Chapter Three

C lutching Dallas's letters to her breast, Amelia sat in front of the window and watched as the sun chased the early-morning shadows away from the dusty street. Gathering her courage had never seemed quite so difficult.

Soon Houston would come for her, and she had to be ready to travel toward a dream.

She had read each of Dallas's letters after her bath. He was not a man given to flowery prose, yet she always found beauty within his simple words. During the time they had corresponded, she had come to know the man behind the letters well enough that she had not hesitated to accept his offer of marriage.

She pressed his letters to her lips. Already, she fostered a hint of affection for Dallas Leigh. Surely, love could not be far behind.

The rapping on her door came as softly as the pale sunlight easing through her window.

Taking a shaky breath, she placed the precious letters in her carpetbag, picked up her hat, and walked to the mirror. Ignoring the bobbing bird, she worked a hatpin through the narrow brim. Although it would probably be at least another three weeks before she met her betrothed, she hoped he would recover quickly enough to meet them before the end of the journey.

She anxiously crossed the room, wrapped her trembling fingers around the doorknob, and pulled open the door. Her apprehension receded as she looked at the profile of the man standing in the hallway.

The damp ends of his black hair dragged along the collar of his duster. He smelled of soap, and she realized he'd indulged in a bath as well. She supposed the journey would hold no luxuries for him, either.

"Ready?" he asked in a low voice.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess." She stepped into the hallway as he walked into the room and retrieved her bag.

She could think of nothing to say as the click of the closing door echoed along the hallway, effectively drawing to a close one phase of her life. She averted her gaze from the tall man standing beside her. She didn't want him to see the doubts darting in and out like a naughty child searching for mischief: One moment they were gone and the next they were playing havoc with her emotions. She placed her palm over the watch she'd safely stored within a hidden pocket in her skirt. She imagined she could hear its steady ticking as it patiently marked the passing moments until she placed her gift into Dallas Leigh's hand, a hand she was certain was as large and as bronzed as his brother's.

"We'd best get goin'," Houston said.

Breathing deeply, she once again forced her qualms to retreat. "Yes, I suppose we should. Do you have many supplies to purchase?"

"Not many."

In silence, she followed him out of the hotel and onto the boardwalk. His strides weren't as long or as hurried as they'd been the day before. Enjoying the leisurely pace as she walked by his side, Amelia studied the clapboard buildings, the men hunched over as they drove wagons down the street, and the horses carrying riders toward destinations unknown to her. Anticipation thrummed through the warming breeze. Savoring the excitement, she hoarded the images, knowing a time would come when she'd share them with her children, her first impressions of a town that had brought her closer to her destiny.

She was so absorbed in her musings that she nearly bumped into Houston when he came to a dead halt in front of a dress shop.

He glared at the simple plank of wood as though it were a despised enemy. Considering his previous hurry to be on his way to the ranch, she thought his time would be better spent picking up the supplies he needed. She was on the verge of suggesting he move on when he took a deep breath and shoved open the door. Bells tinkled above his head, and he cringed.

"Get inside," he said in a low voice.

Baffled by his choice of stores, Amelia strolled into the small shop ahead of him. When she thought of supplies, she thought of canned goods, cooking utensils, and an assortment of odds and ends that a person would usually purchase at the mercantile or general store. She wondered if he had a wife for whom he wished to purchase some clothing. She knew very little about Houston, but it warmed her to think she might be traveling with a man who would be somewhere he obviously didn't want to be in order to obtain a gift. She imagined his wife would be as dark as he was, small, and quiet. Very quiet.

A buxom woman with bright red hair threw aside the curtains behind the counter and waltzed into the room. "I thought I heard my little bells," she exclaimed in a voice hinting at a French ancestry. Her hands fluttered over the counter. "I am Mimi St. Claire. Proprietor and expert dressmaker."

Amelia watched as Houston clenched and unclenched his hand before reaching up to remove his hat.

"Oh, my," Mimi St. Claire squeaked, pressing her hand above her bosom. She laughed nervously. "You took me unawares, sir. Shadows one moment, none zee next. What can I do for you?"

"She needs to be outfitted," Houston said in a taut voice.

"Outfitted?" Mimi questioned.

Houston gave a brusque nod.

Stunned, Amelia stared at the man. "You don't mean to purchase clothes for me, do you?"

"Dallas told me to get you everything you needed before we headed back." "

These are the supplies?"

"Yep."

She wrapped her fingers around his arm and pulled him away from the counter, seeking a small measure of privacy.

"You can't purchase me clothes," she whispered. He stared at her hand as though he couldn't quite figure out how it had come to be on his arm. She snapped her fingers in front of his eye, gaining his attention, and tightened her hold on his arm for emphasis. "You can't purchase me clothes," she repeated.

He shifted his gaze back to her hand. "Dallas is purchasing the clothing."

With a sigh, she released his arm. "He already purchased the tickets for my journey. I don't feel comfortable having him spend more of his hard-earned money on me. What if he changes his mind about marrying me?"

