“I’m not.”
“Get your hand off her, you yellow-bellied coward.” The young male voice reverberated off the church walls.
Clay glanced over Meg’s shoulder to see her brother standing in the doorway, legs akimbo, hands balled into tight fists.
“Please,” Meg whispered. “I don’t want any trouble here.”
He released his hold on her. As though she might say something further, she parted her lips slightly. Then she walked out of the church.
“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Daniel said.
Clay wondered if he should tell her brother that he’d be doing him a favor if he killed him … because his heart had just died.
Darkness cloaked Meg. The night before she’d found comfort in it; now she felt as though she’d fallen into a well of loneliness.
She’d waited for hours by the swimming hole, but Clay hadn’t come. She looked at his house. Everything appeared serene. Surely if he’d been hurt or fallen ill, she would have seen some sign.
Running toward the side of the house where she knew his bedroom to be, she tripped and fell. Sitting up, she rubbed her scraped shin. In the darkness, she could barely make out the shape of a rabbit with a solitary ear.
She scrambled to her feet and walked carefully through the stone graveyard until she reached the house. A pale light spilled through the uneven cracks in the shutters. She tapped on the wood. “Clay?”
Pressing her ear to the shutter, she heard movement within the room. “Clay?”
Someone blocked the light escaping through the cracks. “Go home, Meg.”
“I need to talk to you. Please let me in.”
Opening the shutters, Clay was a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the lantern. “You said all that needed to be said in church.”
“Please let me explain.”
Releasing a deep sigh, he pulled her through the window and closed the shutters. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Explain.”
She brushed the dirt off her skirt and smoothed the stray strands of hair away from her face. “You didn’t meet me at the swimming hole.”
“I didn’t see any point in going.”
“I know you’re angry—”
“I’m not angry.”
If he wasn’t angry, he certainly did a good imitation. His voice was clipped and as hard as stone. She wrung her hands together. “I love you, Clay.”
“No, you don’t.”
Meg felt as though he’d just slapped her. “Yes, I do. When you leave this town, I’ll go with you.”
Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Will you give me children?”
“If I can. Kirk and I were never able to conceive, but if I can have children, I want to have yours.”
“In this town that we move to, wherever it is, will you walk down the street with me?”
“Of course.”
