Page 118 of Texas Glory
“This doesn’t concern you, Cordelia,” Boyd said.
“The hell it doesn’t. You and Father bartered me away for a strip of land, and now you have the gall to say it doesn’t concern me? How dare you! How dare you come into our home and demand anything of us, anything of Dallas. There isn’t a court in the state that will side with you, that will say a dead son is the same as a live son—”
“Dee—” Dallas began.
“No!” she said, hurting for him, the pain twisting inside her for all that they had lost. They would lose no more. She turned her hardened gaze on her brother and pressed a hand to her chest. “We hurt, damn you! We lost something that we desperately wanted, something we can never regain. Where was my family when I was suffering? Where was my family when I thought I might die? Marking off the land they wanted to claim!” She trembled with rage, hurt with disappointment. “I never again want you to step foot in this house. You will never acquire the land because I am now unable to give Dallas a living son. I have a strong need to hit something, Boyd, and if you don’t get out of my sight right this minute, there’s a good chance you’ll be the thing I hit.”
Boyd glared at Dallas. “You gonna let her do the talking for you?”
Dallas nodded sagely. “I’ll even hold you for her if she wants to hit you.”
“You’ll regret going back on your word,” Boyd spat out just before he stalked from the room.
Cordelia sank into a chair, shaking as though she’d been thrown into an icy river. Dallas knelt beside her.
“I’ve never gone back on my word, Dee, but for you, I will. I’ll move my fence back across the river if you want.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want right now. Just hold me.”
He wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face to his shoulder and wept: for the family named McQueen that she had lost, for the family named Leigh that she would never have.
Sauntering from the back room in the barn, Austin heard the faint harsh breathing, like someone running, fighting for air. He halted and listened carefully. Then very cautiously and quietly, he climbed to the loft.
Rawley was crammed into a corner, his arms wrapped tightly around his drawn-up knees, rocking, rocking back and forth.
Austin eased over the straw-covered floor. “Rawley?”
Austin had never seen raw terror, but he knew he was looking at it now. He touched the boy’s shoulder and could feel the tremors racing through him.
“He’s here,” Rawley whispered.
“Who’s here?”
“The man what hurt Miz Dee.”
Austin crawled on his belly to the open window in the loft and gazed out. He recognized the three horses tied to the railing, but he couldn’t believe one of the McQueen brothers was responsible for hurting Dee. He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure he’s here?”
Like a frightened turtle, Rawley drew his shoulders up as though he thought he could hide his head. “He paid my pa.”
“What he’d pay your pa for?”
Rawley rolled his shoulders forward. “To hurt me,” he whispered in a voice that echoed shame.
Rage surged through Austin. “Can you point him out to me when he leaves?”
Rawley shook his head vigorously. “Said he’d kill me if I ever told.”
“Give you my word, Rawley, that he’ll never touch you again.” He held out his hand. “But I gotta know who it is before I can deal with him. Come on. Help me.
Slower than a snail, looking as though he’d retreat back to the corner at any second, Rawley crawled toward Austin. Austin pulled him down beside him until they lay flat on the floor, their eyes just above the straw.
Austin saw the three McQueen brothers leave the house and mount up. “Which one?”
Rawley pointed a shaking finger. “The one in the middle.”
“You sure?” Austin asked.
“Yes, sir.”
