Chapter 11

An anguished shout woke Lacey. Her heart racing, she sat up clutching the sheet to her chin and blinked into the dark. Everything was quiet, now, except for her snuffling, wheezing wolfhound.

"My protector," she said and pried her tingling feet out from beneath the slumbering beast's massive weight. Of course, it was silly to think that a man like Slade could be in any kind of trouble. As she slipped on her dressing gown, Lacey assured herself that she would do the same for anyone on the ranch.

She fumbled for a matchstick, knocking something off the chiffonier and onto her big toe. She bit back a cry. The candle flickered as she entered the abandoned sewing room. Thankfully, the door to his room opened without a creak. She peeked around it, to find Slade asleep on his stomach with one arm hanging off the bed, his fingers grazing the floor.

A lit lantern sat on his desk near a stack of open ledgers. He'd obviously been working late on the ranch's books. He'd been putting in grueling hours without complaint. She wished she could be of more help to him.

A slight breeze blew through the open window ruffling the ledger pages. It was a wonder she couldn't see her breath in the icy air. She wanted to close the window, blow out the lantern, and cover him with his quilt...wifely things. Things she had no business doing. Unable to squelch the need to take care of him she managed to drape a corner of the quilt over his back and soundlessly close the window.

With an exaggerated shiver, she shut the door and skittered back to her bed. It felt luxurious to slide beneath the soft down quilt.

She woke again, when Oliver began whapping the foot of the bed with his heavy tail. "Hold your bloody tail still, you overgrown—" She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the tall figure leaning casually in her doorway, backlit by lantern light. In her haste to return to her warm bed, she'd left the sewing room door wide open.

She could see straight through to his room, to his rumpled bedding. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and the red glow illuminated the familiar slow, easy smile. The smile that always melted her resolve into a worthless puddle. He was clad only in pants, the top two buttons undone.

"Hope I didn't startle you, Duchess."

His deep drawl had even more impact on her senses in the stillness of the night. It didn't matter that he shouldn't be in her room. She was just relieved that he was speaking to her.

"A bit. Though, I should have known it was you."

"How's that?"

"You may have noticed that Oliver doesn't like to move much. Wagging his tail is a chore." She gave the dog a hearty rub on the neck. "He only gets worked up over two things—a juicy steak and his hero, Slade Dalton."

"And you."

"True," she said with a soft laugh, "But for me, he saves big wet kisses."

"Smart dog."

Slade pushed himself off the doorway and walked toward her bed. She quickly covered her breasts with the quilt, certain he would disapprove of her rather lacy nightdress.

"Hey, Ollie, am I really your hero?"

Oliver's tail quickened its pace for a brief moment as Slade rubbed his chest, and then ceased completely as the huge animal resumed snoring.

"May I ask what you were doing in my doorway?" Lacey felt ridiculous asking that question so belatedly.

"Watching you sleep, Duchess. Feeling a little envious, I guess. I couldn't sleep much, myself. Did you know you make these cute, little moaning sounds when you roll over?"

"How would I know that, if I'm asleep when I make them?" She was beginning to feel more than a little embarrassed by the whole intrusion. "Besides, at least I don't call out in my sleep." The look on his face made her want to take the words back as soon as she'd spoken them.

"Was I yelling? Sorry about that—happens sometimes." Looking truly hurt, he turned to leave.

"Wait," she cried. "The least you could do is stay and talk to me now that you've woken me." She snatched her robe, draped it over her shoulders, and jumped out of bed before he'd made up his mind.

When he turned to look at her, the crooked smile had returned to his lips. "I s'pose, it's the least I could do." He plopped onto her settee and seemed to make himself right at home.

She sat on the cushion beside him, and there was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence between them.

Lacey shuddered to think what kind of nightmares a formidable man like Slade Dalton would have. "Do you have nightmares often?" She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to stop herself from asking any more prying questions.

"Yes. Actually, nightmare. The same one for ten years."

"Ten years?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his pants and flicked off an invisible speck of lint. "Since the day my pa died."

Just hearing him saying the words formed a painful lump in her throat. She placed a comforting hand on his. He ran a callused thumb up along the edge of her pinkie. She discreetly pulled her hand away and tucked it demurely in her lap.

Lacing his fingers, he placed them behind his head, propping his bare feet up on her traveling trunk. She had been using it as a table for tea in her room.

"Your father was shot, wasn't he?"

He nodded. "I'm sure Grady told you all about his rotten older brother. And how it was my fault that Pa was killed." The anger in his voice made her regret her prying, yet again.

She nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. "It was a brief courtship. I'm afraid, we had little chance to discuss the personal details of our lives." It was true. They barely knew each other, but in their short acquaintance, he had mentioned Slade. He'd made Slade sound no better than the outlaws he hunted.

"You managed to fall in love with a man you barely knew?"

She shifted her gaze from his hard, questioning one. This had not been an idle question. He wanted an answer. "What does love have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. You tell me, Duchess?" There was a hoarse catch in his voice.

Afraid to look him in the eye with the intense way he'd been staring at her, she peered up through her lashes at him. She had no answer. She could only shrug.

Thankfully, he gave her a reprieve. "This thing is pretty darn comfortable." He shifted down into the softness of the velvet upholstery. He rested his head back with a yawn before turning to look at her.

