Chapter 18

Lacey woke the next morning feeling as if she'd consumed champagne instead of food for dinner. She felt light-headed, on edge, and a little shaky from her experience with Slade. Her mood was as gray as the rain clouds that threatened outside the kitchen window.

She strode past the numerous pies and cakes lining the kitchen counter. She took a whiff of a particularly delicious looking one with golden peaches peeking through the elaborately latticed crust. It was a reviving aroma.

She wondered at what ungodly hour Dora must wake to prepare this array. Every Friday, a similar collection of pies could be found lining the counter.

"How on earth do you make all these desserts by yourself?" Lacey asked the moment Dora entered the kitchen.

"I don't make those. The girls 'round here come every Friday, like clockwork, bringing those things." She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know why Fridays, or why all at once. Must be, they want him to compare their cooking against the others. The boys always had too many admirers. That's what got him into trouble in the first place," she said with an indulgent shake of her head. Lacey didn't need to be told which boy she was talking about.

So while she slept, in the dark of morning, women were parading by her window with their enticing wares. Widows and unmarried women alike, she was sure. Not one of the men had ever mentioned it. Though, they'd all shared in the spoils.

Suzanne Ludlow, Slade's most ardent admirer, often sat sipping tea on the porch with Dora. Lacey had noticed Suzanne staring longingly off in the direction of the fields or the barn. Lacey found it hard to judge the woman. After all, that was a habit she was finding impossible to break herself of.

When introduced, Suzanne had acknowledged her with a smile. At least, the semblance of a smile. Her lips had curved, revealing pretty little teeth, but the smile hadn't extended to her eyes.

Miss Ludlow's contribution accounted for only one of the pies. Lacey glanced at the desserts and took a quick count. Ten items. Ten lonely females looking to interest Slade Dalton in marriage. She could envision them bustling into the kitchen, already relegating Dora to a secondary place.

The desserts no longer had any appeal to Lacey. She vowed to make Fridays a dessert free night. She knew she couldn't stomach taking one bite of any of those tarts.

Dora was leaning over the peach pie and broke off a piece of crust to take a nibble. With a conspiratorial smile, she said in hushed tones, "Finally talked him into spending the evening at the Ludlows."

"But it's going to rain." Lacey hoped she didn't sound whiny.

"If a drizzle keeps a man away, there ain't no hope for the relationship," Dix opined. He walked up behind them and peered over their shoulders. He picked up a cherry pie.

"Here Dix, let me cut you a piece of that."

He put up his hand in a don't-trouble-yourself gesture. They watched as he got himself a fork, sat down at the table, and proceeded to eat the entire pie. "So Ludlow's girl finally won the Slade Dalton lottery."

Lacey nearly choked on her coffee. Suzanne was pert and pretty. A woman who would obey a man's every word. A woman who would never do anything outrageous and impulsive. Exactly the kind of woman that would make Slade happiest.

Lacey had effectively banished him from her bedroom. Had she really expected a man like that to pine away? With a shiver up her spine, she recalled for the thousandth time, what it felt like to kiss him and, instantly, deemed Suzanne the luckiest woman on earth.

After clearing, scraping, and washing the enormous pile of supper dishes, Lacey stepped outside and called for Oliver. She gave his shaggy fur a tussle and walked around the house to where the ancient elm stood. Oliver instantly plopped down and rolled onto his side. She untied her boots and removed them. Then she tugged off her woolen socks.

Without a care for how unladylike she looked, she pulled herself up the tree to a high branch. She balanced precariously on the rather narrow perch. Hugging the trunk, she looked out over the fields. There was a sprinkling of small houses. How many of these, she wondered, held daughters aching for attention from Slade Dalton? Too many, she guessed.

The first heavy drop splashed on her cheek. It was soon followed by more. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back letting the rain run down her face and throat.

The back door opened.

"Slade, honey. Hurry and fetch the linens off the lines before they're ruined!" Dora hollered.

Lacey jerked her head up with a start. Oh, bloody grand. It had taken her hours to wash the darn things.

She looked down to see the top of Slade's hat. He was already yanking down the laundry.

Lacey reached for a branch to begin her descent. It snapped off in her hand. Slade stood stock-still for a moment and then looked up.

She removed one of her hands to wave to him, and he made a lunging motion toward the tree. She gathered up a handful of her skirts and awkwardly maneuvered into a sitting position.

He finally spoke. "Get the hell down from there, Lacey."

He was worried. The thought gladdened her heart.

