Chapter 19

Lacey looked into the mirror and rubbed her skin hard. The streak of black grease was proving stubborn. As stubborn as the man who'd put it there.

Her hands trembled, but she wasn't sure why. She wasn't the least bit anxious about seeing Grady. Or the least bit excited, either, she thought regretfully. She'd barely had a chance to get to know him before she'd left England. He was little more than a stranger to her.

She brushed her hair until her arms grew tired. Then she tied it up loosely with a midnight blue, satin ribbon. The color was a perfect match for the piping on the cream-colored dress she'd decided to wear.

Lacey twisted around to look at her rear. She adjusted the bustle and shook out the layers of ruffles cascading below it. She had to rummage around in her belongings to find her little pot of rouge. A decadent purchase from her last visit to Paris. She dotted her lips with a tiny bit of color and took one last look in the mirror.

"Perfect," she told herself and then proceeded to flop down on her bed and smother her face in a pillow.

Who was she fooling? Primping like she was dying to impress her betrothed. She had barely given him a moment's thought since she'd laid eyes on his blue-eyed brother. The only feelings she had when she thought about Grady Dalton were feelings of regret. How awful she was being. How terribly unfair to him.

"Lacey, dear? Grady is waiting for you." Dora sounded pleased to have her son home again. Dora seemed oblivious to the hostility between Grady and Slade. Or, Lacey reasoned, because she loved all the Dalton men, she chose to ignore it.

Lacey hurled the pillow across the room, successfully knocking over the candlestick perched on her dresser.

"Are you all right, Lacey? What was that noise?"

"Sorry, Dora, I dropped my hairbrush. I'll be out in a minute."

"Do hurry, dear. Grady is eager to see you."

Lacey heaved herself off the bed and began to repair the damage. She fixed her hair again, reapplied a touch of rouge to her lips, and plumped up her bustle.

She stopped momentarily in the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping through it. She could hear Grady's voice resonating in the hall.

Lacey stepped demurely into the parlor. Grady stood to greet her.

"Ah, Lacey, sweetheart. There you are. What took you so long?"

He was not quite as tall as she had remembered. He stepped forward and gave her a chaste hug.

Over Grady's shoulder, she could see Slade in the kitchen. He'd taken his knife down from the hook, and he was buckling on his shoulder holster. It looked like he was preparing for danger. The thought caused her stomach to do a flip-flop.

Grady stepped back and took her hands in his. She found herself unable to look him in the eye and focused, instead, on his perfectly trimmed mustache.

"I've forgotten how pretty you are," Grady said.

"You must have a short memory," Slade commented as he headed to the door. Clearly, he'd had no intention of greeting his brother.

"Surprised to find you hangin' around here, Slade," Grady said.

Squaring his shoulders, Slade turned to face them. Lacey glanced away unable to bear the dark look he'd directed at her. It was ridiculous, but she felt like she was betraying him.

"It's my home. What's so surprising about it?"

"Home? You haven't been here for ten years."

"I'm back now. Get used to it."

Grady smoothed his mustache over a sneering smile. "I doubt I'll be able to do that. Thankfully, we'll only be here for a short while. In the meantime, get your things out of that room, Slade. I'll be sleeping there until we leave for Boston."

Slade pulled the brim down low, shading his eyes. But not before giving Lacey a warning look.

"I'm going to town Dora. Don't hold dinner for me."

As Slade left, he slammed the door hard. Dora's knickknacks rattled in the parlor cabinet.

"I just remembered. I need some more thread for my wedding dress. I'll only be a minute," Lacey said, trying not to sound too frantic.

She raced down the porch steps not really knowing what she was going to say to him. Only knowing that she had to talk to him before he left. After watching him lade himself down with weapons, she hadn't been able to think of anything else. She was worried that he'd been serious about returning to his old profession.

He was checking the cinch on his saddle as she approached. She could see his shoulders tense. He knew she was there, but he kept his back to her.

"Slade, where are you going?"

It seemed to take forever for him to turn around and look at her. When he did, his eyes slid over her with such insolence, she wanted to slap his face.

"Do you still intend to marry my brother?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Well, then where I go shouldn't matter to you."

She thrust out her chin. "You're absolutely right." She pivoted hard on her heels. A tug on her frilly bustle brought her up short. She turned to glare at him.

"Sure did gussy yourself up for him," he commented.

