Lacy

“How was the big city?” Ben yelled at Lacy above the road and engine noise.

“Lonely,” she said, without thinking.

“That isn’t what Katy said after she went to that last party!” Ben chuckled.

Lacy stared at her hands in her lap. “No, I guess not.” She remembered the party. It had been like all the others she gave. Wild and bright and long. And the only person who hadn’t enjoyed it was Lacy herself. She enjoyed nothing without Cole.

His fingers touched her neck, lightly brushing it, as if by accident. Her pulse increased, her breath decreased. She looked up into dark, searching eyes and felt her whole body go rigid with mingled desire and pleasure.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, lingering there for so long that her lips involuntarily parted. She wondered what he would do if Ben weren’t sitting beside them, and thought in her heart she knew. She would have given anything at that moment to have Ben leap out of the car and vanish, so that she could be totally alone with her husband.

Ben didn’t vanish, of course, and Cole was distracted by a herd of cattle being moved in the distance. His eyes narrowed, watching, and Lacy smiled at that intense scrutiny. Just like a cattleman to be fascinated by anything on four legs.

It took only a few minutes to get to Spanish Flats, and Marion came rushing out to meet them. She didn’t hug Cole—that was forbidden, and everyone in the family knew and respected his dislike of physical contact. But she hugged Lacy, warmly and for a long time. Marion did look thinner, older.

“I’m so glad you’re here to help me cope, darling,” Marion said brokenly. “My baby’s run off with a gangster, Lacy!”

Lacy patted her on the back awkwardly. “Now, Marion. She’s a big girl, all grown up.”

“And if she isn’t now, she soon will be,” Cole said shortly. “Is it true—about the marriage?”

“Why, yes, of course.” Marion lied glibly, not believing it would really happen. She even smiled. “We’ll all be invited to the wedding.”

“You can go for all of us,” Cole said, his smile as icy as his tone. “If I went, I’d kill the—” He almost said it, remembered Lacy and his mother in the nick of time, and walked off without another word.

“Whew, that was close,” Ben said, with a shudder. “I opened my mouth out of turn and set him off at the siding. He’s still mad.”

“Why did you do that to him, Ben?” Lacy asked softly, her eyes quiet and accusing. “You know he won’t talk about the war.”

“Maybe that’s why,” Ben muttered. “He’s hiding something. He’s been hiding it ever since he came back, and Turk helps him. Neither one of them will tell the truth…”

“What happened is their business,” Marion said, touching her son’s arm lightly. “It’s none of ours.”

Ben sighed roughly. “Well, maybe so. I’ll put up the car and bring your bags in, Lacy.”

Lacy followed Marion inside, to be grabbed and soundly smothered by Cassie, who cried all over her and enthused about her coming home—and then rushed off to get hot tea to serve.

“You look well, at least,” Marion said later as they sat alone in the elegant living room sipping sweet tea from the dainty china cups Marion had brought here from her girlhood home in Houston.

“I wish I could say that I felt it,” Lacy confided. “I’ve been dead for eight months. It’s been horrible without him.”

Marion put her cup down gently on the carved oak coffee table. “He hasn’t been the picture of joy, either. He’s been even more quiet than usual working until all hours. You know, I didn’t even have to twist his arm to get him to go see you. He almost volunteered.”

“Maybe he wanted to see how many lovers I had.” Lacy laughed bitterly.

“He knows better than that,” the older woman scoffed. “So do I. I used to watch you, watching him. So much love, all wasted on him. He and Turk are much alike, Lacy. They wrapped themselves in steel after they came back from the war, and now they’re trying to live without ties of any kind. I don’t know what happened, of course, but I’m almost certain that Katy didn’t go to Chicago for love of that smooth-talking gangster 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 felt uncomfortable. “Why, yes,” he replied, with a faint smile, trying to sound as confident and urbane as his host. “My brother handles that end of it, of course. I’m more into the—uh…financial side of things.” Thank God Cole wasn’t here to hear him or he’d be into something else—like Cole’s fist!

