Page 13 of Always to Remember
Ignoring the rolled paper, she gathered the letters together, pressed them against her bosom, and wept. An immense grief swept over her, tearing open the wounds of her heart, wounds she thought had begun to heal.
Sometimes, she felt as though whatever weaponry had struck Kirk down had sent its death knell across the miles to Texas and embedded its anguish in her heart.
Clutching the canvas bag, her palms sweating, Meg guided the chestnut mare through the trees that bordered the river. Within her heart, molten rage simmered because Clay had possession of Kirk’s pouch and her letters these many months and hadn’t returned them to her. Her hatred intensified as she considered the possibility that he may have read the letters, read the intimate words she meant to share only with her husband.
Determined to get answers, she urged her horse toward the bend in the river where Lucian had told her she’d find Clay. She ducked beneath a low branch, the sweat on her palms increasing.
She drew her horse to a halt beneath the branches of another tree. Ensconced in shadows, she forgot her anger as she took in the scene unfolding before her.
Deep and vibrant, Clay’s laughter rumbled as he stood in the brown river, the gently flowing water lapping at his hips. His back was to her, but with his clothes drenched and plastered to his body, she could see that he was extremely slender; she could even detect the barest rippling of his muscles beneath his shirt as he scooped the water and tossed it toward his brothers. The twins had discarded their shirts, and their bare shoulders displayed a host of freckles.
Without warning, they yelled and lunged for Clay. The force of their combined assault took him under the water. The twins emerged first, holding their stomachs and throwing their heads back to send their guffaws toward the blue sky above. Clay came up, sputtering, shaking his head, and sending a spray of water toward his brothers. Then moving quickly, he plucked one boy out of the water.
Meg gasped. The child was as naked as a blue jay. She knew she should avert her gaze, but she hadn’t seen anyone so enjoy life in years.
Clay tossed the boy in the water. Then, laughing, he turned to his other brother. Taunting the boy, he tried to wave him nearer. When the boy refused to approach, Clay plunged under the water. The boy screamed as he came out of the water, cradled in his brother’s arms. Then he hollered louder and struggled harder. “Put me down!”
“Not until you say I won!” Clay yelled.
“Gawd Almighty! She’s watchin’ us!”
Clay spun around, the naked boy dangling in his arms and kicking. His broad smile disappeared like sunshine vanishing as a dark cloud passes before the sun. His chest heaving from his efforts, he released his hold, and the child splashed into the water.
She dismounted and walked to the edge of the riverbank. “I need to speak with you.”
“You boys, stay here,” he ordered as he plowed through the river.
“Heck fire! We ain’t got no choice!” one twin yelled. “You swim in your clothes?” she asked as he neared the muddy bank.
He offered her an uncertain smile. “They unexpectedly lured me in.” He stepped onto the grass.
“You didn’t even take your socks off?”
“I don’t like the way mud feels between my toes.” Absently, he combed his fingers through his wet hair, lifting it off his brow. “You wanted to talk?”
She lifted the pouch. “About this.”
He nodded as though her words came as no surprise, then jerked his head to the side. “Mind if we sit on the boulder so I can dry in the sun and keep an eye on the twins?”
“That’ll be fine.”
She followed as his long legs ate up the short distance. He hoisted himself with ease onto the large boulder at the river’s edge. Then he reached down to help her.
Ignoring his hand, she waited until he withdrew it and scooted to the far edge of the rock. Hampered by her skirt, she awkwardly scrambled until she gained her seat. She hadn’t bothered to change into suitable riding clothes. She’d just wanted to find him as soon as she could and get this dreaded confrontation over with.
She wiggled her bottom on the rough, warm surface until she was as comfortable as she thought possible. Then she turned her attention to Clay. As he stared at the river, his face resembled the rock, hard and implacable. She cleared her throat. He didn’t give her the courtesy of an acknowledgment, and she refused to call him by name.
“This is Kirk’s bag,” she finally said, not disguising the irritation in her voice. “I know that.”
“I want to know howyoucame to have it!” she spat, her anger rising to the surface.
He snapped his head around, his brown eyes dark and stormy. “I tried to tell you the other day when you came to the farm, but you gave me holy hell because I dared to mention your precious husband’s name.”
It seemed to surprise him as much as it did her to hear the crack of her palm against his cheek. Then the astonishment changed into a deep sadness before he turned his face away from her.
“Your husband brought it to me a few months before he was killed,” he said quietly.
She balled up her hand, still throbbing from the blow she’d delivered. “Why?”
