“Let her stay, Dillon,” Wade chimed in, his interest in Grace clear on his face. Dillon wanted to smash his grinning lips. “She’s a charming girl. No need to keep her all to yourself.”
“I am not—” Dillon began.
Grace turned to her rapt admirers. It was clear whose side they were on as they glared at Dillon. “No,” Grace said sweetly. “I must obey my master. It has been most pleasurable to meet you all. Perhaps some of you vill come to see me after I am settled at my master’s ranch, if he vill allow it, and I vill try not to embarrass him vith my poor English. I need much practice.”
She turned and bowed once more to Dillon, as he maintained his stiff stance and held his tongue. He knew, deep down, that if his control broke he was going to kill her.
“I vill see you in a short vile, Master Dillon,” she whispered loudly.
Every eye in the room was on her back as she left the room, walking slowly and seductively to the door. Once there she lifted the sheet from around her feet and fairly ran toward the stairs.
Billy looked from Grace to the closed door and back again. “Miss Grace, I thought…I thought you was asleep.”
Grace threw open the door and turned to the silver-haired man who had almost become a friend to her.
“Whatever you do, Billy,” she said breathlessly, “don’t allow Becket to enter this room.”
“Why, the boss ain’t gonna—” Billy stopped short when Becket appeared at the top of the stairs, and Grace slammed the heavy door shut.
But there was no lock, no bolt, and she didn’t think that even Billy could keep her safe from Dillon Becket now.
By the time the door crashed open, Grace had removed herself to the far corner of the room, and she had armed herself with the only weapon she could find—a porcelain vase filled with water and freshly cut white roses.
“Stay right where you are, Becket,” she said firmly.
Against Billy’s protests, Becket closed the door. Grace could actually feel her heart sinking. He was going to kill her. She could read that intent in his eyes.
She held the vase in position, ready to heave it toward his head, if necessary.
“I should beat you to within an inch of your life, Grace Cavanaugh,” he said much too calmly.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Grace said with more courage than she felt.
Becket didn’t move away from the door. He just stood there and stared at her, those gray eyes narrowed and speculative. When he finally did move, all he did was loosen his knotted tie and unfasten the top button of his white linen shirt.
Grace let her arms fall just a little. Becket didn’t look as if he intended to rush at her. At least not right away.
And then, amazingly, he smiled. It was a brief and extremely small smile, but it was there just the same.
“Russian, huh?”
“You shouldn’t have taken my gown and tried to force me to stay in my room. I’m not a child, you know!”
“No, Grace,” Becket said in a low voice, that hint of a smile reappearing on his face. “You’re not a child.”
He paced back and forth in front of the closed door, and the smile faded. Becket remained silent, and Grace finally relaxed enough to return the vase to the bedside table.
Becket stopped pacing and looked at her. “Concubine, you said?”
Grace could feel the color drain from her face, and knew she stood before him with her face as white as the sheet she wore. “It was a joke, Becket,” she said bravely.
He stared directly at her and raised an eyebrow. “A joke? Is that what it was?”
Whatever the reason, his anger had faded, and he appeared to be amused with her. “That’s too bad,” he drawled lazily. “I’d begun to think that a concubine might be just what I need. And I really would prefer to be called Master Dillon, if you please. I like the sound of that.”
Grace clasped her hands at her waist, searching desperately for a way to change the subject. She definitely-didn’t like the smug expression on Dillon Becket’s face.
“Tell me, Becket.” She spat his name, trying to make him angry again. “Weren’t you planning to introduce me to your lady friend? Abigail, I believe her name is.”
It worked. His face was solemn once again, his eyes like granite and his jaw clenched as he tugged at his already loosened collar.
“You would have met Abigail soon enough.” His eyes traveled slowly over her body. She could almost feel his eyes on her breasts and her hips as he swept his gaze over her.
“When I do introduce you—properly—you can explain why it was you saw fit to attend one of her parties dressed in a sheet.”
