Branded (34 page)

Nervously, she twisted a strand of hair. It put him in mind of the habit he'd gotten into--of wrapping a lock around his finger. "Did you think the saloon girl lied to you?"

She came to him then and pressed herself against him. One hand clutched at his vest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thundering against his chest. She reached up and traced the arc of his mustache. She lifted herself on tiptoes. Her breath warm in his ear as she whispered the same erotic words the Frenchwoman had. She looked up at him, peering through her lowered lashes.

"Hmmm, the impressive size part, not bad," he said with a dry humor he did not feel. For nearly a month, he'd imagined those words to have been of love.

When she stepped away from him, her eyes glittered with tears.

"You little liar."

Her lips tipped up slyly at his accusation. Clearly, she wasn’t willing to give him any more to work with than that sweetly devious smile. Yet his heart filled with unreasonable hope.

He held aloft the champagne bottle. "Haven’t got the right tools to open this." He smashed the neck of the bottle against the top of the chair. The champagne surged forth, and he caught what he could in the room’s lone glass. He swallowed some and then offered her the rest.

She took the glass and sipped it demurely.

"Expected, you’d be married by now."

"Dora insisted we put it off until your name was cleared. Has anything been resolved?"

He wasn't about to tell her it had. That Talbot had been forced to admit the man was a criminal, especially after the reward money had been paid. Slade was too close to making things right. Lying proved a necessity. Anything that held up the wedding was a necessity. "Sheriff's taking his sweet time about settling the matter."

"You were terribly rude today. I shouldn't be talking to you. And you didn't even introduce me to all your charming, new friends."

He should never have called her over to the table. It had been a completely selfish act. It wasn't safe to let a pitiless gambler like Clifton know he had anything this sweet in his life. Or more accurately, had for the merest moment in his life. He experienced that sick hollow feeling that had plagued him since he’d left his heart behind at the ranch.

Clifton was an affable man as long as he was winning, but he'd been known to deal his own ugly justice when he lost. Usually hitting a man at his weakest point.

He took the glass from her and set it down. "Been a good girl, Lacey?"

"Do you mean good, as in faithful to you?"

He nudged her chin up with his fingers and studied her eyes.

He must have looked a sorrowful bastard, because she finally took pity on him and said, "You needn’t worry. Grady hasn’t forgiven me for my faithlessness. I doubt, he will ever forgive me."

She was everything a man could want. And Slade held no illusions that no matter what she’d done, Grady wouldn’t be able to resist her for long. Slade’s own self-control was nearly at an end. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair and thread his fingers through the silken midnight strands. To bury his nose in the sweet scent of her neck.

"And yet, he still wants to marry you." It was a statement of fact not a question.

"Oddly enough, yes."

He found, he didn’t have the courage to ask if she wanted the marriage, as well. He didn't want to believe that her betrayal had been intentioned. Or that she’d known from the beginning that the papers she delivered would lose him the ranch.

Desperate, he reached for her.

"I haven’t given you permission to touch me."

"Then give me permission."

She answered him in a thready voice. "Please, touch me."

His need for her made him reckless. He clutched her to him. He was desperate to taste her, to touch her. Her sweet mouth opened under the urgency of his kiss. A soft mewl escaped her as his tongue mated with hers. As clumsy as he felt, he somehow managed to make quick work of her skirts and undergarments.

She now stood only in her corset. Her rapid breathing caused her breasts to rise and fall, revealing half-moons of her delicious nipples. He clasped her to him again. His fingers trembled as they grazed the silken skin of her inner thigh. He didn’t dare lay her down on the bed or press her against the blackened wall. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he cradled her bottom and cupped the back of her head as he drove himself into the heat of her. He rode her higher and deeper, her fingers biting into his shoulders.

"Slade...." When she spoke his name, like a prayer, he lost himself in the sweetest oblivion he’d ever known.

She exhaled a shivering breath as she collapsed against him. He could feel her legs were shaking as she lowered them to the ground.

