No Angel's Grace

by Linda Winstead Jones

  When the music ended and the ring of the keys still reverberated in the air, there was complete silence. Grace placed her hands in her lap and stared at the keys. When the applause started she looked back at the others. Abigail was pale, lips pursed and eyes hard. Nate Johnson, bless the poor man, looked terrified. Samuel Plummer nodded to her, suitably impressed, while Wade looked at Grace and then at his sister with a wide grin on his face. It was Dillon who stood and came to her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked softly.

  He was blocking the rest of the room and its occupants from her view, hiding her face from the rest of the party. “I can’t keep you,” she whispered, her voice so low that no one else could possibly hear her.

  Abigail did her best to try to convince Dillon and Grace to spend the night. But Dillon insisted on getting back to the ranch, even though it meant traveling in the dark and arriving late. For that, Grace was grateful. She was tired of smiling at Abigail and putting her best face on for the gentlemen.

  “Well?” Dillon snapped before they were even out of sight of the house.

  “Well what?” Grace looked away from him, out over the moonwashed landscape.

  “Did you…did you get a marriage proposal tonight?”

  “Oh, that,” Grace said tiredly. “Yes, I did.”

  Dillon didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and then he exploded. “From who?”

  “From all three, actually,” Grace said matter-of-factly. “Wade asked almost the moment we arrived. Such an impatient man. Mr. Johnson, Nate, asked after dinner. And Samuel Plummer made his offer about five minutes before we left. He seems rather sweet. A little shy, perhaps.”

  Dillon cursed under his breath, giving all of his attention for a moment to the horses that were pulling the buckboard. “Damn it, don’t make me keep asking. What did you say?”

  “I said that I would consider the proposal.”

  “To which one?”

  Grace turned and looked at Dillon then. He sounded so angry. What had he expected? “To all three, Becket.”

  Dillon pulled the horses to a halt in the middle of the road. “To all three?”

  Grace nodded. He was looking at her as if she’d done something wrong. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Wade is coming for supper on Monday, and Nate will be there Tuesday.”

  “And Sam on Wednesday?”

  “Thursday,” Grace supplied the information in a monotone. “Are we going to spend the night in the middle of the road?”

  Dillon flicked the reins and got the buckboard moving again. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  Grace had nothing to say to him. He knew how she felt, and still he’d chosen Abigail. That left her with no choice but to marry another man, and preferably soon. Besides, she had to remember the promise she’d made to Billy while he was unconscious.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could play?” Dillon asked, his voice more relaxed than it had been just moments earlier.

  “I did.”

  “You didn’t tell me you could play like that,” he said, and Grace could hear the appreciation in his voice.

  Grace closed her fist around the ruby and watched Dillon. He was watching the road, so she felt free to study his profile. The sharp nose, the hard jaw. She would have to memorize it all.

  “Do you remember the red dress I wore at the roadside stop in Clanton?” she asked, a touch of trepidation creeping into her voice.

  Dillon snorted, but he didn’t look at her. “I’ll never forget it.”

  She almost smiled, but couldn’t quite carry it off. “We were having a concert at the school. It was my last year there, and the teachers had planned, as usual, a very sedate and refined evening. Bach. Mozart. Matching white dresses with wide skirts and puffy sleeves.” She sighed, remembering. “I don’t even recall what I was so angry about. I think it was something the music teacher had said or done, but it was probably just another attempt to get my father’s attention. You see, I was to play last….”

  “Because you were the best?”

  “Yes, because I was the best. And I had that red dress, made with my own hands over a period of weeks. I had worked on it late at night, sewing by candlelight until I couldn’t see to sew anymore.

  “When it was my turn to perform, I came out in that red dress, and instead of playing the sonata my music teacher had chosen for me, I played the Liszt I played tonight.”

  “It was wonderful.”

  “I love it. But it’s very improper for a young lady to play Gypsy music that makes the blood boil and the heart beat fast.”

