They heard the carriage approaching at the same time, the crunching of the wheels against the drive that led to the house.
Dillon carefully set Grace away from him and stood to fasten his trousers as he made his way to the barn door. She heard the curse, and saw him speed the efforts to repair his appearance, tucking in his shirt and combing his hair with his fingers.
“Who is it?” Grace asked coldly, picking straw from her hair and brushing her skirt. It was as if they were suddenly strangers.
He turned back to her, but with the sun behind him all she could see was a shadow.
“It’s Abigail,” he said in a low voice. “Stay here.”
He was gone before she could respond.
Grace paced, a few short, frantic steps before she turned, whipping her hair and her skirt around her. The more she thought about Dillon Becket, the more furious she became.
How could he stand there and so calmly order her—order her—to stay in the barn while he went to meet his sweet fiancée? Just minutes earlier he had whispered her name, had shown her how much he wanted her. And now he expected her to hide in the barn?
“Stay here? Like hell I will, Dillon Becket.”
She strode from the barn with her skirt in her hands and cold revenge in her heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Abigail was just rounding the corner of the house on foot when Dillon met her. She greeted him with an innocent smile, and he felt like an even bigger ass than he had two minutes ago.
“Good afternoon, Dillon,” Abigail said sweetly. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, but we really must make plans for the wedding.” She blushed, flooding her normally pale face with color.
He hadn’t seen her since he’d delivered his unromantic and businesslike proposal. “I guess we do,” he said unenthusiastically. Moments earlier he’d been set to cancel the wedding and take off with Grace, if she’d have him. Foolish idea.
He took Abigail’s arm and steered her toward the house. The last thing he wanted was for Abigail and Grace to come face-to-face. Especially now.
Abigail didn’t take a seat in the parlor, but stood by the window where soft light fell across her face. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman. In fact, some would call her beautiful. She had deep brown eyes and pale blond hair, and skin that—even though she’d been born and raised in Texas—had rarely seen the sun.
He suddenly felt that he was hurting Abigail as surely as he was hurting Grace. She deserved better than a husband who would always love someone else.
Before they’d had a chance to begin their discussion, Grace came through the front door like a tornado, and she stopped just outside the parlor entrance.
“Miss Wilkinson,” she said silkily, and just a little breathlessly. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
Grace slipped into the room and ignored Dillon, crossing the parlor to stand in front of Abigail.
“Miss Cavanaugh,” Abigail said coldly. Her dislike of Grace was undisguised, as she pursed her lips and clenched her hands together. “You’re looking…” She paused and looked Grace up and down, taking in the plain dress and disheveled hair. Abigail herself was fashionably dressed in a peach suit that looked entirely too warm. “…well,” she finally finished.
Grace lifted a hand to her mussed hair. “Oh, I know I look a mess. Becket has been teaching me to ride astride.” She turned and looked at him for the first time since she’d entered the room, and Dillon felt as if he were going to choke on the knot in his throat.
Abigail raised a hand to her neck. “I always ride sidesaddle, myself.”
Grace smiled wickedly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Becket will teach you everything he’s taught me.”
Abigail apparently didn’t hear anything strange or suggestive in Grace’s comments, but listened politely.
“He’s a marvelous teacher,” Grace continued brightly. “But sometimes he tries to push me too hard. Well, right now I’m so sore.” Grace leaned close to Abigail and lowered her voice, but it was loud enough for Dillon to hear her plainly. “I would kill for a hot bath.”
Grace looked right at him, and she met his warning stare with hard, glittering eyes.
“I suppose Dillon has told you all about our plans?” Abigail asked timidly.
“Of course.” Grace laid a hand on Abigail’s arm. “We’re all very excited. Why, we were just talking about the wedding just a few minutes before you arrived, weren’t we, Becket?”
Dillon couldn’t speak. He was waiting. Waiting for Grace to tell Abigail everything that had happened. Would it make a difference? He had never told Abigail that he loved her, had never pretended that their marriage was anything other than a business arrangement.
Abigail faced them both and straightened her back. “There’s another matter we should discuss.” She looked at Dillon. “Your ward is old enough to marry. I could introduce her to the eligible bachelors in and around Plummerton. It would be best if she were married before…before I come here to live.”
“Grace has a gentleman friend—” Dillon began, but Grace interrupted, her voice too bright.
“For goodness’ sake, Becket. Are you speaking of Lorenzo? He’s just a pupil.” She cocked her head so that it was closer to Abigail’s. “Lorenzo is a lovely man, and I have been helping him. That’s true. But he’s definitely spoken for.”
Abigail glanced from an almost smirking Grace to Dillon. Hell, if he looked half as confused as he felt, he must look like a complete idiot.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I introduced you to a few eligible men?”
She knew. Or at the very least, she suspected. Dillon didn’t expect that Abigail would ever voice her beliefs, and how she knew was beyond him. But Abigail didn’t want Grace at the ranch after the wedding.
Grace smiled, but the glitter was gone from her eyes. “That’s a marvelous idea, Miss Wilkinson,” she said hollowly. “I’m sure there are any number of fine prospects in the Plummerton area.”
