Always to Remember Page 8

  She stopped speaking as Clay snapped his head back. He looked around. "What?"

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "I'm fine."

  Watching as he rubbed his shoulders against the tree before staring vacantly at the fire, she doubted his words. She'd been so thrilled with the stone that she'd paid little attention to anything else.

  Shortly after they'd made camp, he went in search of game. She heard his rifle shot fill the air three times, but he returned to camp empty-handed. She dipped into his meager supplies, cooked some biscuits, and warmed a can of beans. Remembering the manner in which he wolfed down the simple, tasteless meal, she had a feeling that sleep wasn't the only thing he'd done without the night before.

  She thought back to the first night they'd made camp. Had he slept then? She remembered that some time had passed after her outburst before she again heard the knife shave the wood. She'd taken the sound into her dreams. Had it been with her all night? "Have you slept at all since we began this journey?"

  "I don't need much sleep."

  Meg gathered the blankets and clambered out of the wagon. She marched across the narrow space separating them and dropped the blankets in his lap. "You sleep. I'll keep watch."

  Shaking his head, he pushed off the blankets. "You won't call if you need me."

  For the first time, she noticed the dark shadows beneath eyes that were fighting a losing battle to remain open. "Is that why you stayed in the alley outside the hotel last night?"

  Slipping his fingers between the buttons on his shirt, he rubbed his chest. "I reckon you got cause to think the way you do, but I'd die before I'd let any harm come to you."

  Disconcerted by his slightly slurred words, Meg bundled up a blanket. "Here, lie down and go to sleep before you make yourself sick."

  "Careful, Mrs. Warner. You might make me think you care."

  "About you? Not in the least, but I just spent Kirk's life's savings on that hunk of rock you wanted so desperately, so you damn well better take care of yourself until you've turned it into the monument you promised me. After that, I don't care if you drop dead."

  "Truth be told, you'd probably prefer for me to drop dead."

  "Absolutely."

  He gave her a tired grin. "I won't hold it against you if you're not quite so honest with me."

  She stopped fussing with the blankets. Why did it lug on her heart when he teased her like that? "I never want you to doubt where you stand with me." She patted the blanket. "Now, get some sleep."

  "I can go four days without sleep." He stretched out on the ground, and she shoved the folded blanket beneath his head. He yawned. "Went five days once."

  "Why in the world would you want to?" she asked quietly, but she doubted that he heard her question. His face was relaxed, his dark lashes touching his cheeks. His long brown hair had fallen across his brow. He hadn't shaved recently, and his bearded stubble seemed to cast a shadow over his face.

  The facial hair on Kirk's face had never been that thick, but then Kirk had never been this old, had never reached this phase of manhood. Studying Clay as he slept, she felt as though she'd been married to a boy instead of a man.

  The last time she looked upon her husband, he'd been filled with the exuberance of youth. In her mind, the man who had fallen beneath Union guns was the same man who had kissed her soundly and laughed at the prospect of defeat.

  In her heart, he would always remain the confident twenty-year-old who loved practical jokes.

  But beyond the hills, he had aged for two years.

  Had he changed as much as the man who now slept on the ground?

  Like an ancient map, Clay's face was well-worn and lined with paths traversed by sorrow and pain. And perhaps regret.

  Tentatively, Meg brushed the hair away from his eyes. She wondered about the circumstances that had shaped those deep furrows.

  Against her will, she was intrigued. If Clay, who had fought no battles, had changed to such a degree in the years he was away from Cedar Grove, how much more Kirk must have changed. His face would have carried more lines, shown his deep conviction to the Cause, reflected his true character.

  With a deep sadness, she realized the man to whom she'd handed the silk Confederate flag probably wasn't the same man who died at Gettysburg.

  Slowly, laboriously. Clay opened his eyes. She was sleeping beside him. Well, she wasn't exactly beside him. If he reached out, he didn't think he'd be able to touch her, but he was close enough to hear her even breathing and see the fire's faint glow reflected on her ivory cheeks.

