No Angel's Grace

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “You wouldn’t like Kirby either,” Dillon snapped. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

  Grace smiled. Suspicious, was he? “I’m a practical woman. I might as well make the best of the situation, don’t you agree?”

  He had to agree. It was his blasted idea.

  “I have to get to work.” He maneuvered his way around Grace, and she allowed him to go. That was enough for one day.

  “Think about it, would you?” she called after him. “I’d like my husband to be someone you approve of, since you are my guardian.”

  Dillon mounted his horse, keeping his back to her, and he rode away without another word. But Grace was satisfied.

  “Yes, give it some thought, Dillon Becket,” she said to herself, and she smiled at his retreat.

  She was entering the barn, still contemplating Dillon’s reaction and smiling brightly, when an arm snaked out of the darkness and grabbed her. Grace didn’t have time to scream before a hand clamped over her mouth.

  But this time she recognized the method of greeting, and relaxed even before the hand slid away from her mouth.

  “Good morning, Renzo,” she said sweetly, before she glanced over her shoulder.

  He released her slowly, and she turned to face him. He was dressed all in black, as usual, with polished silver conchos on his flat-brimmed hat and his boots. The wide silk sleeves of his black shirt flared dramatically, and as always his thin mustache was perfectly shaped, giving him a rather dashing flair. But there was something different about Renzo this morning. It was the absence of his customary bright smile.

  “Buenos días, my beautiful Grace,” he said in a low voice.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked curiously. “I thought you’d be far away by now.”

  He shook his head. “Ah, I should be. My men have moved on without me, and I have come to ask for your help.”

  “What could I possibly do for you?”

  “I am in love,” Renzo said, his voice dark and foreboding. “For the first time in my life, I am truly in love.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow and took a step back. Surely he was not in love with her? And then she knew he wasn’t. There was such a far-off look in his eyes.

  “You certainly don’t need my help….”

  “But I do,” he said desperately. “She is a lady, like you. Refined and genteel. Sweet and innocent. I don’t know what to do, what to say to a woman like that.” He grabbed her hands and held them tight. “Teach me, Grace. You’re the only true lady I have ever known. Tell me what to do.”

  “Who is she?”

  Renzo gave her a crooked grin, the grin of a naughty boy. “I don’t know her name. I am afraid to approach her, afraid I will scare her away.”

  “You haven’t even spoken to her?”

  Renzo shook his head. “Not yet. I don’t know what to say to my little jewel.”

  “Your little jewel?”

  “She shines like a diamond in the sunlight,” he said dramatically.

  He was looking at her so strangely, like a puppy who wanted to jump into her lap but, like a well-trained pet, waited anxiously for permission.

  What if she insisted that he stay at the Double B while she instructed him in the proper way to woo a lady? Dillon would be absolutely furious.

  Grace stepped back and looked Renzo up and down critically. She placed her hands on her hips and paced in front of him for several minutes before she spoke. “First of all, while I find your outfit dashing, it really isn’t suitable for a gentleman, and you must be a gentleman to win a lady’s heart.”

  Renzo nodded his head. “Sí.”

  “You need something…understated. Simple. And I’m afraid the mustache will have to go.”

  He raised his eyebrows in skeptical distress.

  “It’s much too rakish,” she explained.

  Renzo reluctantly agreed.

  “She must be very beautiful.”

  The bandit nodded and smiled. “She is. Not as beautiful as you, of course,” he added gallantly, “but she has a beauty that shines into my heart.”

  “She’s a lucky girl,” Grace said softly.

  “You will help me?”

  Grace nodded. She’d never thought of herself as a matchmaker or a reformer of men, but it was such an interesting challenge. And it would infuriate Dillon. That was a side effect not to be quickly dismissed.

  “What’s your name? Your real name,” she clarified.

  “Renzo,” he said, obviously confused by her question.

  “Your full name.”

  Renzo threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Lorenzo Porfirio Morales,” he said proudly.

  “Are you wanted anywhere under that name?”

