He took another step toward her, and Grace took a step back. “It was very silly of me to react so outrageously to Becket’s suggestion that I stay in my room. I dread to think what everyone must think of me.”
Wade’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, darlin’. It was a hoot. The whole town was laughing about it yesterday.”
“Truly?”
Wade nodded his head. “Truly, darlin’. You’ve got spunk. I like that in my women.”
Grace took another step back, and found she’d backed herself into a corner. What did Wade mean when he said his women?
He took another long stride, and she was trapped. Wade was too tall and too broad to try to go around, and he leaned one long arm against the wall beside her head.
“Abby told me what happened,” he said, his face much too close to hers. “About your pa, and Dillon being your guardian and all. I thought maybe you”—he leaned closer, and Grace realized with mounting horror that he intended to kiss her—“and I could be friends.”
He was lowering his face toward hers, and Grace moved her head back until it met the wall. She could smell him, she could feel his heat, and she wanted him to get away from her. But this was all happening too fast, and she couldn’t make a sound.
Wade stopped when his lips were almost touching hers. He looked into her eyes…too deeply, too intimately. “Don’t be scared, darlin’,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. I just want a little kiss.”
Suddenly Wade was gone, his face jerked away from hers without warning. She looked up, and there was Becket, dragging the bigger man toward the hallway. Becket had Wade by the collar, and was practically choking his intended’s brother as he pulled him out of the room.
Wade recovered, though, and jumped to his feet, jerking out of Becket’s grasp. “What the hell?” he shouted hoarsely as he spun to face Becket.
“Out,” Becket said simply, his voice low and calm.
Wade tugged at his collar and planted his feet wide apart. “Not just yet.” He turned his back on Becket, and faced her with a hint of a smile on his face. “I’ve come to ask if I can court Miss Grace.”
“No,” Becket said sharply.
Wade didn’t move at all, not even to turn his head away from her. “I wasn’t asking you, Dillon; I was asking Grace.”
Grace didn’t have a chance to answer before Becket answered for her. “No. I’m her guardian, and I’m the one you ask for permission to court her.”
Wade sighed heavily and spun around to face Becket. Grace tried to catch her guardian’s eye over the taller man’s shoulder, but all of his attention was on Wade.
“All right,” Wade drawled. “I didn’t know you were going to be so damned persnickety about this.” He squared his shoulders. “Mr. Becket, might I have the honor of courting your ward, the lovely Miss Grace Cavanaugh?” Sarcasm dripped from his words, words too sweet and easy.
Becket’s eyes finally lit on her, briefly, and then his attention was back on Wade. “No,” he said sharply and finally.
“Well, damn, Dillon,” Wade said, slapping his hat against his leg. “Why the hell not?”
There was a moment of silence, and finally Becket looked at Grace. His expression hadn’t changed at all. It was hard, intractable, and Grace couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking as he stared at her so intently.
“Grace? Would you like Wade to call on you again?”
She realized that she was shaking her head, quick, small hitches that were much too telling, but she stopped before Wade turned back around to face her. “It’s too soon after my father’s death,” she said breathlessly, wishing that she could sound as assured as Dillon Becket always did.
“There you go,” Becket drawled.
Wade left without his trademark smile on his face, with a curt good day to her and a scowl for Becket. Grace sat on the sofa and took a deep breath, her discomfort easing as she heard the front door slam and the racing hoofbeats that followed.
She hadn’t even heard him reenter the room, but Becket was there, lowering himself to take the seat beside her. He was close, but didn’t touch her.
He studied her for a moment before he spoke. “Wade didn’t hurt you, did he?” There was a hint of alarm in his voice.
“No,” Grace said softly, shaking her head. “I…I shouldn’t have allowed him to upset me so.”
How could she explain? I had no warning. There was no time to prepare for a confrontation with Wade Wilkinson. She had remembered, as he’d closed in on her, another time when a man had trapped her against a wall. But that had happened long ago, before she’d learned to watch her back. Before Dillon Becket had been there to rescue her.
She’d made a terrible mistake. For the first time in years she’d let her guard down, had allowed herself to relax. That was a horrible blunder.
Becket leaned back, removing his hat and dropping it onto the table beside the sofa. “Wade doesn’t mean any harm. He’s a bit rough around the edges. Thinks of himself as a real ladies’ man, but he’s really just a cowhand beneath those pretty words.”
Grace was staring into her lap, at the dark blue flowers that danced against a paler blue cotton background. And then Becket’s hand was beneath her chin, lifting her face upward so he could study her with those piercing gray eyes.
“You don’t have to be afraid here, honey,” he said in a low voice that was at once comforting. “I don’t want to see you pale and shaking like this.”
“I’m not—” Grace began.
He took a hand in his and lifted it. She could see it, the slight tremble that he had noticed.
Grace closed her fingers around his, trying to stop the tremors. His hands were warm and strong. “I’m sorry, Becket, really.”
“Dillon,” he whispered, leaning slightly forward, moving slowly but certainly toward her. He was going to kiss her.
She knew she could back away and he would stop. But she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by a man like Dillon Becket. There was no fear, as there had been when Wade had approached her, but her heart did beat a bit faster as his lips came close to hers.
