Lorraine Heath (16 page)

“I wanted to talk with Mr. Henderson about a loan for another building.” “What sort of building?”

He cleared his throat. “A man—cabinetmaker—wrote to me. He wants to move here, but he hasn’t the means to finance his own business. I think he would be a good investment.”

“Do you have the means to finance him?”

“With the assistance of the bank, I’ll help him get his start. Eventually, he’ll own his business outright, but the more people I can get to Leighton, the more we’ll grow.”

“How do you determine which businesses would be a good investment?”

He studied her, not expecting the questions she was asking, but pleased that she knew enough to ask them. He crooked his elbow and watched as she swallowed before placing her hand on his arm. Together they walked slowly along the street.

“I try and figure out what people need,” he explained to her. He pointed toward the clothing store. “Houston was always going to Fort Worth to purchase clothing for Amelia. He’d visit Miss St. Claire’s dress shop. The idea of a new town intrigued her, so she moved her business here, hoping the town would prosper and more women would come. Until then, she sews clothing for men and women.”

“There aren’t many women from what I’ve seen.”

“A half dozen if that many. I haven’t figured out how to attract them to Leighton. I’ve been thinking of running an advertisement for brides, similar to the one Amelia placed for a husband. Only I’d want a whole passel of women to come, and I’d need to have husbands waiting for them. I’ve got to give some thought to the best way to handle that. I don’t particularly relish the thought of being a marriage broker.”

She slowly nodded, and Dallas almost imagined that he could see wheels spinning in her mind. He wanted to ask her what she thought of the town. He wanted Leighton to be more than just a town … he wanted it to be a place that drew people in and gave them a reason to stay.

They neared the saloon. Hesitantly, she glanced at him. “Can I look inside the saloon?” ’

“Sure.”

Cautiously, Cordelia neared the swinging doors and peered inside. The smoke was thick. The odors not entirely pleasant. She could see a few men sitting at a table playing cards. One of the men was her brother.

“What is Duncan doing here?” she asked.

Dallas glanced over her shoulder. “Playing cards.”

“I mean why isn’t he out working with the cattle?”

“I guess he’s just taking some time off.”

Stepping back, she studied her husband. “When do you take time off?”

He led her away from the saloon. “Saloons don’t appeal to me. I never could bring myself to let the draw of a card take away the money I’d worked so hard to earn.”

“But you must relax sometime.”

“When I need to relax, I ride out at night and visit one of my ladies.”

Cordelia was unprepared for the pain that slashed through her. Why had she expected him to remain faithful to her just because they had exchanged vows? Incensed for reasons she could not begin to fathom, she strode off the boardwalk. “I think I’ve seen all I want to see of the town.”

He grabbed her arm, and she jerked free. “Please don’t touch me. Not after you’ve just thrown your mistresses into my face.”

“My mistresses?” He drew his brows together over eyes mired with confusion, then he started to laugh. “My ladies.”

“I don’t see that it’s funny.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously not. A gentleman doesn’t mention his other women to his wife. I think we’d both be a good deal happier if you’d married one of them instead of me.” She spun on her heel and started to walk away.

“Dee?”

She wanted to keep walking, but a longing in his voice touched her, reached for her, forced her to turn around. No longer smiling or laughing, he watched her as though searching for something.

“The ladies are my windmills,” he said quietly. “I enjoy listening to them in the quiet of the night. It brings me peace. I’d like to share that with you sometime.”

Incredibly embarrassed, she slammed her eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I acted like a shrew.”

“You should get angry more often.”

Her eyes flew open. The one time her mother had gotten angry her father had struck her down. “Why?”

“Anger puts a fire in your eyes. I’d rather have the fire than the fear.”

“Dallas!” a man yelled.

Cordelia watched as a slender man rushed toward Dallas.

“Tyler, you got a problem?” Dallas asked.

The man skidded to a stop. “Not a problem.”

