Page 59 of Texas Glory
So she had read for two more hours, her voice growing hoarse, her eyes crossing from time to time until eventually they had closed and her head had dropped back.
She looked damned uncomfortable propped up in the chair, her head tilted at an awkward angle, and incredibly lovely with all the worry and fear slipping away for the night.
He wished he knew how to keep the worry and fear out of her eyes when she was awake. He’d considered being blunt and simply explaining to her what he expected and what he would settle for.
But he imagined that a woman needed more than a man’s view on the subject. She probably wanted tender words that he didn’t know how to give.
As quietly as he could, he pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and walked to the chair where she was slumped. Gingerly, he eased the book from her grasp and set it on the table beside the chair.
Then he slipped one arm around her back, the other beneath her knees, and cradled her against his chest. Sighing, she snuggled her cheek into the crook of his shoulder.
He hadn’t expected her to be as light as a summer breeze, to feel so dainty in his arms. As tall as she was, he had expected her to weigh more. She was little more than soft curves and warmth.
He carried her to her bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. She rolled onto her side, drew her knees up toward her chest, and slipped her hand beneath her cheek. He brought the blankets over her, crouched beside the bed, and watched as she slept.
He had enjoyed the spark of temper that his reference to his ladies had ignited in her eyes that afternoon.
Knowing what he now knew about her mother’s ailment, he realized that her outburst, small as it was, had been a form of trust. Perhaps she was beginning to test her boundaries, to see how far he would allow her to go.
He thought about telling her, but he didn’t think she’d believe him. He’d simply have to show her.
Cordelia awoke with a start. A faint glimmer of sunlight shadowed the room. She pulled the blankets up to her chin trying to remember when she had come to bed.
Dallas had been in her room. Somehow she was certain of it. His presence lingered like a forgotten scent. Had he brought her to bed and then left her alone to sleep?
She thought she might never understand him.
He had wanted a wife to give him a son, and yet, with the exception of their first night, he had made no overtures toward her. She wondered if he regretted marrying her, if perhaps he would never truly become her husband.
She eased out of bed, walked to the balcony doors, and drew the curtain aside. She could see Dallas standing by the corral talking with his foreman. When Slim walked away, Dallas mounted his black horse and looked up. His gaze locked with hers.
Her breath caught and her heart pounded. His mouth moved, forming words she couldn’t hear.
She unlatched the door and stepped onto the balcony. “What?” she asked.
“Get dressed to ride!”
“Now?”
“Yep.”
As he dismounted, she hurried back into her room, closed the balcony door, drew the curtains together, and wished she’d never ventured from her bed.
Dallas wasn’t certain what had possessed him to invite his wife to ride with him, although he had to admit that she probably hadn’t considered his words an invitation.
It wasn’t in his nature to ask. Perhaps it had been when he was a boy, but the war had driven it from him. At fourteen, he’d issued his first order. When the war had ended, he’d continued to issue orders. It was the easiest way to accomplish what needed to be done. Tell a man. If he didn’t like it, he could move on.
Unfortunately for Cordelia, if she didn’t like the way he issued orders, she had no freedom to move on. A marriage contract bound her to him, whether she liked it or not.
He’d hoped they were making progress toward an amicable relationship when she’d offered to read to him last night, but now she rode beside him with her back as stiff as the rod of a branding iron, her eyes trained straight ahead, and her knuckles turning white as she held the saddle horn.
The horses plodded along as though they had all day to get to where they were going.
“How good are you at keeping your word?” he asked.
She swiveled her head toward him, her brow furrowed. “I don’t lie, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“My pa taught me that a man is only as good as his word. I’ve never in my life gone back on my word. I’m just wondering if your pa taught you the same.”