  And she snored, just as Kirk had told him. It was a gentle snore that reminded him of the way a contented kitten purred after its belly was filled with warm milk.

  She laughed softly, and her shoulders shook slightly. He lifted up on an elbow and stared at her. Her mouth had formed a sweet tender smile.

  Kirk hadn't told him about this. The laughter came again, washing over him in its innocence. The smile eased off her face, and he supposed the dream or whatever had given her a brief moment of happiness had passed.

  Sitting up, he unrolled the blanket that had served as his pillow and spread it over her. She made one hell of a night guard. If she slept through her own laughter, she'd probably sleep through someone wandering into their camp.

  Stretching out on his side, he glanced toward the horizon. Dawn would soon lift away the darkness. He knew he should get up and find them something to eat, but he'd never watched a woman sleep. He supposed he should find it boring. After all, she wasn't doing anything. But even while she slept, Meg fascinated him. Slowly, she opened her eyes and smiled softly. Clay ached for all the soft smiles he'd been denied in the passing years, and he braced himself for the moment when she realized exactly at whom she was smiling. "Morning," she said quietly.

  Clay's voice knotted in his throat and threatened to strangle him. She was no doubt still dreaming and thought

  Kirk was lying on the ground beside her. All hell was going to break loose when she did come fully awake.

  Rolling to her back, she arched the small of her back. Clay's mouth went as dry as a desert.

  Returning to her side, she slipped her palm beneath her cheek. "This used to be my favorite time of day, just before dawn, knowing I had a whole day to enjoy." She sighed wistfully. "Now I don't care if the sun never comes up."

  Lord, he wished he were Kirk. He didn't want to see the hatred return to her eyes.

  She turned onto her stomach and rested her face on her forearm. Her smile grew. "Kirk told me something about you," she said.

  His breath caught She was talking to him, with dawn easing over the horizon, bathing the earth in a new day. Good Lord, what had happened while he slept? It made him nervous to think about it. "What'd he tell you?" he croaked.

  He didn't think her smile could grow any bigger, but it did. "I'd dearly love to tell you, but I promised him I wouldn't."

  "He told me you do that," he said.

  "Do what?"

  "Start talking about something days after he's finished talking about it."

  "Kirk really did tell you a lot of things about me, didn't he?"

  He nodded.

  "I dreamed about him last night," she said, with longing laced through her voice.

  "I figured you did."

  Her smile eased away.

  "You laughed in your sleep," he hastened to explain, wanting to hold onto these moments before she remembered she hated him.

  "I laughed while I was asleep?"

  "Not loud. Soft Like you were enjoying something."

  Her face took on a hue more lovely than the dawn, and Clay realized she'd probably been dreaming about something that was absolutely none of his damn business. He grabbed his rifle and jumped to his feet. "I'll find us something to eat."

  Stalking into the woods, he thought about the yearning in her blue eyes when she mentioned the dream.

  He stopped walking, wrapped his arm around a tree, and pressed his forehead again
st the rough bark. He wished he could find a woman willing to dream about him.

  They arrived at the Holland farm at twilight. Clay halted the wagon in front of the house as the door swung open, and the twins bounded out, Lucian sauntering behind them.

  "Gawd Almighty!" one twin yelled. "You gonna make Miz Warner somethin' out of that?"

  Clay climbed down from the wagon and ruffled the boy's hair. "I aim to try, but remember, Josh, it's supposed to be a secret."

  "We ain't got nobody to tell," Joe said as he climbed onto the wheel and looked into the wagon.

  "Geez, Miz Warner, Clay must like you a powerful lot to make you somethin' that big," Josh said as he hauled himself up on the other wheel.

  Meg felt her face warm as Clay glanced at her quickly before moving the box across the seat

  "Brought some supplies," Clay said as he lifted the box down.

