Lorraine Heath (38 page)

They had made love, trying to fulfill a dream. They had made love to celebrate the promise of the dream.

Now, at long last, they were celebrating what they should have gloried in all along: their love for each other.

He captured her gaze as he sank his body into hers. She marveled at the perfection of their joining. Then he began to rock, the brown depths of his eyes smoldering, the fire raging through her, burning brightly until it exploded with a glorious burst of sensations, colors, and sounds, unlike any she’d ever known.

Dallas shuddered above her before collapsing on top of her, his breathing harsh near her ear, his fingers threaded through her hair, gently scraping her scalp.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“ ’Bout time you gave me my Christmas present,” he whispered low, in a tired voice.

“Your Christmas present?”

“That’s all I wanted for Christmas. Your love.”

She closed her eyes, remembering his words in the hotel room that night so long ago. “Something that could only be given it if wasn’t asked for.”

Something she would gift him with for the remainder of her life.

May, 1884

Dallas heard his wife’s scream and bolted out of the chair.

“Sit down!”

With panic raging through him, he stumbled to a stop and glared at his brother.

“Sit down!” Houston ordered again.

Dallas balled his hands into tight fists. “A husband should be with his wife at a time like this.”

“You’d just drive her crazy. Hell, you’re driving me crazy.”

Dallas dropped back into the chair, dug his elbows into his thighs, and buried his face in his hands. “Dr. Freeman said she couldn’t have children. Christ, I’ll never touch her again.”

“You’ll touch her,” Houston said.

Dallas looked up, determination etched deeply in the lines of his face. “No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will. One night, she’ll curl up against you, all innocent-like—” Compassion, understanding, and a wealth of sympathy filled Houston’s gaze. “You’ll touch her.”

The door to the office opened, and Rawley slipped into the room as quietly as a shadow. “I thought I heard Ma yell.”

Dallas smiled at the boy. His black hair was neatly trimmed, his face scrubbed clean. The dirt and grass stains on his newest coveralls were the only evidence in sight that he wasn’t as grown-up as he tried to pretend he was.

They had adopted him in their hearts long before the documents made it legal. Against Dallas’s preference, Rawley had kept his last name, mumbling something about not deserving the Leigh name. Dallas hoped with time and patience, the boy would someday change his mind.

Rawley had quickly fallen into the habit of calling Dee “Ma.” He had yet to call Dallas anything other than Mr. Leigh. Dallas had a feeling that the boy had a long way to go before he’d trust men.

“Why don’t you take Precious for a walk?” Dallas suggested.

Rawley eased farther into the room. “I already took her to play with her friends for a while.”

Dallas furrowed his brow. “Her friends?”

Rawley nodded. “Yep. She’s got a whole passel of friends out in the meadow. They like to play leapfrog. Only they don’t jump over her. They just sorta jump on her. Looks like they keep trying to jump over her, but they just ain’t strong enough, I reckon.”

“Good God, is she in heat?”

Rawley shrugged. “Reckon she gets hot out there. I do and I ain’t got all that fur.”

Houston’s laughter reverberated around the room. “I’d say before too long, you’re gonna be making a whole lot of leashes.”

Dallas was on the verge of issuing a threat to silence his brother when Cordelia’s scream resounded through the house. Rawley visibly paled and backed into a corner.

Dallas shot out of the chair. “Take care of Rawley.”

He rushed out of his office and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he neared his room, he could hear a small wail. He staggered to a halt, his heart pounding. He placed his forehead on the door and listened to the lustful cries of his son. A miracle he’d never expected. A child born of the love he shared with Cordelia.

The door opened and Dallas nearly tumbled into the room. He caught his balance as Amelia smiled at him.

“Hello, Papa.”

“How is she?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s fine.”

He peered into his bedroom. Late-afternoon shadows graced the corners. At least his son had the good sense to be born at a decent hour.

“Can I see her?”

“Dr. Freeman is finishing up now.”

She took his arm and led him into the room. He felt awkward standing at the foot of his bed, watching his wife run her fingers over their son’s head.