Houston's Adam's apple slid slowly up and down. "He won't change his mind."

She tilted her head slightly. "You don't think so?"

"I'm not a man who lies."

But he was a man easily offended, if the tone in his voice was any indication. One brother who was easily angered, another who was easily offended. She would have to learn to deal with both.

Fingering the collar of her worn bodice, she glanced with longing around the dress shop. "I suppose one—"

"Five."

"I couldn't possibly accept five."

Ignoring her, he directed his attention to Mimi St. Claire, who was leaning over the counter, straining to hear every word. She didn't bother to appear embarrassed at her actions, but simply straightened her back and wrapped a loose strand of red hair around her finger.

"She needs five outfits," Houston said. "Make a couple of them fancy for entertaining. We need them today."

Mimi's eyes widened. "Five? Today?" She patted her chest and smiled brightly. "Sit in zee chair, and I'll show you what I have already sewn."

With a whirl, Mimi disappeared behind the curtains as Houston walked to the corner. Instead of sitting in the chair with the delicate spindly legs that looked as though they could easily snap beneath his weight, he pressed his left shoulder against the wall.

Clasping her hands tightly together, Amelia walked across the small shop. "I can't possibly accept five—"

"Five."

She sighed deeply. "Don't I have a say in this matter?"

He took a long slow nod. "As long as you say five."

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the man standing before her, trying to determine if he was teasing her. His lips curled up not at all, his eye didn't glint with mischief. If anything, he seemed more serious than before.

"Mademoiselle!" Mimi St. Claire stuck her head between the drawn curtains. "Quickly, come in here. We must show zee gentleman zee clothes."

As Amelia passed through the waving curtains, Houston set her bag on the floor and slipped his hand inside his duster pocket. He heard Mimi St. Claire's deep-throated chuckle. Amelia's gentle laughter quickly followed, reminding him of spring rain, soothing and sweet, the kind of rain that a man simply removed his hat to enjoy as it washed over him.

Her touch had been as soft as her laughter, but he'd felt the determination in her fingers. He'd been surprised when the warmth from her small hand had penetrated the material of his duster and shirt to fan out over his skin.

He strained to hear their voices, but could decipher none of the hushed words. He wondered if Dallas had explained in his letters that Amelia would have no woman with whom she could whisper secrets. Tightening his hold on his hat, he wondered if Amelia knew she was traveling toward godawful loneliness.

She stepped between the curtains, wearing a yellow dress that had ruffles and bows sewn over it. She glanced his way with uncertainty.

Mimi St. Claire came out and waved her hand in a circle. "Turn, turn so he may see all of it."

Amelia pivoted on the balls of her feet. The dress had more ruffles in the back than in the front. Houston imagined if a strong wind blew through, it would carry Amelia Carson and that frilly dress across the plains like the petals of a dandelion.

Dallas would like that dress. He'd like it a lot. Too damn bad he'd broken his leg.

Shaking his head, Houston thought he saw relief fill Amelia's eyes. "You got something that looks like the earth?" he asked.

Mimi St. Claire's face puckered as though she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Zee earth?"

She grabbed Amelia's arm, and they disappeared behind the curtain. When next Amelia emerged, she wore a dark brown dress that perfectly matched the hat with the bird. Houston hated it.

"I didn't say dirt," he grumbled. "Something that looks like the earth. Something like clover."

"Clover?" Mimi asked. "You want green?"

Houston nodded slightly, not really certain what he wanted, just certain he'd know when he saw it.

Mimi rolled her eyes. "Trust men to speak in riddles. Why could he not just say green?"

She pulled a smiling Amelia back behind the curtain. Houston wondered how often Amelia would smile in West Texas, when the sun beat down on her, the dust rose up to choke her, and the nearest neighbor was a day's ride away on a fast horse.

He wished he could ignore her laughter coming from the back room, but he embraced the melodious sound as easily as his fingers stroked the delicate embroidery threads buried deep within his pocket. He no longer had a reason to keep the cloth on his person. He'd identified himself. He could give the embroidered linen back to her or stuff it into his saddlebags. Instead he found himself constantly rubbing the only soft thing in his life.

And staring at the curtain, waiting impatiently to see Amelia again, the sparkle in her eyes, the way her lips curled up as though she found this whole situation amusing.

The curtain billowed out and she slipped through, wearing a dress the shade of clover. It had no frills, no bows, no lace, no ruffles. Simply made, it hugged her curves as a lover might.

Warily studying him, she turned slowly, keeping her gaze on him until she was forced to snap her head around. "You don't like it either?" she asked.

"I like it just fine," he said as he settled his hat on his head and picked up her bag. "Get it and anything else you want. Take your time. I'm gonna fetch the wagon."

He ignored her crestfallen expression and walked out of the shop, the door rattling behind him. He'd hurt her feelings again, but this time he'd had no choice. If he'd stayed in that room, he would have crossed that wooden floor and trailed his finger along the delicate column of her ivory throat.

Just one finger, just one touch, just one sweet moment … but buried deep within his own personal hell, he knew he had no right to claim any sweet moments, especially from the woman pledged to his brother.

