Page 8 of Texas Destiny
As he spoke of his younger brother, a trace of warmth flowed through his voice, reminding her of snuggling before a fire on a cold winter’s night. She wanted to keep the flames flickering. “I don’t remember how old Austin is.”
“Sixteen.”
“Then he’s spared any memories of the war.” “I doubt that.”
Amelia set her fork down. “But he would have been so young. Surely he doesn’t remember—”
Houston slid his foot off his knee, and it hit the floor with a resounding thud. He shifted in the chair. “I’d rather not talk about the war, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind,” she said softly, aware that she’d lost the warmth in his voice, in his manner. He clenched his jaw as though he were fighting desperately to remain where he was. She could feel the tension radiating around him, palpable in its intensity. Although more than ten long years had passed, the war still continued to rip through people’s lives. “Do you think Dallas will try to break that mustang again when his leg heals?”
He scooted up in the chair, then slid back. “I let it go,” he said in a voice so low she wasn’t quite certain she heard him correctly.
“I beg your pardon?”
He grimaced slightly. “I set the horse free.” “
Why?”
He slowly waved his large hand through the air as though it were a curtain billowing in a spring breeze. “The horse had a heavy, wavy mane and tail. That marks it as tricky and dangerous. Figured Dallas would eventually kill the horse or it would kill him.” He sighed. “So I set it free.”
“You said he wasn’t a man you wanted to rile. Didn’t that rile him?”
“He was still laid up in bed. I was long gone by the time he discovered what I’d done.”
“So you’ll have to deal with his anger once you return to the ranch.”
“I’m hoping your presence will distract him, and he’ll forget about the horse.”
Amelia cleared her throat. Houston shifted his gaze to her, and she lifted an eyebrow. “So, shortly after I meet your brother in person, I’ll learn whether or not he values me more than he does a horse?”
Horror swept over his face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” Amelia said, smiling as she carefully folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “I’ve finished eating.”
Houston bolted from the chair. “Good. I’ll have someone send up some hot water for a bath. It’ll be some time before you’ll have that luxury.”
He crammed his hat on his head, adjusting it to the lopsided angle to which she’d grown accustomed. He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and walked to the door in long strides that complemented his height.
“Is Dallas as tall as you?” she asked.
He halted, one hand on the doorknob. “Taller.”
He opened the door and hesitated. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Then we’ll go get the last of the supplies.” He slipped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Amelia shoved away from the table, walked to the washstand, and glanced in the mirror. She groaned. Her hair had come loose and was sticking out like the raised fur on an angry cat.
Little wonder Houston Leigh had avoided looking at her.
She heaved a deep sigh of longing. A warm bath. The purchase of a few supplies. Then she would begin what she was certain would be the most important journey of her life.
Chapter Three
Clutching Dallas’s letters to her breast, Amelia sat in front of the window and watched as the sun chased the early-morning shadows away from the dusty street. Gathering her courage had never seemed quite so difficult.
Soon Houston would come for her, and she had to be ready to travel toward a dream.
She had read each of Dallas’s letters after her bath. He was not a man given to flowery prose, yet she always found beauty within his simple words. During the time they had corresponded, she had come to know the man behind the letters well enough that she had not hesitated to accept his offer of marriage.
