she’s been dating.”
“You think Turk said something to her?” Lacy asked, studying the wrinkled face.
“I’m certain that he did. Perhaps he told her that there was no hope, or said something cruel to her. But Katy wouldn’t have gone like that without a reason. And she didn’t seem in love to me. At least not with Danny Marlone!”
Katy was her friend, but Lacy wondered if anyone really knew her heart. Lacy never had, although she loved the younger girl like a sister. If there was one man in the world Katy would die for, though, it was Turk. Just the least notice from him could put the younger woman into dreams of ecstasy for hours. It was almost pitiful, the way she watched him and found excuses to be with him. Turk, on the other hand, was, as Marion had said, a lot like Cole. His face gave away nothing, and he seemed to hide his own vulnerabilities in humor. If he had vulnerabilities. Perhaps personal tragedy had damaged him, too. Cole had said that Turk’s wife died. That would be shattering, especially to a man who was so much a man. It would be like an indictment of his masculinity that he’d failed to save her.
“You’re very quiet,” Marion murmured.
“I’m worried about Katy, too,” she confessed. “Is he a nice man, this Danny? Will he be good to her?”
“I suppose so, darling. But it’s his business that bothers me. He owns a speakeasy, and I don’t think he’s above making dishonest deals. It bothers me. Still, what can we do? She’s a grown woman now. I was married and had Coleman when I was just her age. My hands are tied.” She took another sip of tea. “At least Coleman believed me. He won’t go rushing up there with his pistol.”
“Believed you?” Lacy probed.
“Darling, I don’t believe a word of the note Katy left me,” came the quiet reply. “I don’t think that man has any intention of marrying her.”
“Oh.” Lacy felt shattered by that statement. She loved Katy. Katy had always been a good girl, despite her coquettishness. And now, for her to go and—and live with a man! Oh, Katy, how could you? she thought miserably. How could you let Turk cause you to do something like that?
Then she remembered her own threat to Cole if he didn’t share her room. About George. Well, she comforted herself, the ends justified the means, didn’t they? But until tonight, she wouldn’t know. And remembering the last time, she wondered if she was going to have enough courage to go through with this. She did love Cole. But would her love for him be enough to save their marriage?
Ben borrowed the car for his dinner date, careful to reassure his mother that he was leaving in plenty of time for the long drive—and that he wouldn’t wreck her pretty little black runabout.
Mothers, he thought to himself as he gunned the engine going down the long, winding dirt road. The sky was cloudy, but perhaps it wouldn’t rain. Anyway, there was a top—if he could remember how to put it up!
He was still bothered about the new atmosphere between himself and Cole. In all the arguments they’d ever had, Cole had never lifted a hand to him before. That was out of character, even if the display of temper wasn’t. He’d certainly hit a nerve. He knew that his big brother was hiding something; he just couldn’t figure out what it was. Marion had said it was none of his business, but he wondered all the same. Cole was so secretive about his private life. And especially about Lacy.
Ben grimaced, remembering how he’d brought about that disastrous marriage. He hadn’t meant to force them into a corner; it had all been a big joke. But it wasn’t funny the next morning when they were let out. Lacy had been white as a sheet and crying, something the spunky girl had never done in front of him before. Of course, the look on Cole’s face had been enough to reduce a strong man to tears—utterly ferocious. Ben had gone to visit an aunt in Houston the same day, to get out of Cole’s way while he cooled off. And by the time he came back, Cole and Lacy were married.
He’d wanted Lacy for himself. She was so lovely, so cultured. While Coleman had been way during the war, Ben had been Lacy’s shadow. Then when Coleman had come home again, the older man had been so cold and remote that no one could approach him except Turk. He’d actually backed away from Lacy when she’d gone running, with her heart in her eyes, to welcome him home from France after armistice was declared. He knew he’d never forget the way Lacy had looked, or how she’d reacted to Cole’s distance during the months and years that followed. She’d been talking of leaving the ranch, for the first time, when Ben had hit on his practical joke. He’d asked Lacy to marry him, in desperation, and she’d refused with such gentleness.
It had almost killed him to know, finally, that she’d only felt affection for him, and that had rankled. Like Katy, Ben was used to getting his own way, especially with women. He sighed, thinking about the girls he’d been out with in San Antonio. He sometimes felt certain that he knew more about women even than Cole did. Cole seemed remarkably repressed; he always walked off when Ben and Turk started talking about their conquests. Especially since the war.
Turk was a rounder, he thought. The ace pilot had been his hero for a long time. Cole was too hard an act to follow. Turk was more human. Ben admired his success with women, his cool, easy manner. Turk was high-tempered, too, like Cole, but he was a little more forgiving and less rigid in his attitudes. Ben wondered how Cole got along with Lacy when the lights went out. He thought that might have been why Lacy left him in the first place. They’d had separate rooms, and Ben suspected, as did the others in the family, that the marriage had never been consummated. That would hurt a woman like Lacy, to have everyone think her own husband considered her undesirable. She’d stayed in San Antonio eight months, and there had been a man hanging around her, from what Katy said. But for Lacy to come home with Cole, the man must not have meant much to her. Lacy probably still loved Cole, despite everything. Looking back, he couldn’t remember a time when Lacy hadn’t looked at the older man with her heart in her sad eyes. But Ben hadn’t noticed—not until he’d played his infamous practical joke and forced Lacy into the anguish of a loveless marriage. He sometimes felt very guilty about that.
His mind went back to meeting them at the siding, to little Faye Cameron’s sudden appearance. She was a cute thing, that blond tomboy, but hardly the kind of woman he needed. Writers, he decided, were loners. They couldn’t be restricted to just one woman. They needed lots of women.
Of course, there was Jessica Bradley, the daughter of the new periodical’s publisher. She was a dish. Very dark, with creamy skin, and a very kissable mouth, and a body he was aching to get his hands on. Now there was a sophisticated little doll. He began to whistle as he thought about her and increased his speed. Poor little Faye would just have to set her sights a little lower. A rancher’s daughter needed a cattleman, anyway, not a famous writer.
The Bradleys were waiting for him when he got to the elegant residence near the Alamo. Randolph Bradley was tall and silver-haired, with a neatly clipped mustache and very blue eyes. His daughter apparently took after her mother, whose portrait hung above the elegant mantle in the Victorian living room.
“Mama is in Europe, of course,” Jessica informed him as they sipped champagne cocktails before being served dinner in the spacious dining room. She moved closer to him, drowning him in exquisite scent. “She detests the frontier. It’s nothing like New York. But Papa insisted that we come here to take over this territorial publication.”
“Papa knows a good business venture when he sees one,” Bradley said haughtily. He looked down his nose at her and made a face. “This little publication is going to become a force in Western journalism, you wait and see, daughter. Now, Whitehall, tell me about yourself. Your people are in cattle ranching, I understand.”
Ben
