Chapter 22

Slade doused the branding fire. He watched the insulted calf waddle away to join the rest of the newly branded bunch. A sudden shriek caused him to drop the iron. He knew it was hers. He tore off in the direction it had come from. When another scream pierced the air, his heart thundered in his chest. He cut through the fields and vaulted over the pasture fencing.

Before she'd come into his life fear had been a foreign sensation. Now it plagued him in many forms. He feared that something might harm her, that he might lose her, and selfishly that she'd never want him. It was an absurd notion—worrying about losing something that never belonged to you.

He came to a skidding halt when he saw her in the distance dancing around the outer-yard of the chicken coop. She held her skirts up away from her ankles, laughing hysterically as Floyd, the ranch's arrogant rooster, chased after her. The bird pecked wildly at her boots.

Slade half-hid behind the old elm tree and watched her. A ritual that had become as necessary as breathing to him. Her silken black hair whipped around as she looked over her shoulder, keeping the sharp-beaked culprit in her sight. The rooster, momentarily distracted by a group of chickens squawking nearby, took to bullying one of the hens. But the second Lacey headed for the gate, Floyd, moving swiftly on his little stick legs, renewed his attack. Lacey jumped and squealed in delight.

Aching with need for her, Slade clenched his fists, letting his fingernails bite into the palms of his hands. Everything she did made him crazy for her.

The soft whoosh of a skirt being dragged over grass sounded behind him, but Slade was too captivated by Lacey to turn around.

"Thank goodness," Dora said in a breathless voice, "I thought she'd gotten hurt. I shoulda known it was that ornery rooster. I had her gathering up eggs for the omelet I'm plannin'."

"She seems to be having a good time collecting them."

"That she does—course that girl finds joy in everything. I guess when I was young and beautiful, I did too, for that matter."

"You still are young and beautiful, Dora." Slade turned and kissed her cheek.

"Lacey, what the devil are you doing? Stop acting such a fool. Drop your skirts and get the devil out of there." Grady's angry shout caused the hair to prickle on the back of Slade's neck.

Slade watched as his brother stomped with self-importance toward the yard. With a frustrated jerk, Grady threw the gate open. The chickens and even the fearless rooster squawked in terror. They scattered to the back of the yard. Their wings pumped wildly as they attempted to fly.

The crestfallen look on her beautiful face made Slade swallow hard.

"Damned bast—"

"Slade!"

Slade bit back the words. He'd forgotten Dora, forgotten everything but the hurt look on Lacey's face.

"You've got to accept what is, Slade. I know it's hard for you. But she is here for your brother. Not you."

He could not pull his eyes from Lacey even as Dora spoke.

"He'll choke the spirit out of her. They're not suited. You know it as well as I do."

"That Ludlow girl is awful sweet on you. She'd make you a fitting wife."

"What about Suzanne?" he asked absently, unable to think of anything but Lacey at the moment, and the fact that his brother had earned himself the right to be near her.

"Nothin'," Dora replied. "Honey, let it be."

Slade watched as his brother, with Lacey in tow, headed back to the house. He had a cocksure expression on his face like a man proud that he'd brought his woman to heel. Lacey's head hung low, but Slade recognized the sweet, sly smile that played on her lips as she fished an egg out of her pocket. She hurled it at Grady, giggling as it struck him square on the back of his neck. Grady stood frozen for a long moment, the thick, yellowish liquid oozing into the gap of his collar.

Grady turned hard on his heels, and her laughter stopped abruptly. Realizing her betrothed was far from charmed by the gesture, her face went pale. Instinctively, Slade tensed his muscles ready to defend her, but Dora placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Don't, Slade. There is already enough hatred between you boys."

He could barely hear her over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. Lacey winced as Grady roughly grabbed both of her arms.

Dora's grip tightened on Slade's shoulder. "I beg you, Slade. No fighting. Not again—I can't bear it."

Slade released his pent-up breath when his brother let go of Lacey.

"That's wonderful. I have a meeting in town today." Grady yanked off his detachable collar and threw it to the ground. He wiped the egg from his neck, shaking it off his fingers with a disgusted look. "Sometimes, you act worse than a child. Don't you ever pull such an asinine prank again."

