Chapter Twenty

H ouston sat at his table, running his fingers back and forth over the cloth Amelia had embroidered for Dallas, a gift he'd kept for himself.

He'd tried to sleep after Austin left, but Amelia was still here with him. He could smell her sweet magnolia scent filling his house, filling his bed.

He wondered how long it would be before her fragrance faded, before he became like Cookie, living on memories until they became so worn with the years that they would be discarded carelessly as hand-me-downs. Houston had already spent thirteen years wallowing in the regrets of his youth. He had a lifetime ahead of him to flounder in his latest regrets.

Whether intentional or not, she'd left her mirror on the table, glass side down.

He could see her so clearly, holding the mirror, smiling at her reflection. How simple an action, how difficult a step after all these years. The rippling waters of a pond always gave a distorted image with no depth, no clarity.

A mirror would give a clearer reflection and if he looked deeply enough, it would drag him back into the past. If he looked long enough, perhaps it would set him free.

Houston's mouth grew dry as his gaze shifted between the mirror and the flowers she had sewn with delicate stitches and pink thread.

With a trembling hand, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the mirror, lifted it from the table, and held it before him.

In the fading evening light, Amelia stood on the balcony and pulled her shawl more closely around her. Somewhere, out there, where the wind blew free and wild mustangs surrendered their freedom, lived a man with the heart of a fifteen-year-old boy.

How in God's name had Houston's mother allowed her husband to take her sons off to war? How did any woman let her son go off to war, regardless of his age?

The war had claimed so many boys, even those it hadn't killed. She wondered how differently her journey with Houston might have ended if he hadn't marched onto a field of battle before he'd ever shaved.

The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled as the cool breeze rushed past. She heard a small hushed movement and turned to see Dallas leaning against the wall, studying her, his gaze intense, penetrating.

He needed only one step to span the distance separating them. He touched his knuckles to her cheek, and she couldn't stop herself from stiffening. His hand fell to his side. "I've never forced a woman. I'm not going to start with my wife."

Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around his and shook her head slightly. "You won't have to force me."

He eased closer until only a whisper's breath separated their bodies. "Do you love Houston?"

"I'm your wife."

"I know whose wife you are. I'm asking if you love Houston."

The tears flooded her eyes. She squeezed them shut, battling the river of sorrow. "Once." She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

"Why did you marry me?"

She took a deep breath. "I had nothing in Georgia. No home, no family. You offered me a chance to have a home, a family, and a dream."

"In other words, I asked and Houston didn't."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "You asked. He didn't."

He held out his arms. With quiet acceptance, she laid her head against his chest as he enfolded her in his strong embrace. She cared for him. She liked him. Perhaps, in time, her heart would flutter when he neared, her skin would tingle when he touched her, and her toes would curl when he kissed her.

He slipped his finger beneath her chin, tilted her face, and brushed his lips over hers before lifting her into his arms and carrying her into their bedroom.

Dallas's warm mouth settled over hers as she sank into the bed. His kiss was … nice. His hand cradled her breast. Nice. He groaned and laid his body over hers. Lean, strong … nice.

The door burst open and banged against the wall. Dallas came off her like a fired bullet. He grabbed his revolver out of the holster dangling from the bedpost and put himself between her and the door, his breathing heavy. "What is it?"

Amelia scooted back against the headboard, pressing her hand above her beating heart, her breath catching in her throat.

She peered around Dallas. Houston stood in the doorway, his legs spread wide. He stared at his brother. "I need to talk to you."

Dallas slipped his gun back into his holster and wrapped his hand around the bedpost, his knuckles turning white as he faced his brother. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"No." Houston's gaze shot to Amelia, then back to Dallas. "No, it can't."

Dallas tunneled his fingers through his hair and glanced at Amelia. "Will you excuse me?"

She could do little more than nod.

Dallas stood before the window in his office, the whiskey he'd poured himself forgotten as he watched the woman standing beside the corral Austin had made the men rebuild. Dallas had known she'd slip out of the house and go to the corral. He wondered how long it would be before he knew her as well as Houston did. The palomino approached, nudged her arm, and she pressed her face against the mare's neck.

He could hear Houston pacing behind him. For a man who had wanted to talk so desperately, he'd suddenly grown eerily quiet.

Dallas turned and, for the first time in years, didn't flinch when he met his brother's gaze. "You should sit down before you fall down."

Houston brought his pacing to a halt and held onto the back of a chair. "I can stand."

"You wanted to talk?"

Houston nodded, his fingers tightening their hold on the leather. "I'm in love with Amelia."

"And when did you decide this?"