Dillon finally stepped toward the women and found his voice. “I don’t see any reason to rush into anything. There’s plenty of time to see that Grace is taken care of. She can stay here as long as she wants.”
Abigail was not the sort of woman to argue with him, and she met his statement with silence and diverted eyes. She’d told him what her feelings were, and that was where it ended.
But he was worried about Grace. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glinted, hard and hurt. He had hurt her, and he hated himself for that.
There were several moments of awkward silence in the hot, still room. It was Grace who finally moved, stepping backward and away from him and Abigail. Her bravado was gone.
“It was so nice to see you again, Miss Wilkinson,” she said numbly. “It’s rather warm in here. I think I’ll take a walk.”
She turned and ran from the room, and Dillon wanted nothing more than to go after her.
But he didn’t. He faced Abigail and began to discuss plans for a wedding he dreaded.
Grace ran toward the barn, seeking solace in the cool and quiet shelter. It took her only a few minutes to discover that she could find no peace there. Perhaps she never would again.
She needed to ride. To fly across the ground and forget everything that had happened. Her mare was in the barn, that gentle creature Dillon had chosen for her.
And Dillon’s bay stallion was in the corral.
That was a powerful animal, one that would carry her across the ranch and away from Dillon Becket with all the speed she desired.
One of the hands was leading his own horse into the barn. It was fortunate that he had not arrived ten minutes earlier…but she wished he had walked into the barn in time to stop her from giving in so foolishly to Dillon. If only he’d come in and interrupted that first kiss, she and Dillon would have come apart, and she wouldn’t be filled with so much bitter regret.
Grace all but assaulted the hand, drawing forth her most commanding voice. “Would you saddle Becket’s horse for me, Lucas, isn’t it?”
He was covered with dirt, and sweat ran down his face. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, staining the cotton shirt from his armpits and down the sides and across the back.
“How ’bout I saddle up Butter for you, Miss Cavanaugh?” he suggested with an easy smile. “The boss don’t allow anyone to ride that stallion of his.”
“Saddle it,” Grace commanded haughtily, “or I’ll saddle it myself and then I’ll have your job.” She knew how to use her voice to her own advantage, how to get a man to do what she wanted. One way or another. And this boy was no challenge at all.
Lucas warily did as she demanded, and then he helped her into the saddle of the prancing animal.
Dillon’s stallion was much taller than her own mare, and Grace was surprised to find herself so high off the ground. She could feel the animal’s power beneath her, between her legs, and when the horse left the corral she clutched the reins desperately, leaning over its neck and allowing it to run.
Her skirt whipped in the wind, and her hair came loose from its already haphazard knot. She had realized the moment she flew from the corral that she had very little control over the stallion, but she didn’t care. She had the wind in her face, and the landscape that rushed by reminded her that she could be far, far away from Dillon Becket in a short time, if she dared.
Where had she gone wrong? How had he managed to trick her into believing that he loved her? If she couldn’t love him, she would have to hate him. She would have to forget everything beautiful about him and remember only the bad. The way he had used her.
She passed Billy, barely seeing him, aware only that he called her name and turned his own horse to follow her. She didn’t attempt to slow the stallion, not even when she heard her name again, faint, muffled by the wind in her ears and the thud of the stallion’s hooves.
Grace glanced over her shoulder and saw Billy bearing down on her, his white hair silver in the sunlight, and he raised a hand to her.
It happened so fast. One minute Billy was waving at her, trying to catch up, and the next he was flying through the air and his horse was on the ground.
Grace pulled on the reins, attempting to stop the stallion. Whatever had made her think she could control an animal as strong as this one? It was a well-trained horse, and finally stopped, but the stallion continued to prance nervously. There was a stranger on his back, and he was excited from the hard and free ride.
Grace dismounted as quickly as possible, and ran to Billy. He was lying in the dirt. Still. Lifeless. His horse was screaming, and one leg was folded up under the animal at an unnatural angle.
“Billy?” Grace laid a hand on his silver hair, and felt the warm blood seeping onto her fingers. There was blood on the rock that protruded from the ground beneath his head, bright red, much brighter than she had imagined it would be.
He couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t allow it. “Come on, Billy,” she said, trying to make her voice strong. She lifted his head into her lap, and hesitantly, afraid of what she might find, Grace placed her fingers against his throat. There was a faint pulse there. At least he was still alive.
She couldn’t leave him, and she couldn’t possibly move him by herself.
So she lifted her head and screamed. Surely her screams, and the screams of Billy’s horse, together would bring someone running to help. It was a big ranch, but there had been other hands with Billy. Hadn’t there?
It wasn’t long before she heard the approaching horse, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief. She stroked Billy’s head gently, keeping her hand away from the wound. Her skirt was soaked with Billy’s blood, and she tried to ignore it.
The last person she expected to see was Dillon, but she looked up and there he was.
“What the hell…”
“He was chasing me…and something happened to his horse…and he flew off, just flew off…and he hit his head….” Grace didn’t realize until she started to speak that she’d been crying.
Dillon bent over Billy and did just what Grace had done. He checked for a pulse and inspected the gash on the old man’s head.
