No Angel's Grace

by Linda Winstead Jones

  When they were back at the front of the cabin, Dillon took Grace’s shoulders and turned her to face him. This time he didn’t release her. He wanted so badly to kiss her that he leaned toward her almost without conscious thought, laying his lips over hers. She didn’t move away, but stood very still, her mouth soft and accepting. When he pulled away he saw the tears in her eyes, and on her face, and he reached out to wipe her cheeks with his fingers.

  “You can stay here,” he offered tentatively. “We can fix the place up. Bring in some new furniture and slap a little paint on her. You can have a garden, if you like, and…”

  The pained flash in her eyes silenced him. She looked as if he’d reached out and slapped her.

  “What are you saying, Becket?” she whispered.

  He held her face in his hands. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Grace turned white as she backed away from him, away from his hands. Her bluebonnet eyes were wide, huge in a pale face, and she stared at him as if he had turned into some sort of beast.

  “Are you asking me to live here…after you marry Abigail Wilkinson?” she asked in obvious horror.

  Dillon nodded his head, just beginning to realize that she was appalled by the idea. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “And visit me late at night while your wife is asleep? Sneak past the bunkhouse and over a couple of hills and into my bed when it’s convenient for you?” Her tears and the troubled look in her eyes were replaced by pure, hot anger. “Damn you, Dillon Becket. Do you think I have no pride? Do you think I’d live here and watch while Abigail has your children? And what happens when you’re tired of me? Would you send me away?”

  “Never.”

  Grace continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I saw enough of faithless husbands in England, but I never thought that you…” She almost choked on her words, and he watched as she regained her composure. “Do you really think so little of me?”

  “I want you here,” he insisted.

  Grace stared at him with all the fortitude he knew her to possess. She looked formidable, with that fire in her eyes, as she clenched her fists as if she wanted to strike him.

  “You made your choice, Becket,” she said coldly.

  “I had no choice.”

  Grace shook her head slightly as she stared at him, an almost incredulous expression on her beautiful face. “If I’d wanted to be a married man’s lover, I could have had a much nicer harlot’s nest than this one. An apartment in Paris, my own villa. I’ve had better offers, Becket.” There was an almost imperceptible softening of her eyes. “That’s not what I want. I can’t….” The words died on her lips.

  Dillon dropped down and scooped up a handful of dirt. “My blood and my soul run through this ground,” he said in a low voice. “My father gave everything he had to make this place work. He’s buried on this land, along with my mother and one of my brothers, and the two little girls who didn’t live even six months. Without this place, I’m nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered.

  “It is true. If marrying Abigail is the only way to save the Double B, I’ll do it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

  Grace backed away from him, and toward her mare. “I love you, Dillon, but you’re wrong. It’s just dirt. I’ll be no man’s mistress. Not even yours.”

  She turned away from him and mounted her mare quickly, turning toward the house. She didn’t turn back to look at him as he let the dirt fall between his fingers.

  He stayed at the cabin for a while, sitting on the porch, walking through the wildflowers. Dammit, she was right. He’d had no right to ask her, especially knowing the way men had treated her in the past. Sir whatshisname and that damn ruby. The Russian, Mikhail. No wonder she had run.

  I love you, Dillon. He could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d called him Dillon in the past month. It was always Becket, spit out or delivered with more than a hint of sarcasm. Another way she had of keeping her distance from him?

  Did he love her? He knew he did, if love meant wanting her all the time, and feeling nauseous at the thought of another man touching her. When Hartley had drugged her, and he’d thought she might die, he’d wanted to die himself. He dreamed about her, and she was in his thoughts all the time. But would that burn out? If he were to leave the Double B behind and take to the trail with her, what would happen?

  He knew what would happen. Eventually she would resent the life they led. She knew as well as he did that she deserved a better life than that of a wanderer.

  Would he eventually resent her for causing him to lose the Double B? He couldn’t be certain, but he had to say yes. He loved the place, and he wanted to see it go to his children, and then to their children.

  He thought about it as he rode slowly toward the house. He would forget her. He had to. Once he was married to Abigail, everything would be different. He had to leave Grace and the memory of what they’d had behind. By the time he reached the house he was determined to tell her as much. To apologize for his inappropriate offer. To write it off to exhaustion and frustration.

  But he never got the chance. He entered the house through the kitchen, and there was Olivia crying silently, sniffling loudly every few seconds.

  His first thought was that Billy had taken a turn for the worse. But when she looked at him he knew that wasn’t the reason for her tears.

  “What did you do?” she asked coldly.

  There was no use pretending. Obviously Grace had come in upset, and now Olivia was upset as well. How did a man survive in a houseful of women?

  “Nothing. I came to apologize to Grace.”

  “Well, you’re too late.”

  Dillon felt a cold grip at his heart. “What do you mean I’m too late?”

  “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself,” Olivia chastised sharply, wiping away her tears. “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Dillon asked, stomping through the house searching for Grace. He looked into every room, waking Billy and ignoring Olivia as the woman followed him closely.

  He finally ended up on the front porch. Everything inside him said Go after her, but he stopped on the steps.

  “Where did she go?” he asked softly.