"It just came over me somewhere between Fort Worth and here."

Dallas strode across the room and threw his glass of whiskey into the hearth. The shattering glass did nothing to improve his mood. "Then we've got ourselves one hell of a situation here." He spun around. "Why in God's name didn't you say something before we were married?"

"Because I thought she deserved better than a coward."

Dallas felt as though Houston had just punched him in the gut. "What?"

"She's got more courage in her little finger than I've got in my whole body. I figured she deserved someone who didn't run from his own shadow."

"What are you talking about?"

Houston surged across the room and slapped his hands on the desk. "What? After all these years, you want me to say to your face what you know in your heart? I'm a coward. A worthless, no-account excuse for a man. You know it, I know it. That's why you can't stomach the sight of me. If I could undo what I did, I would. But I can't. God knows I try every night when I go to sleep, reliving that day, wishing I'd followed like I should have, but when I wake up the past remains as it was."

"You sound like Pa."

Houston dropped into the chair, closed his eye, and rubbed his brow. "I don't expect you to ever forgive me for killing him. Hell, I haven't forgiven myself."

"You think I hold you accountable for Pa's death?"

Houston lifted his despair-filled gaze. "Figured that was why you couldn't stand to look at me. Because you knew I'd killed him. If I'd had any backbone, I'd have struck out on my own, spared you the sight of me—"

"Oh, Jesus." Dallas sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, dear Lord." Then he threw his head back and laughed, a dry humorless laugh. "I thought you avoided me because you regretted what I'd done."

"What in the hell did you do?"

"I played God."

The night following a battle was always the worst. The cries of wounded men echoed through the darkness, the stench of blood thickened the air.

Dallas stepped over a corpse and knelt beside a young soldier who was holding nothing but the torso of his best friend. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy looked at him blankly. "Can't find his legs. He'd a hated bein' buried without his legs."

"I'll help you look for his legs after I find Houston. You seen him?"

Jimmy wiped a bloody hand over his tear streaked face before pointing his finger. "They're putting the dead over yonder."

Stacking them like cords of wood, one body on top of the other. Dallas had found his pa there, but he couldn't think about that now, had to ignore the pain knifing through his heart.

"Houston's not there."

"Did you check the hospital tent?"

"Yep, he wasn't there, either."

Jimmy pointed a finger. "They left the dying over there."

Dallas's stomach tightened, and his jaw tingled. Lord, he wanted to throw up, but not here, not in front of a soldier. He placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "We'll whip them Yankees tomorrow."

He struggled to his feet and wove his way among the dead who had yet to be moved, until the moaning hovering around him grew louder. So many men lay in the clearing. He might have never found Houston if he hadn't spotted the battered drum.

He knelt beside his brother. Houston was a bloody mess, lying so still, so pale even in the moonlight. Dallas worked the drum away from his brother and threw it with all his strength and pent-up anger into the nearby brush. He slipped his arms beneath Houston's still form and struggled to his feet. He ignored the cries of men wanting water, wanting help as he wended his way toward the hospital tent.

No light burned inside. Using his shoulder, he nudged the tent flap back. The moonlight spilled inside. He judged the distance to the table, walked inside, and laid his brother on the table in the darkness as the tent flap fell back into place.

Houston made no sound. Dallas went outside and quickly returned carrying a lantern. He hung it on a beam and studied his brother in its golden haze. Houston's breathing was shallow, his bloodied chest barely rising as he took in air. The anger swelled within Dallas, and he stormed out of the tent.

He raced across the compound, and without ceremony, barged into a physician's tent. "Dr. Barnes, I got a man that needs tending." He shook the sleeping man. "I got a man that needs tending!"

The doctor opened his eyes and released a weary sigh. He was still dressed, blood splattered over his clothes. Sitting up, he dropped his feet to the ground. "Where is he?"

"In the hospital tent. We need to hurry."

Dr. Barnes rubbed his face before rising to his feet. "Let's go."

He didn't walk fast enough to suit Dallas, but at least he was coming. Dallas threw back the tent flap and hurried to his brother's side. Houston hadn't moved, but he was still breathing. Dr. Barnes moved around to the other side of the table.

"Dear God."

"I need you to fix him," Dallas said.

Dr. Barnes lifted his weary gaze. "Son, he's better off dead."

"I gave him my word I wouldn't let him die."

Dr. Barnes shook his head, regret filling his eyes. "I've spent my time saving men with facial wounds like this, only to have them kill themselves once they're strong enough. Those that don't kill themselves end up living alone, not wanting people to see them." He placed his hand on Houston's brow. "I won't be doing him a favor if I tend his other wounds. My time would be better spent sleeping so I'll have the strength to save those worth saving tomorrow."

