Page 9 of Texas Glory
Austin leaned against the beam. “Yeah, that’s what she travels in when she’s allowed to travel, which isn’t often, according to Cameron.”
“If you know so much about her why didn’t you tell me she was in the area?” Dallas asked.
Austin shrugged. “Didn’t figure you’d want a woman who didn’t have a nose.”
Dallas pointed his finger at each of his brothers. “Don’t go gaping at her. Dr. Freeman said she was shy. That’s probably why, so don’t stare at her.”
“I’m hardly in a position to gape at anyone with a disfigurement,” Houston said, scraping his thumb over the heavy scars that trailed along his cheek below his eye patch.
Dallas nodded and turned his attention back toward the caravan. “A nose isn’t important.” Eyes. Eyes were important. God, he hoped she had pretty eyes.
The horses and coach came to a halt. All the men sat in their saddles, glaring, not a smile to be seen.
“Where’s your father?” Dallas asked Boyd McQueen.
“He was feeling poorly this afternoon, so I’ll be acting in his stead, and I’ll be wanting a word with you in private before the ceremony.”
“Fine.”
Dallas watched as Cameron dismounted and opened the door of the coach. A white gloved hand slipped into Cameron’s tanned one. A slender hand. Long fingers. A white slipper-covered foot came into view, followed by a white silk skirt, a silk and lace bodice, and a white veil. The veil covered her face, but beyond it, Dallas could see she had swept up her black hair.
“Stop gaping,” Houston whispered beside him, but Dallas couldn’t help himself.
The woman was tall. Dr. Freeman had said she was a “shy little thing,” and Dallas had expected a woman along the lines of Amelia, a woman who came no higher than the center of his chest. But Cordelia McQueen was as tall as her brothers. He thought the top of her head might be level with the tip of his nose. Slender, she was a fine figure of a woman.
Dallas took a deep breath and stepped off the veranda. He noticed the subtle tightening of the woman’s fingers on her brother’s hand. The thick veil hid her features from him, but he thought she might have dark eyes. He could live with a woman who had dark eyes. He could tell by the slight jutting of the veil that her father had carved her a tiny nose. He wondered if it melted in summer when the stifling heat dried the land. Maybe he’d whittle her a nose of wood, small like the one she had of wax.
Dallas swept off his hat. “Miss McQueen, it’s a pleasure to have you here.”
“I hope it will be, Mr. Leigh.”
Her voice was as soft as falling snow.
“I’ll do all in my power to see that it is, Miss McQueen. Give you my word on that.”
It was impossible to tell with the veil covering her eyes, but he had a feeling in his gut that she was staring at him.
“Stay here, Cordelia,” Boyd said as he dismounted. “We need a few minutes alone with your future husband.”
Turning, Dallas glared at Boyd. Of all the McQueens, Dallas had taken an instant dislike to Boyd the moment their paths had first crossed. “I imagine what you have to say concerns her, so she’ll come with us.”
“Fine,” Boyd said through gritted teeth. “We’ll need the preacher as a witness.”
Dallas crooked his arm and tilted his head toward Cordelia. “Shall we go inside?”
She glanced at Cameron who gave her a smile and a nod. Then she released her hold on her brother and wrapped her fingers around Dallas’s forearm. He wished he couldn’t feel through the sleeve of his jacket that she was shaking worse than a leaf in the wind.
Cordelia had never seen a house with such cavernous rooms. Their footsteps had echoed over the stone floors as they walked to Dallas Leigh’s office.
She wondered if he would allow her to spend time in this room. She was in awe of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined three of the walls. Empty shelves—save one—but shelves all the same. She imagined all her books could have found a home in here.
Cameron had convinced her to bring only a few of her belongings in the event she decided not to stay. As though she would have a choice in the matter. Watching the man sitting behind the large mahogany desk, she had a feeling that leaving him would not be an option for her once she became his wife.
Just as leaving had not been an option for her mother.
When Dallas Leigh had removed his hat and the shadows had retreated, she had been unprepared for the perfection of his chiseled features. She tried not to stare at him now, but she seemed unable to stop herself. A thick black mustache framed lips that looked too soft to belong to a man.
Over the years, the wind and sun had carved lines into a face that reflected pride and confidence. And possession. Dallas Leigh was a man who not only owned all that surrounded him, but he owned himself as well.
