Chapter Seventeen

"D uring the ceremony tomorrow, do you think I should stress that a husband should not beat his wife?"

Amelia scrutinized the minister who had just spoken, a man who leisurely hitched up his hip and sat on the porch railing, his long black coat opening to reveal his pearl-handled revolver. "I hardly think that will be necessary," she assured him.

Reverend Preston Tucker nodded slowly. "After speaking with Dallas earlier, I didn't think so, but a wedding ceremony is more for the woman than the man. Most men I know would consider the deed done with little more than a ‘Do you?' followed by ‘I do' and a handshake."

"Incredibly romantic."

"Romance is seldom involved out here. I've performed several ceremonies involving mail-order brides. Some women feel more comfortable if I stress how they should be treated."

"I feel fairly confident that Dallas will treat me just fine."

He studied her as one might a bug beneath a rock, his blue eyes penetrating. Dressed all in black—black shirt, black trousers, long black coat—he appeared relaxed, and yet he left the distinct impression that he was ever alert, ever watchful. He reminded her more of a gunfighter than a preacher.

His full lips lifted into a smile that she thought could tempt any woman into sinning.

"Something's bothering you," he stated simply.

"I was just wondering if you planned to wear the gun during the ceremony."

He slowly stroked the revolver strapped to his thigh. "No, I just wear it when I'm traveling. It bothers you, though. Perhaps I bother you."

"I just never expected to see a man of God wearing a gun."

"Life is different out here, Miss Carson. It's still considered a wilderness. Renegades and outlaws run rampant. Frontier justice often becomes more of an injustice. I have no intention of meeting my Maker before I'm ready."

"Would you kill a man?" she asked.

He averted his gaze and squinted into the distance. "Somebody's coming."

Amelia followed the direction of his gaze, and her heart leapt with joy. "It's Dallas's brother."

She rushed off the porch and crossed the yard, keeping her distance as Houston brought Sorrel to a halt. He was leading the palomino beside him.

"You've tamed her," she said, a hint of question in her voice.

"Yep."

Cautiously, she approached and rubbed the horse's neck. "She's so beautiful. She'll give you a fine herd of horses to sell."

"I doubt that." He leaned down and extended the reins toward her. "She's yours."

She stared at the leather strips threaded through his long tanned fingers. She took a step back. "I can't accept her as a gift."

"She's your wedding gift. The saddle, too. It's not a woman's riding saddle, but it was the best I could find on such short notice."

She touched her fingers to the detailed etching worked into the fine leather. The saddle was as beautiful as the horse, not something he'd simply run across.

"I've grown used to riding in men's saddles," she said.

"Figured you had, what with all the riding you do with Austin."

She looked up. "I'm getting married tomorrow."

"I know. Dallas sent word to me this morning."

"That's Reverend Tucker on the porch."

He glanced toward the porch and touched a finger to the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. "He looks like a gunfighter."

Amelia laughed. "That's what I thought."

"Did I ever tell you that I like the way you laugh?" he asked, his voice low.

She placed her hand over his, slowly threading her fingers through the reins, relishing the roughness of his palm against hers. "Take me for a ride."

He straightened. "I'd best not."

"Please. I think you should be with me the first time I ride Palomino so she'll understand that she's changing owners."

He smiled as though secretly pleased with himself, and she wished she could have a lifetime of his smiles.

"I didn't name her Palomino."

"Golden?"

His smile increased. "Nope."

"Mustang?"

He shook his head. "I named her after the woman who'd be riding her."

She laughed. "Amelia?"

His smile slipped away. "Valiant."

Tears stung her eyes. "Please take me for a ride."

Whatever good sense he might have possessed must have left him because he dismounted and walked around to her. "We won't go far," he said.

She nodded. "That's fine."

"We won't stay gone for long."

"That's fine."

He cupped his hands together and bent down. She put her foot within his palms, and he hoisted her up. She settled into the saddle as Valiant sidestepped, snorted, and shook her head.

Houston grabbed the reins and spoke in a low voice near the mare's ear before moving aside and mounting Sorrel. He glanced at Amelia. "Let's test her speed and endurance, but I'll set the pace."

She could only nod as she began to hoard away all the images that would make up the memories of their last ride.

