“And when I do get married, I want you to give me away, Billy. And even if I can’t have everything I want, I can make a family for myself. I can have children and love them….” Her voice broke, and, still safely hidden in the hallway, Dillon clenched his hands and closed his eyes. “So you have to get better,” Grace continued shakily. “You have to wake up.”
Dillon retreated quietly down the hallway, toward the kitchen where Olivia busied herself. When he turned and approached the bedroom where Billy lay again, it was with a heavy step, and he was calling Grace’s name.
She was waiting for him when he appeared in the doorway.
“Is there any change?” he asked gruffly, trying not to betray what he had heard.
Grace was so pale she looked like a ghost sitting at Billy’s side. He had heard the tears in her voice, but her eyes were dry. She shook her head.
“I, um, I should apologize,” Dillon said sheepishly. “I was upset. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is, Becket,” she answered him harshly, standing as he moved to the end of the bed. “I acted foolishly and impulsively and this is what happened. I apologize for interfering with your plans. It won’t happen again.” Her voice was cold and distant.
She brushed past him, looking away as she passed close by. “If you’re going to be here for a while, I’ll go clean up. But I think someone should be with Billy at all times, so if you—”
“I’ll stay,” Dillon said, watching her stiff back. When she turned in the doorway he could see that she still wore the blood-soaked skirt he had found her in. The blood had dried, brown and stiff, there where Billy’s head had rested in her lap.
“You go ahead and clean up, and sleep for a while, if you want.”
Grace seemed to study him with distant eyes, looking over him much the same as she had the first time he’d seen her. Regal and cold. Distant. Alone. Always alone.
“I’ll come down in a couple of hours,” she said briskly, “but please let me know if…if there’s any change.”
She spun away and left him alone with Billy, in a room that retained her scent and her energy.
And Dillon knew that for the rest of his life he would have that whispering thought in his brain.
It could have been Grace.
When Grace appeared in the doorway, no more than two hours later, Dillon felt his heart sink at the sight of her. It was dark outside, and the room was lit with a single lamp, burning low. But it illuminated Grace well enough.
She’d discarded her usual calico for one of her own gowns, gray silk with a high neck and long, form-fitting sleeves. Her hair, hair that had earlier been windblown, was brushed severely back from her face and secured at the nape. Her spine was rigid, her face impassive, and she stood in the doorway with that regal air that kept others at a distance.
“Why don’t you get some rest, Becket,” she suggested. “I’ll sit with Billy.”
Dillon rose from his chair by the bed, unable to take his eyes from her as she stepped into the room. “I want to stay.”
Grace turned away from him, ready to escape.
“Wait,” Dillon whispered as he reached out and caught Grace’s arm. He felt it immediately, the sudden tension in her arm and in her stance.
“Release me, Becket,” she said in a low voice, and he did as she asked.
She wouldn’t remain in the same room with him. He knew that now. And he knew just as well that she needed to be with Billy.
“Maybe I will try to sleep for a couple of hours, and get a bite to eat,” he said casually. “If you don’t mind staying.”
Grace brushed past him, her eyes on the floor as she made her way to the chair by the bed. There was a pained expression on her face as she glanced down at Billy, but Dillon knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better.
She was going to ignore the events that had sent her riding away from the ranch at breakneck speed. Perhaps that was for the best, since nothing could be changed.
Dillon made his way to the kitchen through the dimly lit hallway. He poured himself a cup of cold coffee and picked at a hard biscuit.
There was no way he could get any sleep, but he would stay away from the room for a while so Grace could watch over Billy as she wished. Olivia was settled for the night in Billy’s cabin. She’d told him that much as she’d inquired after the patient and gathered a few personal belongings from her room. She’d refused the offer of Dillon’s bedroom for the night, preferring, angrily, to escape him completely.
So he couldn’t even talk to her. Or rather, apologize to her. She’d been right that afternoon, as she usually was. He hadn’t been fair to Grace. He expected her to be as practical as he was about the Double B. To love it as he did. To be willing to sacrifice anything for it. That was what he was doing. Sacrificing Grace for the Double B.
But at the same time he was doing what was best for her. It was his responsibility to see that she was cared for. That she marry a man who could give her everything a lady needs.
That man wasn’t him. Without the Double B he would be nothing better than a drifter. Ranching was all he knew.
He didn’t even hear Renzo enter the kitchen and pour his own cup of coffee. It wasn’t until the bandit took a loud sip of the cold, strong coffee and made a grunting noise of disgust that Dillon was made aware of his presence.
The Mexican bandit—ex-bandit—stood casually propped against the stove, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his mouth set in a thoughtful grimace.
“You have ruined a perfectly good woman, Señor Becket,” Renzo said in a low voice. It wasn’t exactly a challenge, but there was a hint of threat in that voice.
“Grace will be fine,” Dillon said halfheartedly. He couldn’t even muster the energy to hate the thief, especially now that he knew there was nothing between Grace and Renzo.
“I hope you are correct. Perhaps in time, and with some distance from this place, Grace’s heart will heal.”
Dillon looked up then. Renzo was right. Neither of them would be able to lead a normal life living where they would be reminded every day.