"I would hardly call this gussied up." She held her arms out to her sides and looked down at her attire. She hoped he didn't notice how badly she was trembling.

He stepped closer. His expression remained unchanged as he reached up and rubbed his thumb roughly over her bottom lip.

He held up his thumb to show her. It was stained pink from the rouge.

She pushed his hand away. "And it shouldn't matter to you what I put on my lips," she snapped.

He grabbed her and pulled her against him. "That's where you're dead wrong, Lacey." He lowered his face to hers and kissed her so hard, it nearly frightened her. He pushed her away from him, still gripping her arms.

Her rapid breathing made her dizzy.

"What I want to know is," he said as he looked first at her lips and then at her face, "How stupid does Grady have to be, to forget how pretty this face is?"

Her gaze flicked to the house. With panic, it occurred to her that anyone could see them. The last thing she wanted was to witness a quarrel between the two brothers. Slade, on the other hand, seemed to welcome a confrontation with Grady.

With desperation, Lacey pulled away from him and hurried back to the house. She was torn between her love for Slade and her obligation to Grady. She wondered if it would have been easier to have handed herself over to the devil himself, Arthur Widstaff.

"Grady, you'll have to put on some work clothes tomorrow and ride out with us in the morning," Tait said as Lacey stepped inside.

Looking confident and smug, Grady had his arms spread wide across the sofa back. He did not look like a man who'd thought anything untoward had occurred between his fiancée and his brother. Lacey breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Sorry, Tait. Afraid I've got more important business to tend to in the morning," Grady replied.

Lacey could hardly bear the hurt in Tait's face. They'd all been working so hard to get the ranch in shape. It was apparent, how important it was to Tait, to show off their accomplishments. She wondered how Tait's obvious enthusiasm slipped by Grady. And after dashing his spirits, he seemed completely oblivious to Tait's disappointment.

"Grady, you should take a ride around the ranch tomorrow. I think you'll be pleased. Thanks to Slade, we have a healthy looking herd out there. We'll be turning a profit soon." Clearly, Dora had picked up on her youngest son's feelings.

"Heck, I'm making real money, now. I don't have to dirty my hands with livestock to earn it." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I don't have to kill anybody for it, either."

Lacey gritted her teeth. How dare he? Slade wasn't even there to defend himself. During the little time she'd spent with Grady in England, he'd always been considerate of her feelings. Why, now, was she seeing such a different side of his character? Did it take his brother, Slade, to bring out the worst in him? With a start, she noticed he was staring at her and wondered if he could read her thoughts.

"I do think you could have done something more with all that beautiful hair of yours. It's a tad wild. Don't you think?" Grady smiled in a rather tight-lipped fashion.

Apparently, he was more interested in her appearance than her thoughts. She tried her best to return the smile but felt she was failing miserably. She rather liked her tresses loose and flowing. Lacey picked up a wavy strand that had freed itself from the ribbon and rubbed the end with her finger. She knew Slade liked her hair down, and she'd grown strangely fond of the way he would touch it.

"I'm afraid, I haven't had the time to fuss with it."

"You will have to make more time now that I'm home." His smile struck her as condescending.

"Can I get coffee for everyone?" Lacey offered, deciding they'd quite worn out the subject of her hair.

"Dora can get it." Grady patted the seat next to him. "Come here and talk to me for awhile."

He took hold of her gloved hand. "I didn't have a chance to write to you about my big news." She couldn't help but stare at his soft, uncalloused hand as it cradled her own. "I'm expecting a big bonus when we move to Boston. Unloaded a lot of real estate. The European buyers were willing to buy the land sight unseen, as long as it was near the railroad." He stroked his thumb over her fingers. She felt no answering tingle. "Not sure you know this, but your father released your dowry before I left England. I think you'll be pleased. I invested in a parcel of land that's sure to turn a profit in no time."

She was too furious to speak. She hadn't even married him yet, and he'd already spent her entire inheritance. It had taken him one short hour to destroy every illusion she'd had of him. She didn't know who she was angrier at—Grady or her father. Her father had had no qualms about handing her dowry over to a stranger.

When Dora suggested she go out and collect wildflowers to decorate the supper table, she nearly jumped from her seat. On escaping the house, she let out a frustrated cry.

* * * *

Her discussion with Grady still had her shaking with anger. She yanked on her red calico dress. This was her finest calico, and normally, she would never have considered donning it for a stroll around the ranch. But she was finding Grady hard to please. Surely, he wouldn't expect her to risk her satin skirts on the long, dusty paths.

