Ash couldn't squeeze a sound past the lump in her throat, his simple words raking her as no cursing of the fates could have.
She reached out, tentative, laying her hand on the tense muscles of his arm, realizing for the first time that he was wet, too. "Garret," she managed at last, "I'm sorry I—"
He shook his head. "It's all right. I'll carry her back for you."
"No." Ash raised her fingertips and laid them gently along the stubbled curve of his cheek. She felt a blush heat her face and leaned it against the hard wall of his chest, the warmth of him seeping into her very core. "I think Meggie would rather be with you now. And so... so would I."
Ashleen's arms went around his taut waist, and he enveloped her in his embrace. He held her, silent, a long time. Until the rain ceased and the whole world glistened new.
* * *
It wastwo hours before dawn when Garret reluctantly bestirred himself, ever so gently lifting his cheek from the pillow of soft gold tresses tucked in the lee of his shoulder.
His back ached, even the thick wool blanket draped about both him and Ashleen failing to cushion his spine where it was pressed against a knot in the lean-to's support. His leg prickled with a thousand needles whenever he moved it, and there was a cramp in one shoulder, but he didn't care; he was hardly aware of anything except the fingers curled, limp with sleep, in his shirtfront, the soft swell of her breast against his ribs.
Garret peered down at the face half-hidden in his shadow, the thick, dark lashes spread like fans, the pert little nose buried against his chest, her lips dampening his skin through the thin chambray with every breath she exhaled.
It felt so right holding her this way in the darkness, feeling her shuddery sighs, warming her in the circle of his arms. He wanted it to last forever. But in two hours the edge of the sky would begin to wash silver, revealing the damage left in the storm's wake, exposing mud, torn branches, flooded creeks, and the hopelessness of the love he bore her.
Garret traced one finger down the curve of her ear, tucking a wayward gold strand behind it. Odd. He had awakened with more women than he could remember, after nights of wild lust and animal passions. Had awakened with "ladies" in St. Louis who, despite their laces and satins, had devoured him with carnal hungers so mad that he had been exhausted in their wake. Yet never once had he been so reluctant to have a night end. Never once had he been so depressed by the thought of releasing a woman from his arms as he was now with Ashleen.
Garret grimaced. He hadn't even kissed her. Hadn't caressed her. Hadn't made love to her. Hell, he doubted he could've even if he'd wanted to stoop so low, what with a four-year-old drowsing a few feet away. Why, then, did he feel so strangely... well, complete? Why was his restless spirit touched with a tranquility he had never felt before?
If Kennisaw could have lived to see this, the old man would've smiled that wide smile of his, his red beard rippling as he nodded his head.What do ye think I've been tellin' you all these years, boy? You always been waitin' for somethin', waitin' for her....
Had he known? Kennisaw? Had those cunning dark eyes recognized Ashleen as the one from the moment Jones had seen her?
From the first time she had shown Garret the deed to Stormy Ridge and confided in him Kennisaw's promise that Garret would guide them, he had thought the whole thing a plot on Jones's part to get him to face the past. Yet had the old man really been attempting to give him a future?
A future he could never dream of? Never hope for?
Something small and cold seemed to lodge in Garret's chest, and he instinctively tightened his arms about Ashleen. If things had been different, he would have hewn her a bedstead of oak, big enough for a brood of rowdy children to pile into when the night was filled with thunder.
He would have loved her there so fiercely she'd never again notice the lightning slashing the sky, the rain sheeting down. She would feel safe, protected, as much by the strength of his love as by the thick cabin walls he would raise for her.
The picture his mind painted would have been more beautiful than any image he had ever captured with paint and brush, except that he would know that the ring of security would be an illusion. A mirage that could be swept away by one blow of the unfeeling fates' hand.
He felt a shudder rack him at memories he could no longer hold at bay—his father's agonized face as with his dying breath he struggled to get to the woman he loved. Lily MacQuade's shrieks as she tried vainly to staunch the flow of blood from his wound as his life ebbed into the dirt. Cain Garvey, his lips twisted in glee as he tangled his fingers in Lily's long, dark tresses, tearing her away.
Garret's fist clenched as if he could still feel his birthday knife in his hand, could still feel the sensation of its blade biting into Garvey's flesh. But it hadn't mattered—his desperate struggles or his father's courage. It hadn't changed the bloodbath that followed. The horror. The grief.
It hadn't changed the hopelessness that had eaten at Garret's soul ever after, or the vow he had made that he would never allow himself to love that much, to hurt that much, to fear that much again.
And now, with Ashleen in his arms, destroying his defenses, with Meggie's dark eyes glowing at him with such innate trust, he would have to be damn careful never to forget that.
No, this was all they would ever have. He would make it be enough. And yet even now dawn was creeping inexorably closer, shaving away at this little bit of time they had shared. In just a few precious hours the other children would be stirring, readying themselves for the long day ahead.
He sighed, allowing his chin to rest lightly upon the crown of Ashleen's head. He should wake her now. Get her and Meggie back to the wagon long before there was any chance the others might know they'd been gone. That little firebrand, Renny, had been making Ashleen's life miserable for days with his sulking and snapping, and Garret had never been one to feed marauding Comanches fresh ammunition.
"Ashleen." He whispered her name, the sound of it, first thing in the morning, as sweet as the sound of her singing. She nuzzled her face deeper into his chest, a mumbled protest drawing from him a most reluctant smile.
So she was grouchy when she awoke. It was nice to know she had some damn flaws. His lips brushed a bit of smooth white brow barely visible beneath the fall of her curls, then traveled down to her temple. He wished his mouth could linger there always:
"Ashleen, time to wake up." He gave her a gentle shake. "Come on, lady. I can't carry both of you."
"Garret?" The sleepy sound of his name upon her lips wrenched at him as she struggled to focus eyes hazed with confusion. He watched her come awake by degrees, knew he would always remember the moment her gaze cleared and fixed upon him. She smiled. An angel's smile. It stole his soul.
He tried to steady his voice and failed. "Better get you back to the wagon, sweetheart, before..." He paused. "Well, we'd just better get you back. You don't want the kids after wondering..."