She was thankful for the change of subject, but she was not yet ready to leave behind her curiosity about the enmity that existed between the two brothers. "Why does Grady blame you for your father's death?"

His eyes flickered with obvious pain.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

He reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. She felt dizzy from the sensation of it. "The bullet my dad caught was meant for me." He closed his eyes, and in the moonlight, his long lashes made shadows on his cheeks.

Slade lay so still, for a moment, she thought he'd dozed off. "I was a cocky little bastard. Thought I could do anything. Tempted fate every day. Figured nothing could stop me from doing whatever I wanted."

"You were just a boy, and someone wanted to kill you?"

"I deserved it, I s'pose." He fingered the crescent scar near his eye. "This was a little souvenir. I got it crashing through a bedroom window. Had an angry husband chasing me." He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. Her entire scalp tingled from the sensation.

"My dad came riding to my rescue, but he pulled his rifle too slow. Grady will never forgive me. I can't say I blame him.

"Joined up with the army, first chance I got. I had a romantic, fool notion of dying in battle. Clumsy damn bunch of soldiers—those Confederates. They couldn't shoot the side of a mountain at close range."

His eyes were drifting shut again. His fingers released her hair. Slade's hand slid heavily down her shoulder and came to rest on his thigh. She sat perfectly still for a moment, afraid to disturb him. He must be desperate for sleep. With gladness, she noted his breathing had slowed. She couldn't believe it. He'd actually fallen asleep, here in her room, atop a frilly little couch.

Having no extra blankets, she removed her pink robe and covered him with it, before climbing back into bed.

* * * *

The clanking sounds of pots and pans came much sooner than Lacey wanted. Still tired from being up in the night, she rolled out of bed like a floppy doll. She stood upright when she realized that Slade was still fast asleep on her settee, tucked cozily under her robe.

Rays of sunlight illuminated his face. Sleep had softened the hard set of his jaw, and the handsomeness of his face struck her with longing. She swallowed hard, thinking how much she would love to kiss that face. She tiptoed around, gathering her things. Not wanting to wake him from his peaceful slumber.

She left the room, only to return again and stare down at him. She was unreasonably glad that he'd found comfort in her room.

From the kitchen window, Lacey could see the ranch hands tromping toward the house.

She and Dora rushed around getting eggs and ham on the table and coffee in the mugs.

Dix was the first one through the door.

"Whooee! Smells good in here. Either of you pretty, little gals seen the boss this mornin'?"

"Hey, Dix. Maybe he called a holiday and forgot to tell all of us," Blue managed to spit out before cramming his mouth full of breakfast.

Lacey set Beck's cup down too hard, sending a splash of hot coffee over her fingers. She quickly wiped the burning liquid off on her apron. What would the men think, if they'd found that their boss was taking the morning off...in her room? Blue would be the only one not surprised. He still referred to her as Slade's woman. Curiously, no one, not even Slade, had bothered to tell him the truth—that she was engaged to Grady Dalton.

"Dix, I'm sure Slade will be down shortly. You know how he has trouble sleeping. Something's eating at that boy again. He's up all night pacing," Dora said.

"I wonder if it's not something, but someone who's making him so restless at night," Dix said, throwing an all-knowing look at Lacey.

Lacey chose to ignore the remark, and instead, dove into the hot food she'd generously heaped onto her plate. Not about to squeeze herself between a pair of dusty, sweaty men, Lacey stood at the counter to eat. She usually waited till the plates had been cleared and scraped, before sharing a meal with Dora. This morning, she had a voracious appetite.

It was absurd to think he would be losing sleep over her. The Lazy Heart Ranch was in desperate trouble. Slade Dalton certainly didn't have time to worry about his pesky English lodger. She had to admit, though, she wished there was some sliver of truth to it.

Dix gulped his breakfast down at breakneck speed and then shoved himself away from the table. "I think I'll see what's keeping Sleeping Beauty."

"Now, Dix. Let the boy rest," Dora said.

Ignoring Dora's plea, he clomped down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Lacey grabbed her napkin, gave her face a quick wipe, and followed behind Dix, leaving the whole kitchen quietly surprised.

"Well, you do look awful punchy in that lil' frock, there, Slade," Dix said, barely able to restrain his glee.

"Hell—you're damn right I look good in this." Slade tossed her robe aside.

"Maybe, after you've fixed your hair, you could join the rest of us down at the barn. We've got some horses to break."

"You just prepare yourselves for when I show up in this outfit. You'll all be jealous. You'll be sportin' one soon enough."

"I'll leave the frilly stuff to you dandies."

"If y'all are finished making fun of my nightclothes..."

They both turned to stare at her.

"Duchess, did you just say y'all?"

She began shooing them both out the door. "Bloody great. A couple of months on this blasted cow farm, and all my years of fine English schooling have gone for naught." She slammed the door shut behind them, but she could hear their banter as they retreated down the hall.

"I was thinkin', maybe we could get you a nice pink ribbon to tie 'round your hat." A loud thump was followed by Dix's curses.

"Damn, Dalton, I won't be able to use this shoulder for the rest of the day."

She snatched up her robe and buried her face in it. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent.