Where was he? Surely he hadn’t tired of his new vocation so soon that he was leaving the shop open and unattended for just anyone to plunder? If anyone should be cautious where thieves were concerned…
Grace stepped past the curtain that separated Renzo’s display area from the storeroom and small bedroom where he’d been sleeping. Perhaps he was working or resting and hadn’t even heard her.
He was bent over something, and all she could see was his broad back, the black shirt stretched across his straining muscles.
“There you are,” she called. “Didn’t you hear me come in? I could have…”
Renzo jumped up and spun around, and almost dumped a disheveled Abigail on the floor in the process. Grace had never seen Renzo look like this—his careful control gone, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes replaced by fire.
“Oh my,” Abigail said breathlessly, glancing past Renzo and blushing, as well she should. Her lips were swollen, a strand of hair fell across one cheek, and the top two buttons of her prim green day dress were undone.
Grace stared at them for a moment, realized her mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.
“Oh my,” Abigail said again, straightening her hair as she chewed on a red bottom lip.
Grace turned on her heel and swept through the curtains. She wouldn’t say a word. She would pretend that she had seen nothing.
How could that woman claim to love Dillon one day, and then fall all over Renzo the next?
She spun back around just as Renzo broke through the curtains. “Amiga,” he began warily. “I must apologize.”
“No. I should have called out for you instead of barging in. I never dreamed…I didn’t mean…” She couldn’t be angry with Renzo. He was only pursuing what he had wanted from the moment he’d seen Abigail. It was Abigail, that little traitor, whom Grace wanted to confront.
Abigail stepped into the room and hid for a moment behind Renzo. When she stepped into the open, Grace saw that she had repaired her appearance. Her hair was neat once more, and her dress was properly fastened at the neck. But there was nothing she could do about the high color on her face.
Grace was trying to think of something damning enough to say, something sufficiently full of venom, when Abigail ran past her, poise gone, restraint forgotten. Dillon’s fiancée didn’t stop until she was standing in the open doorway.
Grace stared at Abigail’s back for a time, watched it stiffen and straighten, watched the neck grow a bit taller. And then Abigail turned slowly to face her.
She looked directly at Grace, ignoring an obviously miserable Renzo. “Miss Cavanaugh,” Abigail said, her voice shaking slightly. “Would you care to join me at the café for a cup of tea?”
The café was quiet, and Abigail and Grace had a corner to themselves. A china pot of steaming tea sat in the center of the small round table, and two matching cups had been placed before the silent women. It seemed so absurdly normal, Grace thought as she waited for Abigail to speak. So…un-Texan.
Finally Abigail lifted her head and took a deep breath, apparently gathering the nerve to speak. She looked so forlorn, so lost, that Grace almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“There’s really no one I can talk to,” Abigail said defensively, and in a conspiratorially low voice. “My mother died when I was ten, and…I don’t really have any close friends.”
Blast it, Grace thought as she spooned too much sugar into her tea. The woman was going to beg.
“I won’t tell,” Grace said harshly. “It’s none of my concern how you conduct yourself. Just because you’re a woman about to be married…” Grace stopped speaking when Abigail’s eyes shone with unshed tears. It was going to be bloody difficult to chastise the woman Dillon was to marry.
“I’m so confused.” Abigail leaned forward, closing the space between them. “Could you tell me…I mean, have you ever…” She chewed on her bottom lip, first one side and then the other, and she tapped her pale fingers against the teacup. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Grace didn’t have a chance to answer that question before Abigail rushed forward. “I don’t mean a normal little kiss, I mean a…a—” Abigail turned an almost alarming shade of red—“a real kiss that makes your knees wobble and your stomach drop.”
Abigail’s brown eyes were wide, and she waited expectantly for an answer.
“Yes,” Grace said simply and softly.
Abigail leaned back and sighed with relief. “Then it’s normal. Thank goodness. I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“Renzo?”
Abigail nodded shyly. She looked so much younger than at any other time Grace had seen her. Her lips were not pursed tightly; her forehead wasn’t furrowed. She looked fresh and…beautiful. Grace had never thought Abigail beautiful before.
And she wasn’t finished. There was still a question in her brown eyes. Abigail stirred her cup of tea unnecessarily, and the clink of the silver spoon against china was the only sound in the room.
“Have you ever kissed Dillon?” Abigail asked so softly that Grace could barely hear her.
“Yes,” she answered just as softly.
Abigail lifted her head and met Grace’s eyes. “Did it make your knees wobble and your stomach drop?”
“For heaven’s sake, Abigail,” Grace said harshly, leaning forward and sloshing a bit of still-hot tea onto the table.
Somehow Abigail continued to look innocent. And she waited for an answer.
“You see,” she said, ignoring Grace’s outburst, “Dillon has kissed me a couple of times, and…and…” She shook her head slowly. “It was all right, but…”
“It wasn’t like Renzo’s kiss?” Grace finished for her.
Abigail shook her head slowly. “Not at all. And now I’m so confused.”
Grace laid her hands on the table, palms pressed against the tablecloth. She was shaking, but it was so deep she didn’t think Abigail would notice. Actually, she could have been in convulsions, and Abigail wouldn’t have noticed.
