Lacy (15 page)
Authors: Diana Palmer
Tags: #Man-Woman Relationships, #General, #Romance, #Historical, #Fiction, #Texas, #Love Stories
FAR AWAY, IN CHICAGO,
Katy
was getting used to the new routine of her life with mingled amusement and
apprehension. Danny noticed that she was around occasionally, but his main
interest was in his speakeasy and courting local politicians and making money.
Most of the people who came to visit were
fascinating. There were public figures and well-known gangsters, and Katy got
an education that her family wouldn't have approved of. It began with the
expensive clothing Danny insisted on buying for her. Then there were jewels and
furs and race cars. All the glitter inevitably led to the parties, where gin
flowed like limitless streams. And Katy learned how to drink like a fish.
She drank more and more as Danny's neglect grew.
In bed, he was always in a hurry. Even that first night, he'd been quick and
silent, taking her without preliminaries, unless those hard, rough kisses had
been planned to arouse her. They hadn't. In a way, she was glad that her
husband was quickly satisfied. That way, she wasn't tempted to compare his
loving with the long, slow, sweet initiation she'd been given by Turk Sheridan.
She closed her eyes, sighing at the memory of how exquisite her first time had
been. No man could have satisfied her now. Danny liked to have her, but he
seemed more interested in making money than making love.
After the first few weeks, when he was always
ready to go to bed with her, he didn't even seem to care if she went to bed
first. He never woke her, either. And the more he neglected her, the more she
drank. She wasn't in love with him, but it hurt her pride that he'd turned from
her to business so quickly. And then, to top it all, there was Mama Marlone.
Mama Marlone was condescending—when she wasn't
indifferent to Katy's presence. Everything she did was for Danny. She cooked,
she cleaned, she fussed over him, she ironed his clothes. There was no maid, no
housekeeper; Mama took care of her boy. Katy was in the way. Katy didn't do
enough for him; Katy should have been at the club with him, making sure he was
looked after while he worked, made to eat properly. Katy should have done
everything. . .except marry him. That became Mama's primary lecture as time
went by. And the more Danny neglected her, and the more Mama complained about
her, the more she drank.
Then came the worst thing of all. Danny decided
that he didn't have enough influence with a neighborhood boss to ask him to
make a deal with Danny to merge their bootleg booze operation. So he was doing
to promise the gang boss that he could have a special treat if he agreed—he
could have Katy.
Chapter Seven
Lacy was beginning to wonder if anything she did
would be enough to catch Cole's attention these days. Increasingly, the small
amount of ground she'd captured with her arrival had been lost. She'd seen that
he was worried about the ranch, that financial problems were besetting him. And
now they were beginning to interfere with the delicate thread of their
marriage. For the past week, she'd hardly seen him. He came to bed after she
was asleep, and was awake and gone before she opened her eyes.
Katy's marriage had unsettled him. Apparently it
had unsettled Turk, too, because the blond cattleman spent more time out on the
range away from the house.
It was a warm day for November—unseasonably
warm—and Lacy went walking in her shirtsleeves, wearing only a silky, beige
knee-length dress and her comfortable walking shoes. She and Marion had spent
the morning addressing envelopes for a party Marion had decided to give for
Bennett and his fiancee. Oddly enough, Ben hadn't wanted her to give the party,
but Marion had burst into tears and accused him of being ashamed of her. And
Ben had given in. So there was to be a party, and all the neighbors were
invited. And, because of the expense involved, Marion had been too nervous to
approach Cole about it—so Lacy was deputized to go find him and ask.
She almost welcomed the opportunity to see him
without the prying eyes of Cassie and Marion and the cowboys. He was alone at
the corral, the small one separate from the stables, exercising a new colt.
There wasn't another soul around. Nearby, a huge oak still had a few leaves
that hadn't dropped off, and those that had fallen made a colorful carpet on
the ground.
Lacy loved November. She loved autumn. With a
sigh, she sat down to wait until he finished what he was doing, her eyes
glancing nervously at the darkening sky. It looked like rain, and she hadn't a
parasol with her.
Out in the corral, Cole was working the young
horse. It was an Appaloosa by the look of it, just beginning to show its spots.
The breed was foaled snow white. The spots only appeared later, and Lacy loved
their conformation. She didn't know a lot about horses, but she loved the Apps.
Cole's wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes,
shading them from the sunlight that had fast vanished behind the clouds. He was
wearing denims today, tight jeans, and an equally tight chambray shirt that
clung to every muscle of his body. He was so masculine, Lacy thought, sitting
with her knees drawn up, her arms clasped around them. She loved to look at
him. She adored his tallness, his muscular deftness as he ran the young mare
around the corral on the leading rein. He could do anything with animals.
With them, he had a tenderness that she'd never
experienced from him.
He didn't really care for people, she thought
sometimes. Perhaps he'd been hurt too much over the years. She recalled Katy
saying once that Cole had been laughed at as a boy because of his big feet and
lanky body and his awkwardness with girls. And as if that weren't enough, his
grandfather's unorthodox teachings had added to it. He was taught how to hunt
and stalk and live off the land. He was taught to shun emotion and distrust
other people, because that's how his grandfather was—with everyone except
Cole's grandmother, at least. But Cole hadn't been encouraged by anyone to
learn tenderness. And at school, it wasn't until he learned to use his fists
that the other boys accepted him. The girls never had. He'd been shunned by
them—not because he was unattractive, but because his taciturn, cold manner
intimidated them.
