Texas Glory

by Lorraine Heath

  But fight they had. Boyd’s broken arm served as a testament to one of the battles, and tonight the man who had harmed her brother would come to her bed. She prayed for the fortitude to suffer through his touch in silence, without tears.

  A huge adobe house came into view. She could only stare at the massive rectangular structure. A balcony surrounded each window that she could see on the second floor. The crenellated design of the roof reminded her of a castle she’d once read about.

  Riding on his horse beside the coach, Cameron leaned down and tipped his hat off his brow. “That’s where you’ll be living, Dee.”

  “Are those turrets on the corners?”

  “Yep. Hear tell Leigh designed the house himself.”

  “Maybe after today, you and Austin can be a bit more open with your friendship.”

  Cameron shook his head. “Not for a while yet. Be grateful you’re not riding out here, Dee. The hatred is thick enough to slice with a knife.”

  “I thought today was supposed to make the hatred go away.”

  “What you’re doing today is like the waves of the ocean washing over the shore. No matter how strong it is, it only takes a little of the sand away at a time.”

  She smiled shyly. “You’re such a poet, Cameron.”

  He blushed as he always did when she complimented him.

  “Listen, Dee, Dallas scares the holy hell out of me—I won’t deny that—but I’ll try and find a moment alone with him to ask him to show you some gentleness tonight.”

  She reached through the window and laid her hand over his where it rested on his thigh. “He’ll either be gentle or he won’t be, Cameron, and I don’t think your words will change him, so spare yourself the confrontation. I’ll be fine.”

  She settled back against the seat of the coach and drew the veil forward to cover her face.

  Standing on the front veranda, with his brothers flanking him on either side, Dallas watched the approaching procession. It looked like the cavalry, as though McQueen had every man who worked for him coming for the ceremony.

  Good. Dallas had all his men here as well as everyone from town. He wanted witnesses, plenty of witnesses.

  He’d even managed to locate the circuit preacher. Fate was on his side.

  He squinted at the red coach traveling in the center of the procession. He’d seen it once before: the day he had set aside the land upon which he planned to build Leighton.

  “Do you think she’s inside that red coach?” he asked.

  Austin leaned against the beam. “Yeah, that’s what she travels in when she’s allowed to travel, which isn’t often, according to Cameron.”

  “If you know so much about her why didn’t you tell me she was in the area?” Dallas asked.

  Austin shrugged. “Didn’t figure you’d want a woman who didn’t have a nose.”

  Dallas pointed his finger at each of his brothers. “Don’t go gaping at her. Dr. Freeman said she was shy. That’s probably why, so don’t stare at her.”

  “I’m hardly in a position to gape at anyone with a disfigurement,” Houston said, scraping his thumb over the heavy scars that trailed along his cheek below his eye patch.

  Dallas nodded and turned his attention back toward the caravan. “A nose isn’t important.” Eyes. Eyes were important. God, he hoped she had pretty eyes.

  The horses and coach came to a halt. All the men sat in their saddles, glaring, not a smile to be seen.

  “Where’s your father?” Dallas asked Boyd McQueen.

  “He was feeling poorly this afternoon, so I’ll be acting in his stead, and I’ll be wanting a word with you in private before the ceremony.”

  “Fine.”

  Dallas watched as Cameron dismounted and opened the door of the coach. A white gloved hand slipped into Cameron’s tanned one. A slender hand. Long fingers. A white slipper-covered foot came into view, followed by a white silk skirt, a silk and lace bodice, and a white veil. The veil covered her face, but beyond it, Dallas could see she had swept up her black hair.

  “Stop gaping,” Houston whispered beside him, but Dallas couldn’t help himself.

  The woman was tall. Dr. Freeman had said she was a “shy little thing,” and Dallas had expected a woman along the lines of Amelia, a woman who came no higher than the center of his chest. But Cordelia McQueen was as tall as her brothers. He thought the top of her head might be level with the tip of his nose. Slender, she was a fine figure of a woman.

  Dallas took a deep breath and stepped off the veranda. He noticed the subtle tightening of the woman’s fingers on her brother’s hand. The thick veil hid her features from him, but he thought she might have dark eyes. He could live with a woman who had dark eyes. He could tell by the slight jutting of the veil that her father had carved her a tiny nose. He wondered if it melted in summer when the stifling heat dried the land. Maybe he’d whittle her a nose of wood, small like the one she had of wax.

  Dallas swept off his hat. “Miss McQueen, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  “I hope it will be, Mr. Leigh.”

  Her voice was as soft as falling snow.

  “I’ll do all in my power to see that it is, Miss McQueen. Give you my word on that.”

  It was impossible to tell with the veil covering her eyes, but he had a feeling in his gut that she was staring at him.

  “Stay here, Cordelia,” Boyd said as he dismounted. “We need a few minutes alone with your future husband.”

  Turning, Dallas glared at Boyd. Of all the McQueens, Dallas had taken an instant dislike to Boyd the moment their paths had first crossed. “I imagine what you have to say concerns her, so she’ll come with us.”

  “Fine,” Boyd said through gritted teeth. “We’ll need the preacher as a witness.”