# # #

He watched Lacey fuss with her skirts. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets to stop himself from drawing her back. Even after the intimacy they’d shared, she remained as skittery as a new fawn. Watching him now from a safe distance, her lashes lowered as she smoothed her hair. Their fierce lovemaking had left a fevered stain high on her cheeks.

"Stay with me."

Her big golden eyes blinked in surprise at his declaration.

"Marry me."

"Stop jesting. Gamblers don’t marry."

He suddenly didn’t need the Lazy Heart. He only needed her. "I’ll never touch a card again."

"Don’t be silly. I can’t marry you." She actually smiled sweetly at him as she shattered his heart. She even managed to manufacture tears.

The absolute realization that she didn’t love him jolted through him. His chest tightened. It was a struggle to take a breath. How had he been so stupid? He was merely her last adventure before settling down to staid married life in Boston. She’d take a tumble with an ex-bounty hunter, but she wouldn’t consider having him for a husband. All his dreams for a future with her had turned to a pile of ash. It had been a mistake to let himself believe he deserved happiness.

With his hand at her elbow, he steered her through the darkened street. His legs felt wobbly, and he stumbled twice. A sure foot and a steady hand were once as certain as breathing to him. She’d set him off balance--disturbed his rhythm. It was a good thing he didn't make a living with his gun, anymore. He'd become too unpredictable.

Tait was already perched atop the wagon seat, waiting for them in front of the inn. With obvious reluctance, Tait held his firearm out to him.

"You keep it."

"What if Grady were to see it? He’d know we’d visited Slade," Lacey told Tait and took the gun from his grasp.

She winced as she handed it to him. As though she expected it to go off.

His gaze locked with hers. "We definitely, can’t have Grady knowing you’ve spent time with his shady, hell-raising brother." He slipped the gun into his holster. "I don’t want you bringin’ her to me again, Tait." Slade watched the color drain from her face. Her eyes darkened with pain. Lashing out at her hadn’t given him satisfaction. It had only served to deepen the hurt. But to his mind, a man had to preserve his sense of self, if he was going to be worth a damn. And having her, but not truly having her, was threatening to destroy everything he was. "If you need something, leave a note at the inn. Understand?"

"I understand," Tait said glumly. "You comin’ to the weddin’, Slade? Despite everything, I know Ma would want you there."

The words sounded tinny and hollow to his ears. "Kinda like suggestin' a man attend his own funeral," he replied. "Get yourself back. I don’t want Grady asking too many questions."

Her pale cheeks reddened with an unhealthy blush. Slade forced himself to walk away before he said something else hurtful.

Wearily, he climbed the stairs and opened the door to a room that felt heart-breakingly empty. He toed open the hollow that held his only chance. He’d left the table too early tonight. Lacey’s presence had rattled him. He dug his paltry earnings out of his pocket.

He crouched down as he spotted the odd little sack. He fingered the familiar embroidery. Not only was he not good enough for her, but she actually pitied him. He pried open the window with intentions of hurling the bag to the street. Instead, fool that he was, he slipped it in his coat pocket, close to his heart. He came to a decision. Even if he had to sit at the tables all night, he was going to finish this now.

# # #

Lacey opened her eyes wide, hoping the bite of the cold night air would stop her from crying. When that didn’t work, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. Even after tasting blood, she still wanted to sob. Finally, she buried her face in her hands and wept. Her shoulders heaved with the effort. After a couple of comforting pats, Tait seemed to realize there was no chance of getting her to stop.

Slade Dalton had banished her from his life, and she didn’t know how she’d live without him. She’d almost broken down and told him about Grady’s threat to put him in jail. But she didn’t. And he was probably better off for it. She seemed to bring him nothing but bad luck.

As she’d expected, Grady was waiting for her on the porch. His hands fisted at his waist as she approached.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Without saying a word, she pushed past him.

"Doesn’t matter," he said, his voice tight. "Get some sleep. We’re getting married tomorrow."

She froze in the doorway and turned to look at him. His smile was arrogant and angry all at the same time.

"What are you talking about?"

"I’m talking about you and me, sweetums. Our wedding day. Tomorrow at this time, we will be Mr. and Mrs. Grady Dalton."

"But Dora won’t allow it until Slade is cleared." She knew she sounded near hysterics.

"I’m making the decisions now. Not Dora. They won’t hold my position in Boston forever. I’ve made arrangements with the preacher."

She never really thought she’d have to face this moment, yet here it was. And it was terrifying. "How will I know you won’t still turn against Slade?"

"You’ll just have to take me at my word."

"Husband or not, your word, I will never trust," she said quietly before she slammed the door in his face.

# # #

Slade strode into the livery to settle his bill.

The hostler led Slade’s horse out and handed him the reins. "The preacher left for your place an hour ago. Said he had a wedding to perform. Fumbling old fool, insisted I harness up my finest horses. He wanted to make it back to town before dark."

What a faithless, little tease. She'd made passionate love to him last night, and this morning she was marrying his brother. Forget about her, he told himself.

Yet he couldn't stop the panic rising in his throat at the thought of losing her forever. It was impossible to shake the memories he had of her. The way her fingers had wrapped around his hand when she’d fretted, the way she’d stayed perched up on a tree branch even when the rain had poured down in sheets, or the way she'd never complained, no matter how detestable the task. And ... the way that she’d made love to him.

He assured himself he wouldn't go after her, yet the moment his horse had left the town behind, he spurred it into a thundering gallop.

The dust from the trail burned his eyes. He hadn’t had more than an hour’s sleep. The endless night had paid off, though. The lawyer hadn’t been too pleased to be woken at the crack of dawn. But the considerable premium he had paid the man, more than made up for it. He patted the papers in his pocket for reassurance. He intended to claim everything that was rightfully his.

The hateful, ruined wedding dress sat in a pile in the corner of her room. Lacey was tempted to don her black gown. Instead, she chose a gray serge wool that fit her mood perfectly.

There was a timid knock at her door. "You best hurry, Lacey. The preacher’s arrived," Dora said through a crack in the door.

Lacey could sense Dora’s unhappiness about how things had ended. "I’ll be there in a moment."

Lacey glanced at herself in the mirror and surveyed the tight bun she’d fashioned. Exactly the way Grady likes it, she thought with disgust and then proceeded to yank all the pins out. She gave her hair a heavy shake. It now hung in wild tendrils to her waist.

The men were loitering in the drive. They were an unusual wedding party. Dusty and unkempt, they looked more like witnesses to a hanging party. Grady, of course was fastidiously groomed. And Dora had put on a neat little dress. It made Lacey sad to see her. Dora had looked so forward to a formal church wedding. But Grady had insisted on a quick ceremony. They would be leaving Colorado immediately.

Dix, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, glared at her. Taking her for the traitor she appeared to be.

There was no point putting it off any longer. She moved to Grady’s side. "Reverend Smith, this is the bride-to-be, Lacey Jarrell."

She couldn’t even work up a weak smile.

"You feeling all right, Miss Jarrell? You look awful pale," Reverend Smith said.

"She’s fine. Let’s get on with this," Grady said impatiently.

Reverend Smith looking chastised, promptly opened his sermon book. Before the man could utter a single word, Oliver started barking from beneath the porch. He scrambled out from under the stoop and made a mad, uncharacteristic dash toward the gate. Lacey felt her legs weaken. She knew there was only one thing that could get Oliver moving like that. Slade Dalton.

He rode in, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Tait let out a holler.

"If it ain’t Slade Dalton, in the flesh," Dix shouted.

"Slade Dalton?" the preacher asked with interest. "He’s downright famous around town. Sheriff told me all about it. The boy earned a healthy bounty for doing away with a murderous outlaw."

Lacey's gaze flew to Grady’s face. He didn’t look the least bit surprised by the Reverend’s declaration. His jaw was clenched tight in anger, the only emotion she could read on his face. Grady had known all along that Slade had been cleared. Why, she wondered suddenly, had Slade lied to her last night? Was it his way of holding off the marriage?

"I paid dearly for this ceremony. So get on with it." Grady’s harsh demand brought her back to the moment.