Texas Glory
Page 10
“I wish they hadn’t done that,” Amelia said on a sigh.
Her cheeks flushed, Cordelia glanced at Amelia. “What?”
“Taken off their shirts. I’m trying to prepare dinner, and all I want to do now is watch them work.”
Cordelia turned her attention back to the men. She didn’t know when Houston and Austin had removed their shirts, but their backs didn’t draw her attention the way Dallas’s did, didn’t make her wonder if his skin was as warm as it looked.
She watched as Maggie ran toward the men, her blond curls bouncing as much as the ladle she carried. Water sloshed over the sides. Cordelia didn’t think more than a few drops could have remained in the ladle when the little girl came to an abrupt stop beside Dallas and held it out to him.
A warm smile spread beneath his mustache as he took the ladle, tipped his head back, and took a long, slow swallow. As Maggie clasped her hands together and widened her green eyes, Cordelia had a feeling Dallas was putting on a show for his niece. When he moved the ladle from his mouth, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose and said something Cordelia couldn’t hear. Maggie smiled brightly, grabbed the ladle, and ran back to the bucket of water.
Breathless, she looked up at her mother. “Unca Dalls said it was the sweetes’ water he ever had the pleasure of drinkin’. I’m gonna git him some more.” She dunked the dipper into the bucket before running back to her uncle, the water splashing over her skirt.
“Poor Dallas. She adores him. He won’t get any work done now,” Amelia said.
“The feeling seems to be mutual,” Cordelia said, wishing he would bestow that warm smile on her.
“You’re right. He spoils her. I shudder to think how he will spoil his own children.”
The heat fanned Cordelia’s cheeks at the reminder of her wifely duties. “I … I meant to thank you earlier for the flowers you placed on my bed the day I was married.”
Amelia smiled. “I didn’t place any flowers on your bed.”
“Oh.” Cordelia looked back toward Dallas. They had finished raising the frame and securing it in place. The men had begun to lay the wooden planks for the floor. Dallas was holding a nail while Maggie tapped it with a hammer. After a few gentle taps, Dallas took the hammer from her and slammed the nail into place.
She didn’t know what to make of Dallas Leigh. He seemed as hard as the nails protruding from his smiling mouth, hardly the type of man to pick flowers …
Knowing for certain that he was the one who had placed the flowers on her—their—bed made it difficult for her to dislike him, much less to hate him. Yet still she did not relish the thought of the marriage act.
Maggie scrambled over the frame they had laid across the ground—the frame that would support the floor—and began to hold nails for Austin. Although he carried his arm in a sling, he was managing to pull his share of the load. Something Cordelia had to admit she wasn’t doing. “Amelia, what can I do to help?”
“I left several quilts on the porch. Why don’t you place them around the tree so we can sit under the shade?”
Cordelia set Precious on the ground, and with her pet tagging along on her leash, hurried to the porch, grateful to have a task, although she didn’t think it would stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of her husband.
From the corner of his eye, Dallas watched his wife scurry toward the front of the house. He was having a hell of a time keeping his mind focused on the task at hand—building Houston’s house.
He kept finding his thoughts drifting toward his wife. It hadn’t helped that during the week she had laundered his clothes and when he had begun to sweat earlier, her lavender scent had risen up around him. He’d thought he might go insane, having her fragrance surround him while she stood incredibly far away.
He had made a mistake not exercising his husbandly rights on their wedding night. Now, he had no idea how to approach her and let her know that her reprieve was over.
He knew if he knocked on her door, she’d open it with terror in her eyes, and he couldn’t stand the thought. She reminded him of the way too many soldiers had looked at him during the war. They’d followed his orders and gone into battle, fearing him more than they had feared the enemy or death.
He didn’t believe in living with regrets, but sometimes he wondered how many men his hard nature had sent to their deaths.
He didn’t want his wife looking at him with that same fear in her eyes when he came to her bed. Only he didn’t know how to erase it. For a short time while they had tended the prairie dog, the fear had left her eyes, but Dallas couldn’t see himself bringing her a wounded prairie dog every night.
He brought himself to his feet and went to fetch more boards and nails. When he neared the pile of lumber, he stopped long enough to admire his wife’s backside as she bent over and laid quilts on the ground.
He wished he knew how to keep the fear out of her eyes—permanently.
They ate their meals in silence except for the conversation Austin provided. Dallas could never think of a single thing to say to his wife. It reminded him of when he had first started writing to Amelia. His first letter had only been a few lines. By the end of the year, he had been sharing whole pages of his life with her. He’d thought about writing a letter to Cordelia, but that seemed the coward’s way out. He needed to learn how to say the kind of words that put a softness in a woman’s eyes, the kind of softness Amelia wore every time she looked at Houston.
He carried several boards to the frame structure, set them in place, knelt beside one, and removed the nails from his mouth. “Houston, when you and Amelia were traveling here … what did you talk about?”