Dr. Freeman snapped his black leather bag closed. He gave Dallas a hard state. “Enjoy this child because you aren’t getting any more. I guarantee it I don’t know how she managed to give you this one.”

He shuffled from the room, Amelia in his wake. She closed the door behind them, leaving Dallas alone to gaze in wonder at his wife.

She cast a glance his way and smiled shyly. Dallas walked around the bed and knelt beside her. He brushed back a loose strand of her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but happy. So happy.” Joy lit her face, warmed her eyes.

Dallas gazed at the tiny bundle nestled snugly within her arms. A small head, a scrunched-up face that looked as though it belonged on an old man, and black, black hair. “He sure has a lot of hair.”

He shifted his gaze to Dee. Her smile withered, and she brought the child closer to her breast as though to protect it.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

She ran her tongue slowly around her lips. “He’s fine. Just fine.”

Dallas narrowed his gaze. “No, he’s not. I’ve never known anything to be fine when you say it’s fine.”

She took a deep breath before blurting, “He’s a girl.”

“What do you mean he’s a girl?”

She gingerly folded back the sides of the blanket. “You have a daughter.”

He stared at the spindly legs, the tiny toes, the small chest rapidly taking in air and releasing it. Quickly he covered the child to prevent her from getting chilled. His fingers inadvertently brushed against the child’s taut fist. She unfurled her hand and tightly wrapped it around Dallas’s finger.

She may as well have flung her arms around his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Dee said quietly.

“Sorry?” Dallas croaked.

“I know you wanted a son—”

“I have a son, and now I have a daughter.” He trailed his fingers along Dee’s cheek. “We have a daughter, and she’s beautiful, just like her mother.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she laid her palm against his bristled cheek. “I love you so much.”

Leaning over his daughter, he pressed his lips to Dee’s, kissing her deeply, bringing forth all the love he held for her.

“Will you hit me if I thank you for giving me a daughter?” he asked quietly.

She buried her face against his neck. “No.
I
was so afraid you’d be disappointed.”

“Nothing you give me could ever disappoint me.”

A soft rap sounded on the door before it slowly opened. Houston stuck his head into the room. “Rawley’s been worried.”

Dee waved her hand. “Bring him in.”

Rawley shuffled into the room, cautiously approaching until he stood beside Dallas.

“Heard ya scream.”

Reaching out, Dee took his hand. “Sometimes, things hurt, but we get wonderful things in return.” She turned the baby slightly. “You have a sister.”

Rawley scrunched up his face. “A sister?”

“What do you think of her?” Dallas asked.

Rawley glanced up. “Think she’s butt ugly.”

Dallas grinned. “Give her a few years, and you’ll no doubt feel differently.”

“What are you gonna call her?”

Dee met Dallas’s gaze. “I was thinking of Faith,” she said quietly, “to remind us that we should never lose faith in our dreams.”

Dallas awoke to the sound of a small cry. The flame burned low in the lamp as he carefully eased away from Dee. He slipped out of bed and, in bare feet, padded to the cradle where he had laid his daughter earlier—after he had bathed her and marveled at her perfection.

Gingerly, he lifted her into his arms. “Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered. She stared at him with deep blue eyes, and he wondered if the color would change to brown.

He glanced toward the bed. Dee was curled on her side, her eyes closed, her breathing even.

Quietly, he crossed the room, pulled the curtain back, unlatched the door, and stepped onto the balcony. The warm night air greeted him.

Holding his daughter close with one arm, he pointed toward the distant horizon. “As far as you can see—it all belongs to you, Faith. Someday, I’ll take you to the top of a windmill and teach you to dream. When you reach for some of those dreams, you might fall … but your mother and I will be there to catch you because that’s what love means: always being there. I love you, little girl.” He pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek. “So much … it hurts. But I reckon that’s part of love, too.”

He stood for the longest time, holding his daughter, remembering a time when he’d been a man of small dreams, a man who measured wealth in terms of gold.

“What are you doing?” a sleepy voice asked.

He glanced over his shoulder as Dee sidled against him. “Just showing her the stars and wishing Austin were here.”

