The moon bathed the earth in a soft, pearly light, creating shades of shadows to texture the land. The gentle breeze bore the perfume of a nearby magnolia, while the trill of a nighthawk added magic to the night. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s God’s creation as much as you and me. A God who would give this gift wouldn’t take it away from you just because you misbehaved a time or two as a child.”
Morality shrugged, but Zach could feel a subtle relaxing inside of her and a little of his own tension eased. “You know, I sort of have my own ideas about…” He hooked his thumb toward the sky. “I guess they’re a combination of what my mama taught me before she died, and the things I’ve picked up on my own since—including something I only realized this afternoon.”
He pressed a kiss against her hair. “It’s all about love, Morality. His for us. Ours for Him. And ours for one another.”
Taking a step back, he turned her around. He held both her hands in his and waited for her to meet his gaze. “I love you, angel. I love you more than I know how to say.” Normally so facile with his tongue, Zach struggled to put his feelings into words. The emotion was so immense, so vast. Like nothing he’d ever known. Like he imagined Paradise to be. With a catch in his voice, he said, “Before you, everything was darkness. I had no light in my life at all. But you give me a little glimpse of Heaven, angel. You make me believe.”
She brought up her hand and touched his cheek. In a hushed whisper, she asked, “Do you mean it, Zach? You’re not lying to me?”
He turned his mouth to her hand and kissed her palm. “No, I’m not lying. I may be a bastard, but I’m not scum. I wouldn’t do that to you, Morality. Never.”
Offering her a crooked grin, he confessed, “Now, I can’t rightly say I won’t sneak something past you now and then…”
She sniffed and all hint of teasing died inside him. His expression frank and honest, he said, “But I promise you, Morality, I swear on my mother’s grave, that I’ll never, ever, lie to you about what is between us. It’s too great, too wonderful and exquisite and all-fired beautiful to mess with.” He held her hand against his heart. “I’ll never lie about loving you, Morality Brown Burkett. My life on it.”
Suddenly, she was clinging to him and her hot tears soaked through his shirt and burned his chest. Zach was sure the moisture pooling in his eye resulted from a speck of dust. “Aw, angel, don’t cry. Loving is supposed to make a person happy, not teary-eyed and upset.”
His comforting pat on her back quickly became a caress.
“Oh, Zach.” Her whispered breath seeped through his skin and heated his blood. Then she lifted her face, offering her kiss. Offering her love.
Zach groaned as he captured her lips. Morality. She tasted the same. Her sweet, sense-stealing fragrance was the same. The fierce, white-hot need she stoked to life inside him was the same as always. But everything was different because he was different.
This time, he knew it for what it was. “Love. I love you, Morality.” He bent and swung her up into his arms, then turned and headed for the cabin.
“Zach?”
“I want a bed this time. I plan to be at this all night.”
“All night?” She tilted her head back to look at him, and he paused long enough to press a hot, wet kiss to that tempting spot on her neck just below her ear.
“All night,” he repeated, his voice rough and raspy. “I want it to be right for us.”
“Oh, Zach, I love you, too.”
He kissed her once more, then hurried toward the cabin. Morality’s laughter trilled across the night, and a fierce gladness lifted Zach’s heart. Who’d have ever thought an angel like Morality Brown would want to tie herself to a no-good bastard like him? Either she was just plain stupid—which she wasn’t—or he was the luckiest man in Texas. That thought fairly boggled the mind.
He carried her into his home, to his bed.
“Oh,” she said, her expression going soft as she gazed at the touches of spring he’d optimistically added before going in search of his wandering wife. Sprigs of lavender verbenas rose from a water pitcher beside the bed. Bouquets of primrose and crimson clover lay atop the pillows. Goldenrod, as bright as Morality’s smile, was spread across the foot of the mattress.
“It’s all so beautiful, Zach.”
“I made a bed for Patrick in the barn for tonight,” he replied gruffly. “I wanted some privacy. I wanted to remind you of the trip home—when you told me you loved me. I was hoping you’d remember how you’d felt.” He laid her gently on the mattress, then stepped back, his gaze burning a trail across her breasts, her hips, the bare length of leg surrounded by a froth of petticoats.