  "What'd you trade?" Lucian asked. "Grandpa's watch?"

  "It was mine to do with as I thought best."

  "It wouldn't have been if you hadn't been a coward. If you'd gone off to fight like the other men around here, you woulda been killed, and the watch, like the farm, woulda been mine." He hit the box. "I sure as hell wouldn't have traded it for a sack of flour."

  He stomped away, hitting everything he passed until he was out of sight.

  Josh hopped down from the wagon wheel. "I bet that box ain't too heavy for me and Joe to carry into the house."

  "I bet it's not either," Clay said as he handed the box to the boys. "Open your mouths." He took the sarsaparilla sticks out of his pocket and stuck one in each boy's mouth. Their eyes widened as they clamped their lips around the gift, mumbling their thanks before heading for the house. "You get it from all sides, don't you?" Meg asked quietly. Clay placed his hand on the granite. "I don't hardly notice anymore."

  "Why do you stay?"

  "It's my home. I don't think I did anything that took away my right to live here."

  Meg disagreed. Everyone in the area disagreed. If her plan worked, Clay would eventually realize that he had indeed lost his right to live here. "When will you start working on the monument?"

  "I need to get the oxen back to Austin. Then I have a few chores around here to take care of. Guess I'll start a week from Monday."

  "I'll be here bright and early."

  "There's not a lot to see at first. All I'll be doing is chipping away what I don't need."

  "Regardless I'll be here."

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Cloaked in early morning darkness, Meg scurried across the Holland property.

  Only three days had passed since she'd last looked upon the red Texas granite, but she couldn't get it out of her mind. At home, she was listless and distracted. She'd burned the evening meal two nights in a row.

  She was tempted to tell her father and Daniel about the monument, but she feared their reaction. Normally, if a father discovered his daughter had been alone with a man, he leveled his rifle at the man and ordered him to marry his daughter. If her father discovered she'd traveled alone to Austin with Clay, he'd level his rifle at Clay and shoot

  When Clay finished the monument, she could explain everything so they'd understand how wise her plan had been. Until that moment, however, the monument and everything associated with it had to remain a secret.

  As she neared the shed, excitement raced through her veins with the lure of the forbidden. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear against the door. She couldn't hear anything move on the other side, but then, she'd expected to hear silence.

  She'd planned this excursion with extreme care. She reasoned that Clay needed a day to unload the stone and another to return the oxen to Austin. Perhaps two. He would need at least two days to ride home on the mule. He wouldn't be back until this evening or tomorrow morning.

  She was safe.

  She pushed on the door. It creaked in protest at the early morning intrusion. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her gaze darting between the house and the barn.

  Nothing stirred.

  She slipped into the building.

  And couldn't see a thing.

  Grimacing as the hinges squeaked louder, she pulled the door open wider. Slowly, her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness still hovering in the shed. As though they were winter blankets, shadows covered everything. She could barely discern the shape of the large object in the center of the shed, but it was the only thing she cared about It seemed larger with four walls surrounding it. She wanted desperately to see in it what Clay saw underneath the surface.

  She walked toward it, knocked against something hard, and yelped as pain ricocheted through her shin.

  "It helps if you open the windows," a deep voice boomed behind her.

  Meg screamed, tripped over the object, and fell flat on her face. Breathing heavily, she rolled over and stared at the man in the doorway, silhouetted against the approaching dawn. She heard him swallow his laughter. "Damn you! What are you doing here?"

  Lazily crossing his arms over his chest, Clay leaned against the door jamb, "I live here."

  Meg scrambled to her feet, brushed off her backside, and angled her chin. "You said you were going to take the oxen back to Austin. There is no way that sorry mule of yours could have gotten you back here so quickly."

  "You're right about that. Lucian offered to take the oxen back to Austin."

  "How generous of hi. I wouldn't have expected him to do you a favor."