As though he suddenly noticed her, Tyler jerked his hat from his head. He swept the blond locks from his brow and smiled at Cordelia. “Mrs. Leigh, we met at your wedding although you probably don’t remember me. Tyler Curtiss.”

“I’m not very good with names,” she confessed.

“I’m not very good with faces except when they’re beautiful like yours.” He blushed as though unaccustomed to flirting, and Dallas scowled.

“Tyler designs the buildings and manages the construction,” Dallas said, his voice taut.

She smiled with interest. “So you’re building the town?”

“With a great deal of help. I’d like to get your husband’s opinion on a few things if you can spare him.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Dallas seemed to hesitate. “Can you find Austin?”

She nodded. “I’m sure he’s still at the general store.”

“I’ll see you at home then.”

She watched him walk away. She could tell from his stance that he was listening intently as Tyler prattled.

Why had it hurt so much when he’d mentioned his ladies with such affection? Why was she relieved to discover he had been visiting windmills?

She began strolling toward the horses tethered to the hitching post in front of the general store. She had erupted with anger and instead of retaliating, he had told her to get mad more often. She decided his suggestion might have some merit. She had found the burst of fury … emancipating.

Standing on the balcony outside her bedroom, Cordelia stared at the night. She heard the steady clack of the nearby windmill—one of Dallas’s ladies.

He was so unlike her father, her brothers. He angered easily, the rage flashing within his dark eyes, but he kept his temper tethered.

Where the men in her family concerned themselves only with their wants and needs, Dallas broadened his horizons to include others. People were coming to his town because he gave them a chance to share in a corner of his dream, and in sharing, his dream would grow.

She was certain Boyd would have referred to his actions as selfish and greedy, but how could she fault Dallas Leigh with wanting to build a future for his sons … a future grander than anything she had ever dared to dream?

A town. A community. A community of men.

She frowned, surprised to discover that she wanted a part of his dream as well. She wanted to accomplish what he had yet to achieve. She wanted to find a way to lure women to Leighton.

She didn’t see her husband standing by the corral. She hadn’t heard his footsteps echoing along the hallway.

She wondered where he was—if he was in his office. If the two books he’d purchased were waiting there as well.

She didn’t want to fear Dallas, but more she didn’t want to be dependent on him. She had once coveted freedom, but now she realized without independence, freedom didn’t exist. The first step toward independence was conquering her fear.

She walked into her bedroom and retrieved the book she had borrowed from him—
The Practical Husbandman.

She remembered the depth of his laughter, that night and this afternoon. The spontaneity of it. The way it had reached out and struck a corresponding chord deep within her.

Holding the lamp, she made her way to Dallas’s office. She saw the light spilling out from beneath the door and almost changed her mind. Instead, she forced herself to knock.

“Come in,” boomed from the other side.

Her heart quickened. She took a trembling breath and opened the door. Dallas sat at his desk, the ledgers spread out before him. He came to his feet.

“Oh, no, don’t get up,” she said as she slipped into the room. “I just wanted to return your book.”

“Fine.”

She took a step closer to the shelves. “Do you always work on your ledgers late at night?”

“Usually.”

She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, her determination withering. “My father … my father works on his books during the afternoon.”

“He has three sons to watch his spread. I only have me.”

“And Austin.”

“It’s not his responsibility. Someday, he’ll figure out what he wants from life and he’ll leave.”

When Austin left, she’d be alone with this man. This man who wanted sons.

“Please don’t let me disturb you.” She held up the book. “I’ll just put this back.”

He sat and she hurried across the room. She slipped the book into place, then she trailed her fingers over one of the new books on the shelf:
A Tale of Two Cities.

She glanced at Dallas. He was writing in his ledger as though her presence made no difference to him … and yet, he also seemed to be waiting.

She took the book off the shelf. “I’ve never read
A Tale of Two Cities,”
she said quietly.

