Lorraine Heath (7 page)

“You can’t,” Kirk said. “I’m aimin’ to marry her.”

“I said it first.”

Kirk dug a silver coin out of his pocket. “We’ll flip. Eagle you marry her, Liberty I marry her, and loser’s gotta promise he won’t go callin’ on her.”

Nodding, Clay drew an X over his heart with his finger. Kirk tossed the coin, caught it, and slapped it down on his forearm. From her engraved position on the coin, Lady Liberty sparkled in the sunlight. Kirk swiped the coin away and shoved it into his pocket. “Reckon I won.”

In the intervening years, Clay honored the oath he had taken that day. He’d kept his distance, watching from afar as Meg blossomed into the woman who would hold Kirk’s heart.

And now he would continue to keep his distance. Her hatred, far greater than any other’s, would keep him tethered to the childish oath. Even when he sat on the last pew, he could feel her eyes boring into him. He disliked sitting through the church service every bit as much as Joe did. Maybe he should take Josh’s advice and cross his eyes the next time she looked at him.

But when she did finally turn her attention from the road and meet his gaze, he couldn’t bring himself to make light of her feelings toward him.

“What did Kirk say about me?” she asked. “He must have said something you can tell me.”

He tugged his hat brim low over his brow. He couldn’t very well tell her that Kirk had told him about the soft little sounds she made on their wedding night. He wished now he’d just kept his mouth shut and hadn’t tried to get her riled, but she was so durn cute when fury flashed through her face and ignited her eyes so they no longer appeared lifeless. “Well, he talked a lot about the farm, of course, and how he wanted you to have a place of your own.”

She relaxed her shoulders, and he wondered if she’d had an inkling as to what Kirk might have told him. “Did he tell you why he wanted us to have our own place?”

He nodded slowly.

“His mother didn’t like me,” she said, as though he hadn’t acknowledged her question.

“I wouldn’t take her feelings to heart. She doesn’t like anyone.”

She rolled her eyes toward the heavens.

“It’s true,” he went on. “We figured she didn’t even like Mr. Warner, which is why your husband never had any brothers or sisters.”

She leaned toward him, her eyes wide, her voice barely a whisper even though no one was around to hear. “You truly talked about her like that?”

“Her sour mood bothered him, and it bothered him more when you got married and she didn’t treat you kindly.”

“He told you how she treated me?”

“We talked about—”

Impatiently, she waved her hand. “I know. You talked about a lot of things.”

He offered her a rueful smile. “Yes, ma’am, we did.”

“Did you discuss his idea about us living with his grandmother?”

Actually, the day he figured out how long it would take Kirk to save enough money to set up a homestead Clay had suggested they move in with Mama Warner. Hesitantly, he nodded. “He wanted you to be happy.”

“I was after we moved in with Mama Warner. She made me feel so welcome.”

“She makes everyone feel that way. Do you see her much anymore?” Clay asked, knowing she’d moved back to her father’s house after Kirk left for the war.

Meg smiled, the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face since the day war began. He wanted to cut it into stone right then and there so he could keep it forever. He was certain she’d given it to him by mistake.

“As a matter of fact, I went by her house this morning. That’s why I was late. I told her if anyone asks, she’s to say I’m spending a few days with her, but she doesn’t know where I am at the moment. She’ll stretch the truth and never ask me why she needs to.”

Clay had wondered how she planned to travel with him without her father coming to lynch him. “So your father thinks you’re spending a few days with Mama Warner?”

“Yes, only I’m spending the time with you.”

As though just realizing that she’d condemned herself to his company, she stopped smiling, hardened her gaze, and turned her attention to the road ahead.

Sighing deeply, he looked at the narrow ribbon of dirt that wagon wheels had cut from the land over the years. The road seemed to stretch into eternity.

At twilight, Clay drew the wagon off the road and guided the mule to a nearby clearing.

Meg dismounted, pressed her forehead against the saddle, closed her eyes, and sighed heavily. Clay’s presence irritated her more than she’d imagined it would, in ways she’d never expected. The soft, secretive smile that eased onto his face when he found something amusing caused her to ache for all the smiles of the past, to mourn for all the smiles that would never be in her future.

