Page 27 of Texas Destiny
“I won’t be lookin’.”
“Promise?”
He deserved that hesitancy, that lack of trust. Dallas had told him once that if a man went back on his word one time, his reputation as a man of honor became little more than dust. He’d never known Dallas to break a promise. The strength of his word had laid the foundation for his empire. “I give you my word.”
She pushed to her feet. “Sleep well.”
Nodding, he settled back against his saddle, resisting the urge to watch her walk into the tent, knowing if he did, he might never find the strength to look away.
Chapter Seven
Morning brought with it the glaring sun and harsh reality. Amelia had avoided Houston’s gaze as she had eaten her breakfast. When he had begun packing their belongings into the wagon, she’d come to the stream seeking solace.
It had been one thing to meet Houston’s gaze by the campfire, with more shadows than light, but when no shadows separated them … she couldn’t meet his gaze, knowing what he had seen, what she had seen.
She had issued her challenge last night much as she had often dared her sisters—much as they had dared her—to step beyond the rigid guidelines their parents had set for them. But as imaginative as the dares had been, they had been children’s dares, designed to make hearts race and giggles erupt, designed to strengthen a bond.
Last night her heart had raced, but she’d felt no desire to giggle, to laugh, or to smile. No bond existed between her and Houston that could be strengthened.
She stared at the small stream and listened to the gurgling water. She felt soiled, inside more than out. She wished Dallas had come for her. She wished they would reach the ranch today. She wished she’d never seen the firelight skim over Houston’s bronzed skin.
She dropped to her backside, removed her shoes and stockings, and wiggled her toes in the cold water. It wasn’t enough to wash away the memories of last night, to make her forget how for one insane moment she had envied the firelight.
Lifting her skirt higher, she waded into the stream until the brown water lapped at her calves. Brown like Houston’s gaze, Dallas’s eyes. Brown like fertile soil.
“Amelia?”
Refusing to acknowledge Houston’s presence by turning around, she glared at the trees lining the opposite bank. Anger swelled anew, anger at herself because she liked the way her name sounded coming from his lips, with his deep timbre wrapped around the sounds. She hoped Dallas’s voice would carry the same resonance.
“You got any plans to look at me or talk to me today?” he asked.
“Perhaps at nightfall. It’s easier with the shadows around us.”
“Then I reckon we’ll wait here till nightfall.”
She clenched her hands. “I thought if I did to you what you had done to me, I would find what you took from me. But trust isn’t gained back that easily.” She pivoted in the water and tilted her face up slightly.
He wasn’t wearing his hat. No shadows kept his gaze from hers. Within the dark depths, she read sorrow, shame, and a profound apology that almost made her weep. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.
“No need to apologize. It was all my doing. I have a habit of taking the easy road. It was easier to watch than it was to turn away.” He settled his hat on his head. “The wagon’s loaded. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“Just a few—Oh!” The sharp pain came suddenly, without warning. She stumbled back, falling into the cold water.
Houston thrashed through the water, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out of the stream. “What happened?”
“My leg. Something bit me. A fish or something.”
Gingerly he set her on the grassy bank and knelt beside her.
“Close your eyes,” he demanded tersely as he tore the hat from his head. “God damn it! Close your eyes!”
He had only sworn at her once—last night—and normally she would have obeyed anyone who yelled at her with such urgency. But she couldn’t bring herself to move, to act, to do anything but stare at the two puncture marks in her calf and the blood trailing toward her ankle.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Snake,” he replied as he wrapped a strip of leather around her calf before unsheathing the knife he carried at his side. The early-morning sunlight glinted off the steel.
“It’s gonna hurt. I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he sliced the blade across her calf. She clenched her teeth and balled her hands into fists, wishing she could reassure him, but afraid if she opened her mouth to speak, she’d scream.