* * *

Amelia removed her socks and shoes and dipped her feet into the cold water of the springs. She hadn't expected their short trip to take them this far, but it seemed appropriate to finally have the chance to say good-bye properly and to say it here.

Houston was stretched out beside her, raised on an elbow, watching her as though he'd never again have the opportunity to look at her. And perhaps he wouldn't. At least not in the same way.

Tomorrow, she would become his sister by marriage. Leaning forward, she slipped her fingers into the water until they were wet enough, then she lifted them out and flicked them toward Houston. He turned his head aside as the water sprayed over him. Then he met her gaze.

"You didn't ask Dallas why he won't look at me, did you?"

"No." She tilted her nose slightly, daring him to ask.

"Why?"

"Because you've told me time and again that you take the easy way. Asking Dallas would have been the easy way for you. I deserve better than that."

He smiled sadly. "And I'd never give you better than that, Amelia."

"And you think he will?" "I know he will."

She turned away, wondering why she was trying to push herself into the life of a man who obviously didn't want her. She couldn't explain why she loved him, why she wanted to be part of his life, his dreams.

"Accepting Dallas's offer of marriage seemed so right before I met you. Now, I no longer know what is right. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to escape the memories from the war. I never expected to find love."

He gently grazed his knuckles over her cheek. "You should have expected to find love. There's so much about you to love."

She had never wanted anything as desperately in her life as she wanted to hear him voice aloud his love for her. Just three words. Three simple words. Yet, she knew he would never say them. To do so would force them to acknowledge a dream they could never possess, would condemn them to years of wondering what might have been.

She placed her hand over his and rubbed her cheek against his rough palm. "Will Dallas love me?"

She watched his throat work as he swallowed. He shifted his gaze to the waterfalls, his voice raspy when at last he spoke. "Yeah, he will."

She could hear the rush of the water as it spilled over the rocks, her moments with Houston flowing by as quickly. Never again would she be alone with him, to look upon him with a longing that should have never entered her heart. She had so much that she wanted to say to him, but she knew the words would only make their leaving this peaceful sanctuary more difficult, so she locked them away, hoping a day would come when she would forget that she'd ever thought them.

"I imagine this place is beautiful in the spring," she said softly.

"Yep. It's a lot greener then, and the flowers come up."

"Will Dallas bring me here to see it?"

"I don't know if he knows about it." He glanced at her. "I'll give him directions."

"How did you manage to find it?"

He shrugged. "Just happened upon it one day."

"Sometimes, life gives us the most unexpected gifts, doesn't it?"

Houston wanted to tell her that she had been an unexpected gift, along with her laughter, her smiles, and her courage. He didn't think he'd ever receive anything finer than the days he'd spent with her as they'd traveled from Fort Worth. "Yeah, it does," he said quietly.

Inside Dallas's barn, Houston removed the saddle from Valiant's back and swung it over the slats of the stall. She was a good horse. She had a good temperament. She'd serve Amelia well.

He smelled Amelia's sweet scent before he heard her gentle footsteps. He'd put off saying good-bye as long as he could. Words failed him as they always did. He wanted to thank her for the sunshine she'd brought into his life, for the memories that would linger.

And he wished to God that he'd made different choices in his life.

"Take a dare or tell me the truth," she said softly behind him.

He swallowed hard, knowing he was damned either way. He turned slowly, memorizing the slant of her brow, the tip of her nose, the blush in her cheeks. "Dare," he rasped.

"Kiss me as though you loved me."

She stood valiantly … his heart-in-her-eyes woman. He had but to tell her the truth to put out the fire of love, to replace it with the cold ashes of disappointment. It should have been easy, but dear God, he didn't want her to hate him, to know him for the man he really was.

So he held his silence and played the game with her rules. He framed her face between his large hands, tilted her face slightly, lowered his mouth to hers, and plunged into hell.

She whimpered softly and leaned into him, her arms moving up to snake around his neck. He tried to be gentle, wanted to be tender, but all he could think about was her warm mouth greedily mating with his. His arms moved down until his hands were roaming over her slender back, pressing her closer to him, until her soft curves met the hard planes of his body.

God, he wanted her. He wanted her here in the hay beside the horses. He wanted her beneath the stars on a warm, sultry night, beneath a pile of blankets when the snow was falling. He wanted her sleepy smile in the morning, her contented smile at midnight.

