Ash hugged herself, still feeling the heat of Garret's hands beneath her nightgown, still feeling the power of his loving, the anguish still racking his soul. He had warned her that he would leave her, break her heart. He had fought with everything in him to deny the passion between them. And even more, he had tried to block out the love that had crept so insidiously to envelop both their hearts.
But in the end even he had been swept away by something so rare, so precious he'd had no choice but to lose himself within it.
I love you... damn it to hell, I do.
He might not like it, but maybe with time—time and patience—he'd come to know how right they were together, how much he needed her. How much she loved him.
He had accused her of believing in miracles. Maybe it was time that Garret did as well.
With a happy sigh Ash climbed quietly into the wagon, finding by sense of touch the narrow path between the crates and pallets piled in the wagon box. The interior was silent, dark, the first faint glimmerings of dawn failing to penetrate the heavy canvas overhead. She wanted to go to her own soft pallet, to bask but a little longer in a reality that had outstripped her most magical dreams. Yet even before she had taken a step she sensed that something was very, very wrong.
She turned, her eyes adjusting to the deeper darkness until she was just able to make out the silhouette of a figure perched on a crate near the wagon seat. Her pulse leapt, a thrumming of dread dragging her down.
"Renny." She was glad of the darkness as she felt her cheeks flame.
"Mr. MacQuade tucked up all nice and dry?" Bitter, cruel, Renny's voice lashed out at her, leaving her raw. "Or are you goin' back out there in your nightgown t' make sure?"
Ashleen bit her lip until she tasted blood, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she battled to keep from making the already unbearable situation between her and the boy any worse. A sick churning started in the pit of her stomach, her mind raking her with countless images this child might have seen, the sounds of pleasure he might have heard.
He was already violently jealous of Garret. If Renny even suspected...
Playing for time, Ashleen moved to where her pallet was tucked a few feet from Renny's perch and bent to straighten the rumpled quilt. Battling to steady her voice, she said, "I went to the lean-to late last night to check on Meggie. She had gone out into the storm, and—"
"Well, Meggie's in the wagon sleepin' now! And if she was too stupid to stay inside last night, you should've let her get sopped!" Renny blazed.
"Renny," Ash said levelly, "you don't mean that."
"Darned right I do! You're always pamperin' her, coddlin' her. A drenchin' woulda served her right, the little half-wit—"
It was that single word that did it. It snapped something inside Ashleen, and she reeled with the pain of it. She lunged across the small space that separated them, her hand flashing out with an instinct borne of her own stark despair. She grabbed him by the arm, giving him a fierce shake.
"Don't you ever, ever call her that again, Renny O'Manion! Don't you ever!"
"She is a half-wit!" The boy flung it into her face. "But that's better'n what MacQuade's makin' you! A two-bit—"
In that instant Ash's palm arced out, connecting solidly with Renny's cheek. His cry of surprise mingled with her own shuddering sob, the stinging sensation on her skin filling her with guilt.
Ash heard the rustle of the other children shoving themselves upright amongst their coverlets, heard Shevonne's gasp, Liam's tiny cry. Their eyes seemed to burn into her back, hot with reproach, laced with confusion.
"Go back to sleep! Back to sleep!" Ashleen shouted, tears flooding her cheeks. They dived for their coverlets like frightened prairie chickens, burrowing their heads beneath the faded patchwork as if they were afraid of her.
Afraid.
In all the time she had cared for them, loved them, teased them, cajoled them, and comforted them, never once had she seen on their faces the slightest shadow of fear.
And Renny... the expression on his face was the most mercilessly cruel of all. Wisps of grayish light stole in through the opening at the back of the wagon, painting his edgy countenance with such raw betrayal, Ashleen knew the image would haunt her forever.
"Renny," she began in a shaky voice, "I'm sorry—"
"No, you're not! You're not sorry at all! You don't care about nothin' anymore 'cept Mr. MacQuade. Fine! You just dump us all at some orphanage in Texas or somethin', then, and quit pretendin' like you love us an' want... want t' be our ma! That's mean, Sister Ash! The meanest—"
"Renny!" Ashleen cried. "I do love you! All of you! How can you think such—such ridiculous—"
"Sister Bridget always said I was the stupid one, remember?" Renny cried, wiping his streaming eyes with his forearm. "B-but even I'm not so stupid I don't know what it means when he looks at you that way. When he's kissin' you and—"
"Renny, I'd never leave you! Never leave any of you!"
"Why shouldn't you? My ma did when some fancy man come callin'. She didn't even look back when she was walkin' away."
