Chapter 26

Tait had spent the morning persuading Lacey to go to town with him. She'd left without asking Grady's permission. It was certain she'd face his wrath when she returned.

Once in town, she had the undeniable need to see Slade. Even if it meant going to the gaming hall. She'd told Tait she was curious to see what it was like. But Tait had known what she'd really wanted and taken her reluctantly. Now that she stood in the midst of the noise and smoke with Tait fidgeting nervously by her side, she wished she'd left the poor boy alone.

Her eyes swept the hall and lit on him immediately. If she were to take a few strides, she'd be near enough to touch him. Slade's eyes shifted in her direction. She looked away quickly, unable to bear his fierce stare. Her eyes flitted to the men sitting around him at the table. They were not cowboys out to lose a few coins and share a bottle. These were professional gamblers. They weren't enjoying themselves. They were working.

One, in particular, had a ruthless expression. His black hair was slicked back severely from his face, and his skin was of such pallor, Lacey was sure he never ventured outside the hall. His gaze continually scanned the faces of his fellow gamers.

The man's hard glittery eyes seemed to linger the longest on Slade.

Slade was still watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. He appeared to be winning. An imposing stack of chips sat in front of him.

He'd grown a mustache. It was golden like the highlights the sun threaded through his hair. A woman stood behind him, her hand resting on the back of his chair. A redhead with a great deal of paint on her face.

"Don't count on him walking away from that game. They're playing deep. If he leaves now with all those winnings, they're liable to shoot him in the back," Tait told her in a hushed confidential tone.

"I'm not counting on anything," she said. "I think we should leave." Seeing him in this dark, grim place broke her heart.

Slade gave the slightest gesture with his hand, which Tait took for a summons. He took her arm and pulled her toward the table.

"Hold off on the deal, Clifton," Slade said.

The man tipped up the brim of his slouch hat and eyed them coldly. Clearly, he did not like his game interrupted.

"Wrong part of town, again," Slade addressed Tait but his eyes were riveted to Lacey. "Hello, darlin'," he drawled. "Taking up visiting gaming halls again, Duchess? I don't suppose this one compares to the one in England." She couldn't even manage a smile. The man had altered completely. He was as hard as the men he sat with.

Tait was tugging on her sleeve. "We'll see you later, Slade."

"Giselle, you know some French, don't you?" Slade asked suddenly before they'd taken a step.

"Certainement."

"Want to repeat what you said to me, darlin'?" he asked Lacey. It took her only a moment to realize what he was talking about. She could feel her cheeks flame with color. "No?" He gave his shaggy head a sorrowful shake. "Too shy? I think, I remember well enough."

Well enough? Though it had been weeks since she shared his bed Slade recited every passionate word she'd said, verbatim.

Lacey made a move to leave, and Slade grabbed her wrist, holding her fast. The woman leaned over him, pressing her breasts against his shoulder. His eyes were shuttered, but beneath the long lashes, she could see the pale blue of his eyes sliding in her direction. He smoothed his mustache with his fingers, as he listened. A few of the words the woman whispered carried to her...harder, deeper, and faster. They were erotic words, not the words of love she'd uttered. The woman straightened and gave her a sly smile. She massaged Slade's shoulder, her brightly painted fingernails a garish contrast to his stark black suit.

Gamblers, Lacey had been told, live in an insular world never noticing anything but their cards and chips while at the table. Wrong, she thought, as she looked from one leering face to the other. With horror, she found Slade staring at her as though she were more a whore than the woman behind him. She wrenched her arm free and shot him a disdainful look. Slade leaned back, balancing on the back legs of his chair, his cold gaze gliding over her with complete insolence. What Lacey would give to have the courage to push him over. She would have thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of him flat on his back covered in cards and whiskey.

"That one looks like she costs a pretty penny. Buy me a drink and, voilà, I'm yours for the evening," the woman said.

Lacey turned on her heels and walked toward the bar. She could hear the saloon girl's purring voice. "I'll give it to you anyway you like it, Cowboy. And if you've got a preference for things French, I can do that, too."

Lacey tugged money out of her reticule and placed it on the counter.

"We don't sell to ladies."

She jammed the money into Tait's hand. "I want that bottle." She pointed an unsteady finger at the magnum of champagne displayed between two sequined high-heeled shoes.

