“Yes, I’d like to see them.”
“I need to check on my herd. I won’t be back until after dark. Austin will be here if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Not exactly what he wanted to hear. Be careful. Hurry back. I’ll wait up for you. Any of those would have pleased him
He slapped his gloves against his palm. She flinched.
Not caring much for the sting in his chest that her reaction caused, he turned to leave, stopped, and glanced over his shoulder. “Do you want me to stay while you visit with them?”
“No. I prefer to see them alone.”
He headed down the stairs, knowing he hadn’t accomplished a damn thing that morning.
Cordelia stood outside Dallas’s office, gathering her courage. She had hoped her family would wait to visit, would wait until the ache in her heart had lessened. Taking a ragged breath, she walked into the room.
Cameron sat in a chair holding his head. She supposed the whiskey, and not illness, was responsible for that. Austin had looked much the same when he’d joined them for breakfast that morning.
Boyd and Duncan flanked her father. Her father brought himself out of the chair. She wished he didn’t look so old.
“How are you, daughter?”
She eased farther into the room and sat in a nearby chair. “Fine. I’m fine.”
Her father lowered himself into his chair and leaned forward. “Did the bastard hurt you last night?”
It suddenly occurred to her that she had never heard Dallas refer to any member of her family with such loathing. He never called them derogatory names. He never hinted that their parentage might be questionable or that they might not be men of honor.
“No, Father, my husband did not harm me.”
“He didn’t hurt you at all?” Boyd asked.
She glanced up and met Boyd’s baffled gaze. “No, Boyd. Did you expect him to?”
“Did he bed you?” Boyd asked.
Cameron snapped his head up. “I don’t see where that’s any of our business.”
“She came to him a virgin,” Boyd said. “A virgin always feels pain. Did he or did he not bed you last night?”
Cordelia could not believe the words Boyd threw at her as though she had no feelings, no privacy. She had thought her heart would break last night when she’d heard the conditions of her marriage. At this moment, she felt her heart shatter. She wished she had the courage to ask them all to leave.
“Answer him, girl,” her father said.
She stared at these men, wondering if she knew them at all. She didn’t think she could have answered them if her life depended on it.
“Sweet Lord, you better not have denied him his rights last night,” Boyd said.
“Do you think he would have pulled the fence back if she had denied him?” Cameron asked.
“I just want a simple answer, Cordelia. Yes or no,” Boyd demanded. “Did he bed you?”
“That is absolutely none of your business.”
Cordelia jerked her head around. Houston stood in the doorway, his hand resting on the gun housed in his holster. He tilted his head toward Cordelia. “Didn’t mean to barge in. I was looking for Dallas.”
“He … he had to check on the herd,” Cordelia said.
“Well, then, I feel confident in speaking for him. You gentlemen need to be headin’ out.”
The way he said “gentlemen” made Cordelia realize he didn’t consider them gentlemen at all.
Boyd glared at Houston. “That sounded like an order. This ain’t your house.”
“I’m gonna do you a favor, McQueen. I’m not gonna tell Dallas what I just heard in this room. Now bid your sister good day and head home.”
Her father stood. “We were leaving anyway.” He patted her head as though she were a trained dog. “We’ll keep in touch.”
Her father shuffled toward the door. Houston moved aside, leaving ample room for her father and brothers to file past.
Cameron stopped at the doorway and glanced at her before leaving. She thought he looked miserable.
Houston crossed the room and took the chair her father had vacated. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Nodding, she pressed her trembling fingers to her lips, fighting to hold back the tears.
“Think there are any lemon drops left in Dallas’s desk?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think they could take away a sad this big.”
She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly his arms were around her and her face was pressed against his shoulder.
“Go ahead and cry,” he said quietly.
The sobs came hard and heavy. “They don’t care about me. They only want the land. Dallas only wants a son.”
His arms tightened around her. “I can’t deny it looks that way, but sometimes things aren’t always the way they seem.”
Stifling her sorrow, she worked her way out of his embrace. He handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped the tears from her face. She took a deep shuddering breath. “How is Maggie this morning? Is her tummy all right?”
“She’s right as rain.”
She handed his damp handkerchief back to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome. I take it things aren’t much better this morning.”
She shook her head. “Dallas frightens me.”
“I know. He frightens me, too, sometimes.”
His words startled her. If Dallas scared his brother, what chance did she have of ever feeling comfortable around him? “Yesterday, when we were all in here, and Maggie ran to him, I was so afraid …” She sniffed. “You were here. You knew how angry he was, but you let her approach him anyway.” She studied him, remembering how slowly, calmly he had come to his feet. “You knew he wouldn’t harm her.”
“With the exception of doors, Dallas isn’t one to direct his anger at the innocent.”
He wrapped his hands around hers, just as Austin had earlier. The small gesture was incredibly comforting. What she would have given if her father or brothers had done the same for her instead of badgering her for knowledge about her wedding night.
