"What was the marker made of?"

"Granite. That's what me and Pa always used."

"That's what I thought. Do you honestly think the granite is the better choice?"

"No, ma'am."

His response startled her. Maybe he had thought things through last night and come to the realization that

she did indeed know which rock was better suited for the monument. "You don't?"

"No, ma'am. If you wanted a memorial to stand in silent tribute to those who died, then the granite would

be the rock to purchase. But that's not what you want. I don't know what it is you do want, but you won't get it with the marble."

"I asked my question in all earnestness."

He removed his hat, combed his long fingers through his thick hair, and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. My

opinion on the matter hasn't changed since yesterday." She lowered her gaze and pretended to study her scuffed boots so he wouldn't see the arguments playing havoc with her heart. She preferred the marble. Clay was unfamiliar with the stone. He would be forced to question and doubt each cut he made in the stone just as she wanted him to question and doubt the choices he made during the war. But if he made one error in judgment as great as the one he made when he failed to enlist, all her efforts would be for naught An unfinished monument would forever stand in memory of those who deserved more.

Reluctantly, she admitted the granite was the better choice... not only for his purpose, but for hers. She

lifted her eyes to his and took a deep, cleansing breath. "You can purchase the granite."

Warily, he studied her. "Not the marble?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I've decided in favor of the granite."

"You won't be sorry."

She nodded, hoping that he was right and that she hadn't made a mistake. "You'll need the money." She

pulled out a drawstring bag she'd tucked behind the waistband of her trousers earlier. She opened the pouch and spilled the contents into his scarred palm. "Will that be enough?" she asked.

He shifted the coins around with his finger. "Should be."

"Oh, wait." She plucked a silver coin out of his palm. "Kirk's tossing coin. I don't want to get rid of that."

He stared at her, his dark brows drawing together. "His tossing coin?"

Holding it up, she turned it so he could see one side, then the other. "It has Lady Liberty on both sides."

"What?" he fairly reared as he snatched it from her fingers and examined it.

"He always used it to win bets against my brothers."

His eyes showed disbelief. "That son of a..."

Knowingly, she smiled. "Don't tell me he used it on you as well?"

"A time or two." Handing the coin back to her, he smiled sadly. "But it worked out for the best."

Mesmerized, Meg wore a path around the wagon, viewing the rock from all sides. The glow from the fire's flames washed over one side of the granite, bringing out the red tint. The moonlight spilled across the other side, creating an ethereal quality.

Had Clay envisioned the stone as it would appear surrounded by night shadows, with moonlight

whispering across it?

She wished he had brought his tools so he could begin work this evening. "Where will you put Kirk?" she asked as she touched one side of the rock. "Here?"

Clay lifted his head. What was the woman on about now? Since they left Schultz's quarry, she'd been chattering to her horse, the oxen, the damned rock, and now him. She was hopping around the wagon as though someone had set hot coals beneath her feet

"Which side do you think Kirk will be on?" she repeated.

Slowly, he unfolded his weary body and wandered to the wagon. He touched the side of the rock at the end of the wagon. "I'll probably make this the base, so... I guess I'll carve the horse and rider here."

Meg scurried to the side of the wagon away from the fire. "I can't see them."

"You will when I'm done."

He began to walk away. She ran around to the other side. "And I'll be here?"

"I reckon." He rubbed his hand up and down his rough cheek. "If you don't want to sleep on the ground,

you're small enough (hat you ought to be able to curl up on the wagon seat."

"Are you going to sleep now?" she asked.

"No, ma'am, I aim to keep watch."

Meg watched as Clay meandered back to the tree. He dropped to the ground and pressed his back

against the trunk. He didn't seem the least bit interested in the granite now that they'd acquired it. She should have purchased the marble. At least their conversation carried a spark to it when they were in disagreement.

She climbed onto the wagon and arranged the blankets on the bench seat. Stilling her hands, she looked at the granite. It was just a piece of stone, and yet she was drawn to it. "Which direction..."

She stopped speaking as Clay snapped his head back. He looked around. "What?"

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

Watching as he rubbed his shoulders against the tree before staring vacantly at the fire, she doubted his words. She'd been so thrilled with the stone that she'd paid little attention to anything else.

Shortly after they'd made camp, he went in search of game. She heard his rifle shot fill the air three times, but he returned to camp empty-handed. She dipped into his meager supplies, cooked some biscuits, and

warmed a can of beans. Remembering the manner in which he wolfed down the simple, tasteless meal,

she had a feeling that sleep wasn't the only thing he'd done without the night before.

She thought back to the first night they'd made camp. Had he slept then? She remembered that some time had passed after her outburst before she again heard the knife shave the wood. She'd taken the sound into her dreams. Had it been with her all night? "Have you slept at all since we began this journey?"

"I don't need much sleep."

Meg gathered the blankets and clambered out of the wagon. She marched across the narrow space separating them and dropped the blankets in his lap. "You sleep. I'll keep watch."

Shaking his head, he pushed off the blankets. "You won't call if you need me."

For the first time, she noticed the dark shadows beneath eyes that were fighting a losing battle to remain

open. "Is that why you stayed in the alley outside the hotel last night?"

Slipping his fingers between the buttons on his shirt, he rubbed his chest. "I reckon you got cause to think the way you do, but I'd die before I'd let any harm come to you."

Disconcerted by his slightly slurred words, Meg bundled up a blanket. "Here, lie down and go to sleep

before you make yourself sick."

"Careful, Mrs. Warner. You might make me think you care."

"About you? Not in the least, but I just spent Kirk's life's savings on that hunk of rock you wanted so

desperately, so you damn well better take care of yourself until you've turned it into the monument you promised me. After that, I don't care if you drop dead."

"Truth be told, you'd probably prefer for me to drop dead."

"Absolutely."

He gave her a tired grin. "I won't hold it against you if you're not quite so honest with me."

She stopped fussing with the blankets. Why did it lug on her heart when he teased her like that? "I never want you to doubt where you stand with me." She patted the blanket. "Now, get some sleep."

"I can go four days without sleep." He stretched out on the ground, and she shoved the folded blanket

beneath his head. He yawned. "Went five days once."

"Why in the world would you want to?" she asked quietly, but she doubted that he heard her question.

His face was relaxed, his dark lashes touching his cheeks. His long brown hair had fallen across his brow.

He hadn't shaved recently, and his bearded stubble seemed to cast a shadow over his face.