Chapter 12

Lacey sat on the porch, shaping sunbonnets over cardboard. Using Dora's recipe, she'd made a starch from the dregs of the potato cookings. The skin on her fingers was feeling itchy and uncomfortable. She placed the bonnets to dry and hurried inside. She was desperate to wash her hands.

She used the dishwater to clean the starch off. At the sound of metal clanging, she peered outside. Her pulse took up an erratic beat at the sight of Slade, who was in the process of hitching a pair of horses to the wagon. It was unusual to see him at this time of the morning. Lacey couldn't help gazing at his tall, broad-shouldered form. He pulled the bandanna from his dirt-streaked face and pushed back the brim of his hat as he sauntered toward the house. Even covered head to toe in prairie dust, just the sight of him made her dizzy.

"Dora," Slade called as he stepped onto the porch. He snatched off his hat as he walked inside. Lacey had to squelch the disappointment she felt, knowing he hadn't come looking for her.

Dora, who had been dusting in the parlor, popped her head into the kitchen. "What's wrong, Slade, honey?"

"Nothin's the matter. Wanted to let you know I'd be heading into town to get the cattle money from the bank. Thought you might be needing something."

"Well, let me see." She walked to the larder and ticked off her supplies.

Slade stood in the doorway, staring down at his hat as he smoothed the crease in the crown. "How're you doing, Lacey?" he asked, his dark lashes lifting to reveal eyes that seemed surprisingly vulnerable.

She blinked from the impact of that gaze and a startling realization—she'd fallen completely, absolutely, irrevocably in love with the wrong Dalton.

"Fine," she said, her voice cracked. Somehow, she managed a tremulous smile.

Dora came out of the larder, and Lacey quickly dropped her gaze. "I think I'm pretty well stocked, but seems like there was something I needed in town." Dora rapped her knuckles against her lips as she tried to remember. "Something important..."

Slade, beginning to show impatience, cleared his throat loudly.

"My mind must be puddin'. How could I forget that?" Dora suddenly turned a beaming smile on Lacey.

Lacey looked at her in confusion.

"Dora, would you like to share with me the little thing you just remembered? It's getting late, and I've a lot—"

"A wedding dress!"

"A what?" Slade and Lacey spoke simultaneously.

"A wedding dress, for Lacey."

"I promised Grady I would take care of it, but you know how I despise that long ride to town."

"Now Dora, sweetheart, I don't have time to be hangin' around a woman's dress shop."

"He's right, Dora. Besides, there's no hurry." Lacey hoped she didn't sound too frantically opposed to the notion. Though, there was no real point in putting off the inevitable. She may love Slade Dalton, but she would be marrying his brother. She reminded herself that Grady offered a home and security.

Dora disappeared into the pantry again. "Nonsense," she said emphatically. "Slade, you drop Lacey off at Gertie's and while she's gettin' fitted, you'll have plenty of time to get your errands done. Lacey, you pick yourself out something real fancy."

In her frustration, Lacey scraped the knife across the next plate with such exuberance she took off some of the enamel.

Dora returned with an old tin can. "Grady sent this a week ago." She removed a fold of bills and handed it to Slade. He jammed it into his pocket with a sneering look on his face.

"Now shoo, both of you. I'll finish up here."

Lacey wiped her trembling hands on her apron before removing it and draping it over a chair.

"Remember, something fancy. After all, how many times does a girl get married?"

Lacey felt sick.

The vulnerable look had gone from Slade's eyes, replaced by that icy-hardness she was far too familiar with.

"Let's go." He slammed his hat on his head making the ends of his hair curl up on his collar. Something that turned her knees to jelly.

Planning to marry the love of your life's brother was certainly not for the weak of heart or stomach. She feared she would throw up right there on the kitchen floor.

Slade headed out to the wagon, never turning back to see if she was following. How she wished she weren't. She trudged sulkily behind him. This is sure to be a pleasant trip, she thought, as she plunked down hard on the seat next to a man whose mood seemed to be growing blacker by the moment.

The road to town was narrow and rough. Lacey found her knuckles had grown white from clutching the front edge of the wagon bench. She did not dare loosen her grip, since one good bump could bounce her into Slade Dalton's lap.

On either side of them were acres and acres of grassland, scarred by huge patches of dirt where flocks of sheep had eaten the grass completely away. She'd heard Dix cursing the sheep farmers for wasting good grazing land on a bunch of woolly parasites.

They passed the occasional rundown homestead, where a squatter, usually a city dweller from the east coast, was trying to make a go of farming.

Slade did not slow the horses when they came to a particularly rocky spot on the road, and a whimper escaped Lacey's lips as her now tender behind jounced on the hard seat.

"You don't seem to be enjoying the ride, Duchess."

She gave him a sideways glance. "Very perceptive, Mr. Dalton."

"Sorry, it's not one of your fancy cushioned carriages."

