Page 34 of Always to Remember
Meg had a feeling she knew why he ate heartily when the food was plentiful. The man probably didn’t eat at all when little graced their table. She had an irrational urge to bop him on the head.
“All done,” she said as she snipped the thread.
“I appreciate it.”
“I can’t have you bleeding to death on me. Who’d make my monument?”
He peered up at her and grinned slightly. “Right.”
“What’s that gawd-awful smell?” Josh asked. “Did you puke, Joe?”
“Nah, I didn’t puke. I swallowed it back down.”
Clay bolted from the chair and rushed to the hearth. “Damn.” Grabbing a heavy cloth, he pulled the pan of biscuits off a shelf set in the wall of the hearth.
“They look worse than what we had yesterday,” Josh said.
Clay thumped the blackened bread. “They are worse.”
“I suppose it’s my fault,” Meg said.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Clay said.
“It just happened.”
“Still, I feel responsible.
I’ll make another batch.”
“I’ll bet she can make good biscuits, Clay. Will you let her?”
“I reckon.” He set the pan on the table and headed for the door. “I’ve already eaten, so just fix something for the twins.”
“Where are you going?” Meg asked.
“I’ve got chores to finish up.” He walked out of the house.
Meg smiled at the twins. “I’m not sure if I remember how to make just two biscuits.”
Clay had never known torture could be so sweet.
Meg’s fingers brushing lightly across his scalp had sent warmth flowing through his body clear down to his boots.
He wished she’d taken her time instead of rushing through the job, but he knew she hadn’t wanted to touch him any longer than necessary.
Part of him wished she’d never touched him at all.
A greater part of him wished she’d never stopped.
He laid his hand against the granite. He was accustomed to the feel of rough rock grating against his palms. He imagined every inch of Meg was unlike anything he’d ever touched. She was probably soft, smooth, and as warm as a Texas summer.
A couple of times while she was stitching him up, her breast had come close to grazing his cheek. He had held his breath, not certain what he’d do if she actually did brush against him. The moment never came, so he could only wonder what it might have felt like.
He hit the stone. He should have been paying attention to Josh, not Meg’s curves. The boy had a tendency to run at the mouth, speaking his mind and everyone else’s. As a result, he’d told Meg a lot more than Clay would have liked. How many biscuits he cooked was none of her damn business.
He walked around the stone, trailing his fingers over the gritty surface. Every morning he came to the shed and pulled open the windows to let in the first rays of sunlight. Then he touched the granite, getting a feel for the rough texture beneath his roughened hands. He’d spent hours imagining where he would first place his chisel, how hard he would tap his hammer. He thought about the sound of that initial crack and how much to cut away before he actually began shaping the figures.
A dozen times he’d picked up his tools with steady hands. He touched the chisel to the rock, studying the angle, determining how the stone would react to the assault. He could see every movement in his head and had been tempted to begin chipping away the unwanted stone.