  Dallas crooked his arm and tilted his head toward Cordelia. “Shall we go inside?”

  She glanced at Cameron who gave her a smile and a nod. Then she released her hold on her brother and wrapped her fingers around Dallas’s forearm. He wished he couldn’t feel through the sleeve of his jacket that she was shaking worse than a leaf in the wind.

  Cordelia had never seen a house with such cavernous rooms. Their footsteps had echoed over the stone floors as they walked to Dallas Leigh’s office.

  She wondered if he would allow her to spend time in this room. She was in awe of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined three of the walls. Empty shelves—save one—but shelves all the same. She imagined all her books could have found a home in here.

  Cameron had convinced her to bring only a few of her belongings in the event she decided not to stay. As though she would have a choice in the matter. Watching the man sitting behind the large mahogany desk, she had a feeling that leaving him would not be an option for her once she became his wife.

  Just as leaving had not been an option for her mother.

  When Dallas Leigh had removed his hat and the shadows had retreated, she had been unprepared for the perfection of his chiseled features. She tried not to stare at him now, but she seemed unable to stop herself. A thick black mustache framed lips that looked too soft to belong to a man.

  Over the years, the wind and sun had carved lines into a face that reflected pride and confidence. And possession. Dallas Leigh was a man who not only owned all that surrounded him, but he owned himself as well.

  Soon he would own her, just as her father had owned her mother.

  His brothers sat at the back of the room as though none of this arrangement concerned them, and yet, she was left with the distinct impression that they were poised to change their minds in the blink of an eye.

  Boyd stood before the desk, Cameron and Duncan standing just a little behind him. She had always found her brothers a trifle intimidating. It looked as though Dallas Leigh only found them irritating.

  Reverend Preston Tucker had kindly introduced himself before they’d entered the room. Appearing amused, he stood near the windows that lined the remaining wall.

  Boyd withdrew a shee
t of paper from inside his jacket. “Before Cordelia signs the marriage certificate, we want your signature on this contract we’ve had drawn up. It spells out the two conditions under which my father agreed to give you permission to marry his daughter. We’ve added a third condition.”

  Dallas lifted an eyebrow, and she was reminded of a raven’s wing in flight. “And that condition would be?”

  “If fate should be kind enough to make her a widow, she inherits all you possess on this day and all that you gain from this day forward.”

  Cordelia watched Dallas’s jaw clench. She couldn’t say that she blamed him. Had her family lost their minds to think he’d agree—

  “It goes without saying that if she’s my wife, all that I have goes to her upon my death.”

  “You don’t think those two sitting back there would object?” Boyd asked.

  “Not if I tell them not to.”

  “Not good enough,” Boyd said. “We want it in writing and signed.”

  “My word is good enough for the bank, good enough for the state, good enough for any man who has ever had to depend on it. It had damn well better be good enough for you.”

  Cameron and Duncan cast furtive glances at each other. Boyd simply pulled his shoulders back. “Well, it’s not good enough. If you don’t sign the document, we go home, and Cordelia goes with us.”

  Cordelia thought it would be difficult enough to build a marriage on a foundation of hatred, but to begin it knowing no trust existed … She eased forward in the chair. “Boyd, surely this isn’t necessary—”

  “Shut your mouth, Cordelia,” Boyd growled.

  Cordelia shrank against her chair as Dallas Leigh planted his hands on the desk and slowly came to his feet. Cameron and Duncan stepped back, and she thought given the choice, they’d gladly leave the room. She wanted to leave herself.

  Dallas’s brown eyes darkened, and she imagined Satan would look like an angel standing next to this man when he was consumed with rage.

  “Never use that tone of voice in my presence when you’re talking to a woman and, by God, never talk to the woman I’m going to marry in that manner.”

  “You won’t be marrying her if you don’t sign the paper,” Boyd said.

  Dallas narrowed his eyes until they resembled the sharp edge of a knife. She knew pride kept him from applying his signature to the document. Pride would keep her from becoming a wife today.

  Cordelia heard the patter of tiny feet and saw the flash of a blue dress and blond curls as a little girl raced past her. Jostling the small kitten she held securely in her arms, she rushed toward the man standing behind the desk. The woman who walked behind her was obviously ignorant of the seething hatred and anger filling the room. Houston stood, but he seemed hesitant to interfere.

  “Unca Dalls?” the little girl said as she tugged on Dallas’s trousers.

  Cordelia slowly rose from her chair, fearful for the child’s well-being, uncertain as to what she could do to prevent Dallas from turning his rage on the child.

  Then it was too late.

  He glanced down, and the girl pointed her finger toward his nose. “Kitty bit me.”

  The anger in Dallas’s eyes faded into concern. His brow furrowed. “He did?”

  She bobbed her head, the blond curls bouncing with her enthusiasm.

  “Where?”

  She stretched up on her toes, taking her finger higher. “There.”

  “Ah, Maggie,” Dallas said as he reached into his pocket. “Looks bad.”

  Maggie nodded, although Cordelia could see no blood, and the child had yet to release her hold on the offending animal. Dallas knelt, kissed Maggie’s finger, and wrapped his handkerchief around it, giving her a bandage almost as big as her hand. She giggled. He touched his finger to the tip of her nose. “Run along now.”