Tait blew out an exasperated breath that stirred the hair hanging over his brow.

"Tait, please?" Her voice cracked with pain and Tait, too soft-hearted by half, relented.

Sidling up to the bar, Tait hung his head low and muttered to the bartender.

"That's only for show. No self-respecting puncher would touch that sweet, sissified stuff." The barman's voice was loud enough to carry over the discordant, jangly piano playing.

A hand placed low on her back sent a vibration of recognition coursing through her body. His image shimmered in the mirror behind the bar. He was garbed in black. Even the stark whiteness of his shirt was bisected by a thin black tie.

He placed a neat pile of coins on the counter. "Give the lady the bottle, John."

"It's Jake, sir."

Slade swept the coins in his direction. "The bottle."

The man's head bobbed, and he scurried to do Slade's bidding.

His restraining hand on her back prevented her from leaving.

"Careful, it's dusty," Slade warned as he dangled the bottle by its neck.

She reached for it, but he didn't release it. Angry, she peered up at him. He was studying her as though seeing her for the first time. "So, my wild thing, what are you up to now?"

"None of your bloody business."

She hated how she noticed that his mustache, which grew straight down on either side of his mouth, stopping at the chin line, was gilded by the lamp lights. Hated even more, how she imagined the feel of it against her naked skin.

* * * *

Lacey followed Tait up the rickety staircase. This was what they'd come to town for. Slade's arrogant actions tonight would not dissuade her. Tait needed to feel he was doing something for his brother.

Foolishly, she cradled the bottle in her arm. She hadn't even taken the time to deposit it in the wagon. Had she really thought champagne would help her forget him for awhile? She straightened a hairpin and handed it to Tait. He poked the keyhole tentatively. He worked the lock as though it were booby-trapped. He cast wary glances over his shoulder as if he expected his brother at any moment. Lacey wasn't worried; Slade had been so deep into his game she was certain that he wouldn't be returning for a long while.

Thankfully, the lock was a simple one, or they would have been there all night. Tait reached around the door knowing where to find the lantern. Once lit, the glow illuminated the bleak room. The man had worked his hands raw only to find himself here. She swallowed back the tears.

"Quick, close the door," Tait said. His voice unnaturally high from fear. Immediately, he got down on his knees and crawled around beside the broken down desk. He tapped on the wooden planks, and then with a satisfied smile, pried up a loose one.

She weighed the pitiful sack of coins in the palm of her hand. She'd hauled a crate load of her finest dresses to Gertie's, and Tait had sold some of his father's prized rifles. But all they had to show for it was this pittance.

Tait was convinced his brother would be sticking around. Lacey wasn't going to burst his bubble, but she was sure Slade had probably had enough of ranching. Unfortunately, gamblers and bounty hunters were notorious for not staying long in one place.

Lacey peered over Tait's shoulder. She gasped at the amount of money stashed in the floor.

Tait whistled in appreciation. "Damn, he's good."

Lacey felt positively ridiculous depositing their few coins. Nonetheless, she placed the sack carefully atop the rest of the money. Tait quickly sealed it up.

Tait was preparing to douse the lantern when the door creaked open. "Carolina, I'm too damn tired for any of this."

It felt like he'd torn the heart from her chest. Carolina Talbot had been sharing this room with him.

His broad shoulders nearly spanned the doorway. She forgot how big he was—how his presence seemed to take all the air from a room.

"Tait, what did I tell you about coming here?"

"Not to," he said sounding as surly as his brother.

Slade handed Tait one of the guns from his belt. "Take this. And get yourself safely back to the inn. He handed him some change. Buy yourself a steak."

His brother's reprimand was quickly forgotten as Tait admired the gleaming weapon in his hand. Lacey could tell it meant everything to him that Slade would entrust him with one of his prized guns.

"Now, don't go waving it around."

"'Course not, Slade. I ain't stupid." Tait tucked the gun into the back of his waistband.

She moved to follow Tait. Skirting past Slade, she shoved the bottle at him. "Here, you can share this with your lover."

"Why, then, you'll have to stay, darlin'." Slade's arm reached across barring Lacey's exit.

