Rexanne Becnel (30 page)

Lacie was not hungry; her stomach was too tied up in knots to abide food. But the board meeting would not begin for at least another hour. Getting there early was absolutely out of the question, for she could not risk running into Dillon, especially if there was no one else around.

A trifle uncertain, she left the hotel, descended the steps to the rain-washed boardwalk, and looked up and down the street. Despite the early hour, people were already beginning to go about their business. A shopkeeper across the way had removed his wooden shutters and was unfurling a pair of awnings over his display windows. A skinny little boy pulled a two-wheeled cart laden with neatly stacked newspapers. Two well-dressed businessmen walked briskly toward a bank, while a white-haired gentleman settled himself on a bench in front of a barbershop.

The air smelled clean, washed by the early morning rain and sweetened now by bright sunlight chasing the clouds away. As Lacie looked around, she could almost feel the pulse of the city and sense the energy and growth of which Dillon had spoken so enthusiastically. It was a young, vital town, rushing into the future. And Dillon was a large part of that future.

Depressed by the thought, Lacie arbitrarily started to walk. She had no particular destination. She only wanted to pass the time and, perhaps, to prepare herself for the coming ordeal. But before she had progressed to the end of the block, she was hailed by a low, familiar voice.

“Let me show you Denver.” Dillon gave her a speculative look as he strode up, as if he were not quite sure of the response he would get.

For her part Lacie wanted nothing more than to send him packing. How dare he assume she would want to see Denver with him! After his unforgivable behavior last night? How dare he even speak to her!

“I am not interested in seeing Denver,” she snapped, turning to continue on her way. Unfortunately, he just matched his pace to hers and strolled nonchalantly at her side. Even when she hurried to put him behind her, he lengthened his own long stride to keep up with her.

“I told you before that we were on my turf now. As long as we’re both here, why not take advantage of the situation?”

“You
told
me nothing,” she hissed. “What you did—what you always do—is
threaten
me.”

He caught her arm and forced her to a halt. “Can’t we compromise? Let’s just say that I
warned
you. That’s not a threat. And if you don’t want me to show you Denver, how about if I just accompany you on your tour?”

Lacie was not fool enough to fall for this self-serving line of reasoning. He was trying to talk her into letting him do exactly as he pleased. But she was helpless against the emotions that his touch stirred in her. His hand on her arm was warm through the several layers of fabric, and her reckless heart ignored the logical warnings that circled in her head. For an endless moment their eyes clung. Dark serious gray met clear piercing green. When he tucked her hand beneath his arm she did not protest, though something deep inside her quivered.

“Denver is an unusual town,” he began without preamble. He deftly guided her to the edge of the boardwalk and started across the street with her.

“I don’t care to know anything about Denver,” she responded at last. She tried to pull her hand from his possessive hold, but it was to no avail.

“You’ll like Denver if you just give it a chance.”

“I don’t
want
to like Denver,” she answered heatedly. “I didn’t want to come here, and I hope never to come back again!”

“Dammit! Will you stop being so difficult, at least for a little while?” He turned her toward him and stared hard at her mutinous face. “You’re here now, so accept it. And remember, Lacie, as long as you plan on pretending you’re Frederick’s widow, you’ll have to keep coming back here at least once a year.”

For some strange reason he seemed amused by his own words, but Lacie was dismayed by them. Indeed, during the long hours of the night she had fretted about that very possibility. If she wanted to keep Sparrow Hill going she would never be completely rid of Dillon Lockwood. He would always be there somewhere, lurking in the background, waiting to be dealt with. Even when he was not physically there, his memory would haunt her just the same, waiting in benign repose until, when she was least prepared, it would spring forward to reopen all the painful memories.

She could not handle the pain now. Was she likely to do any better in the future?

