Chapter Sixteen

S itting astride his horse, Dallas gazed at the tower, admiring its simple design as he admired all works of man that harnessed nature. He found comfort in the steady pounding of the hammer as Jackson worked to finish the wooden structure. Dallas already had three windmills bringing up water on his land. His first had been built where he'd always planned to build his house so he could gift his wife with the luxury of pumped-in water.

He, his brothers, and the men who worked for him had slept beneath the stars before Amelia had accepted his offer of marriage. Her simple words, "I would consider it an honor to become your wife," had set Dallas on a course toward establishing stability. He'd built the house that he had thought about for years: something grand, worthy of the family who would live within its walls. He had erected a bunkhouse to add to the feeling of permanence that Amelia's letters had stirred in him. The future would find a kitchen next to the bunkhouse to replace the chuckwagon because eventually the cook would become as stationary as the cattle.

The barbed wire would see to that. It would bring dramatic changes to their lives, just as the expansion of the railroads continued to do. Dallas fought a constant battle to stay ahead of the changes, to make decisions that wouldn't leave him trailing in the dust. He had to be the best. His father would accept no less.

Dallas shifted his backside over the saddle. He wanted to carry his son to the top of the windmill so together they could look out over all the land that he had tamed. He wanted to teach his son to appreciate nature, to understand its weaknesses, to respect its strengths. He wanted to love his son unconditionally, as his father had never loved him.

Everything he owned, all that surrounded him, he had gained through his own efforts, his own persistence, his willingness to take chances when other men held back. If he could obtain a son on his own, he would, but he was a man who acknowledged his own limitations.

He needed a wife in order to have a son. He needed Amelia. And whether or not she knew it, she needed him.

He hadn't been tactful when he'd confronted Houston last night. When Houston's fist had plowed into his face, Dallas had thought his brother intended to claim Amelia for his own. Instead, he had threatened to find her another husband. If Houston harbored feelings for Amelia, they didn't run deeply enough to overshadow Dallas's desire for a son.

As for Amelia's feelings … After receiving her gentle ministrations as she had repaired the damage inflicted to his cheek, Dallas had decided it was simply her nature to care about people. He would see to it that she never regretted taking him as her husband.

And the sooner she became his wife, the sooner these needless doubts would stop distracting him from the concerns of running his ranch. "Jackson!"

The pounding stopped, the silence reverberating through the air as the man at the top of the tower tilted back his hat. "Yeah, boss?"

"Need to talk to you."

Dallas eased his stallion forward as Jackson nimbly climbed down the sturdy structure. His legs were as long as a longhorn's, his body as wiry. Dallas admired his agility and respected him for doing his job when no one was around to watch him. It was the trait of a good cowboy; a trait all the men who worked for him possessed. He might know nothing of their pasts, but he knew how they worked.

The man hit the ground with both feet and swept his hat from his head. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to go find the circuit preacher."

Jackson's jaw dropped. "What about the windmill?"

"I need a son more than I need water."

"You won't be thinkin' that if we get hit with a drought."

Dallas raised a dark brow, and the man settled his hat over his dark hair. "Yes, sir. I'll find him."

"When you do, bring him and yourself on up to the house. I'll want all the men there for the wedding—for Amelia's sake."

"Yes, sir."

Dallas prodded his horse into a gallop. This time next year, he'd be sharing that windmill and all the land surrounding it with his son.

An incredible freedom swept through Austin as he stood at the edge of the bluff and stared across the craggy rocks below to the far horizon. Here, his dream seemed attainable. Here, he could voice his heart's desire aloud, and it didn't sound foolish with only the wind to listen.

Someday, he'd find the courage to tell his brothers. Or maybe he'd just leave, and when he'd realized his dream, he'd return to share the glorious moment with them. He knew once he'd proven himself, they wouldn't laugh, but until that moment of success, he feared their lack of faith or interest might destroy what he hoped to have.

One violin … created by his hands … that would make the sweetest music ever heard.

Rising in crescendo, soft as a spring breeze, strong as a winter storm, the gentle strains flowed through his heart, his mind, so clearly … so clearly and so loudly that he didn't hear the scattering of rocks soon enough. Black Thunder snorted and pawed the ground as Austin spun around.

He was a dead man.

