“He has scars—” Meg began, not certain why she wanted to explain to this man that the undeserved scars were badges of honor.
“I’m familiar with his scars,” Dr. Martin said as he prodded his fingers along Clay’s ribs. “Some damn private got overzealous with his bayonet, and they couldn’t stop the bleeding so they sent for me.” He released a mirthless laugh. “They were afraid he’d bleed to death before they got a chance to execute him. Damn idiots.”
Meg heard footsteps. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucian standing in the doorway, his troubled gaze flickering guiltily over his brother. He looked as though he’d been trapped in a storm. His damp hair clung to his face as tenaciously as his sweaty shirt hugged his body. Meg hadn’t thought to tell him where he could find her horse, and she realized, with regret, that he’d run to town to find the doctor.
Clay gasped, and his eyes flew open.
“That one hurt, didn’t it?” Dr. Martin said.
Clay nodded slightly. “Yes, sir.” He looked down at his bare chest, flinched, and struggled to pull the quilt up to his chin with his good hand. Turning his face away from Meg, he said in a hoarse voice, “Make her leave, Doc.”
Meg felt a strong need to reassure Clay that her feelings for him were genuine. She met Dr. Martin’s intense gaze. “I want to help. His hand is still bleeding.”
Dr. Martin wrapped his hands around the bandaged wound. “I’ll take care of the bleeding. I think you both can help most by leaving the room.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the expression on Dr. Martin’s face told her he’d brook no arguments. “I need some water warmed up and some coffee,” he said.
“We ain’t got no coffee,” Lucian said.
“Well, then, make yourself useful and rustle me up something to eat. I always get hungry in the middle of the night after tending hurt folks. Now, go on. I gave you something to do, get to doing it.”
Meg eased off the bed and leaned close to Clay’s face. “Clay?”
“Go home,” he forced out through clenched teeth.
“I love you,” she said softly. He squeezed his eyes shut as though her words caused him more pain. She looked to Dr. Martin. “Call if you need me.”
With one last look at the man lying on the bed, she walked out of the room.
The minutes passed as slowly as hours. Meg sat at the table with her hands clenched in her lap. Lucian sat opposite her, his elbows on the table, his chin pressed against his fists.
A door opened, and the twins padded out of their bedroom. “We can’t sleep,” Josh said as they approached the table.
“Dr. Martin’s here,” Lucian said. “Clay’ll be all right now.”
“That ain’t why we can’t sleep,” Joe said.
The twins looked at each other, their eyes filled with such sadness that at that moment, Meg wished more than anything else that she could have spared them this hurt.
Josh cleared his small throat. “Lucian, was we cowards tonight?”
Lucian snapped his gaze over to Meg. Slowly, he lowered his fists to the table and looked at the twins. “No. Clay told us to stay inside, and we were doing what he told us to do.”
“Then how come you say he’s a coward when he was just doing what his heart told him to do when he wouldn’t fight in the war?”
Lucian bolted out of the chair. “How the hell should I know? You two ask the dumbest questions I’ve heard in my whole life, and then you give the smartest answers. Why do you ask the questions if you’ve got the answers? Hell, I’m going for a walk.” He stormed out the front door.
With tears in his eyes, Joe said, “Miz Meg, we still don’t know if we was cowards. Even if Clay had said it was all right, we don’t know if we woulda gone out there.”
Meg scooted away from the table and patted her lap. The boys sidled up to her, and she wrapped her arms around them, drawing them close. They were too thin, too small, too young for what they’d witnessed tonight. “I think tonight it was Clay’s battle to fight.”
“But he lost.”
“No, I don’t think he did. He’s the kind of man who’ll never lose because he never strays from what he believes in. He’s rare, so rare that even I didn’t recognize how much courage he has.”
The door to Clay’s room opened, and Dr. Martin ambled out. He dropped his black bag on the table and slowly shook his head. “He’s got a couple of broken ribs and that hand’s a mess.”
“Will he still be able to use it?” Meg asked.