  Grace was quiet for several minutes, and Dillon didn’t ask her any more questions. She was lost in remembering, clutching the ruby.

  “After the concert there was a reception, and we were all allowed to attend. Even me, after I was made to change into my proper white dress, of course. A classmate’s father, Sir Richard, had disappeared shortly after the reception began. I remember because Nancy was looking for him, and she was afraid he had left without saying good-bye. But he returned a short time later. I saw him watching me, and it made me nervous. He was a much older man, of course, and I was only seventeen. But he watched me so closely, and then he cornered me.” Rather like Wade had that day in the parlor, though she didn’t remind Dillon of that. “And he presented me with this.” Grace held the ruby aloft. “He said he’d thought of it when he heard me play, and he wanted me to have it. Goodness, it was so beautiful, and no one had ever given me anything before. I’ll never forget the way it sparkled in the light when he placed it over my head.

  “When I was invited to spend the holiday with Nancy and her family, I was so excited,” she said cynically. “As it turned out, it was Sir Richard’s suggestion that I stay with them.”

  “Dirty, lecherous old man,” Dillon muttered angrily.

  “Exactly,” Grace said clearly. “You figured it out much more quickly than I did. I guess you could say I was a slow learner. Sir Richard made several subtle attempts at seducing me, but I was so naive. Finally he grew bolder. I actually thought that he…that he cared for me the way a father cares for his daughter, before I realized what he really wanted. I was so foolish.”

  “No. It was his fault. Not yours,” Dillon said defensively.

  “Well, I made him pay,” she said darkly. “I led him to believe that he would get what he wanted. I hinted broadly that a few more gems would make me more…willing. And then, when I saw that he was nearing the end of his store of patience, I left. Early one morning while the household was still abed.”

  “Did you ever see him again?”

  Grace smiled. “Only once, at a social function years later. He was very…coldly polite. Of course, he had no choice. His wife was on his arm.”

  Grace let the ruby fall. “After that I traveled all over England, and to France as well. I stayed with old schoolmates, and when that wasn’t possible I wrote to my father asking for money. The money always came, and he never asked me to come home. He was willing to part with everything he owned to keep me away. I guess that’s exactly what he did.”

  Everything was so beautiful, silver in the moonlight. The rolling hills, the stars in the sky. A fairy-tale land.

  “Is that where you got all those geegaws?”

  Grace nodded. “I started collecting jewelry, and men’s hearts, though to be honest there weren’t many of them offering me their hearts. It wasn’t love they wanted to buy. It was…well, you know what it was.”

  “Dammit, Grace,” Dillon said in a low voice. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You can’t…” He almost choked on his protests.

  “The trick is to choose a man who loves the chase more than the victory. A man who can be manipulated. He has to be…weak, in a way.”

  She looked away from Dillon and to the moonwashed landscape. “I never would have played the game with you, Becket,” she said softly.

  Wade ate as if he were starved, and given his size
, Grace could imagine that he ate this way all the time. She began to imagine herself in the kitchen, all day long, never quite able to cook enough food to keep him satisfied. He smiled at her often, grinning almost constantly. Did he have to smile all the time? No one could possibly be this happy.

  She wondered if he smiled like that when he…Well, she couldn’t quite picture it, just as she couldn’t picture taking any man other than Dillon to her bed. It was inevitable, she knew, if she was to have the family she wanted, but it was impossible to imagine with any sense of ease.

  There were just the three of them at the dining room table: Dillon, Wade, and herself. Olivia had refused to eat with them, had refused with an almost venomous glare at Dillon that was very out of character for the warm woman. Billy was still confined to the bed, and had become quite a cantankerous patient.

  After dinner they retired to the parlor, a room that Grace had practically claimed as her own. Already this room was full of memories for her.

  Dillon was as surly as he’d been at the Wilkinsons’ house, and Wade ignored him, turning all of his attention to Grace.

  “I can’t tell you enough what a pretty little filly you are.” He winked at her as he said this, and Grace bristled. Filly?