"Tait, you go on now. I'll bring her back safely to the inn in a bit."

"Please, I'd rather not be here when Carolina shows up." She tried to squirm past him. With panic, she heard Tait heading down the stairs.

"Did I sound like I was welcoming her?"

She shook her head. He'd actually sounded close to disgusted at the idea that Carolina was in his room. "Then share it with your French barmaid."

"She's nothing to me, and you know it."

Slade took a step in her direction, and she took two back. Hoping to stop her retreat, he put his hands up in surrender and stood perfectly still. With his back to the door, he shut it and locked it.

"What'd you say to me that night?" He worried over this like a dog with a bone. God, he was hopeless.

Nervously, she twisted a strand of hair. It put him in mind of the habit he'd gotten into—of wrapping a lock around his finger. "Did you think the saloon girl lied to you?"

Lacey came to him then and pressed herself against him. One hand clutched at his vest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thundering against his chest. She reached up and traced the arc of his mustache.

"I've never kissed a man with a mustache."

He tilted his head back and viewed her through narrowed eyes. "Grady has a mustache." Did she find kissing her future husband that forgettable? Slade sure as hell couldn't shake the cozy scene he'd witnessed on the ranch porch. It was scarred on his memory.

Her brows drew together in a small frown. "Oh, yes, I suppose he does have one."

She lifted herself on tiptoes. Her breath warm in his ear as she whispered the same erotic words the Frenchwoman had. She looked up at him, peering through her lowered lashes.

"Hmmm, the impressive size part, not bad," he said with a dry humor he did not feel. For nearly a month, he'd imagined those words to have been of love.

When she stepped away from him, her eyes glittered with tears.

"You little liar."

Her lips tipped up slyly at his accusation. Clearly, she wasn't willing to give him any more to work with than that sweetly devious smile. Yet his heart filled with unreasonable hope.

He held aloft the champagne bottle. "Haven't got the right tools to open this." He smashed the neck of the bottle against the bedpost. The champagne surged forth, and he caught what he could in the room's lone glass. He swallowed some and then offered her the rest.

It suddenly occurred to him that news of his exoneration may have made its way to the ranch. "When's the wedding?" he asked.

She took a sip of the champagne. "Dora insisted we put it off until your name was cleared. Has anything been resolved?"

He wasn't about to tell her it had. That Talbot had been forced to admit the man was a criminal, especially after the reward money had been paid. Slade was too close to making things right. Lying proved a necessity. Anything that held up the wedding was a necessity. "Sheriff's taking his sweet time about settling the matter."

"You were terribly rude today. I shouldn't be talking to you. And you didn't even introduce me to all your charming, new friends."

He should never have called her over to the table. It had been a completely selfish act. It wasn't safe to let a pitiless gambler like Clifton know he had anything this sweet in his life. Or more accurately, had for the merest moment in his life. Slade experienced that sick hollow feeling that had plagued him since he'd left his heart behind at the ranch.

Clifton was an affable man as long as he was winning, but he'd been known to deal his own ugly justice when he lost. Usually hitting a man at his weakest point.

He took the glass from her and set it down. "Been a good girl, Lacey?"

"Do you mean good, as in faithful to you?"

He nudged her chin up with his fingers and studied her eyes.

He must have looked a sorrowful bastard, because she finally took pity on him and said, "You needn't worry. Grady hasn't forgiven me. I doubt he ever will."

She was everything a man could want. And Slade held no illusions that no matter what she'd done, Grady wouldn't be able to resist her for long. Slade's own self-control was nearly at an end. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair and thread his fingers through the silken midnight strands, to bury his nose in the sweet scent of her neck.

"And yet, he still wants to marry you." It was a statement of fact not a question.

"Oddly enough, yes."

Slade found he didn't have the courage to ask if she wanted the marriage as well. He didn't want to believe that her betrayal had been intentional. Or that she'd known from the beginning that the papers she delivered would lose him the ranch.

"Stay with me," he said abruptly.

Her big, golden eyes blinked in surprise at his declaration.

"Marry me."

"Stop jesting. Gamblers don't marry."

He suddenly didn't need the Lazy Heart. He only needed her. "I'll never touch a card again."

"Don't be silly. I can't marry you." Lacey actually smiled at him as she shattered his heart. She even managed to manufacture tears.