  As she hurried across the room and found additional comfort in Houston’s arms, Dallas stood, picked up a pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and scrawled his name over Boyd’s document. “Let’s get this goddamn thing started.”

  Cordelia wished Boyd had bene gracious enough not to smile triumphantly.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t outside to greet you when you arrived.”

  Cordelia swiveled her head at the soft voice. The woman who had followed the little girl into the room smiled at her. “I’m Amelia, Houston’s wife. I put Maggie down for a nap and ended up falling asleep myself. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I truly didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Cordelia felt the warmth suffuse her face. She couldn’t very well explain that she hadn’t expected Dallas to welcome the woman who had abandoned him back into his house nor had she imagined that the woman would remain friends with a man who had been such a poor husband. “I just … well, this arrangement just came about so quickly I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

  Amelia smiled warmly. “Between all the ranch hands and the people from town, we have quite a gathering. Dallas believes in doing everything in a grand fashion.”

  Cordelia felt as though a swarm of bees had suddenly invaded her stomach. She had hoped for a small, quiet ceremony, but it appeared her future husband was a man of bold preferences.

  She glanced toward Dallas. He wore impatience as easily as she wore her gloves.

  Boyd was explaining to Reverend Tucker that he needed his signature to serve as a witness. Reverend Tucker didn’t seem inclined to want to give it.

  “Goddammit! Just sign the paper,” Dallas said, irritation heavily laced through his voice.

  Reverend Tucker tightened his jaw and slowly nodded. “If this is what you want.” He dipped the pen into the inkwell. “Revenge is mine sayeth the Lord.” With a piercing blue gaze, he glared at Boyd. “Keep that in mind.”

  Signing the document had been a damn stupid thing to do, Dallas decided in retrospect as Reverend Tucker performed the ceremony. Boyd McQueen had given him an honorable way to get out of marrying his sister, and Dallas had been too stubborn to take it.

  For her sake, he wished he hadn’t insisted she come to his office, wished he’d left her outside so she wouldn’t have had to witness all that had transpired. Her hand rested on his arm as they stood before the preacher with everyone they knew standing behind them, and he could feel that she was shaking worse than she had been earlier when he’d first met her.

  He’d told Reverend Tucker to use words that had to do with trust, honor, and respect and steer clear of love. He didn’t want to make the woman aware of what she wasn’t getting.

  Reverend Tucker finished his opening remarks. “Would you two face each other and join hands?” he asked quietly.

  As Dallas took Cordelia’s hands, her trembling increased until he thought it rivaled the shaking of the ground during a stampede.

  “Do you, Cordelia Jane McQueen, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or worse, through sickness and through health, to honor and to cherish from this day forward?”

  A hush settled around them. Dallas resisted the urge to peer beneath the veil and assure his bride that everything would be all right. Why was she wearing a veil anyway? Dallas never closed a business deal without looking a man straight in the eye. A marriage was just as important. It seemed to him that this moment was the one time when a woman shouldn’t be shielding her gaze from a man.

  The silence became suffocating. Dallas was grateful that Reverend Tucker spoke low enough that only those standing nearby could hear. He was even more grateful that only family stood nearby.

  Reverend Tucker leaned forward slightly. “If you’re inclined to marry Dallas, simply say, ‘I do.’ ”

  “She does,” Boyd said.

  “Goddamm it, McQueen, let her say it,” Dallas snarled.

  “What the hell difference does it make?” Boyd asked.

  “Years from now, it might make a difference to her.”

  Reverend Tucker cleared his throat. “Could we possibly
refrain from using the Lord’s name in vain during the ceremony?”

  Dallas felt the heat rise in his face. “Sorry, Reverend. Why don’t you leave out that part about cherish?”

  “That doesn’t leave much,” Reverend Tucker said. “Leaves enough.”

  “Very well. Do you, Cordelia Jane McQueen, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to honor from this day forward?”

  She held her silence, and Dallas damned his impaient nature. He should have taken a few minutes to put her at ease, to talk with her. He’d been so worried that he’d lose this opportunity to have a wife that he had rushed into it without considering her feelings. He’d call the whole thing off if he didn’t think he’d lose the respect of every person standing in his front parlor.

  Reverend Tucker rubbed the side of his nose. “I’ve had dealings with Dallas off and on for over five years now. I can assure you that it won’t be difficult to honor him.”

  “I do,” she said quietly.

  Dallas worked hard not to let the relief show in his face.

  Reverend Tucker turned to him. “And do you, Dallas Leigh, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, through sickness and through health, to honor and to cherish from this day forward?”

  “I do.”

  “You have a ring?”

  Nodding, Dallas reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring that had once belonged to his mother, had once been worn by Amelia. Awkwardly, he tugged off the glove that covered Cordelia’s left hand. Her hand was almost as white as the glove … and as cold as a river in winter. He’d heard once that if a woman had cold hands, she had a warm heart He latched on to that small hopeful thought as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  He glanced at Reverend Tucker. “Sorry, Reverend, I got ahead of you.”