Slade was wearing a handsome, brown broadcloth jacket and an embroidered vest. Slung low on his hips was the ever-present gunbelt. Suzanne would be more than pleased with his appearance.

"Your nice clothes are getting soaked."

"Never mind my clothes. Get your bottom down here."

She obstinately remained seated in the tree. He wouldn't come up after her and risk ruining his fine clothes. She swung her bare feet. "You look very handsome."

"Lacey, I'm not keen on heights. But if you make me haul you down, I will."

A streak of lightning and an ear-splitting crack of thunder made her jump, and she nearly unseated herself.

"Have you ever seen a bolt of lightning split a tree in half?"

That was all she needed to hear. She scrambled down, scraping and scratching her hands and legs as she did so. She waved him away when it looked as though he would attempt to catch her. Lacey jumped, landing in a crouch. She straightened and pressed her raw hands against her damp skirt.

"What are you trying to do to me, woman? Put me in an early grave?"

"Why don't you go on your little date? I'll collect the rest of the laundry." She looked over at the sheets. His gaze followed hers.

"It's a lost cause, don't you think?"

She had to admit he was right. The bottom of the sheets were already splattered with mud.

Spotting a sheet that still looked savable, she dove for it. She tripped on her rain-laden skirts and fell to her knees in a muddy puddle in her effort to rescue it. She looked up from her humiliating position.

The rain was clinging to her lashes. It clumped her hair together in cold, wet pieces, which fell into her face.

She swiped the heavy strands of hair from her eyes. Something about the ridiculous situation struck her as funny, and she began laughing.

"That's it then." She stood up and gently brushed her stinging hands together. She thought perhaps her clumsiness would have made him at least smile. Instead, his lips had a surly tilt to them.

"Get out of the rain," he said gruffly. His eyes were opaque and nearly as gray as the day's storm clouds.

"Fine," she said and began slogging through the mud toward the house. Drawing in an angry breath, she turned to face him, her fists clenched at her sides. "I wish you'd stop giving me orders!"

"You're living under my roof, lady."

"And you think that gives you the right?"

"That about sums it up." His hat shadowed his face. She couldn't see the smug expression she was certain he wore.

"Your land, your house, your cattle—" With every step she named something he owned, failing, of course, to include herself in that list. Though, he owned her—heart and soul.

"That's right." His voice came from over her shoulder. The soft ground had muffled his steps. Now she could feel the heat of him at her back. "My land, my house, my woman." The last was uttered in an unsteady tone that seemed to echo her own raw emotions.

She hurried her stride.

"Didn't take you for a coward, Lacey."

She began to run, her boots making a sucking sound as they pulled up from the muddy earth.

"Lacey...please." His voice sounded rough with anger and frustration.

Her heart in her throat, she wheeled around and ran in the opposite direction. Away from the house...away from safety. Somehow, her steps seemed lighter, not mired in the mud as they had been. She felt as if she were nearly flying.

The angelic, graceful image was completely dispelled when she threw herself at him and heard his grunt of expelled breath. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clinging to his neck. She kissed him with a fierce, desperate urgency. He returned it with the same intensity causing her to melt in his arms.

"Looks like the rain stopped, Boss," a voice said from behind them.

She leapt from her six foot-two perch. Blue looked at them both like it was an every day occurrence that she'd be hanging around Slade Dalton's neck, kissing him madly.

Slade had a secure hold on her wrist. "Did you come here to give me a weather report, Blue? Or do you need something?"

"You told me to hitch up the wagon. Said you were heading out," Blue said, sounding a little hurt.

"Oh, right. Thanks, Blue."

Blue trudged off dejectedly.

She looked down at the hold he had on her wrist. "You better not keep Miss Ludlow waiting."

"I could always cancel."

"Don't be ridiculous." With a twist, she released her arm from his grip.

* * * *

Lacey sat up in bed and mashed down her pillow. She twisted and turned, tangling herself in the quilt, finally kicking it off onto the floor. She was finding it impossible to sleep. It was all too quiet. The familiar sound of creaking wood was absent. She never thought she'd miss his incessant pacing, but she did. He'd taken it up with a vengeance last night when she'd cast him from her room.

Suzanne Ludlow looked like she came from a respectable family. Surely, her parents wouldn't allow her to spend a night with Slade Dalton.

She found herself staring a hole in the adjoining door when the dawn broke. The miserable man had never come home. She hauled herself out of bed feeling as creaky and old as an arthritic ninety year old.

She lifted the window shade and took a peek outside. His wagon wasn't parked in front of the house. After seeing to the calf, she'd take her frustrations out on the butter churn.