  Renzo shook his head. “No. Even my men knew me only as Renzo, and of course we were never apprehended.”

  “Of course,” Grace repeated.

  Renzo watched her pace, his patience clearly wearing thin with every step she took. In moments the normally composed man was fidgeting. It really was rather sweet, Grace decided, that love would turn even a man like Renzo into a nervous wreck.

  She stopped in front of him and stared into his black eyes. “Lorenzo Morales. That’s how we’ll introduce you. But first you must shave off the mustache, and we’ll get you some new clothes.”

  “I can stop a stagecoach and—”

  “No!” she shouted. “That’s the most important change. No more stealing.”

  He frowned. “None at all?”

  “None.”

  “Not even—”

  “None!” Grace insisted loudly. “If you won’t do as I say, you can find someone else to help you.”

  Renzo raised his finely arched eyebrows and looked down at her with wonder in his black eyes. Grace wondered if any woman had ever shouted at the man, or defied him in any way. He was accustomed to being in charge, the leader of his own band of thieves.

  And then he gave her a small, crooked smile, combined with a courtly bow. “I place myself in your hands, señorita.”

  Renzo charmed Olivia with the ease of a man who is accustomed to having no difficulty with women, young or old. Even without the mustache, and dressed in clothes Grace had found in the big empty bedroom upstairs, he looked dashing. And nothing like the gentleman he wanted to be.

  But he was a changed man, and she was hoping the change would be dramatic enough to keep Billy and Dillon from recognizing him right away. That was a brief and fleeting thought. She knew they would recognize Renzo the minute they saw him.

  Olivia, fortunately, had no idea that he was a bandit. Grace had introduced him as a fellow traveler she had met on her journey through Texas. That was the truth, after all.

  They had a pleasant meal, just the three of them, before Billy came dragging in. Renzo was just finishing his dessert, a slice of Olivia’s raisin pie, when Billy plodded into the room. He gave Renzo a startled glance, as he would have any stranger at the table, and then recognition dawned on his face.

  Grace stood and stilled whatever words Billy had been about to speak. “Do you remember Lorenzo Morales, Billy? We met him on the road.”

  Billy glanced at her, and then he looked at the smiling bandit. Grace could almost see his mind at work, and she held her breath until Billy evidently decided to play along.

  “Why, yes. I do remember.”

  Grace resumed her seat. “He’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

  “He is?” Billy sat down and Olivia brought him a heaping plate of beef and potatoes. “Does the boss know about this?”

  Grace shook her head and turned to Billy her most innocent face. “Not yet. Perhaps you could round Becket up after supper and inform him that he has a guest. I would tell him myself, but I have no idea where the man is keeping himself these days.”

  Billy wolfed down his supper, a suspicious eye on their guest. All in all, Grace was pleased with events so far. Renzo had been well behaved, and Billy was properly cauti
ous. When Billy excused himself, rather brusquely, from the table, Grace knew it wouldn’t be long before Dillon made a rare appearance in the house.

  He must have been bedding down in the bunkhouse, because it was just a few minutes before Grace heard Dillon storm through the kitchen door.

  It occurred to her—belatedly—that she should have warned Renzo about the situation, but it was too late now. Even so, Renzo was smart enough to realize the danger of being confronted by Dillon Becket. Grace gave her bandit a reassuring smile just as Dillon appeared in the doorway.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Olivia almost jumped out of her chair, startled by the rude and gruff tone of Dillon’s voice.

  “I’ll fix you a plate,” Olivia said as she rose, but Dillon placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her back into her seat.

  “I’ve already eaten,” he snapped, his eyes on the thief who was dining at his table.

  “You do remember Mr. Morales,” Grace said calmly. “Lorenzo Morales?”

  Dillon looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “I remember Mr. Morales quite well, Grace.”

  “Good. He’s going to be staying with us for a while.” She pulled her eyes away from Dillon and smiled warmly at Renzo.

