No Angel's Grace

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Becket collected the weapons, and then he turned to Grace. “What in the name of the devil did you think you were doing?”

  She glared at him, all innocent eyes, as serene as she could manage to appear. All in all she was quite collected. “Whatever do you mean, Becket?”

  He leaned close to her, placing his nose almost on hers, but she didn’t back away. She refused to back away from Dillon Becket.

  “You were flirting with that damn bandit.”

  Grace raised a hand to her chest in what she hoped would appear to be mortification. “I most certainly was not. How dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

  Unfortunately the wrist she raised sported a silver bracelet studded with turquoise.

  Billy jumped to the ground and expertly placed himself between the two of them, practically shoving Becket back. “Let’s go, before they decide they want the horses and these weapons and Miss Grace’s trunks. We should count ourselves lucky that nobody was hurt.”

  “I agree,” Grace said calmly, turning to the older man with a nod.

  Becket scoffed and turned away while Billy assisted her into the carriage. “Lucky my ass,” he growled. “I’m ninety dollars poorer. Of course, Grace got herself a little trinket out of the ordeal.”

  Grace settled against the seat and took a deep breath. Becket was probably wishing that she had been abducted by the Mexicans. That would have solved his problem nicely. Her heartbeat slowed, gradually, to a normal rhythm. In spite of his compliments and courtly manners, she had a feeling Renzo was a great deal different from the men she was accustomed to dealing with. He would not have been put off again and again. He might appear to be the perfect gentleman, but she sensed that beneath that charming smile there slept a man who didn’t take no for an answer.

  Like Dillon Becket. The difference was that Becket didn’t try to hide behind civilities. What he showed the world was who he really was. That honesty scared her, as it would scare anyone who’d lived a life of deceit. She had learned to recognize and deal with men who played the same games she did. Almost always her judgment was flawless. Almost always.

  She waited until the carriage was well down the road before she pulled her carpetbag from under the seat. She lifted the bag and placed it on her lap, and opened it to remove her ornately carved box.

  She raised the lid with something akin to reverence. If the bandits had had any idea what she had hidden in the coach, it wouldn’t have mattered how taken Renzo was with her. Gold and gems sparkled. The ruby Nancy’s father had given Grace, the first piece in her collection. The diamond-and-ruby-studded serpent that Mikhail had given her. The Russian had been so sure of himself. So blasted confident.

  Sapphires and emeralds, garnets and pearls. The contents of the box were all that she possessed that was worth anything at all.

  And each piece represented a man who had tried to win her—and had lost. She removed the silver bracelet and dropped it atop the other jewels. She stared for a moment at the jumble of gems, transfixed by the sunlight sparkling on gold and silver.

  Grace laid a slender hand over the pile of jewelry, and let her fingers delve among the stones and precious metals. In spite of the warm touch of the sun, the sparkling contents of the box were surprisingly cold.

  Chapter Five

  After their unpleasant overnight stop in Clanton, Grace had wondered what Plummerton would be like. She was relieved to find that it appeared a bit more civilized. It was awfully small, though. She could see nearly the entire town from the main street. Still, there were several two-and three-story buildings, and what looked to be a decent hotel. It surely had more than two rooms for sleeping.

  Becket’s mood had not improved since their run-in with Renzo, the charming bandit who had taken Becket’s money and flirted so outrageously with her. Her reluctant guardian was, if possible, even more sullen than before, and avoided her so completely she couldn’t pretend that it was accidental.

  They didn’t stop in the small town of Plummerton, but passed straight through. The Double B was just a couple of hours away, she knew. Billy, at least, hadn’t been snubbing her. He had told her all about Plummerton and the people there, though he seemed to be holding something back. Billy was such a naturally open person that he didn’t lie very well. Even if it was only a lie of omission.

  Actually it was less than an hour later when Grace saw the ranch through the carriage window, and she was pleasantly surprised. The two-story white house was hopelessly, marvelously out of place, a veritable mansion sitting there surrounded by fields as flat and devoid of civilization as one could imagine. Rougher-looking buildings, more of what Grace had expected, sat in the near distance. There was a barn and a long narrow building. Both were well constructed, but almost primitive in appearance.