“It’s probably not my place to say this,” Houston said quietly, “but it might help you to understand Dallas a little better if you know …” He lowered his gaze.
Alarm rushed through her, and she scooted up in the chair. “Know what?”
He gave her an awkward smile. “I can talk to Amelia about the war, but I’d forgotten how hard it is to talk to others about it.”
“The War Between the States?”
“The War of Northern Aggression is how Dallas refers to it. I was twelve, he was fourteen when our pa enlisted us.”
“Fourteen?”
“Yep. I was Pa’s drummer, and Dallas … Dallas was his second in command. A lot of the men resented that a boy was giving them orders. In the beginning they gave him a hard time, seemed to take delight in doing the opposite of what he told them to do. It bothered him, bothered him a lot. One night, I heard Pa giving him a dressing down because he’d discovered some men hadn’t followed the orders Dallas had given. Pa told Dallas, ‘They don’t have to like you, but they gotta respect you and they gotta obey you.’ ”
Houston shook his head. “Dallas stopped caring whether or not they liked him. He stopped asking them to do things, and he started telling them. The habit stayed with him, even after the war ended.”
He leaned forward. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that he doesn’t mean to sound angry or hard, but a lot of people depend on him … and he’s simply forgotten how to ask.”
He released her hands and stood. “Well, I need to find Dallas and head back home. Will you be all right now?”
She liked the way he said “home.” As though he knew of no finer place in the whole world.
“I’ll be fine.”
For long moments after he left, she simply sat in the chair and remembered the comfort of his touch, the calming resonanc
e of his voice. She could certainly understand why Amelia had overlooked his scars and fallen in love with him.
CHAPTER
SIX
As a clock downstairs chimed twelve times, Cordelia eased from the bed. Dallas hadn’t come to her room. She wasn’t even certain if he was home.
She wished she had brought her books. She had expected to be busy as a wife. She’d thought she would have no time for reading, but she found she had nothing but time.
She remembered the half-filled shelf in Dallas’s office. She slipped on her night wrapper, increased the flame in the lamp, and headed into the dark, quiet hallway.
She crept toward the stairs, holding the lamp high. Careful of her step, she descended the stairs, walked to Dallas’s study, and opened the door.
Her breath caught at the sight of Dallas sitting behind his desk. His head came up, and like a doe that scented danger, she couldn’t move. The lamp on his desk burned low, so low that much of the room remained in shadow. He had the drapes drawn aside so the wide windows gave her a view of a thousand stars twinkling in the night sky.
He scraped his chair across the floor and stood.
She waved her hand. “No. Don’t get up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know you were here.”
He angled his head. “You needed something?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I remembered that I saw some books on your shelves. I thought I might borrow one.”
“Help yourself.”
She licked her dry lips. “Houston was looking for you this afternoon.”
“He found me. His lumber came in. I’ll be going to his place on Sunday to help him build an addition onto his house. You’re welcome to come.”
She thought of Maggie, Houston, and Amelia. She thought she would enjoy spending the day in their company, with people who weren’t always angry. “I’d like that.”
“Good. How was the visit with your family?”
“It was fine. Just fine.” She walked quickly to the bookshelf. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time.”
Only a half-dozen books stood at attention on the shelf. The covers were frayed and worn. She lifted the lamp higher until she could make out the title of the first book: Whole Art of Husbandry. The book nestled beside it was entitled The Practical Husbandman.
She trailed her fingers over the spines. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband move in beside her. “Have you read these?” she asked.
“Every word,” he said, his voice low, his breath skimming along her neck.
“You read books on how to be a husband?” she asked in awe.
She turned her head to find him staring at her. “I didn’t know,” she explained. “I didn’t know books had been written on this subject. Do you think someone has written a book on wifery that I could read?”
He laughed. Deeply, richly. Smiling broadly, he touched his fingers to her cheek. The warmth that swirled through her body startled her, and she shrank back, her heart beating hard, her breath lodged in her throat.
His smile withered away, and he returned to his chair behind his desk. “Feel free to read any of my books.”
She grabbed The Practical Husbandman. Surely the advice offered to a husband would apply to a wife. Clutching the book to her breast, she scurried across the room and stopped at the door. She swallowed hard before looking over her shoulder at her husband. He was watching her, but no humor remained in his dark eyes. “Will … will you be coming to bed soon?”
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
She tightened her fingers around the book. Was he giving her a real choice or only another illusion? “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Then I won’t.” He dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to scrawl in his ledgers, dismissing her in the process.
“Thank you.”
She hurried into the hallway and rushed up the stairs to her room. Setting the lamp on the bedside table, she removed her wrapper and slipped beneath the blankets. She put the pillows behind her back, brought her knees up, and opened the book, anticipating all the secrets it would unlock.
It was not the key she had hoped for.
