Alex shook his head. “No. She’ll see with her own eyes soon enough. But…” He hesitated before plunging on, “She’s already been on one of the tables.”
Sam went still. His watery eyes stared up at the younger man. His chin crumpled. “The tables? They had their hands on your pretty girl?” He shook his head.
He turned to Lena and the violence in his face shocked her.
Even after he began speaking again, his voice full of rage and grief, his head went on shaking minutely. “But look at you. Here. Strong. Strong, not like my Miranda.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, a rheumy sound. “She was a strong girl, so feisty, but not strong like you are.” His focus moved over her in the particular way Sparks had when they were looking at an aura and not a person.
“And she was too young. I had no business taking up with her. I was almost a hundred and fifty years old by then. I knew what they were capable of.” His voice moved higher, thinning with grief and tears.
Alex got to his feet and went to Sam, crouching before him and putting a hand on the man’s slight shoulder. “Sam,” he murmured, “it’s okay. We can come back later.”
Sam looked up at him, his face dark as he began losing himself to the memories. “They take what you love. They twist and break it. And then they throw it back to you and wait for you to break.”
“I know, Sam. I’m sorry. I wish it was easier to focus on the good you had. I’m sorry our visit brought this back again.”
The old man waved his hand and took several deep breaths, as if preparing to continue. But in a moment, his gaze unfocused, and he stared ahead. His eyes moved as if he watched something before him that they couldn’t see. He closed them as he curled in toward his lap, crumpling in on himself, and he waved his hand at Alex again. This time the wave of dismissal was final.
Alex leaned his head in and whispered in Sam’s ear. Sam shook his head. Alex sat back on his heels, sighed, and shook his head at Lena.
She rose and leaned in to press her hand to Sam’s shoulder before crossing to wait in the hall.
Alex took the tray with the pitcher of water and set it on the chair she’d just vacated. He moved them within easy reach of Sam and then joined her. He turned back and gently closed the door behind them.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” He took an uneven breath and ran his hands through his hair. “He’s had a long time to live with what happened to Miranda. Of course, he only touched on the part I wanted you to hear. About what we’re doing and why, so you can trust—”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
He turned to her, dark and inscrutable as he searched her face. “I spent a lot of time up here growing up. More than was officially sanctioned. I heard about Miranda a lot.” He reached out and silently tapped his fingertips against Sam’s door before withdrawing his hand. “C’mon. We have a lot to get done today before I have to be back in Azcon. Daylight’s burning.”
He moved past her, his feet making no sound on the carpeted floor.
Chapter 17
Alex led the way outside, but Lena hesitated behind him. He turned back. She squinted against the bright light, glancing side to side to check for others using the patio. He cursed silently. Thomas would have to call a meeting. She shouldn’t be uncomfortable here where he’d promised her a safe place. The men of Fort Nevada would just have to have to learn to deal with her presence and with what it did to them. He had.
He walked backward and called out to her, “What’s the hold up? C’mon. Thomas said you liked it out here. So move it.” He turned back to head up one of the red gravel paths.
Her footsteps crunched down the path behind him.
He wound around on the path for two more turns and then arrived at his destination, one of his favorite spots in the garden. A gravel circle created a side area off of the path, somewhat hidden by a pair of desert willows flanking the opening. Benches faced each other from the edges of the gravel. He positioned himself in front of one bench and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet as he waited for her, psyching himself up for both the focus and the pain.
Lena entered the court and wandered toward the other bench, keeping her eye on him.
“I want you to try to hurt me,” he told her. He tapped his chest. “Hit me.”
She raised her hands up between them.
Did she think he wanted her to slap him? He rolled his eyes. “No, Lena. Not with your hands.” He smirked. “As if you could.”
Her hands popped to her hips in attitude.
Yeah, she was tough. She’d lived in the desert on her own, chopped her own wood, trapped and hunted her food, defended herself and her home from animals and men. And he admired it. But being strong was entirely different from being able to fight. He hadn’t meant to insinuate she was weak, but he guessed that’s what she took from his comment.