  But the house itself was lovely. It looked freshly painted, and there were lots of windows, all open to allow the faint breeze to ruffle curtains and cool the house. Maybe having Dillon Becket as a guardian wouldn’t be so terribly awful, after all. Grace knew she could make herself comfortable in such a house as this.

  They pulled to a stop just outside the front door. A wide front porch wrapped around the house, and well-tended rosebushes added color to the white porch and railing. Surely it wasn’t Becket who saw to such niceties.

  She was admiring the view when he appeared at her window, partially blocking the picture before her.

  “What a lovely home, Becket,” she said with a smile. She would have to make peace with the man if she was to stay here, though at the moment he didn’t look as if that were possible. “I had no idea.”

  His eyes widened, and he raised his eyebrows. “This isn’t my house. This is the Wilkinson ranch. Jesus, Grace. I hope you’re not expecting the Double B to look like this place.”

  “I was just surprised to find such a house out here in the wastelands, that’s all.” Her smile faded. “Why have we stopped?”

  “I borrowed this rig from…Wilkinson. We should have been back a couple of days ago, and it’s not much out of our way. Just thought I’d let them know we’re back.” Becket was looking at her so strangely, Grace wished she had a hand mirror close by. Was her hair sticking straight up? Was there a bit of the quick lunch they’d shared plastered to her face?

  “Wait here,” Dillon ordered gruffly, emphasizing his point with a shake of a long brown finger as if she were a naughty puppy. “I’ll be right back.” He spun away from her and marched up the steps. A man—a butler way out here?—admitted him quickly, and closed the door so that Grace was once again watching a lifeless house.

  “Purty fancy, ain’t it?” Billy appeared beside her, out of nowhere. He’d approached so quietly Grace jumped when he spoke.

  “Yes, it is.” She couldn’t help but smile at the older man. If not for him, the trip from New Orleans to the Double B would have been unbearable. “Who lives here?”

  She could have sworn Billy was about to blush. The color rose in his cheeks, just slightly. “Well, old man Wilkinson, though I don’t reckon he’s back from the cattle drive yet. His boys, Wade and Kirby. I seem to recall that the old man was takin’ Kirby with him this year, and leavin’ Wade behind to see to the ranch.” Billy nodded his head slightly, giving that statement much too much thought.

  “Is that all?” Grace prompted.

  “Well, there’s…uh…Miss Abigail.”

  Grace leaned closer to the man, poking her face out the window. “What is it, Billy?” she asked, lowering her voice. “What are you not telling me?”

  “It’s nothin’.” He looked away from her, pretending to study the ranch that lay beyond the house.

  “Billy?” Grace’s voice turned cajoling, and she watched as the older man’s face turned red.

  “Well, it’s just that Dillon and Miss Abigail…I mean…I thought maybe you…you seem to like the boss well enough, and he hasn’t said…but this is…I mean to say…”

  “You’re making no sense at all,” Grace said slowly and calmly. “A
re you trying to tell me that this Miss Abigail and Becket are friends?”

  Billy nodded.

  “Very good friends?” Grace asked silkily.

  Billy nodded again.

  “Well, I don’t see why that’s anything to blush and stammer about. It’s really none of my concern who Becket’s lady friends are.” She leaned forward and placed her chin in her hands, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “It’s just rather amazing to me that he has any lady friends at all. Your Dillon Becket is rather lacking in charm.”

  “You’re not upset?” Billy asked, as if he had expected her to burst into tears at the news that Dillon Becket had a love interest.

  “Not at all,” Grace declared. Most convincingly, she thought. “Why on earth should I be upset? I don’t plan on being in Texas for very long, you know.”

  Billy really did look surprised at that calmly delivered statement. “Where you goin’?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I don’t intend to stay on a…on a cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life. I’m an educated woman, Billy. I speak five languages, am quite good at mathematics, and have studied philosophy since the age of thirteen.” Grace stopped suddenly. She sounded, even to her own ears, as if she were trying to convince herself, and not just Billy, that she didn’t belong here.