Slade watched Grady stalk back to the house. Tears rolled down Lacey's ashen cheeks as she followed in his wake. He had never hated Grady so much.

"It would break your father's heart if he saw how you two were behaving toward each other."

He reluctantly turned to face Dora. "I'm responsible for Pa's death, and Grady will never forgive me for that. I can understand the way he feels. I find it impossible to forgive him the slightest thing when it comes to Lacey."

Dora reached up, seized his face with both hands and stared straight into his eyes. "You listen here, Slade Michael, I don't ever want to hear you speak like that again. Your father's death was a terrible tragedy, but you can't punish yourself for the rest of your life." Her voice had grown suddenly sterner. "And as far as your brother's feelings about you, it has little to do with your pa's death. Grady has had to live his entire life dealing with the fact that his older brother was better than him at everything.

"You were riding, roping, and shooting well before him and doing it all with ease. Not to speak of the girls who just seemed to fall into your lap. And though your father loved all of you, he couldn't help boasting of your talents."

Dora's voice softened again, and her eyes glossed with tears. "Don't you see, Slade, honey? Grady finally has something you don't. You mustn't ruin it for him."

Dora dropped her hands from his face and dried her tears with the edge of her apron. They said nothing for a long while. Slade leaned against the tree and toed the rocks embedded in the dirt. Dora turned to leave.

"Dora." Slade spoke in a quiet, calm tone. "If he hurts her, I'll kill him." And even the dreadful sadness on Dora's face could not convince him otherwise.

* * * *

The porch offered no protection. The wind sent the stinging rain into Lacey's eyes. Strands of hair, beaded with rain, whipped her face. She'd long since given up tucking it behind her ears. She glanced over at Tait and wondered how he managed to sleep on the hard bench.

He came out of the dark. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him approach. He wore a military coat with two gilt-edged bars on the shoulder that she'd never seen before. As he headed toward the porch steps, his jacket parted revealing a naked, rain-slicked chest. Rivulets of water dripped from the brim of his hat. His pants were muddied to the knee. All Lacey could think was, she'd never seen anything finer than that soaking wet man.

His eyes on her, he took his hat off and slapped it on his thigh. He raked his hair back from his head. "Who are you waitin' for, Lace?"

Thankfully, she didn't have to answer. His attention was diverted by Tait, who had startled awake at the sound of Slade's voice and rolled off the bench with a bang.

Embarrassed, Tait jumped to his feet. "Did you get the wolf?"

Slade propped his rifle against the railing and gave Tait an affectionate slap on the back. "Finally. Now go on inside, and get some rest. Or you'll be worthless to me tomorrow."

"Yes sir, Captain Dalton, sir," Tait replied before trundling off to bed, leaving Lacey standing alone with his brother.

Slade gave her a long considering look. "Well, Lace?"

She nervously rubbed her hand along the railing. "I—I haven't seen Oliver all evening. It had me worried. Tait thought he might have followed you."

Slade's expression turned sulky. "The mutt's under the porch," he said. "He made it as far as the fence before he tired out."

Plunking down on the steps, he pried off his mud caked boots. "Kinda nice having a woman waiting for me," he mused. He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Or at least, believing one was waiting for me. Starts me thinking of taking a bride."

There was one thing to be thankful for with the windswept rain, Lacey thought, no one could tell you were crying. Not even the man you loved.

"Were you really a captain in the war?" The heavy jacket smelled of damp wool.

"For a short time." He tilted his head and looked up at her, one side of his lips curled into a crooked smile.

The door cracked open, a thin line of pale yellow light striped the wood planks at her feet. Her hands flew to her throat, and then in an instant, she remembered Grady was staying in town on business. He was looking into a real-estate purchase—and purchasing some dreadful veil for her, she was certain.

Tait poked his groggy face out; his hair was standing in tufts. "Dora says to get in before you both catch your death." He tossed a rag out onto the porch planks. "Don't track in any blasted mud, either," he said with a prankster's grin before shutting the door.

Slade left his boots to dry on the bench.

