Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (14 page)

Grace
let Raney guide the injured foot into a bowl of water so cold it felt like
thousands of needles stabbing her skin. She gasped, and then gasped again as
the water magnified the blue skin and copious swelling.

Drying
her hands on her skirt, Raney rose and stepped back to lean on the kitchen
counter with Thad. “I think it’s just a sprain, but you’ll be off your feet for
a few days.”

Grace
sagged. Ranching was proving to be a daily exercise in disaster. “I’m sorry,
Raney. I must be the worst hand you’ve ever had.” Miserable, she pondered her
foot, and cursed that stupid shingle. If she didn’t get a handle on this job,
Raney was going to go looking for a new hand, and then where would she be?

At
the Number Nine.

“No.
No, you’re not the worst,” she dead-panned. “I had one fella burn down the
outhouse.
That
was mighty inconvenient.” The hint of compassion in Raney’s
voice brought Grace’s head up. The old woman was smiling and mischief danced in
her wise, brown eyes. “ ’Least you ain’t set nothin’ on fire. And I still
think you’ll be able to dance a song or two at the Christmas social.”

“Yeah,
about that . . .” Thad dragged a chair out from the kitchen
table and straddled it so he could face Grace.

The
eagerness in his expression, like a man waiting to escort his gal on their
first outing, made her want to sigh, but she held it back.

“The
social is in Sheridan. We all go. I was serious about you rounding up your
sister. Think you can bring her?”

“No,”
Grace snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you, she’s got enough
trouble right now without adding a cow
boy
into the mix.”

Thad
waved his finger at Grace and rose to his feet. “You need to quit calling me
that, Buttercup.
I
would never, ever strike a woman.”

Grace
saw his gaze skip quickly to Raney. So she had filled in some of the details
about Bull. He leaned toward her an inch. “Now, you, on the other hand—”

Grace
ignored the threat. “Snake or not, she’s
married
to him.”

The
observation drew him up short, but only for an instant. Thad didn’t exactly
storm out, but he marched off without any goodbyes. Grace stared at the door
for a few moments, puzzled that she found herself wishing he hadn’t left,
especially in a huff. In the background, Raney banged around in the kitchen,
working on dinner.

“I’ve
never seen him like this. ’Specially over a girl.” Shaking her head over the
mystery, she pulled a frying pan from the back of the stove to the front
burner. “Your sister’s husband. Has he been
unfaithful
to her too?”

“Marriage
didn’t change anything about Bull’s ways. He just dropped the lies after we—I mean,
he—
and Grace were hitched. He drinks, he runs around on her.”

Scowling,
Raney cut a chunk off the ham hanging overhead. “A man like that oughta be
horsewhipped. They got children?”

Grace
wanted to scream at Raney to stop the inquisition. To that end, she changed the
topic. “No, ma’am. Here,” she rose to her feet and shook the water off the
swollen ankle, “let me help with dinner. At least I can do that.”

“You
sit right back down, I’ll bring you some potatoes to peel.”

As
Grace worked at the task, her mind wandered back to Thad. His hands, firm but
gentle, on her ankle, had made her heart beat faster, surprising her. His
vehement reaction to being compared to Bull had surprised her, as well. In a
flight of fancy, Grace wondered if maybe Thad was different. Maybe he wouldn’t have
a wife merely for the illusion of respectability. Maybe he wouldn’t beat her if
she asked where he’d spent his evening. Maybe he could say nice things to her,
and mean them.

Then
again, she’d never once suspected Bull’s dark side until they were married.
Every man had one. Even Thad Walker.

Thad
rode his horse away from Raney’s at a full gallop, but got control of himself a
half mile out. Disgusted that he was acting like a child, he slowed Bo to a
walk. He shouldn’t let Greg get to him like that. After all, he was right.
Grace had no room for someone else in her life. Biblically speaking, Thad was
out of line even thinking about her. She was married, for Pete’s sake,
regardless of
what
she’d married.

