Page 97 of Always to Remember
“Holding my hand?”
“Yes.”
“And the hands of my children?”
“Yes.”
He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. She wanted to fling herself into his embrace, but something hard in his eyes stopped her.
“And what happens, Mrs. Warner, when someone you know rides through town and points at me and calls me a yellow-bellied coward? What will you do then? Will you let go of my hand and take my children to the other side of the street? Will you pretend that you haven’t kissed me, that you haven’t lain with me beneath the stars?” With disgust marring his features, he turned away. “You think I’m a coward. Go home.”
“I don’t think that. I love you.”
He spun around. “You don’t believe in that love, you don’t believe in me.”
“Yes, I do.”
He stalked toward her. She backed into the corner and bent her head to meet his infuriated gaze.
“How strongly do you believe in our love?” he asked, his voice ominously low. “If they threatened to strip off your clothes unless you denied our love, would you deny our love?”
He gave her no chance to respond, but continued on, his voice growing deeper and more ragged, as though he were dredging up events from the past.
“If they wouldn’t let you sleep until you denied our love, would you deny our love so you could lay your head on a pillow?
“If they stabbed a bayonet into your backside every time your eyes drifted closed, would you deny our love so your flesh wouldn’t be pierced?
“If they applied a hot brand to your flesh until you screamed in agony, would you deny our love so they’d take away the iron?
“If they placed you before a firing squad, would you say you didn’t love me so they wouldn’t shoot you?”
He stepped back and plowed his hands through his hair. “You think I’m a coward. You don’t think I have the courage to stand beside you and risk the anger of your father. I’d die before I turned away from anyone or anything I believed in. You won’t even walk by my side.”
He looked the way she imagined soldiers who had lost a battle probably looked: weary, tired of the fight, disillusioned.
“You don’t believe in me,” he said quietly. “How can you believe in our love?”
A shot rang out through the night, followed rapidly by another and the pounding of hooves.
Clay jerked open his bedroom door and stormed into the front room. Meg hastened after him. Lucian and the twins were looking through the slats in the shutters that covered the window to the right of the front door. Clay moved to the window on the other side, peered through the shutter, and bowed his head.
“Get out here, you yellow-bellied coward!” Another shot echoed in the darkness.
Clay captured his brothers’ gazes. “Give me your word that no matter what you hear, you won’t come outside.”
Everyone stood as still as statues.
“Your word!” Clay barked.
Lucian gave one quick deep nod. “You got it.”
Clay settled his gaze on the twins, and they rapidly crossed their fingers over their hearts.
“Keep her in here,” Clay said with a quick jerk of his head in Meg’s direction before he slipped out the door.
“No,” she gasped as she rushed after him. Before she reached the door, Lucian snaked his arm around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and slapped his hand over her mouth. She struggled, fought, clawed, and kicked at him, but he wouldn’t release his hold.
Someone fired another shot. The bullet splintered the wood of a shutter, and the ping of its ricochet echoed through the house.
