Lorraine Heath (25 page)

Regardless of his feelings for her, Houston had never claimed Amelia. For whatever reason, he had held his silence as she and Dallas had exchanged vows. And with his silence, he had for-saken Amelia and given his own vow to forever hold his peace.

Amelia handed the empty bowl back to Dallas, her brow furrowed so deeply that he thought her face would always reflect the strain of the past few days. “Thank you.”

He unfolded his body. “I’m going to step outside for some fresh air. Holler if you need me.”

He set the bowl on the table, crossed the room, opened the door, and stepped into the night. He’d never felt so damn useless in his entire life. At least when Houston had been wounded during the war, Dallas had been able to take some action, he’d been able to do something.

He bowed his head. For thirteen years, he’d been fighting the guilt, never knowing if the decision he’d made that fateful night had been the right one. Every time he looked at Houston, he was reminded of the actions he’d taken and questioned his own motives for doing what he had done.

Dallas had always assumed Houston was self-conscious about his disfigurement, had distanced himself from Dallas because Dallas had kept his word. He hadn’t let him die.

Now, he wondered if whatever demons had forced Houston off his horse to face those outlaws alone were also responsible for his preferring solitude over the company of others.

From his pocket, Dallas removed the watch Amelia had given him, held it to his ear, and shook it vigorously. He could hear the water swirling inside. He couldn’t repair the token of her affection, he couldn’t force Houston to claim her, but he could do all in his power to love her as she should be loved.

Deep, gut-wrenching sobs interrupted Dallas’s thoughts. He walked to the edge of the porch and glanced around the side of the house.

Austin sat on the ground, his arms folded over his drawn-up knees, his head resting on his arms, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief.

Dallas had never seen a man cry. His father had raised him to believe that tears were the domain of women, certainly not something a man ever let slide down his face. Awkward and out of his element, he approached Austin. “Austin?”

Austin jerked his head up. In the moonlight, Dallas could see tears streaming along Austin’s cheeks, pooling around his mouth.

“Houston is gonna die, ain’t he?”

Dallas dropped to his haunches. “I doubt it. He doesn’t like to get on Amelia’s bad side, and he’d certainly do that if he died.”

Roughly, Austin rubbed his hand beneath his nose. “It’s my fault.”

“Don’t go thinking that.”

Austin scrambled to his feet. “But it’s true. If you look through those horses you brought back, you’ll find Houston’s stallion. They stole him from me.”

Dallas slowly brought himself to his feet. “But you said—”

“I lied! They snuck up on me, and I was ashamed that I let them do it, that I didn’t try and

stop them from taking the horse. If I’d a-told the truth—”

“Stop it!” Dallas roared. “Stop it. You don’t know what would have happened if you’d told the truth. It might have made no difference at all.” He held up a hand to stop his brother’s protest. “I’m not gonna say that you should have lied because, by God, you should have told us the truth. But you can’t let what happened eat at you. It’s done.” He sliced his hand through the air. “It’s done.”

Just like his marriage to Amelia. It was done.

Austin sniffed. “Shouldn’t you punish me or something?”

Dallas shook his head. “You’re nearly a man now. No man goes through life doing everything right. A man who wallows in his mistakes is destined to have a miserable life. Learn from what you did and become a better man because of it.”

Austin straightened his shoulders. “I will. I won’t let you or Houston down again.”

“Good. Now see after those horses.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dallas!”

Amelia’s cry had Dallas charging around the corner of the house and bursting through the door, Austin hot on his heels. His heart slammed against his ribs at the panic reflected in her eyes.

“Houston started thrashing, calling for you. He’s going to tear open his wound.”

“God damn it. Austin, fetch me a rope.” He strode to the bed and grabbed one of Houston’s flailing arms. “Be still, God damn it.”

Houston latched onto his shirt, pulling him down. “Dallas, I’m scared.”

Dallas would have sworn he was meeting the gaze of a fifteen-year-old boy. “Don’t be,” he rasped. “I won’t let nothing happen to you.”

“Swear?”

Dallas swallowed hard. “Give you my word.” Houston loosened his hold and sank back into oblivion.

