Chapter Thirteen

H ouston saw the cloud of gray dust billowing in the distance, the riders shimmering against the afternoon sun. If he weren't on Dallas's land, he might have felt a measure of panic, but he was certain Dallas would have had his men out patrolling the area where he expected them to ride in. Besides, he recognized the black wide-brimmed hat that was his brother's trademark, ordered special from the Stetson factory in Philadelphia. He didn't know of any other man in the area with a hat brim that wide.

He drew the mule to an ungainly stop. He wished he'd had time to tame one of the mustangs, but his method of taming a horse was slower than his method of capturing them. He didn't relish meeting his brother with a mule beneath him. He nearly snorted at the odd timing of his pride. His pride. His father had first beat it out of him. Then the war had buried it in an unmarked grave. Amelia brought Sorrel to a graceful halt. Houston couldn't stop himself from engaging in a moment of self-indulgence, of watching her from beneath the shadows of his hat. She was one hell of a horsewoman as far as he was concerned, an even finer lady. She'd do Dallas proud.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

Reaching over, Houston unwrapped the canteen from her saddlehorn and handed it to her. "Riders."

She cupped her hand over her furrowed brow and gazed into the distance. He thought of a hundred things he should say to her at this moment before she left his side, never to return.

But he held his silence because it was easier, so much easier. Or at least it should have been easier. For the first time in his life taking the easy way seemed damn hard.

He watched the column of her throat lengthen as she tilted her head back and drank deeply from the canteen. Several strands of her hair had worked their way free of her braid and the prairie breeze whipped them around her face. Her dress was soiled, her feet bare, her face kissed by the sun.

He thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

She handed the canteen back to him, worry etched within her eyes.

"The man riding in the front, the one wearing the black hat, is Dallas," he said.

She nervously combed her hair back. "I look a mess."

"You look beautiful."

He swung his gaze away from her, and Amelia wondered what it was she had briefly seen reflected in his face. Regret? Loneliness? He wore each one closely woven together, like a layered second skin.

The land surrounding her was vast, as vast as her future, her dreams. The man with whom she'd agreed to share both rode toward her. She wrung her hands together, her trepidation increasing. "I didn't expect to meet him with an audience."

"It's just his trail hands. Imagine he had them out lookin' for us."

The pounding of hooves intensified as the riders neared, a tide of dust rolling behind them. Then a deafening silence roared around Amelia as the men brought their horses to a staggering halt, as though they'd slammed against a brick wall. The horses snorted and whinnied, prancing before her. The men simply stared, slack jawed.

The man who had been in the lead removed his hat, and Amelia was struck hard by his handsome features. His black hair was cut shorter than Houston's, trimmed evenly, and indented where his hat had pressed against it. His thick black mustache draped around full lips that she longed to see shaped into a smile. His brown eyes scrutinized her as they slowly traveled from the top of her head to the tip of her tiniest toe. She fought the urge to squirm in her saddle, wishing she'd at least gone to the trouble to work her feet into her shoes.

Slowly, each of the six men surrounding him removed their hats as though in a trance, their mouths gaping open, their solemn gazes riveted on her. Only the young man who had ridden beside Dallas seemed comfortable with the sight that greeted them, his grin broad, his eyes the mesmerizing blue of the hottest flames writhing within a fire.

Dallas dismounted and, with a pronounced limp, walked toward Sorrel, his gaze never leaving Amelia. He grabbed the reins when the horse shied away, and Amelia sensed that his one movement left no doubt in the horse's mind who had just become his master.

"Miss Carson, it's a pleasure to have you here," he said, his voice rich with confidence, his stance bold as though he knew no one and nothing could topple him from the mountain of success he'd climbed.

He was all that she'd expected. He wore self-assurance the way Houston wore his duster. She touched her braid. "A raccoon ran off with my hat."

Dallas blinked hard and stared at her. Houston cleared his throat, and Amelia wished a dust storm would rise up and sweep her across the plains. After all these many months, she finally had the opportunity to speak with him in person, and she'd said something that might make him think she'd left her wits back in Georgia.

"I told you to put a rattlesnake on that hat instead of a bird. Raccoon wouldn't have touched a rattlesnake."

Dallas snapped his head around and glared so intensely at the young smiling man that she was surprised he didn't topple out of his saddle. "Was she talking to you?"

The young man's smile grew. "Nah, but I was listenin'."

Dallas's eyes narrowed. "Miss Carson, that youngster is my brother, Austin. I'll introduce you to my men in time."