The realization that he was nothing to her jolted through him. His chest tightened. It was a struggle to take a breath. How had he been so stupid? He was merely her last adventure before settling down to staid married life in Boston. She'd take a tumble with an ex-bounty hunter, but she wouldn't consider having him for a husband. It had been a mistake to let himself believe he deserved happiness. He walked over to his overcoat and pulled the pint of whiskey from his pocket. With his back to her, he slugged it down hoping to dull the blow.

His body jerked as she came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and began unbuckling his belt. Was she taking pity on him? Could she sense his pain? His body didn't seem to care that she'd destroyed him. He'd never been this hard in his life.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons and the anticipation of her touching him was murder. When she finally slid her slim hand inside his pants he growled low in his throat like an unleashed beast. "You think one more tumble with me and you can put me in the past?"

"Yes," she answered simply. Her soft hand smoothed up the length of his cock.

With a groan of reluctance, he tugged her hand out of his pants and swung around to face her. She dropped her gaze to his boots. A blush pinkened her cheeks. "I'm beginning to think my brother might get what he deserves. You're still the same spoiled brat." His hands itched to tame her. He no longer wanted to pretend that there was even a streak of civility in him. There was no reason to pretend he was a restrained lover tonight. She was lost to him anyway.

"Darling, I can do better than a quick fuck. I can make you leave here hating me. Once you find out what a demanding bastard I can really be." He ignored her gasp of indignation and continued with his proposition. "It's a good deal for both of us. I'll get your cooperation in acts you would never have agreed to before. Then I'll just be a bad memory to forget."

Lacey looked up at him and studied his expression. There was calculation in Slade's pale blue gaze. Her heart pounded. She wondered if he expected her to flee. She had only a moment to entertain that notion before he stepped forward, crushed her to him and gave her a bruising kiss which tasted of liquor, tobacco and Slade Dalton, the most addictive taste she'd ever enjoyed.

She pulled away first and attempted to match his callous tone. "Perfect solution. What exactly does an obedient whore do?" It was utterly absurd to believe he would ask anything of her in the bedroom that would make her stop yearning for him. She actually wished that she could come away from the encounter hating the man so she could get on with her life.

His eyebrows rose at her ugly language, but he did not correct her word choice. She supposed that's how he now saw her, a faithless female who could jump from one brother's bed to another's.

He'd made no attempt to cover his nakedness. His open trousers were slung low on his hips revealing his cock. He raked his long hair back from his face. "You can start by taking off your clothes. And when you talk dirty use a language I can understand this time." His lips curled into a hard smile.

Trembling beneath his scrutiny, she tripped climbing out of her skirts. By the time she'd stripped down to her underthings, Lacey's breathing was so shallow that she made herself dizzy. Desperate for a deep breath, she began unlacing her corset.

Slade stepped in front of her and brushed her hands away. "This goes," he said as he ripped the shoulder seam of the chemise she wore beneath the corset and then followed suit with the other sleeve. He yanked the cotton gown down so that it slid over her hips.

Lacey stepped out of the ruined garment. The bottom of her corset reached the top of her navel. She was nude from the waist down. The rise and fall of her breasts revealed the half-moons of her nipples. He rubbed his rough thumbs along the exposed crescents.

Her chest heaved as if she'd run a mile and her heart was beating at a hare's pace. "You may wish to keep me bound in this corset, but I want you naked." She gasped as if she hadn't been the one to make that bold statement.

His lips quirked in a sarcastic smile, but he began unbuttoning his shirt. "Wish that was due to eagerness, but I suspect you're in a hurry. My brother sure has you on a short leash."

Slade shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the ground. Despite days spent in a saloon his skin though paler was still golden.

"Well, you Dalton boys do like to boss me around."

He sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boot. "Difference is, I never wanted to break your spirit I was just looking for a little cooperation."

He'd used the past tense. She knew she had no place in his future but it stung like the devil to hear him say it. Her eyes pricked with tears. "Perhaps you don't want me."

Slade let the second boot drop and shook his head as if in disbelief. "I've wanted you every breathing moment since I first laid eyes on you."