  “Like hell—” He stopped suddenly and stared at the shirt and vest Renzo was wearing. “Those are my father’s clothes.”

  “I found them in the large empty bedroom upstairs, where Mr. Morales will be staying.”

  “You put him in my father’s room?” Dillon turned to her, ignoring the subject of their conversation.

  Grace sighed tiredly. “Really, Becket. What choice did I have? The smaller bedroom that’s unoccupied is such a mess. Olivia’s sewing supplies, a couple of chairs that need to be repaired, a chest of winter clothing…”

  “I could stay elsewhere, if there’s a problem,” Renzo said gallantly. “We just thought it would be more convenient for me to stay here.”

  “Convenient,” Dillon repeated dully.

  Grace rose, glad that she had taken the time to change into one of her nicer dresses. The strawberry silk made her skin glow, and she wanted Dillon’s eyes on her, not on Renzo.

  With deliberately slow steps, Grace moved to stand behind Renzo’s chair and place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s really very romantic. Mr. Morales has decided to change his life. To leave behind all that he knows for the woman he loves. I am going to instruct him in the ways of a gentleman.”

  Renzo lifted his hand to cover hers and, ignoring Dillon, moved her hand to his lips. “I have never known a woman like Grace,” he said in a low voice. “She is remarkable.”

  Renzo looked up at Grace and grinned wickedly.

  Dillon’s face turned red, and the muscles at his throat were working as he controlled his outrage. “If you think I’m going to allow—”

  “Allow what, Becket?” Grace tried to capture his eyes, but they were intent on the hand that was still clasped in Renzo’s. “You’ve always said that this is my home now. Certainly I’m allowed to have guests.”

  A subtle change came over Dillon. His color returned almost to normal, and some of the tension left his face. There was a look of sad surrender in his eyes.

  “Of course, Grace,” he said without looking at her. “If that’s what you want.” Dillon turned on his heel and stalked into the kitchen and out the back door.

  Olivia was pale, and apparently confused, as she rose to clear the table. “Sometimes that boy acts so strange. He’s just been working too hard,” she explained, her tone apologetic.

  When they were alone, Renzo laughed lightly. “You could have warned me, amiga,” he said as he kissed Grace’s hand once again, and then released it.

  “Warned you of what?” Grace asked innocently.

  Renzo stood and turned to face her, and he took both of her hands in his. “You could have warned me of the little game with your Becket. I shall have to sleep with a knife under my pillow and a gun at my side.”

  “I don’t think he’ll hurt you,” she said, but evidently Renzo wasn’t reassured.

  He looked down at her skeptically. “I will endure many dangers to become the man my little jewel deserves.”

  “She’s very lucky, Renzo,” Grace whispered.

  He gave her a devilish smile that told her he agreed with her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw a hint of movement at the window. She wanted to move her head, but she remained very still, keeping her eyes on Renzo. Were they being watched? By Dillon?

  She moved her face forward just slightly, closer to the handsome man who still held her hands, and she smiled slightly. “Kiss me, Renzo,” she whispered.

  He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I believe we have an audience,” she explained softly. “Don’t look, but I believe Dillon is watching through the window.”

  Renzo enjoyed the game, and perhaps even the danger, because he gave her one of his dazzling smiles and bent to touch his lips to hers. He gave her a short but searingly passionate kiss. A kiss that would have melted another woman’s heart and left her swooning. A tender hand moved over her back, and he leaned Grace back, just slightly, over his arm.

  But Grace was thinking only of Dillon as Renzo released her and she heard the kitchen door slam.

  Dillon was back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace and Renzo managed to step apart before Dillon burst into the room. He was clenching his hands and watching her and her guest through narrowed eyes, but what could he say? He certainly wouldn’t admit that he’d been watching them through the window.

  Again, Grace thought how fortuitous it was that Renzo had arrived when he did. Dillon already knew that the bandit had asked her—twice—to run away with him. Now he believed that Renzo was willing to change his life for her. Surely if Dillon was to be convinced that he couldn’t marry Abigail, Renzo would do it.

