Chapter 9

By the time the Colorado sun was waning, they had packed about two hundred longhorns into the three-sided canyon.

Lacey was feeling completely useless. Slade had been casting glances at her in the midst of all the turmoil. She figured he was just making sure that she stayed out of trouble.

Lacey kept an eye out for Blue, hoping that he'd at least give her a cooking chore.

Slade walked past with an armful of kindling and threw it in the shallow pit the men had been digging. "Do me a favor, darlin'. Collect some small rocks to gird up this fire pit."

Lacey didn't even care if he had given her the job out of pity because she looked so bored. She was thrilled to have something to do. Before dropping his lit cheroot atop the wood, his gaze met Lacey's. The little gleam in his eye made her think, maybe, he wasn't so upset about her stowing away after all. For her part, she was thrilled to be out here with him.

When Blue returned, he had her punching out biscuits while he sliced thick slabs of bacon. She tossed biscuit after biscuit onto the smoking griddle. The men just kept coming for more. Dix had added more dry brush to the campfire, and the flames were leaping out at her as she cooked.

"I think I'll have another one of those," Slade said, unnerving her and causing her to tip the pan.

Without thinking, she made a grab for the handle. The pain was so intense she couldn't even think logically enough to release the scorching metal. With a scream, she jumped and dragged the pan off the fire.

"Christ, Lacey!" Slade dropped his plate and ran for the nearby stream. After dousing his neckerchief in the water, he ran back and wrapped it quickly around her hand. She found it impossible to be stoic. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

Everyone, except the two men left guarding the cattle, had gathered around her. She would have died of embarrassment, if it hadn't been for the excruciating pain.

Slade gingerly removed the wet cloth and turned her hand, palm side up. It was covered in red blisters.

Slade dumped the coffee from the pot. "Fill it with more cold water, Blue. And hurry it up."

"What you need is some lard, Slade. I'll get it," Dix said.

"No, please. Don't make such a fuss. I'm fine." Lacey was sobbing so hard she was beginning to hiccup. She couldn't even look at Slade, who held the wrist of her injured hand so tenderly she wanted to cry even more.

"I'm so sorry. I beg of you, go back to your supper. You've worked hard and..." Somehow, she found the strength to run to the stream on unsteady legs. Her hand was throbbing to the point, where she actually felt nauseous. The men probably hated her. She'd promised not to get in the way, and here she was causing trouble. And now, because of her clumsiness, she wouldn't even be able to help much.

She kneeled at the stream, submerging her swollen hand. The cool water relieved the pain somewhat. The men were probably hoping she would fall in, so they'd be rid of her.

"Thought you might be hungry, Duchess."

Lacey could not bring herself to look at him and merely shook her head no.

He set the plate, full of food, aside on a rock. "Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, stooping down so near, she could feel his breath stir her hair.

"I feel like such a fool."

"That burn doesn't make you seem foolish. Now this...is foolish." He stood and began to unbuckle his belt.

She could feel herself flush as she watched him turn around and expose a naked hip. There, on the tight, smooth skin, was a scar in the shape of a heart.

"Why, that looks like the brand on your cows."

"That's exactly what it is. When I was twelve, I was sure I could brand calves all by myself. I got up early one morning, thinking to surprise my pa. Had one of the calves hog tied and ready to brand, when it started to kick loose. I threw the hot iron down to get a better hold on the animal, and it knocked me right onto my backside. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what I landed on."

Lacey, temporarily forgetting her own misery, giggled.

"Yeah, never seen Grady laugh as hard as he did, watching Dora slathering my newly tattooed bottom with butter."

Lacey doubled over with laughter. She could hardly catch her breath.

"Could've been worse, I suppose. I could have landed on my forehead."

Lacey wiped tears from her eyes, this time from laughter. It took her a moment to realize he was staring at her. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're a brave woman, Lacey Jarrell."

She smiled.

"And so damn beautiful, it hurts."

Her heart skipped a beat. Slade Dalton found her beautiful. Even with her face blotchy from crying. She shyly dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry about this. I'll hardly be any use to Blue. And now, I can't even practice my riding." She pulled her hand out of the water, and they both winced at the sight of it. Her palm was covered with blisters. "I shouldn't have come."

"No, you shouldn't have come," Slade agreed. He nudged her chin up with his fingers and gazed into her eyes. Her heart took up an erratic beat. "But I'm glad you did."