Amelia smiled warmly at the young man. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said.

Austin ducked his head, blushing clear up to the roots of his scraggly black hair. Amelia's cheeks grew warm. From the corner of her eye, she saw a muscle in Houston's jaw strain as he fought to hold back what she was certain would be a smile if he gave it freedom. He had told her the truth about Austin: He was the sort people took to right away. Even while sitting in a saddle, he was more relaxed than either of his brothers.

His dark brown gaze uncompromising, his jaw tight, and his stance foreboding, Dallas turned his attention to Houston. "You're over three weeks late, with no wagon, no supplies. Reckon you got some explaining to do."

Houston shifted his body and pulled the brim on his hat low. "Reckon I do," he said simply.

"We'll discuss it up at the house," Dallas said before he limped to his horse and pulled himself into the saddle. He urged his horse forward until it sidled up against Sorrel. "Miss Carson, will you do me the honor of riding at the front with me?"

She glanced over at Houston. He gave a brusque nod. She hadn't expected to say good-bye to him like this—without saying good-bye at all. She thought of a hundred things she should say, wanted to say. She held her silence, forced a smile, met her future husband's gaze, and nodded because at that very moment her throat was knotted with emotions. As Dallas guided her horse through the waiting men, she felt as though she was leaving something precious behind her.

Houston had expected his farewell to Amelia to consist of more than a quick nod, but at that moment he couldn't have spoken to her if his life had depended on it. He watched Dallas lead her away from him, lead her toward her rightful place at his side. He told himself it was for the best, but he hadn't hurt this badly since Yankee mortar fire had torn into him.

Austin urged his horse toward Houston. "You got some new ponies."

Houston cleared his throat. "Yep." His voice sounded as though he'd just swallowed a handful of dust. He cleared his throat again before prodding the mule forward to ride behind the awestruck procession.

Austin kicked his horse into a short canter and caught up before slowing down to keep pace. "She's pretty, ain't she?" Austin asked.

"Yep."

"Think Dallas is pleased?"

Houston glanced over at Austin, his young face incredibly earnest. "If he ain't pleased, then he's a fool."

Austin's face split into a wide grin. "I ain't never known him to be a fool."

Houston heard Amelia's light laughter, followed quickly by Dallas's deeper chuckle. She needed a man who'd laugh with her. She'd find that in Dallas.

"She's got a pretty laugh," Austin said.

"Yep."

"Dallas was fit to be tied waiting on you to get here."

"Figured he would be."

"He ain't gonna like it at all that you took time to capture some horses."

Houston sighed deeply. "Didn't think he would."

"He said that he was gonna shoot you for lettin' that black stallion go."

Houston gave his brother a sideways glance. "Now, how'd he know it was me that let the stallion go?"

Austin shrugged. "Just guessed, I reckon. Is she gonna be my ma?"

"Hell, no, she's not gonna be your ma."

Austin looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. "It ain't fair to grow up without a ma. I was hoping Amelia might just sort of pretend she was my ma."

"She's Miss Carson to you, and she's gonna be too busy being a wife to Dallas to be pretending much of anything."

"Not until that circuit preacher gets back here, and Dallas is probably gonna shoot you on account of that, too."

Houston snapped his gaze over to his brother. "The preacher's not here?"

"Nope. He got here about three weeks ago, waited a whole week, then said he needed to get about searching for lost souls."

Houston tightened his hold on the mule's short cropped mane. Without a preacher, no marriage would take place. Until Amelia was safely tucked away as Dallas's wife, Houston wouldn't feel safe from his heart's longings.

He wondered why he thought a little piece of paper could snuff out the flames of desire building within him. He wondered how much longer he had to wait before he had to endure the hell of watching Amelia become another man's wife.

"Two months!" Dallas barked as he dropped into the leather chair behind his desk. He looked at Houston, grimaced slightly, turned the chair, and stared out the distant window. "It'll be at least two months before the circuit preacher gets back here."

Houston shifted in his chair on the other side of the desk, grateful Amelia was in a room upstairs taking a bath. He was accustomed to Dallas grimacing whenever he was in a fit of temper and looked Houston's way. When he wasn't in a fit of temper, he remembered that he couldn't stomach the sight of his brother. Houston knew the reason Dallas preferred not to look at him. It was a testament of Dallas's love and strength of character that he'd never thrown the reason into Houston's face.

"I got her here as fast as I could."

Dallas leaned back in his chair and raised a dark brow. "You just happened to find a bunch of horses tied together on a rope?"

