Chapter 4

Slade brought the frigid night air in with him as he stepped into the house. Lacey, tucked into a corner of the settee, shivered. She glanced up at him from her sewing and gave an uncertain smile. He shut the door quickly behind him. She looked prim and sweet in her high-buttoned red dress, and exactly right, sitting in his parlor.

He strode over to the hearth and dropped an armload of firewood into the basket. After tossing a log on the fire, he pulled a cheroot from his pocket and asked, "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," she said.

He struck a match on a hearth brick and lit the cheroot, thinking, he really didn't have time to indulge in a smoke. The ledgers needed going over. He had to figure how long the money he'd returned to Colorado with would stretch. It was a good thing, he supposed, that he hadn't had a chance to send it to Dora and Tait. It would have been poured into the great big hole that had become Dalton ranch. Like the rest of the prize money he'd funneled home. Slade really couldn't blame Dora and Tait for not knowing how to invest wisely. First his pa, and then Grady, had managed all the finances.

When he'd met with Bonner's mother, he'd rid himself of the fee for hunting down Purdy. Silas had been Bonner's quarry, and Slade didn't want any credit for the ham-handed way Bonner had handled it. Thankfully, the two jobs prior to the whole Purdy mess had paid well. The money wasn't near enough to replenish his herd, though. He was tempted to try his skill at the gaming table but couldn't afford the risk. Not with other people depending on him. Lately, he'd actually been entertaining the idea of rustling back some of his cattle from the Banyons.

Slade sank into the chair beside the settee and took up the newspaper on the coffee table. His attention was instantly drawn from the page to Lacey. Her long black hair was undone. Just the way he liked it. Not that she cared a damn how he liked it.

She bowed her head to her task, and a lock of hair slipped into her face. He leaned forward and tucked it behind her ear. It felt like black silk. She offered him a shy smile, revealing those heart-stopping dimples.

She hadn't been smiling this afternoon, though. The thought that he'd brought her to tears, again, still wrenched his gut.

Slade had spotted her before they'd pulled into the drive. When he'd heard the horses behind him, he'd yanked on a shirt. He hadn't wanted her to see him sweaty and filthy from cutting timber.

His heart had thudded to his stomach, imagining that she'd taken another tumble from the horse. Never in his life had he worried so much about one person. Add to that worry the fact that she was by far the wildest, most chance-taking woman he'd ever known.

He had to remind himself that she wasn't his problem. Slade fisted his hand, the nails cutting into his palm. This morning Lacey couldn't wait to tell him she would be leaving sooner. She actually thought she was giving him a gift. He'd taken his frustrations out with an axe. Mowed down more trees than they could cart back. He'd have to make a trip to get the rest tomorrow.

Slade watched her eyelashes flutter as she concentrated on her work and thought she was one problem he, most assuredly, would like to have.

"I recognize that shirt," he said. It was another one of his. She'd been wearing an old flannel of his earlier today. And a pair of snug trousers that had given him all sorts of sinful ideas.

"Grady's were in such perfect condition, I felt it a shame to ruin them." Lacey examined her work intently. He had the feeling she didn't want to look him in the eye. "But if you'd prefer, I could certainly wear one of his."

"No," he answered. It was nearly a shout. Her eyes flickered wide. "Help yourself to any damn thing I own." She'd chosen something of his over Grady's. Maybe she wasn't so indifferent to him, after all. Or maybe, he was just indulging in some wishful thinking.

Lacey's hands were trembling and her last two stitches had been crooked looping things. Slade was studying her so thoroughly her heart was racing. "Another bank robbery?" she asked pointing to the paper he held.

She'd often seen him scour the newspapers. She wondered if he was looking for prospects, outlaws with hefty bounties on their heads. Perhaps, after a day of thankless ranch work, bounty hunting would look good.

"Purdy boys, hard at work. Two banks and only three victims. Seems they were feeling charitable that week."

"You sound like you know them personally."

"I know them a helluva a lot better than I want to. Killed my partner." He tossed the newspaper aside, rested his head back against the chair. He considered her through lowered lids. "The only Purdy with any true smarts was Jared, and I thought he'd swung. But these hold-ups have all the earmarks of Jared's work."

His revelation sent a chill through her blood. A visible shudder shook her frame. She could only think, thank God, it hadn't been Slade who'd been shot.

"Sorry. Shouldn't have shared that ugliness with you."

