Texas, 1882
The stage to Blissful jolted along the dusty, deeply
rutted road west from San Antonio, flinging its six
passengers against the windows one moment then hurling
them against one another the next.
After two hours of this treatment Lacy Calhoun felt
utterly exhausted. The temperature inside the coach was
stifling; the opened windows let in more dust than air.
Much longer inside that hot box and she feared she would
simply wither. In fact, she would have loved to give up
the fight altogether like the man next to her, whose
corpulent body periodically flopped against her shoulder,
his mouth gaping in slumber. Even while she winced at the
spittle coming out the side of his tobacco-stained lips,
she envied him his remarkable technique of relaxation
under duress.
But of course her neighbor wasn't stuffed like a sausage
into a brand new corset that pinched. His legs weren't
encased into thick, sensible stockings. And naturally he
was immune to the pungent smell of sweat emanating from
their fellow passengers, since a large part of the odor
seemed to originate with him. The pains Lacy took trying
not to breathe through her nose almost equaled the efforts
she expended to keep herself sitting in her rightful place
every time the stage wheels hit a nasty hole. Otherwise,
she would have landed in the lap of the passenger across
from her. Which, taking into account the raw masculinity
of the man, was somewhere a young lady who'd just spent
the past fourteen years in a convent shouldn't want to be.
Bluntly speaking, he was the most attractive, virile man
Lacy had ever laid eyes on. Granted, after her time at Our
Lady of Perpetual Mercy, she didn't have a wide sampling
to draw comparisons from. But she was still fairly certain
she was looking at - or rather, pointedly trying not to
look at - a specimen most women would call a handsome
devil.
Emphasis on devil. The man's deep brown eyes were so
piercing they sent a little shiver through her every time
she caught him staring at her, which he had been doing all
the way from San Antonio. The rich, dark depths of those
eyes made her understand, all at once, what Sister Mary
Katherine had meant when she warned Lacy against earthly
thoughts. Something in his countenance made her feel warm
all over, from her scratchy straw bonnet right down to the
cramped, pointed toes of her new boots. Maybe it had to do
with the knowing grin he directed at her - even the curve
of his thick mustache seemed to be turned up in a
seductive smile. Whatever the cause, Lacy was sure that
the dizzying, irregular beat of her heart was what
happened to women when they fell under a man's spell ...
and thereafter became fallen women.
The trouble was, if she looked away from the man's
handsome face, it was impossible not to be mesmerized by
the rest of him. He was built like Greek statuary, in epic
proportions. Broad shoulders emphasized the smart cut of
his dark coat, and the legs that jutted out to a point
just a hair's breadth from her own knees were massive
trunks. Even his hands, so large and browned, seemed
imposing. She could imagine those hands touching her, as
indeed they had as he'd handed her up into the coach back
in San Antonio.
At the memory of his warm flesh against her left elbow,
she blushed. What a silly reaction to have about such an
innocent little gesture. It wasn't as if the man had
actually touched her in an intimate manner....
She hazarded a glance at the man, caught his eye, and felt
her heart thump dangerously - like a primitive native
drumbeat in her breast.
For pity's sake, she upbraided herself, two hours away
from the sisters and you're already contemplating sinning!
And to think, she'd actually considered taking the veil
herself. The sisters at Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy had
obviously wanted her to stay - had practically begged her
not to go home - and Lacy did believe she would make an
excellent novice. But her duty lay elsewhere. And as
Sister Mary Katherine had told her, a good heart could
always find good works to do.
The driver hit another bump, and Lacy tensed every muscle
in her body to keep herself rooted to the hard bench seat.
One gloved hand was splayed against the edge of the opened
window in an effort to hold herself in place, while the
other, in a bow to ladylike behavior, rested in her lap
with her embroidered reticule.
Lacy had outfitted herself to make a good impression. At
Christmas when her mother had visited her at the convent,
she'd told Lacy that she was tired of seeing her in drab
shapeless clothing. So Lacy had been preparing for this
day ever since, sewing herself a new lavender dress in the
latest style - well, the latest she could gather from her
limited view of the world at the convent. She'd found a
magazine, two years old, featuring a picture of a dress
with a fitted bodice and tight sleeves, with sweet accents
of lace at the collar and the cuffs. The fitted skirt was
rather immodest by her standards, so she had taken a
creative liberty by making it a little fuller than the
picture had indicated.
She wanted her mother to see how well she could do
needlework. For fourteen years, her mother, a widow, had
worked her fingers to the bone running a large
boardinghouse and taking in sewing and mending to provide
for Lacy's education. Now Lacy wanted to provide for her
mother for a change.
"Where are you headed, miss?"
The devil's dark eyes peered straight at her. The other
people in the cramped stage, another man and an elderly
woman, were also eyeing her curiously. The question had
even roused the fat man next to her.
She cleared her throat of the layer of dust and grit
lodged there. "Blissful."
"You don't say." Another wide, dazzling smile spread
across the devil's face, revealing a row of even white
teeth.
"What takes you there?"
The question seemed a little impertinent to her, since
they hadn't even been introduced.
"My mother lives there," she revealed cautiously. To
rebuke him for his forward manner, she turned, directing
the rest of her explanation exclusively to the
others. "Mama sent me to be raised by the sisters at Our
Lady of Perpetual Mercy in San Antonio, but she's getting
older now and no doubt could use my help." She sighed,
feeling pleasantly martyrlike. "So I've decided to
surprise her and return at last to the bosom of my
childhood home."
She immediately regretted the figure of speech. She could
swear she felt the stranger's dark eyes ogling her chest.
Only the elderly lady next to the opposite window seemed
duly impressed by her daughterly devotion. "Very kind of
you, dear."
Encouraged, Lacy was about to engage the woman in further
conversation when the devil poked his large paw toward
her. "The name's Lucas Burns."
She kept her own free hand fisted around her reticule and
nodded at him curtly. "How do you do."
At her cool response, he withdrew his hand and used it to
tip his black hat back on his head. He chuckled. "I see.
The high-tone type. Well, young lady, you might be
interested to know that we're going to be neighbors."
Lacy's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You're from
Blissful?"
Her mother always described Blissful as such a sweet
little community - and her memories from childhood made it
seem that way, too. She just had vague recollections, of
course. Of the house, full of music and gaiety. Her
sociable mother was never at a loss for laughter, and they
were always surrounded by company. In those early years,
it seemed her mother had an endless stream of friends who
enjoyed playing with Lacy and bringing her treats. At the
boardinghouse, Lacy had been treated like a little
princess. That was another reason her mother always gave
her for sending away for her education to the convent. She
told Lacy she didn't want her to be spoiled.
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