Page 18 of Texas Destiny
He felt as though he’d just squashed a beautiful butterfly for doing little more than innocently landing on his shoulder.
He closed his eye against the memory of last night. He owed her an apology for that as well, even though she had no way of knowing what had transpired by the campfire after she had walked into the tent. How did a man apologize for taking advantage of a situation without causing more harm?
One way or another he needed to make amends. His lustful thoughts had no place on this journey.
He picked up a stick and drew an “A” in the mud. He traced the right side until the groove was deep and water began to seep into it. Then he carved the “D” and stared at his brother’s brand, emblazoning the sight in his mind and on his heart.
He knew that the marriage ceremony that would take place when they arrived at the ranch was only a formality. As far as Dallas was concerned, Amelia had become his wife the day he had joined her initial to his. Houston would do well to remember that.
He tossed the muddy stick aside, forced himself to his feet, and wandered back to camp, his apology tagging along like an unwanted puppy.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his practiced words forgotten as he stared at Amelia walking through the camp, her hand covering her left eye. She tripped over a rock, stumbled, caught her balance, glanced down, her eye still covered, and spoke to the rock as though it were some child who had wandered across her path. “Oh, I didn’t see you.”
She lifted her gaze and continued to roam the small area, her skirt coming dangerously close to the fire.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
She spun around. Her cheeks flamed red as she lowered her hand. “I was trying to see the world as you see it.”
He hunkered down before the fire and poured the remaining coffee over the low flames. “Believe me, you don’t want to see the world as I see it.”
With small hesitant steps, she eased closer to the fire, wringing her hands. He knew he should apologize now, but damn if he could remember the words he wanted to use.
“I’ve noticed that you try to keep … your … your right side facing me. I thought it was because you were trying to spare me the sight of your scars …”
Her words sliced through him like a knife. If he could, he’d spare her his presence altogether. Damn Dallas. All six bullets wouldn’t be enough satisfaction.
“I realize now that your vision is hampered,” she continued.
“I’m like a horse that wears blinders on one side, so just stay to the right of me,” he said gruffly.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me. You just came dang close to setting your skirt on fire.”
“Oh.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “At least you don’t have to squint when you aim a rifle.”
His gaze hardened on hers. Sympathy filled those green eyes, along with the tears.
“I was trying to think of a reason why you might be grateful that you lost an eye. I know it’s a silly reason, but sometimes when I’m bothered by something if I can find a reason to be grateful—”
Drawing himself up to his full height, he glared down on her. “Do you know what would have made me grateful, Miss Carson?”
She shook her head slightly.
“If I’d lost both eyes.”
As dusk settled in, Amelia scrubbed her blouse viciously in the warm bucket of water Houston had brought her—in silence. He hadn’t spoken a full sentence since that morning. He’d grunted, yepped, noped, and for the most part left her alone.
They’d set up camp a little earlier than they did yesterday because he wanted to keep them near water as long as possible. He’d shot a hare for the evening meal. Amelia had wanted to crawl into the dirt and hide when he strode into camp with the hare and his rifle. How could she have said what she did this morning? How could she have thought he’d be grateful for the loss of an eye or the scarring of a face that she was certain would have made women swoon with its rugged beauty?
She knew she could apologize a hundred times, but that wasn’t what Houston Leigh wanted … or needed. He needed to be accepted as he was, to learn that he didn’t have to hug walls or view life through shadows of his own making.
Rising, she slapped her blouse over the side of the wagon, smoothing out the wrinkles so the material could dry through the night. She trailed her fingers over Dallas’s brand. She had expected so much more from this trip: laughter, stolen kisses, promises of happiness.
She should leave Houston to mope around in the world he had no desire to share. She should focus her thoughts on Dallas and how she could best make him happy. She wasn’t learning much about him from his brother, but perhaps if she read his letters again, she would discover something she’d missed.
She dumped the water out of the bucket, straightened her back with a sigh, and began walking toward the tent and solitude.
