Page 114 of Texas Splendor
“They’ll come with you, of course.”
Austin gave him a nod. “Let me talk it over with my wife this evening, and I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“Good enough.”
The night was pleasant as Austin drew their horses to a halt. They had left Grant with Amelia so Loree and Austin could have some time to sort things out. She had allowed him to lead the way in silence because she sensed that something was bothering him.
After all that had transpired in the past few days, she would not blame him for seeking a divorce.
She heard water rushing over rocks. Through the darkness, she saw a series of waterfalls in the moonlight. Austin helped her dismount, then he guided her onto the quilt he’d spread near the falls. He dropped down beside her.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered in awe.
“Houston married Amelia here. I didn’t even know the place existed until that day.”
A moment of silence echoed between them before he said quietly, “This is where I was the night Boyd died.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Austin—”
“I want to tell you about that night—”
“You don’t have to. Becky did—”
He cradled her cheek. “Loree, Ineedto tell you about that night.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap and nodded. “All right.”
“Dallas had always been there for me—so strong. I began to think of him as invincible. Rawley’s father had taken a whip to Dallas’s back until it looked like raw meat. Dee managed to get Dallas home, but he was fighting a fever. He’d lost a lot of blood. I was terrified that he’d die … and then who would we turn to? We knew Boyd was behind it and I planned to confront him. But I stopped to see Becky first and we came out here.”
He tilted her face until their gazes met. Holding his gaze was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“I want you to understand that I was twenty-one and scared. I loved Becky as much as a twenty-one-year-old man who knows little of life can love. When she offered comfort, I gladly took it.”
She heard him swallow.
“Whores had never appealed to me … until that night, I’d never …” His voice trailed off.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I’d never been with a woman until that night—not in that way. And I never touched another woman until you.”
He released his hold on her and reached for his violin. “Listen to this,” he ordered. He began to play a soothing melody, over and over. “That’s Becky’s song.”
She licked her lips. “It was lovely.”
“But it never changes. It stays the same. It doesn’t grow. It doesn’t deepen. It doesn’t challenge. It never did.” He placed his violin on his shoulder. “I want you to hear the song I played for Mr. Cowan, the song he couldn’t forget.”
She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. The music began softly, gently, and she imagined a child discovering the wonders of a dandelion, blowing the petals, and watching them float upon the breeze. As smoothly as the dawn pushed back the night, the song grew deeper, stronger. The chords echoed around them, thundering against the falls, filling the night until chills swept through her and her heart felt immense gladness. The song rang of destiny and glory and splendor.
She marveled that the melody came from within the man she loved, and she knew that she would forever remember it even as the final chords vibrated into silence.
She knew no words worthy of his efforts, no praise adequate enough for what he had just shared with her, so she said inanely, “That was beautiful.”
“I call it ‘My Loree.’ That’s what I hear in my heart when I look at you, when I hold you, when I love you.” He set the violin aside and scooted up until they were connected hip to hip. He framed her face with his hands. “Becky was a part of my youth and I’ll always love her—just as I’ll always love my mother. That doesn’t mean that I love you any less. She was the first woman I ever made love to, and that memory will never leave me. But everything about her pales in comparison to all that I hold dear regarding you. I loved her as much as a boy can love.” He trailed his thumb along her cheek. “I love you as much as a man can love.”
He settled his mouth over hers with a tenderness that mirrored his words. He removed her clothes in the same manner that dawn removed the darkness, calmly, quietly, with reverence and tranquillity. Then he tore off his own clothes and gently eased her down to the quilt.
The night air carried a hint of spring, and she knew she should feel cold, but all she felt was the glorious warmth of his body covering hers. She touched her fingers to the old scar on his shoulder. “You never told me who shot you.”