  “So Becket’s love life, or lack thereof, is of no particular interest to me.” She had calmed herself, determined not to show Billy that she was consumed with wonder. What did this Abigail Wilkinson look like? Was she some shoot-’em-up cowgirl in britches and a wide-brimmed hat, with a pistol strapped to her thigh? That would be a fitting partner for Dillon Becket.

  Billy seemed to be relieved, though Grace wasn’t certain that he completely believed her. He nodded, but said nothing, and he wasn’t able to meet her eyes. He was busy studying the house, and then the fields beyond. For a while he studied the dirt at his feet, or else his dusty boots. It was impossible to tell what held his interest so fully.

  They both jumped when Becket came bursting through the front door, a scowl on his face.

  “We’re spending the night,” he barked.

  Grace raised her eyebrows and stared him full in the face. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t particularly happy about staying.

  “How marvelous,” Grace said cordially. “I can’t wait to meet all the Wilkinsons.” She kept her eyes on Becket’s face, trying to judge his reaction. His jaw twitched, and his eyes glinted like gunmetal. Apparently his Abigail had him on a short leash.

  “Well, Grace”—he opened the carriage door and offered her a hand—“you’ll meet the Wilkinsons. A couple of them, anyway. And you’ll meet most of the people from this part of Texas. There’s going to be a party tonight. It’s meant to welcome us home.”

  “Is one of the Wilkinsons clairvoyant?” Grace asked as she laid her hand in Becket’s. “How did they know we’d be arriving today?”

  “They didn’t,” Becket snapped. “I was in New Orleans longer than I expected. We should have been back several days ago. This fandango’s been in the works for a while, I suppose.”

  Grace removed her hand from his as soon as her feet were firmly on the ground. It had not escaped her attention that Becket had not once mentioned Abigail Wilkinson’s name to her.

  “I can hardly wait to meet all your friends, Becket,” Grace said sweetly. She looked up into his stony face and smiled. “Just imagine! A party on my very first day here! I expect it will be a great deal of fun.”

  Becket glared at her, and Grace almost backed away. Almost. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and a little of her good mood vanished. He really did dislike her.

  “Don’t worry, Becket,” she assured him as she turned her back to his censuring face. “I give you my word, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  She heard a grunt behind her as Becket fell into step to the rear. Whether it was a grunt of approval or a grunt of disbelief, she couldn’t say.

  Dillon squirmed in the borrowed suit. He and Kirby were about the same size, but apparently the younger Wilkinson’s neck was a bit smaller. He wished, and not for the first time that day, that they had gotten stuck in the mud on the road. He’d prefer to be there, up to the hub still, than at one of Abigail’s parties.

  With Grace.

  The time to tell Abigail that Grace Cavanaugh was not a little girl, but a grown woman, had come and gone. The words he’d rehearsed in his mind had seemed inadequate as he’d faced Abigail. He had intended to tell her the truth, had in fact steeled himself to do just that.

  All he could hope for now was that he could manage to get by with a curtly delivered I thought I told you, or a surprised I didn’t even think to tell you. Which one? The bluff? Or the offhand comment that it really didn’t matter? Neither one seemed quite right.

  If Grace had been a plain woman, or even an ordinary one, he wouldn’t have been so tongue-tied. Abigail was, if not yet officially his intended, the woman he was most likely to end up married to. What would she think about Grace living at the Double B? Hellfire, he knew damn well what she would think.

  “What’s the matter, boss?” Billy asked, and Dillon realized that he had stopped in the middle of the stairway.

  “Nothing,” Dillon snapped, resuming his plodding steps upward. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I want to see Miss Grace all gussied up nice before I head out to the bunkhouse with the Wilkinson hands. I’ll bet she’s plumb gorgeous.”

  Dillon ignored Billy’s statement, and stopped outside the room Abigail’s maid had said was Grace’s. He stared at the door for a moment, putting off the inevitable.

