by Jeanne Allan
A shocking image of Kyle as last she'd seen him seared across Dallas's brain. The laughing adventurer reduced to a shadow of his former self, the limp, the self-doubt, the sense of failure that had pervaded his every word. Few besides Clay would have been optimistic enough to dream of a future that held recovery for his brother. The pain in his voice cut through her anger, and, propelled by remorse, she left her chair. Standing behind Clay, she hesitantly touched his shoulder. 'When I was a skinny adolescent with braces and blemishes on my face, Alanna used to paint my toenails and make up my face, all the time telling me that I'd grow up to be beautiful. That's how I'd like to remember her.' She prayed that Clay would understand what she was trying to tell him.
Clay reached up and slowly squeezed the hand resting on his shoulder. 'Maybe it would be best if we left each other's memories intact. I'll try harder to keep my opinions to myself.'
'Thank you.' She returned to her chair. By the time they'd finished dinner, the silence between them had stretched to an unendurable length. Gathering her courage with the dirty dishes, Dallas asked, 'Shall I tell Sara that we are all going to be eating at five-thirty from now on?'
'Do I have any choice?' Without waiting for an answer, he added, 'So this is what married life is all about. A woman coming in and complaining about the food on a man's table and the house they live in, disrupting his whole routine.'
'It's about to be disrupted more. I've sent for my furniture, and I intend to make some changes.'
Clay followed her into the kitchen. 'And if I said I like my house the way it is?'
'Your house,' she exploded. 'Your cars. Your ranch. Your furniture. Your cow head. Your pictures. Am I eating your food, too? Drinking your water?' She slammed the plates on the kitchen counter. 'Would you like me to pay rent?'
'Damn it, Dallas. Don't be so quick on the trigger. Being married is as big an adjustment for me as it is for you. If you want to do something about the damned house, do it and quit whining about it. Just stay away from my bedroom.' Clay handed her a bowl. 'Which obviously is no hardship for you.'
'Who's whining now?'
'Don't push it, Dallas.' He leaned against a cabinet. 'Bedding a reluctant wife is one thing, responding to a challenge is something else.'
'I'm not challenging you to anything,' she said, loading the dishwasher.
'Why not? Afraid you'll lose?'
'Is that what marriage is all about to you? Winning and losing?'
'What's it to you?'
'I used to think it was sharing your life with someone because you couldn't bear not to. Now…' She shrugged and turned on the dishwasher.
'Did our marriage disrupt a relationship in your life?' he asked as they left the kitchen.
'A little late to ask, isn't it?'
'Better late than never. Well?' he prompted.
'No. How about you?'
'Nothing you need worry about,' Clay said.
'That's delightfully ambiguous.'
'I'll keep my marriage vows.' His eyes narrowed as he turned towards her. 'I'll expect the same of you.'
Dallas's heart was beating uncomfortably fast as she led the way into Nicky's bedroom. From anger at Clay's subtle threat, she told herself, not because for a moment his blue eyes had appeared darkly possessive.
Nicky smiled sleepily as they sat down on opposite sides of her bed. 'Dallas said tomorrow night you're gonna eat with me,' the small child said innocently.
Clay's eyes lanced Dallas across the bed. 'Then I guess I am,' he said.
'Dallas, too?'
'Of course. The three of us are a family now.'
Clay's words brought a lump to Dallas's throat. No matter his personal preferences, he would do what was best for Nicky. Clearing her throat, she asked, 'How about a story?'
'Yes,' Nicky said. She cuddled closer to Clay. 'Tell the story 'bout Snow and Walt.'
Dallas gave Clay a questioning look.
He grinned at her. 'Your favourite animal.'
'The cow in the living-room,' she guessed.
'The steer,' Clay said emphatically. 'This land was part of an old Spanish grant when my great-great-grandfather Walt Dalton, acquired it back in the late 1860s. He decided to run cattle on it so he went down to Texas and gathered a herd of Longhorns. Family history doesn't dwell on how Walt gathered his cattle,' he added with a grin.
Nicky tugged impatiently on his arm. 'Tell it right.'
