She lowered her head. “And that is why the accident occurred. Because I forced my ill husband to go out when he did not wish to and because I insisted on speed when the road conditions urged caution. Because of me, my husband died that night. I killed him.”
When John tried to take her hands, she pushed him away, her eyes hot with anguish. “I wish I had died that night and Payton had lived. That’s how it should have happened. That would have been just. But he paid the price for my foolishness, and I lived. I can hardly bear it.”
John’s grey eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. He tried to take her hands again, but she would not permit it.
“My punishment is here,” she said, touching her right knee. “And here.” She touched her temples. “And here,” she whispered, placing her palm against his chest. “I can’t live as if that night were just an accident, because it wasn’t. It was a tragedy that didn’t have to happen. My husband died because of me.”
And she could not forgive herself. Could not permit herself to seek happiness now or in the future. Each time she made things easier by using the crutch, she rewarded herself when punishment was what she deserved. Every time she enjoyed something or forgot herself and laughed, she trivialized her husband’s death. And when she gazed at John McCallister with longing in her eyes, she betrayed the husband she had killed.
“That is why you cannot stay. You tempt me with happiness that I don’t deserve and will never have.” Finally, she let him take her hands and she clasped his fingers. “If you care for me a little, then please, I beg you, leave.” Gently he withdrew a hand and touched his fingertips to her lips. Alex pulled away, tears glistening in her eyes. “You touch me and I feel… guilt,” she whispered. “I look into your eyes and ache with despair. Please. The only way I can atone for what I… I mustn’t think about…”
Blinded by tears and pain, she gripped the wheels of her chair and savagely thrust forward, running away from him toward the bedroll that Grady had laid out for her. Long after the rest of the camp slept, she lay awake, staring through the darkness at the figure sitting on the grass where she had left him. Weeping silently, she prayed he would be gone when she awoke at dawn.
But he wasn’t. After breakfast, John climbed up on the chuck wagon beside her. He touched her hand and smiled.
“How is it possible to be happy and this miserable at the same time?” she whispered.
‘You’re worrying me,” Freddy said before she swung her saddle up on Walker’s back. Reaching beneath him, she caught the cinch and buckled it tight. “You ought to be happy now that we’re off drag, but you seem,” she frowned, “about as unhappy as a person can be.”
Les closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Cactus’s warm side. “I’m sorry I shouted at you last night. I’m just… I have a lot on my mind.”
Not an evening went by that Ward didn’t slap her or hit her when he discovered she hadn’t lost any longhorns. And God help her, there were times when a muley peeled out of the herd and she was tempted to let it run off just to spare herself one night of rage and bruises. Shame colored her cheeks that she could even think for one small moment about betraying her sisters to save herself a little pain.
Freddy placed a boot in the stirrup then swung into the saddle and Walker reared and bucked and raced away from the remuda, kicking his heels and doing his best to fling Freddy into the dirt. When she rode back toward Les, flushed and laughing, she looked pleased that she’d kept her seat.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said, studying Les. “There’s something I assumed you knew, but maybe you don’t.”
“Is it about Ward?” Les’s stomach tightened in dread.
“I’ve been noticing the way Luther looks at you, and Les, he’s always looked at you that way. Luther loves you, and I suspect he always has. Did you know that?”
“Luther?” Her mouth fell open, and she stared at Freddy in astonishment.
“If you could see your face!” Freddy laughed, then she turned Walker in a circle and rode out toward the herd.
Luther?
“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her lips and her eyes widened in shocked understanding. The young lady who would have considered Luther too dull and too old, the young lady who had accepted someone else… she was that young lady.
A sudden tumble of memories overwhelmed her. Luther giving her flowers on his way into the house to see Pa on business. Luther bringing her a book from his library, his face turning pink with pleasure when he learned that she had enjoyed his choice. Luther, watching her dance with the young swains of Brush County, his expression wistful, or gazing soft-eyed at her across a formal dining table. Blushing violently red when he accidentally touched her. Stammering when she smiled at him.