Lorraine Heath (12 page)

“How did she take the news?” Austin asked.

“She took it just fine.”

Austin shook his head. “Sure wish I had your skill with people. I couldn’t think of a way to tell her without breaking her heart.”

He ambled into the room and looked over Dallas’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“I can see that. What are you making?”

Dallas tightened his jaw until it ached. “A leash.”

“A leash? For what? That’s so tiny … Good Lord! You’re letting her keep it.”

Dallas spun around and brandished the knife in front of his brother’s face. “Don’t say another word. Not one word. If you value your hide, you’ll wipe that stupid grin off your face and get the hell out of here.”

Holding up his hands, Austin began to back away. “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.”

But when he was out of sight, his laughter echoed throughout the barn.

“Ain’t never seen a prairie dog on a leash before,” Houston said.

Dallas slammed a nail into the fresh lumber, hoping that his brother would choke on his strangled laughter.

“A man of vision would open himself up a store in Leighton that sold leashes especially designed for prairie dogs,” Austin added, grinning.

Dallas stopped his hammering and glared at his youngest brother. “If you don’t want
your vision
hampered by two swollen eyes, you’ll discuss something else.”

“I think Austin has a valid point,” Houston said. “With all the prairie dogs around here, selling leashes could be a booming business, particularly for a man interested in building empires.”

“No doubt about that,” Austin said, “and it doesn’t take Dallas long to put a leash together. The one he made Dee only took about ten minutes, and he wouldn’t have needed that much time if he hadn’t carved the dog’s name into it.”

Houston started to chuckle. “You gotta have the dog’s name on it just in case he loses it. How else would you know who it belongs to?” The laughter he’d been holding in exploded around them.

Austin’s guffaws filled what little space remained for noise. Dallas failed to see the humor in the situation.

“Thought you wanted to add onto your house?” he asked.

He could see Houston struggling to stifle his laughter. He had a strong desire to come to his brother’s aid and hit him up side the head with his hammer.

“I do,” Houston finally managed to say.

“Then we need to stop jawing and get the frame up.”

“You’re right,” Houston admitted, his face growing serious a brief moment before his laughter erupted again. “Good Lord, Dallas, a prairie dog on a leash. I never thought you’d let a woman wrap you around her finger.”

“I’m not wrapped around her finger, and I liked you a lot better when you never laughed.”

Houston’s laughter dwindled. “But I didn’t like me. Didn’t like me at all.”

Dallas knew Houston had held himself in low esteem until Amelia had wrapped herself around his heart. He also knew no wrapping would take place between him and Cordelia … not around his heart, not around her finger. It wasn’t his way.

He unfolded his body. “Let’s get this frame up.”

“It’s so good to hear them laughing, to know they’re enjoying each other’s company,” Amelia said.

Cordelia glanced at the woman standing beside her, her fingers splayed across her stomach, a contented smile on her face.

“When I first came here, they seldom spoke to each other and they never laughed,” Amelia confided quietly.

“Why?” Cordelia asked.

“Guilt and misunderstandings mostly.” As though drawn to painful memories of another time, Amelia released a long, slow sigh before walking to the open mesquite fire where the beef was cooking.

Cordelia watched as the men began to raise the frame that would serve as the structure for the addition to Houston’s house. She was rapidly discovering that Dallas did everything as though he were on a quest for success.

Along with Austin, they had begun their trek long before dawn and had arrived at Houston’s homestead just as dawn whispered over the horizon. Dallas helped her dismount before taking the cup of coffee that Amelia offered him as she stepped onto the porch.

“You know what you want?” he asked Houston as his brother slipped his arm around Amelia and kissed her cheek.

“Yep,” Houston said, handing Dallas a scroll.

Dallas unrolled the parchment and held it up so the day’s new light could shine on it. “Looks like you want to add two rooms to the back and put a loft above them.”

“That’s what Amelia wants.”

“Then let’s get to it.”

And they had. The measuring, the sawing, the pounding of hammers against nails, nails into wood, had echoed over the prairie.

