Page 93 of Texas Destiny
He finally turned from the past and met Amelia’s gaze. “That’s right, Amelia, I’m not. And that’s why I held my silence. Because you deserve better than me. You don’t deserve a man who runs from his own shadow, who’s afraid of life.”
She tilted her head, that familiar gesture like a puppy who is sizing up another dog and deciding if he can outfight him for the bone. “Does Dallas know that you prefer solitude and have an aversion to towns?”
“Yeah, he knows.”
“Yet he sent you to fetch me anyway.”
“He didn’t have a choice. As much as he trusts his men with cattle, I’m not altogether sure he’d trust them not to take advantage of a pretty lady on a long journey.”
“He could have sent Austin.”
“Austin?” Houston chuckled. “Austin is just a boy.”
A deep sadness swept over her features, tears welling in her eyes, as she laid her palm against his scarred cheek. “He’s older than you were the last time you stood on a battlefield.”
Her words slammed against him, stunned him, left him paralyzed. He had to have been older than Austin. Austin … hell, Austin had shaved for the first time that morning.
The door opened, and Dallas stepped onto the porch, Austin in his wake. Austin crossed the porch, leaned down, and bussed a kiss against Amelia’s cheek.
“What was that?” Dallas asked.
Austin flushed. “I was just practicin’.”
“For what?”
“Houston’s taking me to a sportin’ house tonight.”
Houston shoved Austin’s shoulder and fought to find his voice. “That’s between you and me.”
“What?” Austin stumbled down the steps. “I don’t understand anything anymore. We wanted a woman here so bad, and now that we’ve got her, we’ve all gotta change. It makes no sense to me at all.”
Houston stepped to the ground. Austin brought up his fists. “I’m tired of getting hit, yanked, and yelled at for being me.”
Houston slowly shook his head. “I’m not gonna hit you. Go get your horse.”
Austin’s eyes widened. “You still gonna take me?”
“Told you I would. Now go get your horse.”
Austin released a whoop and started running toward the corral. Houston turned to the couple standing on the porch. “Thought I’d get him out of your way for a couple of days.”
“ ’Preciate that,” Dallas said as he removed Houston’s duster from Amelia’s shoulders and tossed it to him. He shrugged out of his own jacket and wrapped it and his arm around Amelia.
She glanced up at her husband and gave him a hesitant smile. Houston wished to God she didn’t look so small standing beside his brother, so small, and so damn vulnerable.
Houston backed up a step and threw his thumb over his shoulder. “Reckon we’ll be goin’.”
“Take care,” she said quietly.
“We will.” He started walking toward the corral, stopped, and looked back over his shoulder.
Dallas was escorting his wife into the house, her back straight, her chin held high.
The Queen of the Prairie.
Chapter Eighteen
Dusty Flats wasn’t much more than a hole in the ground, a place for cowboys to spend energy and money when they were trailing cattle. It boasted one cantina with a bathing room in the back; a general store with so little merchandise that people simply traipsed in, picked up what they needed, and slapped their money onto the counter; and a house filled to capacity with sporting women. No church, no school, no town hall.
