Page 90 of Texas Destiny
She squeezed her hands between her knees to stop their trembling. “I guess people have gotten married who knew each other less than we do.”
“My pa met my ma the day he married her.”
“I wonder if your mother was as afraid as I am now.”
“I won’t hurt you, Amelia.”
“But I might hurt you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give you my heart.”
“I’m not asking for your heart. Just your hand, your loyalty, and your respect.”
The warmth flared through her cheeks. “And a son.”
“That would please me greatly.”
“What will we name him?”
He smiled broadly in the moonlight. “What would you like to name him?”
Amelia shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, we have a few months to think about it. It will be your choice, but I’d like a strong name. Sometimes, all a man needs is his name to make his mark on the world.”
“Mark,” she said quietly. “We could name him Mark.”
“Short for Marcus?”
She nodded. He smiled. “Marcus it is. Marcus
Leigh.” He looked into the distance. “All of this is for him, Amelia. His legacy.”
He brought himself to his feet. “I’d best let you get some sleep.” Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“My pa told me once that love is something that grows over time. I think that’ll be the way of it with us.” He kissed her palm, his mouth warm, his mustache soft. “Until tomorrow.”
Amelia wrapped her arms around the beam and watched him disappear into the night. She pressed her hand against her stomach. Marcus Leigh.
She would love the child, respect and honor his father, and forget that his uncle had the ability to curl her toes.
Houston sat on his front porch and listened to the night. The wind blew cold around him, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as his heart.
He rubbed a hand over his unmarred cheek. Fate had been cruel enough to leave a portion of his face unscathed so he would forever be reminded of what he would have had … had he chosen differently.
Unmercifully, he pressed his fingers to his scars, slowly tracing every ridge, every valley, every section of knotted flesh. Each served as a testament to the man he was.
The man he would always be. The boy he had been.
“Dallas, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. Ain’t nothing to fear but fear itself. That’s what Pa says.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It just means don’t be afraid.”
But he had been afraid. Thirteen years later, the fear still hovered around him, the memories strong enough to catapult him back in time.
Houston could hear the roar of the cannons, feel the pounding of the earth. The land had been so green, so pretty at dawn. Then it became blackened, red, and torn. The air hung heavy with smoke and the shouts of angry men, brave men, scared men, dying men.