And apparently he’d found her quite amusing this morning when he’d talked about Kirk. What had Kirk told him?

“Want me to see after your horse?” Clay asked.

Opening one eye, she peered at him. He looked as tired as she felt. “No.”

He set a bucket of water within the mare’s reach. “There’s feed in the wagon,” he said before walking away.

She tended her mare, removing the saddle and bridle, and hobbling her for the night. She retrieved the feed from the large sturdy wagon. She supposed the Hollands had built it specifically to haul stone.

Clay unhitched and hobbled the mule, although Meg didn’t think the mule would wander away. In her entire life, she’d never seen an animal move as slowly as that mule. She supposed the army had confiscated the Hollands’ horses. Her family had given so many men to the Cause that the army hadn’t asked for their livestock, although Meg would have gladly given it.

“I’ll fetch some supper,” Clay said as he pulled his rifle from beneath the wagon seat.

Meg’s first reaction was to say she’d fend for herself, but she felt too weary. She’d compromise slightly tonight: while he hunted, she’d build the fire. As she walked away from the camp, he fell into step behind her. She stopped abruptly, turned, and glared at him. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

“I don’t think you ought to be traipsing through these woods alone.”

She patted the gun handle visible above the waistband of her trousers. “I’m only going to find some dry wood. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can. It’s just—”

“I’ve had enough of your company today. I don’t want you to follow me.”

“Will you holler if you need me?”

“No. I have no reason to believe you’d come. You didn’t go when the Confederacy hollered for more men.”

He narrowed his eyes to tiny slits, and his jaw grew so rigid she didn’t know how he managed to force the word “Fine” out through his mouth. She caught the tail end of a harsh curse as he stalked to the other side of the clearing and disappeared into the thick woods.

She was glad to see him leave. She truly was. With any luck, he’d lose his way, wander through the encroaching darkness, and not return to camp until morning.

Meandering along a virgin path through the wooded area, she gathered fallen branches as her thoughts drifted to the morning. She shuddered with the memory. She had not only spoken with a man she loathed, but she had almost enjoyed the conversation. And she’d smiled at him. A coward. A man who had betrayed those he called friends. For God’s sake, what had she been thinking?

He’d lured her into talk of a happier time when Kirk stood by her side. Clay’s brown eyes had twinkled with something akin to merriment as he’d baited her. He and Kirk had discussed things. Had discussed lots of things. Silly things. Things of a personal nature.

She issued a very unladylike snort. They’d probably discussed nothing.

She picked up a heavy fallen branch and swung it through the air as though it were a club. She could use it to knock Clay right off his feet if he tried to talk to her again. Smiling, she added it to the wood nestled in the crook of her arm.

She reached for another log, and a rattlesnake’s rapid tattoo of warning vibrated through the air. Moving only her eyes, Meg searched the undergrowth of brush until her gaze locked onto black eyes that held no life but promised certain death.

As though in a dream, she watched the coiled snake spread its mouth wide, baring its protruding fangs. It lunged toward her. She’d always imagined that death would come quickly, not slowly, giving her time to scream against the injustice. Thunder echoed, and the rattlesnake disappeared.

“You all right?” Clay asked as he grabbed her arm. She stared at him mutely, and he shook her, his voice growing louder. “Are you all right?”

The knowledge that she was alive surged through her simultaneously with the realization that he was touching her. She jerked free of his grasp. “Don’t ever touch me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t know why I was worried. Your hatred probably would have poisoned the rattler if he’d had the misfortune to dig his fangs into you.”

Reaching into the thicket, he retrieved the lifeless rattlesnake. “If my rifle blast didn’t clear the area of game, your scream did. Guess we’ll eat rattler for supper.”

Meg stared at the long, thick length of dark brown and gray. Clay held the mangled snake level with his chest, and still its tail brushed the ground. Even in death, the snake’s massive body appeared powerful and deadly, and she’d been its prey. She shook violently as her stomach lurched.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Clay asked.

