Page 19

“No, but I think it’s unlikely that I ever will, after all this time. I spent the past five years dying. I want to start living again.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t even know where your home is.”

“West Texas. My brother has a ranch. For as long as I can remember, I’ve helped him work his spread, herd his cattle.”

Her smile grew. “I guessed that you were a cowboy.”

Not by choice. He’d always hated ranching, had always dreamed of leaving, but the places life had taken him weren’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

His gaze drifted to her stomach, flat as a board.

He was about to travel another trail he hadn’t knowingly chosen, but oddly, he had a feeling this one would leave him with no regrets.

“I’d be real honored if you’d marry me,” he said, his voice low.

More tears filled her eyes just before she averted her gaze.

He wished the blue flowers hadn’t disappeared from the hills.

He would have liked to have brought her some.

Maybe he should have settled for the red and yellow flowers that remained.

Or maybe he should have brought her a bright yellow ribbon for her hair, anything to accompany the words that sounded as cold as a river in January.

He watched helplessly as she swiped the tears from her eyes, knowing he was the cause.

She peered at him and gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “No.”

He felt as though she’d just hit him in the chest with an iron skillet. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean I don’t want to get married.”

“Then why did you send me the note?”

“I just thought you had a right to know about the child.”

“I have more than the right to know. I have the responsibility to care for it. I’m not gonna have him labeled a bastard.”

She flinched and angled her chin. “Her.”

“What?”

“I think it’s a girl.”

That made sense to him since it seemed the Leigh men were only capable of producing girls.

“All right, fine. It’s a girl. You want her whispered about ‘cuz that’s what’ll happen.

” He softened his voice. “And they’ll whisper about you, too, and don’t tell me that there’s nobody around to notice.

You can’t live like a hermit with a child.

You can’t deny her the world just because you’ve seen the ugliest side of it. Marry me, Loree.”

“Do you love me?”

Her quietly spoken question was like a fist closing around his heart. “I like you well enough,” he answered honestly. “Don’t you like me?”

“I like what I know of you, but what do I really know? Until a few minutes ago, your home could have been on the moon as far as I knew.”

“Well, I don’t live on the moon. I live in West Texas, and I have the means to provide for you—not in as grand a fashion as I’d like, but I think it’d be tolerable.”

“Tolerable?”

“Dammit, Loree! I wronged you and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“How does convincing me to marry a man who doesn’t love me make it right?”

“Maybe it doesn’t make it right for us, but it’ll make it right for the baby. We have to put her first.”

“Do you still love Becky?”

His stomach tightened, and he clenched his jaw.

Wylan had certainly been right about words spoken in the heat of passion.

He’d uttered one word, and this woman was going to hold it against him for the rest of his life.

He surged to his feet and stormed from the house.

He headed for the woodpile, worked the ax out of the stump, lifted a log, and slammed the ax into it.

He tried to put himself in Loree’s place, remembering the relief he’d felt when she’d confessed there was no Jake. Only for her, there would always be a Becky. His first love.

“What are you doing?” she asked from behind him.

He tossed the split wood onto the pile and hefted another log to the stump.

“Chopping you twenty years worth of wood. I’m gonna repair your house, paint it, and do anything else around here that needs to be done.

You don’t want to marry me? Fine. But I’ll be damned before a child of mine is gonna suffer because of mistakes I made. ”

I’ll be damned before a child of mine is gonna suffer because of mistakes I made.

Those words echoed through Loree’s mind as she lay in her bed unable to sleep. They told her a lot about the man. He accepted responsibility for his actions.

But then, if she were honest with herself, she’d already known that, had learned that fact about him the first night when he’d chopped wood for a bowl of stew.

She didn’t know the little things about him: his favorite foods, preferred colors. She didn’t know if he danced or sang.

But she knew the important things: He was a rare man who thought more with his heart than his head.

When he loved, he loved deeply and years didn’t diminish his affections even when memories faded.

She had seen him weep over the loss of a woman, had watched him place flowers on the twenty-year-old grave of his mother.

Had welcomed his gifts of a burned barn and a puppy.

But above all else, she had welcomed the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his touch. For a while, he had eased the sorrow and the loneliness.

For the past two hours, she had heard Austin tromping around her house.