Lord,
forgive me.
He reined his horse to a stop, and
snatched his hat from his head. He scanned the big, open expanse of the Powder
River Basin. The wind drifted across the cut hayfield, like a moaning ghost.
Blue, snow-tipped mountains reached for the gray sky roiling with clouds.

Nowhere
to hide . . . from himself or God.

I’m
sorry, Lord. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to her. Forgive me.

He
replaced his hat and sighed.

“I
know I should pray that her husband will give his heart to You and repent of
his evil ways. I know I should ask You to remove this attraction I have for
Grace,” he exhaled like an exasperated horse, “but what I want to pray is that
You’ll remove Bull . . . by any means. Guess You’ve still got
some work to do in me.”

Wishing
he were a more noble man, Thad kicked Bo and they headed home.

Grace
was sure she was going to be sick. Wedged in among Thad and half-a-dozen hands
from the Lazy H, she marched with the men down a Sheridan boardwalk toward the
Western Hotel. Dressed in clean shirts and dungarees, their spurs a-jingling,
the cowboys’ walk had a definite swagger to it as they anticipated the dance.
At least she had again managed to get out of bunking with these boys, but she
hadn’t figured how to get out of attending the social.

“Buttercup,
there, just might get his first kiss at the dance, Thad,” Jay smooshed Grace’s
hat down over her head and laughed, “if there’s anybody there his size.”

The
other cowboys laughed, and Grace felt the heat rush to her cheeks as she
righted the hat.

Jay
persisted in the teasing, “Have you ever been kissed, Buttercup?” Delighted
with his target, he pinched Grace’s neck. “Come on, spill, Buttercup.”

Grace
slapped Jay’s hand away, but as she spun on the bobbing Adam’s apple, Thad
pressed the back of his hand to Jay’s chest. “That’s enough.”

Knowing
she had to stand her ground or endure more of this torment, she stopped in
front of Jay, blocking his path. Startled for an instant, a wide, easy grin
quickly lifted the corners of his mouth. “Just yuckin’ it up with ya,
greenhorn. No offense meant.”

Grace
thought about the best way to respond. Beside Jay, Thad chuckled and pushed his
hat back an inch. “Jay, Buttercup there just might prove to be as mean as a
little badger. If I were you, I’d cut him some slack.”

Grace
pursed her lips, gave Jay as dark a glare as she could muster, then spun on her
heel and marched down the boardwalk. The ranch hands laughed off the incident and
moved on. They followed behind her, discussing the fine food usually served at
the dance.

Grace
tried to ignore them, instead focusing on the bustling town and the sounds
around her. The laughter, the jingle of wagons—

She
saw the tin star sauntering toward her, and her steps faltered.

“Outta
the way, you bunch of yahoos.”

Grace
snatched her hat lower and peered into a store window as the sheriff shoved her
aside. He pushed through the Lazy H men, paused as he came to Thad, but then
tipped his hat. Thad touched the brim of his hat and offered a friendly, but
not enthusiastic, nod, and then cut his eyes quickly to Grace as the sheriff
strolled on by. Had Thad seen her attempt to evade the sheriff? Afraid of
potential questions, she stepped up her pace to put some distance between herself
and the boys.

There
was only one sheriff she should worry about, and he most likely would not
recognize her. After all, she looked nothing like the young lady in the lovely
blue dress.

Lost
in her own thoughts, Grace nearly walked into the swirl of red taffeta. “Oh,
pardon me—”

Susanna
Kinsey.

Escorted
by a tall, muscular man in an expensive suit, Susanna clutched his arm and
pulled back, but then recognition lit her face. Before she could greet Grace,
though, the horde of cowboys surrounded the actress and started talking all at
once … all of them except Thad.

“Miss
Kinsey, you are fetching tonight.”

“I
saw you in Dodge City. Best play I ever saw.”

