“That’s a bargain,” Dallas mumbled as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a dollar. He laid it in Rawley’s palm.
Rawley looked at the coin as though he hadn’t really expected to receive a dollar. He pocketed the money, held out his dirt-covered hands, and took Precious. He glanced at Cordelia. “Where you want me to meet ya tomorrow?”
“Where do you live?”
He dropped his gaze. “Around.”
“We’ll find you,” Dallas said.
Rawley nodded and slowly scuffled away as though he carried something fragile.
“Now, why did you do that?” Dallas asked.
Cordelia turned her attention to her husband. “Precious was in the way.” She stepped onto the boardwalk. Her gaze was nearly level with Dallas’s. She could hear the gentle strains of another song fill the air. Her heart began to pound, her stomach to quiver. “The day we were married, you told me that it wasn’t hard to dance, and that you would guide me. I was wondering if your offer was still open.”
He shoved away from the wall and held out his hand. “It’s always open for you.”
She placed her hand in his. His palm was rough, his pads callused, his fingers long, his skin warm as his hand closed around hers. She walked with him to an area where only a few others danced.
When he placed his hand on her waist, it seemed the most natural movement in the world to place her hand on his shoulder. He held her gaze. When he stepped in rhythm to the music, she followed.
The melody swirled around her. Beyond Dallas’s shoulder, the muted hues of the sky began to darken, lengthening the shadows of evening. He guided her through the waltz as easily as he had guided her toward this day.
“How did you know that I wanted to build a hotel?”
His gaze never faltered. “Austin told me about your visit to the bank.”
“Did you tell Mr. Henderson to give me the loan?”
“I simply explained to him that you had collateral—”
“Your land.”
“Our land. He had no reason not to give you a loan.”
“And if the hotel fails?”
“It won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His hold on her tightened as he drew her closer. Her thighs brushed against his.
“I’ve seen you terrified. You stayed when I have little doubt that you desperately wanted to leave. A woman with that much fortitude isn’t about to let a business flounder.”
“I was a fool to fear you.”
He shook his head slightly. “I was the greater fool. I never should have forced our marriage. I should have taken the time to court you.”
She watched as he swallowed.
“I should have given you the choice that you want to give other women.”
She swayed within his arms, now knowing beyond a doubt that if he had courted her, if she had been given the choice, she would not have chosen differently.
Dallas was not a man prone to doubts, but this evening as Dee rode beside him back toward the ranch, doubts plagued him.
Her lips were curved into a soft smile, her face serene as the moon guided them home. She seemed happy and content, more so than he’d ever seen her.
Like a hopeful litany, her words echoed through his mind: I was a fool to fear you.
A warm breeze blew gently over the land, and in the distance, he could hear the constant clatter of his newest windmill. He held his silence until the windmill came into view, a dark silhouette against the prairie sky.
“I want to show you something,” he said quietly, hoping none of his actions tonight would put the fear back into her eyes.
She glanced over at him. “What do you want to show me?”
He brought his horse to a halt beneath the windmill. She drew her horse to a stop and smiled. “Oh, one of your ladies.”
Dallas dismounted and wiped his sweating palms on his jacket before helping her off her horse.
“I’ve never been so far from home at night,” she whispered as though someone might be lurking nearby to overhear her words.
“This is my favorite time of day,” Dallas said. “I like to view it from up there.”
He pointed to the top of the windmill and her eyes widened.
“How do you get up there?”
“This windmill has a ladder and a small platform.” A platform he had built in anticipation of this night. He held out his hand. A warm jolt of pleasure shot through him when she placed her hand in his.
He led her to the windmill. “Just one foot at a time,” he said. “Hold onto the railing. The ladder will take you to the platform at the top.”
He followed closely behind her until she crawled on the platform. He climbed on after her. The platform was small, barely enough room for the two of them to stand.
Dallas had thought about this moment a hundred times, all the things he would tell her: the things he felt, the things he wanted, the dreams left unfulfilled.
He wanted her to see all that he saw: the vastness of the sky. The canopy of stars. The land that stretched out before them. In the far-off distance, he could hear the lowing of cattle. He could smell the soil, the grass, the flowers that had bloomed throughout the day.
He could smell the night. He could smell her sweet fragrance.
And he knew that no words he could utter would do justice to the magnificence that lay before them, to the future they might share. If she couldn’t envision it of her own accord, he couldn’t describe it so she would. If she didn’t understand it, he couldn’t explain it.
“It’s beautiful.”
Her soft voice, laced with reverence, wrapped around him, increased tenfold the majesty of all he’d acquired, all he had worked so hard to attain.
He had never felt as close to anyone as he felt to her right now, standing high above the earth, with the night surrounding them, and he somehow knew that if he had misjudged the moment, his dream would crumble into dust.
“I want a son, Dee.”
She turned her head and met his gaze, and he prayed that it wasn’t a trick of the moonlight that made it seem as though she harbored no fear in her eyes.