"Oh, here we go again—pampered, rich girl. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I'm the one slaving behind the stove, and scrubbing dishes so you and your men can devour meals at lightning speed. Which, I might add, I've yet to hear a thank you for. And, I suppose, you've missed seeing me out at the barn helping to milk the cows, grooming the horses, fetching the—"

"All right, all right. I will admit that you are not the spoiled, little female you were when you first arrived at the ranch."

"You make me sound as though I had been—"

"A petted, indulged kitten?" he finished for her. His eyes slid over her. He was certainly not eyeing her like a prospective brother-in-law should. "Now Lacey, you have to admit, you were a bit high and mighty."

"You've mistaken self-assurance for haughtiness."

"Could be." He shook his head and chuckled. "Hell, those two highwaymen nearly shot themselves in the head for being fool enough to hold up your coach. I'd surely call that confidence, Duchess." There was a hoarse, intimate hitch in his voice as he pronounced the nickname he'd chosen for her.

"You know, I think I'd like to ride the rest of the trip in silence. If you don't mind? This conversation is beginning to bore me." Tight-lipped, she pretended to be interested in the scenery, which at this point consisted of nothing but scrubby, fallow fields.

"Suit yourself, Miss Jarrell. I wager Grady'll be surprised when he sees you out on the ranch in your work clothes."

"I thought we'd agreed on quiet."

"You agreed. I didn't."

"If you insist on babbling on about all sorts of nonsense, go right ahead. Just don't expect me to listen."

"Whooee. Someone woke up on the wrong side of their enormous dog today. I'd think you'd be excited—seeing how you're going to buy a fancy wedding dress and all."

"Well, I am excited. Can't you see?" She forced a smile.

"That silence thing doesn't last too long with you, does it?" he quipped.

He drove the horses down a steep road. The town was now visible.

She felt his searching gaze on her. "It seems that if you were anymore excited, Duchess, you'd be snapping this wagon bench in two with your bare hands."

Slade tugged on the reins, slowing the wagon to allow for a couple of cows sauntering across the street. The strong smell of raw meat and blood emanated from Merwin's Meat Market. Strung carcasses of deer, pigs, and wild turkey could be glimpsed through the open door. Lacey's stomach did another flip-flop. She held her breath, praying the cows would move a little faster. Finally, Slade urged the horses forward again. Lacey took a swallow of fresher air, but it did nothing to relieve the sick feeling in her stomach.

* * * *

The town, with its false fronts of unpainted pine, still had a foreign feel to Lacey, though she'd visited it the night of the dance and on one other occasion. When she had first arrived in Colorado, she had delivered some legal papers for Grady. The lawyer, Curry Foster, a slick, unpleasant man, had his office above the billiard hall. Sunlight glanced off his second story windows.

According to his business sign, Curry Foster was a man of many talents; handling land claims, farm mortgages, and legal disputes.

Lacey smiled at the sight of a piglet and some chickens loitering in front of the general store. The livestock nearly outnumbered the people in town.

The general store, sandwiched between a blacksmith's and a rooming house, was unlike any store she'd ever seen in England. It had a placard in the window advertising a curious assortment of products, from harmonicas to Bibles.

A couple of men, lounging on the benches outside the saloon, glanced over in their direction. Suddenly, the men sat up straighter. The one with the waist-length beard dug his elbow into his companion's ribs. Lacey could have sworn that their eyes were now honing in on Slade. In a split-second, they were up and racing for the swinging doors of the saloon. Incredibly, they jammed their bulky bodies through the opening at the same time.

Lacey looked over at Slade. He seemed completely unaware of the men's peculiar behavior.

He tipped his hat at a lanky, young man sauntering down the sidewalk. The man paled perceptibly, and the cigar he was puffing on fell out of his mouth. He was unable to peel his eyes off Slade. In sympathy, Lacey jolted slightly on the wagon bench as the man walked straight into a post.

Slade was now reaching into his vest pocket for something, oblivious to the man's painful reaction to his greeting. He tossed Grady's money onto her lap. Frowning, she left it untouched for a moment. She felt undeserving of Grady's generosity. Most women would be thrilled to go shopping for their wedding gown. And most women would be thrilled to land a prosperous man like Grady Dalton. She tucked the money into her reticule. She was being foolish. Slade had given her no indication that he wanted her to stay on with him at the ranch, in fact, quite the opposite. She snapped her reticule shut and resolved to enjoy picking out a dress.

A red lantern in an upstairs' window caught her eye as they continued down the main street. A moment later, the sheer curtain was pushed aside, and a woman, wearing only a corset and lace stockings, straddled the window frame. Considering that there were plenty of other men in wagons, on horseback, or just plain milling around town, Lacey couldn't help but wonder why Slade had been singled out. It was clear from the way the woman positioned her body, she was exhibiting herself for him.

When their wagon was directly below her, the woman bent forward exposing rouged nipples over the top of her skimpy corset. Slade thumbed the brim of his hat up and offered her an appealing smile. Encouraged, the woman nearly fell out of the window showing him the rest of her wares.

People plowing into poles or cramming themselves through a narrow saloon doorway, Slade missed, but this winning, little display, had not escaped his notice.