“I’ve kissed Renzo, too, once,” Grace confided. The light in Abigail’s eyes told her all she needed to know. The flash of jealousy hadn’t assaulted Abigail when Grace had confessed that she’d kissed Dillon. “It was…pleasant, but that was all.”
Abigail looked more confused than ever. “But…”
“It was Dillon who made my knees weak,” Grace confessed softly.
“Oh dear,” Abigail said softly. “How can I marry Dillon when I know…when I’ve fallen in love with Lorenzo?”
Renzo had been right all along. Abigail was his little jewel, and he had known it the first time he’d seen her.
A spark of hope was lit within Grace, and she tried to contain it. “Do you think,” she began hesitantly, “that your father would make Dillon a loan? A loan large enough to save the ranch? If he had just a little more time…” She stopped suddenly. Abigail was shaking her head.
“Pa wants that ranch one way or another. Either I marry it, or he buys it from Seth Plummer after Dillon defaults on the loan. I’ve…I’ve heard him discussing it with Wade several times.”
Grace’s heart sank. For a moment she had thought she could save the Double B, and Abigail and Renzo, but she couldn’t have Dillon and the home she really wanted.
No, she couldn’t have Dillon. Even if he wasn’t married to Abigail, she would still be Sam’s wife. She might have found honor late in life, but it was important to her now.
Abigail was in a panic. Her once red face was stark white, and her brown eyes were huge. Her hands and her lips started to tremble.
“What am I going to do?” she asked desperately, looking to Grace for an answer.
Grace closed her eyes. She never would have thought that she’d be comforting Abigail Wilkinson, soon to be Abigail Morales, if her instincts were correct.
“I have a feeling,” Grace said with a calmness that she did not feel, “that after tomorrow things will be different. Just don’t…don’t say anything to Dillon
until after tomorrow. Preferably not until Sam and I have left town.”
Abigail didn’t question Grace, but nodded her head.
“You love him, don’t you?” Abigail asked softly after a short and uncomfortable silence.
Grace steeled herself. The question made her want to cry, but she couldn’t. “It makes no difference,” she said sharply.
“It’s not right,” Abigail argued naively.
Grace stood slowly. She’d had all of this conversation that she could stand. “Take good care of Renzo. He needs someone to keep him out of trouble.”
If this request confused Abigail, she didn’t show it. She just nodded her head slightly until Grace turned her back on the woman and walked away.
Dillon paced in the study. Today was the day. Everyone else—Olivia and Billy, Lonnie and Lucas—was preparing to attend Grace’s wedding to Sam Plummer.
If you could call it preparation. Olivia had spent half the morning crying, and the other half glaring at him. As if there was anything he could do. Billy had worn the same uncustomary frown that had marred his normally pleasant face for days. They made no secret of the fact that they blamed Dillon for everything.
Billy had that deep scowl on his face as he stalked into the study. “You really ain’t goin’?” he snapped.
Dillon shook his head and avoided looking directly at the man. Billy could read him too well.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, she don’t want to see you, neither.”
Dillon did look up at the big man then. When had Billy seen Grace? He hadn’t left the ranch since the accident. He was lucky Olivia was allowing him to attend the wedding.
“Is that a fact,” he said coolly.
“She was here this mornin’, bright and early. Snuck up on the front porch like a thief, makin’ sure you weren’t in the house ’fore she’d come in.”
Trying to appear calm, Dillon sat in the chair at his desk. It was piled high with bills and invoices, and an accounting book was open in the middle of it all. “What did she want?”
“Rode out here on a borrowed horse to make certain I would be there to give her away, and that Olivia would be there, too. Poor Olivia can’t quit cryin’.”
The tone of Billy’s voice told Dillon that he was to blame for Olivia’s depression as well as everything else that had gone wrong.
“Give the bride and groom my best wishes,” Dillon said brusquely.
Billy placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward to put his face close to Dillon’s. Rarely had Dillon seen the man angry, but he was about to burst with it right now. He looked like a big silver bear, ready to attack.
“I’m goin’ to town to watch that little girl ruin her life. Don’t you dare sit there and ask me to give her your damn best wishes. If I could I’d take ’em and shove ’em down your damn throat.”
He had known Billy all of his life, and he’d never heard the easygoing man curse. Not once.
Dillon wanted to defend himself, but he knew it would do no good. Maybe it even helped Billy a little to vent his frustration and his anger. Dillon damn well wished he had some way of doing that.
He listened as they left, Olivia sniffling and Billy stomping. Lonnie and Lucas were curiously quiet, but then, they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know, as Billy and Olivia obviously did, that he had fallen in love with Grace, made her fall in love with him, and then sacrificed her to save his home.
Dillon stalked through the house after they had left. This was exactly what he’d wanted…wasn’t it? He had no right to be angry because Grace was making a life for herself.
He made a fresh pot of coffee and sat at the dining room table as he sipped the hot brew. From the seat he chose he could look into the kitchen. There where he had watched Grace lounging in the water, where he had touched her as she made that first, tough batch of biscuits. He wished almost desperately that he had made love to her there on the floor that first time, rather than carrying her up the stairs. He wished he had made love to her on the sofa in the parlor, on the dining room table, in every room in the house, so that everywhere he went he would have a memory of her in his arms.