He shrugged out of his shirt and Morality’s gaze fired. “I never forgot, Zach Burkett. I never will forget.”
He eased away her clothing, placing gentle, reverent kisses on every inch of skin he uncovered. With his hands and with his mouth he told of his love, and when their bodies melded together, he stared into her eyes and spoke to her with his soul.
Gently, he moved in her. “Ah, angel, I’ve missed you so. All my life I’ve missed you.” She gave him a tender smile, and to Zach, she’d never looked so beautiful. He rose on his elbows and said, “You’re my home and my heart, Morality Burkett. You make me whole again.”
She lifted her hips, taking him deeper, and wrapped her hands tightly around his shoulders. “I love you, Zach Burkett. Everything I give to you, you return to me a million times. I always knew something was absent from my life, but I didn’t know what. It was love. True, unconditional love. You are my home and my heart. And I thank God for bringing you into my life.”
Her words touched him deeply, and for the first time in a very long time, Zach sent a brief prayer of thanksgiving heavenward. “You are the Miracle Girl, angel. You’re my miracle.”
And then he lost himself in earthly pleasures and heavenly delights.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE MANTEL CLOCK TOLLED three A.M. as Morality lay snuggled into the curve of his body, sated and replete. And racked with guilt.
Everything she’d ever wanted was here within her grasp. Love, a home, a family. How could she be so happy?
It wasn’t right. It couldn’t last. Not when her happiness was built on a lie.
Zach nuzzled her neck and rumbled a satisfied groan. Morality ran her fingers up and down his arm, feeling the wiry smattering of hair and the steely tendons of muscle beneath his skin. She loved him, and knowing he loved her brought such joy that her chest ached with it.
Or maybe the ache was from guilt.
Dear Lord, I’m so confused. All her life the division between right and wrong had been so clear to her. Far too many times she had misstepped and found herself on the wrong side of the line, but she’d always felt repentant for having done so. She’d always sought forgiveness with a contrite heart.
Yesterday, she had lied before God and man, and her heart hadn’t thumped one single, contrite beat. It had thundered up a storm of guilt, certainly. Chagrin, shame, misery, and even fear took their turn.
But not remorse, not contrition, and not repentance. A guilty tear slipped from her eye and spilled across her cheek.
But she couldn’t recant her testimony. To do so would plunge him right back into danger, perhaps even greater peril than he’d faced before. Instinctively, she snuggled closer against him.
“Ah, angel, no rest for the weary, hmm?” He cupped her breast, flicking his thumb across her nipple.
She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him. As desire kindled in the very core of her womanhood, Morality knew she would never confess her sin. Not as long as it posed a threat to her beloved husband.
Zach moved his hips against her, the heat of him searching, seeking. Finding. Just before Morality gave herself up to the pleasures of his lovemaking, the answer to her problem came on the wings of prayer.
She must eliminate the threat.
Excitement enhanced her desire. If she neutralized t
he threat to Zach, then she could confess her sin and ask for forgiveness. She could devote herself to her marriage with a clear conscience. She could make a home with Zach and live without fear that the truth might come to light and plunge her life into darkness.
Morality closed her eyes and lost herself in the joyful rhythm of giving and receiving, content in the knowledge that a way out of her dilemma did exist.
All she needed to do was to find the real killer.
MORNING DAWNED exceptionally warm, and long before noon folks in Cottonwood Creek took to checking the sky every quarter hour. The air was hot, humid, and as still as an eavesdropper. Bending over to retrieve a dropped hanky made a man break out in a sweat, and within two hours of opening, Nichols Mercantile had sold every ladies’ fan they had in stock. It was April in Texas and weather was brewing.
Thunderstorms. Lightning, wind, toad-strangling rain, crop-crushing hail. “Tornado weather,” Mr. Kirkland at the livery told the Carstairs as Stephen assisted Rosalee into the rented buggy’s seat.
