Branded (15 page)

"That was really something, Lacey. Saving my brother like that," he said in her ear. He pressed his chin atop her head. "Christ, I could have lost you both."

With one hand slung protectively around her waist, and the other manipulating the reins, he rode with her toward the men. Her heart beat faster. She was finally getting a chance to experience some of the action.

Lacey's teeth clacked together as the wagon hit another bump, and she jostled against Blue. She'd never imagined, she could feel this tired or this dirty. There were so many layers of dust on her skin, it appeared two shades darker than usual. Every muscle in her body ached. Which was actually a good thing, because it took her mind off her injured hand.

It was healing, thanks to Slade's painful remedy. But she didn't dare curl her fingers. The skin was still too taut. Her hand would probably be close to useless for a week or so. Yet, despite the physical misery, she would have done it all again. No doubt, this would be her final adventure. She didn’t know Grady well, but she had a good inkling that he would expect her to be a prim, predictable wife. There would be no more trousers, no riding astride, ... and there would certainly be no sharing a bedroll with his brother. Her shoulders sagged with an audible sigh.

Slade rode past the wagon and whistled. Dix who was in the lead, turned around in the saddle to look at him.

"I'll be back. I've got a runaway," Slade called to him.

Lacey watched him maneuver his horse with fluid ease down a steep grade.

Tait, who had recovered quickly from his fall, was bringing up the stragglers from behind. The hundred or so mavericks that were left after the stampede did not exactly look like prime beef. And the long, arduous journey home was not helping their appearance any, either.

Lacey knew that Slade was disappointed with the round-up. She'd seen it in his eyes. She watched as he cornered the lone steer until it mixed with the herd.

He trotted his horse alongside the wagon. "Well, Blue, guess this wasn't such a grand idea, after all."

It was sad to see how weary he looked. She wished she could kiss away the frown lines from his brow.

"I don't know, Boss. We got a few more than we started with."

"Yeah, but we had to run these stubborn critters to the ground, just so they'd be tired enough to cooperate. There's not near enough good stock here to get the ranch up and running with a profit."

Lacey suddenly found herself wishing she could get her hands on the small dowry her father had promised upon her marriage. She doubted Grady would allow her to part with it. Especially not to give to Slade.

She watched as Slade surveyed their catch, his pale blue eyes skimming over the sorry pack. Her heart ached for him.

"Don't you worry now, Slade. We'll get the ranch going again," Blue said.

Always the optimist, Slade thought. He looked over at Lacey. She offered him a weak smile. But even a weak smile from her went a long way.

"Duchess, it's a good thing we're nearly home. The only thing holding you together is all that dirt."

"She's a tough ol' gal," Blue said with a chortle. He lifted his hand, ready to give Lacey a companionable clap on the back and decided better of it. It was a good thing, a slap from Blue would surely send her flying off the wagon.

From up ahead, Dix yelled back to him. "Dalton, I see the Lazy Heart. Ain't it a beautiful sight?"

The sunlight glinted off the windows. The ranch seemed to be welcoming them home.

"It truly is a beautiful sight," Lacey said softly.

He looked at her sweet, dust-covered face. She had more grit than he would have ever credited her with. She never once complained about the hardships of the trail. She'd even been reluctant to admit her hand was in terrible shape. Without batting an eyelash, she'd managed to save his brother's life.

Who would have thought, a woman like Lacey Jarrell, would find anything beautiful about the Lazy Heart Ranch?

Slade spurred his horse on with an excited yip.

# # #

Dora greeted them from the porch step. She was not about to get her neat little calico dress dirty with hugs. She gave a cursory glance at the cattle. "Not much luck, eh?"

"Tait, don't step another foot inside that house. You neither, Dix. You can eat after you've cleaned up." She bustled inside and came back with soap for the men. "You fellas go bathe at the creek."

Lacey hoped she wasn't one of the fellas Dora was referring to. She stood hesitantly in the drive. Oliver, starved for attention, kept pushing his big head against her hand. Dora gave her a puzzled look.

She summoned her with a wave. "What are you waiting for, Lacey? C'mon inside."