Lacie averted her eyes from his too perceptive stare. Unbidden, the thought occurred that she could always say yes to him. If she wanted to, she could simply agree to marry him. But she quickly forced such a foolish idea away. That was only wishful dreaming, she told herself stubbornly. It was a business deal he had proposed, not really a marriage. But as his hands slid slightly lower on her arms, she knew she would have to keep on reminding herself of that fact. That was the only way to prevent herself from succumbing to the heat that enveloped her whenever he touched her, whenever he was anywhere near her.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself as best she could. “All right, show me Denver.” She raised her eyes briefly to his darkly handsome face, then looked away. “Since I plan to be here every year for the board meeting, I may as well learn my way around,” she added tersely.

“How sensible of you,” he chuckled. Then he tucked her hand back under his arm and guided her up onto the next boardwalk. Although it was no more than a gentlemanly gesture, Lacie was suddenly reminded of another time and another town they’d strolled arm in arm. She had been unwilling then too. But now her unwillingness had another more vulnerable face to it.

The stiffness in her gait eased, and the rigidity of her posture slowly relaxed as they walked along and he pointed out buildings, businesses, and people. All around them the town was slowly coming to life. Besides the bank and the dry goods, the saddlers and the several saloons and entertainment establishments, Dillon pointed out a milliner’s shop, two doctors’ offices, several buildings sporting lawyers’ shingles, and a freshly whitewashed church.

“The newspaper office is recent too,” he told her, pointing out a two-storied building where a pair of carts waited for more loads of the freshly printed newspapers. “The first building floated away in the flood of ’sixty-four.” He laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “They kept right on printing, though. Never missed an issue.”

“You were already in Denver then?” she asked, forgetting that she’d planned to remain reserved and aloof.

“I was near Denver, up in those foothills before you reach Lookout Mountain.” He gestured toward a distant range of hills and mountains to the west. “But I came in to town pretty often.”

“You were working in the mines?” she asked as he guided her around a corner onto a street where the boardwalk was now being extended. New houses were being built in the area, and one already sported window boxes with bunches of violets and ivy trailing from them.

“I worked in the mines. I worked on the transports. I worked at anything and everything I could.” He looked down at her with no trace of mocking or teasing in his face. “I worked hard because I believed I could build a good life for myself here.”

“You—you’ve done very well,” she conceded, as their eyes held for a long disconcerting moment. Then she swallowed convulsively and looked away. “You seem to have gotten everything you wanted.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he did, she wasn’t entirely certain of his meaning.

“I haven’t gotten everything I want,” he said enigmatically. “Not yet.”

Her heart raced as she pondered his meaning. Did he mean her? Yet as soon as that thought occurred another took its place. No, he meant Frederick’s properties. He didn’t have them all yet because she stood in the way. He wanted the properties, therefore he wanted her. She was back to the same old coil.

They walked another half-block in silence, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Then Dillon halted before a red-brick building of Gothic design.

“The Methodist School,” he said, answering her curious look. “It’s newly built, yet already full, enrolled with girls.” He gave her an intent look! “I thought you might be interested in seeing it.”

Lacie could not deny her curiosity, although Dillon’s motives in bringing her here aggravated her no end. Still, she was unable to appear disinterested.

Although it was imposing in its own right, the Methodist School did not begin to compare with Sparrow Hill. Still, there was a reassuring familiarity about the place. The building was empty now, but she knew that once the summer harvests were over, it would be filled with the sounds of children’s high-pitched voices. That sound must certainly be the same no matter what school a person was in, she thought with a faint smile.

Despite the unseemliness of it and the fact that Dillon was watching her, Lacie could not resist approaching the school and peering through one of the uncurtained windows. Although there were pronounced differences between this school and her own Sparrow Hill, as she squinted to see into the dim interior, Lacie was struck more by its similarities than its differences. The same rows of desks, the same shelves of books, and a globe on the teacher’s table.

But the sameness was more than even that, and she smiled ruefully when she recognized it. This was a place where children learned and teachers taught. It was not as grand and steeped in tradition as Sparrow Hill, but it was a school with teachers and children, and that was always a step in the right direction.

