“Desperation will drive people to lengths they never expected.” She looked down and swallowed. “I asked Cora and Walker to put together some necessities and food. I added a bit of cash to see them through.”
She intended to feed the family of the man who had attacked her? No, he never would have expected that, even now. Slade pushed to his feet. Moving to the other side of the S-shaped sofa, he sat, leaning back so he could still see her face. “I’ll go with Walker when he takes it.” Heaven knew the man probably lived in a lousy part of town, one Walker oughtn’t to have to venture into alone.
Besides. He’d like to see the man’s face when they handed him a gift from his victim. Judge for himself if Marietta was making a wise move or inviting extortion.
Her eyes went wide. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“And you don’t have to guard me.”
“I want to.”
She stared at him, her feline eyes still wide and suspiciously damp. Her “Why?” came out as no more than a wisp.
The wisp echoed through him far longer than it should have.
He pulled in a breath and savored it for a moment. Then let himself reach out and brush away the scarlet curl touching her cheek. “Because you matter.”
The sentiment ought not to take her by surprise. Her family would move heaven and earth for her. Hughes would kill for her. Yet disbelief glimmered in her eyes. “Why?”
“Don’t.” He draped his arm over the curved back between them and found her hands. Took one, lifted it, and held it to his lips. He could handle most things he came across in this life. He could face the gray that had taken over the world. But it shouldn’t steal her vibrancy. She’d still been bright after death and loss, after learning the truth of the Hugheses. This couldn’t break her—not a simple mugging, so despicably common in Baltimore. He wouldn’t let it. “Don’t question that.”
She blinked and presented him with her profile. Her fingers slipped from his and tangled again with the square of cotton. “Would you read to me, Slade?”
Another breath filled his lungs and eased back out. “Sure.” Given that no book rested nearby to indicate she’d been reading it, he reached into his pocket for the prayer book.
He opened to the ribbon that marked where he’d left off that morning. “ ‘Eternal Father, it is amazing love, that Thou hast sent Thy Son to suffer in my stead, that Thou hast added the Spirit to teach, comfort, guide, that Thou hast allowed the ministry of angels to wall me round…’ ”
The words of the prayer twined through him, shoring up the places inside that always threatened to topple. The writer obviously knew God with intimacy…yet just as obviously felt like a miserable, hateful worm. Deserving of rejection, but so very aware of the ever-forgiving love of the Father. Slade prayed Marietta would feel the same assurance. That though she was as sinful and proud and unworthy as the rest of humanity, she was also as loved.
By the end of the page, Mrs. Hughes had come back into the room and settled into a chair. Slade glanced her way once or twice. Looking, he admitted, for the lie in her countenance. It had always been there before, no matter how sweet or caring her words to her daughter-in-law.
Not so today. Today, the pain she’d voiced to her son on the stairs seemed genuine and consuming. Today she seemed finally to look on Marietta as a daughter instead of an interloper. What a shame it had taken violence to achieve that. And what a shame it came so late, when their world was about to crumble.
Maybe that was part of God’s plan too. His way of knitting them together when they were sure to need the support soon.
A thought that shouldn’t pierce so deep, that Slade would only get to be the destroyer here, not the comforter.
He had turned the page twice more when he felt the weight of Marietta’s head on his shoulder and became aware of the deep, even cadence of her breathing. Because he had to fight the urge to press his lips to the top of her head, he looked again to Mrs. Hughes, sure she wouldn’t approve of the posture. With his luck, she would even guess at his restrained intent.
Her frown shone soft, concerned. “The poor dear. It must have frightened her so, to find herself in the same position that proved to be Lucien’s last.”
Slade nodded, because it surely had. But his mind went back to the stairs again, when Hughes had heard the words from his mother. Just like Lucien. Something had flickered across his face, something of a different shade than fear.
Slade’s chest went tight as his gaze tracked back to the red curls spilling over his shoulder. He knew exactly what Hughes had been feeling—a soul-wrenching rejection of the thought of losing her. The same had rendered Slade immobile at the foot of the steps throughout the Hugheses’ conversation, too distressed to move. First at the scare, then at the wonder of feeling it so acutely.
Hughes wouldn’t wonder at it. No more than he would linger to give comfort when he could instead rush out to find vengeance.