men.
Kate’s hands began to shake. She set the washcloth aside and quickly drew the sheet up, covering Reed to the neck. She stared down at him, watched his chest rise and fall, memorizing the way his dark lashes—sinfully thick lashes—brushed his high cheekbones. He seemed to have calmed; his skin had cooled. He was resting comfortably. Kate decided to take advantage of the bathing room at the end of the hall, so she picked up the lamp, crossed the room, and gently closed the door.
7
Reed opened his eyes to darkness.
His head felt stuffed with cotton. His mouth was dry, his shoulder ached like a son of a bitch. He had been dreaming of Daniel, and in his dream he was running after his son—running as fast as he could, shouting his son’s name.
But Daniel wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t stop running. Soon, the boy disappeared completely behind a dense wall of smoke.
Reed had been around Comanche long enough to have learned some of their beliefs. They took a lot of stock in a man’s dreams. Had his dream of Daniel been some sort of warning?
He would have to remind Becky to keep a close eye on the boy.
He had dreamed of the old man, too. He’d seen his father dead, laid out in a wooden box in the window of the sitting room of his damn palace, Benton House. The place was a mansion suited for a city someplace back East, not the middle of the prairie. It looked like it had fallen out of the sky. His father used it to tempt Becky, to make her beg to move back.
Benton House was fit for a king, not a rancher.
Reed Benton Senior—the goddamn king of Lone Star Ranch. The man never listened to a soul, never cared about what anyone else wanted, not his son, not even his wife. Reed winced thinking of his mother, of the neglect she had suffered at the hands of his father, and of one thing she wanted that his father refused to give her—his love and attention. As far as Reed was concerned, her death was his father’s fault. He would forever lay that on the old man’s head.
His father might be the ruler of his domain, but he didn’t wield enough power to dictate to him, or Becky, or Daniel. Not now, not ever. It would be a cold day in hell before he moved them back to Benton House to live under his father’s thumb.
Becky knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, either. He saw in her eyes that she hated him for not wanting to live the easy life, for not letting her enjoy the luxury of the big, solid house away from the frontier. She wanted Sofia waiting on her hand and foot while his father spent time trying to convince him to run for state legislature. The old man swore that he cast a long enough shadow that he could even buy his son an election.
Reed would never feel like a man, never be anything but “Junior” as long as his father was alive. At least living on the edge of the frontier kept him removed from the old man’s grasp.
Reed opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the bed beneath him began to spin, so he dropped back down.
Where in the hell was Becky?
He tried to call her, but his throat was so rusty that damn near gibberish was all that came out.
Just then the door opened and a shimmering halo of lamplight preceded her into the room. She had her hair twisted into a thick braid that fell like an auburn rope over her shoulder. He hadn’t realized it nearly reached her waist. He loved her hair, loved to run his fingers through it.
Some men were of the opinion that if you told a woman you loved her too often, she would begin to take you for granted.
It seemed like a hell of a long time since he had held his wife in his arms. She stood in the doorway, not moving, just watching him. A circle of light played over her face, teased him with shaded glimpses of her features.
He tried to sit up, rolled to his side, decided to wait for her to come to him.
Damn, even as bad as he felt, just the sight of her had him hard as a rock.
He stretched out his arm, beckoned her closer.
When Kate opened the door
Kate’s hands began to shake. She set the washcloth aside and quickly drew the sheet up, covering Reed to the neck. She stared down at him, watched his chest rise and fall, memorizing the way his dark lashes—sinfully thick lashes—brushed his high cheekbones. He seemed to have calmed; his skin had cooled. He was resting comfortably. Kate decided to take advantage of the bathing room at the end of the hall, so she picked up the lamp, crossed the room, and gently closed the door.
7
Reed opened his eyes to darkness.
His head felt stuffed with cotton. His mouth was dry, his shoulder ached like a son of a bitch. He had been dreaming of Daniel, and in his dream he was running after his son—running as fast as he could, shouting his son’s name.
But Daniel wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t stop running. Soon, the boy disappeared completely behind a dense wall of smoke.
Reed had been around Comanche long enough to have learned some of their beliefs. They took a lot of stock in a man’s dreams. Had his dream of Daniel been some sort of warning?
He would have to remind Becky to keep a close eye on the boy.
He had dreamed of the old man, too. He’d seen his father dead, laid out in a wooden box in the window of the sitting room of his damn palace, Benton House. The place was a mansion suited for a city someplace back East, not the middle of the prairie. It looked like it had fallen out of the sky. His father used it to tempt Becky, to make her beg to move back.
Benton House was fit for a king, not a rancher.
Reed Benton Senior—the goddamn king of Lone Star Ranch. The man never listened to a soul, never cared about what anyone else wanted, not his son, not even his wife. Reed winced thinking of his mother, of the neglect she had suffered at the hands of his father, and of one thing she wanted that his father refused to give her—his love and attention. As far as Reed was concerned, her death was his father’s fault. He would forever lay that on the old man’s head.
His father might be the ruler of his domain, but he didn’t wield enough power to dictate to him, or Becky, or Daniel. Not now, not ever. It would be a cold day in hell before he moved them back to Benton House to live under his father’s thumb.
Becky knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, either. He saw in her eyes that she hated him for not wanting to live the easy life, for not letting her enjoy the luxury of the big, solid house away from the frontier. She wanted Sofia waiting on her hand and foot while his father spent time trying to convince him to run for state legislature. The old man swore that he cast a long enough shadow that he could even buy his son an election.
Reed would never feel like a man, never be anything but “Junior” as long as his father was alive. At least living on the edge of the frontier kept him removed from the old man’s grasp.
Reed opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the bed beneath him began to spin, so he dropped back down.
Where in the hell was Becky?
He tried to call her, but his throat was so rusty that damn near gibberish was all that came out.
Just then the door opened and a shimmering halo of lamplight preceded her into the room. She had her hair twisted into a thick braid that fell like an auburn rope over her shoulder. He hadn’t realized it nearly reached her waist. He loved her hair, loved to run his fingers through it.
Some men were of the opinion that if you told a woman you loved her too often, she would begin to take you for granted.
It seemed like a hell of a long time since he had held his wife in his arms. She stood in the doorway, not moving, just watching him. A circle of light played over her face, teased him with shaded glimpses of her features.
He tried to sit up, rolled to his side, decided to wait for her to come to him.
Damn, even as bad as he felt, just the sight of her had him hard as a rock.
He stretched out his arm, beckoned her closer.
When Kate opened the door
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