When they finished setting the frame in place, Dallas took his first break. Cordelia held Precious more securely within her arms and watched as Dallas jerked off his hat, pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, and shook like a dog that had just come out of a river. He tossed his shirt over a nearby bush, settled his hat into place, and returned to work. Although he had not spared her a glance since their arrival, she could not take her eyes off him.

His bronzed back glistened, his muscles bunching and stretching as he hefted a board. His long legs made short work of the distance between the pile of lumber and the newly erected frame. He laid the board against the frame and crouched, one hand holding the board in place while the other searched through the grass for his hammer. His trousers pulled tight across his backside. She didn’t think she’d ever noticed how lean his hips were. He reminded her of the top portion of an hour glass: his broad shoulders fanning out, his back tapering down to a narrow waist—

“I wish they hadn’t done that,” Amelia said on a sigh.

Her cheeks flushed, Cordelia glanced at Amelia. “What?”

“Taken off their shirts. I’m trying to prepare dinner, and all I want to do now is watch them work.”

Cordelia turned her attention back to the men. She didn’t know when Houston and Austin had removed their shirts, but their backs didn’t draw her attention the way Dallas’s did, didn’t make her wonder if his skin was as warm as it looked.

She watched as Maggie ran toward the men, her blond curls bouncing as much as the ladle she carried. Water sloshed over the sides. Cordelia didn’t think more than a few drops could have remained in the ladle when the little girl came to an abrupt stop beside Dallas and held it out to him.

A warm smile spread beneath his mustache as he took the ladle, tipped his head back, and took a long, slow swallow. As Maggie clasped her hands together and widened her green eyes, Cordelia had a feeling Dallas was putting on a show for his niece. When he moved the ladle from his mouth, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose and said something Cordelia couldn’t hear. Maggie smiled brightly, grabbed the ladle, and ran back to the bucket of water.

Breathless, she looked up at her mother. “Unca Dalls said it was the sweetes’ water he ever had the pleasure of drinkin’. I’m gonna git him some more.” She dunked the dipper into the bucket before running back to her uncle, the water splashing over her skirt.

“Poor Dallas. She adores him. He won’t get any work done now,” Amelia said.

“The feeling seems to be mutual,” Cordelia said, wishing he would bestow that warm smile on her.

“You’re right. He spoils her. I shudder to think how he will spoil his own children.”

The heat fanned Cordelia’s cheeks at the reminder of her wifely duties. “I … I meant to thank you earlier for the flowers you placed on my bed the day I was married.”

Amelia smiled. “I didn’t place any flowers on your bed.”

“Oh.” Cordelia looked back toward Dallas. They had finished raising the frame and securing it in place. The men had begun to lay the wooden planks for the floor. Dallas was holding a nail while Maggie tapped it with a hammer. After a few gentle taps, Dallas took the hammer from her and slammed the nail into place.

She didn’t know what to make of Dallas Leigh. He seemed as hard as the nails protruding from his smiling mouth, hardly the type of man to pick flowers …

Knowing for certain that he was the one who had placed the flowers on her—their—bed made it difficult for her to dislike him, much less to hate him. Yet still she did not relish the thought of the marriage act.

Maggie scrambled over the frame they had laid across the ground—the frame that would support the floor—and began to hold nails for Austin. Although he carried his arm in a sling, he was managing to pull his share of the load. Something Cordelia had to admit she wasn’t doing. “Amelia, what can I do to help?”

“I left several quilts on the porch. Why don’t you place them around the tree so we can sit under the shade?”

Cordelia set Precious on the ground, and with her pet tagging along on her leash, hurried to the porch, grateful to have a task, although she didn’t think it would stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of her husband.

From the corner of his eye, Dallas watched his wife scurry toward the front of the house. He was having a hell of a time keeping his mind focused on the task at hand—building Houston’s house.

He kept finding his thoughts drifting toward his wife. It hadn’t helped that during the week she had laundered his clothes and when he had begun to sweat earlier, her lavender scent had risen up around him. He’d thought he might go insane, having her fragrance surround him while she stood incredibly far away.

