Lorraine Heath (6 page)

“Corral, barn.”

She walked with him until they passed the barn. He stopped and jerked his head toward a wooden lean-to. “Blacksmith works there.”

“Dallas?”

They turned together as Reverend Tucker approached, his long black coat flapping with his movements, revealing the gun he wore strapped to his thigh.

“Dallas, if you’ve no further need of my services, I need to get about the business of searching for a lost soul.”

Dallas smiled warmly, the humor shining in his eyes mesmerizing. For a moment he wasn’t the man her family despised, but a man she thought any woman would happily call husband.

“Did you get something to eat?” Dallas asked.

Reverend Tucker rubbed his stomach. “More than I should have, I’m afraid. Gluttony is a sin.”

“I know of worse sins.”

“Reckon we both do,” Reverend Tucker said.

“You know, Reverend, I was serious about building a church in my town where you could preach.”

“I know you were, and I wish I could take you up on the offer, but I can’t.”

Dallas shook his head, his smile widening. “I imagine we have plenty of lost souls around here.”

“But I’m looking for one in particular.”

Dallas extended his hand. “Then I hope you find him.”

“Her,” Reverend Tucker said as he shook Dallas’s hand. “And trust me, I will. Sooner or later, I will find her.”

He tipped his head toward Cordelia. “Mrs. Leigh, I wish you all the best.”

Cordelia envied him the freedom to leave. “Thank you, Reverend.”

“Would you mind if I had a moment alone with your husband?”

She welcomed the opportunity to escape from her husband’s side. If she could just find Cameron, talk with him, she knew he could lay her fears to rest. “No, of course not. I want to talk with Cameron. Excuse me.”

Dallas watched his wife practically gallop away. He hoped she wasn’t entertaining any notions of leaving with Cameron.

“Things seem a bit awkward,” Reverend Tucker said.

Dallas blew out a quick gust of air. “I can count the number of decent woman I’ve known in my life on one hand. I’m not skilled when it comes to talking to them.”

“You never seemed to have a problem talking to Amelia.”

“Hell, a fence post could talk to Amelia. She has a way about her of making you say things.”

Reverend Tucker smiled. “She does at that.”

“I can’t seem to find the right wording when I’m talking to … Cordelia.” He grimaced. “Where do you think her father got that name?”

“Jewel of the sea.”

Dallas lifted a brow.

Reverend Tucker blushed. “I used to have an interest in names and their meanings. Maybe she’ll become your jewel of the prairie.”

“She’s pretty enough. Hell, she’s beautiful. I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe that’s why I get tongue-tied around her.”

“Sometimes you don’t need words if the actions are right.”

“Still, I’d like to give her words. Hell, I’ll give her anything she wants if she’ll give me a son.”

“You think a son is what is missing from your life?”

“I know it is,” Dallas said with conviction.

Reverend Tucker gazed toward the setting sun. “I used to think I knew what was missing from my life.” He smiled sadly. “But I discovered too late that I was wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Reverend Tucker met Dallas’s gaze. “You know you signed your death warrant today.”

“Boyd McQueen wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“I know his type. He’s a man without scruples. Watch your back.”

“I always do.”

Sitting with his back pressed against the side of the house, Austin watched the sun sinking below the horizon. He moved the bottle of whiskey from his mouth and took a moment to enjoy the burning in his gut before passing the pleasure on to his best friend.

Cameron took the bottle and downed his share before handing it back. “I can’t believe you told Dallas that story about Cordelia’s nose.”

“I didn’t know you’d lied to me when I asked you why she never came to town.”

“I was only funning with you. I didn’t think you’d believe it.”

Austin took another gulp of whiskey. All the colors of the sunset seemed to be running together. “Why not? You’re my friend. You ain’t supposed to lie to me.”

Cameron grabbed the bottle and took a long swallow. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know what really bothers me, though?”

Austin shrugged and winced as the pain rolled through his shoulder. They’d already finished one bottle of whiskey. He didn’t see how Cameron could be bothered by anything with the world spinning around them the way that it was.

Cameron grabbed his shirt, and they both wavered. “He married her anyway.”

