Branded (6 page)

Tait's adolescent trousers fit easily over her slim hips. She twisted around, trying to get a good look at her rear end. The pants conformed to her contours a little snugly. She refused to let it bother her. The pants were just too comfortable. But it was Slade's shirt, worn soft as chamois from use, that gave her pause. She had only herself to blame. She should have taken one of Grady's shirts instead, after all, Dora had specifically pointed them out.

Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she was unable to help herself. She took a whiff of the shirt, wanting to see if the essence of the man still lingered. Disappointed, she found that only a faint trace of soap clung to the fabric. She knotted the shirttail neatly at her waist and rolled up the sleeves. After plaiting her hair into a thick braid, she donned the floppy felt hat, tying the bonnet strings beneath her chin. The only vanity she allowed herself was a pair of small diamond earrings.

Lacey stepped into the kitchen, marveling at the gray morning light that bathed the room. She couldn't remember ever rising before the hour of ten when she lived with her father in London.

"Morning, Dora," she said as she took a handful of dough and began rolling it out. She smiled to herself. She'd never expected to find pleasure in such a simple act.

Lacey held up her attempt at a biscuit and compared it to Dora's perfect, fluffy, white circles. Even though they'd used the same can to cut the dough, Lacey had managed to mangle hers lifting it off the cutting board. But she'd rolled this particular piece of dough out three times, and she was going to put it on the baking sheet, whether it looked perfect or not. Perhaps making the ideal biscuit was not such a simple act, after all.

"Haven't quite got it yet, have I?" she asked, cradling the ill-shaped biscuit on her palm.

With the back of her hand, Dora pushed a few wisps of hair out of her face and eyed Lacey's work. She held her lips in a rather tight smile, as though she were suppressing a laugh. "You're coming along just fine."

Lacey wasn't convinced of her sincerity. Certainly, she'd have a maid in Boston. So it wasn't important that she become skilled in all things domestic.

Lacey heard Slade's boots echo down the hallway. She found herself holding her breath.

Dora leaned in and whispered, "I'm worried about him. Most nights, he's up wandering the house. Used to be, he could sleep standing. Don't know what's got him so stirred up."

Lacey shrugged. She’d heard his pacing, too. And now he was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His nicked chin seemed to show the effects of an unsteady hand, belying his sleepless night.

"Have Tait look after the herd. I’m going logging with Dix today." He gave Dora's shoulder a squeeze before kissing her on the cheek. "A new cook shed ought to make your life a little easier."

"This kitchen is a mite small, cooking for all those mouths," Dora said.

Favoring Dora with a sweet, crooked smile, he accepted the proffered mug of steaming coffee.

Lacey wished the smile had been for her. "The first batch of biscuits is nearly done."

He turned his attention to her now, his eyes resting on her face. His smile instantly altered to a sulk.

With coffee cup in hand, he stalked out, shutting the door with force.

She knew a way to lighten his mood. She’d let him know about Grady’s change of plans, that he would be arriving a month sooner than expected.

Lacey arranged the fluffy, golden biscuits on a plate around a jar of honey, which she already knew to be his favorite.

He was leaning against the porch railing, staring out toward the grazing pasture. When she set the plate atop the small wood table, his attention shifted to her. Nervously, she wiped her fingers on her apron.

"’Tis obvious, you find me nothing but a nuisance, Mr. Dalton. So you’ll be happy to know, this arrived today."

His eyes were watchful as she pulled the wrinkled letter from her apron pocket.

"Grady will be here shortly. It seems, you'll only have to put up with me for a few more months."

She startled as Slade snatched the letter from her, scowling as he scanned it.

"You crumpled it," he noted.

"Oh did I?" She tried to manage a smile, but couldn’t. Not while looking into Slade Dalton’s eyes.

Lacey plucked the letter out of his hand and made a show of flattening and folding it, before slipping it back into her pocket. She felt ashamed that she’d crumpled it. If it weren’t for Grady Dalton, she’d have no home.

Without even touching the biscuits, Slade hopped the porch railing, his boots hitting the dirt with a thud. She could see the tension in his broad shoulders as he headed toward the fields.

