Page 110 of Always to Remember
He knew what the woman wanted: trouble. Shoving away from the beam, he walked toward the shed. If he didn’t look in her eyes, maybe he could avoid giving her what she wanted.
He’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime. All he wanted now was to live alone. He hadn’t gone to church since the night of the attack, and he didn’t plan to go any time in the future. He’d abandoned the hope of proving he wasn’t a coward. Meg saw a coward when she looked at him, and if she did, so would the rest of the world.
He no longer cared about the rest of the world, and he was fighting the toughest battle of his life trying not to care about her.
He sauntered into the shed. She was tapping her foot with a vengeance and had planted her hands on her hips. He lifted his gaze to hers so he wouldn’t be tempted to place his hands on her hips.
Blue fire greeted him.
“It doesn’t look any different from when I was last here,” she said curtly.
“Reckon because it’s not.”
“And why not?”
Laughing, he took his hand out of his pocket. “Because, Mrs. Warner, I can’t hold tools.”
Meg winced at the angry red scar that appeared to be a reflection of the enraged man standing before her. “Does it still hurt?”
He shifted his stance. “It’s a little tender.”
“Have you tried to hold the chisel since the bandages came off?”
“I try every morning.” He curled his hand and held the air. “That’s as much as it’ll close. Even if I could close it all the way, I’ve got no grip. I can’t hammer at a chisel when I don’t have the strength to hold it in place.”
“I could hold the chisel.”
He looked as though she’d just slapped him. “What?”
“I could hold the chisel. You have one good hand, and it’s the hand you use to hold the hammer. I’ll be your left hand.”
“Have you gone insane?”
Taking a deep breath, she walked to the table and studied his tools. He’d used the largest chisel when he began. They’d have to go slower, more carefully. She picked up a smaller chisel. “You can position the chisel, and I’ll hold it in place.”
He plowed his good hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how hard I have to hit that chisel to crack the stone?”
“If the sound the hammer makes when it strikes the chisel is any indication, then I’d say you have to hit it fairly hard.”
He took a menacing step toward her. “I have to hit it damn hard.”
“I know I’m not as strong as you are, but if I held the chisel with both hands, and we chipped off smaller bits of stone—”
He picked up a hammer and slammed it against the table. Meg flinched.
“That’s how hard I’m gonna hit the chisel. That’s how hard I’m gonna hit your hand if I miss the chisel.”
She took a shaky breath. “Then don’t miss the chisel.”
“Didn’t you learn anything when Robert hit your hand with the hammer?”
“That it hurts.”
“And I’ll leave a hell of a lot more than a bruise.” He hit the table again, and Meg heard the wood split. “I’ll break your bones! I’ll crush your hand!”
She tilted her chin. “I’m willing to risk it.”
He slung the hammer to a distant corner. “Well, I’m not.”