It had never intimidated Lacy. Although she'd
been shy, she'd always talked to him, listened to him. Sometimes, rarely, she'd
teased him. That had amused him, or seemed to, back in their early lives. He
was only four years her senior, but now she felt as if he were much older. He
made her feel girlish and inhibited. And she was determined to change those
feelings. If she wanted a marriage at all, she was going to find some way to
get through to him.
Cole had spotted her, although he didn't show
that he had. He kept on working the horse, wondering why she'd come. After his
interesting talk with Turk, he'd been oddly nervous around her, uncertain of himself.
And that had angered him, so he'd kept his distance. Perhaps it had bothered
her that he was avoiding her. He stopped in the middle of the corral, removed
the leading rein from the mare, patted her neck gently, and took off the
bridle, allowing her to run free. He had to see if Lacy looked bothered.
He climbed over the fence fluidly, rather than
take time to release the gate, and walked toward her slowly, with the rein and
bridle in one lean, powerful hand.
"Hello, city girl," he taunted, with a
faint smile. "What brings you out here?"
She glanced up at him impishly, forcing herself
not to retreat. It was only a mask, she told herself. He was hiding behind it
so that she couldn't get close enough to wound him. He'd almost admitted as
much once.
"Oh, I thought if I came out here in one of
my shocking dresses, you might throw me down in the leaves and made wild,
passionate love to me," she murmured demurely, and her heart slammed
against her ribs at her own shocking boldness.
Cole's own heart went wild at the blatant
admission. Was she teasing, or did she mean it? He stared down at her darkly,
his eyes intense, searching her averted face. "You've been seeing too many
of those Valentino movies," he said, with a laugh.
"I guess so." So he wouldn't play. All
right, she'd try something else. "The mare's pretty," she said.
He pulled the makings from his pocket and
settled down beside her. "Yes, she is. She's going to make good breeding
stock when she's old enough."
"Going into the horse-raising
business?" she asked, with a grin.
"I have a few horses to keep me
happy," he replied as he licked the paper to close the cigarette, then
struck a match to light it. "Besides my quarter horses, I mean."
"Those are the ones you work the cattle
with, aren't they?" she murmured casually, staring at the corral.
"What cattle I have left," he agreed,
with a sigh. "It's going to be a damned long winter."
"Can't you get some hay from the
neighbors?" she asked.
"Honey, the neighbors are as bad off as I
am. I even tried selling off some of the cattle, but the prices are so low that
I'd come out even worse than if I keep them and pray for higher prices come
spring." He stared at the tip of his cigarette. "We may be in for
some hard times, city girl. You might do well to pack up and go home."
She turned toward him, her big, grayish blue
eyes steady and quiet in her creamy-complexioned face, her dark hair curving
softly toward the red mouth and pert straight nose. "Home is where you
are, cowboy," she said quietly. "I'll take my chances here, if you
don't mind."
Why should that unsettle him so, the way she
said it? He had to grit his teeth to keep from making a grab for her. She was a
thoroughbred, all right. Class, from her dark hair to her dainty feet. His eyes
went down her body, lingering on her breasts straining against the silky, thin
fabric of her dress. He stared at them until he saw hard peaks clearly
outlined, and something Turk had told him came flashing into his mind without
warning.
Apparently Lacy knew what it meant, too, because
she abruptly drew her knees up again to hide it. "Uh.. .Marion asked me to
come and talk to you," she said abruptly.
"Did she? Why?" But he wasn't really
listening. She was aroused by him, and he knew it, and was touched by it.
"Ben's engaged, you know."
"So I heard."
"She wants to give an engagement
party."
His face hardened. That got through. "Where
does she plan to get the money? Rob a damned bank?"
"Now, Cole..." she began, and laid a
gentle hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscles contract with a feeling of
wonder. For an instant she forgot what she was going to say. Then she got a
grip on herself. "I told her that I had plenty of silver and china that I
could have brought down here from San Antonio to use for the party, and that we
could butcher a steer and a pig, and use some of the canned vegetables that
Cassie has in the pantry for an informal buffet. It doesn't have to be an
elegant sit-down dinner. Just something for the neighbors, mainly."
He looked thunderous with his sharp features
turned away from her, his bronzed skin drawn taut over his cheekbones, smoking
his cigarette without a reply.
"Don't," she said, her voice soft and
quiet. "Don't be like this. I can't help the inheritance, and we are
married..."
"Are we?" he asked.
She gnawed on her lower lip. He sounded so
bitter. "Ben deserves something from us, doesn't he?" She changed
tactics. "He's a Whitehall, too—and this job is important to his future.
He hadn't had any attention at all from us since he started it, because of the
way things have been here. Cole, can't we do just this for him? And can't you
let your pride go just for once and let me help?"
"Lacy..." he began curtly, glancing
down at her.
"For Ben," she coaxed.
He sighed half-angrily. Once, he'd have walked
away from her in fierce protest. She weakened him with her own vulnerability.
He stared at her. "You women. You get
suffrage, and now you think you're men, don't you?"
"Not quite," she murmured, with a
demure little smile. "Your boots wouldn't fit me, bigfoot."
He couldn't believe he'd heard that. He lifted
an eyebrow, the smoking cigarette forgotten in his hand, and studied his feet.
"Well, they are big," she said,
defending herself.
He actually laughed. Not a lot, more a sound
than an outright guffaw, but it relaxed his hard features a little. He glanced
ruefully at the size of his dusty, scuffed, brown leather boots. "Big
enough, I guess," he agreed. He pulled at the cigarette. "Okay. Tell
Mother she can have the damned party if you foot the bill."