  “Plummerton,” Olivia answered with a loud sniffle. “She was gonna take that mare, but I had Lucas take her in the buckboard. I just couldn’t allow her to go off all by herself.”

  Dillon nodded his head. “You did right, Olivia.” And, maybe, so had Grace. The attraction between them was too strong. Maybe apart they would be able to forget. To get on with their lives.

  “She just stuffed a couple of dresses into a little bag and said she’d send for the rest.” Olivia began to cry again. “I’m gonna miss that little girl.”

  Dillon turned and went back into the house, leaving Olivia standing alone on the front porch. The house seemed cold in spite of the heat, and empty. More empty than it had been in years. He remembered that hollow feeling. It had taken over the house after his mother had died, for a time.

  Grace was gone, and even though he knew it was for the best, he still felt as if she had kicked him in the gut and left him on the ground to flounder.

  Grace checked into the hotel with her single bag, and Lucas promised to see that Olivia packed the rest of her belongings. Then he would deliver the baggage himself. Grace had only been able to manage a halfhearted smile for the young man who’d watched her so warily.

  Her room was small but clean, and properly furnished with a small bed, a vanity and a chair, and a wardrobe for her gowns. It was a room often rented to patrons who intended to stay for a while, the clerk had told her with a smile. Some of the jewelry would have to be sold for expenses. Good heavens. She had no idea how long she’d be staying in the tiny room.

  She just knew that she could no longer stay at the Double B.

  Anger had consumed her for a little while, and then she’d realized the hopelessness of it all. Dillon l
oved the Double B. It was a love she found hard to understand, because she’d never really had a home. Even as a little girl, her father’s house had been cold and lonely, not a place she would cherish in her heart.

  Pragmatically, she turned her mind to the future. She’d have to get a message to Samuel Plummer, and tell him not to go to the Double B for supper tomorrow. No telling what sort of reception he’d get. Dillon was bound to be furious with her for refusing his offer and for running away.

  But she didn’t have any choice. She would have a husband and a family, and she would raise her children with all the love and affection she had missed. Even if she didn’t love her husband, she could still care for him. It didn’t have to be the white-hot passion she felt for Dillon. Maybe a more sedate and manageable affection was more appropriate for building a future. She didn’t need or want a man who made her lose control with his every touch.

  Grace stood at the window and looked down at the street. Plummerton was a bustling little town. The bank was just across the street, and there were shops all along the main thoroughfare. The general store, the blacksmith, the sheriff’s office…and there was more. A dress shop, a café, two saloons. It was a comfortable little town. A good place to settle down. But Grace knew she couldn’t stay. Plummerton was too close to the Double B, and Dillon. She needed distance, as much distance between her and Dillon Becket as she could manage. She couldn’t conceive of running into Dillon and Abigail at the general store, or the annual Fourth of July celebration.

  A familiar figure walked down the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street and paused in front of a vacant building. He peered through the windows and appraised the exterior of the building from the street.

  With a satisfied nod of his head, Renzo walked into the bank.

  What was Renzo doing in Plummerton? For a moment she was afraid he had gone into the bank to rob it, but she dismissed the idea quickly. He hadn’t appeared to be armed, and his stance had been so casual. But she stood anxiously by the window just the same, waiting for Renzo to reappear.

  She didn’t have a long wait, but the minutes dragged by. When he stepped onto the boardwalk, as confidently and innocently as any other citizen, Grace breathed a sigh of relief.

  She had been so intent on the bank’s entrance that she hadn’t seen Abigail. Dillon’s fiancée was walking delicately toward Renzo, a blue parasol that matched her day dress closed and clasped in one hand, her tiny little nose in the air.

  Renzo removed his hat as she walked by, and bowed from the waist, mouthing a greeting to Abigail. Abigail nodded, politely and frostily, letting her eyes rest on Renzo for no more than a second.

  But even after she passed, Renzo’s eyes stayed on Abigail. He held his hat over his heart and gazed after the woman who had snubbed him, until she climbed into her carriage and her driver took her away.

  Grace couldn’t believe what she had just seen.

  Bloody hell. Abigail Wilkinson was Renzo’s little jewel.

  Grace decided to visit Samuel Plummer’s office and deliver the message herself. The office was located in a small building, and a freshly painted sign hung above the door: SAMUEL PLUMMER, ESQ.

  The inside of the office was dark and stuffy, a problem not diminished by the dark furnishings and the heavy drapes that hung over the windows. It was no doubt meant to give the place a professional air, but Grace found it oppressive.

  Sam was bent over a stack of papers, and he lifted his head when she entered and closed the door delicately behind her. The smile that crossed his face was one of delight, and he rose immediately to cross the small room and take her hand.

  “What a wonderful surprise, Miss Cavanaugh.” He bent over her hand and kissed it, his lips barely touching her skin. It was pleasant, but that was all. She didn’t tingle in his presence, and her heart easily managed to maintain its steady pace.

  But he didn’t frighten her either. Not the way Wade did. Not the way men always had in the past.

  “You may call me Grace,” she said with a smile. “Under the circumstances, I think that would be acceptable.”