  Grace and Renzo retired to the parlor, and Dillon was right behind them. He refused to speak, but lit a cigar and kept a close eye on the two of them. Grace and Renzo sat on the sofa, a respectable distance between them, and Dillon placed a high-backed chair so that it faced the sofa before he sat, stretched out his legs, and took a long draw on that disgusting cigar.

  There was a most uncomfortable stretch of silence before Renzo rose and excused himself for the evening. A wise move, in Grace’s opinion.

  Grace half expected Dillon to rise and leave the room on Renzo’s heels, rather than continue to be subjected to her company, but he stayed in his chair and watched her silently, an expression nearing puzzlement on his face. There was a little less control there, a bit of uncertainty that wasn’t normally a part of Dillon Becket’s personality.

  Grace placed her hands in her lap and forced herself to remain calm. She would not allow Dillon to confuse or rattle her. All her plans hinged on convincing him that she could and would marry another man.

  “So, what do you plan to do with him?” Dillon finally barked harshly.

  “With Lorenzo?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, with Lorenzo,” he said, seething.

  “I’m not sure.” Grace leaned forward and faced Dillon as calmly as she could. “He has a charming personality, so I suppose he would make a fair merchant. I must remember to suggest that to him.”

  Dillon scoffed in disbelief. “The man’s a thief. He’ll always be a thief.”

  Grace lifted her hand slowly and pushed back a loose strand of hair that brushed her cheek. “Perhaps you could give him a job.”

  Dillon didn’t refuse hastily, as she had expected, but raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “It makes perfect sense, Becket. I like it here. Since you don’t care for me at all, it shouldn’t bother you to have us here.” She kept her eyes wide and innocent. Not an easy task.

  “I can’t believe that he would make a decent cowhand.”

  “You’ll never know unless you give him a chance. And wouldn’t it be cozy? You and Abigail, an
d me and Lorenzo, all snug and friendly under the same roof.”

  For a moment she thought Dillon was going to explode and come flying out of his chair. His face reddened, his eyes glittered harshly, but when he spoke his voice was calm.

  “You said you wouldn’t stay.”

  “But you said I could, if I wanted. Perhaps I’ve reconsidered your offer. If you can do it, Becket, so can I. I can forget…well, we’d best not speak about it.” She rose and clasped her hands demurely at her breast. “It’s been a hectic day. I should get to bed.”

  She turned in the doorway and looked back at him. He was in control once more, that shield over his eyes and that tight rein on his emotions. Just a moment ago she’d believed that he was going to leap from his chair and take her in his arms and forbid her to marry another man…but not now.

  “I’ll think about it, Grace,” he said in a low voice. “But I want you to think about it, too. He’s a bandit. Perhaps he’s convinced you that he can change, but I don’t think it’s possible. I only want what’s best for you.”

  She couldn’t take it anymore. What was best for her! Blast him, he was what was best for her. He was just too blind to see it. “Good night, Becket,” she snapped, turning her back on him while he was in midsentence.

  Dillon climbed the steps with slowly mounting dread. He tried to tell himself that he was only going to sleep in his bedroom because he was already in the house and it was more convenient than going back to the bunkhouse. His own bed was certainly more comfortable than what waited for him out there.

  But the truth was, he refused to leave Grace upstairs alone with that damned bandit, sleeping across the hallway from a man who looked at her as if he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and make off with her…which was, no doubt, exactly what Renzo wanted to do. Dillon had been sitting in the parlor for better than an hour fuming over that fact.

  Grace had smiled at Renzo so easily…kissed him so easily.

  Dillon knew it would be hard to walk past Grace’s door and not walk in. It was killing him, a little every day, to know that she was so close, and still he couldn’t touch her.

  He shouldn’t be so angry. She was only doing what he wanted her to do; she was getting on with her life. But Lorenzo Morales? He could change his clothes, and shave off his mustache, and become a merchant…and he would still be a low-down, thieving, Mexican bandit.