He looked at the bed, at the rumpled coverlet and the fat pillow form beneath. It had fooled Billy, but as Becket raised his eyebrows, Grace had a feeling she would never fool him so easily.
Becket looked up and took a single step toward her, and Grace’s response was to lay a hand on the vase at her side. He stopped, and for a few seconds neither of them moved. Grace found that she was holding her breath…waiting…waiting…
Finally Becket turned away from her. “Get a good night’s sleep, Grace,” he barked. “Tomorrow morning we go home.”
The Double B was evidently a smaller place than the Wilkinson ranch, and the ranch house itself was much plainer. It was in need of paint, and not nearly so grand in design as Abigail’s house.
But there was something inviting about it. The two-story house was rustic but warm. Someone cared for the place.
There were blooming flowers climbing the railing that encircled the porch, and lace curtains in the windows. None of that was Dillon Becket’s doing, she was certain.
He was in a frightfully calm mood, for a man who always seemed as if he were about to explode. He had remained so even as they’d left the hospitality of the Wilkinson ranch to Abigail’s repeated and almost desperate insistence that Grace stay there.
She had heard the muted whispers. “Not proper,” a frowning Abigail had insisted. “No trouble at all,” the insipid blonde had practically hissed.
Grace wished that Wade hadn’t been there. He’d evidently been let in on the joke, and grinned from ear to ear, standing on the porch and watching as she sat in the carriage and waited for Becket to conclude his business. Her little escapade suddenly seemed foolish. She tried to avoid Wade’s brazen stare, but found that was impossible. Every time she glanced out the window she found him watching her. By the time they’d left, Wade Wilkinson had resembled a mindless, grinning fool.
Grace’s door swung open, and Becket was there to help her take her first step onto Double B soil. He offered his hand with that infuriating look on his face. Amused, but not smiling. Content, but still near the bursting point. There was a look in those gray eyes that she didn’t like at all.
A woman practically burst through the front door, her wide hips and bosom heaving as she walked quickly across the porch and down the steps.
“Where is she?” the gray-haired woman asked, excitement in her voice and on her pleasant face. “Where is that little girl?”
The woman was nearly face-to-face with Becket and with Grace, trying to peek over their shoulders and into the carriage. One corner of Becket’s mouth turned up. Not a smile, Grace conceded, but the beginnings of one just the same.
“Olivia Grant, I’d like you to meet Grace Cavanaugh.” He nodded to Grace, and the woman’s smile faded momentarily. Then she gave Grace a motherly hug. Grace stiffened in the woman’s arms, feeling smothered, and she pulled away as soon as she could.
“Well, I’ll bet you were quite a surprise for Dillon,” Olivia said, hazel eyes sparkling. Grace had to look down at the woman, who didn’t stand quite a full five feet tall. “We all thought—”
“I’m starving, Olivia,” Becket interrupted. “What have you got in the kitchen?”
He did his best to change the subject, but it was much too late. Grace had figured it out as soon as Olivia had asked about the little girl.
Grace loo
ked over her shoulder and up to Dillon Becket. He was silent, and peered down at her with an almost sheepish expression on his face.
“So I was not quite what you expected, Becket?”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said, meaning it. “I should have thought of that. My father…he…” she faltered.
“He always called you the baby,” Becket offered by way of an explanation.
Grace forced a smile she didn’t feel as she tried to make light of it. “I know. If my mother hadn’t named me before she died, I don’t suppose I would even have a name. To be honest, I’m surprised that he spoke of me at all. I was rather a disappointment to him.”
The look that crossed Becket’s face could have been pity or anger, but it vanished quickly, leaving him with that mask of control well in place. “Then he wasn’t as smart a man as I gave him credit for being.”
Grace pulled her eyes away from him and turned to the house. She didn’t want his pity. She’d accepted her father’s indifference, and even his hatred, long ago. Or so she tried to convince herself. “Nice house, Becket.” She smiled at Olivia Grant. “I suppose you’re the one responsible for the flowers and the more civilized amenities?”
