“Delivered by who?”
Grace set her own fork aside, and Dillon could see the determination building in her face. She was preparing to do battle, if necessary. “You don’t want to know, Becket.”
“Grace.”
“All right. It was Renzo,” Grace said quickly, practically spitting out the words.
Dillon shot to his feet, sending the chair he’d been sitting in flying backward. “The bandit?”
Grace looked infuriatingly calm and self-assured. “I told you that you didn’t want to know.”
Dillon grabbed his chair and righted it, then placed himself slowly and deliberately back into his place. He shoved the plate before him away and placed both hands on the table, leaning forward and looking into Grace’s too-perfect face. “Tell,” he ordered.
He listened to Grace’s story without saying a word, proud of himself that he didn’t interrupt even once. But when she told him that the bandit had asked her—again—to go away with him, Dillon ground his teeth together.
When she was finished he just stared at her for a moment. She was too damn calm about the whole incident. “From now on,” he said in a low voice, his efforts at calming himself making his voice stilted, “you don’t go anywhere without an escort.”
“Don’t be ridiculous….” She stopped when her eyes met his, and she evidently recognized just how serious he was. “You can’t expect me to stay in the house all day long, and I don’t need an escort to the barn.”
“You needed one this morning.”
Grace smiled at him, and she placed her elbows on the table and her chin on her intertwined fingers. “If Renzo had intended to carry me off, he would have done so this morning. If I had intended to go with him, I would have done so this morning. But he didn’t, and I didn’t, so there’s nothing to worry about, Becket.”
He didn’t have an answer for her, but what he belatedly recognized as fear clutched at his heart. He could have lost her just when he’d found her. If the damned bandit had carried her off he might never have seen Grace again. How could he protect a treasure like Grace? He couldn’t. Not really. He didn’t even have a right to claim her as his own. Not yet. Not until the profits from the cattle drive came in and he was assured that he would have something to offer her.
“Eat, you two,” Olivia ordered, the unbending tone of a true matriarch in her voice. “You young people need to keep your strength up. I swear, I never saw you so finicky, Dillon.” She leaned across the table and divulged her own secret. “There’s pie for dessert.”
Dillon pulled his eyes away from Grace, hard as that was. “Custard pie?” he asked, sniffing the air.
“Yep. And there’s a little bit of cake left from last night, though not quite as much as I remembered.”
Dillon had a sudden, clear vision of Grace with cake crumbs and dollops of sweet icing on her skin. He pulled his plate back toward him and began to eat. Olivia’s normally delicious food had no taste, but that didn’t stop him.
“That’s right, Becket,” Grace said innocently. “Clean your plate and you’ll get dessert.”
He looked up at her, trying to warn her with his eyes. But she was toying with her food again, looking down and avoiding his glare.
She tilted her head to one side and a strand of hair fell across one cheek. Her skin was still pale, but had more color than when he’d first seen her. The Texas sun? Or a flush he had put there himself?
Grace moved through the small room like a whirlwind, picking up discarded gowns and slippers, trying to make sense of the mess around her. She’d excused herself for the night, pleading exhaustion, as early as she dared. It was almost impossible to be in the same room with Dillon and behave normally, in any case.
Certainly he would come to her tonight. She told herself that, even though he’d seemed so distant. And he’d been so upset when she’d told him about Renzo’s visit. Of course, that had been none of her doing, but Dillon seemed to think differently.
After she made some order of the room she surveyed herself in the small mirror that hung above the dresser. She swallowed hard, wondering if this was right. Would Dillon love it? Or hate it?
The nightgown she wore was so sheer she could see right through the material. Every curve, her dark nipples. The shocking nightdress was a pale lavender, and there were darker lavender ribbons at each shoulder.
It had been at the bottom of one trunk, and had appeared to be untouched. The clothing at the top had been manhandled, but she imagined Renzo and his band of thieves had been looking for something more valuable than the nightgown she’d never had the nerve to wear.
A nightgown bought with money her father had sent.
It had been one of her small rebellions. She and a couple of classmates had been shopping, and this had been what she’d bought. Angry at her father, feeling excluded from the circle of well-bred young ladies who tolerated her, she had bought the most outlandish, the most daring nightdress she could find. Even the dressmaker who ran the shop tried to talk Grace out of her purchase, suggesting more appropriate items. There had been a moment when Grace thought the lady would refuse to sell. The high price, and a little extra, changed the dressmaker’s mind.
At the time Grace had imagined the girls whispering to their friends and sisters and maybe even their mothers about what that decadent and barbarian American girl had bought. And she had wondered what her father would think of his little girl buying a nightgown that clearly had no other purpose than seduction.
Once purchased, it had been stored in the bottom of a trunk, and Grace had forgotten about it. Until this morning.
She heard him climbing the stairs, his steps slow and uncertain. Would he come to her? Or would he pass by her door as if last night had never happened?
The heavy footsteps stopped outside her door, and the doorknob wiggled just a little, as if he’d placed his hand there but waited to turn it. And then he walked away, toward his own room, and Grace’s heart sank.
