Page 8 of Texas Glory
Cameron looked as though she’d just pulled a gun on him. “You can’t be serious.”
She took a tentative step forward. “Try and understand. Father’s dream is to raise cattle, and you have always been part of it. I’ve only ever been able to watch from the window. Now, I have an opportunity to be part of his dream. I am the means by which he can gain the water he needs.”
“You’ve no idea what goes on between a man and woman, Cordelia,” Cameron said, his voice low. He abhorred violence as much as she did, and she knew he followed Boyd’s orders so his brothers would never question his manhood.
She looked at her father, remembering when she had been six and a nightmare had sent her scurrying to her parents’ room. Her mother had been weeping. Her father had sounded like a hog grunting as slop was poured into the trough. He had called her mother a damn cold bitch, and although Cordelia had not known what the words had meant at the time, the force with which her father had spat them had seared them within her mind. “I do know, Cameron,” she said quietly.
“Then you should understand why Duncan and I are opposed to this. Dallas Leigh hates us all, and he’ll show you no mercy.”
“Surely, he’s not that unkind.”
“Then why did his first wife leave him within a week of their marriage?” Duncan asked.
He stood like a pillar of strength, watching her as though he truly expected her to know that answer. Dark hair, dark eyes, it was only his usually sedate temperament that distinguished him from Boyd.
“I want to do this,” she lied, for Cameron’s benefit and peace of mind if for no one else’s.
Her father slapped his hand down on the table. “Then, by God, it will be done.”
For as long as she could remember, Cordelia had wanted to be a man, to enjoy the freedoms that men took for granted. She pulled the curtain away from the small window of her traveling coach and gazed at the barren, flat land. How anyone could deem this desolate place a paradise was beyond her. Why men would fight to own it was incomprehensible to her.
But fight they had. Boyd’s broken arm served as a testament to one of the battles, and tonight the man who had harmed her brother would come to her bed. She prayed for the fortitude to suffer through his touch in silence, without tears.
A huge adobe house came into view. She could only stare at the massive rectangular structure. A balcony surrounded each window that she could see on the second floor. The crenellated design of the roof reminded her of a castle she’d once read about.
Riding on his horse beside the coach, Cameron leaned down and tipped his hat off his brow. “That’s where you’ll be living, Dee.”
“Are those turrets on the corners?”
“Yep. Hear tell Leigh designed the house himself.”
“Maybe after today, you and Austin can be a bit more open with your friendship.”
Cameron shook his head. “Not for a while yet. Be grateful you’re not riding out here, Dee. The hatred is thick enough to slice with a knife.”
“I thought today was supposed to make the hatred go away.”
“What you’re doing today is like the waves of the ocean washing over the shore. No matter how strong it is, it only takes a little of the sand away at a time.”
She smiled shyly. “You’re such a poet, Cameron.”
He blushed as he always did when she complimented him.
“Listen, Dee, Dallas scares the holy hell out of me—I won’t deny that—but I’ll try and find a moment alone with him to ask him to show you some gentleness tonight.”
She reached through the window and laid her hand over his where it rested on his thigh. “He’ll either be gentle or he won’t be, Cameron, and I don’t think your words will change him, so spare yourself the confrontation. I’ll be fine.”
She settled back against the seat of the coach and drew the veil forward to cover her face.
Standing on the front veranda, with his brothers flanking him on either side, Dallas watched the approaching procession. It looked like the cavalry, as though McQueen had every man who worked for him coming for the ceremony.
Good. Dallas had all his men here as well as everyone from town. He wanted witnesses, plenty of witnesses.
He’d even managed to locate the circuit preacher. Fate was on his side.
He squinted at the red coach traveling in the center of the procession. He’d seen it once before: the day he had set aside the land upon which he planned to build Leighton.
“Do you think she’s inside that red coach?” he asked.