Olivia nodded and took Grace’s arm, leading her toward the porch. “That’s the truth. As well as the cooking and the gardening, the chickens and the housekeeping. These boys are enough to drive a woman to drink.” She gave Becket a sharp glance over her shoulder, but there was love there, too. “And it certainly will be nice to have a little female company around here.”
Olivia chattered as she escorted Grace up the stairs and across the porch, leaving Becket and Billy to deal with what remained of Grace’s baggage and to see to the horses and Abigail’s carriage.
At the doorway Grace paused and glanced back at the carriage. Dillon Becket was watching her with hooded eyes and the beginnings of a smile on his face.
Dillon watched Grace enter the house. His house. The door swung shut, shielding her from view.
He wasn’t sure exactly when the decision had been made. Maybe it had been a gradual thing. Something that had started the moment he’d seen her, before he’d known that she was Colonel Cavanaugh’s daughter. Maybe it had begun with his first glimpse into those bluebonnet eyes.
He wasn’t certain when it had started, but he did know the exact moment the realization had struck him. She’d been standing in the corner of the Wilkinsons’ guest bedroom, wrapped in a sheet and holding a vase as though she had every intention of hurling it at his head. There had been quite a lot of determination in those eyes, and a little bit of fear there, too. He didn’t want Grace to be afraid of him.
His life had been damn dull before he’d met Grace, and the future had never promised to be much better. She was hardheaded and ornery and had a tendency to pull the damnedest stunts when she didn’t get her way. She was spoiled and uppity and didn’t like to be touched.
But when she slept she gravitated to him, and she rested in his arms as if she were searching for protection, for warmth. There was something in those eyes…something she held back…something he wanted to touch.
Whatever the reason, he was seriously questioning his intent to find her a husband. He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it, but he intended to keep her.
Olivia led the way up a narrow staircase, and Grace followed directly behind her. The interior of Becket’s house was plain, but washed with light from several windows, and it had a comfortable feel. The furniture she’d seen thus far had been utilitarian, well worn but also well cared for. There were no fancy lamps, no mirrors on the walls. The rooms were almost devoid of color, dominated by oiled wood.
Warm. Every room in the house was meant to be lived in. Every piece of furniture she’d seen was meant to be used. There were no delicate chairs Billy would have to avoid, no tables with spindly legs.
“This will be your room, dear,” Olivia said, pushing open the first door on the left as they reached the second floor.
It was, like the rest of the house, plain. A room meant for sleeping, and changing clothes, and perhaps finding a moment of quiet at the end of the day. There was no cheval glass, no vase of roses, no delicate figurines.
There was a large bed neatly made with a multicolored quilt, and a huge dresser that would certainly hold all Grace owned, and more. There was a hard-backed chair by the open window, and a fresh breeze cooled the room.
“It’s lovely,” Grace said sincerely. “I do hope I’m not taking someone else’s room.”
Olivia shook her head, and her smile faded. “No. This was Jimmy’s room. He’s passed on.”
Grace’s eyes widened, and she stared at the big, empty bed.
“Oh, no,” Olivia said quickly when she noted Grace’s reaction. “Not here. Jimmy passed on years ago…in the war, actually. He was Dillon’s older brother.”
Grace looked down at the woman who was trying so hard to make her comfortable in Becket’s home. “What about the rest of the family?”
“There’s just Dillon now,” Olivia said in a low voice. She laid a hand on Grace’s arm, and patted it comfortingly. “His mother passed on in sixty-seven, and his pa died four months ago. There was another brother, but…” Her voice broke, and Grace found herself comforting the older woman, patting her hand, drawing her a little closer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories for you.”
Her heart broke for Becket, too. He was alone, just as she was. The only difference was that he’d had a family for a while and lost them. She’d never had a family at all. Which was worse?