Austin burst through the door. “I got the rope.”

“We don’t need it now,” Dallas said quietly. He lifted his gaze to Amelia’s.

“You were both back at the war,” she said softly.

“The night before he was wounded. You think he would have asked for my word if he had known my keeping it would give him the life he’s had all these years?”

“You should ask him. You might be surprised by what he thinks.”

“I’d rather not know.”

It was near midnight when Amelia shook Dallas’s shoulder to wake him. “He’s shaking, and I can’t find any more blankets.”

Dallas looked toward the bed. Shaking? Houston was trembling as though someone had thrown him into an icy river. “Hell, he hasn’t a goddamn thing around here.”

He bolted out of the chair and nudged Austin’s foot. Disoriented, Austin opened his eyes and stared at him.

“‘Ride home and gather up all the blankets you can. I’ll get some wood, build up the fire, and see if we can warm him that way.”

He followed Austin out the door and headed for the wood pile. Thank God, Houston had wood. The man’s Spartan life was starting to wear thin.

He gathered into his arms as much wood as he could carry and stormed back toward the house. He shoved open the door, stepped inside, and came to a dead stop.

Houston was no longer trembling. He lay perfectly still, his face a reflection of contentment.

He no longer needed a fire or blankets for warmth. Amelia, curled against his side asleep, was giving him all the warmth he needed.

Amelia awoke drenched in sweat, Houston’s sweat. A blanket had been tucked around her. Lifting her head, she searched the room until her gaze fell on Dallas as he sat in the shadows beside the bed.

“He was cold,” she stammered. “I couldn’t get him to stop trembling.”

“I know.”

She moved the blanket aside and climbed out of the bed. “I think his fever’s breaking.”

“Good. I’ll get you some fresh water. He’ll be thirsty.”

Ignoring her own sweaty discomfort, Amelia began to wipe the beaded sweat from Houston’s body. Not until he grabbed her wrist did she realize he was awake. She smiled softly. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Dallas?”

“He’s fine.”

“Horses?”

“Austin’s been taking care of them.”

“I . . .”

She watched him swallow. “Let me get you some water.”

He nodded slightly. Turning, she took the tin cup Dallas was holding, slipped her hand beneath Houston’s head, and touched the cup to his lips. “Drink slowly,” she ordered although in his weakened state, she didn’t know if he had much of a choice.

When he had drained the cup dry, she set it aside and took his hand.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I can smell you,” he croaked.

She trailed her fingers along his brow. “Austin brought the blankets from my bed.”

“What do you wear that makes you smell so sweet?”

“Magnolias. They grew on our plantation.”

A corner of his mouth crooked up. “Maggie. That’s a good name for a girl. Name your daughter Maggie.” His eye drifted closed.

“I will,” she whispered in a broken voice.

She felt a strong hand with long fingers come to rest on her shoulder. She glanced up at Dallas.
He
shifted his hand slightly and squeezed her neck. She rubbed her cheek against his roughened hand. “I think the worst is over,” she said.

“He’ll be weak for a while and probably ornery as a bear. I’m tired of feeling useless. I need to get back to the ranch and take care of business.”

She rose from the bed. “You weren’t useless. I couldn’t have managed without you and Austin.”

He touched her cheek. “I think you would have managed just fine. If you want to stay here until he regains his strength, I’ll come by and check on you from time to time.”

“I’d like to do that, if you don’t mind.”

He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Just get him strong enough to realize those dreams he has. I didn’t even know he had any.”

Houston lay in that damn bed for two long days trying to regain his strength just enough so he could crawl to the table. He wished to God he hadn’t told Amelia that he loved her before he’d jumped off the horse, but at the time he’d figured it was safe to reveal his heart because he didn’t think he had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving.

He wished to God he’d kept his mouth shut when Amelia shaved him without meeting his gaze and fed him without asking him one goddamn question.

He wished he’d kept the words to himself when she prepared herself for bed each evening in silence. She’d perch her hand mirror against a bowl on the table, separate the strands of her braid, and slowly brush her hair until it glistened in the firelight from the hearth. She’d weave the strands back together, then check the flame in the lantern, and without so much as a “sleep well,” she’d retire for the night … curling up on a pallet on the floor.