Grace was still clasping his hand, and when his mouth was almost on hers his lips parted slightly. “Dillon,” she whispered, and then she parted her lips as he had, more out of instinct than anything else. Her heart was going to come through her chest, and she couldn’t breathe.
“Land sakes!” Olivia cried as she burst into the parlor.
Grace snapped her head back and away from Becket, and he jerked away from her as well.
“I was in the barn, and I saw one of the Wilkinson boys riding away from here like the devil himself was on his tail.”
Olivia was wiping her hands on a towel, her eyes on that chore rather than on Grace and Dillon Becket. If she’d seen them and been shocked, she was hiding it well.
“It was Wade,” Becket said calmly, his voice and his breathing normal. “He wants to court Grace.”
“Oh!” Olivia’s eyes lit up, and she smiled as she crossed the room. “How wonderful! Here only two days, and already you have a gentleman caller.”
“I told him no.” Becket stood and grabbed his hat, placing it on his head and tipping it back slightly.
“Whatever for?”
Becket strode from the room without a backward glance. “Grace can tell you.”
She watched his retreating back, his chestnut hair curling just slightly over his collar, and…good heavens…she could see every muscle beneath that sweat-dampened shirt and those denim trousers.
“I’m not ready,” she said in a small voice. “It’s…it’s too soon.”
“Of course,” Olivia said, taking Grace’s hand. The same one Becket had held. “How thoughtless of me not to think of that.”
Grace stood, allowing Olivia to continue to hold her hand. She’d been in this house two days, and already her defenses were crumbling. In a way it felt wonderful, and in another way it was terrifying.
G
race swung the bucket in her hand as she walked slowly toward the well. It hadn’t taken long to discover that Olivia Grant never ceased moving, and she expected the same unflagging energy from everyone around her.
This afternoon Grace had found herself idle for a change. Nothing in her hands that needed to be filled, cleaned, mended, or peeled. The next moment Olivia had handed her the bucket.
She wouldn’t complain. At least, not unless Becket made the mistake of asking her what she thought about her new home. She wasn’t conscious of the smile that stole over her face until she was wearing a full-fledged grin. Becket. Yesterday he had very nearly kissed her, and she hadn’t been frightened at all. Quite the contrary. She found his closeness to be exciting, exhilarating…and a little unsettling.
As unsettling as the bright sun that shone into her face. As unsettling as the fact that she found this place remarkably beautiful. The rustic buildings, the green hills, even the flat, dusty sections to the south. All beautiful. As beautiful as Dillon Becket himself. Dillon.
He didn’t fit the picture of the ideal man she had always clung to. Cultured, pale, refined. Distant. He was none of those. He was dark and hard and full of controlled passion. Dillon Becket would have been as out of place in London as she was in Texas. More.
Because she had never really liked London. She had never been happy there.
Grace drew water from the well. It was more of an effort than she liked to admit, and she felt an unwelcome trickle of sweat down her back. What she wouldn’t give for a bath! She had seen a small tub in Olivia’s kitchen pantry, but she hadn’t dared to ask about using it. Where would she bathe? Right there in the kitchen? Who would haul the water? She knew quite well who, and she wasn’t certain that it would be worth the effort.
But she was tiring of those quick and inadequate attempts at cleaning herself with a washcloth and a basin of water in her room. She wanted to lower herself into a tub of water and close her eyes and sit for an hour.
The murmur of voices on the other side of the house disrupted her dream. One was strange. One was Dillon Becket’s.
She glanced down at the disgustingly ugly brown dress she wore. It was old and faded and worn thin in places. It was also stained with sweat. She couldn’t let Dillon see her like this.
Grace left the bucket there by the well and lifted the ugly brown skirt to run from the approaching voices. She rounded the corner and backed herself against the wall of the house.
“Is she here?” a strange voice asked anxiously.
“I reckon she’s around here somewhere,” Dillon drawled lazily.
Grace knew they were talking about her, and was doubly glad she’d run.
“I…ummm…I’d like to call on her, Dillon.” The voice was hesitant, unsure, the voice of an anxious young man.
There were several seconds of strained silence before Dillon answered. “Grace is not receiving gentleman callers. She’s still grieving for her father.”
“Oh.” It was a dejected response, almost mournful. “I’m sorry to hear that. Damn, she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw. When do you think she might be…well…done with her grievin’?”
There was a hint of hope in that voice.
“I expect it will be quite some time,” Dillon said emotionlessly.
There was a full minute of silence, and Grace peeked around the corner cautiously, curious as to what her would-be suitor looked like.
Dillon was leaning against the well, lighting a cigar as he squinted against the sun. Her caller had his back to her. He was the skinniest man she had ever seen, and was bow-legged to boot. He shifted back and forth nervously and wrung an abused hat in his hands.
“What?” he finally ventured. “You figure a month or more?”
Dillon lifted his head and Grace quickly snapped her head around so he wouldn’t see her. “Maybe longer. I’ll have to let you know.”
She knew Dillon was not a patient man, and that was evident on his face at the moment.
“I just wanted to…I don’t know…get a head start on the other men in Plummerton.”