* * * *

Lacey stepped out of the barn and stretched her back. She couldn't help feeling pleased with herself. This calf was thriving.

The drive was still deserted. It seemed Slade was having such a good time, he'd forgotten where he lived.

Lacey ladled the cream off the bucket of fresh milk and poured it into the churn. She took up the paddle.

The sound of a horse thundering down the road, threw her off her rhythm. And the sight of the familiar black hat set her heart to pounding.

"You son-of-a-gun, what'd you do? Get yourself hitched? I had visions of Ludlow holding a shotgun ceremony," Dix shouted.

Lacey looked up to find that he'd rid himself of jacket and tie. His eyes seemed to search her out. The moment they alighted on her, she glanced away and pretended to busy herself with the butter making.

"My axle broke," he said in a too loud voice. Lacey couldn't help feeling that his answer was directed more at her than at Dix.

"Yeah, right. Hey, his axle broke. Poor Suzanne, she must have been mighty disappointed with that development."

"Hush, Dix. His woman is over there," Blue commented, none too quietly himself.

Of course, Blue would believe she was Slade's woman after seeing them kissing in the pouring rain.

"That ain't his woman. She belongs to Grady Dalton," Dix said with annoyance.

"Huh?" Blue answered.

Lacey concentrated on the butter. Slade nudged the barrel with the toe of his boot. Blue and Dix were obviously having this conversation without him. She had to admit, he did have a streak of what could have been axle grease on his cheek.

With unnecessary exaggeration, he tossed a splintered rod toward the firewood pile. It seemed an odd thing to bring the worthless piece of wagon home. It didn't look repairable. "My axle broke," he repeated as though the entire ranch hadn't heard his overloud comment.

"'Tis a shame."

"I've never seen anyone give butter such a thumping before. If you aren't careful, you'll give yourself calluses like these." He held his palms up for her to see. They were covered with grease.

He hunkered down on his haunches in front of her. Clearly, he wanted her to know that he had not been wooing Suzanne Ludlow.

"You have a bit of grease on your face." She demonstrated by swiping a finger across her own cheek.

"Here?" he asked, rubbing the area and depositing a lot more of the black on his face. "Did I get it?"

She tried to keep her expression serious as she nodded her head, but she succumbed to a fit of giggles. He knew instantly and checked his hands. The look in his eyes went from contrite to sly. She knew what was coming and jumped off the stool, toppling it over.

Lacey was no match for his long legs. Besides, she'd chosen to run in the wrong direction. She'd been hoping to make it through the barn door, but some fastidious soul had shut it. Laughing, he caught her around the waist and then flipped her so she was staring straight at his chest. His hands were on either side of her face, and when she made a move to duck beneath his arm, he moved his body forward, effectively trapping her between two very hard things.

He lowered his head and rubbed the greasy side of his face against hers. "Stop," she screamed with laughter. "Your beard hurts." Her fingers were curled in his shirt. She found, she was pulling him closer, instead of pushing him away.

His smiling lips hovered over hers.

"Mr. Dalton," she said, nearly breathing the words into his mouth, "did you truly break your axle?"

His smile tipped into a lopsided grin. "Truly, Miss Jarrell. Would you like to help me fix it?"

"Suzanne didn't have the proper tools?"

"No," he said rubbing his lips over hers.

She could hear the men still talking loudly behind them, and she wished they would disappear.

"Hey, Slade," Dix shouted. Dix rarely called Slade by his given name. With a sense that something was wrong, they parted.

Dix was hurrying over to them. She'd never seen him move so fast. "Grady's home. He's almost at the gate."

Slade made a move to snag her hand, but she dodged him and ran toward the house. She wasn't laughing anymore.

* * * *

Slade watched her run away from him toward Grady without a second's hesitation. He plowed his fist into the barn door, snapping off a hinge. He wasn't going to stick around for this. Watching Grady and Lacey together would be a ticket to his own private hell.

This seemed as good a time as any to face a different sort of nightmare. He'd head to town and ask around about Purdy. More than instinct told him that Jared had managed to worm his way out of a hanging. The most recent holdup had been in the Colorado Territory. The description in yesterday's newspaper of the robbery suspect had fit the bastard too well to be discounted. If Jared had indeed survived, Slade needed to find out if he was anywhere in the vicinity, lurking near enough to hurt the people he cared about. If Purdy was hoping to get revenge for Silas's untimely and rather undignified demise, Slade would be forced to hunt him down. No one he loved would pay for his dangerous choice of profession.