When Lacey returned to camp, she was relieved to find the men clustered around the fire, deep in conversation. They didn't even notice her return. She found a seat atop a boulder, a distance from them.

"As I see it, getting these animals back to the ranch is going to be much harder than rounding 'em up and branding them. They are tough, wiry, old devils. Much faster than the lazy ranch cattle we're used to. Did you get a load of those lobo stripes down their backs? Only wild cattle have them stripes." Dix tossed a twig into the fire.

"I've helped gather up wild cattle before. Meaner and tougher than this bunch," Blue boasted. "'Course, we had a little trick for gettin' them to the ranch."

The men shifted their attention to Blue in anticipation of his revelation. He took an inordinately long time pulling a wad of tobacco out of his vest pocket and stuffing it into his cheek. With his face now distorted by the chunk of tobacco, he stretched his legs out, stacked his ankles and sighed contentedly.

"You care to share this little trick with us, Blue?" Slade asked.

Blue pondered the question for awhile before replying, "Well, 'tain't a very pretty solution." The men appeared riveted to his every word. He spat out a stream of tobacco juice and then became preoccupied with a loose button on his shirt.

Dix looked at Slade and raised his hands in a manner that suggested he'd like to reach out and choke poor Blue. "I swear to God, Slade, let me just—"

Slade waved him off.

Blue remained oblivious to it all.

"Blue," Slade said, with a heroic amount of patience, in Lacey's opinion, "why don't you just tell us about it, anyhow."

"Just cut the bugger's eyelids off."

"What?" Dix yelled, no longer able to contain his frustration.

"Damned, if it didn't work, too. With all the thorns and brush out here, they were afraid to run without the protection of their eyelids."

Judging by the looks on the men's faces they had no intentions of doing anything so cruel. Lacey felt relieved.

"You're right, Blue. It ain't a very pretty solution," Slade said.

"Tell you what, Blue," Dix's face was red and not just from the heat of the fire. Blue looked at him with all the innocence of a puppy dog.

"Why don't we try it on you. We'll slice off your eyelids and then set your ass on fire. I'll bet, sure as hell, that you still run. Eyelids or not."

"Well, you fellas asked. Ain't that right, Slade? You asked. So I told you."

"Let's just drop it, all right." Slade stood and left the circle. "It's my turn on watch. The rest of you better hit the sack. We've got a long day tomorrow. Without looking back, he yelled, "That goes for you too, Duchess."

* * * *

With one hand, Lacey did the best she could straightening out her bedroll. She'd set herself near the boulder, apart from the men. They were settling down to sleep in an arc around the campfire. Except for Blue, who had made a bed for himself under the wagon.

She had just squirmed beneath the top layer when she was joined by the two hired hands. They tossed their beds on either side of her. Did they think she was here for all the men—part cook, part prostitute?

"Thought you could use a little protection." The smile that accompanied the man's statement was nothing short of salacious.

How thoughtful, she mused and searched the area for a friendly, still-awake face. Running, which is what she wanted to do, seemed an overreaction to the situation.

She heard Dix's voice before she spotted him coming through the trees. Her whole body relaxed. "It seems, fellas, you've got yourselves lost."

One of the men responded with a sort of hiccupping laugh. "Lost is it? Is that what they're callin' it, nowadays."

Slade joined Dix and stared down at them long and hard.

"When you men woke today did you think, hell, this is such a fine damn sunrise, there's no need to see another one?"

Even if Slade had pulled out his gun, he couldn't have gotten a faster reaction. The men scrambled to their feet, tripping on themselves in their hurry to get away.

"Didn't know she was your woman, Boss," one of them muttered.

Dix and Slade grabbed up their sleeping gear and took up the spots the men had just vacated. Dix kept a polite distance from her, but Slade had no such qualms. His blankets nearly overlapped hers. Oh, she was safe now, she thought wryly. A scant inch away from the man who made her dizzy.

* * * *

Lacey woke to find herself in a compromising position. Slade Dalton's hard body was fitted perfectly against her backside. Her head was pillowed on one of his muscular arms. Enjoying the heat of him at her back, she felt so perfectly content she snuggled closer. Her hair rasped against the stubble of his beard.

"Well, Duchess, you sure hog the blankets."

"Sorry," she said, with a giggle. She twisted her head and took a peek over her shoulder. The man had rolled free of his bedding.

"Try not to do it again."

Again? Lacey closed her eyes as she heard him get to his feet. Of course, she must discourage this, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. The thought of another night tucked in against him sounded blissful. Besides, she needed his protection. Didn't she?