Dillon sighed, a long and loud sigh full of frustration. “Should I expect more callers for Grace?”
There was only silence, and Grace peeked around the corner again. Her would-be suitor was nodding his head up and down.
Dillon muttered under his breath.
Grace returned to her place, back against the wall, and a small smile crossed her face.
“Well, what do you expect, Dillon?” the man asked, his voice filled with his own frustration. “There’s not that many comely women in these parts, and you’ve already got Abigail Wilkinson spoken for.”
Grace’s smile faded.
“You could do me a big favor, Clifford,” Dillon said, ignoring the man’s outburst.
“What’s that?” Clifford asked suspiciously.
There was another long moment of silence, and Grace resisted the impulse to take another peek.
She heard another deep sigh before Dillon began to speak. “I’ve been a mite jittery lately. What with rustlers to worry about, and renegades. Did I tell you we ran into a band of Mexican bandits on our way from San Antone?”
There was a brief pause. Grace didn’t look to see if Clifford was nodding or shaking his head.
“Well, we did,” Dillon continued. “Yep, I’ve been real jittery lately. Why, I reckon if I saw a stranger riding up toward the house…I might just have to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I…I…I…” Clifford stammered. “I’ve known you all my life, Dillon,” he said nervously. “I’m no stranger.”
Grace heard a loud, tsking sound. Dillon, no doubt.
“That’s true. And I like you, Clifford, I really do. Did I tell you that my eyes are gettin’ real bad?”
Another moment of silence. Grace didn’t have to peek to imagine Clifford shaking his head vigorously.
“Yep. I’d feel just awful if I shot you or anybody else arriving unexpectedly here at the Double B. Just awful.”
“I…I ’spect you would,” Clifford said lamely. “I…I’ll see you a-around. Maybe in town sometime.”
“Clifford?” Dillon called in a voice that was suddenly light.
“What?”
“Spread the word, would you? About my bad eyesight and rustlers and Grace not receiving any visitors.”
“Sure, Dillon,” Clifford called nervously. “I’ll do just that.”
Grace stood with her back against the wall for a few long moments. She heard heavy footsteps in the dirt, going back the way they’d come. One pair of boots or two? She couldn’t be certain. It wouldn’t hurt to stand in the shade for a moment or two longer, in any case.
The smile that had disappeared at the mention of Abigail Wilkinson’s name stole back. There would be no more awkward visits from men like Wade Wilkinson and the frightened Clifford. Dillon had taken care of that. As he seemed to take care of everything.
“You can come out now,” Dillon said tiredly.
Grace peeked around the corner and saw Dillon standing by the well and looking right at her. It was too late to retreat again.
“Good afternoon,” she said formally.
Dillon dropped a half-finished cigar into the dirt and ground out the tip with his boot.
What should she say? Thank you? It seemed an odd response, but appropriate. Before she could say anything, Olivia burst through the kitchen door.
“Land sakes, where is that water?” she asked brightly. Grace stepped around the corner and Dillon turned away, walking steadily and with long strides toward the barn.
Grace went to the well, her eyes on Dillon’s back the entire time, and picked up the half-filled bucket. “Sorry,” she said as she turned toward Olivia. “I’m afraid I was being horribly lazy and hiding in the shade for a moment.”
Olivia just laughed. “No harm in that, child,” she said warmly. “There’s nothing quite as decadent, or as wonderful, as a stolen moment in the shade on a warm day.”
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The broad woman held the kitchen door open for Grace.
“Wonderful, yes,” Grace agreed. She sighed. “But not as wonderful as a real bath, with soap, and water to my ears, and a fat and fluffy towel. And scented oil. Rose. No, lilac, I think,” she said dreamily.
Olivia chuckled and took the bucket from Grace. “Do you want a bath, dear?”
Grace pushed away a sweat-dampened tendril of hair from her face. “Terribly.”
“Well,” Olivia said confidently. “We’ll just have to see what we can do.”
He was riding back to the house with an energy he normally didn’t feel at the end of a long day.
Grace was there.
At least he hadn’t been bothered with any more gentleman callers for her in the past few days. Clifford had done his job well.
He reined in his stallion as soon as the house was in view. There wasn’t another place in the world like this one. No place more beautiful. No place he belonged the way he belonged here, on the Double B. It was more than his legacy; it was his heart.
Grace could learn to love it here just as much as he did.
A breeze kicked up and cooled his face. It was too soon to tell if he’d be able to offer Grace a life here, but he could imagine it well. Grace in his bed, the Double B secure again.
And he wondered, as he approached the house, if a man was meant to have everything he wanted.
Grace was concentrating so hard on the task before her that she didn’t even hear Dillon until he was right behind her.
“Olivia has put you to work again, I see,” he said lazily.
All she could do was glance over her shoulder to him. He was covered with dust, and sweat trickled down his face and neck. She’d seen very little of him in the days since he’d almost kissed her in the parlor. It had been five days since that almost-kiss she couldn’t forget.
She’d been at the Double B a week, and she probably hadn’t seen Dillon a dozen times.
Lots of work to catch up on, he’d explained one evening as he devoured the meal Olivia had prepared.
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