Page 106 of Texas Destiny
Houston brought his pacing to a halt and held onto the back of a chair. “I can stand.”
“You wanted to talk?”
Houston nodded, his fingers tightening their hold on the leather. “I’m in love with Amelia.”
“And when did you decide this?”
“It just came over me somewhere between Fort Worth and here.”
Dallas strode across the room and threw his glass of whiskey into the hearth. The shattering glass did nothing to improve his mood. “Then we’ve got ourselves one hell of a situation here.” He spun around. “Why in God’s name didn’t you say something before we were married?”
“Because I thought she deserved better than a coward.”
Dallas felt as though Houston had just punched him in the gut. “What?”
“She’s got more courage in her little finger than I’ve got in my whole body. I figured she deserved someone who didn’t run from his own shadow.”
“What are you talking about?”
Houston surged across the room and slapped his hands on the desk. “What? After all these years, you want me to say to your face what you know in your heart? I’m a coward. A worthless, no-account excuse for a man. You know it, I know it. That’s why you can’t stomach the sight of me. If I could undo what I did, I would. But I can’t. God knows I try every night when I go to sleep, reliving that day, wishing I’d followed like I should have, but when I wake up the past remains as it was.”
“You sound like Pa.”
Houston dropped into the chair, closed his eye, and rubbed his brow. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for killing him. Hell, I haven’t forgiven myself.”
“You think I hold you accountable for Pa’s death?”
Houston lifted his despair-filled gaze. “Figured that was why you couldn’t stand to look at me. Because you knew I’d killed him. If I’d had any backbone, I’d have struck out on my own, spared you the sight of me—”
“Oh, Jesus.” Dallas sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, dear Lord.” Then he threw his head back and laughed, a dry humorless laugh. “I thought you avoided me because you regretted what I’d done.”
“What in the hell did you do?”
“I played God.”
The night following a battle was always the worst. The cries of wounded men echoed through the darkness, the stench of blood thickened the air.
Dallas stepped over a corpse and knelt beside a young soldier who was holding nothing but the torso of his best friend. “Jimmy?”
Jimmy looked at him blankly. “Can’t find his legs. He’d a hated bein’ buried without his legs.”
“I’ll help you look for his legs after I find Houston. You seen him?”
Jimmy wiped a bloody hand over his tear streaked face before pointing his finger. “They’re putting the dead over yonder.”
Stacking them like cords of wood, one body on top of the other. Dallas had found his pa there, but he couldn’t think about that now, had to ignore the pain knifing through his heart.
“Houston’s not there.”
“Did you check the hospital tent?”
“Yep, he wasn’t there, either.”
Jimmy pointed a finger. “They left the dying over there.”
Dallas’s stomach tightened, and his jaw tingled. Lord, he wanted to throw up, but not here, not in front of a soldier. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’ll whip them Yankees tomorrow.”
He struggled to his feet and wove his way among the dead who had yet to be moved, until the moaning hovering around him grew louder. So many men lay in the clearing. He might have never found Houston if he hadn’t spotted the battered drum.