He wanted to see her flesh when she took off her clothes and ran the damp cloth over her body.

He wanted to see everything that existed behind the shadows.

He wanted to make her laugh. He never wanted to make her cry. He never wanted to hurt her.

He drew back, his breathing labored, his heart pounding so hard he thought surely she could feel it. But her breathing matched his and her eyes, her eyes of clover green, were searching his face, searching for what he could never let her see.

"I'll take a dare," she whispered hoarsely.

He touched his trembling thumb to her quivering Up. "Find your happiness with Dallas."

He edged past her, and without looking back, walked out of the barn. He hadn't given her the farewell she deserved, but then nothing he gave her would ever be what she deserved.

Amelia sat on the back porch and stared at the moon, incredibly large, shimmering in the night sky. Every so often, clouds slowly rolled before it with a touch that she imagined was as light as Houston's.

She wanted his love, but more she wanted his trust. She had seen the ugliest part of him and accepted it. Why couldn't he accept it?

"Amelia?"

She glanced up at the shadowed figure. The clouds waltzed past the moon, illuminating Dallas, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ambled to the porch and leaned against the beam. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "Figured I'd better not risk a horse ride tonight."

Pressing on her skirt, she slipped her hands between her knees. "I couldn't sleep, either."

He hunkered down before her and draped his hands over his knees. "Thinking about tomorrow?" he asked.

She laughed self-consciously. "Yes. You?"

"Yep."

She squeezed her hands between her knees to stop their trembling. "I guess people have gotten married who knew each other less than we do."

"My pa met my ma the day he married her."

"I wonder if your mother was as afraid as I am now."

"I won't hurt you, Amelia."

"But I might hurt you. I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you my heart."

"I'm not asking for your heart. Just your hand, your loyalty, and your respect."

The warmth flared through her cheeks. "And a son."

"That would please me greatly."

"What will we name him?"

He smiled broadly in the moonlight. "What would you like to name him?"

Amelia shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, we have a few months to think about it. It will be your choice, but I'd like a strong name. Sometimes, all a man needs is his name to make his mark on the world."

"Mark," she said quietly. "We could name him Mark."

"Short for Marcus?"

She nodded. He smiled. "Marcus it is. Marcus

Leigh." He looked into the distance. "All of this is for him, Amelia. His legacy."

He brought himself to his feet. "I'd best let you get some sleep." Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"My pa told me once that love is something that grows over time. I think that'll be the way of it with us." He kissed her palm, his mouth warm, his mustache soft. "Until tomorrow."

Amelia wrapped her arms around the beam and watched him disappear into the night. She pressed her hand against her stomach. Marcus Leigh.

She would love the child, respect and honor his father, and forget that his uncle had the ability to curl her toes.

Houston sat on his front porch and listened to the night. The wind blew cold around him, but it wasn't nearly as cold as his heart.

He rubbed a hand over his unmarred cheek. Fate had been cruel enough to leave a portion of his face unscathed so he would forever be reminded of what he would have had … had he chosen differently.

Unmercifully, he pressed his fingers to his scars, slowly tracing every ridge, every valley, every section of knotted flesh. Each served as a testament to the man he was.

The man he would always be. The boy he had been.

"Dallas, I'm scared."

"Don't be. Ain't nothing to fear but fear itself. That's what Pa says."

"I don't know what that means."

"It just means don't be afraid."

But he had been afraid. Thirteen years later, the fear still hovered around him, the memories strong enough to catapult him back in time.

Houston could hear the roar of the cannons, feel the pounding of the earth. The land had been so green, so pretty at dawn. Then it became blackened, red, and torn. The air hung heavy with smoke and the shouts of angry men, brave men, scared men, dying men.

Houston Leigh buried his face in his hands and did what he'd been too afraid to do thirteen years before.

He wept.

The frigid winds whipped through near dawn. At Dallas's insistence, the men left the herd unattended on the range while they crowded inside the parlor, shoving and elbowing each other like children anxious to get outside.

A fire blazed within the hearth, but its warmth could not penetrate the chill seeping through Houston's bones. He stood beside Reverend Tucker, waiting for the hell to end, for decisions and choices to be taken out of his hands.