“I want a son that I can share this with. I want to bring him up here at dawn, at sunset, at midnight. As grand as all this is, I want him to know that it pales in comparison to all that he will be.” He swallowed hard. “But I won’t take what you’re unwilling to give.”
He watched her gaze slowly sweep over the land as though she were measuring its worth.
“I want to give you a son,” she said softly.
His heart was thudding with such force that he was afraid he might not have heard her correctly. “You do?”
She nodded, and he could have sworn she blushed in the moonlight.
“So if I come to your room tonight, you won’t be afraid?”
She shook her head. “Nervous, but not frightened.”
He thought about kissing her. He thought about making love to her beneath the windmill, but he wanted everything perfect.
He wanted to give her in one night the courtship he should have given her before he ever married her.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Becky Oliver had never known terror, but she found herself fearing everything now: the rough hands, the fetid breath that stank of too much whiskey, the strong fingers clamped around her wrists holding them behind her back. His mouth missed its mark and skid across her cheek, leaving a slobbery trail.
“Duncan, stop!”
He shoved his thigh between hers. “Come on, Becky, you know you want a little kiss.”
She wanted nothing of the kind, at least not from him. She wanted to scream, but she thought she might die if anyone saw her like this: pressed against the back wall of the general store with this man wrapped around her.
“Duncan, please let me go,” she pleaded.
“Kiss me first.”
She felt the tears threaten to surface. Somehow, she knew that he would enjoy watc
hing the tears fall, so she held them back. “Duncan—”
“She’s not interested.”
She heard Austin’s voice and relief swamped her. Duncan grunted and she was suddenly free of his hold. She cowered beside the boxes that lined a portion of the back wall and watched as Austin slammed his fist into Duncan’s face. Duncan cried out and stumbled back.
Oh, she was glad, so glad, even though she knew whiskey had made him mean, had made him frighten her.
Austin stood with legs akimbo, his hands balled by his side, waiting … waiting.
“Come on, McQueen, get your ass up out of the dirt so I can hit you again.”
Groaning, Duncan rolled over and came to his knees. “You broke my nose!”
Duncan looked over his shoulder, and Becky could see his blood glistening in the moonlight. She rushed from her hiding place and wrapped her fingers around Austin’s arms. “Don’t hit him again.”
Austin snapped his gaze to hers. The anger burning in his blue eyes frightened her almost as much as Duncan had. She’d never seen Austin angry.
“He hurt you.”
“No, he didn’t. Not really. He just scared me.”
Austin pointed his finger at Duncan. “Stay away from Becky or next time I’ll kill you.”
She knew without a doubt that he meant it, and that knowledge terrified her. He turned to her then, and she could see the worry etched in his face, along with the anger.
“Let me take you home,” he said.
Leaving Duncan struggling to his feet, Austin walked with her to the side of the general store and followed her up the stairs. On the landing, he said quietly, “Are you all right, Becky?”
She wasn’t and she had hoped to slip into the house without his ever knowing, but his voice was filled with so much concern that she couldn’t stop herself from turning to him, with the tears slipping past her defenses.
“Ah, Becky,” he said softly as he welcomed her into his embrace and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
“He said he wanted to show me something,” she rasped through the thick knot in her throat. “I didn’t know—”
“Shh. How could you know, sweet thing?”
“You’re angry with me.”
“No, I’m not.” He cupped her face and tilted her head back slightly. “Well, maybe a little. Why couldn’t you have danced with Cameron?”
“Duncan asked.” She lifted her shoulder. “I really wanted to dance with you.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, over and over, the anger fading from his eyes, leaving them the blue of a flame writhing within a fire. “I can’t dance and make the music. Did you like the music?”
“I thought you played lovely. I would have been happy to just sit and listen to you all evening.”
“You looked beautiful dancing, Becky, even if it was with Duncan. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” A corner of his mouth curved up. “I could sit and look at you all night.” He dipped his head slightly, and her heart sped up. “Tell me to stop, Becky, and I will. Otherwise, I aim to kiss you.”
“You gonna do it proper?”
“Proper, the way you deserve.”
She had dreamed about his kiss at night while she slept, beneath the blankets, and during the day while she worked, on top of a ladder stacking canned goods. But none of her dream kisses were as wonderful as the reality.
He touched his mouth tentatively to hers, briefly, then brushed his lips over hers, reminding her of the way he had tuned his violin before he had ever begun to play the first song. Testing, teasing, searching for the right sounds.
Waiting for the right moment.
Then the moment came when he settled his mouth over hers and struck a resonant chord within her heart.
Dallas cringed when he looked in the mirror. Like some young buck shaving for the first time, he had three tiny nicks embedded in his chin. Squinting he leaned closer, wondering if he should even out the sides on his mustache a little more.
He’d bathed and trimmed everything on him that could be trimmed: his hair, his nails, his mustache.
