Page 32 of A Rugged Beauty
"You're soaked through," he muttered. He'd been so caught up in his memories and grief that he hadn't registered even the most basic details about Sparrow.
"So are you."
He barely heard her words. What if he'd led them too close to the river's edge? In the darkness, it was impossible to see theterrain, and she'd gotten hurt because he hadn't been paying close enough attention.
Regret rose up in tandem with a protectiveness so fierce that it almost choked him.
"We can't light a fire, not with things this wet." He couldn't help himself. He brushed a kiss on the crown of her head. "But maybe we can find somewhere to keep the rain off."
"It doesn't feel like there's one dry inch on the earth," she said. Somehow, he heard the hint of humor in her voice. "I think we forgot to build our ark."
Her lightness tightened the cinch in his chest. He took a jagged breath.
"I'm all right to walk," she said evenly.
"I'd rather not walk into danger," he returned. "Surely there's somewhere near for us to hole up until morning."
He heard her soft noise of agreement.
But what would they do in the morning? He'd used one of his bullets. He didn't know whether the man who'd attacked him would track them, would attack again. Would he seek revenge because H’s shot had connected? What if he was leading Sparrow into more and more danger?
Whatever hope he'd had to find a wagon train or a house out here was dwindling.
Sparrow was awake as the sky began to lighten.
It wasn't that the sun came up—the sky was still covered in slate gray clouds—but small details began to come into focus. That's what she noticed first.
It seemed a miracle, but H had somehow found a large, fallen log against an embankment that had created a sort of shelter. Itwasn't waterproof, and it was a tight fit with both of them lying side by side. But H had insisted Sparrow be on the inside, as much out of the rain as possible. He'd crowded her against the damp earth, fallen tree behind her shoulder, and turned his back to the world outside.
They'd both lain awake for hours. Listening to the ebb and flow of the rain during the long night. She wasn't sure the rain had ever stopped.
It was still drizzling now. The quiet woods coming slowly into focus felt ethereal.
H slept on. One of his arms rested heavy over her waist and anchored her.
She was sure she had cobwebs in her hair and that she was covered in mud. What she wouldn't give for a hot bath.
She breathed deeply of peat and damp air as a memory rolled over her. Ma washing her in a round tub of warm, sudsy water. Laughing and splashing. She'd been small. Maybe five.
Memories had been slipping into place all throughout the quiet hours of the night. H had shared his terrible memory with her and been quiet ever since.
She had to wonder if whatever had caused the memory loss—the berries, as H had suggested?—was wearing off. Her memories had cascaded and ebbed but when she reached for more current ones—her wedding to H, her name—they slipped away.
H made a small noise in his throat. She held her breath, wondering whether he'd wakened.
The gray light was just enough for her to see his features, slack in sleep. The proud curve of his nose, the stubble at his jaw. The lips that had kissed her so passionately. The shadow of his lashes against his cheeks.
His name hovered on her lips, just out of reach.
But another memory overtook her with breathless grief. Herself standing at the edge of a grave, newly mounded with dirt. She must've been all of fifteen. Joseph stood beside her, silent. Holding his cap in both hands.
How was she meant to go on without her mam in her life? Mam had been a steady presence, wise and gracious and always ready with a kind word. She'd taught Sparrow how to cook. How many hours had they worked in the kitchen together over the years since Sparrow had been a wee child?
The hot knife of grief sliced through her chest as if reliving that moment.
"Chin up."Those had been her brother's words.
Her chin wobbled when she turned her gaze on him, unable to move more than her head. If she walked away, if she left, then it became real. Mam wasn't coming back. Not ever.