He returned to the study. There was a clock there, and he kept turning to it as the morning passed. He was counting the hours and the minutes until it would all be over, and Grace would be married to Sam Plummer.
He needed to remind himself of the reason he had turned away from Grace, the reason he had to marry Abigail. He thumbed through the invoices on his desk, and ran his fingers over the columns of damning figures in the book. But the longer he sat there the less certain he became. If he had made a mistake it was the biggest one of his life, one he would never recover from. With a violent sweep of his hands Dillon brushed the desktop clean. Papers went flying, and the books landed with a thud on the floor, closing on the page he’d been studying.
And a single document that shouldn’t have been there caught his eye as it fluttered to the floor.
He reached over and lifted the document between his fingers. The deed. The deed that Seth Plummer had held for nearly a year.
She had been in this room, and left the deed for him to find…only later. After it was too late. After she had married Plummer’s son.
He held in his hands the answer to his dreams. His ranch. The legacy of his father. And he realized, too late, that Grace had been right all along.
It was only dirt.
He flew from the house with the deed clutched in his hand. What if he was too late? Billy was right. Grace was ruining her life. For him. So he could have a piece of land that meant nothing to her and everything to him. At least, it had once meant everything.
But not anymore. He hadn’t realized it until he’d held the deed in his hand.
He’d traded Grace for a piece of paper and a handful of dirt.
Chapter Twenty
She felt cold. Even though it was August and sweltering hot, Grace felt chilled to her bones.
And terrified.
Somehow she was proceeding down the aisle of the church, clutching a fresh bouquet of yellow flowers and walking toward Sam Plummer. He looked so happy, so peaceful, so assured. Grace knew if Billy wasn’t holding her arm she wouldn’t be able to stand.
Let alone walk.
There were faces all around, but she didn’t see them. Most of them were Sam’s friends and his father’s acquaintances, in any case. Olivia was there, somewhere, and of course she had Billy beside her. Renzo had promised to come, but she couldn’t bring herself to search the crowded church for him.
The wedding gown she wore had been finished just that morning, and it fit her so tightly she felt as though she were truly a prisoner trapped in its bonds. That alone was terrifyingly symbolic. A prisoner of white satin.
With a passage of words, Billy passed her into Sam’s hands. Why did she feel so heartsick that Billy was giving her away?
Behind her, she could hear someone sobbing quietly. She listened, realizing after only a moment that it was Olivia who cried for her. It was not unusual to see tears of joy at weddings, but Grace knew Olivia was not crying with joy. The woman who had become her friend knew, as few did, that this was a mistake.
It was a mistake. That thought pounded in her brain until she could think of nothing else.
And then she thought of Dillon, squatting in front of that old cabin with a handful of dirt in his hand and his heart in his eyes. This was the only gift she could give him.
Grace stood at the altar, motionless, holding her breath as the minister spoke. What came from his mouth was gibberish, it seemed, but he looked to her for a response.
This was a horrible mistake, but she could go through with it for Dillon’s sake, so he could keep the Double B. Abigail would be free to marry Renzo, if she decided to follow her heart. Grace could make three people happy with a few simple words.
The minister was looking at her expectantly, and so was Sam.
“Could you repeat that?” she whispered.
“Am I too late?” he asked breathlessly.
Grace stood at the altar and stared down at him. How could he do this to her? What was he doing here? Had he come to watch her marry another man?
“Am I too late?” he repeated, louder.
“Yes, dammit, you’re too late.”
The minister looked disapprovingly at Seth Plummer, as the father of the groom rose from the front pew and faced Dillon.
Dillon’s face drained of color, and he looked away from Grace to the man who had answered his question.
With a muttered curse he tossed the deed, crumpled and sweat dampened, at the banker. “I don’t want it. Not like this.” He turned back to Grace. “You were right all along. It’s only dirt.”
Grace started to lift her hand to him, but Sam held her firmly in place, his hand possessively over hers. Behind Dillon, over his shoulder, she saw Billy rise.
Dillon didn’t take his eyes from her. He didn’t move forward, and he didn’t retreat, he simply stared at her and waited. Grace’s heart was pounding so loudly she was certain Sam could hear it, that everyone in the church could hear it.
“I don’t recall,” Billy drawled casually, “that the bride has spoken her vows yet, so I don’t see as how it’s too late for anything.”
Color flooded back into Dillon’s face, and his gray eyes flashed at her. “Grace Cavanaugh, this is the dumbest stunt you’ve ever pulled.”
Seth Plummer grumbled, and he shook his fist at Dillon, a fist that clutched the deed to the Double B. “We had a deal, and I won’t allow you to interfere.”
Dillon’s face hardened, and he spun slowly to face Plummer.
“You can have the Double B. You can have the land, and the house, and the stock. But you can’t have Grace.” There was such determination in his soft voice that Grace felt her heart melt. He had come for her. Almost too late, and in a rather unromantic way. Dumb stunt, indeed. But he had come for her.
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