"Bloody well done," she muttered to herself. "He's obviously feeling much better about me now."

He'd left his half-finished cup of coffee on the railing. She'd never seen him leave any of Dora's prized coffee in his cup before. She took a sip, idly wondering as she did, which side of the cup his lips had touched. She picked up the plate of biscuits and grimaced at the sight of a fly struggling to release itself from the amber-colored honey. She felt very much like that fly; stuck in a situation she had no way out of.

# # #

Lacey yawned. Today's ride with Tait had been too tame. She had been unable to goad Irish into anything but a plodding gait.

She shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. For the entire morning, they'd been winding their way through fields and woods, crossing an occasional stream. Yet they'd never reached an end to the Dalton property.

With Tait lagging behind, nearly drowsing in his saddle, they finally entered the drive. They found themselves trailing Slade and Dix, who’d just arrived carting a wagonload of timber. Slade was shirtless. Splinters adhered to the sweat glistening on his bare chest.

Skipping off the front porch toward him was a young woman dressed in a pale blue gown with a flirty bustle.

Upon seeing her, Slade reined the horses to a halt.

Lacey couldn’t help noticing how he quickly put on his shirt, making himself presentable. Lacey pulled her eyes away. She prodded Irish, encouraging her to move faster, with little results.

"Susan Ludlow is so sweet on him, it hurts my teeth," Tait commented as his horse pulled up alongside Lacey’s.

Lacey cringed, thinking how terrible she must look in her borrowed clothes. Next to Susan Ludlow, she resembled a scarecrow.

Lacey chanced a glance in their direction as Irish plodded past. Slade launched himself off the wagon. He was coming toward her. She felt unreasonably glad, until he spoke.

"Where's your hat?" He took hold of the bridle and with little effort stopped Irish’s painstakingly slow progress.

He glanced from her to Tait for a moment, his eyes narrowing with accusation. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, her braid having unraveled during the long ride. She gave him a confused smile.

"'Tis obvious. I lost it."

He moved to the side of the horse, his chest pressing against her leg. He reached up to finger her hair. He plucked a dried leaf from it, followed by a twig-like branch. "You take another tumble from the horse?"

"No, actually, I forgot to duck when I should have."

"Tait." He looked to the side of her, his pale eyes flashing with anger. "You've got to do a damn sight better job watching her."

She gripped the reins tighter. "Really? I thought he was doing a fabulous job acting my nursemaid. Truth is, if we'd gone any slower, I'd have fallen asleep in the saddle."

"Damn right. You’d better be going slow. You just worry about keeping your fanny in that saddle and your neck in one piece."

What did he care about her fanny or any other part of her anatomy, she wondered, with Susan Ludlow to worry over.

She tried to turn her horse toward the stables before he could see her tears, but Irish, glad not to move, proved too stubborn to budge. "Please, Irish," she begged as the tears began streaming down her cheeks. What was it about this man that made her so bloody emotional?

"You’re a little reckless, Lace." There was an odd catch in his voice. "I just don’t want you gettin’ hurt." He squeezed her knee with his hand. The warmth of it, the feeling it evoked, only made her cry harder.

She pulled her leg from beneath his hand and dismounted, making certain the horse separated them. Let him take Irish back to the stables, she thought, as she sniffled her way back to the house.

She wished he’d stayed and flirted with Susan Ludlow, rather than coming over just to criticize her. No she didn’t, she admitted to herself. Seeing him with Susan Ludlow had sent her heart plummeting to her stomach.

And he was right. She was reckless. It had become second nature to her. It had started as a way of getting her father’s attention. She’d felt so alone and unloved after her mother died. Her father, always too preoccupied with business, never had a moment to spare for her. And, no matter what she did, he chose to pretend that she was still his well-behaved daughter. Then, she’d finally gone too far, and done something even he couldn’t ignore. She and her friends had snuck into the shady gaming hall, thinking it just another thrill, until the authorities raided it. If her father hadn’t been friends with the constable, she might very well have found herself in the gaol.

Slade brought the frigid night air in with him as he stepped into the house. Lacey, tucked into a corner of the settee, shivered. She glanced up at him from the sewing she was doing and gave him an uncertain smile. He shut the door quickly behind him. She looked prim and sweet in her high-buttoned red dress, and exactly right, sitting in his parlor.