'Well, sirree, now, ol' Walt, he roped hisself a steer,' Clay said in a drawling voice. 'A mighty big steer. White, so Walt, he called him Snow. That thar steer, he allus had to be first. Yes, sirree, ol' Snow, he didn' figger on no man or beast gettin' in front of him.'
'The stampede,' Nicky prompted.
'Who's telling this story, you or me?' Clay asked indignantly. 'One night thar come this real gully washer. Lightning so bright them cowboys reckoned it were day already. Thunder so loud it was wors'un the war drums of a thousand 'Paches.'
'And the cows was scared,' Nicky said to Dallas.
Them cows was so spooked they high-tailed it outta thar lickety split. Ol' Walt's horse unloaded him and lit out for Montana. Walt, he looked up and saw them cows coming and reckoned he was sure 'nuf done for.'
'But Snow saved him,' Nicky said with a big yawn.
'Yup. That ol' steer, he done let Walt ride him to safety. Some other cow-pokes 'lowed as how they wouldn't mind riding Snow after that, but Snow, he was doggoned if he would go along with their notion.' Clay looked down at the sleeping child before adding softly, 'Snow led the drive up the Goodnight-Loving trail a half-dozen times, and then Walt turned him out to pasture to enjoy old age.'
'All right,' Dallas said, switching off the light beside Nicky's bed. 'Since he's a family legend, I won't toss Snow out into the barn. That doesn't mean, however, that I want him in the living-room, either.' She slanted a quick glance at Clay. 'How about in your bedroom, since you're so fond of him?'
'How about in my office?' He stopped her in the hallway. 'Snow might get jealous in my bedroom.'
She could feel the blush stealing over her face, but she refused to rise to Clay's bait. 'That's fine with me. I'm never in there, anyway.' At her words, the gleam in Clay's eyes deepened. 'I mean, in your office,' she said quickly.
'Of course. What else could you mean?'
The barely suppressed grin on his face did nothing to cool her feelings. 'I'm going to my room. To read.'
Clay stopped her, his hand on her arm. 'Without saying goodnight, Mrs Dalton?'
CHAPTER THREE
Turning around was a mistake. Clay's lips were level with Dallas's. How could she have ever thought his lips were thin and ill-tempered? They looked cool and inviting. The corners turned up. He was laughing at her. She looked up to meet Clay's gaze. Amusement faded from his eyes, leaving them a blue that darkened like a pond with mysterious depths. The only sound was their combined breathing. And the pounding of her heart.
Words caught in her throat. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. His mouth settled on hers as lightly as a butterfly landing on a flower. Their lips barely touched, yet Dallas felt the sensation jolt through her entire body. She clutched Clay's shoulders for support. He seemed to sense her weakness and encircled her waist with his arms. Strength flowed from him into her body—a strength that was sapped by his next move as he deepened his kiss and drew her tighter against his body. The tips of her breasts were pressed against his chest. Was it only her imagination or could she feel the beat of his heart? One of his arms slid down from her waist to rest over the fullness of her hips. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.
Clay brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and pulled his lips from hers. 'Could it be that the marital bed you've made is growing a little lonely?' he asked.
With the question, her sanity returned. 'Definitely not.' She couldn't let him know how much the kiss had affected her.
'Too bad. Mine is. Sleep well, Mrs Dalton.' One last light touch on lips quivering with need and C
lay was gone. His study door closed firmly behind him.
On her left the Spanish Peaks loomed over the valley, storm-clouds clustered around their peaks. Dallas turned down the dirt road leading to the ranch. A large hawk took to the air with powerful strokes of his outstretched wings. A small creature was snared in his talons. This land tolerated no weakness; only the strong survived. Such as Clay.
An image of the man she'd married immediately filled her thoughts. Clay's strength was the quiet, enduring kind. The type of man who moved mountains, built railroads, settled countries. The type of man who knew no obstacle. Who rolled over mountains as if they were pebbles. Who would roll over her if she didn't fight back.
Except that fighting took on a whole new meaning with Clay. She could hold her own in a war of words. It was when Clay touched her that her weakness was exposed. His arms made a mockery of her defences. And he knew it. The amusement in his eyes each time he kissed her told her that he was playing with her as a cat toyed with a mouse. She didn't kid herself that she was holding Clay at arm's length. He would stay away from her bedroom only as long as it suited him to do so.
