she pretended not to notice.

"Guess you'll be spending the day spit polishing those fancy new boots of yours."