Even if Grace married a local man and lived within a day’s ride of the Double B, it would be too close. Could he forget that she lived so close? Could she forget him?
He drummed his fingers lightly on the table as he thought, almost forgetting that he was not alone until Renzo loomed over him.
“I have made many mistakes in my life,” Renzo said in a low voice. “I came from a good family. My mother didn’t raise her youngest son to be a thief. But when she was killed, along with my little sister and the woman who was to be my wife, I thought I would never care for another living thing. No human or animal. It was simply too painful.
“I hunted down and killed the men who murdered those I loved. Thieves, all of them. That was twelve years ago. I was barely twenty at the time, but in my eyes my life was over. I became like the men who were responsible for ripping my heart away.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I didn’t think I would ever care again. I thought my heart had turned to stone. That my soul had turned dark and shrunk to nothing.
“But I was wrong.”
Dillon swirled the dregs of his coffee in the bottom of his tin cup. He didn’t want to look up at the man who was emptying his heart to a near stranger who had done nothing but insult him. “What does that have to do with Grace?”
“Nothing, really. I do care for her, my fragile amiga who tries so hard to be strong. And I wonder if you will ever again care enough to stand over a sleeping woman and watch, weeping in your soul for want of her.” The bandit ignored the warning stare Dillon turned to him. Renzo had been watching his first night in this house, standing behind Dillon as he watched Grace sleep. It was such an invasion. “Forcing yourself to stay away from her because…Well, Grace tells me you have your reasons for marrying another. I just hope you don’t lose your soul in the process. It makes one’s life very lonely.”
“This is none of your business.”
Renzo gave him a half smile, sad and resigned. “True. I just wanted to have my say before I leave. I’ll be gone in the morning, long before sunup.”
Dillon didn’t know whether to wish Renzo luck or help him pack his belongings. He wouldn’t be sorry to see the man leave.
“Tell Grace,” the bandit continued, “that I had no luck finding my little jewel today, but I have not given up.”
“Your…what?”
Dillon didn’t get an answer. Grace stepped into the kitchen, a bit of color in her cheeks at last. There was a sparkle in her eyes as she clasped her hands together.
“Billy’s awake.” That was all she said before she turned and hurried back to the injured man’s room. Dillon was right behind her, and went to the opposite side of the bed. The two of them leaned over Billy, as the man studied them with a scowl on his face.
“What the heck’s the matter with you two? I never seen two longer faces in all my days.”
“How do you feel?” Grace asked tenderly, ignoring Billy’s foul mood.
“My head hurts like the dickens, and I’m hungry.”
That statement elicited a smile from Grace, and she squeezed Billy’s hand. “You really are going to be fine, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m going to be fine. What are you babbling about, girl?”
It became clear that Billy remembered nothing of what had happened. He told them that he remembered seeing Grace fly past him on Dillon’s stallion, and that was it. He didn’t even remember turning his horse to chase her.
Grace would only allow him to have broth and water, even though he protested heartily that he needed meat to fill his stomach. But he drank the broth and fell into a comfortable sleep, and he was snoring minutes after he’d closed his eyes.
Dillon laid his hands on Grace’s shoulders, and then removed them when he felt her tense.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Grace.”
She turned to look up at him, a determined look on her face. “Of course it is, Becket. Since Billy’s recovering, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything.”
“Abigail Wilkinson offered to introduce me to some eligible men, with the prospect of marriage in mind. Please ask her to proceed with her plans as soon as possible.”
She was remembering her promise to Billy, he knew, her promise to marry and raise a family. Her promise to stay away from him.
He couldn’t, at that moment, manage to respond in any way. To say yes or no or hell no, or even to nod. And Grace rushed past him, her eyes on the door as she fled from the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace took a deep breath, enjoying a rare, quiet moment. It had been a trying evening, though she had done her best not to show it. Dinner had been bad enough, but the after-dinner party was a real trial.
She had managed to have a private moment’s conversation with each of the three potential suitors Abigail had presented. Grace had been the center of attention before, had gone out of her way, on occasion, to be just that. But tonight she was ill at ease with the attentiveness. She felt as though she were up for auction, or a prize to be claimed.
Of course Wade Wilkinson was there. It was clear that neither Abigail nor Dillon considered him to be a suitable candidate, which gave Grace all the more reason to smile brilliantly at him whenever the opportunity arose.
Wade had not mentioned his earlier, rejected offer to court her. He had not attempted to press her, as he had in Dillon’s parlor, but had been a perfect gentleman. Wade was not bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome, in a rough and rather brawny way. Tall and broad shouldered, with Abigail’s brown eyes and pale hair, he was quite genial and unerringly good-natured. Had she overreacted that day in the parlor? Had he really been too bold, or had she panicked? Would allowing Wade to kiss her really be any different from kissing Becket?
Of course it would be. She knew that in her heart. And marrying Wade would mean constant contact with Dillon and Abigail. How could she punish herself like that?
