A Little Time in Texas (13 page)

“That’s the really funny part,” Dallas said, his eyes crinkling with merriment. “Doc Sheedy, the orthodontist, was seeing the same movie. He found us standing outside the theater after the show, terrified of what our fathers were going to say. He took pity on us, drove us to his office and untangled us without saying a word to our parents. I’ll never forget the grin on his face when he warned me not to be kissing any more girls with braces until mine were off.”

“How long before you were kissing girls again?” she asked.

“About a week,” Dallas admitted with a grin. “But I was careful never to date another girl with braces.”

She shook her head. “How different things are now. I never kissed a man until I was eighteen.”

“Oh, and who was that?” Dallas was aware of a curious antagonism in his voice, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“James Peabody.”

“With a name like that, I bet he was tall, gawky and had a big Adam’s apple.”

“He was short, stout and had a big Adam’s apple,” Angel admitted ruefully. “I met him on the docks in Galveston.”

“What were you doing in a place like that?”

“Salvaging things.”

Dallas cocked a brow.

“All right.” She grinned. “Stealing. James Peabody was a night watchman. He caught me with a crate of chickens. I traded him a kiss for my freedom.”

Dallas’s eyes had gone hard and cold. “What else did he ask for?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Angel said. “The kiss was all he got. It wasn’t much, as kisses go, just a peck on the lips. I broke away and ran before he could think to grab hold of me.”

“It was a dangerous life you lived, Angel.”

She laid her head back and stared at the clouds floating by. The sky was big and blue and looked the same as it had a century ago. “I wasn’t unhappy, Dallas. I loved the challenge of living by my wits. I didn’t have much to lose except my drawings. I bartered them occasionally for a sandwich and a piece of pie. A kiss was little enough to trade for my freedom.”

“Didn’t you ever want to settle down, marry a man and have some kids?”

“I thought about it,” Angel said. “Sometimes, when I’d be alone in the middle of the prairie, with only a campfire to keep me company, I’d wish I could set down roots and start a family.”

“Why didn’t you?” Dallas asked.

“After Stephen was killed, I never met another man I cared about.”
And now that I have, he isn’t the marrying kind.
“How about you? Haven’t you ever wanted to marry and have a family?”

“I told you what happened with my mother.”

“So?”

“So I’m not about to repeat my father’s mistake.”

“Every woman isn’t like your mother, Dallas. I’d think you would have realized that by now.”

“Maybe they’re not,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“How did you get so bitter and cynical?”

“Having one’s mother walk out without a backward glance can do that to a person.”

“It didn’t affect me that way.”

Dallas reached out and grabbed Angel’s hand and pulled their tubes closer together. “I thought you told me you were orphaned. Are you saying your mother left you?”

“Actually she got caught stealing to feed us
and had to go to jail. Belinda and I ended up at the Orphans’ Home in Galveston. She promised she’d come back for us when she got out of jail.” Angel paused. “But she never did.”

“Lord, I’m sorry, Angel.”

“I never blamed her for leaving us there, Dallas. She did the best she could. I believe she loved us—me and Belinda. But she wasn’t strong. Being in that orphanage made me strong, maybe stronger than I would have been if I’d stayed with my mother. I suppose I’ll never know for sure. But I would never leave someone I loved. I couldn’t do it. You can see that, can’t you?”

He wanted to believe her. How simple things would be if he could believe her! But it wasn’t easy to discard nearly two decades of distrust. “You think so now, Angel. What happens when things get tough?”

She smiled at him. “I’ve fought Comanches, buried my fiancé, and watched men shot to ribbons in the war. I’ve stolen to live, and I’ve run from the law. Does life in this world get any tougher than that?”

He smiled ruefully. “I see what you mean.” Angel had given him a lot to think about. He used the rest of the float trip to consider what she had said. He had never thought he would be willing to risk trusting another woman. But somehow he
no longer considered the risk of heartbreak greater than the possible joy of having Angel in his life. She filled a hole he hadn’t realized was there until she had come into his life.

“Hey, there, slowpokes!” Adam called. “About time you showed up. We’ve already been upriver to retrieve your truck. There’s some fried chicken left and a little watermelon, but that’s about all.”

Dallas took Angel’s tube from her as she started up the bank to join Adam, Honey and the two boys.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you announced the food is nearly gone,” Angel said with a grin. “Where’s the chicken?”

While Honey helped Angel fill a plate with food, Adam helped Dallas put the last of the tubes into the pickup.