“Will
you be joining us at the dance tonight?”

The
bodyguard with her took a step forward, and the cowboys backed off. Susanna
extended her hand to Grace. “Maxwell, this is my pint-sized hero I was telling
you about.”

The
man nodded knowingly at Grace. She would have been offended by the betrayal,
but Susanna stepped over and took her by the arm. “So, you’re attending a dance
this evening, are you? Won’t that be lovely?” She started pulling Grace away
from the gawking cowboys. “First, you must let me repay you for your chivalry
and daring-do. I would just adore having a drink with the handsome young man
who saved me from a ruffian.”

The
hands from the Lazy H, including Thad, stared like little boys at their first
burlesque show.

Susanna
giggled wickedly. “Don’t worry, fellows, I’ll get him to the ball on time.”

“I
can’t do this, Susanna; I don’t even want to go to this dance.”

Susanna
huffed, and sagged with the stunning violet silk and toile gown in her arms.
“Grace, pretend you’re Cinderella. Take one evening to enjoy life. To be the
beautiful belle of the ball. To drop those men to their knees and make them
worship you.” She stepped closer and searched Grace’s face. “I can make you
beautiful. More beautiful than Bull could ever imagine . . . or
ever deserve.”

Grace
had to admit she liked that idea. She would love to swirl and dance and send
the men swooning. Bull had not allowed her to go to the theater or restaurants
without him, and he rarely took her with him. Neither did she attend parties
outside their home. Grace was swallowed up by Bull’s dark, cold world. No
wonder Seth had managed to tempt her. She’d been starved for affection, but
also for having her femininity . . . cherished.

“What
will you do about my hair?”

Susanna
licked her plump, red lips and smirked like Satan’s mistress. “Oh, I’ve got a
trick or two up my sleeve.”

“Those
independents have got to understand this is
our
range.”

Fred
Hesse’s nasally, English accent grated on Thad’s nerves. No, that wasn’t the
whole truth; the conversation was also more than a little annoying. Anytime
there was an audience, Hesse harped on the SGA’s
right
to run the range,
like they were gods sitting on Mt. Olympus.

Trying
to ignore the man, Thad surveyed the buffet. Shrimp, oysters, juicy roasts, and
a plethora of steamed vegetables and decadent desserts testified to the money
and power of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association.

At
the end of the banquet table, a group of the prominent cattle barons, including
his father, were having a go at their favorite past time: blaming the
independents for all the troubles in the state.

“They’ve
big ideas of money and grandeur, when all they’re doing is destroying the
grazing potential of some fine parcels,” Hesse ranted on, “and they’ve the gall
to steal our cattle to do it.”

Thad
thought back to Sheriff Angus’s observation that the big outfits were creating
cover for something. Either he was lying, or they were lying. If the cattle
barons were telling the truth, then why did they feel the need to pay the
newspapers?

Lord
Morton Frewen nodded absently at Thad over the buffet, and picked up an h’ors
d’oeuvres. “Agreed, Mr. Hesse.
We
know what’s best for this land.”

“We’ve
the money and resources to make Wyoming the cattle capital of the world,” Major
Frank Wolcott chimed in, from the group at the end of the table. “This rustling
must be stopped so we can get on with things. I feel we’ve been too gentle with
these ne’er-do-wells. Bothwell was right all along.”

Thad
swung his head up. Bothwell had spearheaded Ella Watson’s lynching. The
lynching of a woman. He opened his mouth to argue, but his pa spoke first.

“What
Bothwell did to Ella was not acceptable, and he’ll pay for that in the fires of
hell. You don’t lynch a woman. You don’t murder a woman.” Earl tossed back the
whiskey in his hand. “Now, the men on the other hand, far as I’m concerned, we’ve
given them all fair warning.”

A
shrimp slipped from Thad’s fingers as his appetite vanished. When had Earl
Walker ever agreed with vigilante justice?