Dora had made the suggestion for a walk, but it was Grady who wouldn't take no for an answer. Well, well, she thought, she'd finally discovered a trait the two brothers had in common. She did make one effort to please Grady, though, she tamed and knotted her hair into a smooth chignon at the nape of her neck.

From his raised eyebrows, as she walked out onto the porch, she could tell he was not pleased with her dress. She couldn't understand it. The dress was in excellent repair and fitted her perfectly. He didn't seem to notice the pains she'd taken with her hair.

"We will have to do something about your wardrobe, and soon."

"I made this dress myself, and I rather like it. It's durable and perfect for working around the ranch." She smiled inwardly. If he knew, what she really wore most days at the Lazy Heart, his brothers' hand-me-down clothes, he would probably have apoplexy.

"It was very sweet of you to lend a hand around here, but those days will soon be over."

How she wished, he would stop reminding her of that.

"I've gotten rather used to doing chores. In fact, I rather like them."

"Nonsense." He offered her his arm.

She took it hesitantly. Lacey chided herself for noticing that it was not as strong and muscular as his brother's.

"Where are we headed?" she asked with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

"I'd like to walk around the property a bit. I want to see what kind of shape it's in." He winked at her and gave the hand on his arm a gentle pat.

Was this his idea of flirting? Maybe, she reasoned, this was seduction, Grady style. She nearly giggled at her own wicked thoughts. "I thought you had no interest in the ranch."

"I have no interest for working on the ranch."

"It's just as well. Slade seems to have a knack for it, anyway." She used her loose bonnet string as an excuse to remove her hand from his arm. She wanted to ask him why he'd told her in England that the ranch belonged to him, but decided it would only serve to injure his pride.

"Lacey, when you wrote me, why didn't you tell me Slade was here?"

"You didn't know he was here?"

"Not until I opened Dora's letter. Unfortunately, it had been sitting on my desk for a month. I was so busy, I hadn't gotten around to opening it. If I'd known Slade had returned, I would never have sent you on ahead. After I read Dora's news, I tied up my last bit of business so I could hurry home."

"Why is that?" She tried hard not to sound perturbed.

He shook his head. "I knew we should have married in England. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking you'd like your family to attend the ceremony." Not all his family, she was sure. She doubted Slade would be invited to attend.

"Let's head to the barn," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "I've been keeping an eye on a calf. I want to check on him."

She was so pleased by the calf's growth. Likely, a result of the different approach Slade had decided they take. The same day the calf had lost its mother to childbirth, another cow had had a stillborn. Slade decided to have the cow act as nursemaid. He'd said he didn't want Lacey up and feeding the calf at all hours.

Lacey's job was to make sure the two were bonding. If it was successful, they would soon be released into the pasture with the others.

Once at the barn, Grady seemed far more interested in inspecting the condition of the building than in seeing her young ward. He opened and shut the doors and checked out the ladder to the loft. She couldn't understand why he would care about any of it.

"This door needs a new hinge. It looks like someone snapped it off," Grady said, fiddling with the barn door. He made a sour face as he wiped the dirt from his hands.

"It wasn't broken this morning." Her cheeks warmed as she thought about how Slade had trapped her against the barn door. A shiver trailed up her spine. It terrified her to think where he'd ridden off to.

No longer in the mood for a walk, she said, "I should be heading back to help Dora in the kitchen." She hoped to find Slade sipping coffee in the kitchen when she got back.

"Fine. I have some business correspondence to attend to, anyway. Lacey—" he placed her hand back on his arm "—I want to be married as soon as possible. I intend to schedule a date with the preacher for next week."

"But my dress isn't finished." She knew she sounded petulant, almost whiny.

"Forget the ranch chores then, and get it done." He stopped and placed a smooth hand on her cheek as he looked into her eyes. "We'll be happy, Lacey. I know we will."

She made her best attempt at a smile.

Lacey hid in her bedroom the remainder of the evening—making an excuse to Dora and Grady about not feeling well. It hadn't been a lie. Her head was throbbing with tension. She'd managed to convince Oliver to return to the house with her. It hadn't been easy prying him away from his vigilant watch of the drive. He missed Slade as much as she did.

She rested her head against the slumbering hound. With hopes of relieving some of the pain in her head, she'd closed the curtains, obliterating the light.