He balled his hand into a fist to keep it from reaching for his gun. He'd never drawn on a man … much less six.

"Howdy, boy." His lips raised in a sneer, the bearded man leaned forward and crossed his arms over the saddle horn. "Nice horse you got there."

"Ain't worth nothin'. He ain't saddle broke."

The man laughed. "I can break him. Could break you if I wanted."

Austin didn't doubt that for a second as his gaze dropped to the man's big beefy hands. He had a godawful feeling in the pit of his stomach that the man liked to draw out killing. "Look, mister, I don't want no trouble."

The man's grin spread like an evil plague. "That's good, boy, 'cuz I don't neither." He drew his gun from his holster and five other guns were quickly drawn.

Austin's mouth went as dry as dust, his heart pounding so hard and fast that he could hear little else.

"Mead, get the horse."

A man built like a bull climbed off his horse, lumbered over to Black Thunder, and grabbed the dangling reins. The horse jerked his head up and the man yanked hard, pulling the horse after him.

Without warning, the bearded man fired a bullet near Austin's feet. Austin jumped back. The man laughed.

"Just keep goin' back, boy."

Austin held up his hands. "Mister, I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. If I go back—"

"I know, boy. You can holler all you want on your way down."

He again fired at the ground, the bullet spitting up dirt between Austin's boots. Austin scrambled back.

"The next one's going to take your big toe with it, the one after that your knee."

Austin heard the explosion, jumped back, and found himself surrounded by nothing but air and demented laughter.

Cowboys weren't meant to walk. Aching and sore from his head to his toes, Austin dropped to his backside and jerked off his boots.

He'd gone over the edge of the cliff, grabbed a scraggly bush; and clung tenaciously to it, his toes searching for a hold on the side of the rocky gorge. He'd waited until he heard the riders galloping away before he'd started working his way up.

He'd been walking for hours, the sun beating down on him, the dry wind whipping around him, and the dust choking him. Standing, he drew his gun from his holster and fired it into the air, realizing too late that he might alert the horse thieves to the fact that he'd survived.

Angrily, he swiped at the tears streaming down his face. He should have taken a stand. He shouldn't have allowed those men to run off with Houston's best horse. He should have pulled his gun—he would have been killed for sure.

He should have been paying attention, not daydreaming. If Dallas and Houston discovered what had happened today, they would never trust him again, would see him as the boy they thought he was instead of the man he was becoming.

He'd been irresponsible and stupid. Dallas was always lecturing him on the dangers that abounded out here, where they were isolated from the law. He'd taught him how to use his gun. Austin just hadn't had the guts to test that knowledge.

He saw two riders in the distance. He aimed his gun, his intent to kill them both. He dropped his hand to his side when he recognized Houston and Amelia. They'd no doubt grown worried and ridden out to find him.

He wiped the fresh tears from his cheeks. He'd rather face the horse thieves again than Houston.

Houston and Amelia brought their horses to a halt. Houston was out of his saddle and grabbing Austin's shoulder before Austin had time to blink back any more tears. "Are you hurt?" Houston asked, his voice ragged with concern.

"No, just bruised. I wasn't paying attention." He sniffed, wishing to God he wasn't crying like a baby. "Black Thunder hit a prairie dog hole. Snapped his leg in two. I had to shoot him."

Houston jerked his head back as though Austin had just slapped him. "Where is he?"

Austin hadn't expected him to want to see the horse. He rubbed his finger beneath his nose, buying himself some time while he thought of another lie. "I heard coyotes. I don't think you want to find him."

"No, I don't reckon I do." Houston removed his hand from Austin's shoulder and walked past him.

Austin turned to watch his brother come to a stop and drop his chin to his chest. He knew Houston was hurting, and his guilt increased because he had no idea how to ease his brother's pain. He was startled when Amelia took hold of his hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yep. I didn't mean to lose the horse."

"He knows that."

She strolled to Houston and he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her against him.

Austin didn't think they were talking, just holding each other as though that was enough. He wished Amelia had kept touching him, but he figured Houston needed her more right now. Austin couldn't remember how he'd felt when he'd lost his ma, he just knew the ache stayed with him, always there as though a part of him was missing. He imagined Houston was feeling that right now, and he was glad Dallas had brought a woman out here to ease their hurts because he and his brothers sure as hell knew nothing about giving comfort. A glare, a shout, a slap up side of the head was all they knew.