She went to the window and looked across the ranch. The Double B was Dillon’s place on this earth. And hers? Last night she’d been so certain, but now…
He could have smiled at her, just once, over the supper table. He could have cornered her at one time or another during the day for a small, tender kiss, a promise of what would come later. But he had ignored her, and scowled as always, and now…he had passed her by with such ease.
The door opened so quietly she didn’t hear it. The first sound she heard was Dillon’s rasping voice.
“What in the name of the devil are you wearing?”
Grace turned around slowly, suddenly shy about the diaphanous gown. “You changed your mind.”
He lifted his eyebrows and closed the door behind him. “I did?”
“About coming here tonight.” She wanted to sound strong, but her voice came out a hoarse whisper.
Dillon leaned against the door and watched her with clouded eyes. “You heard me?”
Grace nodded.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Grace.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea.” She took a step toward him. “You’re confused, and a little angry.”
“I’m a lot angry,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice.
Grace stopped in the middle of the room. Dillon would have to come the rest of the way…to her. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because I know I don’t deserve what you gave me last night. Because I know other men will always want you, will always try to take you away from me. And I don’t know if I can keep you.”
Grace smiled. “You told me last night that you’d decided to keep me. You strike me as a man who gets what he wants, Dillon Becket.”
He waited a moment to answer her, and he looked her up and down, taking in every inch of her body that was exposed through the sheer lavender nightdress. “Usually. Not always.”
Grace lifted her hand, inviting him to come closer, to come to her, and he did.
Their lips m
et, softly at first and then hard. They spent the frustrated energy that had built during the long evening as they’d sat in the same room, and pretended…pretended that they didn’t want just this. That energy burst forth and consumed them.
His lips were hot and moist, and tugged at her soul as he bent over her, searing her lips and her heart, making her burn for him.
Dillon grabbed a handful of the thin nightgown at her back and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest, trailing his lips down her throat as he slid down her body. Grace moaned and grabbed a handful of dark hair at the back of his head. She was holding on…to Dillon, to a thin thread of control…holding on for dear life.
The heat of his tongue pressed the thin and silky material against her hardened nipple, and she felt the strong tugging between her legs. Hollow—that was how she felt. She gently pulled his head away from her breast and lifted his face to hers. She wanted those lips. She needed to tell him, before it was too late, before she got so caught up in the heat between them that she couldn’t speak.
“Dillon,” she whispered his name, her breath against his lips. One thumb was circling a nipple, and one hand rested at the small of her back, possessive and impatient.
“You never need to be angry,” she whispered huskily. “No man has ever touched me but you.” She felt the tears gathering in her eyes. Tears of joy at what she had found. “No man will ever touch me but you. If I could be magically transported to any place on this earth, I wouldn’t go. This is the place I want to be. With you.”
She led his hand from her breast to her shoulder, and together they untied the slender ribbon there. The material fell, exposing one breast to the warm night air. But Dillon didn’t look down, and neither did she. Their eyes were locked, his gray eyes a softer shade than usual, a pale silver. His hand, still in hers, slid across her chest and rested on the other ribbon. When it was loosened, the nightgown slipped to the floor, pooling at her feet.
Dillon lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He left her only for the moments it took to shed his own clothes, and then he was with her, burying his face against her hair and her shoulder. Whispering into her ear, telling her that she was beautiful, telling her how much he wanted her.
Dillon was warm, and with his touch he chased away the chill that had once surrounded her heart. He was hard, his muscles and his strong face and his granite eyes, and he needed the softness she could give him.
Most important, he was hers, and she knew as he came to her that she would never be alone again.
Chapter Twelve
Grace had come to love riding the gentle mare Dillon had chosen for her. He’d told her, with a twinkle in his eye, that the horse’s name was Butter. It was true the fine animal was almost the color of butter, but she could feel the long-gone pain in her hands every time Dillon called the mare’s name. And then she remembered that it had been Dillon who’d finished churning that day, and he’d actually put one of the younger hands to the chore since then.
Grace and Butter never traveled far from the house, and the pace was always leisurely. Once she was pronounced capable of leaving the corral, she was instructed never to ride alone. Dillon reminded her of that dictate on a regular basis.
It was Billy who usually accompanied her on her short rides. Dillon was always busy during the day, so dedicated to the ranch that she barely saw him between sunup and sundown. But at night he was hers, and that was enough.
The only cloud in her life was the fact that Dillon had not yet told her that he loved her. He hadn’t said a word about marriage, either. Grace believed that it was true, that he did love her and wanted to marry her. But she longed to hear him say it, and to say the words herself.
She caught herself, now and again, actually mouthing the words during the day. I love you, Dillon Becket. But she was holding back, waiting for him to say it first.
If Billy or Olivia knew that there was anything between her and Dillon, they never gave any sign of it. Every morning Grace expected to greet harsh, disapproving eyes in the kitchen, but Olivia was always cheerful and bright. And Billy seemed never to change. He watched over her, and laughed with Dillon.