It was frightening, yes, but she wanted him to tell her more. Lacey wanted to know the man behind the ice-blue eyes. The man she'd only caught glimpses of. "Somehow, I can't see you with a partner. Your men are loyal, I know, but you never seem to mesh completely with them." She dropped the shirt and interlaced her fingers to demonstrate and then felt embarrassed for it. She'd never blushed so much in her life, as she did in front of Slade Dalton. "You don't seem to need anyone."

Beneath his hooded lids, his eyes flickered. Slade hadn't missed the fact that she'd been taking note of him.

"Lone wolf," he said, as if to himself.

"Lone wolf?" she repeated. A perfect description of him. Slade Dalton was a man who didn't need anyone, and the thought made her throat tighten.

"The name my partner gave me."

Some men might consider that a compliment, a hallmark of masculinity. It was obvious, by the way he'd said it, that he didn't.

He got to his feet. An imposing, six foot plus of a man, looking down on her. She scrunched the shirt in her hand.

"Did real well today, Lacey. Sat that horse like a natural rider."

She smiled. "Truly?" She was inordinately pleased with the compliment. But it was silly to take any pleasure from it. Irish wouldn't have outraced a snail today. It could only have been a compliment brought on by pity because she'd been crying puddles.

"We'll make a rancher out of you in no time."

Right, a rancher, she thought wryly.

Lacey watched him leave, her eyes measuring the breadth of his impressive shoulders. Now, wedding a rancher, that might have some appeal, she thought.

* * * *

The early morning mist creeping into the dogtrot was unbearably cold. She hoped the bracing air would wake her up. Her dreams had exhausted her. She resolved to rid her mind of forbidden thoughts about her future brother-in-law.

She placed a stool by the washtub and took a deep breath before plunging her hands into the icy water. The chill shot through her arms and made her shiver.

She turned at the sound of boot heels on the wood floor. Her resolve lasted only the length of a suddenly quickened heartbeat.

"Lace." He greeted her with a quick touch to the brim of his hat and then moved to the rifle cabinet.

"Give me the Winchester, Slade," Tait said as he came clomping in to stand beside his brother.

"Think you can handle it?" Slade's tone held amusement. "That thing's got a nasty kick."

"I can handle it. Got myself a rabbit with it."

Slade tossed him the rifle.

Tait came over to stand by Lacey as he loaded his weapon, obviously eager to share his excitement. "That wolf got itself another calf," he told her. "I think it's hunkerin' down, waitin' for more spring babies to drop."

She heard Slade chuckle as Tait ran out in his enthusiasm. Lacey found Slade's obvious affection for his younger brother endearing.

Realizing that her arms were turning to ice, she began scrubbing the garment energetically against the washboard.

"You'll put a hole in that thing," Slade drawled and snatched it from her hands. He held the dripping thing up to get a better look. "What, in holy hell, is this?"

A sinful shiver ran through her as he inspected her most intimate apparel. Of course, this was her most wicked item, a confection of sheer silk and lace.

On tiptoes, almost in danger of toppling herself into the frigid water, she snatched it out of his hand and tossed it back into the washtub. "That is one of my undergarments."

He shook his head fervently. "Woman, that is no undergarment. That is a handkerchief." He took a heaving sigh. With narrowed eyes he scrutinized her. "Please tell me you aren't wearing anything like that now."

Too embarrassed to respond, she stood there swallowing hard, feeling the blush creep up her cheeks.

His eyes rolled ceiling-ward. "This some sort of test?" he asked the heavens.

"Those..." he said, pointing in the direction of the window. She could just make out the drying line where Dora's voluminous bloomers flapped in the wind like white flags. "Are proper undergarments."

"How very priggish of you, Mr. Dalton."

"Yeah, well, I even surprise myself. But the need for self-preservation does odd things to a man."

"Now, you've even taken exception to my clothes. I don't seem able to please you at all, Mr. Dalton.

A smile snaked across his face that made her uneasy.

"I'll bet you wish I'd never met your brother."

"Damn right."

Lacey set herself again to washing until she was sure he was gone. Why was he worried about what she wore under her clothes? He was certainly never going to get a chance to see her in that state of undress. She scrubbed harder. The thought of his eyes on her made her whole body tingle. Lacey held up her fragile camisole and looked through the giant hole she'd created.

She wadded up the garment, threw it to the ground, and headed purposefully toward the barn. She had a sudden urge to go riding to clear her head of Slade Dalton.

* * * *

Slade dragged himself into the house. He had single-handedly put up the frame on the cook shed, but he still hadn't shaken the image of Lacey's undergarments from his mind.

