Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (15 page)

He
decided a drink might be in order.

“It’s
chilly outside. Would you like to rest a moment in the library and have a
little champagne? I don’t usually drink, but I could do with a glass. It is a
party, after all.”

“You
don’t drink?”

“I’ve
got no use for liquor, ma’am, but I will enjoy a beer or glass of wine . . .
if the company suits.”

Grace
settled on a settee in the library, in front of a roaring fire, and marveled
over this strange sense of . . . contentment. She felt so pretty
and admired. Susanna had done a masterful job of styling the wig. It matched
Grace’s hair to a T. And the dress, from the House of Wirth, was one of the
most beautiful creations she had ever worn.

A
sleeveless gown with a fishtail skirt, its flowing tulle embroidered with birds
and roses, floated like gossamer. The bodice, adorned with the same intricate
embroidery, was a bit too low for Grace’s taste. She smiled, recalling that,
while Trampas had directed his comments more at her bosom than her face, Thad
had tried averting his eyes.

Absently
rubbing her sore ankle, she wondered if he could be that much of a gentleman?
And
a virgin?

“Here
you go, m’lady.”

Grace
accepted the glass as Thad joined her on the couch. Again, he whipped his eyes
away from her neckline. Avoiding temptation, or being gentlemanly?

“Feet
sore already?” He glanced at her boots.

“No,
I twisted my ank . . . le.” She faded off, alarmed she’d
let that slip.

He
sat. “Funny. You’re brother fell of a roof and twisted his ankle.”

“Yes,
he mentioned that.” Grace tried to hide behind the glass as she took a sip.

Thad
shifted on the settee to face her, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his
knees. His eager gaze made her feel as though she was the most important thing
in his world, at least at this moment.

“Where
did you wind up finding work here in Sheridan?” he asked.

“Work?”
She should have expected this question, and kicked herself for not being
prepared.

“Yeah,
Greg said you found something in town.” He wiggled his eye brows comically. “Bunkhouse
cook maybe?”

They
both laughed. “No . . . I’m waiting on tables at . . .
at . . .” She wanted to pound her head. She hadn’t paid
attention to any of the business names in town.

“Dolly’s
Café?”

“Yes,
that’s it. I’m so new I forgot the name. What about you?” she changed the subject.
“What is life like for the son of a cattle baron?”

“I’m
sorry.” He dipped his head in apology. “You said you didn’t want to talk about
yourself.”

He
leaned back on the settee’s arm. The light from the fire shimmered in his hair
and gave the landscape of his face an almost devilish edge, but nothing sinister
like Bull. Grace decided she could sit here and stare at that face all night.

“Ranching.”
He drummed his fingers on the champagne flute. “The work is hard, the days are
long, the money is uncertain, and the help more trouble than they’re worth,” he
glanced over her shoulder, perhaps thinking of Trampas in the other room, “but,
truthfully, there’s nothin’ I’d rather do.”

Grace
liked the way his expression softened as he talked about ranching. She liked
the way his white silk shirt tightened across his shoulder and bicep as he took
a sip of the Champagne. She liked him better riding tall in the saddle, blue
eyes scanning the hills, a powerful horse willingly under his command. “You
were born to it.”

“Yes,
ma’am. I find peace in the saddle, looking up at the sky, enjoying the wide
open spaces. And it’s a family business. I work close with my brothers and I
ain’t ashamed to admit I’m pretty fond of ’em.”

They
laughed together at that.

“I
went to Chicago once, though. I couldn’t believe the miles and miles of
buildings.” He shivered dramatically. “It ain’t for me. Don’t know how people
can live like that.”

Thad’s
honesty and deep, velvety voice spurred her to talk about herself, just a
little. “I would say you get used to it, but that’s not true. At least it wasn’t
for me. Raised on a farm, I never got used to being surrounded by brick and
concrete.”

“May
I ask again about your becoming a teacher?” He sounded so gentle and hesitant,
Grace almost laughed. Almost.

“I
was a teaching student in Chicago. I met Bull, and he overwhelmed me with
flowers, romantic dinners, and midnight carriage rides . . .”
Grace trailed off, humiliated by her shallowness. “All just so I’d marry him, for
nothing but a charade.”

Thad’s
brow dipped, questioning. She’d started the story, might as well finish it. “He
needed a respectable wife. One who could help create the illusion that he was a
respectable businessman.”

The
music in the other room slowed to a romantic waltz, and Grace almost wished
they were dancing again. Thad’s arm around her waist had felt . . .
comforting, and electrifying at the same time.