He’d never been so damn nervous in his entire life.
Wearing only his trousers—new trousers, never before worn—he examined himself, wondering if Dee would find him lacking. He fought the urge to squirm as his reflection glared back at him.
He jerked his shirt off the bed and slipped it over his head. He started to button it and stopped. Dee would only have to unbutton it—or he would—and his fingers were shaking so badly he didn’t know if he’d be able to release the buttons without sending them flying across the room.
Better to leave it unbuttoned.
He yanked his shirt over his head and threw it on the bed. Better not to wear it at all.
They both knew why he was coming to her room. No need to pretend otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses. He’d never gotten to open the bottle when he was married to Amelia. He had begun to fear he’d never get a chance to open it.
Only this evening Dee had told him she wanted to give him a son.
The odd thing was as much as her words had thrilled him, they’d also left him wanting. He just wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted from her anymore.
Her smiles. Her laughter. Her feet tucked beneath her as she considered business decisions.
Her body curled against his.
He opened the door to his bedroom and the sound echoed down the hallway. Had he ever noticed how everything echoed in this house?
In bare feet, he crept toward her room, his heart thundering harder than it had when a bull had stampeded after him in his youth. He wanted to smooth down his hair and run his fingers across his mustache, but his hands were full so he simply took another deep breath and rapped his knuckles on her door.
Immediately the door opened a crack, and he wondered if she’d been waiting for him on the other side. She peered out, her brown eyes large, her smile tremulous. Then she opened the door wider and stepped back.
He walked into the room. Her lavender fragrance permeated the air, along with the lingering scent of her bath.
She clicked the door closed, and his mouth went dry. Sweet Lord, he hadn’t been this nervous when he had visited a whorehouse for the first time, not really certain what to expect.
And he realized with sudden clarity that he had no idea what to expect tonight. He only knew that he wanted to give to her as much as he had to give, wanted to ease the way for her, wanted to keep the fear out of her eyes.
He turned and looked at her. She was wearing the white gown she’d been wearing that first night. Every tiny button was captured snugly within its corresponding loop, clear up to her throat where the lace rested beneath her chin. Why did he find that bit of innocence more alluring than any half-clothed woman he’d known in his youth?
He held up the bottle and glasses. “I brought some wine. I thought it might help you relax.”
She smiled timidly. “I’m incredibly nervous.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Her eyes widened in awe. “Are you?”
He nodded and walked to the dresser, setting his offering down before the bottle and glasses slipped from his sweating hands. He wiped his palms on his trousers and pulled the cork. Then he filled each glass halfway.
He picked up the glasses, turned, and handed one to her. He clinked his glass against hers. “To our son.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely hue of crimson, reminding him of the sunset. Staring at his chest, she touched the glass to her lips and took a small sip. She released a tiny gasp and lowered her gaze to his bare feet.
“Dee, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I forgot this is business.”
He took the glass from her hand and set their glasses on the dresser.
“It’s hardly business.” Threading his fingers through the black hair she had brushed to a velvety sheen, he braced the heel of his palms on either side o
f her face and lowered his mouth to hers.
He skimmed his tongue over her lips. So soft. He tasted the wine that lingered and felt the tiny quivering of her mouth beneath his, wondering if she could feel the tremors racing through him. Like a cowboy with a trick rope, he swirled his tongue over hers in a figure eight.
She took a step nearer, her gown brushing against his chest. An unexpected pleasure shot through him with a gesture that coming from her was as bold as brass.
He angled her head, running his tongue along the seam of her lips, teasing her mouth until it parted slightly. The he plunged his tongue into the welcoming abyss of warmth and flavor unique to her.
He felt her hands moving between them. He continued to plunder her mouth, waiting for the moment when her hands would touch him, his breath locked in his chest, his body straining for her touch.
But all he felt was the strange knotting and unknotting of her hands.
He drew away from the kiss and glanced down. Raised above her knees, her gown was bunched in her fists.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Confusion plunged into her eyes. “Boyd told me I was supposed to lift my nightgown for you. I … I wanted to do this right.”
He slammed his eyes closed and hurled silent curses at her brother.
“I’ve made you angry,” she said quietly.
Opening his eyes, he brushed his knuckles along her reddened cheeks. “No, you haven’t made me angry, but your brother is a fool. I want you to forget everything he ever told you.”
Reaching down, he pulled her gown free of her clutched fingers, watched as the white linen fell back toward her bare ankles, and wished he were a man of tender words.
He lifted his gaze to hers and could see that she was fighting the fear lurking in the corner of her heart. He cupped her face in hands that were too rough for her smooth skin. “Dee, when a man and woman come together … there is no right, no wrong. It’s simply a matter of doing what each of us is comfortable with.” He stroked his thumbs beneath her chin. “If I do something you don’t like, all you have to do is tell me and I’ll stop.”
“And if you do something I like?”
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