“You certain-sure you want to ride out today? Storm’s a-coming. Prairie dogs are building banks.”
“Better than saloons, I should say,” Rosalee quipped, the tremor in her voice betraying her nervousness. Kirkland frowned, obviously wondering if she were making sport of him.
Stephen winked at his wife, then turned to the stable owner. “Being from the East, we have little knowledge of prairie dogs. What does the building of a bank signify?”
Kirkland mumbled something about damn yankee fools, then replied, “Heavy rain is on its way. Prairie dogs build up banks around their holes to keep from flooding. This isn’t a good day for a buggy ride.”
Rosalee lifted her hand and clutched the locket that hung from a long chain around her neck. “Yes it is, Mr. Kirkland. It’s the very best of all days. I’ve been dreaming of this particular buggy ride for more than ten years.” She looked at Stephen. “Can we go now, please?”
Kirkland snorted, saying more with the sound than many men could have with a mouthful of words. Stephen, having learned a thing or two in his years of marriage, said nothing at all. He nodded at Mr. Kirkland and called to the horses, whipping the reins as he headed the buggy out of town.
For a few minutes, the only sounds around them were the rattle of the harness, the rhythmic squeak of a buggy wheel, and the thud of horse’s hooves against the packed dirt road. Then Rosalee dipped her chin toward her chest and said in a little voice, “I was unforgivably rude.”
Stephen shrugged. “A bit out of character, I’d say, but don’t worry about it, Rosie. You’re allowed.”
“I’m scared.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sky. “I know it’s no excuse for rudeness, but Stephen, I am frightened to death.”
He patted her knee. “It’ll all be fine. I’m certain of it.”
“But what if she won’t listen? What if she won’t forgive me? I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, but now that it’s here…” Her voice trailed off.
Stephen gave her a slightly scolding look and said, “She is an intelligent, caring young woman. You’re already her friend; she’ll listen to what you have to say.”
Rosalee’s laugh betrayed the nervous anxiety churning inside her. “Now if I only knew what it is I want to say. How will I find the words? No matter how I explain, she’ll be shocked. She loved her uncle. My story will cause her pain.”
Stephen put his arm around her shoulders. “I know this will be difficult for you both, Rosie. But she is a grown woman. She needs to know the truth about Harris and what he did to you. It’ll be hard, but look at what you stand to gain. You’ll have your daughter again. She’ll have her mother.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “You’ll have a part of Wesley Parks back in your life.”
Something in his voice caught her attention—a bitter note she’d never before heard. Or perhaps, never before noticed. “Stephen?”
He kept his gaze on the road.
“Stephen, what’s wrong?” Rosalee felt a stirring of alarm. He couldn’t be upset about Lilah. Why, if not for Stephen, she’d never have found her daughter. Despite her momentary fears, this was the greatest gift her husband had ever given her. Surely he wouldn’t have gone to the considerable expense and effort to locate Lilah if he had reservations about her daughter’s presence in their lives. When still he didn’t answer, Rosalee reached out and yanked on the reins, pulling the buggy to a stop. “Stephen Carstairs, you talk to me this instant!”
“Forget it, Rosie,” he said scowling. “It’s not important.”
Wasn’t that just like a man. “Talk to me, Mr. Carstairs!”
He sucked in his cheeks as if he had something sour in his mouth. Then he heaved a heavy sigh. “Forget about it. I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit apprehensive myself. Let’s get on out to the Burkett place before this rain comes up.” He repossessed the reins and set the buggy in motion.
Rosalee folded her arms and fumed. “If you felt this way about Lilah, then why did you—”
“Not Lilah, dammit,” he snapped. “It’s her father! I’m jealous, all right? I’m green as that crop of corn over there.”
Rosalee stared at her husband as if he were a stranger. He held himself straight and stiff, and a muscle worked in his jaw. An old pain flared inside her. “It’s because we never had children, isn’t it? Because I gave Wesley a daughter, and I wasn’t able to do the same for you.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Stephen spat a curse and yanked the buggy to a stop once more. “No, Rosalee. That’s not it and you know it. We have the twins, after all. You may not have given them birth, but you raised them with a mother’s love. I would have welcomed a child of yours, but it’s not something I’ve pined for.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m being an ass. I know it, and I don’t particularly like it. If you must know, it’s that damn locket.”