Lacey shook the dirt off her clothes before walking over. "What I wouldn't give for a real bath," she muttered under her breath.

Dora insisted on tending her burnt hand. She gave it a thorough cleaning, before meticulously wrapping it in strips of linen. Lacey wanted to scream. Dora was using up precious time. Time that Lacey could spend bathing. It seemed as though hours had passed before Dora got around to setting the kettle on the fire. Lacey didn't think she could stand herself a minute longer.

"Lacey," Slade called from the front stoop.

He was freshly scrubbed, and he smelled deliciously of soap. He was bareheaded, his wet hair tucked behind his ears. Beside him sat a big copper tub. It looked freshly scrubbed, too. "Had this out in the dugout. We used to live there before the house was built. Dora never had any use for this." His fingers tapped the tub. "Thought you might like to use it."

Had he heard her wish?

"I love you, Slade Dalton," she blurted out and then blushed furiously.

He looked startled. He stared at her for a long moment, and then without saying another word, he lugged the tub inside.

Alone in the kitchen, luxuriating in the warm perfume scented water, Lacey scooted down draping her legs over the edge of the tub so she could soak her hair in the water. The first bath had been to scrub off the dirt. The second was for pleasure.

While feeding the men triple helpings, she’d eyed the tub wistfully. She'd felt a little wasteful for filling the tub twice with fresh water, but she couldn’t resist indulging herself. Dora had only shaken her head and smiled before going off to bed.

Lacey stared up at the web-like pattern the single lantern cast on the ceiling. With her ears immersed, she didn't register the sound of approaching boot heels. But she couldn't miss the sound of a chair clattering to the floor or the resulting curses.

"Who put out the damn lights?"

She sat up with a start, sending water splashing onto the floor.

Frantically, she snatched the towel from the nearby hook and threw it over herself in the tub, drenching it completely. There was another crash, and the partition would have toppled on her head, if Slade hadn't managed to catch it in time.

Shoving the partition aside, he stood staring at her. The towel was clinging to her breasts, and she was trying unsuccessfully to resubmerge the part floating above her legs.

There he stood, all six feet-two inches of him. His ice-blue eyes wide, as though he were as shocked to see her, as she was to see him. She thought to hurl the sopping towel at him, but realizing that would leave her as naked as a babe, she reached for the sponge. It hit his chest with a satisfying splat. He fingered the spreading wet stain, a rather dangerous gleam settling in his eyes as they strayed to her breasts. Definitely not a man ready to make a courteous, gentlemanly exit, Lacey thought with irritation.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

"Nah, I don't mind at all."

She could feel her nipples hardening beneath his burning gaze. Annoyingly, the man was able to retrieve the sponge from the floor without tearing his eyes from her. A man of many talents, she thought wryly.

"You only needed to ask. I'd be happy to wash your back for you." With sponge in hand, and a wicked smile tipping the corners of his mouth, he approached her.

"Slade Dalton," she managed to splutter, "don't you dare."

She could smell the whiskey on him as he hunkered down on his haunches beside her. When he placed the sponge atop the rim of the tub, she felt a trifle disappointed.

With surprise, she watched him pick up the soap and work up a lather. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he pushed her hair aside and began rubbing her back with his soapy hand. His callused fingers sent an explosion of sensations through her entire body. It felt so good, she could barely stop from purring. Astonishing herself, she arched her back toward his hand. Astonishing him too, it seemed, the way his hand stopped suddenly, mid-caress.

"Woman," he drawled, the moment before his warm lips started a delicious path along her shoulder. "Christ, you smell sweet." He nuzzled the side of her throat by her collar bone.

His fingers traced something on the back of her neck, and she knew exactly what it was. His mouth pulled away suddenly.

"Did Widstaff do this?"

"I suppose," she said with a shrug.

He tenderly kissed the scar. Her resolve hung by the slightest thread now. "Please," she begged and leaned forward, away from the sweet torture of his lips. "I’ve promised myself to your brother."

He stood so fast, he knocked the tub with his knee. The water sloshed against the sides.

