Page 41 of Texas Glory
“Why?” Cordelia asked.
“Guilt and misunderstandings mostly.” As though drawn to painful memories of another time, Amelia released a long, slow sigh before walking to the open mesquite fire where the beef was cooking.
Cordelia watched as the men began to raise the frame that would serve as the structure for the addition to Houston’s house. She was rapidly discovering that Dallas did everything as though he were on a quest for success.
Along with Austin, they had begun their trek long before dawn and had arrived at Houston’s homestead just as dawn whispered over the horizon. Dallas helped her dismount before taking the cup of coffee that Amelia offered him as she stepped onto the porch.
“You know what you want?” he asked Houston as his brother slipped his arm around Amelia and kissed her cheek.
“Yep,” Houston said, handing Dallas a scroll.
Dallas unrolled the parchment and held it up so the day’s new light could shine on it. “Looks like you want to add two rooms to the back and put a loft above them.”
“That’s what Amelia wants.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
And they had. The measuring, the sawing, the pounding of hammers against nails, nails into wood, had echoed over the prairie.
When they finished setting the frame in place, Dallas took his first break. Cordelia held Precious more securely within her arms and watched as Dallas jerked off his hat, pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, and shook like a dog that had just come out of a river. He tossed his shirt over a nearby bush, settled his hat into place, and returned to work. Although he had not spared her a glance since their arrival, she could not take her eyes off him.
His bronzed back glistened, his muscles bunching and stretching as he hefted a board. His long legs made short work of the distance between the pile of lumber and the newly erected frame. He laid the board against the frame and crouched, one hand holding the board in place while the other searched through the grass for his hammer. His trousers pulled tight across his backside. She didn’t think she’d ever noticed how lean his hips were. He reminded her of the top portion of an hour glass: his broad shoulders fanning out, his back tapering down to a narrow waist—
“I wish they hadn’t done that,” Amelia said on a sigh.
Her cheeks flushed, Cordelia glanced at Amelia. “What?”
“Taken off their shirts. I’m trying to prepare dinner, and all I want to do now is watch them work.”
Cordelia turned her attention back to the men. She didn’t know when Houston and Austin had removed their shirts, but their backs didn’t draw her attention the way Dallas’s did, didn’t make her wonder if his skin was as warm as it looked.
She watched as Maggie ran toward the men, her blond curls bouncing as much as the ladle she carried. Water sloshed over the sides. Cordelia didn’t think more than a few drops could have remained in the ladle when the little girl came to an abrupt stop beside Dallas and held it out to him.
A warm smile spread beneath his mustache as he took the ladle, tipped his head back, and took a long, slow swallow. As Maggie clasped her hands together and widened her green eyes, Cordelia had a feeling Dallas was putting on a show for his niece. When he moved the ladle from his mouth, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose and said something Cordelia couldn’t hear. Maggie smiled brightly, grabbed the ladle, and ran back to the bucket of water.
Breathless, she looked up at her mother. “Unca Dalls said it was the sweetes’ water he ever had the pleasure of drinkin’. I’m gonna git him some more.” She dunked the dipper into the bucket before running back to her uncle, the water splashing over her skirt.
“Poor Dallas. She adores him. He won’t get any work done now,” Amelia said.
“The feeling seems to be mutual,” Cordelia said, wishing he would bestow that warm smile on her.
“You’re right. He spoils her. I shudder to think how he will spoil his own children.”
The heat fanned Cordelia’s cheeks at the reminder of her wifely duties. “I … I meant to thank you earlier for the flowers you placed on my bed the day I was married.”
Amelia smiled. “I didn’t place any flowers on your bed.”
“Oh.” Cordelia looked back toward Dallas. They had finished raising the frame and securing it in place. The men had begun to lay the wooden planks for the floor. Dallas was holding a nail while Maggie tapped it with a hammer. After a few gentle taps, Dallas took the hammer from her and slammed the nail into place.
She didn’t know what to make of Dallas Leigh. He seemed as hard as the nails protruding from his smiling mouth, hardly the type of man to pick flowers …
Knowing for certain that he was the one who had placed the flowers on her—their—bed made it difficult for her to dislike him, much less to hate him. Yet still she did not relish the thought of the marriage act.
Maggie scrambled over the frame they had laid across the ground—the frame that would support the floor—and began to hold nails for Austin. Although he carried his arm in a sling, he was managing to pull his share of the load. Something Cordelia had to admit she wasn’t doing. “Amelia, what can I do to help?”
“I left several quilts on the porch. Why don’t you place them around the tree so we can sit under the shade?”
Cordelia set Precious on the ground, and with her pet tagging along on her leash, hurried to the porch, grateful to have a task, although she didn’t think it would stop her mind from wandering to thoughts of her husband.
