Page 67 of Texas Glory
“I have the money. I have someone to build it.” She clenched her jaw and angled her chin. “But I need the land. When you announced that you had set aside land for a town, in my ignorance, I assumed that meant it was free for the taking. This afternoon, Mr. Curtiss explained to me that you still own the land, and that merchants must purchase the lots before he can build on them.” Resignation ripped through her voice. “Without the land, I can’t build the hotel.”
Dallas shoved his chair back. She jumped. If he had to tie her down, he was going to make her stop jumping every time he moved.
He went to a corner and picked up a scroll. He placed it on the desk and gave it a gentle push. It rolled across the flat surface, revealing the layout of his town: the planned streets, the building lots. He set his inkwell on one end of the scroll to hold it in position and placed the lamp on the other end.
“Where do you want your hotel?” he asked.
Curiosity replaced the fear as she leaned over the map. She trailed her finger along the widest street.
“Main Street,” she said quietly. “I suppose I’d want it on the same street as the bank and general store. Where will the railroad be?”
“I’m expecting it to come through at this end of town,” he said, touching the southernmost point.
“What are these smaller blocks of land for?” she asked, touching a section set back from the town.
“Houses, if we get enough people moving in.”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “The hotel should be near the railroad.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Don’t you think?”
He wasn’t prepared for the shaft of pleasure that speared him. She wanted his opinion. He swallowed hard. “That’s where I’d put it.”
She nodded and placed her finger on a parcel of land just down from where he’d said the railroad would be. “How much would this piece of land cost me?”
He felt the glory of success surge through him. Her dream was to build a hotel. He understood dreams. His dream was to have a son. A simple trade: one dream for another. They could both have what they wanted. But without trust, without affection, the price suddenly seemed too high.
“A smile,” he said quietly.
She jerked her gaze up. “I beg your pardon?”
“The price is a smile … like the ones you give Austin or Houston … or that damn prairie dog of yours.”
She blinked her eyes and straightened. Then she pulled her lips back to reveal a tortured grin that more closely resembled a grimace.
The lesson learned was a painful one: he couldn’t force affection. He couldn’t force a smile. And he imagined if he crawled into her bed and took what was his by right, he’d feel emptier than he did now.
He dipped his pen into the inkwell and scrawled “Dee’s Hotel” across the blank square on the map of his town. Then he walked to the window, placed his hands behind his back, and gazed at the moonless sky, trying to fill a void that only seemed to deepen with each passing moment.
“That’s it?” she asked behind him.
“That’s it.”
“That block of land is mine?”
“It’s yours.”
“Oh, Dallas.”
He turned from the window. In obvious awe, she touched the words he’d written on the map. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked at him and smiled … a glorious smile that stole his breath away.
“I’ve never owned anything in my whole life, and now I own this little piece of land—”
“You own a lot more than that. In truth, you didn’t even have to give me a smile. It was yours all along.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When you married me, you became my partner not only in my life, but in everything—my ranch, the town … everything, and I became your partner.”
As he’d known it would, her smile retreated like the sun before a storm.