"Wild horses are gettin' scarce. I thought—"

"I don't need horses. I need a son!"

"So send somebody to fetch the preacher back," Austin suggested as he hitched up a hip and sat on the edge of the desk.

Dallas glared at him. "Was I talking to you?"

Austin's face split into a wide grin. "Nah, but I was listenin'."

"Why don't you go listen somewhere else?" Dallas asked.

" 'Cuz I wanna know what happened to the wagon."

Dallas thrummed his fingers on the desk. His jaw clenched. "What did happen to the wagon?"

"Lost it when I tried to cross a swollen river."

"Why in the hell did you do that?" Dallas roared.

"Because we'd already lost some time, and I thought you'd be worrying."

"He was worryin' all right. Just like an old woman—"

Dallas slammed his hand on the desk and came out of his chair. Austin slid off the desk and took a step back, the grin easing off his face, his gaze never leaving his brother's.

"Children are to be seen and not heard," Dallas said in a low deep voice.

"I ain't a child," Austin said, his chin quivering, his voice anything but deep. He balled his fists at his side. Houston could see that he was trying to decide if this was the moment when he should stand his ground … or if he should save his hide and run.

"As long as you live under my roof, eat the food from my table …"

Houston resisted the urge to cover his ears as Dallas continued his tirade much as their father had before him. Houston could remember those very words directed his way. He'd been eight, sitting in a patch of clover, tying the little flowers together, making his mother a necklace. He'd made the mistake of slipping the chain of flowers over his head to see if it was big enough. His father had torn the flowers off, scattering them on the wind before he'd told Houston how he should behave in the ways of a man. Houston had felt smaller than the ants crawling beneath the clover.

"He didn't mean any harm," Houston said quietly.

Dallas stopped his tirade midsentence and shook his head. "What did you say?"

"I said that Austin didn't mean any harm. You're angry at me, not him. So take your anger out on me, not him."

"It's my fault," a soft voice said from the doorway.

Houston bolted out of the chair, nearly knocking it over.

Amelia walked into the room wearing a scoop-necked peasant blouse and skirt like the women wore in Mexico, her feet bare, her hair loose. She looked like an angel, only Houston knew differently. He could see the anger reflected in her eyes. Reflexes had him taking a step back. Curiosity had him wondering if Dallas had just met his match.

Dallas cleared his throat. "Miss Carson, I'm certain you did nothing wrong—"

"I didn't say I did anything wrong," she corrected him as she stopped before him and tilted her face. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, bathing her in a yellow halo. "You're angry because our trip was delayed, and I don't blame you for that. I'm certain you were concerned and that's enough to make anyone irritable. But when we saw the horses …" She sighed sweetly. "They were magnificent. If you'd heard Houston's voice when he said he'd come back for them … I knew they'd be gone, that he knew he'd never possess them. So I talked him into taking the time to capture them. We lost a few travel days, but we're here now."

She made it sound as though they would have been fools if they'd passed up the horses. Dallas was staring at her as though he couldn't think of anything to say.

"And the horses were so important now that Houston is breeding them."

Inwardly, Houston groaned. Why hadn't she stopped talking while peace was settling within the room?

"What?" Dallas asked, apparently finding his voice. He looked at Houston and winced. "You're breeding horses?"

"Thinking about it. I'm just thinking about it."

"That's not—"

He stopped Amelia's words with as cold a glare as he could muster. She lowered her gaze but not before he saw the hurt he'd put in her eyes. He'd forever be hurting her. It was his way, and he hated when it touched her. He needed to leave, but he couldn't leave without trying to put a smile back into those green eyes. "I like those clothes. Where did you get them?"

Grabbing the sides, she fanned out the skirt. "The cook brought them to me. He said they'd belonged to his wife."

"Hand-me-downs," Houston said quietly, knowing it was no longer his place to worry about the clothing she wore. Dallas had taken over that responsibility earlier in the day, when he'd led Amelia away from Houston's side, but he found himself worrying anyway.

"She won't be wearing hand-me-downs for long. I've already sent one of my men to fetch yard goods." He looked at Amelia. "There's a small settlement to the south of us. I can't guarantee that what he selects would be your first choice in materials, but until I can find the time—"

Amelia held up her hand, warmed by Dallas's consideration. "You don't have to explain. I'm quite grateful for what I have."

"Still, I put him on a fast horse so he should be back within three or four days."

"I'm sorry we lost most of the clothes you purchased me in Fort Worth. They were lovely."

