by Jeanne Allan
'I'll bet you did.' Vicky nudged her husband. 'Tony used to be romantic. Now all he talks about is stocks and bonds and mutual funds.' She rolled her eyes. 'Husbands.'
Husbands was a subject Vicky returned to several hours later as she sat in the lounge combing her hair while Dallas repaired her lipstick. 'You certainly caught the pick of the litter when you snagged Clay. Everyone from Denver south was green with envy. Even us old married hags. Tony and I went to school with Clay and Kyle. All the girls were wild about Clay.'
'What about Kyle?'
'Mercedes would have clawed out the eyes of any girl who looked at Kyle. Most of the girls preferred Clay, anyway, but he played the field. A date with him was like winning the lottery.'
'Does Tony know you have a crush on Clay?' Dallas teased.
'Tony's almost as bad. He was on the high school football team with Clay. Tony always said he'd never have got his football scholarship to Colorado State if it hadn't been for Clay taking them to the state finals their last year in high school. Of course, Clay won a scholarship, too, and he received offers to turn pro, which Tony didn't.'
Dallas capped her lipstick slowly. 'I always thought Kyle was the football star.'
'He was good, but Clay broke all his records. Kyle was two years older, and Clay never did much on the field until Kyle graduated. Tony always said that was because Clay didn't want to show Kyle up. I don't know. Kyle was the older, but it seemed as if he felt inferior to Clay, as if he was trying to prove that he was better than Clay. Maybe it was because Clay always knew what he wanted to do. Kyle was constantly searching. It's sad, because I don't think he ever found what he was looking for.' Vicky gave her a sidelong glance. 'I'm sorry about Alanna. Clay said you were close.'
'Yes.' Dallas shut her bag with a snap. She didn't want to talk about Alanna.
Clay was talking to a tall, distinguished, white-haired gentleman when Dallas and Vicky came back to the ballroom. 'Senator Jamison,' Vicky whispered. 'He's been after Clay for ages to get involved in politics.' At Dallas's look of surprise, Vicky explained, 'Clay's a natural. He's smart, personable, and his family's been here forever. Clay knows everybody.'
Clay reached out and pulled Dallas to his side, introducing her to the politician. 'Dallas lived in Alexandria before we were married,' Clay said.
'Maybe she'd like to go back there,' the older man said.
Clay laughed. 'Don't you listen to him, Dallas. He can talk the hide off a cow.'
The senator laughed with Clay. 'It's an art, my boy.' He turned to Dallas. 'All joshing aside, ma'am, Clay's a straight-shooter, and we need men like him in government.'
Dallas frowned. 'I don't think that—'
'Dallas is right,' Clay interrupted smoothly. 'Now isn't the right time. We've taken in my brother's child and she needs us. Politics would take too much time away from Nicky.'
The senator leaned back, nodding his head. 'Sure, Clay. Just don't forget about it.' He smiled at Dallas. 'You ever get homesick for the capital, drag Clay back east. Martha and I always have room for guests.' Accepting Dallas's thanks, he went on, 'Can I borrow your husband a minute?' Turning to Clay, he said, 'Harris and Turner would like your opinion on this little rustling problem that's been going on in your area.'
'Not at a party,' Clay protested.
Instinctively Dallas knew that Clay was protesting on her behalf. 'Go ahead,' she said. 'I'll be fine.'
'Course she will,' the senator boomed. 'Martha. Come take care of Clay's wife for a few minutes.'
Before Dallas could protest, she was drawn into conversations that ranged from recipes to world politics. Many of the party-goers were ranchers, but others were as likely to be bankers, lawyers, and doctors. She quickly discovered that even those who lived on isolated ranches kept up with current events.
A rancher whose black boots showed beneath his formal trousers explained it to her. 'A bad harvest in Russia, a famine in Africa, what's happening with the Common Market—all those things have a direct impact on us. We can't afford not to know what's going on all over the world. It's a lot different from the days back when our grandfathers were ranching, right, Terry?'
The man addressed allowed a tight-lipped smile. 'Lots of things are different now.' His voice chilled. 'For one thing, my family no longer owns a ranch. Thanks to Pete Dalton.'
'Now, Terry. You know no one else would have paid that outrageous price your dad was asking.' The rancher quickly changed the subject. 'Have you met Clay's new wife? Dallas, this is Terry Brock, Clay's cousin.'