Austin snatched the bottle. “Hell, yeah, he married her. She coulda come to him without a face, and he woulda married her.” He held up the bottle. “ ‘A woman don’t need a face to give me a son,’ he woulda said. That’s all he wants. A son. Reckon he woulda married her if she didn’t have a head.”

Cameron chuckled. “She’d a been dead without a head.” His eyes brightened. “That rhymes!”

“You’re such a poet, Cameron.”

Austin jerked his gaze around at the sound of the sad feminine voice. Two women swam before him, then they bumped into each other and became his newest sister-by-marriage.

“Ah, hell,” he groaned, feeling a sickness in his stomach that had little to do with the whiskey churning inside him.

“What are you doing, Dee?” Cameron asked, his words slurred.

“I was looking for you. I wish now that I hadn’t found you.” She spun around and quickly walked away.

Cameron struggled to his feet. “Hell, I’d better … go after her.”

“Think she heard everything?” Austin asked.

Cameron nodded, stumbled to the ground, and started to snore.

Damn! Austin decided that he needed to go after his best friend’s sister and figured as soon as he found his legs he would. Meanwhile, he downed the remaining amber brew. Unfortunately, the burning in his throat didn’t ease the ache in his heart.

“There you are.”

Austin heard a voice sweeter than any sound his violin could make. Dusk was easing in around him as he squinted at the girl standing before him.

Becky Oliver. Sweet Becky Oliver. With eyes the color of a summer sky. The setting sun turned her auburn hair a shade of red. Her father owned the general store. Austin started to smile at her and then remembered she was the reason he was trying to get drunk. He tipped back the bottle. Two drops were hardly enough to satisfy him.

She knelt beside him, and he could smell vanilla. She always smelled like something he’d like to run his tongue over.

“You’re angry at me,” she said softly.

He shook his head, then nodded. “You were dancing with Duncan McQueen.”

“I would have danced with you, but you didn’t ask.”

“Only got one good arm,” he said as he tapped his shoulder and grimaced.

“You could dance with one arm.”

He shook his head. “Like to hold my women close. Need two arms to do that.”

She worked the empty bottle from his grip and tossed it aside. “How many women do you have?”

He smiled crookedly. “One. Just one.” He touched her cheek. It was softer than a cloud billowing in the sky. “I wanted to play my violin for you, but I can’t do that either.”

She lowered her gaze to her lap. “Do you need two arms to kiss me?”

“To do it proper.” He slid down the adobe wall. He deserved to have his head slam into the hard ground. Instead, she scooted nearer, and he found his head nestled in her lap, a pillow softer than any he’d ever known. He closed his eyes. “Gotta kiss you proper the first time.”

She combed her fingers through his hair. The darkness swirled around him. He moved his good arm around her backside, and promised himself that as soon as his shoulder healed, he’d kiss her proper.

Cordelia wanted to hide, to be alone with her thoughts, her sorrow. She wanted to be in her own room, curled in her bed, with a book in her lap.

But here, in this huge house, she had no room that belonged only to her. She had no private sanctuary. No place to call her own.

She closed the heavy front door behind her and held her breath. She heard no voices, no footsteps. Everyone was outside, celebrating her marriage, a marriage she didn’t want, a marriage that family obligations forced her to accept.

She tiptoed down the hallway, retracing the steps she’d taken earlier in the day until she reached Dallas’s office.

Quietly, she opened the door and peered inside. Early evening shadows lurked in the corners. Slipping into the room, she closed the door. She walked to the chair and sat, pulling her legs onto the soft cushion.

And gave the silent tears the freedom to fall.

Dallas Leigh didn’t want a wife. He wanted a son.

She felt like a prized mare chosen for the offspring she could produce. Dallas Leigh cared nothing for her appearance, her wants, her needs, her dreams. She wasn’t the person he wanted by his side as he journeyed through life. She was simply the means to an end.

Her thoughts drifted back to the kiss Dallas had begun on the veranda. She wondered where it might have led. She supposed that Boyd had interrupted them because he knew exactly where it would have taken them.