He had no barn in which to sleep. She had left the front door unbolted, the door to her room ajar, a portion of her hoping that he would sleep with her—just sleep with her, his arm around her, his breath skimming over the nape of her neck.

She strained her ears for several moments, but no longer heard him stirring outside. He had probably stretched out in the wagon he’d brought along with his plans to pack her up and haul her to West Texas as his wife.

She pressed her hand to her stomach. It wasn’t the first time that the actions of one night would forever change her life, but their actions were reaching out to touch an innocent child.

Austin was right. Their child would suffer because of their mistake. Born out of wedlock, she would burden the shame that rightfully belonged to them.

She threw off the blankets and scrambled out of bed.

In bare feet, wearing nothing but her nightgown, she padded through the house, opened the front door, and saw Austin sitting on the porch steps.

He glanced over his shoulder. She felt his gaze travel from the top of her head to the tips of her toes before he turned his attention back to the blackness stretching across the sky.

She knew that rejecting his proposal had hurt him. He hadn’t joined her for supper. He’d prepared a bath for her, but hadn’t indulged himself in the luxury. He seemed intent on giving all to her and taking nothing from her.

Her mouth grew as dry as cotton. She crossed the porch and sat beside him.

His knees were widespread, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clamped together before him, his gaze trained on the distance.

In the shadows of the night, she saw the slight breeze brushing his black hair over his collar.

“Lot of stars falling from the sky tonight,” he said, his voice low.

She followed the direction of his gaze. A ball of light arced through the black void and disappeared like a dream that was never meant to be.

“Make a wish, Loree,” he said quietly.

She closed her eyes. One wish. If she were allowed only one wish, she wished she could unburden her past on this man sitting beside her.

She thought he, of all people, would understand all that she had done, the things the killer had goaded her into doing.

She wished she could tell him and not risk losing any of the affection he might hold for her.

“What did you wish?” he asked.

Opening her eyes, she peered at him. He watched her, and even in the darkness, she felt the intensity of his gaze. “If I tell you, it won’t come true. Did you make a wish?”

He leaned toward her, propping himself up on an elbow. “I wished that you would marry me.”

Her heart beat faster, harder than the hind foot of a rabbit. He took the curling end of her braid and carried it to his lips. She almost imagined she felt his breath fanning over it, his soft lips brushing over it.

“I want you to marry me for the sake of our daughter—”

“Son.”

His hand stilled, the locks of her hair resting against his chin. “Earlier you said—”

“Well, now I’m thinking it’s a boy.” She rolled her head to her shoulder. “I can’t decide what it is.”

He chuckled low. “Marry me because you make me smile when I haven’t in a long time.”

“Less than a week ago, you told me that you weren’t courting me, that you had nothing to offer me.”

“That was before I knew you needed my name.” He cradled her cheek.

“I’d give you the world if I could, Loree, but I made a decision five years ago that’s gonna limit the things I can offer you.

The only thing I have that I can give you is my name, and I hate like hell that I can’t give it to you untarnished.

But I’ll work hard. I think I can give you—and our children—a good life.

I know I can give you a better life than the one you have here.

At least with me, you won’t have the loneliness. ”

During the past month, she could count the number of days that contained a promise of happiness.

The promise always arrived when he did. Her child could have a father who had been in prison or no father at all.

Was the past more important than the present?

And who was she to judge? Her past was as tarnished as his.

“Will you promise me something?” she asked hesitantly.

“Anything.”

Her stomach quivered, and she clasped her hands tightly together. “Will you promise never to make love to me if you’re thinking of Becky?”

A profound silence stretched between them.

Earlier he had mentioned children, not child, and she knew he expected more than a marriage in name only.

She also knew that she could easily come to care for this man, perhaps she already did more than she should.

Her heart would shatter if he ever again whispered another’s name while joining his body to hers.

“I promise,” he rasped.

“Then I’ll marry you—for the sake of the child.”

A warm smile crept over his face, and he grazed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’ll make it good for you, Sugar. You won’t regret that you had to marry me.”

He drew her face toward his and kissed her. Not with passion, not with fire. But with an apology and understanding.

She knew she’d never regret marrying him, and she hoped he would never discover what she had done, the actions that had prompted her to settle for a life of solitude. For if he did, she feared that he would deeply regret marrying her.