Lorraine Heath (21 page)

Meg rubbed the area just below her thumb. “It’s just a little bruised.”

“I’ve hit my hand enough times to know it can smart. You’re lucky he didn’t break something.”

“I think it hurt Robert’s pride more than it hurt me.”

He grimaced. “If he’s like most in his family, I reckon yesterday was hard on him. They’re used to doing for themselves.”

Meg wanted to point out that yesterday had probably been hard on Clay as well, or hadn’t he noticed?

He set his plate on the quilt, and she watched his gaze flick over the desserts. She wished she knew which was his favorite so she could just cut him a piece and slap it on his plate.

“Can I have a piece of your cobbler next?” Josh asked. “It’s the best thing I ever ate in my life.”

“Certainly,” she said as she spooned out a generous helping.

“You ever gonna get married again?” Josh asked.

“It’s none of your business,” Clay said.

“How come?” Josh asked.

“Who do you think I should marry?” she asked, intending to aggravate Clay, but instead regretting the words the moment they slipped past her lips. She knew who the twins admired most, knew they’d think she held the same admiration for him.

Josh scrunched up his face. “Me and Joe will have to set our minds to thinkin’ on that. We’ll let you know when we figure it out.”

Clay picked up his plate and walked to the river. He knelt at the bank, and Meg saw his hand glide over the plate as he dipped it in the water. He carried the plate back to the quilt and set it down. “I appreciate the meal. You boys, be sure and clean up when you’re done.”

Meg watched him walk away. All this food, and he’d eaten one chicken leg. The man was impossible to understand.

“Don’t pay him no never mind,” Joe said. “We was talkin’ about him gettin’ married before you got here. Reckon it bothered him to be talkin’ about it again.”

“Who’s he going to marry?” she asked.

“No one.”

Meg set her plate down. “Eat as much as you want while I’m gone.” She rose to her feet and walked away from the picnic area.

She hoped Clay had walked in a straight line and not wandered off and gotten lost. She had no earthly idea how to follow a trail. She thought the twins could probably help her find him, but she was in the mood for some of Mama Warner’s low talking, and she didn’t think the twins could talk in a low voice if she gagged them.

She saw Clay hunkered down in a small clearing, as still as any statue he’d ever sculpted. Quietly, slowly, she walked past the trees until she obtained a clearer view of him. He was leaning over slightly, his elbow resting on his thigh, his hand poised near the ground.

She saw a bushy tail shoot up through the tall grass, then a squirrel was sitting on its haunches and sniffing. It scampered toward Clay, stopped, studied its surroundings, then scampered again. It came to a quick halt, lifting its gaze to the soft brown eyes of the man, then dropping its gaze to the pecan nestled within his palm.

The squirrel snatched the pecan and darted away. A slow contented smile eased across Clay’s face before he reached into the pocket of his shirt and withdrew another pecan. He slipped the pecan up his hand until it was nestled between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving the area into which the squirrel had disappeared.

“Want to give it a try?” he asked. He twisted slightly and gazed at her. He tossed the pecan into the air and caught it without taking his eyes off her.

Meg strolled into the clearing, knelt in the tall grass, and held out her hand, palm up. “I’m not sure he’ll come to me.”

Clay turned his palm so the pecan rolled out of his hand into hers. “Just pretend you’re a statue and be quiet. He’ll come.”

Leaning over, Meg rested her elbow on her thigh just as Clay had. It occurred to her it might be easier to feed the squirrel than it was to feed Clay.

“Did Kirk tell you ‘Greensleeves’ was my favorite melody?” she asked quietly. “He might have mentioned it.”

She peered at him. He stared ahead as though he could will the squirrel to return and take the pecan from her palm. “Do you remember everything he told you about me?”

“I imagine I forgot a thing or two.”

“I remember very little of what he told me about you. Yet you probably know which of those cakes is my favorite.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he pulled a stalk of grass out of the ground and slipped it between his lips. He covered his mouth when he worked so she never had an opportunity to study his lips as she did his hands, but she imagined his mouth could create haunting whispers as tenderly as his hands did.