“Tell me,” Adam asked, “did you have a nice trip?”

“Did you?” Dallas countered.

“Honey agreed to go to the opera in San Antonio with me next weekend.”

Adam seemed to be seeking Dallas’s approval. Dallas was more than willing to give it. “I think that’s great. Honey loves all kinds of music.”

Adam heaved a sigh of relief. “I thought…”

“I’m Honey’s friend. I always will be. Nothing more.”

“I’m still confused, though, about why you wanted me to ask Angel out on a date. Would you care to explain that to me?”

“I’d be glad to.”
As soon as I understand it myself.
Suddenly Dallas decided just to tell Adam the truth—about everything. “Actually I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“You see, Angel isn’t from around here.”

“Whereabouts is she from?” Adam asked.

“She’s from the past—1864 to be exact, and—”

Adam’s laughter cut Dallas off. He clapped his friend on the back. “Angel’s good for you,” he said. “She’s really improved your sense of humor.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Dallas protested.

“Yeah, and I’m really a vampire,” Adam said, pulling back his lips to expose nonexistent fangs.

“Why won’t you believe me? I went into this cave on my property and when I came out on the other side of it there she was, surrounded by these six men and—”

“Lay off, Dallas. Just admit you love the woman. Now
that
I’d believe.”

Dallas stared in bemusement as Adam walked
off chuckling. Adam’s pronouncement was absurd.
Dallas Masterson in love?
Now
that
was farfetched!

D
allas stared in awe at one of Angel’s pen and ink drawings. It was a portrait of Belinda. He could easily see why Angel’s gallery showing here in Houston was such a stupendous success. When she had told him—was it only four months ago?—that she did “a little drawing,” he had never imagined this kind of talent. Each sketch he’d seen had possessed a poignancy, a sense of pathos, that moved him.

Angel’s works depicting the past included: the portrait of Belinda standing outside the brothel where she worked; a very handsome young man—who had turned out to be Angel’s fiancé—on the day he left for war, proudly outfitted in his Confederate uniform; and a dozen soldiers, with amputated arms and missing legs, slight wounds and terrible ones, waiting at a train station for the long ride home. Each sketch told a story. The joy and pain of a world long past were truthfully, sometimes brutally, reflected.

That same honesty was apparent in Angel’s
sketches of modern subjects. She had done a portrait of Honey Farrell tubing down the Frio, her mouth curved in laughter, her eyes sad and wistful. There was a drawing of Dallas working with Jack and Jonathan at the corral. He and Jonathan were both wearing bandannas tied around their foreheads. Jack’s bandanna was slipping out of his back pocket. Angel had faithfully recorded both Jack’s animosity and Jonathan’s adoration. Dallas’s eyes, as he met Jonathan’s gaze, were soft with a tenderness and concern he was embarrassed to have anyone see. How had she known so much about what each of them was feeling? More to the point, how had she captured those emotions so well on paper?

There was also a self-portrait. Angel was backed up against the cave entrance where Dallas had first seen her, peering into the darkness, of which she was so afraid. Meanwhile, six formless hulking shapes held her hostage. There was nothing timid or helpless about the woman she had drawn. Chin up, fists bunched, legs spread—it was a portrait of defiance, of determined independence. Nor was it fear he saw reflected on Angel’s face as she contemplated the darkness within the cave. She had drawn the image of a man, half-formed, a point of light in the darkness. Angel’s gaze was focused on the light, not the darkness
surrounding it. Her eyes were filled with yearning and with hope.

“They’re marvelous, aren’t they?”

Dallas turned to find Ray Collinsworth at his shoulder. “Yes, they are.”

“You must be very proud of Angel. Not only are her works a commercial success, but the critics love them. Her gift is extraordinary. She’s going to be a very successful artist. And a very rich young lady.”

“I want to thank you for helping Angel arrange all this.” Dallas gestured to the pen and ink sketches mounted on the gallery walls. “And apologize for the way I behaved when—”

“It’s not necessary. I’d have acted the same way if someone tried to move in on my woman. Angel’s something pretty special. I envy you.”

There was an awkward silence during which Dallas tried to decide whether to tell Ray Collinsworth that Angel wasn’t “his” woman. Before he could say anything, Ray was called away by someone who wanted to rave over Angel’s art.

Dallas searched the room, looking for Angel, and found her surrounded by a group of admirers. She was wearing a dress that Honey Farrell had helped her buy. It was sleeveless and strapless, and the bodice of the red satin fabric cupped Angel like a glove. But then, so did the rest of the
dress. Her waist was tiny, her hips flared. He had spent a great deal of the evening imagining what it would be like to unzip the back of that dress and peel it off her.