He’d watch her in the hours past midnight and listen to her soft, even breathing. He wanted her in his bed, beside him, in his arms.

But he’d given up the right to ever hold her again—forever. Because he’d been afraid. As always, because he’d been afraid.

And now she hated him. Not for the cowardice he’d shown thirteen years before when he’d been a boy, but for the cowardice he’d shown now, as a man.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, the weakness in his knees, Houston crawled out of bed and reached for the clothes Amelia had left on the table. He’d slipped into his trousers and was awkwardly buttoning his shirt when she stepped into his house, carrying a bucket of water. She set the bucket down, walked across the room, brushed his hands aside, and buttoned his shirt.

“You ever gonna look at me or talk to me again?” he asked.

“It’s harder now. I wish you hadn’t said what you did before you leapt from the horse.”

“Yeah, so do I, but I didn’t think a man should die without ever having said the words.”

“So it’s only because I was there that you spoke the words to me. Any woman would have done,” she said softly, meeting his gaze only for the instant that a flame might flicker.

He slipped his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face. “No. I was more afraid that I wouldn’t be able to stop the men, and you’d die without ever knowing that I loved you.”

She balled up her fists, tears welling in her eyes. “Damn you. Damn you for telling me now, when it’s too late.”

“It was always too late for us, Amelia. You promised yourself to Dallas. He’s not a man who gives up what belongs to him.”

“What belongs to him? You think if I lift up my skirt, you’ll find his brand on my backside? I’m not a possession, Houston. I’m not something to be owned.”

“You’re his wife.”

“Yes, now I’m his wife. And do you know what I discovered? That you lied to me. You told me that my needs were based on lust. I won’t deny that a part of that was true, but the greater part of my needs came from the love I held for you. I don’t feel those needs when Dallas touches me. I just feel empty.”

Her words tore through him. He knew the emptiness that came from being with someone you didn’t love. He had thought Dallas would have the power to hold the emptiness at bay for her.

She suddenly laughed mirthlessly. “On the other hand, I suppose I should be grateful. I would have hated being married to a man as vain as you are.”

“Vain? You think I’m vain?”

She spun around, waving her hand in a circle. “You don’t have a single mirror in this whole house. You hide your face beneath the shadows of your hat.”

“You think I don’t have mirrors because of this?” he asked, dragging his hand down the left side of his face.

She nodded, her movements jerky.

He pointed to his right eye. “‘It’s this I don’t want to see. When I meet my gaze, I see the man who lives inside here.” He hit his chest, grimacing as the pain shot through his shoulder. “What’s inside here is uglier than anything you’re looking at right now.”

“You don’t know the man who lives inside of you,” she said angrily. “You only know the boy, the fifteen-year-old boy who ran. You won’t let him go; you won’t let him grow up! You see yourself as a coward because you don’t meet your reflection in the mirror. You don’t see the man you’ve become, you only see the boy you were. You jumped off the back of that horse because you thought you had something to prove—”

“I jumped off that horse because I was afraid. Afraid Dallas couldn’t stop those men, afraid you’d be killed. Every decision I make in life is based on fear. The thought of you dying scared me more than the thought of me dying. That’s why I jumped. I always take the coward’s way.”

She shook her head sadly. “The coward’s way. You held me through a storm that could have easily killed us both; we fought a raging river; we captured wild mustangs—”

“I wouldn’t have done any of those things if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“Yes, you would have. Because that’s the man you’ve become. You just don’t know yourself as I do.
Dare
to look in a mirror sometime, and you’ll see the man I grew to love.”

The door opened. Amelia jumped back, swiping the tears from her cheeks. Houston met Dallas’s gaze as he walked into the house, Austin in his wake.

“You’re out of bed,” Dallas said, his gaze shifting between Houston and Amelia.

Houston nodded, searching for his voice. “Yeah, I’m feeling stronger.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take Amelia home.”

“No, no, I don’t mind at all. She’s your wife. You should take her home.”