* * * *

Slade was finding it hard to concentrate. His nights had become pure torture. After waking and finding himself twined around Lacey, he thought it best to move his bedroll away. Before he smothered her with his need. Every night he'd lay close enough to keep an eye on her, and far enough to keep her safe from him. Wanting to spend the whole night with a woman was no longer a question. He wanted to spend every night with the same woman. Trouble was, she belonged to his brother. Or she thought she did. Only because Grady had the good fortune to meet her first. Slade was going to try his damnedest to convince her that she'd picked the wrong Dalton.

* * * *

After several hot, dusty days of branding cattle, the herd was set to be prodded home to the Lazy Heart.

The day they readied to leave, there was a peculiar grayish-pink cast to the sky. The air was alive with electricity. Lacey noticed that the hair on her forearms was standing up, and sparks were glinting off the horns of the restless steers. Foxfire, Slade had called it.

When huge forked lightning jagged across the sky, the men decided to postpone the journey.

Lacey felt a little excited about the unusual weather. Especially after six long days of cloudless skies and blazing still air. She set about helping to prepare the meal. Her burnt hand made her clumsy and slow, but she managed to get quite a bit accomplished.

Slade had insisted she take it easy and rest her hand. But Lacey had found it impossible to be idle. Dix had concocted a salve of egg whites and lard for her burn. She'd applied it dutifully, but it didn't seem to be doing much.

Lacey tried to forget what Blue had told her about a friend who'd lost his foot to festering blisters as she looked down at the hand. She had carefully covered it with one of her soft kid gloves. Slade had asked to see her injury, and she'd managed to convince him it was healing nicely.

However, she could no longer ignore the fact that her hand was becoming more and more tender. Moisture was starting to seep through the glove. The last thing she wanted to do was become more of a nuisance, she thought, as she watched an exhausted Slade douse his head in the cold stream.

He stood up and raked his wet hair back from his face. The water coursed over the muscles of his bare chest. He caught her staring at him. Her heart flitted in her chest. He'd been keeping his distance since the first night when they'd nestled together in their bedrolls. She hated how much she craved that intimacy again.

She took a deep breath before she approached him. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked distressed, worried almost, as she neared. Slade peered down at her, his pale eyes a startling contrast to the tan of his skin.

His body radiated heat. It made her weak being this near him. Lacey steeled herself to speak. "Slade, I think my hand's not healing quite as well as I thought," she said.

"Damnation, woman. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He reached for her hand. She bit back a cry as he gently peeled off the glove.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It's infected."

"I thought as much." She teared up.

He took hold of her elbow and marched her to the wagon. Kneeling on the back of the wagon, he started rummaging through the supplies. From a crate, he pulled out a jar of honey-colored liquid.

"Am I to drink that?"

"Couldn't hurt." He removed the lid and offered it to her.

She gave him a puzzled look and then took a dainty sip. A visible shudder ran the length of her frame. It was quite the worst thing she'd ever tasted. If she were ever to drink poison, she was sure it would taste very much the same. With a hard swallow, she sent the burning liquid down her throat. Likely, a product of Dix's still. She wondered if the man had iron lining his stomach.

The liquor was probably intended to get her a little tipsy or maybe completely foxed, so she'd forget all about her wound. Probably a common way for cowboys to deal with their pain, she surmised. But she couldn't bring herself to take another sip. "Thank you," she said politely, handing the jar back.

"Not done yet, darling." Taking hold of her unhurt hand, he led her to the fire and emptied half the jar into a pot and set it on to heat. It was odd to see him anywhere near a pot. The only thing he knew how to do in a kitchen was pour himself a cup of coffee.

As they stood by the fire, waiting for something awful she was sure, he turned his hand and laced his fingers through hers. The sensation of having her hand, so intimately clasped with his, made her knees weak. Lacey suspected it was his way of making certain she didn't leave. With a queasy feeling, she watched the alcohol heat up. It was painful liquid to drink. She could only imagine how painful it would be to immerse her hand in it.

After removing the pot from the flames, he set it on a rock. He dipped his finger in to test the temperature. Then he added a little more liquor from the jar before testing it again. He seemed satisfied.

"I'm going to dunk your hand in here."

"I thought as much. Just a moment, then." She snatched the jar from him and took a most unladylike gulp. "Horrible," she said, with a grimace.