He removed his pants and kicked them aside revealing hard evidence of his want. She ran her tongue over her top lip and his gaze honed in on her mouth. "Now, an obedient whore would be on her knees already."

He was using her own words against her. Hoping to disarm him, she batted her lashes extravagantly but there was no answering amusement in his expression. "I'll try to anticipate your wishes." She padded barefoot across the room to him.

She peppered his hot skin with kisses as she shimmied down the length of him.

"Have you learned any new tricks?"

"'Tisn't as if I've been practicing."

"That's all I've ever been...practice."

Lacey curled her fingers around him. Her hand trembled as if it was the first time she'd ever touched him. She stroked the velvety length of him until her hand grazed the crisp hair at the base. His cock seemed to grow even larger as she slid her hand from the base to the tip and back again. She hesitated unsure of what to do next.

"Don't expect instruction from me. The hell if I'll do my replacement a favor."

"Then I shall do as I please." After running her tongue along the ridge on the underside of his rod, she corkscrewed her tongue around the fleshy tip then suckled hard hoping for a taste of cream. She was soon rewarded and ran the tip of her tongue along the slit.

"It happens that what pleases you also pleases me." His voice had roughened. He urged her to her feet. His pale eyes studied her as he led her to a dilapidated chest of drawers. He turned her to face it. His foot nudged her legs apart. Lacey gripped the edge of the dresser to steady herself.

He slid his hand around to her belly then lower until it cupped her quim. With his finger wedged in her slit, he leveraged her till she stood on the balls of her feet, her bottom tilting ceiling-ward. When he landed a stinging smack to her arse, a small cry escaped her lips. She bucked against his hand but his grip on her quim became more possessive. This time he spanked her harder. He leaned over, his big body blanketing hers. Wantonly, she rubbed against his fingers as he dug his other hand into her hair and shook it loose from the chignon. Pins pinged off the dresser. Her hair fell around her shoulders.

She peered up at the metal tray hammered to the wall, a crude mirror to shave by. She expected to see a glimmer of cruelty in those pale eyes, but they shone only with masculine greed as he inspected her splayed form. She'd never felt so naked. As his callused fingers brushed up her inner thigh, she parted her legs further for him. A primal groan greeted her obedience.

"So, you can behave. Too bad you haven't a loyal bone in your body." A gentle stroke of her quim was swiftly followed by another slap of her bottom. Somehow he'd known that being trapped in the corset would only heighten the excitement of being dominated by him. She knew how her acquiescence was affecting him by the catch in his breath every time she spread her legs wider or lifted her buttocks higher.

"Awful quiet. Reckon it's up to me to talk dirty," he said.

Lacey purred with pleasure as he rubbed his cock along her quim.

"You have the sweetest cunt." He took hold of her hips.

She cried out as he entered her.

"You like it when I fuck you, Lacey?" He dragged himself out and she was awed by the thickness and length of him.

"Far too much."

"You just don't want to belong to me." He rammed into her and then dragged his cock all the way out again.

Instantly, she missed the hard feel of him inside her. "Damn you, Dalton."

"Whoa, darling." He spread her bottom apart with his hands.

She could sense the intensity of his scrutiny. She felt so wet and open.

"Not only the sweetest but the prettiest."

His next thrust was so deep and hit such a delicious spot that she moaned. She clenched her pussy hoping to hold him. His movements stilled. She squeezed him harder.

"Careful, brat, or this will end too soon," Slade warned.

The friction as he pulled out of her tightened pussy nearly sent her over the edge.

He gave her exposed quim a stinging spank and a delicious shiver traveled the length of her. "Not interested in cutting my pleasure short this time. Don't you move," he said, emphasizing the demand with another slap of her pussy.

A blush crept into her cheeks as she obeyed him, staying draped over the desk with her pinkened bottom thrust out. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Slade strode to the wall just behind her and removed her reticule from the hook where she'd hung it. After rummaging through it, he pocketed the one cosmetic she always carried with her, a salve to soothe chapped hands. Lacey didn't have the nerve to ask what he intended to do with it as he positioned himself behind her. She inhaled sharply as he applied the salve. He rubbed it onto her anus, his thumb circling the tightly puckered rim. The flesh of her buttock's throbbed with heat, contrasting with the cooling salve. She swallowed hard as his finger pressed into her, the slickness of the salve allowing him access. She tightened against his invasion.