"What about poor Oliver?" she asked.

"Poor Oliver? At least he had someone worryin' about him." He stamped barefooted down the steps to the mud. Crouching down, he peered beneath the porch. "Lucky damn dog," he said as he grabbed Oliver and dragged him out from his hiding place. "Come on old man," he said, prodding him up the stairs.

He didn't seem the least bit bothered by the streaks of mud Oliver left on his sleeves. How different from most men, she thought, who would flaunt the fact that they had attained a captaincy at such a young age. With the rag, he scrubbed the dirt off of the dog's underside and paws. And then did the same with the soles of his feet.

He tossed the rag on the bench and brushed by her, intensifying the nearly physical ache that had been torturing her ever since she'd told him to keep his hands off her. He'd even stopped his usual habit of picking up a lock of her hair and rubbing his thumb over the ends.

After herding Oliver inside, Slade stood on the threshold holding the door open for her.

Hoping her eyes were not red-rimmed from crying, Lacey moved to slip past him. His hands shot out, effectively trapping her against the doorframe. Swiveling to face him, she looked up. She was surprised by the rigid set of his jaw, the intensity flaring in his pale eyes. Completely taking her off guard, he dipped his head, his lips finding hers in a hard, almost punishing kiss.

"No hands," he said with a smirk. Her legs wavered, and she took hold of the doorjamb to prevent herself from sliding to the floor in a puddle at his feet.

It took her a moment to collect herself enough to close the door. She shut it slowly, watching his retreating back. She was amazed at how little the kiss had affected him.

She was following behind him when he stopped mid-stride and turned to face her.

He stood staring, not uttering a word. His arms hung at his sides. She couldn't help noticing that the fingers of his right hand curled and straightened in a rhythmic motion, like a man preparing to draw a weapon.

He looked almost vulnerable, a ridiculous assessment considering the man's penchant for danger.

"Have you been sleeping?" she asked, unnerved by his silence.

"Not much."

"Thinking about your father?"

Slade shook his head. "Thinking about you." His fingers unfurled, and he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her in tight against his hard body.

"No hands, remember," she muttered against the bare skin of his chest.

"I lasted a week. That's damn virtuous in my book." With an almost desperate roughness, his hands explored her curves.

He kissed her again with such heated intimacy that she eagerly followed him into the rain-drenched night.

By the time they'd reached the dugout in the hill, her hair was plastered to her head. He kept a tight grip on her wrist while he threw the bolt on the door. Maintaining that same grip, he managed to dig a match from his pocket. He drew it across the rough-hewn walls.

With some reluctance, he released his hold on her. He scrounged around in the drawers of the room's only cabinet and pulled out a candle stub. "Damn," he said as the match burned out. "Stay put." He struck another match. For a moment, the smell of sulfur overpowered the damp musty odor of the dwelling.

He quickly unrolled the heavy canvas curtain covering the room's only window. An almost unnecessary precaution, considering that the soil encrusted on the window made it nearly opaque.

Slade turned to look at her for a moment, his eyes wary, as if he had actually expected her to disappear. He drew the fur cover off the bed exposing a pallet covered with stuffed feed bags. Straw poked through the burlap fabric.

"I'm going to shake this out," he said softly, as though he were talking to a skittery animal that could bolt at any second.

The door shut, and Lacey looked around the small room, amazed that a married couple could have found happiness in these primitive circumstances. The walls were papered with yellowing newsprint overlapped with pages from almanacs and calendars. There was one tiny cupboard and a single chair. She looked closely at a photograph draped with mourning tassels. It was of a woman with fair hair and pale eyes rimmed with dark lashes like Slade's.

"My mother," he said as he threw the skin over the bed. She watched the play of muscles over his back as he adjusted the fur coverlet. "Unfortunately, I don't even remember her. I was only three when she died."

"I feel—would you mind terribly if I—" Lacey made a vague gesture in the direction of the picture.

Somehow he made sense of her prattle and flipped the picture over to face the wall.