He had made a mistake not exercising his husbandly rights on their wedding night. Now, he had no idea how to approach her and let her know that her reprieve was over.

He knew if he knocked on her door, she’d open it with terror in her eyes, and he couldn’t stand the thought. She reminded him of the way too many soldiers had looked at him during the war. They’d followed his orders and gone into battle, fearing him more than they had feared the enemy or death.

He didn’t believe in living with regrets, but sometimes he wondered how many men his hard nature had sent to their deaths.

He didn’t want his wife looking at him with that same fear in her eyes when he came to her bed. Only he didn’t know how to erase it. For a short time while they had tended the prairie dog, the fear had left her eyes, but Dallas couldn’t see himself bringing her a wounded prairie dog every night.

He brought himself to his feet and went to fetch more boards and nails. When he neared the pile of lumber, he stopped long enough to admire his wife’s backside as she bent over and laid quilts on the ground.

He wished he knew how to keep the fear out of her eyes—permanently.

They ate their meals in silence except for the conversation Austin provided. Dallas could never think of a single thing to say to his wife. It reminded him of when he had first started writing to Amelia. His first letter had only been a few lines. By the end of the year, he had been sharing whole pages of his life with her. He’d thought about writing a letter to Cordelia, but that seemed the coward’s way out. He needed to learn how to say the kind of words that put a softness in a woman’s eyes, the kind of softness Amelia wore every time she looked at Houston.

He carried several boards to the frame structure, set them in place, knelt beside one, and removed the nails from his mouth. “Houston, when you and Amelia were traveling here … what did you talk about?”

Houston pounded a nail into a board that would serve as flooring and shrugged. “Whatever she wanted to talk about.”

Dallas clamped down on his frustration. “What did she want to talk about?”

Houston tipped his hat up off his brow. “You, mostly. She was always asking questions about the ranch, the kind of man you were, the house.”

“You must not have told her the truth about the house if she came anyway,” Austin said.

Dallas swung his gaze around. “What’s wrong with my house?”

Austin wiped the smile from his face and looked at Houston. Houston shook his head and gave him a “you should have kept your mouth shut this time” look. Then he started pounding a nail into the board.

“What’s wrong with my house?” Dallas asked again.

“Uh, well, uh … it’s big,” Austin explained.

“Of course it’s big. I intend to have a large family.”

“Well, then, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Austin said. He handed Maggie a nail. “Maggie May, hold it right here for your Uncle Austin.”

Dallas glared at his brother, trying to make sense out of what he’d just heard. “Your comment had nothing to do with the size of my house. I want to know what you meant.”

Austin slammed his eyes closed and blew out a quick breath before meeting Dallas’s gaze. “It doesn’t look like a house. It’s … it’s …” He shifted his gaze to Houston, who had stopped his hammering.

Dallas thought his brother might be searching for courage. He knew his house was unusual.

Austin looked back at Dallas. “I think it’s downright ugly. There, I said it, but that’s just what I think. Houston might think otherwise.”

Houston narrowed his eye. “Keep me outta this conversation, boy.”

Dallas felt as though a herd of cattle had just trampled him. “Do you agree with him?” he asked Houston.

Houston clenched his jaw. “It’s different. That’s all. It’s just different. It’s not what I’d want to live in—”

“Food’s ready!” Amelia called.

“Thank God,” Houston said as he stood. “I’m starving. How about you, pumpkin?” Maggie squealed as he swung her into the air.

Dallas unfolded his body and grabbed Austin’s arm before he could escape. “Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”

Austin’s face burned bright red. “You were just so proud of it, and what we think isn’t important. What matters is what Dee thinks of it. Maybe you ought to ask her.”

Ask her if she hated the house as much as she hated her husband? Not if he lived to be a hundred would he ask her.

“I like the house,” he stated flatly.

Austin gave him a weak smile. “Then there’s no problem. Let’s go eat.”

After tethering Precious to a nearby bush, Cordelia watched with growing trepidation as the men approached. Each had quickly washed at the water pump before slipping back into his shirt. For that small act, she was extremely grateful. She didn’t think she could eat if Dallas’s chest had remained bare.