Thad
sat up and rested an arm on the back of the settee. The move drew him closer.
His gaze drifted to her mouth, and her heart started racing. How easily he
could kiss her, if she’d let him, if he were so inclined. He swirled the Champagne
around in the glass as he thought. “Pa’s done all the hard work building the
Lazy H, but we’ll keep it going. My children and their children and their
children’s children will be raising cattle in Wyoming for a long time to come.”

He
looked at her then. Silence settled between them, but not an awkward kind. Thad’s
eyes glowed, warm and inviting. Grace had never seen such tenderness. She felt . . .
undone
by it.

“I
sure would like to dance with you again, Mrs. Hendrick.”

Pretend
you’re Cinderella. Take one evening to enjoy life.
Grace
could hear the words so clearly, and she longed for the fairy tale.

What
could one more dance hurt?

She
took their glasses of Champagne and set them on the end table. Then she turned
back to Thad, surprised at the butterflies dancing in her stomach. “Lead the
way.”

“Right
here is fine.”

He
pulled her to her feet and slid an arm around her. Drawing her close to him, he
clutched her hand to his chest. Grace had the nearly-overwhelming desire to
touch his face, trace the strong, clean-shaven jaw and move one unruly strand
of blond hair out of his eyes.

The
music played, yet he made no move to lead her into a dance. His eyes burned
into hers, and she felt like she was staring into the sun. He splayed her hand
out atop his heart and, with his other hand, touched her jaw, tilting her face
up.

Her
own heart pounded like a hundred thundering hooves. Merely breathing became
difficult, and her head swam. Beneath her fingers, his heart hammered wildly,
and he smiled at the silent communication.

“What
have you done to me?” He sounded . . . pleased.

He
leaned down and brushed her lips. Grace didn’t move, couldn’t think. She could
only feel the softness of his mouth, the tightening of his arm around her, the
gentle caress of his fingers on her cheek.

But,
abruptly, he pulled back.

The
regret on his face broke her heart, and sobered her.

“I
said I don’t dally with women.” He let her go and stepped away a respectable
distance. “If I can’t have you, I reckon that’s what this is.” He swallowed
hard. “My apologies.”

Humiliation
and disappointment stung Grace hard. She chided herself for coming tonight.
What had she been thinking to let Susanna talk her into this? Of course, he was
right.

She
swept up her skirt. “Excuse me. I think I see my brother.”

Mortified,
she ran from the dance, from Thad, and from her foolish heart.

Grace
snatched her cloak from the hallway rack and raced back to the theater. The
backstage doorman had been told to let her in, and she scurried past him to
Susanna’s dressing room.

The
woman was still on stage, and Grace collapsed onto her settee. She felt on the
verge of tears but couldn’t rightly say why. Her heart and her thoughts racing,
she rose and went to Susanna’s mirror.

Grace
took one last look at the arguably-pretty young lady, her checks glowing, her
eyes shining. Biting her lip to hold back a whimper, she raised her hands to
the wig and slowly began the dismal process of changing back into Greg.

In
a little while, applause erupted. Moments later, Susanna bounced into the
dressing room with a bouquet of red roses that matched her velvet gown exactly.
Maxwell shut the door behind her, and faced the hoard of admirers outside.

“Hello,
Cinderella,” Susanna sang gaily as she tossed the roses onto a chair. “The
clock has struck midnight and you’re an ash girl again, eh?” Laughing, she
poured herself a drink and faced Grace. Almost instantly, the joy from a
well-received performance melted off her face as she noticed Grace’s mood. She
joined her on the settee and took her hand. “You look like you’ve come from a
funeral, not a party. What in the world went wrong?”

“I’m
not really sure,” Grace exhaled. “I only danced a few times with Thad Walker.
But, it was . . . he was . . .” She shook that
off. “I don’t know. I should never have gone. It was a terrible idea.” Grace’s
throat tightened and she fell against the settee’s arm. The feel of Thad’s arms
haunted her. His voice filled her ears. She felt despicable for lying to him.
Oh, why was she being so emotional about this? Later tonight or tomorrow she
would see Thad, but he would see only Greg. He could never see Grace again. End
of story.

Sniffing,
she sat up again. “I . . . I’m just tired. I’ve taken on a lot.
This ruse is difficult to keep up.” She wiped her eyes and patted her cheeks to
freshen their color. “I’m being silly.”

“You’re
a woman, and women were made to be admired, to occasionally turn heads . . .
and to fall in love,” Susanna said gently. “Did you not enjoy being in his
arms?”

Involuntarily,
Grace sighed and relived the moment he’d held her and kissed her. A warm blush
spread over her, and Susanna laughed again.

“Oh,
my, he must be something. If only you could see your face.” She rose and went
to her vanity. In another minute, she had a cigar burning, and studied Grace through
a smoky haze. “Well? Who is this handsome prince?”