The kitchen curtains were drawn wide and Dora sat facing the window. She was shelling peas without watching what her hands were doing. She seemed riveted to the blackened night. "Did you get the wolf?"

"No luck. But I made progress with the building."

He bent over her chair and peered over her shoulder. From this vantage point, he could make out a sliver of moon and a few moths circling the porch lantern. He was about to ask her what she found so interesting when he realized that something was missing.

He straightened up suddenly. "How come I don't smell anything burning? Where is she?"

"Around somewhere," Dora said with a flippant wave of her hand.

The window was no longer a scene of nothingness. An out-of-breath Tait leaped over both steps to make a jarring landing on the porch. The door crashed against the wall, and Tait came racing into the entry, skating to a grit-grinding halt in the kitchen doorway. When Dora didn't scold him about her scratched floor, Slade felt his blood go chill.

"Where is she?" he asked again, through clenched teeth.

Dora swiveled in the chair to face him. "Calm down, son. There's a possibility that Lacey has gone off on horseback alone."

"Someone's saddled Irish and taken her from her stall," Tait added hesitantly. His face was ashen.

"How long has she been gone?"

"Not sure." Tait shrugged. "Haven't seen her since this morning."

Slade was already pushing past Tait when Dora said: "Don't blame Tait or yourself for this. That girl is sure sweet, but you gotta admit she has a wild streak. I hope Grady can manage her better."

Slade didn't bother to saddle his horse. He threw on the bridle. He mounted the horse the second it was out the corral gate. Before the animal had a chance to work up to a trot, he'd spurred it into a gallop. He headed down the dark path, his heart thundering in his chest. He hadn't experienced a sensation like this since he'd witnessed his father face down Sheriff Talbot.

Dora had emphasized the word 'manage' as though Lacey was a stubborn filly. Yeah, Grady would manage her all right. If Lacey thought he was hardheaded, she had yet to experience Grady's controlling side. Slade knew Dora's comments had been intended not so much to alleviate his guilt but as a reminder. The girl would soon be Grady's problem.

And didn't that serve his brother right. What could he have been thinking sending an exotic creature like Lacey Jarrell to a ranch in the middle of nowhere? She was totally unsuited to the life. Where the devil did he find her? She wasn't even Grady's usual type. He preferred them prissy and dull and virginal. Lacey didn't fit any of those descriptions. No, Slade quickly amended his thoughts, she might be virginal. In fact, he found himself unreasonably hoping that she was. Since when had he ever given a damn whether a female was pure or not?

A wolf's howl sounded in the distance. Slade tightened his fingers around the reins, letting the leather bite into his skin. He had to stop himself from thinking about her, and not for the sake of brotherly loyalty, but for his own peace of mind. He needed to devote his attention to the ranch and not let the woman interfere with that. Why then, did the thought of her riding alone in the endless dark make him feel as though someone had slammed a brass-knuckled fist into his gut?

* * * *

Lacey fully regretted her impetuous action now, of course. Though, it did seem a good idea at the time. With apprehension, she slanted a glance at the two hulking men riding alongside her.

"There it is. There's the farmstead," she said a little too eagerly, pointing in the direction of the ranch.

It was Slade who swung the gate open for them. The brim of his hat rode low on his brow, and his eyes were unreadable, but she could make out the line of his lips, a very grim line. She was about to open her mouth and offer up an explanation, but Blue, the scruffiest-looking one, spoke first.

"Brought your little lady home, Dalton. Poor thing would have froze to death if we hadn't."

Amazingly, Blue's tough demeanor had softened completely. It occurred to Lacey that this wasn't the first time she'd noticed how Slade Dalton's presence had a transforming effect on people. Of course, the fact that Slade's hand hovered over the butt of his gun, may have contributed to the men's unexpected politeness.

"Not here for any trouble, Dalton. Just deliverin' Miss Jarrell home."

Slade took hold of the bridle. "Miss Jarrell," he said through gritted teeth, "Get yourself off that horse, and go see Dora. She's been worried sick."

Lacey lifted her leg clumsily over the saddle and, in that instant, felt how stiff she'd become. She would have tumbled to the ground, if Slade hadn't been there to catch her.

Slade didn't have his usual smell of soap; his shirt was stiff with dried sweat. And she found she wasn't the least bit repelled. To her dismay, quite the opposite.

Clinging to his shoulders, Lacey felt his heat penetrate her shirt and chemise. Twisting her neck to look at Blue, she managed to brush her soft breasts against his hard chest and was shocked to find her nipples puckering in reaction. "This is Mr. Harding...Blue, I mean."