His finger still lodged inside her, he stepped back. She gasped as he pressed his open mouth to a cheek of her buttocks. His cool tongue swirled over her heated backside. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the feel of the intimate kisses. She relaxed and his finger pushed deeper. He began thrusting his finger in and out. When he began using two fingers, she told herself to relax, to relish the feeling. It was both painful and exquisitely sensual.

The instant he withdrew his fingers, his cock pressed at her anus. He reached between her and the dresser and deftly began unlacing her corset. She arched her back to make it easier for him to unfasten the corset, and as she did, her bottom lifted, giving him more access.

"Slade," she moaned as his cock penetrated her. Her anus clamped tight around the head of his cock. As each lace came undone, he pushed another increment inside her. She was being released from her corset only to find herself impaled by his rod. Caught in the most intense trap of her life, she bit her lip, drawing blood. He felt impossibly thick and endless. Just when she thought she'd never take all of him, he tossed the corset to the floor and shoved into her so deeply that she felt his balls grazing her nether lips. Her pussy clenched as her body quaked with desire.

"Ride me," he demanded, his hands viselike on her hips.

Lacey bucked against him, crying out at the pain and pleasure of it. She rode him then, her hands gripping the dresser, the nipples of her naked breasts occasionally grazing the rough wood. And then he took over, pumping hard and fast.

Slade could see Lacey's arms tremble as she took the brunt of his thrusts. She lay her head down on the dresser tipping her hips higher. Her perfect little ass swallowed the length of him. All he wanted to do was possess her. Evidence of his need lingered in the fading handprint. It would be goddamned hell to let her go.

He watched his slick cock drive deep, entering her to the hilt. Her body shuddered with release beneath him. With an unearthly growl, he spent his seed, for once finding completion inside of her.

* * * *

Perched on his lap, she clung to him, her black hair wild, her soft lips trailing a maddening path up his throat. She stroked and petted him, her breasts pressed against his chest. His pride be damned, he'd bring the matter up again. "If you're staying, it's got to be for keeps."

"I can't," she said and continued nuzzling his neck.

"Enough, Lacey. You've lived up to your side of the bargain." He quickly set her on her feet.

Her fierce golden eyes put him in mind of a hellcat.

It startled him to find that it wasn't the intimate demands he'd made but his dismissal of her that angered her. His maker was truly having the last laugh. Here was his ideal woman...a little sweet, a little sassy, and willing to yield to all his wishes in the bedroom yet he couldn't have her.

Lacey snatched up her clothing. He heard the sound of a seam rip as she raced to get her clothing back on. Slade gathered his own clothing from the floor.

Slade yanked on his jeans and shirt then took the coat from the hook on the wall. He watched Lacey fuss with her skirts. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets to stop himself from drawing her back.

Keeping a safe distance from him, she smoothed her hair all the while she regarded him warily from beneath her lowered lashes. Their rough lovemaking had left a fevered stain high on her cheeks.

With his hand at her elbow, Slade steered Lacey down the stairs then through the darkened street. His legs felt wobbly, and he stumbled twice. A sure foot and a steady hand were once as certain as breathing to him. She'd set him off balance—disturbed his rhythm. It was a good thing he didn't make a living with his gun anymore. He'd become too unpredictable.

Tait was perched atop the wagon seat waiting for them in front of the inn. With obvious reluctance, Tait held the firearm out to him.

"You keep it," Slade said.

"What if Grady were to see it? He'd know we'd visited Slade," Lacey told Tait and took the gun from his grasp.

She winced as she handed it to him as though she expected it to go off.

His gaze locked with hers. "We definitely can't have Grady knowing you've spent time with his shady, hell-raising brother." He slipped the gun into his holster. "I don't want you bringin' her to me again, Tait." Slade watched the color drain from her face. Her eyes darkened with pain. Lashing out at her hadn't given him satisfaction. It had only served to deepen the hurt. But to his mind, a man had to preserve his sense of self, if he was going to be worth a damn. And having her, but not truly having her, was threatening to destroy everything he was. "If you need something, leave a note at the inn. Understand?"

"I understand," Tait said glumly. "You comin' to the wedding, Slade? Despite everything, I know Ma would want you there."