He spread his coat atop the fur and removed his gun belt, placing it on a shelf of the cupboard. He moved toward her. He slipped the flannel dressing gown off her shoulders to reveal the high-necked flannel gown beneath. "Course the one time I get you alone, you're wearing a nun's habit. What happened to all your sheer, lacy underthings?"

"I thought those weren't to your liking."

"Problem is, they are too much to my liking." He struggled with the tiny china buttons that started at her neck and stopped at her waist.

"Shall I do it?" she offered.

"Nah, I've got it handled." He seized both sides of the collar and ripped it open, sending the buttons spraying around the room.

"Such finesse," she quipped, feeling a heated blush rise from her now exposed cleavage to her face.

"Yeah, well." He shrugged, but he did not look the least bit contrite.

"My boots?" she blurted out, as he was about to push the nightgown off her shoulders. She was not yet ready to stand completely naked before him.

Seeming to read her thoughts again, he suppressed a smile. "Right. Let's get those off."

Lacey took a tentative seat at the edge of the bed, and with gentle pressure, he pushed her onto her back. He took hold of her foot, and resting it against his stomach, began to untie her boot. She felt the nightgown slip up her leg, and then felt his fingers push it further toward her thigh until she was certain she was quite exposed to his view. His groan confirmed it. Her boot completely forgotten, his hands shoved the hem toward her waist, and then up and over her head. She lay completely naked except for her still booted feet, which dangled off the bed.

She gasped with shock as he dropped to his knees between her legs, spreading them far apart with his callused fingers. His tongue lapped at her most sensitive spot. Undulating waves of pleasure swept over her again and again, until her body trembled with satisfaction.

"God Almighty, but you make a man feel competent." He undid the buttons of his jeans with a sort of ruthless proficiency. His pants undone, hung low on his lean hips. "Haven't ever been with any woman as responsive as that. No wonder Grady struts around here every goddamn day."

He turned his back to her and began rummaging in the drawer again, not seeming to care what effect his insulting words were having on her.

"I need a little more light 'cause Lacey, darling, you are something to see."

She tread soundlessly over the rough-wood planks of the floor and with trembling fingers liberated his gun from its holster. He must have lit a handful of candles because the room was suddenly much brighter.

Lacey snatched up her dressing gown and held it in front of her.

The instant he turned, his mouth curled into a cock-eyed grin. The gun was heavier than she'd expected, and she was having a hard time holding it steady. The barrel wavered between his throat and his belly.

"You aim to shoot me, Duchess?"

She made a noncommittal nodding circle with her head. "Stay away from me." She backed up the few steps to the door.

"Now, I would, if I could. Stay away from you, that is." His grin widened, revealing big white, carnivorous teeth. "But I just can't seem to help myself."

With one long stride, and a preternaturally quick movement, he'd divested her of the weapon. Setting it on the ground, he nudged it with his toe and sent it skidding to the far end of the room. Slade tore the robe from her hands and maneuvered her wrists behind her back. Her breasts were thrust forward, her nipples pressed against his bare chest.

"It's not wrong for a man to want to know his competition. Truth is, I usually make it a habit not to go where my brother's been before—"

"Then don't," she screamed.

"I said, usually. With you I'm willing to make an exception."

"I hate you," she hissed.

The muscle in his jaw jumped with anger. "Not exactly the sentiment I was hopin' to hear tonight, but I'll work around it." His grip tightening on her wrists, he brought her to the balls of her feet.

"I haven't been with your brother," she insisted. "He's nothing like you."

"Nothing like me? An unholy sinner, lusting for his woman, you mean?" He narrowed his eyes and searched her face for the truth. She wasn't sure he believed her, but he released his hold on her.

"You've forgotten, Lacey. I've seen you together."

"You saw us kiss once. Once. And that's all."

He rested his forehead on hers. "Woman, you don't know how much I want that to be true. I'm a jealous fool when it comes to you."

She could feel the tension in his muscles as she slid her hands up to his shoulders. He lowered his mouth over hers. He was hard and dangerous and she couldn't resist him.

He dipped his head again but this time to pull one of her nipples between his teeth. Instantly, her body responded, and she raised herself higher on her toes so that he could take more of her in his mouth.

"Still hate me?"

"Yes."