“His
family owns the Lazy H. He helps the widow woman I work for. Ooooh,” Grace
moaned, diving back for the settee’s arm to hide her face. “And I’m telling him
such a terrible lie. And her. I’ve got to get back to Chicago. I’ve got to get
my son. And I’ve got to quit lying to them.”

“There’s
nothing wrong with a
good
lie, Grace. Your intentions are noble.”

“My
intentions . . . are for my son.” Grace bit her lip and shook
her head. “It doesn’t feel like a good lie any more. It just feels deceitful.
Plain and simple.”

Thad
stormed into his suite, snatching his tie off like it was a snake around his
neck. Kicking the door shut behind him, he threw the black ribbon across the
room and stomped over to the fireplace.

“Well,
somebody didn’t finish the evening on a good note.”

Startled,
Thad spun and discovered his father and Trampas standing at the bar. “Sorry,
Pa, I . . .” Bitterness rose up in him at the sight of the
foreman, but he swallowed it. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Thad
rested his elbows on the fireplace mantle and listened to the clink of glass as
his father poured a drink. He dreaded the lecture that was coming. Thad couldn’t
do anything right, not even walk away from a married woman, which surely had to
be the right thing to do. And Trampas was here to enjoy the misery.

“Well,
I reckon I’ll be heading out to catch up with the boys.” A chink followed
Trampas’ declaration. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Walker.”

“Goodnight,
Trampas.”

Thad
heard Trampas let himself out as Pa shuffled over to the settee. An instant
later he dropped his boots on the coffee table with a thud. “So what’s got you
so riled? That little filly you were dancing with?”

Yes,
Thad was upset over how the evening had ended with Grace, but he was none too
pleased with how it had started. Now, to find Trampas in here with his pa; why
did he feel like the two of them were keeping secrets? The way Pa tolerated and
defended the man just didn’t make any sense. “Tell me somethin’, Pa, you really
siding with those lying, back-shooting, woman-lynching cattlemen?”

The
fire popped and hissed as Thad waited for an answer. Surprised when one didn’t
come, he turned to his father.

Pa
stared gloomily at his boots. “In for a penny, son, in for a pound.”

“What?”

Pa
tossed the drink back and rose to pour another. He seemed agitated, distant.
Thad hadn’t seen his father like this in a long time. Not since the year Ma had
died and Raney’s husband Jake was killed. That year, death seemed to stalk the
Walkers and those closest to them.

“The
rustlers, they’re out of hand, Thad. They’ve gone too far. We have to end this
before any more innocent people die.”

“Those
are lies.” Thad crossed the room and pulled his father around to face him. “I
talked to Sheriff Angus.
Five
cases, Pa,
five
of cattle-rustling
and horse-stealing.”

Pa’s
face reddened, the warning of an explosion. “The independents are stealing our
cattle!”

“If
anybody is stealing anything, it’s Trampas!”

Pa’s
mouth snapped shut. Thad had wanted proof before voicing that accusation, but he
couldn’t take it back now. “I couldn’t figure it out at first. Now I
understand. The big outfits are
using
the newspapers and their political
connections to shut the independents down. It’s all lies. You’re painting them
as thieves, bandits, and liars so the conglomerates come off as the victims.”
Thad lowered his head and dropped his hands on his hips as he walked away to
think. “But I still don’t know why.” He could see what the big ranchers were up
to but what was the end goal? And how the heck did Trampas play into things?
“Are you
letting
Trampas steal our cattle?” Why couldn’t he put the
pieces in place? “You’re protecting him . . . or tolerating him.
I’m not sure which.”

Huffing,
Pa turned back to the bar and gripped it hard, turning his knuckles white. “You
don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I
know our yield is down fifteen percent from last year!” Thad shoved his hands
into his pockets to hide his fists, took a breath, and forced himself to speak
more softly. “Doesn’t it bother you my counts never match Trampas’s? Mine are
always lower. The yield proves me right.”

“Trampas
is a good cowman. And
he
doesn’t make mistakes.” Thad fought the flinch
that pulled at every muscle in his face. Pa snatched a bottle from the bar and
stomped toward his room. He grabbed for the doorknob, but paused. “A war is
starting, Thad. I’ll keep you and your brothers out of it . . . if
I can.”

Thad
raked his fingers through his hair. Determined to get some answers, he rushed
over and slammed the door shut in Pa’s face. “If a war is the right thing, then
why would you keep us out of it?”

Pa’s
lips tightened, narrowed to a sliver. He snatched the door open, forcing Thad
to step aside. “I never said it was the right thing.” He disappeared inside his
room, slamming the door so hard glasses rattled on the bar.