She looked distant and elegant, not at all like the Angel he knew. He wanted to take her out of here, back to his ranch. And keep her there. But the woman of the past had made her way very well in the future. She didn’t need him anymore.

It was a good thing he hadn’t given his heart to her. She’d have broken it when she left him. As it was, he was going to miss her, but he wouldn’t be devastated by the loss. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Angel could feel Dallas staring at her. She wanted to go to him, to share her excitement and joy at the success of her drawings. She couldn’t believe people would pay so much for pen and ink sketches. Ray Collinsworth had told her that the few pieces of art sold tonight had earned her thousands of dollars.

“The gallery wants as many drawings as you can produce,” Ray had said.

Angel felt overwhelmed. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” he said. “You’re going to be financially independent, able to draw what you want, when you want.”

Of course that was wonderful news, but her
feelings were mixed. The sale of her sketches and the request for more, meant that she had the means to support herself. If she wanted to, she could afford an apartment of her own, a car, a television, a microwave—in short, all the necessities of modern-day life. But Angel didn’t want those things. Not if it meant leaving Dallas.

Her needs were simple: she wanted to settle down with Dallas and raise a family. She wanted to be his wife.

However, it was going to be an uphill battle convincing Dallas that she wasn’t going to start looking for greener pastures the first chance she got. She had to convince him that so long as they were together, she would be happy.

She looked for Dallas and found him standing in front of her self-portrait. So far he hadn’t said anything about whether he liked her sketches. She wanted him to like them. She worried that he wouldn’t. But the bottom line was that she would still draw, whether he liked her work or not.

She made her way over to him, stopping to chat along the way. He looked so different in a tuxedo. His tanned complexion stood out against the stark white of the pleated shirt. He looked imposing and unapproachable. Not at all like the Texas Ranger who came home each day in a white yoked shirt, tan gabardine trousers, western belt
and boots. He was still standing by the self-portrait when she reached him.

“Congratulations, Angel,” he said. “Your exhibit is a big hit with everybody.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m really impressed. Your work is wonderful.”

“You are? It is?” Angel couldn’t help the smile that blossomed, lighting up her whole face.

“Did you think I wouldn’t like it?” he asked.

“I hoped—I wasn’t sure,” she admitted. “I’m glad you do.”

“When will you be leaving?” he asked.

“Leaving?” Angel felt stupid repeating the word, but she was shocked that he’d brought up the subject.

“Now that you have a career and can afford a place of your own, you’ll be wanting to move on.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Angel said. She arched a brow. “Do you want me to move out?”

“I figured that’s what you wanted.”

“I have money for a place of my own, but I’m not sure where I want to go. Would you mind if I stay with you for a few more days until I make up my mind?”

Dallas shrugged. It was a stiff movement and
betrayed more than he wanted. “Sure. A few days is fine.”

Angel didn’t like the grim look on Dallas’s face. Was it possible he didn’t care? That she had only been a burden, and he was glad to be rid of her? She couldn’t believe that. He cared. She knew he did. But she only had a few days to open his eyes to the fact that even though they had been born in different centuries, they had always belonged together.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dallas. I appreciate your offer. When are we heading back to the ranch?”

“Early tomorrow, if that’s all right with you. I’ve got reservations for us tonight—connecting rooms—at a hotel in town. Let me know when you’re ready to go, and we can get out of here.”

“I’m ready now,” Angel said. The sooner she started her campaign, the better.

Their connecting rooms were on the sixteenth floor. The hotel lobby was an open space surrounded by rooms. The elevator was glass-enclosed and ran up an inside wall. Angel stared anxiously at it.

“Are you sure this won’t fall?” she said as she stepped into it.

“I’m sure.” Dallas smiled reassuringly and slipped her arm through his. In so many ways she
was still an innocent. Who would be with her when she took her first airline flight? When she first laid eyes on the Grand Canyon? When she held her first child in her arms? He realized, with a start, that he wanted it to be him.

When they reached her room, he had trouble working the piece of plastic that the hotel had given him instead of a key to open the door.

“Here, let me,” Angel said. She read the instructions, then calmly inserted the plastic card in the slot, waited for the light, removed the plastic, and opened the door.

She grinned at Dallas. “See? Easy as pie.”

He stepped into the room with her. “Are you sure you know how to use everything?”