Dee slipped her arm around his waist and nestled her cheek within the crook of his shoulder. Carefully balancing his daughter within his embrace, he hugged his wife closer against him.

“He should have been here,” he whispered through the knot building in his throat. He still didn’t understand all that had happened, but in his heart, he knew his brother was innocent.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The detective he’d hired had been unable to find any evidence to prove Austin’s innocence or another’s guilt.

Dee laid her palm against his cheek and turned his head, until their gazes locked. “He chose to hold his silence for whatever reason—”

“It was a damn stupid thing to do, whatever the reason.”

She smiled softly. “You’d never do something stupid to protect the woman you love?”

He recognized from the warmth in her eyes that she knew she had cornered him. He had done something stupid: going after her alone, knowing death waited for him. And he knew beyond a doubt that he’d do it again, would risk anything for her. How could he condemn his brother for sacrificing five years of freedom when Dallas would gladly give his life to keep Dee from experiencing any sort of suffering?

Shaking his head, he gazed at the canopy of stars. His daughter would be walking by the time Austin came home. His son would be herding cattle. His wife would be building a theater in Leighton … and anything else that struck her fancy.

Drawing Dee more closely against him, falling into the depths of her dark gaze, he allowed himself to be lured into the glory of her love.

1887

Swearing viciously, Austin glared at the jagged cut on the underside of Black Thunder’s hoof. He released the horse’s foreleg, unfolded his aching body, and jerked his dusty black Stetson from his head. Exhausted, resenting the dirt working its way into every crease of his body, he stood beneath the April sun feeling as though he’d stepped into the middle of August.

Using the sleeve of his cambric shirt, he wiped the sweat beading his brow, grimacing as pain erupted across his back—from the middle of his left shoulder to just below his ribs. He had expected the gash he’d received during the brawl with Duncan McQueen to have healed by now, but he supposed riding all day, late into the night, and sleeping on the ground hadn’t been the best treatment for the wound. When he had ridden out of Leighton several days before, he hadn’t considered that he’d have no way to clean or tend the injury. Only one thought had preyed on his mind: the city of Austin might hold the key that would lead him to Boyd’s killer, the man whose guilt would prove Austin’s innocence.

Slipping his fingers into the pocket of his vest, he pulled out the map Dallas had given him. Wearily he studied the lines that marked the start of his journey and his final destination. He stuffed the wrinkled paper back into his pocket. He wouldn’t reach the town tonight.

Settling his hat low over his brow, he sighed heavily. He was no in mood to walk, but the stallion’s injury left him no choice. Gazing toward the distance, he saw smoke spiraling up through the trees. He threaded the reins through his fingers and trudged into the woods. Shafts of sunlight and lengthening shadows wove through the branches, offering him some respite from the damnable heat. With a sense of loss, he remembered a time when he would have appreciated the simple beauty surrounding him. Now he just wanted to get to where he was going.

He heard an occasional thwack as though someone were splitting wood. With the abundance of trees and bushes, he didn’t imagine anyone had to depend on cow chips for a fire.

A wide clearing opened up before him. Lacy white curtains billowed through the open windows of a small white clapboard house. The weathered door stood ajar. Near the house a scrawny boy wearing a battered hat and worn britches struggled to chop the wood. A large dog napped beneath the shade of a nearby tree. The varying hues of his brown and white fur reminded Austin of a patchwork quilt. As Austin cautiously approached, the dog snapped open its eyes, snarled, and rose slowly to its full height. Austin had often seen Dallas bring himself to his feet in much the same manner, and he knew it didn’t bode well for the person snared within the dog’s silver gaze. The animal curled back its lips back and deepened its growl.

Moving quickly, the boy dipped down, swung around, and pointed a rifle at Austin. He threw his hands in the air. “Whoa! I’m not looking for trouble.”

“What are you lookin’ for?”

“Austin. How far is it from here?”

“Half a day’s ride on a good horse.” The boy angled his head, the rumpled brim of his hat casting shadows over his face. “Your horse looks to be favoring his right leg.”