Houston pounded a nail into a board that would serve as flooring and shrugged. “Whatever she wanted to talk about.”
Dallas clamped down on his frustration. “What did she want to talk about?”
Houston tipped his hat up off his brow. “You, mostly. She was always asking questions about the ranch, the kind of man you were, the house.”
“You must not have told her the truth about the house if she came anyway,” Austin said.
Dallas swung his gaze around. “What’s wrong with my house?”
Austin wiped the smile from his face and looked at Houston. Houston shook his head and gave him a “you should have kept your mouth shut this time” look. Then he started pounding a nail into the board.
“What’s wrong with my house?” Dallas asked again.
“Uh, well, uh … it’s big,” Austin explained.
“Of course it’s big. I intend to have a large family.”
“Well, then, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Austin said. He handed Maggie a nail. “Maggie May, hold it right here for your Uncle Austin.”
Dallas glared at his brother, trying to make sense out of what he’d just heard. “Your comment had nothing to do with the size of my house. I want to know what you meant.”
Austin slammed his eyes closed and blew out a quick breath before meeting Dallas’s gaze. “It doesn’t look like a house. It’s … it’s …” He shifted his gaze to Houston, who had stopped his hammering.
Dallas thought his brother might be searching for courage. He knew his house was unusual.
Austin looked back at Dallas. “I think it’s downright ugly. There, I said it, but that’s just what I think. Houston might think otherwise.”
Houston narrowed his eye. “Keep me outta this conversation, boy.”
Dallas felt as though a herd of cattle had just trampled him. “Do you agree with him?” he asked Houston.
Houston clenched his jaw. “It’s different. That’s all. It’s just different. It’s not what I’d want to live in—”
“Food’s ready!” Amelia called.
“Thank God,” Houston said as he stood. “I’m starving. How about you, pumpkin?” Maggie squealed as he swung her into the air.
Dallas unfolded his body and grabbed Austin’s arm before he could escape. “Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”
Austin’s face burned bright red. “You were just so proud of it, and what we think isn’t important. What matters is what Dee thinks of it. Maybe you ought to ask her.”
Ask her if she hated the house as much as she hated her husband? Not if he lived to be a hundred would he ask her.
“I like the house,” he stated flatly.
Austin gave him a weak smile. “Then there’s no problem. Let’s go eat.”
After tethering Precious to a nearby bush, Cordelia watched with growing trepidation as the men approached. Each had quickly washed at the water pump before slipping back into his shirt. For that small act, she was extremely grateful. She didn’t think she could eat if Dallas’s chest had remained bare.
She had laid three quilts around a wooden box. Amelia had set platters of beefsteak strips and potatoes on the box, plates and utensils on the quilts.
Amelia sat on one quilt. Houston dropped beside her, Maggie nestled in his arms. “Looks good,” he said.
Cordelia knew it was pointless to hope that Austin would sit on the quilt beside her, but she found herself wishing anyway. He gave her a smile before he took his place on the opposite quilt.
On the small quilt, Dallas seemed incredibly large as he sat beside her.
“This isn’t one of my cows, is it?” Dallas asked.
Houston smiled. “Probably. He wandered onto my land. What was I supposed to do?”
“Send him home.”
“Not on your life.”
Austin held out his arm. “Will you lookee here? I’m the only one without a woman to share my quilt. Maggie May, come sit with me.”
Her face bright with excitement, Maggie jumped up, crossed the small area, and rammed into Austin. Hissing sharply, Austin moved her aside with his good arm.
Houston snatched his daughter back into his arms. “You all right?” he asked Austin.
Austin had paled considerably, but he nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Sorry,” Maggie said, her bottom lip trembling.
He smiled. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m still a little sore.” He patted his thigh. “Just come sit beside me, not on me, all right?”
Ever so carefully and slowly, she crawled over the quilt and sat beside him.
“What happened to your arm?” Cordelia asked.
A hush fell over the gathering as everyone looked at Cordelia. The heat rushed to her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask before.”
Austin appeared uncomfortable as he answered, “I got shot.”
“Dear Lord. Outlaws?” she asked, horrified at the thought.
“Cattle rustlers,” Dallas said as he slapped potatoes onto his plate. “But they won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“I’m grateful to hear that,” Cordelia said. She cut her meat into tiny pieces, eating sparingly.
“You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Dallas said.
She glanced up to find him glaring at her plate, his brow deeply furrowed. She couldn’t very well tell him that whenever he was around her stomach knotted up so tightly that she could barely swallow.
“I’ve never been a big eater,” she said quietly and dropped her gaze to her plate.
“Guess I’m just used to watching men eat,” Dallas said gruffly.
“I never eat as much as my brothers,” she said.
A desperate silence surrounded them. Cordelia wished she could think of something—anything—to say.
“When do you think the railroad will get here?” Amelia asked.
Dallas reached for more potatoes. “Sometime next year.”
“Things should change then,” Amelia said quietly.