With the early morning sunlight streaming through the window at the end of the hall, Dallas stood outside the door to his bedroom, knowing he had the right to simply walk into the room, knowing it was a right he wouldn’t exercise. Not yet anyway.
He hated the fear he saw in his wife’s eyes every time she looked at him. The few times he’d touched her, the fear had intensified. What the hell did she think he was going to do: ravage her?
He despised the way she opened the door and peered out as though fearful of what she might find on the other side, but he knocked anyway. She opened the door, and he bit back his frustration at the apprehension reflected in her eyes.
“I’m sending one of my men into town this morning to pick up some supplies. If you’ll give me a list of things you need, I’ll have him pick them up for you.”
“Oh, thank you. I’ll only be a moment.”
He stepped into the doorway as she hurried to the bureau and tore a piece of paper from a book. He supposed she kept a journal. He knew so little about her, but he discovered he liked the shape of her backside when she bent over and began to write on the piece of paper. She straightened and turned sooner than he would have preferred. Hesitantly, she held the paper toward him. He took it from her.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He hated her gratitude as well. He stalked from the house and crossed the yard to where a young man was waiting beside the wagon. He extended the slip of paper toward Pete. “Need you to pick these up for my wife.”
Pete dropped his gaze and started kicking the ground with the toe of his boot.
“Come on, boy, I ain’t got all day.” Dallas shook the list under his nose. “Take the list and git.”
Pete looked up, his freckled face redder than the hair that his hat covered. “I can’t read.”
“What do you mean you can’t read? I give you a list every week, and you take it into town and pick up my supplies.”
Pete shifted his stance. “Nah, sir. Cookie reads the list to me. I remember everything on the list, but I didn’t know you were gonna have another list for me, and Cookie’s gone out with the herd today, but you can tell me what she wrote and I’ll remember it. I got a good memory.”
Dallas figured over half his men probably couldn’t read. They were smart men he could depend on to get the job done, and that job seldom required reading. His son would need a tutor if the town didn’t have a school in a few years. Dallas would see to it that the tutor also taught any of his men who wanted to learn. Meanwhile, they’d do the best job they could with what they had.
Dallas unfolded Cordelia’s list and stared at the singe word she’d written.
Pete cleared his throat. “You don’t read neither?”
Dallas met the young man’s earnest gaze. “No, I read just fine, but this is something I’ll need to take care of myself. You go on to town and get the supplies I need.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not until Pete had climbed on the wagon and started to roll toward town did Dallas dare to look at his wife’s list again. He shook his head in bewilderment, wondering if he’d ever understand how a woman’s mind worked, convinced he’d never understand his wife.
He headed into the house, searching through every room, certain she wouldn’t still be in her bedroom. She’d been dressed when he’d knocked on her door earlier. Surely she didn’t stay in the bedroom all day.
But when he knocked on her bedroom door, she opened it as hesitantly as she always did. He held up her list. “Flowers? You wanted my man to go into town and purchase you some flowers?”
She blinked, clutching her hands before her. “I was thinking he could pick them on his way back to the ranch.”
“Why can’t you pick them?”
Her brown eyes widened with alarm. “They’re outs
ide.”
“I know where flowers are.”
“I’m not allowed outside. The dangers—”
“Jesus Christ! Were you a prisoner in your father’s house?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “In Kansas, I cared for my mother. Here … here, my father thought it was in my best interest to stay inside. He said there were dangers. Renegades. Outlaws. A woman wasn’t safe.”
Dallas repeatedly swept his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, trying to make sense out of what she had just said. “Have you been staying in this room all day?”
She nodded. “Is there another room I should stay in?”
He slammed his eyes closed. She wasn’t just afraid of him. She was afraid of everything. Good Lord, could he have married a woman who was more opposite than he was?
Heaving a sigh, he opened his eyes. “You don’t have to stay in any room. You don’t have to stay in the house. If you want flowers, go out and pick them.”
She looked aghast. “But the dangers—”
“I’m not leaving you alone here. My men are about. If you need them all you have to do is holler. They’ll be by your side before your mouth closes, so go get your flowers.”
He turned to walk away.
“Where will you be?” she asked.
“Checking on my herd.” He wished he hadn’t seen relief plunge into her eyes.
Cordelia stood on the front veranda, enjoying the feel of the warm breeze as it riffled through her hair, gently working the strands free from her bun. She inhaled deeply and imagined that she could smell freedom. The freedom to roam from the house to the barn, to walk in the fields that lay beyond the house.
She could hear the steady clanking of iron on iron. She stepped off the porch and walked toward the lean-to on the other side of the barn. A man worked bellows to heat the coals.
“Hello,” she said softly.
He turned his dark gaze toward her. He was powerfully built, his black skin glistening with his labors. “Ma’am.”
“I was just taking a stroll,” she told him.
“Nice day for it. ‘Nother month or so and it’ll be too hot to enjoy.”
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