'How do you do?' Dallas said, even as she wondered at Clay's neglecting to introduce his cousin to her.
The rancher was hailed from across the room and walked away. Terry Brock gave Dallas a chagrined smile. 'I should apologise for what I said about your father-in-law. The truth is, Ben was right, but when a kid grows up on a ranch that he thinks is going to be his some day, it's rather hard to swallow when it's sold from under him.' His eyes slid away from her, then back.
'I'm sorry.' Dallas didn't know what else to say. Terry had Clay's colouring but there the resemblance ended. He was attractive, but he lacked Clay's air of assurance. She tried to make conversation. 'What do you do now?'
'Work in a bank.' He grimaced. 'It's a living.'
'The hours are certainly better,' Dallas said brightly.
Terry's face stilled. 'That smile. It's Alanna's smile. I'd heard Clay married her cousin, but I didn't really believe it until now. Alanna was a special person.' He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. 'She talked about you a lot. Did she ever mention me?'
Dallas shook her head. 'She talked very little about her life in Colorado.'
'Alanna wasn't meant to be hidden away on some ranch.' He glanced at Dallas and as quickly looked away. 'She confided in me… It was hard for her…the Daltons are the next thing to gods around here. How are you managing?'
'Wonderfully.'
'I'm glad to hear that. When I heard about the marriage, I worried about you. Knowing how Clay felt about Alanna…' Terry balanced back on his heels and studied the ceiling. 'Your marriage just seemed kind of sudden.' His gaze snapped back to her face, his eyes bright blue with inquisitiveness.
Suddenly Dallas felt like a specimen pinned beneath a magnifying glass for study. This man knew about Clay and Alanna and he was gleefully probing the depths of Dallas's knowledge. He was contemptible, disguising his maliciousness beneath a veneer of concern. Praying her face betrayed neither her shock nor her dislike, she said, 'Clay and I have known each other for years but, unfortunately, it took the tragedy to make us realise how much we meant to each other.'
'Love at second sight, right, sweetheart?' Clay pulled her back against him. 'How are you, Terry?'
'Fine. I've been chatting with your wife.' A pause seemed to give significance to his next words. 'About her cousin.'
Dallas felt Clay stiffen behind her, and she whirled in his arms. 'Darling.' Fiddling with his lapels, she shoved her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout and said, 'You aren't planning to waste that lovely music, are you?' She turned to Terry. 'You'll excuse us, won't you? Clay is so popular I have trouble getting him all to myself.'
Clay guided her on to the dance-floor. 'What did Terry say to you?' His voice was tense.
'Nothing, really. Mostly insinuations about Alanna.' She shuddered. 'He gave me the creeps.'
Clay pulled her tighter against his chest. 'I thought your eagerness was because you were dying to dance with me again.'
'Conceited, aren't you?' Dallas curved her arm around his neck. 'I was trying to get you away from your cousin. I swear, sparks flew between you two.'
'Terry hates all Daltons. His father made unwise investments and lost the family ranch. Terry blames my father for that. Unfairly, I might add.'
She caught his quick look at her. 'You didn't have to. I might disagree with Peter about cow heads, but I'd never believe he'd cheat someone. He has such an honest face.' The anniversary couple danced by, and Dallas felt
a twinge of sorrow. 'He must be very lonely without your mother.'
'Nicky helps. That's one reason I couldn't let you take her so far away.' They danced in silence for a few minutes. 'Tonight hasn't been so bad, has it?'
'No.' Dallas smiled shyly up at him. 'Everyone has been very friendly. After the last party, I wasn't expecting that.'
Clay hesitated before saying, 'I'm afraid Alanna didn't fit in here. When everyone found out, through Vicky, what kind of person you really are, they liked you.'
'I guess I owe Vicky, then.'
The music stopped, and Clay smiled down at her. 'Vicky might have speeded things up, but the truth is you're a nice person who cares about other people. People respond to that.'