Breathing heavily, he came to a staggering stop and dropped his chin to his chest. After years of wanting and waiting, he finally had the opportunity to prove himself. He had only to deliver Amelia Carson safely and untouched into Dallas's arms.

He'd never realized how heavy a burden trust was.

Amelia stared at the door, willing the man who'd just stormed through it to return. One moment he seemed interested in her wardrobe, and the next, he was walking out as though he couldn't escape fast enough.

"He does not like zis one either?" Mimi asked, irritation laced through her voice.

"No, he did like this one. It's me he doesn't like."

Mimi threw up a hand in a dramatic gesture. "Nonsense! He adores you."

Amelia walked into the back room. "Actually, I'm a burden to him."

Mimi began unbuttoning the back of the dress. "Oh, little one, I think you must not be wise in zee ways of love. A man sees a woman as a burden only if he thinks he cannot please her."

"All he has to do is escort me to his brother's ranch. How hard can that be?"

"That, little one, depends on zee journey. For you, it will be easy. Your heart belongs to another, yes?"

With the hope that she would indeed give her heart to Dallas shortly after meeting him, Amelia nodded.

"When a heart belongs to no one, zee journey is never easy." With a flourish, Mimi spun around. "Now, let's see what else I have that looks like zee ground!"

An hour later, Amelia breathed a deep sigh of relief and walked out of Mimi's shop wearing her own clothes. She would save the new clothing until they neared the ranch.

"Did you get five outfits?" a deep voice asked.

Amelia spun around. Within the late-morning shadows, Houston leaned against the wall.

"Yes, she just needs you to pay for them, and she'll wrap them up. Although I can't imagine what I could possibly want with so many clothes."

He shoved away from the wall. "Dallas figures other women will come farther west once you get there. He thinks he'll be the king of West Texas." He held her gaze. "You'll be his queen."

"Is he that successful?"

"He's got a good start, he's smart, and he's not a man to let anything stand in his way."

"Are you successful?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I leave the glory of success to Dallas and men like him. I'd just like to watch the sunset in peace."

He tugged on his hat, and Amelia had the feeling something deeper dwelled within his words, something he had no desire to discuss. Although she could not see it, she was certain that he'd just thrown up a wall.

"Take a look around and see if you can think of anything else you need while I purchase the clothes. If not, we'll be leavin'."

He went into Mimi's shop and returned a few minutes later with two large parcels. "Did you think of anything?" he asked.

"No, I feel guilty about all that you've purchased already."

"Don't feel guilty. Dallas won't begrudge the purchase. He's generous to a fault when it comes to those he cares about."

"And you think he'll come to care about me?"

"He already does, Miss Carson. Give you my word on that," he said as he stepped off the boardwalk.

Amelia's apprehensions began melting away. Perhaps the man behind the letters was as she had imagined him. She thought of Houston's comment that she needed clothing for entertaining. One day she would delight the ladies of West Texas with parties and social calls—just as her mother had charmed the women from the neighboring plantations. Perhaps as the wife of a rancher, she would find a semblance of the life she'd known before the war, a life she'd thought would one day be hers.

A life shattered by men in blue and men in tattered gray.

Shuddering, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced the past back into the recesses of her mind. Her future lay before her, clear and untarnished, with a man who had shown her nothing but compassion and respect in his letters.

Amelia came to a halt as Houston placed the packages in the back of a wagon laden with supplies. A brown horse, tethered at the rear, nudged Houston's shoulder. He reached into his duster pocket and brought out an apple. The mare grabbed it and began chomping greedily.

As Houston pulled a tarpaulin over the supplies, securing it in place with ropes, Amelia traced her fingers over an emblem burned into the side of the wagon. An "A" leaned over until its right side touched the left side of a "D."

"What's this?" she asked.

"Dallas's brand. An ‘A' and a ‘D.' Joined."

Joined. As in a partnership. As in a marriage. "Has he always had this brand?"

"Nope. In the beginning, he just had the ‘D.' He added the ‘A' when you accepted his offer of marriage."

Deeply touched, she wished Dallas could have shared this moment when she discovered his gift. "He never mentioned it in his letters."

"Reckon he wanted it to be a surprise."

"A brand is important, isn't it?"

"The choosing of it isn't something a man takes lightly. Neither is the changing of it."

"Is this why you think he cares about me?"

"It's one of the reasons."

"And the other reasons?"

"I reckon they'll be real obvious when we get to the ranch." He tied a final knot in the rope. "Ready?"

More than ready, she nodded. He placed his large hands on her waist. She grabbed his shoulders as he swung her onto the wagon. She sat and arranged her skirt, trying not to think about how the warmth of his hands had soaked through her worn clothing. Dallas's hands would be that warm, his shoulders that steady.

Houston climbed in and settled onto the bench seat beside her. He released the brake and slapped the reins over the backs of the four mules harnessed before them. "Well, Miss Carson, take a last look around because where we're headed there's nothing but open land, cows, and cowboys."