No Angel's Grace Read online

  She looked thoroughly disgusted at the moment, as she leaned back and away from him. “I thought you were some sort of cattle baron.”

  “Just a rancher, Grace,” Dillon said, tilting his hat forward so that it covered his eyes. Damned if he would tell her his troubles. Spoiled brat, with her expensive clothes and her cute little nose up in the air and her damn bluebonnet eyes.

  Grace relaxed, letting go of the coiled tension within her, when she decided Dillon was asleep. For a while she would have to be on guard against him. Of course, he had been a perfect gentleman so far. He hadn’t touched her since their meeting on the dock, when she’d told him not to. It had been a purely instinctive reaction to his hand on her arm, even though she’d realized he was only trying to comfort her.

  Still, he was a man, and he looked at her so strangely sometimes. No. Not strangely. It was less sophisticated, perhaps, but that look was all too familiar. He looked at her the same way nearly every man she’d met had since she’d turned seventeen. As if she were standing before him stark naked.

  Fortunately he seemed to have no patience with difficult women. He wouldn’t give her any trouble at all.

  She tilted her head so she could see beneath the hat that shielded most of his face. He was rather good-looking, in a different sort of way. His hair was a tad too long and it was dark, though not nearly as dark as hers. When the sun hit his chestnut hair a bit of red was revealed. It curled a little, too, there where it touched his collar.

  He was handsome enough, but his face was hard and he hadn’t smiled once since she’d met him. Maybe he was afraid that granite face would crack.

  What had he done to make her father hate him enough to foist her upon him? Obviously Dillon Becket was not happy at the prospect of having her around. Not that that was a new predicament for Grace. Her father had resented her presence from the time of her birth until the day he’d died. And still she wondered how he could do this to her.

  He’d ignored her all her life, and now this. Penniless and left in the care of a less-than-reputable cowpoke who had no money to speak of. He had managed to have the last laugh, her father, even after all these years. Had he really hated her so much?

  Grace knew that she should feel a deeper sadness at her father’s death, but she couldn’t manufacture emotion where there was none. Eleven years had passed since he’d sent her to England, and she’d rarely heard from him in all that time. She had known, from the very day he’d sent her away, that it was a relief for him to be rid of the baby who had caused his beloved wife’s death.

  A heavy burden for an eleven-year-old who’d managed for years to adore her father in spite of his cold indifference.

  Billy was seated beside Dillon, and he stretched his long legs out so that his boots rested beneath her seat. He gave her a warm smile, and in spite of herself she returned it.

  “Are you comfortable, Miss Grace?”

  Grace started to tell him that she was already tired of the rocking train, and that the smoke that was drifting through the open windows was most likely ruining her suit, and that a man on the opposite side of the aisle and two seats back had been leering at her since they’d left the station. But she didn’t. She’d save those comments for Becket.

  “I’m fine, Billy.” She leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice. “Was Becket teasing me when he said we’d be spending the night on the train?” She tried to keep the distress from her voice, but failed.

  “Nope,” Billy answered as if the prospect didn’t bother him at all. “Enjoy the ride while you can. Once we get off the rail we’ll have near a week gettin’ to the ranch.”

  “How?” Grace decided, as the question left her mouth, that she didn’t really want to know. Already she’d been tossed by storms at sea, jostled by this blasted rail, and now…

  “Carriage. Dillon borrowed a carriage from a friend and we left it at a livery in San Antone. He figured it might be quicker than waitin’ for a stage, and easier for you than travelin’ on horseback.”

  “Thank goodness for that, at least.” Grace turned away from Billy to stare at the scenery that sped past. Green. From what she’d heard of Texas she hadn’t expected it to be so green.

  “Did you know my father, Billy?” she asked without turning to face him.

  “Nope. Dillon served with him during the war, he tells me. Said he was a fine man, and that he cared for you very much.” The last words were spoken very softly, and Grace did turn to look at the burly man then.

  She started to tell Billy that Dillon must not have known her father well at all, if he believed that. But one look at Billy’s kind face told her his words were meant to comfort her.

  How could she explain that his kindness showed more caring than she’d ever known from her father?

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Perhaps she should try to be civil to Billy, and even to Becket. How difficult could it be?

  “A bath,” Grace repeated, snapping at Dillon as he watched her through narrowed eyes. “You do know what that is, don’t you? Do people bathe in Texas?”

  He could suddenly see Grace seated in a tub, bubbles all over her skin, a bare leg in the air, her dark hair falling around her shoulders instead of tightly restrained as it was now. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. She was his responsibility. Colonel Cavanaugh had not trusted Grace into his care so he could daydream about her naked and wet and covered with soapsuds.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Grace snapped.

  “I have a headache,” Dillon said, keeping his eyes closed. Damned if that wasn’t the truth.

  Grace was uncommonly quiet, and Dillon finally opened one eye slightly. She was studying him with a frown on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’s probably this blasted rail. I’ve never been so badly jostled in all my life.”