Amelia tipped her lovely face up and said something to Houston, and Austin would have sworn the man smiled. He drew Amelia closer until it looked as though they were one person before he moved away from her and walked back to Austin, Amelia strolling along behind him.

"I appreciate that you put an end to Black Thunder's suffering. Putting a horse down ain't an easy thing to do."

The tears welled back up in Austin's eyes. "What'll you do for a stallion now?"

"As Amelia so kindly reminded me, I've got the palomino. Come spring, you and me will go find another stallion. I'll take you into the herd with me then."

Austin felt as though Houston was rewarding him for an action that he should have punished him for. "You don't have to take me into the herd."

"Said I would. A man's gotta keep his word. Why don't you mount up behind me, and we'll get you home so Amelia can tend to your cuts and scrapes?"

Austin nodded in mute agony. His conscience had him feeling lower than a snake's belly.

As night fell, Amelia sat on the front porch, lanterns on either side of her providing the light by which she worked, using patience, care, and delicate stitches to mend the torn green silk, wishing she could mend the tear in her heart as easily.

Her mother had told her once that it hurt to love a man. Her mother had been crying at the time. Amelia had decided then that she would never love a man who'd hurt her.

Yet she had fallen in love with a man who was determined to hurt her as his way of protecting her. She didn't think she'd ever feel this yearning for Dallas.

She would care for him and grow fond of him. She would be a good wife, a wonderful mother to his children. She would gain his respect, his trust, but never his love.

And he would never hurt her. It was impossible to hurt someone who had given her heart to another.

She heard the mournful strains of the violin serenade the night. She would have joined Austin on the back porch, but she sensed that he needed to be alone. He hadn't wanted her patience or her attentions when they'd returned to Dallas's house. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was trying to punish himself for something that wasn't his fault.

She had admired the manner in which Houston had handled the loss of his horse: without blaming Austin. She knew Houston was hurting tonight, had lost one corner of his dream. She wished she could be with him to ease his pain, but her place was here, waiting on the porch Dallas had built for her, waiting on the future that she had once anticipated.

Dallas was the man to whom she had given a promise, a promise she would keep no matter what the cost to her heart. He didn't deserve her doubts or the betrayal of her feelings.

Austin's music drifted into silence just as Amelia saw the rider coming in … at long last. She'd been waiting for Dallas, needed to speak with him. He rode to the house, dismounted, and wrapped the reins around the railing.

His spurs jangling, he stepped onto the porch. He wore a vest over his light brown shirt, chaps over his dark brown trousers. He swept his hat from his head and knelt beside her, his large tanned finger touching the green silk. "What's this?"

"One of the dresses Houston purchased. It got torn when the wagon overturned, but I can fix it."

Furrowing his brow, he rubbed the silk cloth between his callused fingers. "It doesn't have any ribbons or bows."

She secured the needle in the cloth. "It's really a simple evening dress, but I think it looks quite elegant when I'm wearing it."

He looked up and the light from the lanterns shimmered over his black hair. "Don't ladies like frilly things?"

She thought of the hat he'd sent her and tried to find the right words. "We like some frilly things. It depends on the occasion."

"You must have been grateful, then, when that raccoon took off with your hat."

"I was … I was greatly relieved."

"Too many ribbons, huh?"

"Too many birds," she confessed.

He nodded sagely and smiled. "Think a rattlesnake would have been better?"

"If I had opened that box and seen the head of a rattlesnake, I'm not certain I would have come."

The smile eased off his face. "Why didn't you tell me you were doing without? I would have sent money."

"Your letters were comfort enough."

His fingers skimmed along her cheek. "Too proud. I could always sense that in your letters. We're well suited to each other, Amelia, and after waiting so long to finally have you here, two months seems like an eternity. I've sent one of my men to find the circuit preacher. Hopefully within the month, we'll be married."

She held his gaze. If she could not have a marriage built on a foundation of love, she at least would insist that it be built on trust and honesty. Lies from the past, hers and his, she would forgive and forget. But their future demanded a stronger foundation. "I want your word that you will never again lie to me."

He clenched his jaw. "You saw Houston today?"

She nodded. "He wouldn't tell me why he hit you, but I suspect it had something to do with me. I don't imagine he told you that during the time we were together, he was always respectful of me and loyal to you."