Dallas furrowed his brow. "What clothes?"

"The clothes you told Houston to purchase for me."

"He didn't tell Houston to purchase you any clothes," Austin said.

"He did tell me to purchase her some clothing," Houston said in a low voice.

"I don't recall him saying anything about clothes."

"You weren't there," Houston said.

"I was there the whole time you were talk—"

With one swift movement, Houston grabbed the scruff of Austin's shirt. Despite the boy's protest, Houston hauled him out of the room.

Dallas cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, I need to help settle this matter."

Amelia pressed her hand just above her pounding heart. "Certainly."

As soon as he walked out of the room, the harsh whispering in the hallway increased in volume. If she were a gambler, she would have bet money that Dallas hadn't told Houston to purchase her clothing. He'd bought her clothing because she'd been carrying one small bag with everything she owned tucked inside. The "outfits" had been a gift from Houston, a gift he'd never planned to claim. She wondered how many other gifts he might have given her: her life, a Texas sunset. She smiled with the memory of him inside her tent, stripping down. She wished now that she'd watched the entire show.

The men trudged back into Dallas's office, each wearing disgruntled expressions.

"My apologies, Miss Carson," Austin said. "Seems I was wrong. Dallas did tell Houston to purchase you some clothes."

She glanced first at Houston, then at Dallas. Their jaws were firmly set. The lie, she supposed, was for her sake. "No harm done. I'm sure quite a bit was said … or thought to be said before Houston was sent to fetch me."

Houston settled his hat on his head. "I need to be goin'."

"The cook said supper would be ready soon. Surely you'll stay for the meal," Amelia said, hating the thought of his leaving.

Houston watched as sadness and nervousness warred within Amelia's eyes. He wanted to stay. He wanted to leave. He wanted a few minutes alone with her so he could explain what couldn't be explained.

"You'll stay. Miss Carson wants you here," Dallas said, his tone effectively putting an end to Houston's choices.

Weary from the journey, Houston nodded. "I'll stay."

"I'm so glad," Amelia said before she turned to Dallas. "I have something for you." Holding out her hand, she unfurled her fingers to reveal a gold pocket watch. "A small token of my affection. But it broke."

"Your affection broke?" Dallas asked.

Houston wished he hadn't heard the catch in Dallas's voice, but the sound brought home how much Dallas was depending on Amelia to marry him, to give him the son he wanted.

Amelia smiled softly. "No, the watch broke. I was carrying it in a hidden pocket in my skirt, and it got ruined when I jumped into the river. If you shake it, you can hear the water that's still trapped inside."

Dallas took the gift from her, held it near his ear, and rattled it. "Well, I'll be. I'll treasure it always."

Amelia blushed. "But it no longer keeps time." Dallas smiled warmly. "No, but it'll remind me to stay off wild horses."

Every room Amelia had set foot in was huge: her bedroom, Dallas's office, the front parlor, and the entryway. The dining room, however, was the largest of all. A chandelier hung from the ceiling towering above. The walls were bare. The hearth empty. One large oak table with four chairs resided in the room with nothing else. The furniture in each room seemed oddly matched, as though Dallas's taste in wood and fabric ran along the same lines as his taste in women's hats. Amelia didn't know if she could ever feel comfortable in any of the rooms. They seemed incredibly cold, and she sensed that fires burning within the hearths would not warm them.

The chairs scraped across the stone floor as everyone took their seats, Dallas at the head of the table to her left, Houston to her right, and Austin across from her. She was struck with the beauty of Austin's eyes, a sapphire blue that any woman would have envied. His thick black lashes framed his eyes, drawing attention to them. She thought if women did come to the area as Dallas hoped, Austin would soon be married.

A door at the back of the room was kicked open, and the cook ambled in carrying a black cast-iron pot. His white hair stood out in all directions as though it had battled the wind and lost. A bushy white beard hid his mouth. Stains splattered his white apron. He brought the ladle out of the pot and spooned the stew into Amelia's bowl. "Ain't fancy, but it's filling."

She glanced up at him and smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for the loan of the clothes."

"Ain't no loan. They're yours to keep. Got no use for 'em any more."

"Didn't know you was married, Cookie," Austin said.

"Years ago, boy, years ago. Little gal from Mexico." He placed stew in Dallas's bowl. "She up and died on me, but I kept some of her clothes. Used to take 'em out at night and just smell 'em because they smelled like her. But it's been too many years now. Can't smell her no more. Might as well let Miss Carson here get some use out of 'em."