“Reckon they will. With any luck, Leighton will start growing as fast as Abilene. I’ll be wanting to build a school. Do you want to be in charge of finding a good teacher?” Dallas asked.
Amelia smiled. “I’d love to. Besides, I have experience at placing advertisements, and we’ll definitely want someone from the East.”
“Give me a list of everything you’ll need so I can tally up the costs before I go talk to Mr. Henderson at the bank.”
Amelia leaned forward and took Cordelia’s hand. “Dee, would you like to help me?”
Cordelia glanced at Dallas. He was studying her as though waiting for her answer. Surely if he had wanted her to help, he would have suggested it.
“I don’t know anything about schools. I had a tutor.”
“Then we’ll learn together,” Amelia said.
Cordelia shook her head. “No, I don’t think I can—”
“Our son will do his learning at this school,” Dallas said. “You ought to have a say in it.”
Cordelia nodded quickly. “All right, then, I will.”
“Good,” Dallas said brusquely.
Amelia squeezed Cordelia’s hand. “It’ll be fun.”
Yes, she imagined it would be, and it would give her something to do besides wash dishes and clothes. Dallas and Austin were seldom inside the house and maintaining it required so little of her time that she thought she could quite possibly go insane.
The conversation turned to other aspects of Leighton, but it made little sense to Cordelia. She had not visited the town since the day the land had been set aside. She’d asked several times for someone to take her, but none of her brothers had ever had time. She had always thought it would be exciting to watch something grow from nothing … like watching a child grow into an adult.
Her husband had planted the seeds for the town the day he had set aside the land. She remembered that Boyd had called him a greedy bastard that day … one of the nicer names he had for Dallas. She knew little about business, but she didn’t see how a school or the church he’d offered to build for Reverend Tucker would bring him much money.
As a matter of fact, in the short time she had been his wife, she had seen no evidence of his greed except for the morning he’d refused to pull his fence back if she left him. But even then, he had gained nothing but a reluctant wife while her family gained access to the river. Eventually, he would gain a son while her family would gain land.
She was beginning to think that Dallas hid his greedy nature well … so well that she wondered how Boyd had ever discovered it to begin with.
“The new addition to the house seems to be coming along fine,” Amelia said, shifting the conversation away from talk of Leighton.
“Ought to have the first floor and most of the walls in place before nightfall,” Dallas said.
“It means a lot to me that you and Austin would give up your day of rest to build onto our house.”
“That’s what family is for,” Dallas said.
“But we won’t be able to return the favor. I can’t imagine that you’ll ever need to add onto your house.”
“Speaking of Dallas’s house,” Austin said. “Dee, what do you think of it?”
Cordelia snapped her gaze to Austin, then to Dallas who watched her with such intensity that her breath almost stopped. Meaningless words scrambled through her mind.
“We need to get back to work,” Dallas said, setting his empty plate on the quilt.
Houston groaned and rubbed his stomach. “I’m too full. I intend to sit back and relax for a while.”
“Thought you wanted these rooms,” Dallas said.
“We do, but we can finish them up next Sunday.”
“It’ll be that much hotter next Sunday,” Dallas said as he stood. “I’m going back to work.”
Cordelia watched her husband jerk his shirt over his head as he stomped back toward the house.
“One day, Austin, you’re gonna learn when to keep your mouth shut,” Houston said.
Dallas hefted a board and carried it to the far side of the house. He’d grown tired of hammering the floor into place. Houston and Austin could finish it when they woke from their naps. They’d both fallen asleep beneath the scraggly boughs of the tree—Houston with his head nestled in Amelia’s lap, Austin with Maggie curled up against him.
He wondered if she’d given everyone, except him, permission to call her Dee. Not that he had asked … nor would he, but Dee sure rolled off his tongue a lot easier than Cordelia. He thought Dee suited her better, was softer.
He set the board upright against the side of the house and nailed it into place. Sweat rolled along either side of his spine. He was looking forward to a good hot bath this evening.
He set another board into place and began to pound the nails into the wood.
A good hot bath in his house. In his big house.
He spun around and froze. Cordelia stood beside him, holding a ladle of water. Fear plunged into her eyes.
“Amelia thought you might be thirsty.”
“Not very neighborly of her to send you into the lion’s den, but I appreciate the water.”
He took the dipper from her trembling hand and downed the clear liquid in one long swallow. His gaze riveted on hers, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before handing the dipper back to her. “Thanks.”
He lifted another board and set it against the frame.
“About your house—” she began.
“I’ll build you another one,” he said as he lined up the board. “Makes no difference to me.”
“Actually, I rather like it.”
He glanced over his shoulder. She was gripping the ladle tightly enough to make her knuckles turn white. “You do?”
She nodded jerkily. “Uh, I think it’s a bit stark … uh, I mean, I think it would seem more friendly if you had some decorations—”
“You mean like knickknacks?”
“And perhaps some paintings or wall hangings. Maybe a flower bed in the front. I could give you a list of ideas—”