The men fell into silence as Amelia walked into the room, Dallas at her side. She again wore the green silk dress. He'd never asked Dallas for payment, wouldn't have accepted it if it had been offered. Everything he'd ever given her was his way of apologizing for intruding in her life.

If the value of a gift was based upon what it meant to the giver, he was about to give her the finest gift of all: his brother as her husband.

Dallas stood on one side of Amelia, Houston on the other. Austin fidgeted beside Houston in a brown jacket he'd outgrow before he had the need to wear it again.

Outside, the wind howled and the sky turned gray.

Inside, the fire crackled, and Reverend Tucker asked one and all to bow their heads in prayer. As his voice rang out, Houston studied the woman standing beside him. She hadn't looked at him as she had walked into the room, and he couldn't blame her.

They'd traveled through hell together and survived. She'd clambered out of it. How could he drag her back into it?

Reverend Tucker ended the prayer and spoke about marriage, commitment, and duty. Houston stopped listening to the words. They weren't for him. They were for Amelia and the man standing on the other side of her.

Then Reverend Tucker's voice was pounding through his head, reverberating around his heart. "If anyone knows why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Amelia turned her head slightly, caught, and held Houston's gaze. He wanted to tell her. God help him, he'd rather have the disappointment in her eyes than the hurt.

She turned away, and he knew that she'd said farewell at that moment, that there would be no turning back the hands of the clock. For her, he'd held his silence, would forever hold his peace.

As Dallas took Amelia in his arms and kissed her, Houston plunged into the darkest depths of hell.

The winds were cold as Houston stood on the back porch, his duster flapping around his calves. He should head out before it got much darker, taking Austin with him so the newly married couple could have some privacy.

He heard the door open and glanced over his shoulder to see Amelia. "It's cold out here. You'd best stay inside."

"Don't I have a say in where I stand?"

He smiled at her comment, but he had no desire to tease her back. She'd do what she wanted, just as he'd done what he had to do. He turned his attention back to the horizon.

She walked to the edge of the porch, briskly rubbing her hands up and down her arms. He wanted to take her into his embrace and warm her. Instead, he shrugged out of his duster and wrapped it around her. She closed it tightly around her.

"Marcus," she said softly.

He glanced at her. "Marcus?"

She nodded. "That's what we're going to name our first son. We'll call him Mark because Dallas expects him to make his mark on the world."

"With Dallas as his father, I imagine he will."

Her knuckles turned white as she clutched his coat. "I'm nervous about tonight. I don't have any women to talk to … and I … I always considered you … a dear friend. I was hoping maybe you might have some words of wisdom to share so I won't be afraid or disappoint him."

"You could never disappoint him."

"Unless I give him a daughter."

"Not even then."

Her cheeks reddened, but he didn't think it had anything to do with the cold chafing her skin.

"Will it hurt?" she asked quietly.

He felt as though he'd just been kicked in the gut by a mustang. What the hell did he know about a woman's first time? He knew whores. Their stench, their bodies that were always ready for a man, their outstretched hands asking for more money. He looked away. "Christ, I don't know."

A thick silence built between them.

"Thank you," she finally said and turned to go.

He grabbed her arm and looked at her, really looked at her for the first time, into the green depths of her eyes. He could see the terror. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms around her, and touched his cheek to her soft hair.

"He won't hurt you," he said quietly. "If he can help it, he won't hurt you. The women I've known were so used … He'll kiss you … and he just won't stop."

"But kissing won't make a baby."

He slipped his thumb beneath her chin and tilted her face up, wanting desperately to remove the worry from her green eyes. He swallowed hard. "He'll lay his body over yours." He cradled her face, wishing he could cradle her body. "And he'll give what he always gives: the best of himself."

She smiled then, so sweetly with so much trust that his heart ached. "I'll miss you," she said quietly.

"You know where I live. If you need—" She shook her head with a profound sadness. "No, this at long last is our final good-bye." She stretched up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips.

He couldn't stand it: the betrayal reflected in her eyes, the hurt, the disappointment. He'd rather have the hate. "I killed my father."

He released his hold on her and averted his gaze. She'd hate him now, hate him as he hated himself.

"I don't believe you," she said softly.

He laughed derisively. "Believe me, Amelia. For thirteen years, I've run from it. For thirteen years, the truth has stayed as close as my shadow."

"How did you kill him?"

"You want the gory details?"