She shut her eyes to still her mind. Sudden, loud noises from Slade's room destroyed her peace. She remembered what Grady had said to Slade. Was someone moving in or out?

The sound of a door being snapped shut was swiftly followed by the crash of shattering glass. Despite her headache, Lacey needed to see if he'd arrived home safely. She entered through the sewing room, where pieces of her unfinished wedding dress were draped over a small table.

Slade was standing in the middle of his room with shards of a porcelain lamp in his hand. There were slivers of porcelain scattered over the wood floor. The drawers of his dresser were open and empty. His expression was humorless.

"Heard you were sick from a headache."

"I am, but there was so much noise. I wondered if—"

"Sorry. I'll try and keep it down." He made a move to close the door, but she stopped it with her hand.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, nearly choking on the words. It was a possibility she'd never considered.

"Wishful thinking, Duchess. I've been asked to move to the attic room."

"That small crawl space above the bedrooms? But this is your house."

He shrugged. "Figure, it'll be temporary. Until you two move to Boston." His head tilted, his gaze searching her face. He was gauging the effect of his words. "Grady doesn't think it proper for me to be down here, sleeping so close to his future wife."

He reached up with his empty hand and fingered the tiny gold stud in her ear. "I don't see anything improper about it. Do you?" His finger left her earlobe and traced a sensuous path down her neck and across her throat.

She jerked away from him. He seemed to be punishing her for Grady's return. "I'd appreciate it, if you'd keep your hands off me."

Lacey watched him flinch at her hurtful words, yet she couldn't seem to stop herself from saying, "I suppose, your brother has never found any reason to trust you."

He crushed the glass in his hand. Trickles of blood dripped down his wrist. "He seems to have no problem trusting you."

She reached up and slapped him hard across the face. She turned and ran through the sewing room. Tears blurred her vision, and she stumbled against the table. The silken fabric slithered to the ground. She left it in a heap, hoping that it would be ruined.

She lay again in her darkened room, her head pounding unbearably.

Following a quick knock, the door opened. Lacey squinted in pain at the lantern light that invaded her room. "Dear, I brought you some soup. I thought it might help you feel better," Dora said as she bustled in.

Lacey was convinced that the only thing that would make her feel better was a quick, painless death.

She raised herself on her elbows. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

Dora lit the wick of her lamp. "You look a sight. Have you been crying, child?"

Without giving her time to answer, she sat down on the edge of the bed and attempted to spoon-feed her some soup.

Lacey put her hand up over mouth. "I'm sorry, Dora. I can't. Food is the last thing I want." She dropped back onto her pillows, closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers into her throbbing temples.

She heard Dora set the bowl down. "Grady will make a fine husband, Lacey. He's a good, decent boy. He'll make an honest living and take care that you have everything you need for a comfortable life."

Lacey opened her eyes in surprise at Dora's statements. Her expression was more serious than Lacey had ever seen it. "Slade is a decent boy, too. But, you came here to marry Grady, and that is what you will do."

This time Lacey was the one that had been slapped. Only Dora had used words instead of her hand. Dora had known all along about Lacey's yearnings for her other son.

Grady entered the room as Dora was leaving. The miserable night seemed to have no end. The concerned look on his face quickly altered at the sight of Oliver stretched out on her bed.

"I won't have that dog sleeping in the house any longer," Grady said. "He'll be fine in the barn with the other animals."

Oliver stiffened, his eyes riveted to Grady. Grady walked over and reached for his collar. Oliver bared his teeth and emitted a deep growl. Grady quickly pulled his hand away. He looked to Lacey for assistance.

She decided, she'd had about enough of the entire Dalton family.

If Grady was going to relegate what seemed to be her one and only friend to the barn, she certainly wasn't going to help him. She glared up at him. "If you want him in the barn, you can take him there yourself."

Her boldness seemed to take him by surprise. He stared speechless at her for a moment. He looked from her to the immovable dog that was still eyeing him fiercely. He stroked his mustache; his lips were drawn into a thin line.

"Get some sleep, Lacey. You look quite pale. I'll see you at breakfast." He turned on his heels to leave. "And please do something about that hair of yours."

She walked over to her dresser and peered in the mirror. Her skin looked ashen and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her hair had fallen out of the sleek chignon. It was a thick, unruly mass again. She lifted the lid of her traveling chest, threw the hairbrush inside, and dropped the lid with a satisfying thunk.