"How charming," Lacey muttered under her breath, wanting nothing more than to plow her fist into his rock-hard arm. She decided better of it. She'd probably break her fingers before she'd have any effect on him.

"Not bad," he mused. "But she's a redhead." He glanced up at the woman again, bending his neck to get a better view. "Correction, not a true redhead, brown I'd guess from this angle."

Lacey gasped and despite her reservations punched him anyway. She quickly cradled her smarting fingers in her other hand.

Slade chuckled. "It's not that I mind red, or brown, for that matter. But lately, I've developed a fondness for black hair."

She turned her face quickly so that the bonnet obscured the crimson rising in her cheeks. It was a mistake, she warned herself, to take his words seriously. He was merely teasing, nothing more. Yet, there was no denying that he had a tendency to touch her hair...to wrap a lock of it seductively around his finger.

As the wagon clattered through town, she sensed the ripple of excitement or fear, or whatever it was that Slade inspired, cresting into a wave. A group of older gentlemen immediately halted their conversation and turned to stare at them. The looks on their faces, identical to that of the unfortunate young man who now, undoubtedly, sported a tender lump on his forehead. One plump, rosy-cheeked woman standing outside the tanner's shop gasped loudly and then ran as fast as her stout legs could carry her into the drugstore two doors down. The strange reactions raced through the town like a lit fuse of dynamite. All Lacey could do was stare at Slade in shock.

He sat relaxed and undisturbed, gazing straight out over the horses' backs.

"What the devil is going on?"

"Where, Duchess?"

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?" he asked with convincing naiveté.

"You'd have thought we just pulled into town in a solid gold coach driven by a three-headed horse, the way everyone is falling all over themselves at the sight of us or you, I should say."

"Woman, you've got one helluva an imagination."

"'Tis most certainly not my imagination. That chap back there nearly knocked himself senseless when he saw you. And the women—"

The horses nickered as he tightened the reins. "Here's your stop. I've got a lot to do back at the ranch, so be quick about it."

Evidently, there was no point in pursuing this conversation. She glanced at the shop. Given prominent display in the large window, was an ivory wedding gown Lacey suspected had once been snow-white. She felt the blood drain from her face as the nausea intensified.

Without another word to Slade, she took hold of her calico skirts and leaped off the wagon before it had come to a complete halt. Her ankles hurt a bit from the impact, but she'd managed to stay on her feet.

"Woman," he said, "haven't you any sense at all?"

Keeping her back to him, she straightened her straw bonnet.

"You aren't hurt, are you?"

Even though he sounded truly concerned, she had no inclination to answer him. She began walking toward the shop.

"Darlin'," he addressed her in a tone so snide, she wondered if she'd imagined the gentle one only moments before, "you be sure to pick yourself out something real pretty. Wouldn't want Grady to be disappointed." His words were like a slap, and she froze a minute before turning to look at him.

Slade peered down at her; the shadow cast by the brim of his hat darkened his eyes. There was a warning in that hard stare that she could not fathom. No longer able to breathe, she pulled her eyes from his and looked back at Gertie's shop. Three women, crammed between the dressmaker dolls stared out at them. Slade made the same little clicking sound he always used to spur on a horse and the wagon rumbled off. It wasn't until Lacey took a hold of the brass knob that the women scattered.

She opened the door. The doll fitted with the bridal gown was still rocking on its base from their quick retreat. Lacey couldn't help but see that as a bad omen.

Sounding a bit breathless, the woman behind the counter greeted Lacey with a smile. "Mornin' Miss. Is there something I can help you with?" She had well-defined laugh lines and a gray and white streaked bun bound neatly at the base of her neck.

"I am looking for a dress. A w-wedding dress." She found herself choking out the words.

The two younger women, who appeared to be shop assistants, both gasped and the older woman shot them an admonishing look.

The woman's smile soured. "Well then...let's see if we can find something that will suit Mr. Dalton's taste."

"To suit Mr. Dalton..." Lacey repeated dumbly, wondering how she knew. Of course! She thinks I'm marrying Slade. Let the nosy woman continue to think so, Lacey thought with some malicious glee. Why should she be the only one unhappy today?

"Sylvia, bring out several of our finest dresses." As she spoke, she winked at Sylvia bunching up her prominent laugh lines for a split second. Lacey found it hard not to laugh at the obviousness of it all.

"Sure thing, Miss Gertie, right away."

* * * *

Slade pulled the wagon up in front of the bank. The luck of having Dora save all his earnings still seemed unreal. Now he'd have enough to purchase quality breeding stock. It wouldn't be long before the ranch made a tidy profit. He'd even be able to expand the house. Everything he'd been working for since he'd returned to Colorado was suddenly in reach. He felt like a poker player who'd drawn four aces. A gambler who'd drawn the deal of a lifetime, all right. Only problem was, the guy across the table just slapped down a royal flush. Grady had definitely won this hand.

Slade opened the door and stepped inside the busy bank. Everything stopped at once. He felt as if he were walking into a photograph. All he could hear were his own boot heels striking the bare wood planks. He shook his head. People sure don't forget easy in this town, he thought.