  “You’re very kind, Wade,” she said demurely.

  “So how about it?” he asked, leaning back in the wing chair and watching Grace intently. She was seated in the center of the sofa, and Dillon had chosen his usual hard-backed chair.

  “How about what?” Grace asked, and then she knew. He wanted his answer. Now.

  “Let’s get hitched,” he said energetically. “I know there’s other fellas out there who’d like to scoop you up, but none of them will take care of you the way Wade Wilkinson will, princess.”

  Grace had already made her decision. She couldn’t marry Wade. Even if she wasn’t terrified at the thought of him touching her, it would mean too much contact with Dillon and Abigail.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Wade,” Grace said demurely. “I can’t.”

  “Wait a minute, here,” Wade said, standing as his grin faded slightly. “Think on it a while.”

  “You’re truly a wonderful man,” Grace said, trying to spare his feelings. “And you’ll make some woman a perfect husband, but I don’t think you and I are well suited.”

  “Oh, I think we’d be right well suited, princess.”

  Wade stood directly in front of her, just a little too close. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw Dillon rise and move to stand behind the sofa. He was at her right shoulder.

  Wade looked from her to Dillon and back again with an ever widening grin. “If I hadn’t already figured it out, I’d sure as hell have figured it out now. Tell me, Dillon, does Abigail know what’s goin’ on here?”

  Wade appeared to be remarkably calm.

  “There’s nothing going on here, Wade,” Dillon said indifferently. “You’ve just been turned down, that’s all.”

  Wade was shaking his head. “I shoulda known when you wouldn’t let me court her, but I wasn’t sure until the other night at Abby’s little get-together.” He gazed over her head at Dillon. “You really ought not to stare at a woman like that in public when you’re engaged to another one.”

  “I was not—”

  Wade stopped Dillon’s defense with a raised hand, a sign of surrender. Then he looked down at Grace and gave her one of those tremendous smiles. “If you change your mind, let me know. I wouldn’t mind bein’ married to the prettiest gal in Texas, and family get-togethers would always be interestin’.”

  Abigail’s brother lifted his hand in resignation as he turned on his heel and stalked from the room with an almost cheerful good night.

  Dillon followed Wade, but stopped at the front door. Grace took that opportunity to slip up the stairs. This was all Dillon’s fault. He was giving her away, procuring her a husband the way he’d purchase a horse, leaving no room for the workings of her heart.

  The man had a butt for a nose. That was all Dillon could think of as he watched Nate Johnson across the table. Some terrible demon deep inside him wanted Grace to choose Nate, an old man who appeared to be passionless. His quest for a wife was completely businesslike, just as Dillon’s own plans with Abigail were. A man with six kids and a big house needed a wife.

  That was all Nate had talked about over dinner. His kids and his ranch. He was one of a few in the area who continued to raise cotton and cattle, and had done all right for himself. Grace would never want for the necessities of life, for a roof over her head and food on the table.

  Nate’s oldest son was just a couple of years younger than Grace, a hell-raiser if ever there was one. The oldest of six boys, all terrors.

  As Nate talked about his children he called them full of life, and curious. Dillon knew exactly what that meant, and he began to wonder if Grace would even be safe in the Johnson household.

  “It takes every hand available to run a place like yours, Nate,” Dillon said thoughtfully. “Six boys.” He shook his head and broke a biscuit in half. “I suppose you’d like to have six more.”

  Nate actually blushed, and his butt-shaped nose turned red. “At least. That’s one reason I’d like a young wife. One who could give me strong sons. One a year, I reckon.”

  That was what had killed the first Mrs. Johnson, Dillon recalled. A baby a year, and a number of them hadn’t survived. Eventually it had become too much for the increasingly frail Mrs. Johnson. Damned if he’d allow Grace to be used like a brood mare.

  “And what about daughters?” Dillon asked. “Little girls?”

  Nate almost beamed. “No sirree. Hasn’t been a girl born in my branch of the Johnson family for three generations.”