“It’s yours,” he said gruffly. “Along with the other one. Just don’t thank me for them. Should have put books in here a long time back. Not much point in having shelves if you don’t put books on them.”

“That’s what I thought the first time I saw this room. I fell in love with it.”

He snapped his head up and stared at her, his eyes incredibly dark.

“I thought—” She cleared her throat. “I thought these shelves might hold a thousand books.”

He leaned back in his chair. “A thousand?”

She nodded. “Or more.”

“Let me know what the tally is when you get the shelves filled up.” He went back to writing in his ledgers.

Holding the book tightly, she began to walk across the room, then she stopped. The room was quiet except for the occasional scratch of his pen across the paper.

“I used to read to my mother before she died,” she said softly.

He lifted his head and looked at her.

“I miss reading to her,” she added. “I miss her.”

He propped his elbow on the desk and rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his mustache. She remembered its softness as he had kissed her.

“Dr. Freeman mentioned something about your mother being an invalid.”

She had never spoken the words. After all these years, acknowledging the truth was still painful. “She and my father had an argument. In the scuffle, she lost her balance and fell down the stairs. She couldn’t move after that, but she wasn’t dead. So I cared for her.”

“The scuffle? You mean your father struck her?”

She nodded, wishing she’d kept the incident locked away. It sounded incredibly ugly spoken aloud. Had he risen from his chair, had he come toward her, she thought she might have taken flight and rushed back to her room.

Instead, he remained perfectly still. “No matter how angry I get, Dee, I would never hit you. I give you my word on that.”

Filled with conviction, the quietly spoken words left her no choice but to believe him.

“Can I read to you?” she asked.

She almost laughed at the startled expression that crossed his features, as though she had spoken the very last words he had ever expected to hear. He looked as though she’d thrown a bucket of cold water on him.

“I know you don’t have a lot of spare time. I could read while you work on your ledgers.”

As though unable to determine her motive, he nodded slowly. “That’d be fine.”

She set the lamp on a small table and sat in the stuffed chair beside it. Bringing up her feet, she tucked them beneath her. She felt him watching her and tried not to be bothered by his scrutiny.

She turned back the cover and several pages before clearing her throat. “ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times …’ ”

She glanced up. His pen was poised above the ledger, his ink dripping onto the paper.

“Can you work while I read?” she asked.

He nodded and dipped the pen into the inkwell again. When he began to write in his ledgers, she filled the shadowed room with the story.

Dallas wasn’t certain of the exact moment when his wife had come to regret her decision to read to him, but he thought it might have been sometime after midnight.

Her eyes had been drifting closed, her words becoming softer, less frequent. He had asked her if she wanted to go to bed. She’d snapped her head up and claimed she wasn’t tired.

He figured she just didn’t know how to stop reading and announce she was going to bed without leaving the door open for him to join her.

So she had read for two more hours, her voice growing hoarse, her eyes crossing from time to time until eventually they had closed and her head had dropped back.

She looked damned uncomfortable propped up in the chair, her head tilted at an awkward angle, and incredibly lovely with all the worry and fear slipping away for the night.

He wished he knew how to keep the worry and fear out of her eyes when she was awake. He’d considered being blunt and simply explaining to her what he expected and what he would settle for.

But he imagined that a woman needed more than a man’s view on the subject. She probably wanted tender words that he didn’t know how to give.

As quietly as he could, he pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and walked to the chair where she was slumped. Gingerly, he eased the book from her grasp and set it on the table beside the chair.

Then he slipped one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees, and cradled her against his chest. Sighing, she snuggled her cheek into the crook of his shoulder.

He hadn’t expected her to be as light as a summer breeze, to feel so dainty in his arms. As tall as she was, he had expected her to weigh more. She was little more than soft curves and warmth.

He carried her to her bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. She rolled onto her side, drew her knees up toward her chest, and slipped her hand beneath her cheek. He brought the blankets over her, crouched beside the bed, and watched as she slept.