"I want to understand how the man I traveled with could have possibly killed his father."

He stared into the distance, stared through the passing years. "I was his drummer. He gave the orders and the beat of my drum told the men what those orders were. In the thick of battle, you can't hear a man's words, only his dying screams and the sound of the drum. The smoke grows so heavy that it drops like a fog, surrounding you, burning your eyes, your throat, suffocating you until you can't see the man issuing the orders.

"But you can hear the beat of the dram. So wherever my father went, I had to be. When he rode into battle, I ran by his side, beating … beating my drum while bullets whistled past and cannons roared."

His mouth grew dry with the familiar fear licking at his throat. He could smell the smoke and blood. He could hear the screams.

"His horse went down, kicking at the air, screaming in agony. My father scrambled to his feet and pulled his sword from his scabbard. ‘Let's go, boy!' he yelled.

"Only I couldn't. The man standing beside me fell. The ground exploded in my face. My father hollered at me again. I started to run. As fast as my legs would take me, I started running back to the place where I'd slept the night before.

"He came after me, yelling, ‘By God, I won't have a coward for a son!'

"He grabbed my arm, jerked me around, but I turned away from him, struggling to break free. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion, a bright light, pain … and he was gone. And then there was nothing but blackness."

"That's when you were so terribly wounded?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, I should have died, too, but I didn't. I prayed for death hard enough, but some prayers just aren't meant to be answered."

"You can't really believe you killed your father?"

"If I hadn't run, he wouldn't have died. I was just what he always said I was. A coward. A weak no-account excuse for a son."

"But you were a child."

"I was old enough. At fifteen, Dallas was marching into battle with a rifle in hand and men following him."

"You're not Dallas."

He finally turned from the past and met Amelia's gaze. "That's right, Amelia, I'm not. And that's why I held my silence. Because you deserve better than me. You don't deserve a man who runs from his own shadow, who's afraid of life."

She tilted her head, that familiar gesture like a puppy who is sizing up another dog and deciding if he can outfight him for the bone. "Does Dallas know that you prefer solitude and have an aversion to towns?"

"Yeah, he knows."

"Yet he sent you to fetch me anyway."

"He didn't have a choice. As much as he trusts his men with cattle, I'm not altogether sure he'd trust them not to take advantage of a pretty lady on a long journey."

"He could have sent Austin."

"Austin?" Houston chuckled. "Austin is just a boy."

A deep sadness swept over her features, tears welling in her eyes, as she laid her palm against his scarred cheek. "He's older than you were the last time you stood on a battlefield."

Her words slammed against him, stunned him, left him paralyzed. He had to have been older than Austin. Austin … hell, Austin had shaved for the first time that morning.

The door opened, and Dallas stepped onto the porch, Austin in his wake. Austin crossed the porch, leaned down, and bussed a kiss against Amelia's cheek.

"What was that?" Dallas asked.

Austin flushed. "I was just practicin'."

"For what?"

"Houston's taking me to a sportin' house tonight."

Houston shoved Austin's shoulder and fought to find his voice. "That's between you and me."

"What?" Austin stumbled down the steps. "I don't understand anything anymore. We wanted a woman here so bad, and now that we've got her, we've all gotta change. It makes no sense to me at all."

Houston stepped to the ground. Austin brought up his fists. "I'm tired of getting hit, yanked, and yelled at for being me."

Houston slowly shook his head. "I'm not gonna hit you. Go get your horse."

Austin's eyes widened. "You still gonna take me?"

"Told you I would. Now go get your horse."

Austin released a whoop and started running toward the corral. Houston turned to the couple standing on the porch. "Thought I'd get him out of your way for a couple of days."

" 'Preciate that," Dallas said as he removed Houston's duster from Amelia's shoulders and tossed it to him. He shrugged out of his own jacket and wrapped it and his arm around Amelia.

She glanced up at her husband and gave him a hesitant smile. Houston wished to God she didn't look so small standing beside his brother, so small, and so damn vulnerable.

Houston backed up a step and threw his thumb over his shoulder. "Reckon we'll be goin'."

"Take care," she said quietly.

"We will." He started walking toward the corral, stopped, and looked back over his shoulder.

Dallas was escorting his wife into the house, her back straight, her chin held high.

The Queen of the Prairie.