“Bluebonnets,” he said gruffly. “There’s a field of them not too far from the house.” With the iron grip he had on her wrist, Dillon pulled her toward him. “I picked them for you because they’re the color of your eyes.”
Grace forgot about the burning pain in her hands as she looked up at Dillon’s face. Suddenly she was aware of the unattractive and ill-fitting dress she wore, another of Olivia’s daughter’s castoffs, and of the fact that her hair was falling from a once-neat bun to wisp around her face. And she forgot all that and everything else when Dillon lowered his lips to hers and kissed her.
Nothing could have prepared Grace for the feelings he brought to life within her. She could move away if she wished, but she didn’t. The hand that held the bluebonnets was light at her back, and Dillon continued to hold her wrist. A step back and he would release her. She knew it without doubt.
She slipped her free hand around his waist, moving her body closer to his.
If he had crushed her to him she might have panicked, but his touch remained light as he continued to take her mouth. He parted her lips with his own, and teased her with the tip of his tongue against hers.
Grace was afraid her legs would give out from under her, she felt so strangely weak, and as if he knew Dillon increased the pressure at her back, supporting her as he continued to kiss her softly.
His mouth was as warm as the sun, and he tasted just as she had known he would. He tasted the way his buckskin jacket had smelled. Masculine, of sweat and tobacco and plain soap and…Dillon.
Dillon’s lips left hers, and she uttered a little cry of protest. But he nuzzled her neck and Grace let her head fall back, baring her throat. She was on fire everywhere. She could feel her own heartbeat, and his. She could feel, so divinely, his chest against hers, and she tingled from the top of her head to her—
“Wait a minute.” She pushed against his chest, and Dillon reluctantly pulled away from her. “What are you trying to do to me?”
She saw the slowly clearing haze in his eyes, and knew that he wanted her. The frightening revelation was that, for a moment, she had wanted him just as much.
A minute longer and she would have given him everything. Dillon stepped away from her and produced the bluebonnets once again. They were a little worse for the wear. A few blossoms had been crushed behind her back.
For a ragged bouquet of wildflowers she would have given him what men all over England had tried to buy with diamonds and rubies and gold. Herself. Her body and her heart. She could never give one without the other.
Were all men the same? Was there no difference between Dillon Becket and a lecherous old man who’d never had to lift a finger to earn his keep? Or the son of an earl, a spoiled man-child who’d always had his every wish fulfilled…until he’d met Grace? An expatriated Russian aristocrat who had charmed his way through England, and many of the women there as well?
Dillon turned from her without a word, but was back moments later with a jar of salve. He took her hands in his and rubbed the salve over her reddened palms, not once able to meet her eyes. It was soothing, the salve and Dillon’s hands on hers, and when he finished he instructed her to sit with her back against an empty stall, while he finished churning the butter.
“I did this when I was a kid,” he said when he finally spoke. “It was one of my favorite chores.”
Grace was grateful to lean back against the stall door, salved palms upward, bluebonnets in her lap where Dillon had dropped them. “And why was that?”
Dillon shrugged his shoulders and looked right at her. She might be trying to deny what had just happened, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. He had a half-grin on his face, and a strange light in his eyes.
“I like it here,” he said in a low voice. “It’s cool and it smells of hay and horses.”
“That’s an asset?”
“It’s home. When I was away, during the war, those were the smells that made me the most homesick. Horse dung and hay.” He said it with such comical self-derision that Grace laughed aloud. And then he smiled.
“Do you like it here, Grace?” Dillon asked softly. Several feet separated them, and he continued to churn as she watched him closely. It was the second time he’d asked her that question.
“Most of the time,” she said truthfully. “It can be very beautiful. I can see why you love it here. It suits you quite well.”
“Does it suit you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I hope you like it here well enough to stay. It’s not what you’re accustomed to, I realize that.” His face hardened, giving him that intractable look she had learned to expect from him.
“I’ve been giving the matter some thought,” Grace said, trying to sound sensible. “I’m well qualified to teach. Certainly I could find a job as a schoolmistress, or a—What are you grinning at?” she asked sharply.
“You don’t look like any teacher I ever had, Grace Cavanaugh.”
“But I could—”
“I’d like you to stay,” Dillon said abruptly. “You don’t have to. Your father entrusted you to me, but you’re a grown woman, and I won’t force you to stay if it’s not what you want. You could teach, if you had a mind to, or you could sell some of those geegaws you wear all the time and travel back East. But I’d like you to stay.”
Grace took a deep breath, and for a moment she didn’t think she would be able to let it out. He wanted her to stay.
“Why?”
“Well, Billy and Olivia have grown mighty fond of you.” Dillon pulled his eyes away from her and stared down at the churn as he spoke.
“And I of them,” Grace said softly.
“I’m getting right fond of looking at you over the supper table, myself,” he said gruffly.
Grace lifted the bluebonnets in her sore, greasy hands. She’d never worked so hard in her life as she had since her arrival at the Double B. Her room was small, and her own clothing, what was left of it, was for the most part unserviceable. The heat was horrendous, and while Dillon found the odors of the barn appealing, she most certainly did not.