"Dix concocts a nasty brew," Slade agreed.

She clamped her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, thinking herself ready. But the instant her hand hit the stinging liquid, she tried to yank it back. He held it firm, and curving his other arm around her, he pulled her toward him. He rested his forehead on hers.

"It'll be all right, Lacey."

She could almost forget the pain having him so close.

When he finally pulled her hand from the alcohol, he continued to hold her against him for a long delirious moment. Stepping back, Slade pulled his bandanna from the pocket of his Levi's. He swiped the tears from her eyes. So much for not crying.

"Let the air dry it. And keep it clean."

"Thank you. It feels much better," she lied.

Cradling her throbbing hand, Lacey stumbled away from him. Her hand felt nearly as bad as when she'd burned it. She kicked open her bedroll and collapsed on top of it.

Thankfully, by late afternoon, her hand was truly feeling better. She started to straighten the supplies in the back of the wagon in preparation for leaving. Tait rode past on the way to the mouth of the gorge. His shoulders drooped. It seemed that all the men's spirits were low. And tempers were starting to flare. Blue, normally so untroubled, had actually gotten into a scuffle that morning with Thorpe over the last scrap of bacon.

The sky was suddenly flooded with lightning. The din of the accompanying thunder caused Tait's horse to rear. Lacey watched helplessly as he made a futile attempt to seize the mane. He landed on his back with a hard thud.

"Are you all right, Tait?" Lacey called.

Tait clutched his side and groaned.

A new terrifying sound roared from the canyon. It wasn't thunder. The ground beneath her feet trembled.

"Stampede! Stampede!" The two hired hands hollered as they raced toward the camp at a full gallop.

Lacey could see the cloud of dust before she could see the animals.

She watched as Slade ran to his horse. He hurled himself into the saddle and shouted, "Turn 'em in a circle! Turn 'em, dammit! We'll lose them all."

There didn't seem to be enough horsepower to turn the crazed bunch of longhorns.

"Tait, what the hell are you doing? Get up!" Dix's frantic yell refocused Lacey's attention on Tait.

He was sitting now, but he looked dazed. Tait hadn't moved from the spot where he'd fallen.

Lacey ran toward him without thinking. The horrifying sound was getting dangerously close. She grabbed the back of Tait's collar. Her burnt hand throbbed as she gave a hard yank. Her feet slid out from under her, and she landed on her bottom with a jarring thud. Her mouth went dry with fear as the rumbling dust cloud neared. Tait, still dazed, was not reacting. She scrambled to her feet. Bracing herself, she gripped his shirt again. With all the strength she could muster she dragged him out of the path of the stampede, thankful for his slight build. They were pelted by flying gravel as the frenzied animals roared past.

"Tarnation, Lacey, you about choked me to death," Tait complained, giving his neck a theatrical rub. He glanced up at her, his big brown eyes widening. "I guess you saved my life," he said sheepishly.

"You would have done it for me." She crouched next to him and patted his leg with her good hand. "If you could manage to get back on—" she pointed at his horse wandering nearby, its reins dragging on the ground "—they could probably use your help."

Tait nodded, scrambled to his feet, and hurried to his mount.

The storm had shifted behind the hills. The sound was only a dull echo of what it had been. The longhorns had quieted, as well.

The men were still circling the diminished herd. Lacey could only imagine how dejected they felt. They'd only recaptured a fraction of the original bunch.

Slade left the swirling mass of horse and cattle and rode toward his brother. Slade leaned far over in the saddle and spoke a few words. He reached over and ruffled his brother's hair. Tait managed to look both annoyed and pleased.

Following Slade's advice to keep her wound clean, Lacey went in search of soap, which, she'd come to discover, was a scarce commodity in a cowboy camp.

Lacey crouched by the campfire, rinsing her hand with the water from the kettle. She turned suddenly at the sound of a horse's snort, dropping the precious cake of soap into the dirt.

"Come here, Lacey," Slade ordered, his expression unreadable. "Much closer," he insisted, after she'd only taken a few tentative steps in his direction. She was very near him now, when he dipped over the saddle and scooped a hand around her waist. He lifted her and positioned her snuggly in front of him in the saddle.

"That was really something, Lacey. Saving my brother like that," he said in her ear. Slade pressed his chin atop her head. "Christ, I could have lost you both."

With one hand slung protectively around her waist, and the other manipulating the reins, he rode with her toward the men. Her heart beat faster. She was finally getting a chance to experience some of the action.