"No, he didn't mention that, but I'm beginning to see that's the way it was."

"He became my friend, and I'd like to think that I became his. You're his brother, and yet I don't understand why you didn't know he was raising mustangs, why you never went to his home before last night—"

Dallas surged to his feet. "He never asked! Not once. He likes his solitude, and by God, I owe him that if that's what he wants."

"But you sent him to fetch me."

"To protect your reputation. No one would question your reputation knowing you'd traveled with him."

"Because of his disfigurement?"

Dallas had the grace to blush. "That and his temperament. He keeps to himself, or at least he did until he made this journey."

She lowered her gaze. He knelt beside her and touched her cheek. "Amelia, I need a wife that people will respect."

She lifted her eyes to his. "I need a husband who won't lie to me."

His fingers curled away from her face as he averted his gaze, staring into the darkness beyond the porch. "I need you, Amelia, and I want you happy." He shifted his gaze back to hers. "Give you my word that I won't lie to you again."

His large palm cradled her cheek, just before his lips touched hers. The kiss was tender, gentle, everything that Houston's had not been.

Her remaining nights, her remaining days, she would be kissed like this, would feel this warmth with no heat, would feel safe, secure, content. She prayed it would be enough.

He moved his mouth from hers and smiled. "Sweeter than last night's kiss."

She rubbed above her lip. "Your mustache tickled."

"Do you want me to shave it off?" "No!" She touched her hand to his cheek. "It suits you."

"My father had a mustache." He shook his head. "I suppose Houston told you that as well."

"No, he never spoke much about your father."

"Well." Dallas stood and rubbed his hands on his thighs. "I thought we'd celebrate your arrival tomorrow evening. Kill the fatted calf. Give you a chance to get to know my men."

"I want you to invite Houston."

"He won't come."

"Invite him anyway."

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the porch beam. "If it'll please you—"

"It will."

The low strains of the violin filtered through the air again. The sound almost broke Amelia's heart.

Dallas turned his head to the side. "What's that noise? Sounds like somebody dying."

"Austin is playing his violin. I think he relies on his music to help him handle things that upset him."

"Why is he upset?"

She sighed deeply. "Houston had a black stallion. Austin rode it this afternoon, and it dropped a foot in a prairie dog hole. He knew the horse was important to Houston, and I think he feels guilty because he had to shoot it."

"He shouldn't feel guilty. That's a hazard that comes from riding out here. You accept it."

"Maybe you could talk with him. You're his brother, but he sees you as his father. He wants desperately for you to notice that he's becoming a man."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make a man tell you what's on his mind?" She smiled softly. "I care enough to ask."

Dallas stood within the shadows and listened, truly listened, to the music for the first time in his life. He imagined he could actually feel Austin's grief hovering around him. When Austin stopped playing, the air was still fraught with the sound, lingering on the breeze. Austin dropped his head back against the beam. Dallas could barely make out his brother's features in the darkness.

"Austin?"

Austin jumped to his feet. "I didn't know you were here. I wouldn't have been playin' if I'd known you were here."

Dallas heard the terror reflected in Austin's voice. Good Lord, Dallas expected to strike the fear of God into the men who worked for him, but not his family. He'd never wanted his brothers to fear him the way he'd feared his father.

"Well, then, I'm glad you didn't know I was here. I've never heard anything so … so—"

"Unmanly?"

"On the contrary. I've never heard any music that had the strength to strip emotions bare. You've got a gift there." He cursed the darkness because he couldn't tell if Austin had relaxed his stance. "Ma used to play songs that were low like that, but I don't guess you'd remember that."

"Nah, I don't."

"That's her violin."

Austin lifted the violin closer to his face. "It is?"

"Yep. It was Houston's idea to keep it. Said he thought you had Ma's long fingers. Never expected you to play better than she did."

"Never expected you to think I played good at all."

"Well, then, I reckon we both surprised each other tonight."

Austin's grin shined through the darkness. "Reckon we did at that."

Dallas stepped closer to his brother. "Amelia told me about Houston's stallion."

Austin's smile disappeared into the night. "I should have been paying closer attention."

"A man can't anticipate all that's gonna happen in life. If we always knew what the next moment would bring, we'd never look forward to it coming."

"Houston needed that horse."

