it made him feel good doing it, and he and Rueben discussed her condition and care the way they always did, which was mostly mutters and grunts with the absolute minimum number of actual words. Then he went out to the paddock to look over the rest of his stock—two mares with spring foals and three more pregnant ones due later in the summer.
He was leaning on the fence railing watching the foals trotting around after their dams, fuzzy little brush tails twitching busily at flies, when Rueben came to join him.
“Doin’ real good,” he said.
Cade nodded. He’d been wondering why the sight wasn’t giving his spirits a boost the way it was supposed to.
“So,” said Rueben after a silence, “you got married, huh?”
Cade surprised himself with a hard little nugget of laughter, which he gulped back guiltily. “Yeah…I guess I did.”
“Pretty sudden.”
He didn’t try to stop the laugh this time. “You could say that.”
Rueben mulled that over. “Pretty girl,” he said after awhile, nodding his head in a thoughtful way.
Cade nodded, too. “Yeah…” and he changed the nod to a wondering little shake “…she is that.”
“Seems nice,” said Rueben. He stared hard at the toes of his boots, then kicked at the dirt a couple of times, and finally turned to offer Cade his hand. “Congratulations.”
They shook, and Rueben gave his shoulder a hitch. “I’m gonna go get those suitcases now.” He walked rapidly away in the bowlegged, rump-sprung way older men do when they’ve spent a good part of their lives sitting on the back of a horse.
Cade thought about going to help him, but for some reason didn’t. He stayed where he was, leaning on the fence, watching the foals cavort in the sunshine, smelling the familiar smells of grass and straw and horse manure, feeling the humidity settle around him like a favorite old shirt. This was his world. It was where he belonged. It was good to be home. Home…
And then he thought, What in heaven’s name have I done?
Having suffered through the pain of his parents’ divorce at an age when his own adolescent struggles were just getting underway, he’d come to believe with all his heart and soul that if two people got married it ought to be forever. It was why he’d never been tempted to try it himself—he just didn’t think he had it in him to make that kind of commitment. And here he was, not only had he gone and committed himself, but to a girl ten years younger, from the other side of the world, with whom he had nothing in common with, and barely knew!
He patted his shirt pocket, looking for the comfort of a cheroot, which Betsy wouldn’t let him smoke in the house. Then, remembering they were still packed away in a suitcase, he gazed up into the milky haze and sighed.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought, but…well, it was what Rueben had said. Leila was a very pretty girl—downright beautiful, actually—but more than that, yes, she was nice. Sure, she was a princess, and spoiled and pampered and very, very young. But she had a bright and buoyant spirit. And he’d come to realize, even in the short time he’d known her, that she also had a kind and loving heart. She deserved someone who would love her back, someone who would make her happy. As he was certain he never would.
His chest swelled and tightened, suddenly, with that familiar surge of protective tenderness, and he brought his closed fist down hard on the fence railing. Dammit, he thought, I can’t do this to her. I can’t.
At the time, he remembered, it had seemed to him he’d had no choice. Converting…marrying Leila…it had looked like the only reasonable course of action open to him. But that had been back there, in The Arabian Nights world of Tamir. Here, with the green grass of Texas under his boots, he knew it was impossible. Not so much the conversion—he’d never had any particular religious beliefs one way or another, so what difference did it make what label he carried? But marriage, now, that was different. Marriage involved somebody else, not just him. In this case, a nice, lovely girl. A princess. And a virgin princess, at that.
His fist tightened on the fence railing. Somehow or other, he was going to have to find a way out of this—for both their sakes. And in the meantime…well, the very least he could do, Cade figured, was see that the virgin princess came out of this marriage in the same condition as when she went in….
It was late—almost midnight—and Leila was growing more nervous and apprehensive by the minute. Surely, she told herself, Cade would come soon. He must be tired after such a long journey. Why did he not come to bed?
This was his bedchamber—bedroom—she must remember to call it that, now that she was to be an American. Betsy had told her so. “And yours, now, too,” the round, kind-faced woman had said, and had given Leila’s hand a happy squeeze.
Betsy’s husband, Rueben, had brought her suitcases here along with Cade’s, and then Betsy had helped her with the unpacking until it was time for her to go and prepare the evening meal. She had even rearranged things in the dresser drawers and spacious closets to make room for Leila’s things. So few things, really—she had left Tamir in such a hurry. The rest of her belongings would be packed into boxes and shipped to her later, though where she would find room for them all here was a mystery to her.
But would she even need so many things…so many beautiful clothes, hats, designer shoes…now that she was married to Cade Gallagher and living in Houston, Texas? She didn’t know. There were so many things she didn’t know.
It had all happened so fast. She had barely had time to say goodbye to her mother and sisters, to Salma, and Nargis. Thinking about them now, she felt a frightened, hollow feeling, and for one panicky moment was afraid she might begin to cry. She took several deep breaths and blinked hard until the feeling went away. I must not cry—what would Cade think?
Perhaps it was just that she was so tired. It seemed a lifetime since she had slept. Cade’s bed—big and wide and covered with a puffy comforter in masculine colors, a burgundy, blue-and-green paisley print—looked inviting. But Leila didn’t dare to lie down. She didn’t dare even sit. In fact, she had taken to pacing, not so much out of nervousness, although she definitely was, but because she was afraid if she stopped moving she would fall asleep. She had refused wine at dinner for the same reason—even the mild vintages at home made her sleepy.
Cade, she had noticed, drank strong black coffee with his meal, and afterward a small glassful of something the same golden brown color as his eyes. Bourbon, he said it was, when she asked. After that he had excused himself and gone into his study—to make some phone calls, he told her.
Betsy had shown her Cade’s study, on her tour of the house. To Leila it had seemed the most fascinating of rooms, full of photographs and books and all sorts of personal things that belonged to Cade. There had been a photograph of Cade with his mother and father, taken when Cade was very young, and Leila remembered that Kitty had told her that Cade’s mother and father were both dead. She had felt a warm little flash of sadness for the eager-looking golden-haired boy in the picture. There had been a blackand-white photograph of a bearded man dressed in overalls, standing amongst a forest of tall wooden oil derricks—Cade’s grandfather, Betsy had told her, and he had been a “wildcatter.” What was a wildcatter? Leila had longed to ask that question and so many others, to study the pictures and ask about them…to learn more about the stranger who was her husband.
But