  "I don't think he saw it as doing me a favor. I think he saw it as an opportunity to get off the farm for a few days." He uncrossed his arms. "It does help if you open the windows."

  He disappeared from the doorway. She heard him tell someone to help him raise the shutters. She groaned. Obviously, the twins had been waiting nearby to discover who was inside the shed. As though she were a small child, Meg wanted to run home and hide her face beneath the pillow. Moaning and creaking filled the shed as cracks appeared in the wall. Slowly, the morning light filtered through the widening crevice.

  Pulling a rope, Clay became visible on one side of the window. Huffing on the other side, the twins strained to raise the window covering.

  When they'd opened the shutter fully, they secured the rope on the outside. Then the twins leaned in through the large open window. She wondered if all little boys had grins that reached from one ear to the other.

  "We surely are glad to know it was you we saw, Miz Warner. We thought you was a spook. Nearly scared us to death."

  Meg wished she was a spook so she could him into a mist and disappear.

  Clay patted the boys on the shoulders. "Come on, let's get the other sides up."

  They raised the shutters covering the windows on the remaining two sides. A breeze wafted through the building, and the sun chased away the shadows.

  Along one wall, stone peered out from beneath tattered blankets. Shelves lined the lower walls of another side of the building. She could see now that she'd stumbled over an extremely short stool with four broad legs attached to a square top. It came no higher than her knee. She couldn't imagine that it served much purpose.

  "Does that help?" Clay asked from the doorway.

  She wondered if he was this polite to all trespassers or only those that amused him. She wished he'd release that smile he was fighting to hold back and be done with it.

  "It helps immensely." Rising onto her toes, she pivoted slowly, her arms outstretched. "I almost feel as though I'm outside."

  "Pa built it so we'd have a place to work. Seems people always die when it rains, and Ma didn't like all the dust that cutting on rock stirs up." He turned to walk away.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder. 'To finish our chores and leave you to do whatever it was you tiptoed over here to do."

  "I only came to look at the granite."

  His smile broke free. "Yes, ma'am, I figured as much."

  He walked away with the twins following close on his h
eels.

  Meg sat on the short stool and stared after them. Clay had the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen.

  His small smiles of amusement had been distracting. His smile of pure joy was devastating. She'd have to pay more attention to her actions and make certain she gave him no further reason to smile.

  With that resolution tucked away, she rose from the stool and looked at the rock. It hadn't changed.

  She was no longer certain why she'd come or what exactly she'd expected to see. She narrowed her eyes. The monument was buried somewhere within that stone.

  She touched the rough surface, anxious to see Kirk again. Maybe Clay was as eager as she was to see the monument completed and would be willing to begin work today instead of waiting for Monday. After all, they were both here.

  She strolled to the house, stepped on the porch, and, unnoticed, peered around the open door. Clay was crouching before the hearth. As though they were matching bookends, the twins squatted on each side of him.

  "Did Miz Warner's husband kill people?" one twin asked.

  Clay took a deep breath. "Yes, he did."

  "You reckon he liked killin' people?" the other twin asked.

  "He didn't like it at all."

  "Did he tell you that?" Meg asked from the doorway.

  Clay shot straight up, banged his head on the stone mantel, swung around, jerked off the apron he was wearing, and waved the poker at her. "I had a tool in my hand!"

  The twins rolled on the floor as though they were little bugs that curled into a ball whenever they were touched. Their guffaws echoed around the house.

  "I couldn't see beyond your back. I didn't know you had anything in your hand. Besides, I thought you were referring to carving tools. I didn't realize I needed to make certain you had nothing at all in your hands before I ever spoke to you."

  One twin stopped laughing. "Hey, Clay, you're bleedin'."

  Blood trickled slowly along Clay's temple. He touched his fingers to his head and winced. "I'm all right."

  Meg walked into the house. "Let me see."

  He wadded the apron and pressed it against his head. "I'm fine."