"A horse can be replaced. A brother can't. We're damn grateful you didn't break your neck."

"Houston said we'd go lookin' for some more mustangs come spring."

"And you'll find them."

"Still, if I'd been paying attention—"

"Don't get into the habit of looking over your shoulder and thinking about what you should have done. Regrets make one hell of a shaky foundation on which to build a life."

With the soft light of dawn bathing the morning, Dallas dismounted and walked his horse toward Houston's corral, wishing he hadn't given Amelia his word that he wouldn't lie. He had a feeling she'd question him about inviting Houston, so he was obligated to ask, even though he knew his brother wouldn't come.

He watched as Houston led the palomino around the corral with a hackamore, a blanket thrown over its back. A saddle straddled the corral railing. Dallas had seen Houston break enough mustangs to know Houston would get the horse accustomed to the weight of the saddle before he gave it the weight of a man. He'd just never realized his brother planned to breed them. He thought his brother would enjoy a measure of success with this venture, and he ignored the pain that came from knowing Houston hadn't wanted to share his plans.

Dallas rested his arms over the corral fence. If Houston had seen him arrive, he was doing a damn good job of pretending he hadn't. Dallas held his patience in check, although he had business to tend to and didn't have all day to stand around while his brother worked.

Houston removed the halter and blanket. He walked to the corral and slipped through the slats, presenting Dallas with his profile. Dallas stared at the horse. "Looks like a good horse."

"Will be when I'm done with her."

"How much you want for her?"

"She's not for sale."

"You can't build a business that way."

Houston crooked his elbow and placed it on the railing. "You can't build an empire that way, but then I'm not interested in empire building."

"There's nothing wrong with empire building."

"Nothing wrong with it at all if that's what you want. It's just not what I want."

Dallas shook his head, wondering why some men dreamed of great accomplishments while others were content not to dream at all. "I'm having a celebration this evening in honor of Amelia's arrival. She wanted me to invite you. Consider yourself invited."

"Tell her I appreciate the invite, but I've got other plans."

Dallas mounted his horse. "I told her you wouldn't come. Reckon we both know why."

He prodded his horse into a hard gallop. When he'd left Houston at the hospital, he'd been swathed in bandages. When he'd returned, Houston had been wearing a shirt. He'd never seen him without one since and hadn't realized how badly his body had scarred.

When Houston's place was no longer in sight, Dallas slid off his horse, dropped to his knees, and threw up.

Houston hadn't planned to come.

Celebrations and hordes of people weren't his style. Even when he helped Dallas herd his cattle north, Houston stayed on the outer fringe of the herd, circled the cattle at night, and kept his own counsel.

When he wasn't herding cattle, his evenings were spent sitting on a porch, listening to night creatures come to life: the chatter of crickets, the occasional howl of a lonesome wolf. Sometimes, he whittled.

Mostly, he just sat and sought the peace that always eluded him, taunted him just beyond reach. If he thought about the past, the nightmares would come; if he thought about the future, the loneliness eased around him. He'd learned to be content with the present, taking each day as it came.

Damn Dallas for making him yearn for a future different from the one he'd accepted as his due.

Yet, here he stood, his left shoulder pressed against the cool adobe as he watched the men milling around. He could smell the beef cooked over a mesquite fire, the coffee, and the beans.

He could hear the deep-throated guffaws of the men. He could hear the sweet, gentle laughter of a woman. She was walking beside Dallas, her arm wrapped around his. They made a pretty picture: the gallant ranchman, the genteel lady.

Dallas was smiling broadly, looking happier than Houston had ever seen him.

Amelia was as lovely as ever. Wearing the green dress they'd purchased at Mimi St. Claire's, she looked like a queen.

"Dallas said you weren't coming."

Houston jerked his head around and met Austin's gaze. "Changed my mind."

"I was afraid maybe you got to thinking about it and decided you needed to be mad at me about Black Thunder."

"I'll admit I was saddened to lose him, but he's bound to have sired a colt or two somewhere. I'll find him."

"I'll help you," he said eagerly.

"I was counting on that."

"I won't let you down this time."

"You didn't let me down before."

Austin looked away as though embarrassed. "I'm gonna get something to eat. You wanna come with me?"

"No, I won't be staying that long."