She rubbed a spot clear on the window, leaning closer as she stared into the schoolroom. Despite herself, she found the place strangely appealing. But then she remembered Dillon’s so-called proposal. He expected her to give up her beautiful school—and everything else Frederick had owned—for the dubious pleasure of becoming his wife and allowing him to give her a new school to occupy herself with. Wouldn’t he just love to get all that property back in his clutches? she thought in returning annoyance. Then he would build her a little school—probably no match even for this one, and consider her well paid.

Lacie stepped back from the school and shook her head slowly. She’d be a fool to consider it, and he was quite mad to think she would. When she turned back to face him, her wavering emotions were buoyed by righteous anger. But she was brought up short by a middle-aged woman watching the two of them curiously.

“Have you children that require schooling?” the neatly dressed woman asked.

“What? Oh—um, no.” Lacie glanced from Dillon to the woman, then back once more to Dillon. She was completely flustered by the woman’s mistake, even as understandable as it was. “No, I…uh—we don’t.”

The woman smiled. “No doubt you one day will. And when you do, my dear, you couldn’t do better than this Methodist School. Even if you aren’t Methodist,” she added conspiratorially. “Of course, they’re already filled to capacity, but if you talk to them well in advance, you can get yourself a place for your child. And it appears you’ve got plenty of time.” She smiled at the two of them as she started on her way. “It’s a good place. My Mary graduated from there this past May. First of her class.”

“That’s quite admirable,” Dillon said with a winning smile at the beaming woman. “You must be very proud of her.”

To his credit, Dillon did not press the point on their return walk. But there was no need, for Lacie was already too disconcerted by the woman’s Casual assumption that they were husband and wife. A part of her wondered why she was struggling so hard against what seemed the easiest and most logical solution to her dilemma. Just marry him, move the school, and be content.

But another part of her—her heart—knew that she would never be completely content with such an arrangement. She
would
marry him if he loved her, but he did not.

Lacie was buried in thought, quite morose indeed, when they reached the three-storied brick building that housed Dillon’s offices. Lacie shook herself out of her gloomy mood and examined the building with more interest than she had the previous day. It was a magnificent new structure, among the finest in Denver from what she had seen, certainly in the best of taste. Dillon clearly had a knack for giving himself the trappings of respectability. From his clothes to his offices to the hotel he had created, he appeared every inch the cream of Denver society.

But that was only appearances, she reminded herself. Although he looked the part, inside he was all business and no feelings. Still, as she stared up at his prosperous-looking offices, she had to admit that his attitude was probably what accounted for his astounding success in business. He did what he had to do. He made the deals he had to make. No regrets, no apologies, as long as the profits increased.

She started up the steps only to be restrained by Dillon’s hand on her arm. When she turned to face him, he stared at her with eyes too perceptive for her peace of mind. She could feel her pulse beginning to race.

“So, what do you think of Denver?” His gaze did not waver from her face.

“It’s—well, it’s bigger and more prosperous than I had expected. I thought there would be more miners and cowboys, fewer families and children,” she admitted softly.

“Yes, I thought so.” He took her arm and guided her up the granite steps. “How did you like the school?”

Lacie was so undone by the return of his hand to her arm that his words did not register at first. But once they paused at the doors, she looked up at him.

“The school was very nice. I’m sure it will do well.” She paused, and her jaw tightened stubbornly. “Every town needs a good school.” Then she pulled her arm free and reached for the doorknob.

Dillon was not so easily shaken off, however. He too reached for the knob, then kept his hand firmly over her smaller one, forcing them to open the door together.

“After you,” he murmured quietly, but his voice had recaptured some of its more typical mocking tone.

“Thank you,” she muttered reluctantly, suddenly too conscious of his warm palm encircling her hand. Then, before he could do any further damage to her shattered nerves, she gathered her skirts and hurried in, not stopping to see whether he followed or stayed, anxious only to put as much space between them as was possible.