She at first had thought that Nate Johnson was there as a joke. The man was much older than she, a widower with six children. But she soon discovered that his presence was no prank. This was a man who had made his small fortune in cotton and had miraculously held on to a good portion of it. He needed a wife. For his children, he said, and to see to the running of his house.
He was not really an ugly man, Grace tried to tell herself, though his nose was quite broad and had an unfortunate dent in the center, but he had the irritating habit of clearing his throat frequently as he ran stubby fingers through what was left of his hair.
Samuel Plummer, Abigail’s third candidate, had watched Grace quietly for most of the evening. The son of the banker Plummerton was named for, he was evidently well educated, and he possessed an air of refinement the other Texans she had met lacked. More handsome even than Wade, Samuel had dark hair and blue eyes and a nicely shaped wide mouth that smiled often, though not as ridiculously often as Wade. Their few private words had shown her that Samuel was a bit shy. He was a lawyer, and had just recently opened his practice in Plummerton. Thankfully he had missed Abigail’s welcome-home party, and the spectacle she had made of herself.
The three potential husbands had only one thing in common: they were all in the market for a wife. There were no moony-eyed glances, no whispered words of love, for this would not be a love match but a partnership. A business proposition.
Dillon had managed to be his usual unsociable self, growling and giving one-word answers to questions that were put to him, and averting his eyes whenever Grace happened to look his way. Abigail acted as though this were perfectly normal, and Grace wondered if perhaps it wasn’t.
Kirby Wilkinson had made a brief appearance. He was an energetic young man not much older than Grace. It was clear, even though he looked at her appreciatively, that he was far from being ready to settle down.
Old man Wilkinson had eaten dinner with them, but had retired early, insisting on leaving the evening to the young people. He reminded Grace more of Abigail than Wade or Kirby, as he looked Grace over as a man purchasing a horse might study an animal. He’d actually smiled at Wade when his perusal was over, nodding his head in approval.
“My Russian princess,” Wade said with a smile as he sat beside Grace on the settee. It seemed her moment of respite was over.
“I feel so foolish,” Grace said in a low voice, leaning closer to the rancher in a confiding way. “And you seem to be forever reminding me of that escapade. Whatever could have possessed me to pull such a prank? I will never know. I do hope you won’t think I’m such an impulsively foolish girl all the time.”
“I told you before, I thought it was right funny, myself. The look on Dillon’s face was priceless. I never saw him turn so many shades of red before. Besides, it served him right.” Wade leaned closer to her, until she could feel his breath on her neck. It took all her control not to pull away from the man.
A quick look around the room confirmed her suspicions. No one was coming to her rescue. No one would even know that she wanted to be rescued. Abigail was in deep conversation with Nate Johnson, and Dillon was speaking with Samuel Plummer. But his eyes were on her. Blast him, they had been all evening. Only this time he didn’t look away, but continued to stare. How did he expect her to choose a husband with him looking at her like that?
She smiled at Wade. “It’s quite difficult to shock a Texan, isn’t it? No one seemed particularly scandalized at the party, or even when the truth came out.”
Wade chuckled. “Only Abigail. But then, she spends half her life scandalized by one thing or another.”
Grace was relieved when someone suggested that Abigail play the piano. At least, for a few precious minutes, she would be relieved of her obligation to carry on fascinating conversation with the man of the moment.
Abigail played well, sitting primly at the piano and pounding out a fair rendition of “Ba
rbara Allen,” and then, upon request, “Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair.” She was, Grace conceded, an adequate pianist.
She almost didn’t hear Dillon, even as he repeated his question. “You do play, don’t you? I thought you said you did.”
“Oh, well.” She smiled at him coldly. “It’s true we did have lessons at school, but it’s been a long time, Becket.”
Abigail appeared in front of Grace, both hands offered insistently. “Please do indulge us.”
Grace knew, could see on Abigail’s face, that she was expected to play. And badly. This was one area where Abigail was confident she had the advantage. Grace rose slowly to her feet, ignoring Abigail’s offered hands.
“How could I possibly refuse?”
Grace sat on the piano bench and took a moment, smoothing the silk of her garnet dress, caressing the ruby that hung between her breasts. How appropriate that she had chosen this particular piece of jewelry for the evening.
She laid her fingers over the keys and ran them stiffly over ivory and ebony. It had been a while. What if she did fumble? What difference did it make? She played a simple little piece. Mozart. It had been the first piece she’d played at a school recital, when she’d been twelve. It rolled off her fingers effortlessly, smoothly, as it came back to her with ease.
There was a burst of applause when she finished, but Grace didn’t even look up. She began to play again, tuning out the others, playing only for herself. The piece began slowly, almost tentatively, then built to a fever pitch. One of Liszt’s Hungarian rhapsodies. Gypsy music. Music that set her blood on fire and made her heart soar.
She did, for a short while, forget that she was not alone, as she pounded her fingers against the keyboard. This was a talent she had inherited from her mother, or so her father had said. That was why he never listened when she practiced. That was why he had always been too busy to listen to a new piece she had learned. But at school her talent made her shine. Even the teachers who seemed to despair of ever getting through to her forgave her when she played.
It had been so long, she’d forgotten how wonderfully lost she was when she played, how the rest of the world went away.
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