'What a nice thing to say.' His words sent a warm surge of pleasure over her. The music resumed, and she flowed back into his arms—strong arms that held her protectively against his hard body. Closing her eyes, she followed his lead with ease, as if they'd been dancing together for years. The lovely, haunting strains of music blotted out the conversation of those around them, insulating Clay and Dallas in their own private cocoon. His masculine aftershave enticed her closer and scented her every breath. Clay tucked her right hand against his chest, and his heart beat solidly beneath her palm. The heat from his body warmed her, surrounded her, and flooded her body with pleasurable sensation. When the music ended she forced up reluctant lids. Clay's face was close, his eyes deep blue, his lips drawing hers with magnetic intensity. Her eyelids dropped.
Clay cleared his throat. 'I'm glad you came.'
Dallas concentrated on one of his shirt studs. 'I—I'm glad you made me come. You were right.'
Clay laughed softly. 'Can I have that in writing?'
'No. You'd only use it against me.'
Vignettes from the evening kept replaying themselves in her mind, keeping her from sleep. Clay, so different in formal clothes. The senator, speaking of Clay's integrity. And Vicky, revealing more of Clay's background. Dallas smiled in the darkened hotel room. Vicky might claim she thought Clay her ideal, but Dallas noticed that it was Tony, her own husband, whom Vicky constantly quoted. They were nice people.
She thought of the many others she'd met. They were all nice people. Nice people who obviously liked and respected Clay. A man couldn't buy that kind of respect. So what did that say about Clay? These people must know of Clay's relationship with Alanna. Did they excuse Clay and put the blame on Alanna, or did they ignore it because of Kyle's affair with Mercedes? Or maybe, like Clay, they simply felt what had happened in the past was best forgotten.
Dallas propped her head up on pillows. Was the rest of her life going to be dictated by something that had taken place before she married Clay. Clay had probably been having a torrid affair with Mercedes Irving. Why didn't that upset her? She rolled over on her stomach. Darn it, it did. She didn't want to think about Clay in bed with any other woman. Besides, it wasn't just the idea of Clay sleeping with Alanna— well, that, too—but that Clay could be so lacking in integrity. At least he had the decency to suffer for it. She didn't doubt that. His guilt and remorse punished him far more than she could. And since when was it up to her to throw stones? She was hardly perfect.
Dallas sat up and pulled her knees up to her chin. All marriages needed work, theirs more than most. Telling Clay she'd stay married to him, but refusing to throw her whole heart and soul into making their marriage work, wasn't fair to Clay or Nicky. Or even herself.
There was still a light showing beneath the connecting door. Reserving two rooms was Clay's way of granting her breathing-space. Earlier she'd been grateful to be spared the intimacy of dressing in the same room as Clay. Now she wished… Propinquity would have taken the decision from her. They could talk over the party while Clay undid his tie. She could take her time removing the studs from the front of his shirt. Her breath caught at the thought of pushing the edges of his shirt aside, his skin warm and satin-smooth…
All she'd packed was her flannel nightgown. Not exactly seductive. It dropped to the floor as she belted her chenille robe over her naked body.
She paused indecisively outside the connecting door. Maybe this wasn't the best way, considering what had happened the last time she'd gone to Clay with making… with this on her mind. Tomorrow. They could have a rational discussion about the direction of their marriage. That way she wouldn't be taking Clay by surprise. She turned to flee back to her own bed.
'Change your mind?'
Dallas spun around. Clay was standing in the doorway, holding a magazine, his shirt hanging open over his trousers. Dallas swallowed hard. 'How…?'
'Heard you. Did you want something?'
'No. That is… it can wait.' His aftershave bridged the distance between them, speeding up her breathing.
Clay leaned against the door-jamb. 'Not so easy, is it?'
'What isn't?' Dallas clutched her robe tightly about her.
'Coming to someone's room. Wondering what the other person wants, trying to decipher if the other person was sending out yes signals or definitely not. Worrying about what the other person will think if you do go, or what that person will think if you don't go. Wondering if you'll be rejected, and finally, thinking it would be better to put it off to another time.'
'I find it hard to believe that you—'
'Reminds me of the time when I was fourteen and trying to get up my courage to ask this blonde bombshell, Amy Lander, to a school dance. I was really hot for her.'
'Did she live up to your expectations?' Dallas asked, trying to ignore a tiny, jealous twinge.
'Never got my nerve up to ask her. I regret my lack of courage to this day.'
'You just made up that entire story.'
Clay straightened up, tossing his magazine to the floor, and strolled over to her. He adjusted the collar of her robe and then tugged her closer to his body. 'But the moral's true. Faint heart never won fair lad.'