Her hands gripped the wheel. She needed more than the physical attraction which vibrated between them. Falling in love was no longer an option for her, but a marriage could be built on the foundations of liking and respect. Clay was right when he said that, if their marriage was a mockery, it was worse for Nicky than if they hadn't married at all. Nicky. Even though the child was starting to smile and laugh again, Nicky still had her bad times. For Nicky's sake, Dallas would make this marriage work.
Her resolve was hardened by Nicky's behaviour when Dallas arrived home.
'I thought you were gone,' the little girl cried, trembling as she clung to Dallas's legs.
'Didn't Sara tell you I went to Walsenburg?'
Nicky hung her head. 'I didn't believe her.'
Dallas knelt down and wiped the tears from Nicky's cheeks. 'Sara wouldn't lie to you. Let's go inside so I can show you a sample of the wallpaper for your bedroom.'
Nicky smiled through her tears. 'Is it pink?'
'Didn't my lady specifically request pink?'
'What lady?'
'You, silly.' Dallas dumped her packages on the living-room sofa and pulled the child on to her lap. 'I also picked up some books at the library, and I might be persuaded to read them to any little girl who gives me a big kiss.'
Nicky complied with a giggle. 'I'm glad you're here, Dallas. I love you.'
'How about me?' The deep, teasing voice came from the doorway.
'Clay!' Nicky bounced from Dallas's arms to be swept up by Clay. 'You know I love you, too.'
'What's all this?' Clay looked at the packages toppling from the sofa.
'My room,' Nicky quickly explained. 'It's going to be pink. With lots and lots and lots of ruffles.'
Clay gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Living with females, I suppose I'll just have to get used to feminine gewgaws.'
Nicky screwed her face up in puzzlement. 'What are gewgaws?'
'Silly things that girls like,' Clay said, tickling her.
'Are you a gewgaw?' Nicky asked. 'Sometimes you're silly and I like you.'
Dallas was unsuccessful in turning her laugh into a cough.
Clay raised a questioning eyebrow at her. 'Something you wanted to say?'
'No. I think Nicky said it all.' Standing up, she gathered her parcels. 'It would serve you right if I stuck pearl earrings in Snow's ears and draped lace around his neck.'
Clay chuckled. 'Well, as to that, ma'am, I don't rightly reckon ol' Snow's the pearly type. Why, that goldurned ol' steer'd prolly stampede right out of this here room.'
'I should be so lucky,' Dallas said.
Clay shook his head sadly at Nicky giggling in his arms. 'That's the trouble with eastern dudes. They jus' caint seem to cotton to our western ways.'
Much the same sentiment was forcibly voiced by Peter Dalton, Clay's father, a week later. 'Where the hell's ol' Snow?' he roared as he walked into the living-room looking for Clay.
Dallas stepped down from the stool she was standing on to measure the window. 'Clay's office. I'll get Clay.'
Clay's father was not to be side-tracked. 'I heard you were turning everything upside-down over here, but—but dad blast it, even Alanna never had the nerve to move ol' Snow,' Peter said.
'Perhaps you'd like to move Snow over to your house,' Dallas said, keeping a tight curb on her temper.
'Hell, no!' Peter bellowed. 'OF Snow belongs here. Why, he's been hanging here since my great-grandfather's time. You're messing with an institution when you move Snow.'
'I'll get Clay,' Dallas said, tight-lipped.
'I'm here,' Clay said from the doorway. His glance clearly told Dallas that he'd warned her.
'As soon as our business is taken care of, Clay, we'll haul Snow back where he belongs. She move him when you were away or something?' Peter asked.
'My name is Dallas,' she said, irritated by Peter's refusal to use her name.
'I was here,' Clay told his father. The expression on his face told Dallas nothing.
Peter snorted. 'I know what your name is, missy,' he said dismissively before turning to Clay. 'You're not going to tell me that you like this—this…' Clay's father waved his arms around the room.
'It's not finished yet,' Dallas said hastily. The curtains and decades of clutter were gone, and she'd painted the walls a soft blush, but the original furniture still remained, as hers had not yet arrived from Virginia.