"What was your wife's name?" Austin asked as Cookie filled his bowl until the stew dripped over onto the table.

"Juanita. Beautiful, she was. With black hair, black eyes, and red, red lips." He closed his eyes at a memory. "What those lips could do to a man." He ambled over to Houston. "If I keep thinkin' about her, I'm gonna have to hightail it up to Dusty Flats."

"Dusty Flats?" Amelia said.

What was visible of Cookie's cheeks turned as red as Juanita's lips might have been. He dropped the pot on the table. "I'll leave this with you. I ain't no butler." He went back through the door by which he'd entered, kicking it closed on his way out.

"Dusty Flats?" Amelia repeated. "Is that a town?"

Houston and Dallas both shifted in their chairs, their faces set. "It's not a town that a lady would go to," Dallas said.

"But it's got women," Austin said. "Or so I've heard." He stuck out his lower lip. "Can't get nobody to take me, though."

Dallas cleared his throat. "It's not proper conversation for the supper table."

"How come?" Austin asked.

"Because we have a lady eating with us."

Austin nodded as though what Dallas had said made sense to him, but Amelia could see confusion clearly reflected in the blue depths of his eyes.

"How do you like the house?" Dallas asked.

Amelia nearly choked on the stew. She took a sip of water, glancing down the table at Houston. He sat with his chair turned to the side. She had expected him to at least be comfortable with his disfigurement around his brothers.

"It's big," Amelia said, turning her attention back to Dallas. Those words were an understatement. The house was huge. Two stories of stone and—

"Adobe," Dallas said. "The house is built of adobe so it'll stay cooler in the summer. Gets hot here."

"Yes, that's what Houston told me. He said you can drop an egg on a rock and watch it cook."

"He said that, did he?' Dallas asked.

Amelia nodded, remembering so many things Houston had told her as they'd settled in each night, within each other's arms.

"Did he tell you that I designed the house? Made it look like a castle with turrets and such, like they have in England. Thought it would be good for defense."

She smiled. "No, he didn't mention that. He just said that he couldn't describe it. That I needed to see it. And now I've seen it. It's very unusual. Where did you learn about castles?"

He leaned forward with none of the hesitation Amelia had grown to expect from Houston when she asked him a question. "There was a fella in my company during the war who had come over from England. He believed in the South's cause more than some of my men did. We spent many a night discussing the differences between our countries. When the war ended, he returned to England." He cleared his throat and eased back in his chair. "Apparently, he had placed some rather large bets on the outcome of the war. The South losing was not to his advantage."

"He sounds like an interesting character. Houston never mentioned him."

Dallas's gaze shot to Houston, then back to Amelia. "Houston never met him. I didn't meet Winslow until after Chickamauga." He slapped his hands on the table. "But he was fascinating. Although I used much of what he told me to design this house, it still needs a lady's touch. Give some thought as to what you'd like to see in the way of furniture and decorations. Maybe in the spring, we'll go back to Fort Worth for a visit."

"I'd like that. The town had so much energy."

"I wanna go, too," Austin said. "I bet the town has a lot of women. Houston, was there a lot of women in Fort Worth?"

"Wasn't there long enough to notice."

"If I'd just been riding through, I sure as hell would have noticed the women," Austin said.

Houston slapped Austin's arm. "Don't use that language around Miss Carson."

Austin stared at him. "What language you want me to use? Spanish?"

Houston grabbed Austin's shirt and hauled him out of his chair. Austin protested loudly as Houston dragged him out of the room.

Dallas sighed deeply. "If you'd be so kind as to excuse me?"

Amelia swallowed her laughter and nearly choked. A woman's touch was needed with more than the house. "Certainly."

Harsh whispers filtered in from the hallway along with the sound of a possible slap on the arm or shoulder, which resulted in a young man's fervent objection. The brothers stayed in the hallway outside the dining room longer than they had stayed in the hallway outside of Dallas's office. When they finally returned, they had all set their jaws into uncompromising lines. They took their seats.

She wanted to hug Austin; his face was that of a boy trying desperately to become a man.

They ate in silence, Houston and Dallas concentrating on the meal. Amelia could see thoughts flickering across Austin's face as though he was trying to decide what he could say without being hauled out of the room. Suddenly, his face lit up like the candles on a Christmas tree.

"Dallas is gonna buy some of that new fencing."

Houston looked up at his older brother. "That barbed wire?"

"Yep," Dallas acknowledged.

With that, the conversation ended, and the meal continued in silence.