Read Online Gwyneth Atlee by Against the Odds - Free Book Online Page B

all his life.
“I almost shot him, anyway. Just a reflex to keep myself alive, like
vomiting a bellyful of poison. But my finger froze on that trigger, and
then my mind— I’m not sure what went through it. I’ve tried to remember,
but—” He shook his head, despairing of the task. “All I know is what
the others told me. I threw down my rifle, and I ran like hell.
“By the time I realized what I’d done, I was wandering among a
lot of pine trees. I could hear the echoes of a few last shots far in the
distance. But by the time I found my unit, the Rebels had retreated.
When I reported to camp, my mates had all heard how I’d run. They
turned their backs to me.”
He remembered the stark desolation of that moment, the realization
that he’d betrayed his fellow soldiers and not just himself. “I went to
the captain and reported in for discipline.”
“No coward would have done that,” Eve told him. Her voice was
adamant, leaving no room for polite half-truths. Though he’d
thought her strident earlier, he found he liked the fact that she said
what she felt.
As if it agreed with its mistress, the kitten hopped onto the berth
beside him. Gabe summoned the strength to sit and scooped the ball
of fluff into his hands.
“This coward did,” Gabe said as he set the kitten on the floor.
“That was the problem. I expected to be drummed out, sent home in
disgrace. It was a fitting punishment. My father . . .”
Shaking his head, he closed his mouth against what his father
would have done, would do, when he returned to Ohio.
“No one wanted to hear why I left the battle. Every friend I had
turned on me. Enough to listen when Silas Deming came up with an
idea. Instead of waiting for the captain to properly disgrace me, the
men could drum me out themselves, run me through the Southern
line. The Rebels would take care of me, he reckoned.”
“Is that how you were captured?”
He nodded. “I tried my best to make them kill me, but it didn’t
happen that way. Without a weapon, I wasn’t even threat enough
to shoot.”
“Did you . . . did you ever see the boy again? The one who so
reminded you of your brother?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I didn’t, but I swear he was real. I know
it. I can still see every feature, every freckle on that young man’s face.
And I still . . . I still wonder if somehow it could be . . .”
She leaned forward just an inch more, and the room seemed to close
in around him. He’d only have to shift a bit and his knee would graze
hers. He looked into her face as if to memorize it. She’d saved his life
today—perhaps in more respects than one. Already he felt the pain
bleeding out from the empty socket the truth had left. But the pain and
blood felt cleansing somehow, as if they were preparing him for the
chance to heal.
He might never repay her for what she’d done today, but he
would carry her beautiful face with him, cast it into crystal as he had
his brother’s. As his mind took in Eve’s delicate features, he grew
increasingly conscious of the astonishing fact that he was alone
inside this room with a very desirable woman. Awareness stole over
him, and he felt his heartbeat race.
His gaze lingered for a long moment on her hazel eyes. Long
enough to see them darken, just as summer clouds will to presage a
violent storm.
* * *
    As Gabriel sat across from her in the cramped stateroom, Yvette
reminded herself he was just another Yankee. Even so, she dug her
nails into her palms to divert her rising tide of sympathy.
    Sympathy for what? For a young man who’d admitted killing Rebel
boys? She thought of the day she and Marie had been enjoying coffee
in Madame Bouchard’s parlor. How proudly Honorée had shown
them the photograph of her husband, Emile, who had gone to war
before the cursed Union took New Orleans. Then, as if her pride had
drawn disaster, Yvette remembered the solemn knock at the front
door, the shriek of Simone, the Bouchards’ mulatto maid. Honorée’s
insistence,