  Dillon wondered if Grace was paying attention to what was said. She’d been unusually quiet all evening, and it was hard to tell. Apparently she was listening, because her face went ghostly white.

  Dillon placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You’re aware that I’m Grace’s guardian,” he said gravely.

  Nate nodded slowly.

  “And as her guardian I can refuse any request for her hand.”

  Nate saw what was coming. “I’ll treat her right, Dillon. You know I will. I may be a few years older than she is, and I might not have Plummer’s or Wilkinson’s money, but I’m stable, solvent, and faithful.” He bristled. “You’ll find no better man for Grace, Dillon Becket.”

  Dillon wanted to laugh. Grace deserved much better than Nate Johnson. Why on earth had Abigail invited this man to court Grace?

  He stood and looked to the end of the table where Grace sat in what was normally Billy’s seat. She was staring at her plate, her supper all but untouched. There was no way Nate would make her happy. He would probably kill her forcing her to have babies every damn year…and when she was buried he’d simply search for another young wife.

  “I’m sorry, Nate,” Dillon said solemnly. “I can’t allow Grace to marry you.”

  He saw Grace’s shoulders slump forward slightly as she released the breath she had been holding. Not once had Nate appealed to her. It was as if she didn’t exist.

  Nate left in a huff, muttering about wasting time he couldn’t afford to waste. Dillon saw the man to the door, and when he returned to the dining room, Grace was gone.

  Grace assumed Dillon would be away from the house by the time she came downstairs. She’d taken to leaving her room late in the morning for just that reason.

  But he was in the kitchen, teasing Olivia about her biscuits. It was the first time in quite a while that she’d seen Dillon in such a mood. Even Olivia was smiling at him, and she’d been so cross with him lately.

  Grace turned to walk away, but it was too late. She’d been seen, and Olivia waved her into the room.

  “How’s Billy this morning?” Grace asked as she stepped into the overly warm kitchen.

  Olivia scoffed. “Mean as a snake. Still threatening to leave that bed even though all his clothes are hid.” She smiled
smugly. “And he ain’t gettin’ ’em until he’s been in bed for at least another week.”

  Grace tried to ignore Dillon, but he was watching her every move with a satisfied half smile on his face. He munched on a biscuit, standing there by the stove as relaxed as she’d ever seen him.

  She kept waiting for him to leave, but he stayed as though planted to the spot, watching her and waiting…until he finally turned to Olivia.

  “Could you get along without Grace this morning?”

  Grace started to protest, but Olivia conceded easily. “She could use a break, poor girl.” She took Grace’s hand and patted it maternally. “You’ve not been the same since Billy was hurt. He’s healing nicely, and you need to forget what happened.”

  “I can’t.”

  Olivia turned away from her. “She’s all yours, Dillon,” she declared, and the argument was over before it had begun.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They rode at a leisurely pace, silent for the most part. The sun beat down on them, summer heat that drained every living thing of its energy and color.

  Dillon felt pleasantly warm from the inside out. The solution had come to him as he’d reclined on his bed, staring up at the black ceiling and unable to sleep. How could he give Grace up? How could he give up the Double B? Why couldn’t he have both?

  He could.

  When they topped a hill he could see the cabin. Sturdy, if somewhat neglected, it was the cabin where the Becket family had lived before the main house had been built on a better plot of land. In the years since, it had been occupied occasionally. Billy had lived there for years, before his own cabin had been built nearer the big house. And Nolan, his oldest brother, had lived there before the war.

  Grace was still confused. She had that suspiciously puzzled expression on her face as he lifted his arms to help her to the ground. He released her quickly only because she seemed so anxious to put some distance between them.

  He was afraid to move too fast, so he walked Grace around the cabin, treading through tall weeds and yellow wildflowers. First he told her about growing up in the cabin. He didn’t remember much, but he had his memories and the stories his mother had told him later on. But Grace fidgeted nervously. It was clear she had no desire to be alone with him, and he remembered her promise at Billy’s bedside.