Was she the brokenhearted, or was he?
The warmth of his hand penetrated hers. “It also talks about how He knows each star, like jewels from his hands scattered across the sky.”
“Sounds like poetry.”
“I suppose so. And that’s what Psalms is. But it’s more than that. It’s truth. From the God who created the universe.”
Goosebumps prickled her arms. She bit her lip, then whispered, “I’ve seen you at the dinner table. You really pray, don't you?”
He tilted his face toward her. “Yes. Don't you?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes, I guess. I mean, it’s kind of like seeing someone you know for the first time in a long while. You don’t quite know what to say to them.”
“The Lord wants you to talk to Him, Morning Fawn. Tell Him what’s on your heart.”
That’s what her mother had spoken about as she’d brushed Morning Fawn’s hair and tucked her in. Morning Fawn couldn’t remember her face, only the portrait in LeBeau’s office, but her voice still rang in Morning Fawn’s ears, so comforting, so sweet. Gone forever from this world.
Morning Fawn shivered. “Please, let’s not talk about my mother anymore.”
“I didn’t know that we were.” His eyebrows quirked upward.
“Yes, in a roundabout way.” Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. “Please.”
“Of course.” He turned back to the stars, speaking of the wonders of the sky as his thumb moved back and forth across her hand, sending tingles up and down her arms.
Her heart settled onto a certainty. This was the man she wanted to marry.God of the heavens, if You hear me, please let it be so.
CHAPTER 19
The moon had passed its meridian, and wispy fingers of clouds covered some of the stars by the time Devon walked Morning Fawn to the porch steps. Her scent of rosewater and citrus filled his nostrils and permeated his thoughts. Sitting so close to her on the wall that a wave of her hair lapped against his shoulder, and her hand lying supple beneath his, warming him to his core, he’d lost track of time. It’d been all he could do to not touch his lips to her brow.
His legs, everything about him, wobbled. How could the lady at his side be the same woman he’d yanked off a horse and wrestled to the ground only three weeks before? He was in trouble in more ways than he could count. If they were in Brownsville, within the Yankee lines and his mission done, and no scoundrel trying to weasel in on his girl with black mustangs, that’d be a different story, but…
The front door swung open as they stepped onto the porch. LeBeau stood in the entryway, against the glow of the hallway lamps. Light bled through the tall curtained windows that flanked the door on either side, like sentinels.
Morning Fawn tensed.
Devon lowered his mouth close to her ear. “Whatever he says, leave it to me. You go to your room, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She frowned and slipped her hand from Devon’s arm.
LeBeau snapped his pocket watch shut. He’d discarded his frock coat and cravat. His Adam’s apple bulged above his loosened collar. “Get up to your room, young lady.” His voice came out a tired grumble.
She skirted past him and headed for the stairs.
Devon removed his slouch hat and stepped inside. He braced himself against the onslaught of LeBeau’s scowl. Seconds ticked away.
Morning Fawn’s footfalls reached the landing and proceeded up the second flight.
Devon exhaled. “I apologize for the late hour, sir. We were only talking. In the view of the house the whole time.”
“I know what you were doing. I’ve been watching.” LeBeau tugged on his half-buttoned waistcoat. The tail ends flapped against the slight paunch of his belly. “Only, there’s a good amount of trouble that can be hatched beyond the purview of the naked eye.”
How was he supposed to answer that? Devon crumpled his hat brim. “My intentions are honorable, sir.”
Lebeau sputtered out a half laugh. “We saw how honorable your intentions were last Saturday night, Reynolds.”
Devon ground his teeth. Mighty fine how this man sought to blacken him with crimes he, himself, was likely guilty of. But he couldn’t dispute the remark without stirring up a heap of trouble for Ned and Lucy.