“Good man. Nasty things, cattle,” the older man said, lifting his glass. “We’re going to make you into the reporter of the century. Scandal, crime, tragedy—We’ll make a fortune! Here’s to profit, son.”

Ben lifted his own glass. Waterford crystal, he recognized. Very nice. The bit about scandal, crime, and tragedy had gone right over his head. “Here’s to profit!”

It was a wonderful evening. Old man Bradley went out of his way to be courteous, and Jessica’s dark eyes made Ben into a nervous wreck with their frank sensuality. He was never aware of what he ate, but he was thankful for his mother’s insistence on proper table manners. At least he didn’t embarrass himself by not knowing which fork to use.

“Well,” Bradley said when they’d finished dessert and were sipping glasses of brandy in the living room, “I must get my rest. Bed at eight every evening, you know, son. It keeps the body fit.”

“Yes, of course,” Ben said falteringly, rising to his feet awkwardly. “I must be getting back home…”

“That long drive at this time of night? Don’t be absurd!” Bradley scoffed. “You’ll stay with us. Can’t have my star reporter on the road in the middle of the night. I need you, my boy. Your connections in San Antonio will be invaluable to me…to us! Advertising counts, you know, and a locally known name sells ads. Good business. Sleep well, my boy. Good night, my dear,” he told Jessica, bending to kiss her cheek warmly.

“Good night, Daddy,” Jessica said demurely. “I’ll show our guest to his room. An early night won’t hurt any of us.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Bradley chuckled as he climbed the winding staircase.

“Come along, Bennett,” Jessica told Ben. She put her glass down and took his hand in hers.

She was wearing a filmy blue creation, very lacy and clinging, and Ben’s heart actually hurt him with its wild pounding. She was the most sophisticated woman he’d ever known. His age exactly, but she was much more worldly than he was. And so sexy!

As she opened the door to a room in the wing across from where her father had vanished, he expected her to bid him good night. But she came in with him…and locked the door behind her.

“Now,” she whispered huskily, “I can do what I’ve waited all night for.”

“And what is that?” he asked, drinking in the scent of her.

“This,” she murmured, drawing his head down to hers.

God, could she kiss! He felt his toes curling at the first impact of her soft, moist lips. Her tongue went quickly into his mouth, thrusting, teasing. He reached for her, all restraint gone at the intimacy of her hips pushing urgently against his. She was no virgin. Not this little number!

Seconds later, she led him to the bed, but she moved back when he reached for her.

“Not yet, little Ben.” She laughed softly. She backed away, smoothing the dress down her body, her dark eyes sultry and triumphant as she saw the desire in his.

She peeled the buttons from their buttonholes with slender, deft fingers, and let him watch as she peeled the bodice down and stepped out of the dress, standing only in her pale lilac chemise and hose. Holding his eyes, she toyed with the thin straps, easing them slowly down her arms, her lips parted, her tongue touching her teeth.

Ben sat rigidly on the white coverlet, astonished at her lack of embarrassment. She tugged the chemise away from her small, taut breasts and let it fall. Standing in her knickers and garter belt and hose, she kicked the chemise across the polished wood floor and lifted her arms to remove the hairpins and loosen her long, dark hair.

Her back arched as she moved toward him. “How do you like me, little Ben?” she whispered. “Hmm?”

“God, you’re…lovely!” he choked.

“Then don’t sit there, lovey dove…Show Jessica you like her,” she whispered, lifting his hands.

She put them on her firm breasts, his palms hard against the taut, dark nipples, and watched with glittery, excited eyes as he caressed them.

“Come on, honey. Don’t be slow,” she teased, drawing his hands down to her knickers and garter belt.

He removed them with trembling hands, his heart pounding as he eased them off and peeled down her silky hose. She laughed a little wildly, sliding back onto the coverlet, glorious in her pink nudity, moving sensuously on the bed under his intense stare.

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