Thad
studied the group of wealthy, tuxedo-clad aristocrats over which his father
towered like a great oak; lords, Harvard graduates, military men who thought
the land belonged to them along with everything on it. Not one man in that
group had fought and bled for his range the way Pa had. Not one of them had
personally tangled with Indians or rustlers.

Pa
had always respected the right of any man to come to this country and give
ranching a try. And he’d never been one to fall in with a herd. Ever. He led, or
he didn’t go at all.

Admittedly,
though, Thad had sensed a change in his father over the last few years.

More
and more settlers moved into Wyoming every day. Just like Pa had done in ’62,
these men came here to build their dreams, discover their destinies. Seemed the
way of things to Thad, but Pa had been grumbling more and more about it lately.

Thad
despised admitting it, but tonight, Pa, in his tailored tuxedo and custom-made
boots, didn’t look a whole lot different from the preening peacocks at his
elbows.

Disturbed
by his father’s change of heart, Thad moved away from the cattle barons, and
joined his men over at the bar. Trampas was in the group, but kept to himself
at the far end.

Thad
didn’t drink much, but he preferred the conversation of honest, hardworking, whiskey-swilling
ranch hands to those coyotes in black ties. He dipped himself a cup of punch
and watched the swirling, waltzing crowd. There was a lot of money in this room
tonight, and a lot of pretty gals, to boot. None of them was as pretty as—

Grace
Hendrick stood at the top of the three stairs leading to the dance floor, and
Thad’s breath caught in his chest. He’d heard the expression
thunderstruck
before,
but, until he saw her there, he’d never grasped the meaning.

The
gaily-lit room filled with a hundred people faded away. The boisterous
cattlemen and their ladies in shimmering evening gowns disappeared. The jaunty
fiddles and banjos fell silent. Thad’s world consisted only of Grace in a
violet silk gown that hugged her feminine curves and lit her jade eyes. Her
silky, strawberry-gold hair was swept up and pinned in place with a matching
ostrich feather, but a group of delicate curls hung loose and rested over one
smooth, bare shoulder. Her shoulders, throat, décolletage—each begged for his
touch.

Snapping
his mouth shut, he gulped out of shock and . . . yearning. He
downright hungered to be close to her.

“Holy
smokes, is that the girl from town?”

Adam’s
elbow to Thad’s ribs brought back the noisy ballroom, and the music . . .
and the other cowhands gawking at Grace.

“ ’Scuse
me.” Thad shoved his cup of punch into Adam’s hands and marched toward Grace.
Their eyes met as he crossed the dance floor, and hers widened a bit. Other
than that change in expression, he couldn’t hazard a guess as to what she was thinking
 . . . which didn’t encourage him.

Still,
he couldn’t stop himself. She drew him like the proverbial moth to the flame.

Lord,
just one dance and I’ll step away.

He
stuck out his hand. “Ma’am, you might not remember me—”

“Thad
Walker,” she smirked. Staring at his hand, she hesitated an instant before
shaking it.

He
held her small, gloved hand in his, and determined he wouldn’t let it go. At
least, not for a while.

“You
remember me.” He contemplated her eyes, wondering at the flecks of blue amidst
the green. Grace licked her lips and pulled her hand away, lacing her fingers
behind her back. Thad knew he needed to speak. Thoughts wouldn’t form.

“Thad
Walker, you’re wasting this young lady’s time.”

Tall
and straight, chest puffed out like a rooster’s, Trampas extended his hand to
Grace. “I’m sure she’d much rather dance with me.” His smug expression made
Thad want to stomp the cockiness right out of the foreman, except that he saw
the change in Grace. Her brow creased ever-so-slightly and her chin lifted a
hair.

“Actually,
Mr. Walker just asked me for this dance. But thank you.” There was no warmth in
her voice and Thad puffed up a bit himself.

Trampas
dropped his hand. “Then I’ll come back around in a bit, ma’am.” He shot Thad a venomous
look, and departed in the direction of the bar.