Angel surveyed the room. Telephone. Television. Refrigerator/Bar. Bathroom facilities. Bed. Chest. Lamps. Nothing strange. “I can manage,” she said.

Dallas opened the connecting door between their rooms and crossed to his side. “If you need anything, just knock on the door. It won’t be locked.”

Angel felt her stomach clench as she walked over to close the door. Did she have the courage to cross over this threshold tonight? She had to find a way to let Dallas know she wanted him as more than a friend, that she wanted him as her
husband. Would it help her cause, or hurt it, to approach him as a lover?

Dallas leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Because you looked like you needed it.”

“Dallas, I—”

“What, Angel?”

She wanted to ask him to make love to her. But the old moral values were hard to shed. “Thank you. I did need it. Good night.” She closed the door behind him.

Dallas lay awake far into the night, aware of the light in Angel’s room that kept away her dragons. She never had told him why she was afraid of the dark. Soon she would be leaving, and it would no longer be his problem. He should be glad to be done with the responsibility of her. He should be happy to be getting his privacy back.

Instead, Dallas felt a terrible sense of aloneness. Without the woman who had come to him from the past, his future seemed bleak and empty. He didn’t have much time to convince her to stay. But he’d be damned if he let her stroll out of his life without lifting a hand to stop her!

Angel wasn’t sure what woke her. She opened her eyes to total darkness. She reached for the
lamp and turned the switch. Apparently the bulb had burned out. She told herself to stay calm. She would just get up and turn on the bathroom light. When she flipped the switch, nothing happened. The dark was frighteningly complete. Angel felt her way to the door that lead to the lobby and opened it, expecting to see light, but everything was black and silent.

“Don’t get excited,” she told herself. “Maybe they turn the electricity off in the middle of the night, maybe—” But she couldn’t imagine such a thing.

It didn’t take her long to find her way to the connecting door. The instant she opened it, she heard the covers rustle on the bed.

“Angel, is that you?”

“Yes. The lights won’t turn on.”

Dallas tried the lamp beside his bed, then got up and checked the bathroom light. “The electricity’s out.”

“How is that possible?”

“Brownout maybe. The main power source gets overloaded,” he explained. “Everything cuts off.”

“I…could I stay here with you until it comes back on?”

Dallas hesitated. He couldn’t see Angel, but he knew what she’d packed to sleep in—one of those
large, flimsy T-shirts he had bought the first week she’d come to stay with him. He was wearing only a pair of briefs. Before he could warn her that he wasn’t dressed, she’d already found him in the dark and walked right into his arms.

Angel clung to Dallas as though he were a lifeline. She felt safe. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmured. “I don’t fear the dark when I’m with you.”

Dallas was doing everything in his power to control his raging hormones that had him as hard as a teenage kid in the back seat of a ’57 Chevy. It wasn’t working.

“Don’t let go!” Angel said when he tried to release her. “Please. Just hold me.”

Dallas pulled her back into the shelter of his arms and told his raging hormones to take a hike. But they weren’t going anywhere without taking him along. Dallas felt Angel’s breasts, soft against his chest, felt her fingers roam his back, smelled the fresh scent of herbal shampoo in her hair. Maybe if they got into bed she wouldn’t have to hold on quite so tight.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he suggested.

“All right.”

She walked beside him, aligning herself to his body, her head beneath his chin, her arm around his waist, her hip bumping against his.

A man could only take so much. He turned her in his arms and kissed her. Slow and deep. He felt banked coals burst into flame. His hands slid urgently down her back and curved around her buttocks, lifting her and pressing her hard against his arousal.

“Angel. I want you. I need you.”

He never gave her a choice, just swept her into his arms and found his way to the bed. He laid her down and followed her with his body, fitting them together as he had longed to do. His mouth found hers in the dark, to still any protest. One of his hands caught both of hers above her head and held her captive, while the other hand shoved her flimsy T-shirt up and out of his way. He groaned when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything—at all—under the shirt.

Then he was suckling her, teasing first one breast and then the other, until she was moaning and writhing under him. He kissed his way down her belly, to the portal below and kissed her there, too.

“Dallas, no. You can’t—” She struggled against his hold.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I only want to bring you pleasure. I won’t hurt you. And I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” He let her hands go and she grasped his hair.

Angel’s whole body was tense, taut as a bowstring. He kissed her again, his tongue darting inward to the soft nether flesh, evoking feelings she had never expected, never even suspected she could feel.