Grace didn’t watch as Dillon rose and went to the suffering horse. But she jumped when she heard the gunshot, and the whimpering animal was silenced.
Dillon whistled for his stallion, and the bay came trotting to him obediently.
“I’m going for the buckboard and a few hands to help,” Dillon said coldly. “Stay here until I get back.”
Grace lifted her head and squinted against the bright sun. She couldn’t see Dillon’s face. It was a shadow with the sun behind it. “I didn’t mean—” she began.
“If you hadn’t run off like a spoiled child…” Dillon began. She could hear the ice and the hate in his voice. “I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now.”
He turned away from her and jumped easily into the saddle, and the stallion galloped toward the house.
Dillon was right. She had run like a spoiled brat, and if Billy died…if Billy died it would surely be her fault.
Dillon pushed his way through the kitchen door. Damn doctor. What good was he? Billy might wake up and he might not. He might live, and he might not. Seemed the good doctor didn’t know much about head wounds.
Olivia was standing over the stove, busying herself making a pot of coffee and a pan of broth. She sniffled loudly, and wiped away tears with the back of her hand.
“I thought you were with Billy,” Dillon snapped.
Olivia looked up, red-rimmed eyes bright in an unusually pale face. “Grace is sittin’ with him.”
“That’s just great,” Dillon muttered as he headed for the hallway that led to Olivia’s room. That was where they’d put Billy, so he’d be in the house and easily accessible. None of them had wanted to risk carrying the big man upstairs.
“She’ll probably try to smother him with a pillow,” he murmured.
“Dillon Becket,” Olivia chastised sharply. “Don’t you dare say that. That girl’s heart is broken. She blames herself.”
Dillon turned and faced Olivia, a woman who had been like a second mother to him. He couldn’t remember a time when Olivia hadn’t been there. He did care what she thought, but he didn’t dare let her know that.
“That’s because it is her fault,” he said in a low voice.
“She didn’t put that prairie dog hole there, and she didn’t intend—” Olivia stopped short and pursed her thin lips together. “Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you’re angry with her. I’m not blind. I’ve known you all your life. Bathed you, and rocked you when you had that fever and your mama was so give out. I cried when you went off to fight, and I cried when you came home. I love you like you was my own son, and I’ve always been proud of you.
“Until now. You’re not doing that girl right, Dillon. She’s young and confused and she looks at you like you’re the only man in the world.”
“Olivia,” Dillon began, warning in his voice.
“And I never thought to see you smile again,” Olivia continued, ignoring his warning. “But since Grace came here things have been different.”
“This is none of your—”
“None of my business?” Olivia said as she turned back to the stove. “Well, I reckon you’re right. I’m just an employee, after all. Just a cook and a housekeeper. You’re exactly right, Mr. Becket. It’s none of my business.”
Dillon turned his back on her. Damned if he would defend himself to anybody. Even Olivia.
How could he explain to her how angry he was? Not just because Billy was hurt, though that was bad enough. What made it worse was the unwanted ghost of a thought that whispered deep in his mind.
It could have been Grace. She wouldn’t have had a chance. The stallion would have thrown her so hard…. It could have been Grace lying in that bed, dead or dying. If Lucas hadn’t come to him to tell what Grace had done, it might have been hours before she and Billy had been found. He couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell her that he’d been racing af
ter her when he’d heard her screams and his heart had stopped beating.
He stalked down the hall, intending to confront her. The door was ajar, and he could see Grace sitting by the bed. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were on Billy’s face. She was speaking, softly but earnestly, and Dillon sidled close to the door to hear what she was saying.
“You might think I’m being terribly silly,” Grace said to the motionless man on the bed. Billy’s head had been swathed in white bandages, and just a tuft of silver hair peeked out.
“The doctor said you can’t hear me, but I don’t believe that. I think you can hear me, Billy. Are you listening?” Grace leaned forward just a little. “Don’t you die,” she insisted. “You don’t know what you mean to me, because I never told you. It was just too embarrassing. Too…absurd, but…”
Grace laid her hand over Billy’s chest, over his heart. “You’ve been more like a father to me than my own father ever was. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to grow up here, with you watching over me.” There was wonder in her voice, wistful and sad. “You’re the only man I’ve ever known who cared for me and asked nothing in return.”
Dillon shrank away from the door, but he couldn’t leave. He leaned against the wall beside the door and closed his eyes, and he listened.
“My own father didn’t even tolerate me,” she said without rancor. “And…other men have always been attentive, but they had a price. Even Dillon.” She sighed. “I thought he was different, but he’s not. I’m just more gullible than I believed I was.”
There was a long pause, and Dillon was tempted to return to the open door, to peek inside and see that she was all right. When she did begin to speak again, it was with tears in her voice.
“I promise, if you’ll just wake up and be well, I’ll do things differently. I’ll…I’ll get married, and I’ll leave here. I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise I will. And I’ll stay away from Dillon. I won’t let him touch me, I swear.” Her tearful voice had taken on a touch of desperation, and Dillon wanted to go to her. To tell her that he was not like all the others.
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