The tingling beneath her jaws increased in intensity. She felt the blood drain from her face and cold sweat pop out on her brow. She clutched the wood to her chest, searching for something to stop the trees from spinning. He knocked the wood out of her arms.

“Grab your knees,” he ordered. “Take deep breaths.”

She tried to breathe deeply, but the air was beyond reach and eluded her as easily as the calm she fought to maintain. The burning in her stomach rose into her throat, and she began retching.

Clay walked away, and she was grateful that he left her to suffer this embarrassment alone. She was more grateful that he’d hauled the snake away with him.

She heaved long past the time when her stomach was empty. Hearing approaching footsteps, she pressed her balled fist against her aching midriff and slowly straightened her quaking body. Despite the lingering warmth of day, she felt chilled.

“Here,” Clay said as he shoved a tin cup filled with water beneath her nose. “Go on. Take it. I didn’t drink from it.”

She took the cup, filled her mouth with water, and swirled the lukewarm liquid around before spitting it out. She repeated the process while Clay gathered the wood.

“I’ll get the fire started,” he said just before he walked away.

The sun had fallen beyond the horizon by the time she found the strength and desire to return to their small camp.

Hunkered down before the crackling fire, Clay removed their dinner from the spit. Sitting opposite him, Meg leaned against the tree. She hadn’t realized how dark it had grown until she watched the writhing flames create dancing shadows across Clay’s features. He’d removed his hat, and the firelight waltzed across the white hair at his temples.

“I thought I was going to die,” she said quietly in a quivering voice. “I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

“You just need to think about something else. You might try looking at the sky and counting the stars.”

She gazed at the cloudless black heavens where a full moon glowed brightly. Beyond it, the stars winked. “How many stars do you think there are?”

“Couple of million, I reckon.”

Drawing up her legs, she wrapped her arms tightly around them in an effort to stop her trembling. She pressed her chin against her knees. “I didn’t realize you were such an expert with a rifle.”

“Haven’t missed a target since I was twelve.”

“Just think about how many Yankees you could have killed if you hadn’t been a coward.”

His somber gaze met hers. “I did think about it, Mrs. Warner. I thought about it long and hard.”

Picking up a tin plate, he stood. “Help yourself to what’s left.” He walked to the wagon, dropped to the ground, and pressed his back against the wheel. Rolling to one hip, he dug a small rock from beneath him and hurled it across the clearing.

Meg jumped when the rock hit a tree, and a sharp crack rent the still night air. She removed her hat and flattened it against her face, inhaling deeply so she wouldn’t have to smell the aroma of cooked rattlesnake. The hat carried Kirk’s fading scent, and she knew a time would come when the hat would smell more of her than it did of him. Until that time, it served as a reminder of the comfort he’d always brought her. When he’d left, she’d slept with his silly hat pressed beneath her cheek.

“Do you want me to try and find you something else to eat?”

Meg jerked the hat away from her face. Clay was crouching before her, his gaze riveted on the fire.

“No, I don’t think anything would stay down just yet.”

“Your stomach will settle by morning. I’ll see to it you have something proper to eat then.” He tossed a log on the fire, and orange sparks shot up. “You can sleep in the wagon tonight.”

Using the tree for support, she pushed to her feet. She gripped the bark and forced the hated words past her lips. “Thank you.”

He looked up, and she could see the confusion in his eyes. “For killing the rattler,” she explained.

He nodded slightly and stirred the fire. On wobbly legs, she walked to the wagon and climbed into the back. Clay had spread several blankets across the wagon bed. She placed a wadded blanket beneath her head as she stretched out and brought another blanket over her aching body.

The night sky was so clear, she felt as though she should be able to touch the twinkling gems that graced the heavens and filled them with tranquillity. She wished she could find a measure of that peace within herself.

She wondered if Kirk had hoped to convince Clay to go with the other men that final day in Cedar Grove. Was that why he had joined Clay on the edge of town? If so, disappointment had ridden at his side, not his friend.

She wondered if he regretted all the years he’d spent in friendship with a man who would one day betray him, a man too cowardly to march where honor dictated.