As Austin walked away, Houston turned his gaze back toward Amelia. She saw him, and her face lit up with such wondrous joy that it hurt his heart. He shoved himself away from the wall, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He told himself that he was trying to save Dallas some discomfort, but he knew in his heart that he just wanted to be near Amelia a little sooner.

He'd hurt her feelings yesterday morning, not for the first time, and probably not for the last, yet she'd comforted him when he'd lost his stallion and welcomed him now with a fierce hug before running her hands down his arms and slipping her fingers around his.

"We're so glad you came."

"I can't stay long," he said, focusing his gaze on Amelia, avoiding looking at his brother, knowing his brother was as grateful as he was that they had a woman to stare at instead of each other. Sometimes, he missed the easy camaraderie he'd shared with Dallas before the war. During the war, they had traveled side by side along different paths that had taken them away from each other.

Dallas cleared his throat. "We've got beef to eat."

"I ate before I came."

Dallas's lips thinned, and Houston knew he'd given the wrong answer. He was always giving the wrong answers, doing the wrong things. He'd never been able to please his father, and he sure as hell couldn't please his brother.

Dusk was settling in, and he thought about heading back home. He'd only have a sliver of a moon by which to travel tonight. It was a good excuse. He'd seen her. She looked happy. That was all he cared about.

A lanky cowboy, whose legs bowed out, approached and removed his hat. "Miss Carson, Cookie said he'd tune up his fiddle if you'd honor us with a dance."

Amelia blushed prettily and gave a quick glance to Houston, before looking at Dallas.

He smiled with regret. "I can't dance proper with this healing leg, but that's no reason for you not to enjoy the music."

She looked at Houston, and damn it, he knew she wanted him to step in for his brother, but if he didn't set limits for himself now, he'd forever be stepping in where he shouldn't.

"I never learned how to dance," Houston said, grateful he had an honest excuse not to hold her within his arms, wishing he didn't have any excuse.

Her face fell momentarily before she brightened and spun around. "Well, then, I'm most grateful that you asked me … Skinny, isn't it?"

The cowboy's face split into a grin. "No, ma'am. Slim."

"Oh, yes, Slim. You'll have to tell me how you came by that name," she said as she slipped her arm through his and followed him to an area near the corrals.

Houston could have sworn her attentions had the cowboy growing two inches. As the couple approached, the men let out a whoop and formed a big circle. Cookie climbed on a wooden box, slipped the fiddle beneath his chin, and started playing a fast little tune. Slim hooked his arm through Amelia's, skipped her around, then released her and stepped back, clapping and stomping his foot as another cowboy pranced into the circle, slipped his arm through hers, repeated Slim's previous movements, then backed out of the circle, giving another man a chance.

Houston smiled at Amelia's surprised expression and the smile of pure delight to which it quickly gave way.

"Imagine she was expecting something closer to a waltz," Dallas said, a wide grin shining beneath his mustache.

"Reckon she was."

Dallas leaned on his cane. "Thought you had other plans for the evening."

"Got to thinking about it and figured if Amelia sent the invite, I'd best come. She's not a woman you want to rile."

"So I'm learning." Dallas shifted his stance. "I'm thinking of setting aside some land for a town. A woman needs certain things. I aim to see that Amelia gets them."

A town would bring more people. Houston hated the thought, but he hated more the idea of Amelia doing without. "When I was in Fort Worth, I heard talk of them taking the railroad farther west. If it stays on the course they've set for it, I'd say it's gonna hit the southernmost portion of your spread. You'll need the railroad to bring the businessmen."

Dallas nodded slowly. "Makes sense. I'll keep that in mind. Speaking of Fort Worth, I don't think I ever thanked you proper for going to fetch Amelia for me."

Houston slipped his hand inside his duster pocket, his fingers trailing over threads that were becoming worn. "I'd planned to shoot you when I got back."

Dallas jerked his head around, then turned his attention back to the dancers. "Why didn't you?"

"Lost a case of bullets when the wagon overturned, so at the moment I don't have any to spare."

Dallas's laughter rumbled out. "Then I'd better hope that preacher gets here before the supplies. I think you care for Amelia too much to make her a widow."

Houston watched as Austin, with his gangly arms and legs, took a turn at dancing with Amelia. Dallas was right. Houston cared for her too much to make her a widow … too much to make her his wife.