Boyd’s horrid words slammed into her, terrifying her … unless she held on to the memory of Dallas’s kiss. When he had looked at her, before he had kissed her, she had felt … touched, as though his hands were on her when they weren’t. Perhaps if he kissed her again …

She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be a wife. She didn’t want to give him a son.

She heard a soft crackling. She tensed, her heart beating at a rapid tempo. She lowered her hands and gazed around the room.

She was alone.

The sound came again as though someone were crumpling paper. Slowly, she eased her feet to the floor and stood.

She heard a thump come from his desk, a bump too loud to have come from a mouse. She held her breath, waiting, wondering what sort of animals Dallas kept, wondering if she should find him and let him know that one of his creatures had escaped.

Another bump and crackle.

She studied his desk. Someone had shoved the chair away. The front of the desk spanned its width and nearly reached the floor, where she saw a scrap of blue.

Hadn’t the little girl been wearing blue?

Quietly, she sneaked across the room and peered around the desk. A tiny black shoe tapped the air, the foot moving in rhythm to no music Cordelia could hear.

Cordelia knelt and looked into the alcove where Dallas would normally sit. The little girl sat with sacks wadded within her lap. Her eyes widened to form huge circles of green.

Cordelia smiled softly. “Hello. You’re Maggie, aren’t you?”

The girl nodded, scooted forward, and touched her tiny finger to Cordelia’s damp cheek. “You got a sad.”

Cordelia swiped at the tears that lingered on her lashes. “No, not really.”

“Yes, you do. I can make the sad go away.”

“You can?”

Maggie nodded enthusiastically. She crawled out from beneath the desk and struggled to pull open a drawer.

Cordelia eased a little closer to her. “I don’t think you should play in your uncle’s desk.”

Maggie pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh.” She pulled out a sack and shoved the drawer back into place.

Smiling brightly, she crawled into her previous hiding place and crooked her finger. “Come ‘n.”

Folding her body, Cordelia worked her way under the huge desk, wondering if everything in Dallas’s life was big.

“Close your eyes,” Maggie said. “Why?”

“Unca Dalls says so.”

Dallas had taught the little girl how to make sadness go away? Cordelia lowered her lashes.

“Open your mouth.”

Hesitantly, Cordelia obeyed. She heard paper crackle. Then something hard skipped across her teeth and hit her tongue. She tasted sweet and bitter before she spit it into her hand. She stared at the lemon drop.

“When it’s gone, so is your sad,” Maggie said. “Unca Dalls says so.” She reached into the bag. “I gotta sad, too.” She popped a lemon drop into her mouth and snuggled against Cordelia’s side.

Holding the child close, Cordelia popped the confection back into her mouth. She heard Maggie smacking as she sucked on the candy.

She was surprised to discover that a little of the sadness did melt away.

It had been a mistake to leave his new wife alone, but then it seemed to be a day for making mistakes.

After Reverend Tucker left him, Dallas decided to carry her belongings to the house. She had only brought one small trunk, and it didn’t take Dallas long to haul it to his bedroom, but apparently it was long enough to lose her.

Darkness was settling in, and people were beginning to take their leave. Without his wife by his side, Dallas thanked them for coming and refused to answer the questions he saw reflected in their eyes.

When the last wagon filled with townspeople rolled into the night, the tension within him increased. He was beginning to think he might know how a length of rope felt when it was being made: stretched taut and wound.

He needed to find his wife, give her the opportunity to say farewell to her brothers, send them on their way, and get to the business of realizing his final dream.

He saw Houston leaning against the corral and didn’t waste any time in crossing the space separating them.

“You seen my wife lately?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“I took her trunk up to my bedroom, and now I can’t find her.”

Turning, Houston scanned the dwindling crowd that consisted of the lingering ranch hands. “She has to be here.”

“I’ve looked everywhere. Even in that gaudy thing she travels in.”

“I know what you’re thinking. Nobody stole her.”

“But she might have left.”

Houston nodded sagely as though he thought she probably had. “Let’s find Austin—”

“Houston!”

Both men turned at the sound of Amelia’s frantic voice.

“I can’t find Maggie,” she said as she skidded to a stop and dug her fingers into Houston’s arms.