Dallas pulled his revolver from its holster.

"I gave him my word that I wouldn't let him die. I've never gone back on my word." He leveled his gun at the center of the doctor's chest. "I'm givin' you my word now that if he dies, you'll be keepin' him company in heaven."

"Don't do this, son."

"I ain't your son."

"I know it's hard to let go of those we love, especially when they're so young, but I give you my word that death is better for him."

"I ain't interested in your word. I'm only interested in mine. Now, fix him."

In resignation, the doctor sighed, reached behind him, picked up a pair of scissors, and began to cut away what remained of Houston's gray jacket. Stoically, Dallas stood and watched as the doctor worked. Two hours. Two long torturous hours of staring at his brother's mutilated flesh.

"I've done all I can do," Dr. Barnes said as he finished wrapping the last bandage around Houston's' head. "It's up to him now whether he lives or dies."

Dallas lowered his shaking hand. "I appreciate what you did."

"I guarantee you that he won't appreciate it at all. In years to come when you look at his face, you remember the night you played God."

"He was right," Dallas said with a heavy sigh. "I had to leave, go with my company, but when I came back, you weren't smiling. You wouldn't talk to me. When we were traveling home, you kept to yourself, hugging the shadows if we stopped in a town. I figured you wished I'd let you die. When I built the house for Amelia, you didn't want to live here, built yourself your own place. Figured you wanted nothing to do with me."

Houston could barely speak for the emotions clogging his throat. "I thought you wouldn't look at me because you knew I was a coward. I ran. If I hadn't run, Pa wouldn't have been killed."

"Sweet Lord, Houston, you didn't even have a gun to defend yourself, just a drum. If a soldier couldn't kill the man giving the orders, he'd do all in his power to silence the messenger. You were the messenger. I told Pa to give you a rifle, but he wanted someone to beat out his orders. You were a boy. Pa had no right to enlist you. I told him not to, but he wouldn't listen."

"You weren't much older."

"Not in years, but in temperament. I wanted to go. I wanted the glory that came with war. Only I discovered glory doesn't come with destruction. I thought I'd find it here, taming the land, building an empire, creating a legacy that I could hand down to my son."

Dallas's son. The foundation of his dream. Dallas had saved Houston's life—twice—and now Houston was asking him to sacrifice a portion of his dream so Houston could find happiness. "That brings us back to Amelia," Houston said quietly.

"Yeah, it does." Dallas shoved himself away from the desk and walked to the window.

Houston's chest ached more than it had when shrapnel had cut through it. He rose and joined his brother. "I owe you for keeping your word and not letting me die. The doctor was wrong. I never regretted that I'd lived. I only regretted that Pa didn't."

Dallas shook his head. "He had no right going after you. He had men to command. His place was to lead them. He wanted to shape you into the man he thought you ought to be. A battlefield wasn't the place to do it."

"You don't blame me at all?"

Dallas glanced at him. "It was his decision to run after you, stupid as it was. I loved him, Houston. I admired his strengths, but he wasn't perfect."

"I loved him, too," Houston said, for the first time realizing that he had indeed loved his father. "I just couldn't be what he wanted me to be."

"No fault in that. God help me, I'm his mirror image." Dallas looked back toward the corral at the woman still standing with the moonlight wreathed around her. He had never expected her to love him. He was too much like his father, a hard man to love, not truly appreciated until he was gone. Neither did he relish the thought of taking a woman to his bed, knowing she was thinking of another. Especially if that man was Houston.

"Give her a divorce," Houston said. "I swear to God I won't touch her for a month, not until she knows for sure whether or not she's carrying your son."

Dallas raised a brow. "It's highly unlikely that she's carrying my son, since we are constantly interrupted."

"Then give her an annulment."

"What in God's name makes you think she wants to marry you? You stood in my parlor and held your peace. You don't think that might have broken her heart?"

"She has every right to hate me, but at least let me ask her."

Guilt, misunderstandings, and regrets had given Houston thirteen years of solitude. Now, Houston had the opportunity to receive the love of a woman, something Dallas would never have. Any woman could give Dallas the son he wanted, but only Amelia had returned to Houston his smiles and laughter.

"I'll leave the decision up to Amelia," Dallas said quietly. "Let me talk to her. If she wants an annulment, I'll give her one. If she wants to marry you … I'll hold my peace."

A full moon graced the heavens, its light illuminating Dallas's way as he approached the corral. Valiant skittered away to the other side, but the woman remained, gazing into the darkness beyond the corral.