But Billy had been a friend to her almost since the moment she’d met him, and Olivia was like a warm aunt, or even the mother Grace had never known. And Dillon…the possibilities there were mind-boggling. He stirred her blood, and made her dream of a future she’d never considered for herself before. A marriage…for love, not money. Children, and a home. A real home.
“I’ll stay,” she said after a long pause. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Dillon slept in the room that had always been his, even though he was now entitled to the big bedroom. In his mind that was his father’s room, still.
The window was wide open, the cool spring air a comfort against his bare skin. He’d worked hard from before sunup till past dark, his only break coming in the barn with Grace, so he should have fallen asleep right away, as he usually did. But tonight he couldn’t.
He’d moved too fast that afternoon. He’d known that as soon as Grace pushed him away. But before she’d put a stop to the kiss, she had held her body against his with anxious lips and a pounding heart. She’d been scared, just a little, and to tell the truth, so had he.
He could marry her. Maybe. If the cattle drive brought in enough cash to pay off the loan. If not…Dillon chose not to think about that. Marriage to Abigail seemed impossible now, but he knew it wasn’t. If that was the only way to save the Double B, that was what he would do.
He gave up on the idea of sleep, and resigned himself to a sleepless night. He stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head and contemplated his next step. Slow and easy, that was the key. Grace would have to be gentled, like a skittish mare. Not broken. Never broken.
She was innocent, with no idea where kisses like the one they’d shared in the barn could lead. And Dillon was determined to keep his distance, as much as he could, until he was certain he would be able to marry her.
Grace deserved no less.
In a few weeks the trail boss he’d hired would be ba
ck with the money to pay off old man Plummer. If it was enough, then he could ask Grace to marry him. If it wasn’t…
If it wasn’t, then he had no choice. He’d marry Abigail, because without the Double B he had nothing. Nothing to call his own, and nothing to offer a woman like Grace.
It was a plan of sorts, and Dillon finally fell into a deep sleep.
He dreamed of silken black hair and creamy skin, of bubble baths and bluebonnet eyes, and when he woke to the faint streak of gray that promised morning’s light he knew that keeping his distance from Grace for the next few weeks was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Chapter Nine
Impossibly, the days grew longer and hotter. Grace never would have thought it possible to wish for the London fog and drizzle, but she did. Here, when it did rain, the drops came fast and heavy, and in the end managed to leave the air more humid and unbearable than before.
And Dillon Becket was proving to be much more difficult than the Texas weather.
After he’d kissed her in the barn, Grace had expected that she would see more of him, but in fact she saw much less. It was almost as if he were avoiding her. She began to suspect that he regretted their heated embrace in the barn, as well as his request that she stay at the Double B. There was no other explanation for his actions.
On a normal day she saw Dillon only at supper, and then he was uncommunicative, eating quickly and excusing himself before anyone else was halfway finished.
But Grace knew that there was still something between them. Something powerful and almost tangible. All she had to do was get Dillon’s attention again and make it impossible for him to ignore her.
She hadn’t decided exactly how to go about that, until she saw him standing there. It was yet another unbearably hot afternoon, and she had stolen a moment of cool comfort in the barn, a few precious minutes of sitting in the hay with her back to the wall and her eyes closed. Of course, she could only steal away for a short time. There was too much work to be done to be hiding in the barn.
As she made her way toward the house she saw Dillon. He leaned tiredly against the bunkhouse and sipped at a dipper of water, and he was most definitely watching her out of the corner of his eye. She so rarely caught a glimpse of him during the day that this was an opportunity she couldn’t let slip by.
One of the ranch hands, a tall, lanky man in dust-covered denim, was walking a horse around the corral, occasionally stopping to lay his hand on the animal’s foreleg. Grace turned and headed straight for the corral and the cowboy.
“Good afternoon,” she called when she was near enough for the man to hear her. He lifted his head, and she saw that he was older than she had first thought. His face was tough as leather, though he had the body of a younger man.
“Ma’am.” The man removed his hat and led the horse to the fence. His brown hair was streaked with gray, and he’d gone almost completely white at the temples.
Grace had never met any of Dillon’s ranch hands. They didn’t often come to the house, and Dillon had certainly never taken her to the bunkhouse at the end of the day. In fact, this was one of the rare times she saw anyone but Billy around the house during daylight hours. She had wondered, on occasion, if Dillon had warned his own hands away from her the way he’d warned off Clifford.
She introduced herself, smiling, wondering if Dillon was still watching her and then certain that he was. The cowboy very politely introduced himself simply as Hartley. First name or last—or both—Grace didn’t know.
“Do you think you could teach me to ride, Hartley?” Grace asked when they had finished their introductions.
Hartley raised his bushy eyebrows just slightly, and leaned against the fence. “You’ve never ridden before?”
Grace shook her head. “It seems to me that if I am to stay here, I should learn.”
The cowpoke nodded in agreement. Studying him up close, Grace decided that he was probably only a few years older than Dillon, but he had deep lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, and the white in his hair aged him considerably.