The words sounded tinny and hollow to his ears. "Kind of like suggesting a man attend his own funeral," Slade replied. "Get yourself back. I don't want Grady asking too many questions."

Her pale cheeks reddened with an unhealthy blush. Slade forced himself to walk away before he said something else hurtful.

He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and smoked it as he walked along the boardwalk. He was in no hurry to return to his empty room. A flash of color caught his eye as he passed Gertie's shop. He stopped in his tracks and stared at the display in the window. There, hanging in all its glory, was the wedding dress Lacey had sewn. The damage it had suffered after Purdy's fateful visit had been repaired. It wasn't the only surprising addition to Gertie's inventory. Close to every fancy dress he'd seen Lacey wear hung for sale in the shop. The wedding dress triggered an image that had troubled him again and again since leaving the Lazy Heart. He recalled Lacey's bloodless grip on the porch rail as if her legs wouldn't support her. Her eyes wide, her gaze riveted on him as he rode away. Had jealousy blinded him to the truth?

Slade turned hard, his boot heels striking the hollow walkway. His footsteps echoed in the deserted street as he headed back to his room. He climbed the stairs, opened the door and strode across the room. He toed open the hollow that held his only chance. He'd left the table too early tonight. Lacey's presence had rattled him. He dug his paltry earnings out of his pocket.

Slade crouched down as he spotted the odd, little sack. He fingered the familiar embroidery. He slipped it into his coat pocket, close to his heart. Even if he had to sit at the tables all night, he was going to finish this now.

* * * *

Lacey opened her eyes wide, hoping the bite of the cold night air would stop her from crying. When that didn't work, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she'd done moments before but in ecstasy, not agony. Even after tasting blood, she still wanted to sob. Finally, she buried her face in her hands and wept. Her shoulders heaved with the effort. After a couple of comforting pats, Tait seemed to realize there was no chance of stopping her tears.

Slade Dalton had banished her from his life, and she didn't know how she'd live without him. She'd almost broken down and told him about Grady's threat to put him in jail. But she didn't. And he was probably better off for it. She seemed to bring him nothing but bad luck.

As she'd expected, Grady was waiting for her on the porch. His hands fisted at his waist as she approached.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Without saying a word, she pushed past him.

"Doesn't matter," he said, his voice tight. "Get some sleep. We're getting married tomorrow."

Lacey froze in the doorway and turned to look at him. His smile was arrogant and angry all at the same time.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you and me, sweetums. Our wedding day. Tomorrow at this time, we will be Mr. and Mrs. Grady Dalton."

"But Dora won't allow it until Slade is cleared." Lacey knew she sounded near to hysterics.

"I'm making the decisions now. Not Dora. They won't hold my position in Boston forever. I've made arrangements with the preacher."

She never really thought she'd have to face this moment, yet here it was. And it was terrifying. "How will I know you won't still turn against Slade?"

"You'll just have to take me at my word."

"Husband or not, your word I will never trust," she said quietly before she slammed the door in his face.

* * * *

Slade strode into the livery to settle his bill.

The hostler led Slade's horse out and handed him the reins. "The preacher left for your place an hour ago. Said he had a wedding to perform. Pompous old fool, insisted I harness up my finest horses. He wanted to make it back to town before dark."

She'd lied to him, pretending that the wedding was on hold. She'd allowed him a mercy fuck last night, knowing all the while she would be marrying his brother in the morning. Forget about her, he told himself.

Yet he couldn't stop the panic rising in his throat at the thought of losing her forever. It was impossible to shake the memories. The way her fingers had wrapped around his hand when she'd fretted; the way she'd stayed perched up on a tree branch even when the rain had poured down in sheets; or the way she'd never complained, no matter how detestable the task. And...the way that she'd made love to him.

Slade assured himself he wouldn't go after her, yet the moment his horse had left the town behind, he spurred it into a thundering gallop.

The dust from the trail burned his eyes. He hadn't had more than an hour's sleep. The endless night had paid off, though. The lawyer hadn't been too pleased to be woken at the crack of dawn. But the considerable premium he had paid the man, more than made up for it. He patted the papers in his pocket for reassurance. He intended to claim everything that was rightfully his.