Grace
gave her hand to Thad, and they stepped into the waltz. Her small waist beneath
his fingers felt like the most natural place his hand had ever rested. Though
her face was unreadable, she held his gaze.

Those
eyes of hers . . .

He
couldn’t stop thinking that. Clear and green like a mountain lake, they just
about knocked the wind out of him.

They
danced for a moment without words. Thad needed the time to pull his head out of
the clouds. Grace was intoxicating. She fogged his brain like too much liquor.

He
chuckled at the comparison and she tilted her head. “Did I say something funny,
Mr. Walker?”

“No,
ma’am, I was reflecting on how you . . . on how you . . .
”
Take my breath away.
He trailed off and cleared his throat.

“On
how I . . . dance?”

“Not
exactly.” Thad eyed the chandeliers burning brightly overhead, and wondered why
he was suddenly as eloquent with this woman as a drunk cowhand on a Saturday
night. “I mean, you do dance wonderfully.” Thad risked a glance down, and found
himself mesmerized by full, sweet lips, a long graceful neck, soft shoulders
and—he snatched his gaze back to her face. A drowning sensation rose up in him,
but not like he was dying. Quite the opposite. “You could tear a man slap out
of the saddle.”

She
arched her brow. “I’m sorry?”

Oh,
for the love of . . .
He flinched at his
foolish tongue.

“My
brother gave you too much credit, Mr. Walker. He said he you were a
silver-tongued, puffed-up cowboy who dallied with women for fun. I wonder if he
was speaking of one of your brothers.”

Thad’s
jaw tightened.
I’m gonna kill that kid.

“He’s
got it all wrong, ma’am. I’ve never toyed with a woman’s affections.” He
regarded her with intensity, hoping the truth of that was evident.
“Unfortunately, the reverse is not true.”

She
looked away, losing a little of her fight.

“Is
your brother here? Did he escort you?”
Can I take him out back and beat him?

“No.”
Grace paused here, overly long, Thad thought. “He was going to dine with a
friend and then come to the dance.”

“Was
that friend the actress lady?”

Grace
nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Greg
neglected to tell us how he came to be acquainted with her. She plucked him
from our group as we were heading toward the hotel. I nearly stopped her, as I
think she’s racy company for a young boy, but then I decided it wasn’t any of
my business.”

The
dance ended and the room of revelers applauded. Thad spotted Trampas making his
way toward Grace again. “Another dance? You’d best say yes unless you want to
twirl with the likes of him.”

Grace
frowned. “I don’t like him. He reminds me of . . . someone.”

Thad
could guess who that someone was. Wishing he could whirl Grace away from Trampas
and
her husband, he eagerly slid his arm around her once again. He
pulled her in among the dancers, but not before he saw the thundercloud on
Trampas’ face. Reveling in his foreman’s defeat, Thad winked at him.

“Why
don’t you think the actress is good company for Greg?” Grace asked as Thad
twirled her around. He might be tongue-tied, but he could at least waltz with
some skill.

“She
looked at him strangely, like she had a devil of a plan in mind for him. And
Greg is an innocent boy. Innocence should be protected.” Grace fell quiet, but
Thad could see the thought captured her attention. He’d like to protect her,
too, even though it wasn’t his place.

He
reminded himself they were at a party, and attempted to lighten the mood. “What
do you enjoy doing, Mrs. Hendrick? Do you have any interests?”

“I
was in teaching school for a while. I believe I will go back to that, as
circumstances allow.”

Sadness
flitted across her face as they box-stepped and spun. He couldn’t help but ask,
“Why did you leave it?”

“I’d
rather not talk about me, if you don’t mind.”

“My
apologies, I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s just that Greg, well, he doesn’t say
much, just enough to let me know you’ve had trouble with your husband.

The
comment seemed to push her away. She looked here and there, at the guests, at
the lights, everywhere but at him.