“My locket?” Rosalee asked, clutching the piece of jewelry she religiously wore.
Stephen grimaced. “Have you ever noticed how many necklaces I’ve given you over the years? Fourteen. You’ll wear them for a month of two, but sooner or later that locket always reappears. His picture is inside, dammit! You leave it lying on the bedside table at night. Every time I make love to you, I feel like there’s three of us in our bed! You’ve asked me before why I worked so hard to find Lilah. This is why, Rosalee. I hoped finding your daughter might finally get her father out of our bedroom!”
Rosalee’s eyes rounded in shock, and the tears spilled from her eyes. He muttered a virulent curse, then shut his mouth abruptly, turning his head away. After a moment, Stephen said, “I’m sorry, Rosie. I don’t know why I said all that. I never meant to; please, just forget it.”
The horse nickered into the silence that lengthened between them, then stretched his neck toward the grass at the side of the road. Rosalee softly said, “I’ve been such a fool. I never realized what you might be feeling.” Reaching behind her, she undid the necklace clasp. The gold chain fell from about her neck, and she caught the familiar weight of the locket. For a moment, she held it in her hand, then reaching beneath the buggy seat for her drawstring bag, she put the locket away.
Gruffly, he said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes. I do.” She turned his face toward hers and waited until he met her gaze. “It never occurred to me that you might feel this way, Stephen. Because, you see, I didn’t wear it to have Wesley’s picture against my heart. Yes, I loved him, but that was a long time ago. I let him go before I ever said yes to your marriage proposal. Don’t forget that Lilah’s portrait is in there, too. I wore it for her, Stephen. Always for her.”
She touched her lips to his cheek. “Now, you’ve given her back to me. I don’t need the locket, because I have her, or I will before this morning is over. I love you, Stephen. For Lilah. For everything you’ve given me over the years. But most of all, I love you for yourself. If I’ve not told you enough, then please, forgive me. You are my heart, Stephen
Carstairs. Never doubt it.”
He shut his eyes, as if he were tucking her words away in a special place inside him. Then he kissed her, hard and long and thoroughly. When he finally lifted his head, he spoke in a raspy voice. “Let’s go find your daughter, Rosie. What do you say?”
“Yes.” Rosalee smiled warmly, her body brimming with love. For her husband, and for her daughter.
She wasn’t afraid any longer. Stephen was right, Lilah would listen to what she had to say. And, if for some reason she didn’t want a mother in her life, Rosalee could deal with that, too.
Stephen Carstairs loved her, and remembering that, Rosalee could deal with anything.
MORALITY FLEXED her aching fingers and scowled down at the black crust clinging to her iron skillet. She could add a string of numbers faster than anyone of her acquaintance. She could sew a seam of stitches with skill that rivaled a professional modiste. She could hitch up a buggy, chop down a tree, and play a piano.
But she couldn’t bake a decent pan of cornbread to save her life.
Patrick claimed that the animals wouldn’t even eat it. To be told she didn’t cook good enough to suit barnyard pigs didn’t sit well at all. At least Zach’s rapid defense in praise of her pancakes had cushioned the blow.
Lifting her scrub brush, she resumed her scouring at the stubborn smudge until she heard the welcome rattle of a wagon entering the yard.
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she walked outside to see Stephen Carstairs pulling a buggy to a stop. “Well, what a nice surprise,” Morality said, smiling at her new friends. “What brings you out on a day like this?”
“A day like this,” Stephen repeated, helping his wife from the carriage. “So you agree with the others that we’ll have rain before the day is out?”
“Undoubtedly.” She glanced toward the sky, where on the western horizon, a tall, dark cloud was building. “This time of year, when the air is hot and still like it is, it’s a sure sign of violent weather to come.”
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