'I think that's supposed to be fair lady.' Her pulse-rate accelerated at the look in Clay's eyes.
Clay's thumbs lightly traced her jawline. 'Same idea.'
'You're hardly a fair lad,' she breathed.
Clay stiffened. 'I assumed you were here because you'd decided to let the past alone. It's no good if you're going to constantly throw it in my face.' He dropped his hands.
'Clay!' Dallas grabbed at him as he turned, succeeding only in capturing his shirt. 'I didn't. I wasn't.' When he ignored her and tried to release his shirt, she tightened her grip. Clay yanked hard, but Dallas held firm. A loud rip echoed through the room. Consternation warred with a horrible urge to laugh.
'Damn it, Dallas. Do you know what I paid for that shirt?'
'Who cares about your stupid shirt?' She shoved him into his room to stand in front of his mirror. 'What do you see?'
'A man with a torn shirt and a wild woman behind him.'
'You see a man with dark hair. Dark hair, not fair.'
'Oh.' Clay's smile in the mirror was lop-sided. 'Expunging the past seems to be as difficult for me as for you.'
'What are we going to do about it?'
'We could try harder.' Clay turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders, his gaze locked with hers. 'I'm beginning to realise just how much I'd like us to succeed at this marriage business.'
'Yes,' Dallas whispered, mesmerised by blue eyes that deepened with some mysterious emotion.
'I hope you were planning to stay with me tonight.' Taking her silence for assent, he covered her mouth with his.
Dallas gripped the edges of Clay's shirt and swayed towards him, her lips parting in response to the gentle probing of his tongue. His intoxicating kisses tasted of champagne. Her breathing quickened, filling her nostrils with his scent. His hands slid from her shoulders, down her spine and back up her arms, and then tightened on her shoulders as he abandoned her mouth to trail warm kisses along her jawline and down her neck until his lips were pressed against the pulse which beat frantically at the base of her throat.
He li
fted his head and threaded his fingers through her hair. 'All evening long I wanted to throw away those damned pins so I could do this while we were dancing.'
Dallas turned her head to rub her cheek against his hand. 'And I wanted to do this.' She slipped his shirt from his shoulders, her hands sliding up his chest. 'Now we need music.'
'Your wish is my command.' Clay moved away and then soft music flowed from the radio. 'My dance, I believe, Mrs Dalton.'
At first Dallas was content with Clay's arms wrapped tightly around her, his breath stirring the hair on her neck. Then, as his hands began gliding possessively over her body, her breasts grew heavy, the sensitive tips straining against her chenille robe. Dallas pressed against Clay, driven by the needs he was arousing. The knotted belt of her robe dug into her stomach, but that discomfort was minor compared to the ache deep within her.
'Your dress tonight drove me wild,' Clay said in a low voice. 'Every time you moved, it moulded another part of your body that I wanted to touch. And that zipper down the back.' He pressed her head back so he could see her face. 'Do you have any idea how tempting that was? All I could think about was you dancing naked in my arms.'
Dallas stepped from his arms and untied her belt, kicking it to one side as it fell. Her eyes holding Clay's, she shrugged the robe from her shoulders. Clay's eyes deepened to midnight-blue as the fabric slid to the floor with agonising slowness. She raised her arms. 'My dance, I believe, Mr Dalton.'
Clay scooped her up and carried her to his bed where he laid her gently down. 'Let's never stop dancing, Mrs Dalton.'
Dawn was still some hours away when Dallas awakened. Unfamiliar furniture shapes formed inky shadows in the dim room as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. A heavy weight lay across her stomach, and someone was breathing warmly in her ear. Clay. Her pulse speeded up at the memory of their lovemaking.
Clay murmured in his sleep and then opened his eyes. Giving Dallas a blank look, he muttered, 'I should be going.'
Dallas brushed her hand over his face, closing his eyelids. 'No. Not you.' Clay rolled over, removing his arm from her. Sadness settled over Dallas. Clay's sleepy remark had reminded her of his reluctance to spend the entire night with her. Perhaps in time the passion they shared in the dark would survive the unrelenting light of dawn. Meanwhile, she would not jeopardise the fragile accord they'd reached last night. It would be unbearable if Clay's eyes held disappointment in the morning because she wasn't Alanna.