He strode over to the hearth and dropped an armload of firewood into the basket. After tossing a log on the fire, he pulled a cheroot from his pocket and asked, "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," she said.

He struck a match on a hearth brick and lit his cheroot, thinking, he really didn’t have time to indulge in a smoke. His ledgers needed going over. He had to figure how long the money he’d returned to Colorado with, would stretch. It was a good thing, he supposed, that he hadn’t had a chance to send it to Dora and Tait. It would have been poured into the great big hole that had become Dalton ranch. Like the rest of the prize money he’d funneled home. He really couldn’t blame Dora and Tait for not knowing how to invest wisely. First his pa, and then Grady, had managed all the finances.

When he’d met with Bonner’s mother, he’d rid himself of the fee for hunting down Purdy. Silas had been Bonner’s quarry, and Slade didn’t want any credit for the ham-handed way Bonner had handled it. Thankfully, the two jobs prior to the whole Purdy mess had paid well. The money wasn’t near enough to replenish his herd, though. He was tempted to try his skill at the gaming table, but he couldn't afford the risk. Not with other people depending on him. Lately, he'd actually been entertaining the idea of rustling back some of his cattle from the Banyons.

He sank into the chair beside the settee and took up the newspaper on the coffee table. His attention was instantly drawn from the page to Lacey. Her long black hair was undone. Just the way he liked it. Not that she cared a damn how he liked it.

She bowed her head to her task, and a lock of hair slipped into her face. He leaned forward and tucked it behind her ear. It felt like black silk. She offered him a shy smile, revealing those heart-stopping dimples.

She hadn’t been smiling this afternoon, though. The thought that he’d brought her to tears, again, still wrenched his gut.

He’d spotted her before they’d pulled into the drive. When he’d heard the horses behind him, he’d yanked on a shirt. He hadn’t wanted her to see him sweaty and filthy from cutting timber.

His heart had thudded to his stomach, imagining that she’d taken another tumble from the horse. Never in his life had he worried so much about one person. Add to that worry, the fact, that she was by far the wildest, most chance-taking woman he’d ever known.

He had to remind himself that she wasn’t his problem. He fisted his hand, the nails cutting into his palm. This morning she couldn’t wait to tell him she would be leaving sooner. She actually thought she was giving him a gift. He’d taken his frustrations out with his axe. Mowed down more trees than they could cart back. He’d have to make a trip to get the rest tomorrow.

He watched her eyelashes flutter as she concentrated on her work and thought; she was one problem he, most assuredly, would like to have.

"I recognize that shirt," he said. It was another one of his. She’d been wearing an old flannel of his earlier today. And a pair of snug trousers that had given him all sorts of sinful ideas.

"Grady’s were in such perfect condition, I felt it a shame to ruin them." She examined her work intently. He had the feeling she didn’t want to look him in the eye. "But if you’d prefer, I could certainly wear one of his."

"No," he answered. It was nearly a shout. Her eyes flickered wide. "Help yourself to any damn thing I own." She’d chosen something of his over Grady’s. Maybe she wasn’t so indifferent to him, after all. Or maybe, he was just indulging in some wishful thinking.

Lacey’s hands were trembling and her last two stitches had been crooked looping things. Slade was studying her so thoroughly, her heart was racing. "Another bank robbery?" she asked pointing to the paper he held.

She’d often seen him scour the newspapers. She wondered if he was looking for prospects, outlaws with hefty bounties on their heads. Perhaps, after a day of thankless ranch work, bounty hunting would look good.

"Purdy boys, hard at work. Two banks and only three victims. Seems they were feeling charitable that week."

"You sound like you know them personally."

"I know them a helluva a lot better than I want to. Killed my partner." He tossed the newspaper aside, rested his head back against the chair. He considered her through lowered lids. "The only Purdy with any true smarts was Jared, and I thought he’d swung. But these holdups have all the earmarks of Jared’s work."

His revelation sent a chill through her blood. A visible shudder shook her frame. She could only think, thank God, it hadn’t been Slade who’d been shot.