'Listen, missy,' Peter pointed his hat at her, 'this house was good enough for my great-grandmother, it was good enough for my grandmother, it was good enough for my mother and it was good enough for Harriet. Well?' he demanded of his son.
Dallas snapped the tape-measure between her hands. She knew all too well how Clay would answer his father.
'As Dallas said, she's not finished, so it's a little premature to say whether I'll like it.'
'Hummpf. That's what I thought. We'll move ol' Snow back right now,' Peter said, 'no matter what missy here says. She has no right to come in and start changing things.'
Dallas refused to look at Clay.
'Aren't you forgetting something, Dad?' Clay's tone was mild. 'You sold this house to me. Whether my wife changes things around or not in our house is our business.' His voice hardened. 'And her name is Dallas, not missy.'
The silence that greeted Clay's words was absolute. Dallas might have giggled at the shocked look on Peter's face if she weren't so shocked herself.
After a few minutes, Clay added, 'I rather like having Snow in my office, but if he means so much to you, you can take him back to your place.'
Peter shook his head slowly. 'No.' He turned to Dallas. 'I guess I been a widower for so long I've sort of forgotten how womenfolk feel about their homes. There used to be an old bear rug lying in front of the fireplace. My grandfather shot that bear when it came around killing calves.' He smiled reminiscently. 'It may have been family history, but that moth-eaten old rug didn't last two weeks after Harriet moved in here. Funny how I'd forgotten about that. Guess a man has to give in to the womenfolk once in a while just to keep the peace.'
Dallas bit back a sarcastic rejoinder and murmured something she hoped was appropriate.
Clay stepped back to let his father lead the way from the room. Grinning wickedly at Dallas, he said, 'He meant that as an apology, you know.'
'It sounded as if he were throwing a bone to his dog,' she said. But she was talking to Clay's back as he followed his father. None the less, there was a warm glow in her stomach—along with a nagging sense of guilt. Clay had taken her side against his father. Not because he agreed with her. No, Clay had sided with her because he felt obligated to do so as her husband. And the trouble with obligations was that they were sometimes so two-sided. Clay had demonstrated his belief that a husband owed allegiance to his wife. Which raised the point—what did a wife owe her husband?
The question disturbed he
r throughout the day. Driving Nicky home from school, joining in the conversation at dinner, Nicky's bath and bedtime ritual— all the usual activities were only the background for a truth which pounded painfully and unceasingly at her. Being Clay's wife was more than signing her name Dallas Dalton or redecorating his house or overseeing his diet. A marriage could not sustain itself merely through conversation at the dinner table.
The problem was, once she'd shared Clay's bed, her life would no longer be the same. The act of love would be the same as locking the door to her gaol cell. Even saying her vows in Las Vegas there'd been the sense that the marriage was somehow illusionary and temporary. Sharing Clay's bed would make their marriage an irrevocable reality, but she could no longer evade making that final commitment.
Dallas gloomily looked around her new bedroom. The half-finished aspect of the room with its freshly painted walls and scarred juvenile furniture seemed to mirror the schizophrenic nature of her marriage. Legally joined as husband and wife, but physically still strangers to each other. Clay's defence of her today had seemed earth-shaking to her, and yet he'd acted as if he'd done nothing out of the ordinary. Dallas hung up her clothes and pulled a flannel gown from under her pillow, shivering in the chill of the night. Crawling between the icy sheets, she heard Clay's footsteps ascending the staircase. He passed her door without pausing. Why wouldn't he? Hadn't she stressed again and again that she wasn't ready for theirs to become a real marriage? Having made the momentous decision to consummate their marriage, it hadn't occurred to her that she'd neglected to consider one little detail. Clay wasn't a mind-reader to know that she had changed her mind.
Dallas curled into a ball beneath the covers. There was only one way for Clay to know what she had decided. She would have to tell him. Tomorrow, perhaps… She closed her eyes. Almost immediately she could see her father standing before her, erect in his blue uniform, his eyes registering understanding at the same time as he recognised her shirking. 'Do you really think it will be any easier tomorrow, Dallas?'