  Dillon knew the ride was rather comfortable, compared to what was to follow. Grace Cavanaugh didn’t know what jostled was until she’d traveled across the plains in a speeding stagecoach. His headache suddenly got worse, sharper. It was a lot easier to stay mad at Grace when she was harping at him over one thing or another. She looked so delicate at the moment, so…so female.

  “When will I get a bath, Becket?” She leaned forward and asked her question in a low voice.

  “Maybe the hotel will be able to provide a tub and a little hot water.”

  Grace smiled. He really wished she wouldn’t do that. Her eyes lit up, and her face looked absolutely rosy.

  “An inn?” she asked. “When we get to San Antonio?”

  Dillon shook his head. “We’ll get in tomorrow before noon. We can get in a few hours of travel before we stop, and there’s a hotel in Clanton where we can spend the night.”

  Grace’s smile was supremely content. “I’ll have a bath, and I’ll have supper in my room, and I’m likely to sleep until noon.”

  It was clear that the prospect delighted her, but Dillon knew he had to set her straight. “I don’t know what sort of hotel you’re accustomed to, but out here they can be a bit…rustic.”

  He was surprised that she continued to smile with an almost dreamy expression on her face as she ignored him. She had no idea what she was in for.

  A fellow passenger made a move for the seat next to Grace. There was room for two on the bench, but so far Grace had had the seat to herself, while he and Billy shared the bench facing her. The railway car was not full, so there were several empty seats.

  “Howdy-do,” the man said as he plopped down beside Grace. He was dressed in the dark pants and coat and white collar of a city dude, but his speech was purely Texan. “Name’s Lancy. Lancy Carter. You folks look mighty familiar, and I just figured I’d mosey on over and say howdy.”

  Grace scooted away from the man. She grabbed her carpetbag from the bench and set it on the floor so she’d have more room to remove herself from the stranger. But he followed her, edging even closer. His arm pressed against hers, and she all but recoile
d, leaning away from the man as well as she could.

  Dillon leaned forward, closing the space between himself and the bothersome man. The intruder, Carter, smelled of whiskey and cheap cigars, and for some reason he was scaring Grace half to death. Carter had scared away the smile Dillon had thought he hated. Right now he was missing it.

  “I don’t know you,” Dillon said in a low, menacing voice. “I’ve never seen you before, and I don’t care to get acquainted.”

  Carter was oblivious to the implied threat, and he turned to Grace. “What about you, pretty lady? I’ve been watching you since we pulled out of Galveston. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I have been admiring you.” Carter laid his hand on Grace’s knee, and her face went absolutely white.

  “That’s it!” Dillon shouted, jumping from his seat and grabbing the offensive man by the shirtfront. A paper collar came loose and stuck out at a comical angle as Dillon hoisted the man to his feet. “You stupid idiot. If you can’t take a hint I’ll just have to help you back to your seat.” He dragged Carter across the aisle and unceremoniously dumped the man onto his own bench. Carter blinked rapidly and stared up at Dillon, his eyes widening as Dillon moved his face closer to the seated man.

  “If you look at, attempt to speak to, or even think about laying your hands on that lady again, I’ll castrate you.” He ignored the man’s white face and the trembling hands that moved to cover the threatened part of his anatomy. “You see,” Dillon continued calmly, “I’m a cattle rancher, and I know how. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t take any time at all.” Dillon pulled a knife from his boot and began to explain to the man, in low tones, exactly how the procedure was performed.

  After Dillon finally left the shaking man and returned to his traveling companions, he sat next to Grace and stretched his legs across the space, resting his boots on the seat where he had been sitting before Carter’s interruption.

  He took a deep breath and ignored Billy’s amused and questioning stare. Hell, he didn’t need the old man to tell him that he had overreacted.

  But Grace had looked so terrified when Carter had leaned against her and put his hand on her knee. Truth of the matter was, Dillon hadn’t been able to help himself. Something inside him had just snapped.

  “Are you all right?” He studied Grace carefully, finding her still pale and shaken. What was she afraid of?

  Grace nodded silently, and Dillon waited for her to order him off of her seat and back to his own…but she didn’t. Instead she thanked him in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, and then she turned her face away from him to gaze at the slowly changing landscape.

  He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right. She had the look of a woman who needed to be reassured, but there was still a distance there, a gulf he didn’t think he could breach.

  But his confident and strident and demanding Grace looked suddenly like the lost little girl he had expected to find in New Orleans.

  Chapter Two

  The landscape they rolled past was lit with the brilliance of a full, silvery moon, though the inside of the railway car was in broken and shadowed shades of gray. A lantern burned at one end of the car, keeping the passengers from being lost in complete inky darkness. Grace had already decided that she would no doubt prefer the total black of night to the eerie shadows that filled the car.

  Billy and Dillon were both asleep, as were most of the passengers. The railway car was filled with the rumblings of low snores and deep, even breathing, and an occasional murmur from a dreamer that could be heard above the roar of the wheels against the tracks. A few children were able to stretch out on their own benches, but the adults all slept sitting up.

  Billy snored, but it was low and steady…almost comforting. His gray head was resting against the back of his seat, and his hat rested at his side.

