the overwhelming desire to die. Another memory teased the back of his mind. Small hands, a nurse’s hands, rubbing his back, making the pain tolerable with her sweetness. Like most of the young wounded soldiers, he’d entertained the idea of marrying her … until he’d caught sight of his reflection in a mirror.
He placed his hand against the small of Amelia’s back and felt her stiffen beneath his fingertips. “I won’t hurt you,” he reassured her. “Just gonna help you forget.”
Awkwardly, he rubbed his splayed fingers over her back. She had such a small back. He wondered if she’d have the strength to bear Dallas the son he wanted … or the daughter Houston thought she would have.
He stroked her shoulders, stopping just short of the nape of her neck. Touching her flesh, absorbing her warmth appealed to him, appealed to him as it shouldn’t. He had no right to feel her skin beneath his fingers, even if he was only offering comfort.
“My mother used to rub my back when I was sick,” she said quietly, and his fingers faltered.
His thoughts were anything but motherly. “I just thought it might help.”
“It does.”
His hand continued its slow sojourn over her slender back. Touching her in a less than intimate manner warranted a bit of reverence that could best be appreciated with silence: like watching the rising of a full yellow moon or hearing a wolf calling out to his mate.
“Would you mind reading one of Dallas’s letters to me? I always find comfort in his words. They’re in my bag.” Her mouth curved up. “But I suppose you know that.”
He preferred stroking her back to reading, but his desires didn’t seem nearly as important as hers. Opening her bag, he removed the bundle of letters. His fingers felt clumsy as they untied the delicate ribbon that held the letters together.
“Take one from the middle,” she said. “Any one.”
He took the one that looked the most worn, figuring it would be her favorite. He removed the letter from the envelope. “You sure you want me to read it?”
She nodded. He turned up the flame in the lantern and angled the letter so the faint light could home in on his brother’s words. He cleared his throat.
April 6, 1876
My dear Miss Carson,
The wind blew through this afternoon, turning the wheel on my windmill for the first time. The wheel groaned and complained as some men are wont to do, but eventually, it worked hard enough to bring up the water. I enjoyed listening to its steady clack. Hopefully, many a night it will serenade my family to sleep.
Loneliness does not exist for me when I am surrounded by the vast expanse of land and the endless possibilities. I think you would find much here to ease your loneliness—the land, the howling wind, the braying of cattle, the sun, the moon, the stars. When I ride out at night alone, 1 find companionship in all that surrounds me. I tell you this because I do not want you to think that loneliness is responsible for the following words.
I believe a wife and sons would enrich my life beyond measure. And I would do all in my power to enrich theirs.
After a year of corresponding, I am convinced you and I are well suited, and I would be honored to have you as my wife. I shall anxiously await your reply.
Yours,
Dallas Leigh
“I said yes,” Amelia stated softly.
Houston set the letters aside, picked up the cloth, and wiped her brow. “Yep. Dallas was grinning like a fool for a week after he got your letter.”
Her laughter washed over him as gentle as a spring rain. He couldn’t recall ever making someone laugh … or causing them happiness. A measure of disquiet swept through him. He didn’t want her depending on him for laughter, happiness, or comfort because eventually she’d learn the truth about him: He wasn’t a man that a person could depend on.
He knew Dallas had experienced qualms about sending him to fetch his future wife, but he’d had no choice. He wanted to believe Dallas had sent
He placed his hand against the small of Amelia’s back and felt her stiffen beneath his fingertips. “I won’t hurt you,” he reassured her. “Just gonna help you forget.”
Awkwardly, he rubbed his splayed fingers over her back. She had such a small back. He wondered if she’d have the strength to bear Dallas the son he wanted … or the daughter Houston thought she would have.
He stroked her shoulders, stopping just short of the nape of her neck. Touching her flesh, absorbing her warmth appealed to him, appealed to him as it shouldn’t. He had no right to feel her skin beneath his fingers, even if he was only offering comfort.
“My mother used to rub my back when I was sick,” she said quietly, and his fingers faltered.
His thoughts were anything but motherly. “I just thought it might help.”
“It does.”
His hand continued its slow sojourn over her slender back. Touching her in a less than intimate manner warranted a bit of reverence that could best be appreciated with silence: like watching the rising of a full yellow moon or hearing a wolf calling out to his mate.
“Would you mind reading one of Dallas’s letters to me? I always find comfort in his words. They’re in my bag.” Her mouth curved up. “But I suppose you know that.”
He preferred stroking her back to reading, but his desires didn’t seem nearly as important as hers. Opening her bag, he removed the bundle of letters. His fingers felt clumsy as they untied the delicate ribbon that held the letters together.
“Take one from the middle,” she said. “Any one.”
He took the one that looked the most worn, figuring it would be her favorite. He removed the letter from the envelope. “You sure you want me to read it?”
She nodded. He turned up the flame in the lantern and angled the letter so the faint light could home in on his brother’s words. He cleared his throat.
April 6, 1876
My dear Miss Carson,
The wind blew through this afternoon, turning the wheel on my windmill for the first time. The wheel groaned and complained as some men are wont to do, but eventually, it worked hard enough to bring up the water. I enjoyed listening to its steady clack. Hopefully, many a night it will serenade my family to sleep.
Loneliness does not exist for me when I am surrounded by the vast expanse of land and the endless possibilities. I think you would find much here to ease your loneliness—the land, the howling wind, the braying of cattle, the sun, the moon, the stars. When I ride out at night alone, 1 find companionship in all that surrounds me. I tell you this because I do not want you to think that loneliness is responsible for the following words.
I believe a wife and sons would enrich my life beyond measure. And I would do all in my power to enrich theirs.
After a year of corresponding, I am convinced you and I are well suited, and I would be honored to have you as my wife. I shall anxiously await your reply.
Yours,
Dallas Leigh
“I said yes,” Amelia stated softly.
Houston set the letters aside, picked up the cloth, and wiped her brow. “Yep. Dallas was grinning like a fool for a week after he got your letter.”
Her laughter washed over him as gentle as a spring rain. He couldn’t recall ever making someone laugh … or causing them happiness. A measure of disquiet swept through him. He didn’t want her depending on him for laughter, happiness, or comfort because eventually she’d learn the truth about him: He wasn’t a man that a person could depend on.
He knew Dallas had experienced qualms about sending him to fetch his future wife, but he’d had no choice. He wanted to believe Dallas had sent
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