"Damn shame." His hot open mouth traced the length of her throat. "But you will let me love you, won't you Lacey?"

"Yes," she said her voice quivering. "Though I worry I may face trouble down the road."

He seemed instantly to understand her cryptic words. "I'll do my best. I'm quick on the draw," he said with a short harsh laugh and scooped her into his arms, depositing her onto the bed.

Lacey was in the same awkward position she had been earlier. Her bottom was at the edge of the bed with her legs dangling over the side so that her boots were solidly on the ground. She felt wanton, and, yet, she complied with his commands to open her legs and only blushed when he forced them even further apart. He towered above her, his lids heavy as he stared steadily down at her. His expert fingers slid into the heat of her. She bucked against his hand.

Slade groaned as her tight hot passage spasmed around his finger. Lacey's lush dark lashes lifted. Her big golden eyes wide with wonder, as though astonished by her body's reaction to him. He had to be imagining it. Only an experienced woman would respond so easily to a man. It would be ridiculous to expect her to be a virgin. She'd admitted to being a wild child in England. Then there was that kiss she'd shared with Grady that he kept reliving, tormenting himself with.

Her lips, bruised from his own kisses, curled into an uncertain smile. He was determined to make her forget everyone but him.

He was on his knees again, taking the time to work loose the ties of her boots, though his body was on fire for her. His fingers itched to touch her, to glide up her silken thigh, knowing she'd still be wet from his kisses. With patience he didn't feel, he gently tugged off her boots. He straightened and pushed his pants off his hips and watched her eyes flutter as she looked at him. A bashful, pink blush infused her cheeks. She sat up suddenly. Dammit. He held his breath half-expecting her to make a rush for the door again. He'd chase her out into the rain and make love to her in the mud if he had to.

He watched her warily as she repositioned herself. She tucked her legs beneath her, resting her bottom on her heels. When her small hand curled around him he pulled in a startled breath. That he hadn't anticipated at all. She smoothed her hand down the length of him and then she bent her head. Her hair fell forward hiding her face. The muscles in his thighs jolted as her tongue flicked out tasting him.

Lacey didn't know what had possessed her to be so bold. She had never seen a man naked until a few moments ago and yet here she was already testing her ability to bring him pleasure. But he was so utterly masculine with his hard muscles and then, when he'd shed his jeans, she'd been overcome with temptation. She had no idea how to proceed. He seemed absolutely huge. Lacey swirled her tongue around the soft, fleshy tip. She felt shy and unsure of herself and was glad her hair covered her face. She wasn't hidden for long, though. He shoved the hair back from her face, his hand securing it like a ponytail at the nape of her neck, so that now he could see everything.

"God, Lacey," he said, his voice sounding raw.

Feeling even more daring, she tentatively tried to get her mouth around him and discovered to her satisfaction she could take more of him than she'd imagined. And then she sucked, her hands continuing to smooth over the velvet length of him her mouth couldn't hold. She braced her hand on his thigh and could feel a slight tremor run through the muscles.

"Enough." He tugged her head up. He looked down into her eyes. "You've never done that before," he stated. There was a certain smugness to the tilt of his lips.

She pouted. "I'm obviously a terrible failure at it."

"Woman, your mouth on my cock is the finest thing I've ever felt." He curled one of his big hands around the back of her neck and the other around her bottom. He scooted her toward the head of the bed and then lay heavily atop her.

Slade lowered his mouth over hers. She kissed him back. For the first time, she put her tongue in his mouth. It was a sweet, hesitant exploration. It did not strike him as the kiss of an experienced woman. And, yet, she was the sassiest handful he'd ever come across. It was purely wishful thinking taking hold again, he decided.

When he started to enter her, he did it in a slow, deliberate manner. It was torture for him to move with such restraint. But she was so tight.

Her eyes widened at his invasion. Her fingers bunched the fur throw. "That's it, then?" she asked in a weak hopeful voice.

"There's a bit more." Hell, there was barely any of him inside her yet.

She squirmed beneath him. "I fear we are not a good fit."

He tilted her bottom up to meet him. "We are a perfect fit," he insisted. No longer able to control himself, he drove himself deep.

