Lorraine Heath by Always To Remember Read Free Book Online Page B

but hadn’t looked at them individually. “He left me a letter?”
    He nodded, and the sadness momentarily lifted from his eyes. She threw back the flap on the pouch and spilled the letters and scroll into her lap. She dropped the pouch by her side and sifted through the envelopes until she spotted one that didn’t have her handwriting on it. She snatched it up, tears filling her eyes as she touched the scrawled words—her name, sharing his name. Even unread, Kirk’s final letter was a bittersweet reminder of all she’d once possessed, all she’d lost.
    “I don’t know if I can read it. Not now. Not after all this time. I don’t understand why you didn’t bring it to me sooner, before I came to you.”
    “I tried. The day I got home I went to your farm. Your brother—Daniel, isn’t it?” She nodded.
    “He swore he’d kill me if I didn’t leave. From the look in his eyes, I figured he meant it. I didn’t dare send it with one of my brothers because I didn’t know how deep his hatred ran. I didn’t want one of them to take a bullet that should have gone to me.”
    Slowly, Meg put all the letters into the pouch. If she read Kirk’s letter, it would be when she was alone. She couldn’t bring herself to thank Clay, although she knew she owed him for bringing Kirk’s letter to her. She picked up the rolled paper. “I want to talk to you about the memorial.”
    “That was just the first thing that popped into my head. It doesn’t have to look like that. I can sketch out some other ideas.”
    She gave him a guilty grimace. “To be honest, I haven’t looked at it. I was too upset over the letters.”
    “You should probably look at it before you make a decision. It’s rough. I don’t have much talent for sketching.”
    Unrolling the paper, she laid it on the rock, anchoring one end beneath her ankle so one hand was free to touch the charcoaled drawing. She had expected to see men charging into battle, but not this. She’d never expected this.
    The drawing contained only one man. Within the shades of gray that comprised his face, she could see a fierce pride. He sat confidently upon his horse, which had its forelegs raised as it reared back on its haunches. One hand held the reins and the other reached out to a young woman holding a flag that was blowing in the wind.
    She brought her trembling fingers to her lips. “It’s Kirk,” she whispered.
    “It will be when I’m done.”
    With tears brimming in her eyes, she looked at him. “And the woman?”
    Careful not to touch her, he pulled the first sheet of paper away to reveal the statue as it would be viewed from a different angle.
    The woman’s face reflected the pride, mingled with anguish, that women had felt for generations when they sent their men off to war. Her face mirrored love, courage, and knowledge. Eloquently, in silence, the woman knew she was gazing upon the man she loved for the last time.
    Meg didn’t realize she was openly weeping until she saw the paper wither where her teardrops splashed upon it.
    “The woman,” he said quietly, “will be you.”

Four
    C URSING , C LAY REMOVED HIS HAT AND WIPED THE SWEAT beading his brow. Meg had promised to meet him on the road leading away from town, on the road leading to Austin.
    Shifting his backside on the wagon seat, he wondered how many times he was going to let the woman make a fool of him. She’d said dawn. He’d arrived an hour before the sun peered over the horizon. Well, the sun glared at him now.
    He jammed his battered hat onto his head, released the brake, and lifted the reins. Hell, he’d go without her. He wasn’t certain if Schultz would have anything available at the stone quarry he mined near Austin, but Clay wanted to look. Then when Meg Warner showed her face in a week, or a month, or a year, he could tell her what he’d seen.
    Flicking the reins, he knew the prospect of judging the quality of stone hadn’t kept him awake most of the night. His inability to sleep