Lacy (11 page)

"You think Turk said something to
her?" Lacy asked, studying the wrinkled face.

"I'm certain that he did. Perhaps he told
her that there was no hope, or said something cruel to her. But Katy wouldn't
have gone like that without a reason. And she didn't seem in love to me. At
least not with Danny Marlone!"

Katy was her friend, but Lacy wondered if anyone
really knew her heart. Lacy never had, although she loved the younger girl like
a sister. If there was one man in the world Katy would die for, though, it was
Turk. Just the least notice from him could put the younger woman into dreams of
ecstasy for hours. It was almost pitiful, the way she watched him and found
excuses to be with him. Turk, on the other hand, was, as Marion had said, a lot
like Cole. His face gave away nothing, and he seemed to hide his own
vulnerabilities in humor. If he had vulnerabilities. Perhaps personal tragedy
had damaged him, too. Cole had said that Turk's wife died. That would be
shattering, especially to a man who was so much a man. It would be like an
indictment of his masculinity that he'd failed to save her.

"You're very quiet," Marion murmured.

"I'm worried about Katy, too," she
confessed. "Is he a nice man, this Danny? Will he be good to her?"

"I suppose so, darling. But it's his
business that bothers me. He owns a speakeasy, and I don't think he's above
making dishonest deals. It bothers me. Still, what can we do? She's a grown
woman now. I was married and had Coleman when I was just her age. My hands are
tied." She took another sip of tea. "At least Coleman believed me. He
won't go rushing up there with his pistol."

"Believed you?" Lacy probed.

"Darling, I don't believe a word of the
note Katy left me," came the quiet reply. "I don't think that man has
any intention of marrying her."

"Oh." Lacy felt shattered by that
statement. She loved Katy. Katy had always been a good girl, despite her
coquettishness. And now, for her to go and—and live with a man! Oh, Katy, how
could you? she thought miserably. How could you let Turk cause you to do
something like that?

Then she remembered her own threat to Cole if he
didn't share her room. About George. Well, she comforted herself, the ends
justified the means, didn't they? But until tonight, she wouldn't know. And
remembering the last time, she wondered if she was going to have enough courage
to go through with this. She did love Cole. But would her love for him be
enough to save their marriage?

Ben borrowed the car for his dinner date,
careful to reassure his mother that he was leaving in plenty of time for the
long drive— and that he wouldn't wreck her pretty little black runabout.

Mothers, he thought to himself as he gunned the
engine going down the long, winding dirt road. The sky was cloudy, but perhaps
it wouldn't rain. Anyway, there was a top—if he could remember how to put it
up!

He was still bothered about the new atmosphere
between himself and Cole. In all the arguments they'd ever had, Cole had never
lifted a hand to him before. That was out of character, even if the display of
temper wasn't. He'd certainly hit a nerve. He knew that his big brother was
hiding something; he just couldn't figure out what it was. Marion had said it
was none of his business, but he wondered all the same. Cole was so secretive
about his private life. And especially about Lacy.

Ben grimaced, remembering how he'd brought about
that disastrous marriage. He hadn't meant to force them into a corner; it had
all been a big joke. But it wasn't funny the next morning when they were let
out. Lacy had been white as a sheet and crying, something the spunky girl had
never done in front of him before. Of course, the look on Cole's face had been
enough to reduce a strong man to tears—utterly ferocious. Ben had gone to visit
an aunt in Houston the same day, to get out of Cole's way while he cooled off.
And by the time he came back, Cole and Lacy were married.

He'd wanted Lacy for himself. She was so lovely,
so cultured. While Coleman had been way during the war, Ben had been Lacy's
shadow. Then when Coleman had come home again, the older man had been so cold
and remote that no one could approach him except Turk. He'd actually backed
away from Lacy when she'd gone running, with her heart in her eyes, to welcome
him home from France after armistice was declared. He knew he'd never forget
the way Lacy had looked, or how she'd reacted to Cole's distance during the
months and years that followed. She'd been talking of leaving the ranch, for
the first time, when Ben had hit on his practical joke. He'd asked Lacy to
marry him, in desperation, and she'd refused with such gentleness.

It had almost killed him to know, finally, that
she'd only felt affection for him, and that had rankled. Like Katy, Ben was
used to getting his own way, especially with women. He sighed, thinking about
the girls he'd been out with in San Antonio. He sometimes felt certain that he
knew more about women even than Cole did. Cole seemed remarkably repressed; he
always walked off when Ben and Turk started talking about their conquests.
Especially since the war.

Turk was a rounder, he thought. The ace pilot
had been his hero for a long time. Cole was too hard an act to follow. Turk was
more human. Ben admired his success with women, his cool, easy manner. Turk was
high-tempered, too, like Cole, but he was a little more forgiving and less
rigid in his attitudes. Ben wondered how Cole got along with Lacy when the
lights went out. He thought that might have been why Lacy left him in the first
place. They'd had separate rooms, and Ben suspected, as did the others in the
family, that the marriage had never been consummated. That would hurt a woman
like Lacy, to have everyone think her own husband considered her undesirable.
She'd stayed in San Antonio eight months, and there had been a man hanging
around her, from what Katy said. But for Lacy to come home with Cole, the man
must not have meant much to her. Lacy probably still loved Cole, despite
everything. Looking back, he couldn't remember a time when Lacy hadn't looked
at the older man with her heart in her sad eyes. But Ben hadn't noticed—not
until he'd played his infamous practical joke and forced Lacy into the anguish
of a loveless marriage. He sometimes felt very guilty about that.