  Dillon, on the other hand, made not a sound. He slept like the dead, with his hat lowered to cover most of his face and his feet still stretched across to the other seat. Though she was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, Grace was grateful that Dillon Becket had remained beside her, shielding her from the aisle and from the obnoxious Carter.

  Carter had not even looked her way since Dillon had returned him to his seat, and that was a relief. Why did some men think it was acceptable to lay their hands on any and every woman they met? While Carter wasn’t as zealous as many of the presumptuous so-called gentlemen she could remember, his touch was still disturbing. More disturbing than she cared to admit.

  Grace had serious doubts about getting any sleep herself. How could anyone expect her to sleep fully dressed, sitting upright, speeding along in a train that seemed likely to jump the tracks at any moment? The noise alone was enough to wake the dead.

  She removed the small, fashionable bonnet from her head and placed it atop the carpetbag at her feet. Her head ached, and she removed the pins that held her hair snugly at the nape. As her hair fell about her shoulders, she massaged the back of her neck and felt the tension fly from her neck and shoulders.

  Why had her father asked Dillon Becket to be her guardian? That question had been in her mind since she’d read the letter her father had sent the rancher, but she’d been hesitant to voice it. Why not the lawyer? Or one of Hudson Cavanaugh’s business associates? There were no relatives to turn to, and perhaps as there was no money her father hadn’t felt that he could turn to any one of the lawyers or businessmen he’d dealt with over the years.

  But why Dillon Becket? She looked at his cheek and his chin—all that she could see of him under the hat he wore. His arms were positioned over his chest in an almost defiant manner, and his ankles were crossed atop the opposite seat. There was a definite air of control about the man. Even as he slept.

  He seemed much too young to be one of her father’s friends. Surely he wasn’t much over thirty. Their chosen lifestyles were very different, also. Hudson Cavanaugh had always been such a dedicated businessman, and by the age of thirty had developed the hint of a paunch that would turn into a distended belly before too many years had passed. From what Grace could remember, her father had always been pale and soft.

  Dillon Becket wasn’t pale or soft. His skin was so browned by the sun it looked tough, and there were tiny lines around his eyes that she assumed would deepen if he were ever to smile.

  And he was anything but soft. From his sharp nose to his rigid jaw to the leanness of his body, he was hard all over.

  Grace closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She expected no sleep to come, but if she could only relax…if she could only chase the thoughts that haunted her from her mind. Why had her father sent for her? He could have left her in England to fend for herself, but he had chosen to drop her in Becket’s lap. Why had Becket agreed? It was clear that he was less than happy about the situation. Why hadn’t Hudson Cavanaugh sent for her sooner? Years sooner? Her stay in England had been expensive, and her father had sent money whenever she’d requested it. He’d never hinted at the precarious financial situation she now knew had plagued him.

  And all she’d ever really wanted was for him to ask her to come home. To love her the way a father was supposed to love his daughter. To forgive her for being born and causing her mother’s death.

  But he never had.

  Grace sighed. She should have cried. For her father, for the absence of his love, for herself. She was truly alone now. She’d been alone for years, but there had always been the belief in the back of her mind that one day she and her father would be reunited and everything would be the way it was supposed to be. She should have cried, but there were no tears left. She’d used them up long ago.

  In spite of it all, her eyes closed. The rocking of the train, the exhaustion that ravaged her body, the deep, even snoring all around her…it all combined to lull her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Dillon woke because something was tickling his nose. He brought a hand up to brush away whatever it was…and found that impossible. There was too much of it,
and it was everywhere.

  There was a soft warmth against him that told him he wasn’t sleeping alone, and he sighed contentedly and pulled the body next to his closer. Her head was in the crook of his shoulder, and his arm held her tight. It was her luxurious hair that was tickling his nose, and Dillon buried his face in that hair. It smelled good and clean and—

  His eyes flew open when he remembered exactly where he was and who the woman sleeping against him was. The sun was just rising, a glorious ball of orange that bathed the car with warm light. And it was Grace’s hair in his face, Grace’s body snuggled against his.

  Dillon thumbed his hat back off his face and lifted his head slightly so that his nose was no longer buried in Grace’s hair. That black silk was spread across his chest, and apparently his movements disturbed her, because she moaned low in her throat and adjusted herself slightly, dropping one hand onto his lap.

  A low chuckle reminded him that he and Grace were not alone, and he lifted his eyes to meet Billy’s.

  “Mornin’, boss,” Billy whispered gruffly, a wide smile plastered on his wrinkled face. “Sleep well?”

  “What’s so damn funny?” Dillon whispered, still reluctant to release Grace. At least while she was sleeping she couldn’t complain or hound him with her endless questions.

  Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Nothin’, boss. I just been sittin’ here watchin’ Miss Grace sleep.” He cocked his head to one side and peered at her face, a face that was half hidden by a curtain of black hair. “She shore is purty, ain’t she?”

  Dillon grunted in what might have been construed as an agreement. Grace was more than pretty. She was perfect.

  “What do you suppose Miss Abigail is gonna think about Miss Grace? Ain’t exactly the little girl she’s expectin’.” Billy looked as though the prospect pleased him more than it should.