contemplated riding on without him. It would serve him right for everything. And nothing. On the other hand, she’d made him stop their first night together without asking. The night everything had changed and his body had pressed against her.
Leaving him behind would be stupid and she knew it. With a peevishness she needed to shake, she followed him. He’d already unsaddled Paladin by the time she rode up. He worked with a natural grace that she couldn’t help but notice.
“You need help with Swift?”
She growled. “Haven’t needed it before now, won’t need it ever.” There was no reason for her to be so angry with him but she couldn’t seem to push aside the feeling. While she unsaddled the horse then wiped him down, her gut bubbled. Awash in confusion of her conflicted feelings, she wants to punch something.
Or someone.
“I’m going to wash up.” She loosely tied the horse’s reins to a bush and stomped off toward water she could hear burbling nearby.
Grace pushed through the brush to find a small creek and shallow pool. Relief coursed through her at the small oasis. She quickly shed her feminine fripperies and stepped down into the pool. The late summer day had been hot and the water was deliciously cool while the soft mud squished between her toes.
Small fish dart around her legs, tickling her skin. As she sank down into the water, she focused on the sounds of the forest, birds, squirrels, and a gentle breeze making the leaves dance above her. Her mind raced with emotions and she needed to yank it back from the edge.
She tried to push away the anger, the confusion and the frustration that swirled around her. In their place, grief and sadness pushed their way in. Grace was tired of fighting her feelings and being strong. For Henry and for herself.
Perhaps it was time to let herself lose control. If only for a few minutes.
Tears stung her eyes as she floated on her back, staring at the green canopy above her. A sound echoed in the air around her, one of a wounded animal in pain.
She realized the noise came from her, a sob from way down deep in her heart, where her ancient agony lived. Grace let go and allowed herself to weep for her loss, for her life, for her stolen future.
Her throat burned as the tears fell. She missed Alfred, the husband who was more her best friend. He’d died trying to save her and Henry. How would he feel about what she’d done to get their son back? Alfred had been a gentle soul who forgave a lot easier than his fiery-tempered wife.
Grace wasn’t perfect by any means. She had made enough mistakes to fill a canyon, but she had always tried to do what was right. Was forcing Ben to help her the right thing?
She didn’t know the answer, and right about then, she had never felt more alone. There was no one else in her life besides Henry and she didn’t know if he was still alive. Grace had nothing and nobody.
This was the bottom of a very deep well and she didn’t know how to climb her way out.
*
The sound of weeping, of soul-wrenching grief, floated through the air and settled on Ben’s shoulders. Grace cried alone, somewhere in the small forest, while he listened. It was awkward and uncomfortable. And he damn sure wished he had an idea of what the hell to do.
They had to remain anonymous and make sure people don’t notice them. Instead she’d acted as though the blouse and skirt, which was to make her normal, made her stand out more. He’d have thought she was wearing clothes made from fire ants instead of an insanely soft material.
And now she was crying.
The tough-as-hell woman who shot his hat off his head had broken down. He wondered if he was to blame, the reason she’d lost control of her emotions. It couldn’t have been the skirt and blouse, could it? For a man with four sisters, he knew very little about women.
He wasn’t about to go see what she was about. No sir, that wasn’t something he would dare to do, for more than a few reasons. He
Leaving him behind would be stupid and she knew it. With a peevishness she needed to shake, she followed him. He’d already unsaddled Paladin by the time she rode up. He worked with a natural grace that she couldn’t help but notice.
“You need help with Swift?”
She growled. “Haven’t needed it before now, won’t need it ever.” There was no reason for her to be so angry with him but she couldn’t seem to push aside the feeling. While she unsaddled the horse then wiped him down, her gut bubbled. Awash in confusion of her conflicted feelings, she wants to punch something.
Or someone.
“I’m going to wash up.” She loosely tied the horse’s reins to a bush and stomped off toward water she could hear burbling nearby.
Grace pushed through the brush to find a small creek and shallow pool. Relief coursed through her at the small oasis. She quickly shed her feminine fripperies and stepped down into the pool. The late summer day had been hot and the water was deliciously cool while the soft mud squished between her toes.
Small fish dart around her legs, tickling her skin. As she sank down into the water, she focused on the sounds of the forest, birds, squirrels, and a gentle breeze making the leaves dance above her. Her mind raced with emotions and she needed to yank it back from the edge.
She tried to push away the anger, the confusion and the frustration that swirled around her. In their place, grief and sadness pushed their way in. Grace was tired of fighting her feelings and being strong. For Henry and for herself.
Perhaps it was time to let herself lose control. If only for a few minutes.
Tears stung her eyes as she floated on her back, staring at the green canopy above her. A sound echoed in the air around her, one of a wounded animal in pain.
She realized the noise came from her, a sob from way down deep in her heart, where her ancient agony lived. Grace let go and allowed herself to weep for her loss, for her life, for her stolen future.
Her throat burned as the tears fell. She missed Alfred, the husband who was more her best friend. He’d died trying to save her and Henry. How would he feel about what she’d done to get their son back? Alfred had been a gentle soul who forgave a lot easier than his fiery-tempered wife.
Grace wasn’t perfect by any means. She had made enough mistakes to fill a canyon, but she had always tried to do what was right. Was forcing Ben to help her the right thing?
She didn’t know the answer, and right about then, she had never felt more alone. There was no one else in her life besides Henry and she didn’t know if he was still alive. Grace had nothing and nobody.
This was the bottom of a very deep well and she didn’t know how to climb her way out.
*
The sound of weeping, of soul-wrenching grief, floated through the air and settled on Ben’s shoulders. Grace cried alone, somewhere in the small forest, while he listened. It was awkward and uncomfortable. And he damn sure wished he had an idea of what the hell to do.
They had to remain anonymous and make sure people don’t notice them. Instead she’d acted as though the blouse and skirt, which was to make her normal, made her stand out more. He’d have thought she was wearing clothes made from fire ants instead of an insanely soft material.
And now she was crying.
The tough-as-hell woman who shot his hat off his head had broken down. He wondered if he was to blame, the reason she’d lost control of her emotions. It couldn’t have been the skirt and blouse, could it? For a man with four sisters, he knew very little about women.
He wasn’t about to go see what she was about. No sir, that wasn’t something he would dare to do, for more than a few reasons. He
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