It didn’t matter. Alone was alone. And Becket had Billy, and Olivia…and Abigail.
Olivia shook off her melancholy and brightened noticeably as she looked up at Grace.
“We’re so happy to have you here, child,” she said, and she smiled as if she really meant it.
“Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”
Olivia laughed and took Grace’s hand in her own, patting it softly. “It’s Olivia, dear.”
“Olivia,” Grace said softly, and she felt, for a moment, close to tears. Somehow she felt as if she’d known this woman all her life. Could trust her. Could share with her even her deepest secrets.
What she really wanted was to ask Olivia about Dillon Becket. Had he always been so hard? Had there been a time when he’d laughed with ease?
But she didn’t, and Olivia finished the tour of the house without mentioning again the ill-fated Beckets.
Chapter Seven
Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place to stay for just a little while, Grace conceded as she ran a cloth over the back of the sofa that sat in the middle of the Becket parlor. She certainly had no intention of staying in the dust-covered and crude country for the rest of her life, but there was a certain peace here that she felt she needed.
Peace and quiet while she gathered her wits and decided what to do next.
She felt that peace strongly, here in the parlor Olivia had set her to dusting. It was a room obviously rarely used, and still she could sense the family Dillon Becket had once had here.
His mother must have chosen the furniture. The sofa was covered with a floral fabric, and the legs were finely carved. It was the only piece of furniture in the entire house that could be called frivolous. There were figurines on the two small tables in the room—a peasant man and an old woman, facing one another across the parlor.
And there were pictures. Just a few. The one that drew her eye again and again was a family portrait, the pose formal and the faces solemn.
It pictured an unsmiling couple and three somber boys. The mother was standing behind the seated father, Dillon Becket’s father, with her hand on his shoulder. She was flanked on either side by strapping boys who appeared to be perhaps thirteen and fifteen. They looked a lot like Becket, like Dillon, with their sharp noses and dark hair that curled just a little.
And there was Becket, seated next to his father. He was the
youngest, maybe ten or eleven years old when the picture was made, and already she could see that defiant spark in his eyes. He looked like his father. All three of the boys did. None of them had inherited their mother’s fair hair or sweet mouth. They were all harshly handsome, hardened like their father even as children.
Grace reached out a finger and touched the little Dillon’s face. He was the only one, now, and she understood how Olivia could cry for them, even after all this time.
She heard the front door open, and the dust rag flew to the picture. It wouldn’t do for her to be caught studying Becket’s picture so closely.
“Anybody home?” the cheerful voice called loudly, and Grace sighed. She wasn’t exactly disappointed that it wasn’t Dillon Becket entering the house in the middle of the day, but she didn’t exactly relish the thought of facing that grinning fool Wade Wilkinson, either.
Grace looked down at the calico dress Olivia had insisted she wear. It was worn and plain, and just a little too large for her.
When she lifted her eyes, Wade Wilkinson was standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face.
“Howdy, princess,” he said lightly.
Grace could feel the heat rising in her face.
“Now, don’t be going all shy on me, darlin’,” Wade said as he stepped into the parlor, his dusty hat in his hand. “Well, now, I take that back. You sure are extra pretty when you blush like that. Puts roses in your cheeks.”
Grace took a deep breath, calming herself as she placed the dust rag on the back of the sofa. “Have you come to see Becket? I’ll see if I can find him for you.”
At that moment she would have given anything to have Dillon Becket in the room. She didn’t like Wade Wilkinson. Not at all.
“No,” he said as he walked toward her. “I don’t want to see Dillon. I came to see you, princess.”
“That’s very kind,” Grace said nervously, “but—”
“No kindness intended,” Wade said in a low voice. “I just wanted to see if you were as pretty as I remembered. And you are. Though I must admit, I liked you better wrapped in a sheet than wearing that old calico. But darlin’, nobody makes calico look as good as you do.”
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