Chapter 1 #3
His grip tightened on his shovel, not to use as a weapon to defend himself but to keep her from grabbing it and taking a swing.
“Stop it.” Her fists were clenched as if to beat on him.
“Stop saying those awful things.” More life flared in her eyes than Red ever had before.
She was always quiet and reserved and distant.
“Give him back. I want him back!” She moved so fast toward him that, as she reached his side, she tripped over her skirt and fell.
A terrified shriek cut off her irate words.
“Cassie!” Red dropped the shovel and caught her just as she’d have tumbled into the open grave.
She swung and landed a fist right on his chin.
His head snapped back. She had pretty good power behind her fists for a little thing.
Figuring he deserved it, he held on, stepping well away from the hole in the ground.
He pulled her against him as she pummeled and emitted short, sharp, frenzied screams of rage.
Punching his shoulders, chest, face. He took his beating like a man.
He’d earned this by causing her more pain when she’d already been dealt—more than she could bear.
Of course, he’d tried to stop it. But he’d failed, now, hadn’t he?
“I’m sorry.” He spoke low, hoping to penetrate her anger.
He could barely hear himself over her shouting.
“I’m so sorry about Griff, Cassie. And I’m sorry you heard us speaking ill.
We were wrong. So wrong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
” He kept crooning as he held her, letting her wale away on him until her squeaks and harmless blows slowed and then ceased, most likely from exhaustion, not because she’d quit hating him.
Her hands dropped suddenly. Her head fell against his chest. Her knees buckled, and Red swung her up into his arms. Had she fainted dead away? In his arms, he held perfection.
She fit against him as if his body and his heart had been created just for her. A soul-deep ache nearly buckled his own knees as he looked at her now-closed eyes. Those lashes so long they’d tangle in a breeze rested on her ashen face, tinged with one bright spot of fury red on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me.” His words were both a prayer to God and a request to poor, sweet Cassie. He held her close, murmuring, apologizing.
At last, her eyes fluttered open. The anger was there but not violence. “Let me go!”
He slowly lowered her feet to the ground, keeping an arm around her waist until he was sure her legs would hold her. She stepped out of his arms as quickly as possible and gave him a look of such hatred, it was more painful than the blows she’d landed. Far more painful.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Cassie, honey.” Red wanted to kick himself. He shouldn’t have called her such. It was improper.
She didn’t seem to notice he was even alive. Instead, her gaze slid to that grave, that open rectangle waiting to receive her husband…or what was left of him. And the hatred faded to misery, agony, and worst of all, fear.
A suppressed cry of pain told Red, as if Cassie had spoken aloud, that she wished she could join her husband in that awful hole.
Her head hanging low, her shoulders slumped, both arms wrapped around her rounded belly, she turned and walked back the way she came. Each step seemed to take all her effort as if her feet weighed a hundred pounds each.
Should he accompany her back to Muriel’s?
Instead, he did nothing but watch. There was nothing really he could do.
That worthless husband of hers was dead, and he’d left his wife with one nasty mess to clean up.
And Red couldn’t be the one to step in and fix it.
Not if he wanted to live the life God had planned for him.
She walked into the swaying stand of aspens. They were thin enough that if he moved a bit to the side, he could keep his eye on her. Stepping farther and farther sideways to look around the trees—because he was unable to take his eyes off her—he saw her get safely to the store.
Just then, his foot slipped off the edge of the grave. He caught himself before he fell headlong into the six feet of missing earth.
The door of Bates General Store closed with a sharp bang, leaving him alone in the sun and wind with a deep hole to dig and too much time to think. He grabbed his shovel and jumped down, getting back at it.
He was doing the right thing by refusing to marry Cassie Griffin.
A sudden gust caught a shovelful of dirt and blew it in Red’s face.
Along with the dirt that now coated him, he caught a strong whiff of the stable he’d cleaned last night.
Cassie would think Red and the Western men he wanted to protect her from were one and the same.
And she’d be right, up to a point. The dirt and the smell, the humble clothes, and the sod house—this was who he was, and he didn’t apologize for that to any man… or any woman.
There was only one way for him to serve God in this matter. He had to keep clear of Cassie Griffin.
The China Doll wasn’t for him.