“Spice,” he said quietly.

Disbelieving, Meg blinked. “Did he tell you everything about me?”

His smile broadened as he turned his gaze on her. “He didn’t tell me which cake was your favorite, but when you were cutting pieces, you weren’t as generous with the spice cake. Figured you wanted to make sure you had a piece left over for yourself.”

Shaking her head, Meg smiled. “You’re right. The spice is my favorite, and I am stingy with the pieces.”

“I’d hardly call you stingy. Not with the feast you brought today.” He removed the grass from his mouth and tossed it aside. She watched his throat work as though he fought for the words. “I appreciate that you brought the twins a picnic. When I made the plans for yesterday, I didn’t consider that they’d do without.”

“It didn’t seem to bother them.”

“Well, it bothered me.”

“I don’t think there’s much you can do about it as long as they stick to your side the way they do.”

“It ought to get better once we harvest the crops, and I finish the monument.”

“Why will it get better then?”

“Because I’ll be moving on.”

Meg felt as though he’d just hit her in the chest with his hammer. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know, but I figure sitting on top of a mountain by myself would be better than being here.” Plowing his hands through his hair, he sighed deeply. “God, I’m so damn lonely.”

Meg’s heart lurched. He was lonely, unhappy, and miserable. All the things she’d wished on him, he’d acquired without completing the monument. He hadn’t admitted he was a coward, but she was certain he would before he finished carving the names into the base.

She should feel like dancing. Instead, she had a strong urge to ask him what kind of cake was his favorite.

He pointed to the center of the clearing. “You need to be quiet now. He’s coming.”

Cautiously, Meg slid her gaze forward and watched the squirrel scamper toward her. The squirrel stopped shy of Meg’s hand and sat on its haunches.

“He won’t take it,” she whispered.

“Shh. He will.”

She held her breath. Her nose itched. She crinkled her nose and the itching increased.

The squirrel dropped its front paws and stretched out, sniffing the air around her hand. Then he snatched the pecan from her hand and scurried away.

Closing her hand, Meg cradled it against her chest and laughed. “I can’t believe he took it.”

She heard a noise and glanced over her shoulder to see the twins sauntering toward her, rubbing their bellies. They dropped to the ground in front of her.

“I ain’t never ate so much in my whole entire life,” Josh said.

Leaning forward, Meg scratched their stomachs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Clay, it don’t hardly seem enough to tell Miz Meg that she cooks the best food in the whole state. We was wonderin’ if we could share the bats with her.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Warner has seen the bats,” Clay said.

“The bats?” Meg asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Josh said. “They look like smoke risin’ out of the hills when the sun goes down.”

Meg looked at Clay. “Did Kirk know about the bats?”

“Yes, ma’am. We found them when we were about twelve.”

“He never showed them to me,” she said, feeling a sense of loss.

“There’s a particular spot we have to go to so we can see them,” he said as his hands formed the shape of a mountain. “It’s not easy to get to, and he probably didn’t think you’d enjoy bats.”

“I’d like to see the bats,” she said.

“Miz Meg,” Joe said solemnly, “we should probably tell you that we’ve got one rule when it comes to goin’ to see the bats. If you decide to come with us, you gotta follow that rule.”

“And what’s the rule?”

“No matter how scared you get, you can’t turn back.”

Fear, as Meg soon discovered, could lope along beside her like two whistling twin boys. She jumped every time they hopped on a twig, broke a small branch off a tree in passing, or hollered, “Watch out!”

But she refused to turn back. As the shadows grew longer and they traveled farther, she hiked up her skirt and marched along with them.

Clay followed at an easy gait, leading her horse.

The twins stopped. “That’s it, Miz Meg.”

Meg searched the twilight sky. “Where? What does a bat look like? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one before.”

“Not the bats,” Josh said. “What we gotta climb to see the bats.”

Meg lowered her gaze and followed the trail of his pointing finger. The mountain loomed before her.

Clay might call it a hill, but it was a mountain.