  Grace had spent the entire afternoon getting ready for the damn party, as had Abigail. What was it with women? All he’d had to do was clean up right quick, shave, and put on some borrowed clothes. Took him about twenty minutes.

  Gathering his nerve, Dillon banged on the door.

  “Just a minute.” Grace answered his knock in a soft voice, and he felt as if his gut were in his throat.

  When she opened the door he knew it was true. But it wasn’t just his gut, it was his heart as well, and he couldn’t speak.

  Grace was wearing an ice blue satin gown that had a low, square neckline. It wasn’t indecent, not like the red dress, but it was…extraordinary. Something sparkled at her throat, and he lifted his eyes slowly from her chest to her face.

  Her skin looked as fragile as a rose petal, all soft and glowing. Her silky hair was piled atop her head in a style much less severe than usual. A single strand, falling artlessly, curled softly and just touched her shoulder, and her bluebonnet eyes sparkled.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful. Had never even imagined that a woman could look like this. She looked more angel than woman, with that very small smile turning up the corners of a perfectly shaped rose-colored mouth.

  Dillon reached out, took the doorknob in his hand, and pulled the door shut. He couldn’t possibly take her downstairs and introduce her to Abigail.

  “What’s the matter, boss?” Billy asked. He had forgotten that the older man stood behind him, wanting only a glimpse of a gussied-up Grace Cavanaugh.

  Dillon opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Billy a brief peek inside Grace’s room, and then he pulled it shut again, keeping his hand on the doorknob.

  Billy nodded his head in silent agreement.

  Grace tried to open the door, but Dillon held it firmly shut as he tried to think. He just needed a few more days—another way to break the news to Abigail. He allowed the door to open just an inch or two.

  “You’re not going to the party, Grace,” he said coldly.

  “I most certainly am,” she said confidently through the crack in the door. “I’ve spent hours getting ready, and I certainly do not intend to spend the evening up here while you—”

  “Give me the dress,” Dillon interrupted. He was answered with complete silence.

  He pushed into the room with a deep sigh. “Bil
ly, take her trunk.” He blocked Grace’s path to the door while Billy sheepishly did as he was told.

  “Billy, don’t you dare,” Grace begged, but her eyes remained on Dillon, and remained defiantly angry.

  “He works for me,” Dillon said softly.

  Billy stood by the door while Dillon searched the room. He took Grace’s filthy yellow dress as well as the trunk, leaving nothing but her small carpetbag. He even looked inside that, and was satisfied that no clothing was concealed there.

  “You can’t be serious, Becket,” Grace snapped.

  Billy removed her trunk from the room, leaving Dillon alone with Grace. Her eyes flashed at him, and he really couldn’t blame her for being angry. But neither could he allow her to meet Abigail looking like this. There was no way he could explain his actions to her, either.

  “I’m going into the hall,” Dillon said calmly. “I want you to take off that dress and hand it to me.”

  “You’re insane,” she whispered.

  “Not yet, but I’m gettin’ there.”

  “I will not—”

  “If you don’t give me the dress, I’ll take it off of you myself,” he threatened.

  Grace opened her mouth to protest, but was silent as she apparently recognized the determination in his eyes. Her mouth snapped shut in enraged surrender, but her eyes…her eyes were like blue fire. There was no surrender in those eyes.

  Dillon retreated to the hallway and leaned stiffly against the wall. He didn’t have long to wait before the door opened, just a few inches, and the ice blue satin was thrust through the opening.

  “I hope you’re happy, Becket,” she said coldly.

  Dillon ran his fingers over the heavy satin in his hands as Grace slammed the door to her room shut.

  “As happy as I’m likely to get,” he muttered under his breath. “Billy will be right here,” he said to the door. “In case you get any ideas about coming downstairs in your drawers.”

  He was answered with complete silence.

  Grace paced in the elegant bedroom, her arms hugged to her body. How dare he! How dare he strip her and leave her with nothing more than her underthings! So he was afraid she would embarrass him in front of his friends.