  Here was a man with impeccable manners, a winning smile, and a handsome face. Samuel Plummer was looking for a wife, ready to start a family. He had dark hair and blue eyes a shade or two paler than her own, and Grace could almost imagine what their children would look like. She had to focus on the family she wanted.

  Sam was more educated than most of the Texans she had met, and he was cultured. He’d appreciated her talent at the piano, and she would, at least, be able to carry on an intelligent conversation with him.

  And he was a little shy, a quiet man. He would be easy to control.

  “The reason I’m here,” Grace began, gently pulling her hand away from him, “is that I wanted to let you know I’ll be staying at the hotel here in Plummerton.”

  He didn’t ask why she had left the Double B, though she could see the curiosity in his eyes. “It will be delightful to have you so close by.”

  “I didn’t want you to ride all the way out to the Double B tomorrow evening and find that I wasn’t there.”

  He looked down into her eyes, very boldly for such a timid man. “I hope that’s not the only reason you came to see me. You’ve brightened my afternoon immensely.”

  Grace had a moment’s indecision, and she bit her bottom lip. He grinned at her, as though he found her reticence charming.

  “Do let me take you to dinner tonight,” he insisted. “The café serves a wonderful evening meal. I’ve never been disappointed.”

  Grace’s indecision was gone, and she gave Sam a brilliant smile. She didn’t love him, but she did like him. She would make him a good wife. People married for reasons other than love all the time. She’d seen it countless times in England, and of course Dillon was prepared to do anything to save the Double B.

  Dillon. After all he’d done, his choices and his hurtful suggestions, she shouldn’t care about him at all. Even now, in the midst of this anger and frustration, she had no command over the workings of her heart.

  It came to her as Sam took her hand again. There was no reason for Dillon to marry Abigail, if he didn’t want to.

  Grace didn’t draw her hand away from Sam this time, but let her hand rest in his larger one quite comfortably. His hand was not rough, like Dillon’s, but smooth to her touch. There was strength there, too.

  “Perhaps you can give me an answer to my proposal?” Sam prodded gently, hopefully. His face reddened a little, and Grace knew what she had to do.

  “Tonight, Sam,” she said sweetly. “Over dinner. You’ll have your answer.”

  Then she gave him a smile that left little doubt as to what that answer would be.

  If only she’d taken the time to pack more of her clothes before she’d left the Double B. Of course, she hadn’t been willing to take that extra time, and she would just have to make do.

  The striped green muslin would do quite nicely for the occasion. It was just a little austere, and very elegant. She sat outside the banker’s office, and not a hint of her nervousness displayed itself in shaking hands or trembling lips. This was too important to ruin with anxiety. If ever she’d been strong, this was the time for it.

  Mr. Plummer opened the door to his office and invited her in. He looked like a banker, a pale, overweight man who spent all his time behind a desk and discussing finances over steak dinners. He had a florid look about him, and Grace couldn’t even imagine that he was Sam’s father. There was no resemblance at all.

  “Miss Cavanaugh,” he said as she entered, curiosity blazing in his eyes and a bit of humor in his voice. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  He offered her a chair, and she seated herself slowly, regally, and only then did she lift her eyes to him. “Would you please close the door, Mr. Plummer? What I have to discuss with you is a private matter.”

  He did as she asked, with a superior smirk on his face, and then he seated himself across the massive desk from her.
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br />   “Mr. Plummer, your son has asked me to marry him,” Grace said chillingly.

  He nodded his head once, indicating that he was well aware of Sam’s proposal.

  “I am considering accepting his offer, Mr. Plummer, and I’d like to make you a proposition.”

  He raised his bushy eyebrows and leaned forward on the desk. “Just what the hell are you getting at, little lady?”

  Grace gave him a small and distant smile. “First of all, let me tell you what I can do for you.”

  Plummer leaned back and gave her a look that told her he was certain she could do nothing for him.

  “You’re a very rich man, Mr. Plummer,” she began.

  The banker nodded.

  “You have a town named after you, and all the property and wealth a man could want.”

  “Young lady, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Just exactly what do you think you can do for me?”

  “Is this what you want for your son?” Grace waved her hand to indicate the desk, the room, and even the town they were in. “Sam is a very intelligent man, but I don’t see that he has much of a future in Plummerton.” She took a deep breath. “And he can give you the one thing you can’t get for yourself.”

  Grace smiled and paused. This was where her plan would either work or fall apart. “Power. Not just over a town, but over an entire state. Perhaps even a nation.”

  He continued to stare at her with no emotion evident in his face.

  “Politics, Mr. Plummer. With my support Sam can go as far as he wants.”

  “If Sam was interested in politics, what would he need you for?”

  Grace gave the old man a confident stare. “Mr. Plummer, I’ve dined with royalty. Several of my school chums have married very well. They’re duchesses and princesses, the toasts of London and Paris.” She sighed, as if tired of defending herself. “One particular friend will be visiting the United States within the year, and her husband…well, I’m not at liberty to reveal his name at this time, but he is very interested in touring the Wild West. There will be lots of press coverage, balls given in their honor all over the country. I can introduce Sam to the cultural and political elite. After that, it’s up to him.