# # #

The weak light of the moon drifted to the edge of the bed where his boots were propped. Ridiculously, Lacey wondered if he ever took them off. She could make out little, but the golden line of his hair, and the red glow of his cheroot.

He didn't acknowledge her presence. At least, he hadn't tossed her out, she thought grimly. She hugged her flannel wrap around her.

"Slade, I wanted to thank you again for the tub."

Silence. She watched a ghostly trail of smoke escape through the open window.

"I've come to say, I'm sorry for what happened earlier."

She watched the end of the cheroot glow red as he took another drag.

"You're not making this easy for me," she said plaintively.

He swung his boots to the ground and moved to the dresser. His naked chest was silvered by the moonlight. He used his cheroot to start a lamp wick. The instant the wick caught, the feeling of space, of safe distance, was destroyed.

Lacey shivered at the sudden, intimate feel the yellow light produced. Propping his back against the wall, he hitched his thumb in the waistband of his jeans and watched her through narrowed eyes. "Maybe I don't want to make it easy for you." He looked surly. Nothing like the man who'd cared for her injury with such concern.

"It seems, forgiveness is too much to ask of you."

"I reckon it might be." A slow, scornful smile tilted his lips. "Tell you what. Take off your clothes and climb into my bed, and we'll see how forgiving I can be."

Now she had nothing to say.

"No?" he replied, pushing himself off the wall and walking in measured steps toward her. She'd never seen his eyes look so cold. "Then, I'd advise you to stay the hell out of my room. And don't waste my time with your little girl pouts."

Any illusions she'd had that the man had a heart were completely annihilated.

# # #

It had been a week since the round-up, and Lacey wondered when the men would stop complaining about their lousy luck.

Dix looked out to the fields. "Sure do wish we could figure out how to get our hands on some cattle. Especially, with that wolf helping himself to what we do have."

"Wishing is for fools," Thorpe said.

Lacey watched Slade push his food around with his fork. They hadn't had two words to say to each other since his insolent proposition. Not talking to him left her feeling utterly miserable. Crushing loneliness made facing each day a chore. He’d been the first and only person to fill that emptiness left by the death of her mother.

Her eyes lingered too long on him. He caught her gaze. His eyebrows lifted, and one side of his mouth quirked up. It was not a look of apology, more an are-you-still-mad-at-me sort of question. She raised her eyebrows and lifted her lips, duplicating his expression. His mouth opened into a genuine grin that made her feel giddy. She suppressed a giggle.

"Why don't we just buy some?" Tait chimed in.

Dix hurled a biscuit at Tait's head. "Gee, Tait, why didn't we think of that?"

"I don't see why not," Tait said, brushing the biscuit crumbs out of his hair. "What do you think, Slade?"

"Well, Tait," Slade said patiently, "there's only one problem with your idea."

"What's that?" Tait opened his big brown eyes wide and stared at his brother.

This time, Slade grabbed Dix's arm before he could hurl a fork full of eggs at Tait.

"There ain't no money, you fool," Dix nearly shouted.

"Sure, there's money."

"The greenbacks you've tucked in the brim of your hat ain't exactly enough to buck up a cattle ranch. And I don't know why I'm even bothering to discuss this with you." Dix shoved his chair away from the table.

"Suit yourself, but I wasn't talking about my money. I was talking about all the money Slade earned snaring outlaws and such folk. The money he sent Ma and me."

Dix had stopped in the middle of the room. All the men were staring at Tait, and he seemed to be relishing the attention. He sat back in his chair and thrust his thumbs in his suspenders. He looked around the table at his audience.

"And there's plenty of it, too. It's over there, in the bank. Ain't that right, Ma?"

"What, Tait?" Dora was the only person in the room who had been unaware of the conversation. She continued to busy herself scraping her griddle.

"Ain't there a whole heap of money sitting in the vault, in town?"

"That's right. We made deposits every time you sent money home, Slade."

Slade’s expression grew grim, his fingers took up a nervous tapping on the table. "Did you think the money was tainted because of the way I earned it, Dora?"

Dora stopped what she was doing for a moment and looked at him. "I never objected to the profession you’d chosen, son. It worried me sick, but I never disapproved."