His mind went back to meeting them at the
siding, to little Faye Cameron's sudden appearance. She was a cute thing, that
blond tomboy, but hardly the kind of woman he needed. Writers, he decided, were
loners. They couldn't be restricted to just one woman. They needed lots of
women.

Of course, there was Jessica Bradley, the
daughter of the new periodical's publisher. She was a dish. Very dark, with
creamy skin, and a very kissable mouth, and a body he was aching to get his
hands on. Now
there
was a sophisticated little doll. He began
to whistle as he thought about her and increased his speed. Poor little Faye
would just have to set her sights a little lower. A rancher's daughter needed a
cattleman, anyway, not a famous writer.

The Bradleys were waiting for him when he got to
the elegant residence near the Alamo. Randolph Bradley was tall and
silver-haired, with a neatly clipped mustache and very blue eyes. His daughter
apparently took after her mother, whose portrait hung above the elegant mantle
in the Victorian living room.

"Mama is in Europe, of course,"
Jessica informed him as they sipped champagne cocktails before being served
dinner in the spacious dining room. She moved closer to him, drowning him in
exquisite scent. "She detests the frontier. It's nothing like New York. But Papa insisted that we come here to take over this territorial
publication."

"Papa knows a good business venture when he
sees one," Bradley said haughtily. He looked down his nose at her and made
a face. "This little publication is going to become a force in Western
journalism, you wait and see, daughter. Now, Whitehall, tell me about yourself.
Your people are in cattle ranching, I understand."

Ben felt uncomfortable. "Why, yes," he
replied, with a faint smile, trying to sound as confident and urbane as his
host. "My brother handles that end of it, of course. I'm more into the—
uh.. .financial side of things." Thank God Cole wasn't here to hear him or
he'd be into something else—like Cole's fist!

"Good man. Nasty things, cattle," the
older man said, lifting his glass. "We're going to make you into the
reporter of the century. Scandal, crime, tragedy—We'll make a fortune! Here's
to profit, son."

Ben lifted his own glass. Waterford crystal, he
recognized. Very nice. The bit about scandal, crime, and tragedy had gone right
over his head. "Here's to profit!"

It was a wonderful evening. Old man Bradley went
out of his way to be courteous, and Jessica's dark eyes made Ben into a nervous
wreck with their frank sensuality. He was never aware of what he ate, but he
was thankful for his mother's insistence on proper table manners. At least he
didn't embarrass himself by not knowing which fork to use.

"Well," Bradley said when they'd
finished dessert and were sipping glasses of brandy in the living room, "I
must get my rest. Bed at eight every evening, you know, son. It keeps the body
fit."

"Yes, of course," Ben said
falteringly, rising to his feet awkwardly. "I must be getting back
home..."

"That long drive at this time of night?
Don't be absurd!" Bradley scoffed. "You'll stay with us. Can't have
my star reporter on the road in the middle of the night. I need you, my boy.
Your connections in San Antonio will be invaluable to me.. .to us! Advertising
counts, you know, and a locally known name sells ads. Good business. Sleep
well, my boy. Good night, my dear,"he told Jessica, bending to kiss her
cheek warmly.

"Good night, Daddy," Jessica said
demurely. "I'll show our guest to his room. An early night won't hurt any
of us."

"My thoughts exactly." Bradley
chuckled as he climbed the winding staircase.

"Come along, Bennett," Jessica told
Ben. She put her glass down and took his hand in hers.

She was wearing a filmy blue creation, very lacy
and clinging, and Ben's heart actually hurt him with its wild pounding. She was
the most sophisticated woman he'd ever known. His age exactly, but she was much
more worldly than he was. And so sexy!

As she opened the door to a room in the wing
across from where her father had vanished, he expected her to bid him good
night. But she came in with him.. .and locked the door behind her.

"Now," she whispered huskily, "I
can do what I've waited all night for."

"And what is that?" he asked, drinking
in the scent of her.

"This," she murmured, drawing his head
down to hers.

God, could she kiss! He felt his toes curling at
the first impact of her soft, moist lips. Her tongue went quickly into his
mouth, thrusting, teasing. He reached for her, all restraint gone at the
intimacy of her hips pushing urgently against his. She was no virgin. Not this
little number!

Seconds later, she led him to the bed, but she
moved back when he reached for her.

"Not yet, little Ben." She laughed
softly. She backed away, smoothing the dress down her body, her dark eyes
sultry and triumphant as she saw the desire in his.

She peeled the buttons from their buttonholes
with slender, deft fingers, and let him watch as she peeled the bodice down and
stepped out of the dress, standing only in her pale lilac chemise and hose.
Holding his eyes, she toyed with the thin straps, easing them slowly down her
arms, her lips parted, her tongue touching her teeth.

Ben sat rigidly on the white coverlet,
astonished at her lack of embarrassment. She tugged the chemise away from her
small, taut breasts and let it fall. Standing in her knickers and garter belt
and hose, she kicked the chemise across the polished wood floor and lifted her
arms to remove the hairpins and loosen her long, dark hair.

Her back arched as she moved toward him.
"How do you like me, little Ben?" she whispered. "Hmm?"
"God, you're.. .lovely!" he choked.

"Then don't sit there, lovey dove... Show
Jessica you like her," she whispered, lifting his hands.

She put them on her firm breasts, his palms hard
against the taut, dark nipples, and watched with glittery, excited eyes as he
caressed them.

"Come on, honey. Don't be slow," she
teased, drawing his hands down to her knickers and garter belt.

He removed them with trembling hands, his heart
pounding as he eased them off and peeled down her silky hose. She laughed a
little wildly, sliding back onto the coverlet, glorious in her pink nudity,
moving sensuously on the bed under his intense stare.