If Dillon had filled her heart, then it was just as true that Billy had filled an empty place inside her as well. He was the father she’d never had—warm and caring, funny and occasionally stern. He warned her about riding too fast or too far, and chastised her gently when she didn’t clean her supper plate, declaring her much too skinny. She didn’t mind his intrusions into her everyday life. It was what she had wanted and missed for years.
He had already told her that he would be unable to ride with her that afternoon. Dillon needed his help, and Grace had been instructed to stay close to the house. But she would miss her afternoon ride, and that was what prompted her to stray into the barn. She went to the stall where Butter was housed, and rubbed a creamy muzzle. The mare was bound to miss the exercise as much as she would, but there was nothing to be done for it.
“Afternoon, Miss Grace.”
The sound of the unexpected voice made Grace jump, and she spun to face the intruder. She’d been so certain she was alone. But when she saw who it was her fear fled, and she smiled.
“Hartley. For goodness’ sake, you scared me half to death. Why aren’t you with the others?”
He hesitated, and she could almost see his mind at work as he searched for an answer. Evidently Hartley was not as bright as she’d first thought. He looked a bit…dim at the moment.
“I turned my ankle,” he said in a low voice, “and the boss sent me back. I was looking for some of that salve he keeps in here.”
Grace went directly to the cabinet where Dillon kept several different greasy salves, and studied the contents with a frown. “I don’t know which—”
Hartley reached past her and grabbed a jar. He hefted it, testing its weight, and then replaced it. “You know, my ankle’s a lot better. I don’t reckon I need that salve after all.”
Grace sidled around the ranch hand and made her way back to Butter. When she looked over her shoulder, Hartley grinned widely and shifted back and forth on booted feet.
“You goin’ for a ride this afternoon?” he asked in an unnecessarily low voice. That gravelly voice suited his weathered face, Grace decided.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know my way around very well, and Dillon and Billy are both too busy to ride with me.” Grace faced the stall and her mare. She really had become accustomed to her afternoon rides.
“It’s such a pretty day.” When he spoke Grace realized that Hartley was right behind her. “Seems a shame…well, why don’t I ride with you, Miss Grace?” he asked with a hint of surprise in his voice, as if he’d just thought of the idea. “My ankle’s not as bad as I first thought, and we’re working so far away from the house today I really don’t have time to get back before the boss calls it quits for the day. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Thank you, but I really—”
Hartley opened the stall door and led Butter out; then he turned to Grace with a bright smile. “We won’t go far. You’ll be back long before suppertime, and I’m sure the boss won’t mind.”
The idea was tempting. She wanted to ride, and she wouldn’t be alone. Dillon had told her to stick close to the house, but he hadn’t known Hartley would be available to escort her. She almost declined again, and then Hartley patted Butter’s neck. Such a beautiful animal. Certainly Dillon wouldn’t mind. Not with one of his ranch hands along.
“All right,” she said with a smile. “Let me go tell Olivia where I’ll be.”
“Well, I don’t think so.” Hartley reached out and grabbed her arm, wrapping long fingers around her wrist.
Grace’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked down at the hairy hand that restrained her. Hartley leaned in, a bit too close for Grace’s comfort. “If Olivia knows what you’re plannin’ to do, she might try to stop us. She’s such a proper old woman.”
The long fingers unf
olded slowly, and Hartley backed away. Grace took a deep breath and relaxed. She was going to have to learn not to react so strongly to a casual touch. And she might as well start now.
“It’ll be fun,” Hartley whispered. “Just like kids sneakin’ off when they should be doin’ their chores.”
Hartley saddled her mare and led Butter from the barn. His own horse was hitched behind the barn, and Hartley glanced toward the house twice as he helped Grace into the sidesaddle.
She looked toward the house just once. A short ride, he had said.
Hartley led the way, taking a southern path she’d never traveled before. After a short ride the landscape seemed to be more barren, not nearly as scenic as the land east of the house. But still, she was glad for the change, and glad for a chance to see more of Dillon’s ranch. He and the hands were to the north this afternoon, she knew, and she wondered if that was why Hartley had chosen to head south.
Hartley brought his animal to a halt near a trickle of a stream, and dismounted with an easy grace. Without a word he lifted Grace from the sidesaddle, and Butter joined the other horse at the ribbon of water.
The sun was low in the sky, but it was still hot. A trickle of sweat ran down Grace’s face. They’d traveled a lot farther than she’d intended, but Hartley seemed to know where he was going. Besides, she couldn’t find her way back to the ranch without him. She’d been hopelessly lost five minutes after they left the barn.
“Time to head back?” she asked hopefully, sitting in the shade of a tall, flat rock and leaning against it. She was beginning to wish that she had stayed at the ranch. It was so hot, and if Dillon got back to the house before she did he would be worried. And she was such a mess. She had to have time to clean up before Dillon got home.
Hartley stood before her, his hands on his hips as he looked down. “I don’t think so.”
His easy smile was gone, and Grace felt a chill in spite of the heat. “But it will be late….”
He dropped down in front of her, blocking any move that Grace might have made. She couldn’t stand; she couldn’t even lean forward without touching Hartley’s hands or his knees.
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