"Is that so?" The smirk on Slade's face said it all; he'd felt her erotic response to him.

"I can stand by myself," she insisted and then remembering her lies to the men added, "Darling."

"Right," he said taking his hands away. Her knees buckled, and she would have crumbled to the ground, if he hadn't taken hold of her again.

"As I was saying," she continued as if nothing had happened, "Blue has seen a few head of your cattle."

"And how does your new buddy, Blue, here, know what my cattle look like?"

Blue fidgeted with the placement of the hat on his head.

"You men work for Banyon?"

"We did up until this afternoon. Couldn't take anymore of that skinflint. We're looking to sign on somewhere. You wouldn't happen to need a couple of hands?"

"That depends on whether or not those hands would be willing to help me round up some of my misplaced cattle."

"Anything to set Banyon back a few coins," Blue said with conviction.

Blue's partner seemed less interested in finding work than in Slade's reaction to his little lady.

He was sitting forward in the saddle, an expectant look on his face. "Ain't you gonna give her a welcome home kiss?" He grinned hugely.

Strange, but Slade hadn't even blinked an eye when the man had referred to her as his woman. Of course, she reasoned, Slade would have known she'd said it for the protection it afforded. Surely, he was aware the effect his name had on men. Men that looked mean enough to shoot their own mother and then help themselves to her apple pie. She'd actually noticed Blue's eye twitch when she mentioned Slade Dalton.

She peered up at Slade. It would be impossible for those angry lips to soften enough to kiss anyone, Lacey thought with some relief and a disturbing twinge of regret. Wrong again, she chided herself as his mouth brushed hers in a tentative kiss, which left her feeling oddly unsatisfied.

"I'd better go see Dora," she said, noticing with dismay that her voice sounded a bit breathless. Lacey wondered how she'd make it there considering that her legs were weak as water from the ride. She didn't wonder long. With one effortless lift, Slade had her slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"I'll be takin' my woman back to the house now," he said giving her bottom a possessive squeeze.

"We start the day early around here, so I suggest you get some sleep. Introduce yourselves to Dix, over there in the bunkhouse." He inclined his head in the direction of the building with a single lantern light still glimmering in the window. "See you at daybreak, men?"

"Yes, sir. That'd be fine," Blue answered eagerly.

From this humiliating vantage, Lacey watched the porch steps and then Dora's ankle boots go by. She was certain Slade had motioned Dora to stay put because she didn't follow. Depositing her on the lilac bedspread, he placed his hands on either side of her body and leaned menacingly close. "You could have been killed."

"Yes," she admitted, which seemed to frustrate him more.

"Dammit," he cursed. "I cannot waste my time chasing you down, brat."

His words stung. "Then don't!"

"Listen," he said, his words taking on a chill precision, "do as you're told, or you'll be restricted to the kitchen."

"Who do you think you are? You don't own me. You seem to forget, I'm here for Grady." She raised herself up on her elbows. Slade did not pull back from his position. The ends of his hair brushed her throat. She could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"How can I forget? You never fail to remind me." His voice took on a tone she'd never heard before.

"Tomorrow, I will write Grady and tell him to get me the devil out of here."

His eyes narrowed. The lamplight emphasized his chiseled features making him appear dangerously hard. "Fine. The sooner you two are in Boston, the sooner I can get on with my life."

Slade headed for the door. She was feeling so hurt she couldn't seem to stop herself. "I imagined a cowboy's kiss would curl a woman's toes. But yours..."

He stood with a hand on the latch. "Not impressed?" A smile seemed to lurk on his face. "Been kissed often, have you?"

"Often enough," she lied, her lips curling suggestively.

There wasn't a trace of amusement on his face or in his voice now. "Somehow, I can't imagine Grady finding that experience a good thing."

Lacey swung her legs over the edge of the bed so that she was sitting with her back to him. She knew her face would be a dead giveaway. "Considering, he was the one I was kissing, I don't think he minded much."

"Somehow, I can't picture my all too stiff-necked brother indulging himself like that." He laughed arrogantly as he shut the door sharply behind him.

Throwing herself back on the bed, Lacey smothered her face with a pillow to muffle her scream.

What was wrong with her, she wondered, lying like that. And why had his kiss unsettled her so? Her lips still tingled from that swift mating of their mouths. Lord, she thought, anymore chaste of a kiss, and she could have imagined it being bestowed by her town's ancient vicar.