Page 114 of Always to Remember
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised.
He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned low in his throat. Gingerly, she lifted his hand off his thigh and placed it in her lap. Lightly, she trailed her fingers over the scar on his palm. “Is it still tender?”
Cautiously, he peered at her. “Not as much.”
Creating small circles, she rubbed the balm over his palm. “I go to the swimming hole every night,” she said softly. She felt his hand tense and met his gaze. “I keep hoping I’ll see you there.”
“It’s best if I don’t go.”
“Why? Because I wouldn’t walk out of church with you? I was wrong—”
“No!” He worked his hand free of her grasp. “You were right. We have no future. I was wrong to think otherwise. I was planning to move on because I didn’t like the hatred touching my brothers. I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t touch you.”
“I know you’re not a coward—”
“It doesn’t matter any more. The twins were right. You should marry Robert.”
“I don’t love Robert.”
He stood. “Your hands need some time to heal. You should probably stay away for a week or so.” He walked to the door.
She rose from the chair and clasped her hands before her. “I love you, Clay.”
With a sad smile, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Meg, but I’m tired of fighting.”
Her protest fell on deaf ears as he strode away.
Lying in bed, he studied his hands in the midnight shadows. They didn’t look any different, but they sure felt different.
A man could get spoiled having a woman in his life, smiling with the dawn, humming while she cooked breakfast, furrowing her brow while she held the chisel, rubbing salve over his hands. Every day he hated to see the sun rise above the windows on the shed. Late morning would give way to noon, and it would be time for her to leave.
She cooked them another meal and always left a pecan pie sitting on the table before she went to Mama Warner’s.
Then Clay would go and watch the corn grow in the afternoon and count the minutes until dawn. He knew the time would come when he’d begin counting the years since he last saw her. He dreaded the coming of that first day when he knew the next day wouldn’t bring her back.
She might not love Robert, but loneliness wouldn’t agree with her. She seemed to like Robert well enough, and Clay figured the day would come when she’d settle for companionship over love.
He hoped he was long gone by then.
He heard a tapping on the window shutter. He eased out of bed and crept across the room.
“Clay?”
Groaning at the sweet voice on the other side, he opened the shutter slightly. “What?”
“Meet me in the shed.”
Before he could respond, she darted away. Cursing under his breath, then cursing aloud, he jerked on his clothes and headed as quietly as he could toward the shed.
The shutters were down and the door closed when he arrived. He pushed the door open and peered into the building. A solitary lantern rested on his table.
He stepped into the shed and closed the door. “Meg?”
She emerged from behind the granite, wearing her skirt and clutching her blouse to her chest. The pale light reflected off her bare shoulders.
Clay forgot how to breathe, forgot how to move, forgot how to think. “What—” He swallowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“My shoulders hurt. You got so angry this morning when you found out my hands were hurting that I thought I should tell you about my shoulders and let you rub some salve over them.”