“I’d have to get permission from the boss. I haven’t been here all that long, and I wouldn’t want to step out of line.” He grinned at her, and the creases on his face deepened. This was not exactly a charming smile. It was, in fact, pompous and sleazy at the same time. “But I’d surely be happy to teach you how to ride. There’s a lady-broke horse that’d be just right for you, Miss Grace.”
Grace gave him her most dazzling smile, in spite of the fact that he was practically leering at her, and leaned casually against the fence. She could hardly hold Hartley’s apparent interest against him, since she had been the one to initiate this conversation. Besides, it was working. Dillon was headed toward them at a slow but steady pace. Grace could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t acknowledge his approach.
“What do you think?” Dillon snapped.
Hartley dropped down and massaged the foreleg of the horse he’d been walking. “Needs a little more work. She’s not ready to be rode just yet.”
“Grace.” Dillon shoved his hands behind his back and stared at her intently. “What are you doing here?”
She turned her face to him and gave him a bright smile, as innocent as a child. “Hartley has been kind enough to agree to teach me to ride. Isn’t that marvelous?”
“He has too much work to do.”
“But I really should learn, don’t you think?” Grace asked, staring up into stormy gray eyes. It had worked. Dillon was jealous.
Dillon squinted one eye at her, and for a moment Grace was certain that he knew exactly what she was doing. Somehow he understood her better than anyone else ever had.
“I’ll teach you myself,” he said gruffly, dismissing Hartley with a wave of his hand.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“In the morning?”
Dillon sighed, resigning himself to his fate. “Tomorrow afternoon, Grace. Before supper.” With that he turned his back on her and stalked away.
Grace glanced down at Dillon, wondering if this had been such a good idea after all. She was too far off the ground, and the mare she sat was prancing around the corral. It was true that Dillon held the reins, but Grace didn’t think that would do her any good at all if the mare decided to toss her novice rider.
“Relax,” Dillon said again, giving her a stern look.
“I am relaxed,” Grace said ungraciously.
She wore another of Alice’s outgrown castoffs, a split skirt that allowed her to sit the sidesaddle properly. She’d secured her hair at the nape of her neck, wanting to keep it out of her way, but she’d been so jostled that several strands had escaped. She was certain she looked a mess. Perhaps this was not exactly the way to attract a man, after all.
“Aren’t we finished for today?” she asked.
Dillon’s face relaxed, and he almost smiled. “It’s only been five minutes, Grace.”
She didn’t believe him. Surely it had been more than five minutes! “I’m afraid I’m going to fall.”
“You won’t fall.”
“But what if—”
“I’ll catch you.”
Eventually she did relax, as Dillon led the mare around the corral. Every now and then he’d look up at her, apparently trying to judge her stamina and her feel for the mare.
It wasn’t long at all before she felt quite comfortable on the mare, and pretty sure that the horse wouldn’t throw her off.
The sun was low in the sky before Dillon declared them finished for the day, and he lifted his arms to Grace to help her from the saddle.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and slid from the saddle, falling slowly downward. He seemed completely unaffected by her touch. The shoulders beneath her hands were stiff; the hands at her waist were cold. How could he be so distant? Just being close to him like this made her heart beat fast, and she craved the feel of his lips on hers once again.
When her feet were
on the ground it would have been simplest just to step away and dismiss this experiment as a failure.
But Grace didn’t care much for failure. She slipped her hands from Dillon’s shoulders and wrapped them around his waist. With her chin resting against his chest she looked up and watched the beat of his pulse at his throat.
“Thank you, Dillon,” she whispered.
He sighed just once, and then he took her chin in his hand and lowered his lips to hers. This time Grace didn’t have to be prompted to part her lips, and when his mouth claimed hers she flicked her tongue against his.
Dillon was fire, with the heat in his hands and his lips. He was burning her, pressing his body to hers, pulling her against him. There was something hard and hot pressing against her belly, something as hard and hot as the rest of Dillon Becket. He was no longer coolly unaffected.
It was Dillon who pulled away with a low curse. “Christ, Grace.”
She stepped away from him and smiled up into his scowling face. “See you at supper.”
Grace spent a little extra time preparing for the evening meal. She bathed as best she could in the privacy of her room, and donned one of her own gowns. It was a pale green-striped silk taffeta with a draped bodice, and came just off her white shoulders. It was undoubtedly far too fancy for supper at the Double B, but it would get Dillon’s attention.
She’d never had to work so blasted hard to get a man to notice her.
After years of walking a fine line between attracting a man and keeping him at a distance, Grace found herself anxious at the prospect of confronting Dillon. She was making herself vulnerable, and that was something she had always avoided. For the first time in her life, her heart was at stake. She had everything to lose…and everything to gain.
She fastened the pearls at her throat, and slipped on the matching bracelet, steeling herself for the night…for the days and nights to come. If she had to fight for Dillon Becket, that was exactly what she would do.
Dillon glanced up and then quickly looked down at his plate again. She was doing this to him on purpose, he was certain. Calling him Dillon, instead of the harsher Becket. Kissing him like she had in the corral, and now showing off her figure and her bare shoulders like this…it was more than a man could take.
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