“Sun’s goin’ down, so we gotta hurry!” Josh cried as he and Joe ran toward the mountain.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clay said quietly behind her.

She angled her chin. “Of course I do. That’s the rule.” Bending, she reached between her feet and grasping the back of her skirt, brought it up and tucked it into her waistband so she had a makeshift type of trousers. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thrown on Kirk’s clothes before she crawled out her bedroom window. Probably because she hadn’t realized she’d be out searching for bats.

She walked to the foot of the mountain and stared at the twins scrambling up its side. Grabbing the bushes as one went seemed to be the secret. She took a deep breath.

“I know you’re not fond of my touch,” Clay said, “so I think I’d better warn you. If you start to fall, I’ll do all in my power to catch you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Then I’d best not fall.”

She flexed her fingers before wrapping them around the low branch of a bush. She stepped onto the slope.

“Test your weight on that spot before you go any farther,” Clay said.

“I can do this without your help,” she said as she glared at the high rocky ledge from which the twins were already peering down at her. She tried to test her weight on the spot without letting Clay see she was following his advice. She heard him move in behind her. “You’re not coming up with me, are you?”

“No, ma’am, I’ll follow a good distance behind.”

Meg released her stranglehold on the bush and lunged for another one. She pulled up inch by inch. She’d be at least a year older before she saw the bats.

The twins urged her on. She reached for another branch and scooted farther up the side of the hill. She had nothing to fear.

She glanced down. Clay still stood on the ground. He’d hiked one foot up so it rested on the hill, but his arms hung at his sides as though he were waiting for her to climb farther before he followed.

She moved her foot to a large rock protruding out of the dirt. She knew how strong rocks could be, so she shifted her weight to that side. The rock broke free of the earth and fell down the side of the hill. Losing her footing, she dangled from the bush.

Then she heard a crack. Clay was right. The sound of a crack when you weren’t wanting one was deafening. Almost as deafening as her scream as she slid down the hill.

She came to an abrupt halt with the hard, prickly side of the hill pressed to her stomach, and a strong, firm man pressed against her back.

He’d kept one foot firmly planted on the ground. He’d dug the other one into the side of the hill. She was practically sitting on his hard thigh with her body nestled against him so her head fit snugly against his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, and his breath whispered along the nape of her neck.

She turned her face to tell him that she was fine and he didn’t need to hold her. He furrowed his brow, and sorrow filled his eyes.

“Ah, you scratched your face,” he said in a low voice as he gently touched the tips of his fingers to her cheek.

He gazed at her cheek, and Meg wondered how badly she was cut. Her cheek smarted, but it wasn’t the small ache that brought tears to her eyes. It was the expression of wonder on Clay’s face.

“Dear God, but you’re soft,” he said in a raw voice.

He lifted his fingers away from her face and stepped back. Meg stumbled before catching her balance.

Averting his gaze, he shoved his hands into his pockets, reminding her of a lost little boy. He looked as though he’d just discovered something he’d have been better off not knowing.

He cleared his throat and scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground, turning up the roots of the grass and weeds. “You gonna try again?”

Meg brushed her raw hands together. “Is that the only way up?”

He nodded solemnly. “I could go up right behind you. Stop you sooner if you lose your hold.”

“Isn’t there a chance that we’d both just tumble down the side of the mountain?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, but I’d be softer to fall on than the ground.”

She wasn’t completely certain about that. From what she’d just felt, his body was as rock hard as the stone into which he cut. She breathed deeply. “All right. I don’t want to disappoint the twins.”

She grabbed the bush that had served her well during her first attempt to climb the hill, and she placed her foot on a scraggly bit of earth. Clay moved behind her, and she pressed her body against the earth.

She eased her way up. He swung his arm over her and grabbed a bush above her head. His body brushed against hers. Kirk had always smelled of bay mm. Clay smelled of the earth, strong and musky. He didn’t attempt to cover his male scent. He was as natural as his rocks.

She pulled up to the next bush. As close as her shadow, he stayed with her. She imagined that the positioning of his body over hers gave the appearance of a compromising situation, which prompted her to move a little more quickly.