Dallas crossed his arms over the railing. "That's a beautiful horse."

"Yes, she is."

"Houston has the patience of Job when it comes to horses."

"Yes, he does."

"You know what I was thinking about when I was walking out here?"

Shaking her head, she glanced at him.

"I was thinking about the last time I heard Houston laugh. We'd been swimming in the creek. I told him to get out, and while I was dressing, he hid in the shadows. When I looked up, I couldn't see him. I thought he'd drowned. Made a fool of myself, thrashing through that water, looking for him. He laughed so hard I thought he'd bust a gut."

She smiled softly. "I can't imagine that."

"No, I don't imagine you can. The next day, our pa went to war, dragging us along with him. I never heard Houston laugh again until the first night you were here. Fifteen years is a hell of a long time for a man not to laugh."

He trailed his finger along her cheek. "I don't need love, Amelia, but I think you do, and if you find it with a man who dreams of raising horses, know that you do so with my blessing."

Tears welled in her eyes, and a tremulous smile curved her lips. "I think if you'd come to Fort Worth to fetch me, I might have fallen in love with you."

He smiled warmly. "I'd think the fates had conspired against us if I didn't believe that we shape our own destiny. In my office is a man who wants to make you part of his destiny. I think it would be worth your time to listen to what he has to say."

Houston sat in the chair, his elbows on his thighs, his shoulder aching unmercifully. He ran Amelia's cloth through his fingers, over and over. He knew every silken strand, every knot, every loop. It was all he'd have of her if she didn't come, and he had a feeling she wasn't going to come.

"Dallas said you wanted to talk with me."

He shot out of the chair at the sound of her gentle voice. He wadded up her cloth and stuffed it into his duster pocket. "Yeah, I did." He pulled her mirror out of his other pocket. "You left your mirror on my table." He extended it toward her.

"You can keep it," she said quietly. "We have lots of mirrors here."

"I'll keep it, then."

"Good. I'm glad."

He'd never rushed headlong into a battle, but he figured this time, it might be the best approach. "I spent a lot of time studying it. The back is real pretty with all the gold carving. Took me about an hour to gather up the courage to turn it over and look at the other side."

"And what did you see?"

"A man who loves you more than life itself."

Closing her eyes, she dropped her chin to her chest.

"I wouldn't blame you if you hated me. I haven't held your feelings as precious as I should have."

"I don't hate you," she whispered hoarsely. "I tried to, but I can't."

"Dallas is willing to give you an annulment."

Damn, the words were as ugly as his face, not at all what she deserved. He'd consider himself the wealthiest man in the world if he only possessed the words he thought she longed to hear, words worthy of her. He thought he could see a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. "Damn it, woman, look at me."

Slowly, she lifted her head. The sight of the tears welling in her eyes hurt more than the wound healing in his shoulder.

"I've had plenty of moments in my life when I've been scared, but I swear to you that I've never been as scared as I am right now. I'm afraid you won't take Dallas up on his offer for an annulment … and I'll have nothing in my life but the emptiness that was there before you stepped off that train in Fort Worth. I wouldn't blame you for staying with him. God knows I haven't done right by you—" He slammed his eye shut. "Ah, hell, this isn't what I wanted to say."

He slipped the mirror back into his pocket and

sank down into the chair. He'd never felt so tired in his life. She rushed forward and knelt beside him.

"Are you bleeding?"

"No. Just need a moment to gather my strength."

"You shouldn't have come here tonight. You should have stayed in bed—"

"I couldn't. Every time I took a breath, I smelled you." He wrapped his hand around hers, pressed a kiss to the heart of her palm, and held her gaze. "I've got a one-room cabin, a few horses, and a dream that's so small it won't even cover your palm. But it sure seems a lot bigger when you're beside me."

The moonlight streaming through the window shimmered off the tears trailing along her cheeks. "I've always wanted a dream that I could hold in the palm of my hand," she said quietly.

His heart slammed against his chest, and all the things he'd feared melted away. "I want you beside me until the day I die, Amelia. If you'll have me … as your husband."

She smiled softly. "I'll take a question."

"What?"

She raised a delicate brow. "A question." He swallowed hard, took her hands, and brought them to his lips. "Will you marry me?" "Yes."

Joy overflowed within his heart, creating a sunrise bathed in love. "I'll take a dare," he rasped.

"Kiss me as though you love me."

"Woman, don't you know that I've always kissed you that way?"

Guiding her onto his lap, he took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her tenderly, this woman of courage who would soon become his wife.