"Christ." He stilled. He'd never bedded a virgin before. "What a mule-headed fool I am."

Her eyes were shut tight against the pain. When she lifted her lids and peered up at him her eyes glimmered with tears. He rested the length of his body atop her, his hands cradling her face. He stroked his thumbs along the curves of her face. He'd managed the whole thing badly. She probably wanted to kick him onto the floor.

Slade shifted his weight and she did the most unpredictable thing, she lifted her bottom and squeezed, her hot, wet passage tightening even more around him.

"This feels incredible," she said, her voice a throaty whisper.

Slade propped himself on his forearms and stared down at her, his face draped by his long brown hair. Lacey tucked his hair behind his ears so that she could see him better. An emotion flared in his eyes, unreadable and unsettling in its intensity. Timidly, she traced her finger along the arc of his scar, the scar he didn't let anyone touch. She was amazed to find he didn't even flinch.

"Well, I'll be damned. You are mine, and only mine." His mouth tilted into an oddly satisfied smile. "I'm going to make love to you in so many ways...you're bound to like one of them."

She laughed and his lips rubbed tenderly over hers. He deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue. He moved his hips, lancing her deeper. The man was huge and somehow she managed to take all of him inside her. She clutched at him, her fingernails biting into his shoulders.

Lacey wriggled a bit under his weight. The instant he drew himself out she wanted him back. She linked her hands around his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him. He entered her again with such exquisite slowness that a tremor of ecstasy coursed through her body.

She sucked his tongue as he continued to enter her with long, delicious strokes. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt him go deeper. Then his hand lifted her bottom in rhythm to meet his thrusts. The sensation overwhelmed her. His mouth muffled her cries. Soon his movements became rougher, more reckless until he abruptly pulled out of her. With a heavy shudder he collapsed on top of her, spilling his seed on her belly.

His breath was warm on her skin. She stroked his back and felt the muscles relax. "Christ, you're fine, Lacey," he said against her neck.

He rolled off her and tucked her against his side. "This settled it then. You tell Grady you're done with him, and you're staying on here, with me," he said in a languid drawl.

"Stay on and be what, Slade? Your whore?"

"Whoa, darlin'." His fingers caressed her arm. "Listen, if you need the blessing of a preacher, I'm not adverse to walking you down the aisle."

He was being so bloody offhand about it all, she had the sudden sinking sensation that she had placed herself in the position of pawn in the Dalton brothers' game of one-upmanship. And Slade figured he'd just won the latest round.

* * * *

It was near dawn when Slade woke. A thin light seeped in between the logs that made up the walls. He was curled around Lacey. He'd possessively secured her to him. One of his arms captured her waist, and he'd draped his leg over her thigh. He lifted his head to look down at her. Sensing he was awake, she turned in his arms so that her face was nestled against his throat. His fingers moved between her thighs. He stroked her pussy gently, hoping she'd be ready for him again. She exhaled a shivering breath and then rolled atop him. She straddled him. He congratulated himself for a lucky man. She was daring and wild even in the bedroom, it seemed.

"Ohhh..." Her eyes shuttered on a look of bliss as she impaled herself on him. She braced her hands on his shoulders. Her silken black hair tickled his chest.

Her breasts filled his hands. "Look at me," he demanded.

She lifted her lids for an instant. It was long enough. The look in her eyes stole his breath away. With her eyes now closed to him again, she trembled. As she rode him to a delirious climax, she repeated in a thready whisper something in French. It took heroic self-control to lift her off his cock before he spent himself.

Long after she'd left him alone in the dugout, Slade repeated the foreign words she'd uttered. He was determined to commit them to memory. He was desperate to understand her reaction to him. Had it been his own need that had seen love in her eyes, where there had been only passion?

It more than troubled him that her only reaction to his marriage proposal had been heart-breaking silence. He winced remembering what he'd said. After all the times he'd rehearsed it in his head, it had come out so badly. He'd sounded like a plain-talking cowpuncher. I'm not adverse to walking you down the aisle. He groaned aloud. Had he really said that? To the woman he wanted more than anything in this world.