The facial hair on Kirk's face had never been that thick, but then Kirk had never been this old, had never reached this phase of manhood. Studying Clay as he slept, she felt as though she'd been married to a boy instead of a man.

The last time she looked upon her husband, he'd been filled with the exuberance of youth. In her mind, the man who had fallen beneath Union guns was the same man who had kissed her soundly and laughed at the prospect of defeat.

In her heart, he would always remain the confident twenty-year-old who loved practical jokes.

But beyond the hills, he had aged... for two years.

Had he changed as much as the man who now slept on the ground?

Like an ancient map, Clay's face was well-worn and lined with paths traversed by sorrow and pain. And perhaps regret.

Tentatively, Meg brushed the hair away from his eyes. She wondered about the circumstances that had shaped those deep furrows.

Against her will, she was intrigued. If Clay, who had fought no battles, had changed to such a degree in the years he was away from Cedar Grove, how much more Kirk must have changed. His face would have carried more lines, shown his deep conviction to the Cause, reflected his true character.

With a deep sadness, she realized the man to whom she'd handed the silk Confederate flag probably wasn't the same man who died at Gettysburg.

Slowly, laboriously. Clay opened his eyes. She was sleeping beside him. Well, she wasn't exactly beside him. If he reached out, he didn't think he'd be able to touch her, but he was close enough to hear her even breathing and see the fire's faint glow reflected on her ivory cheeks.

And she snored, just as Kirk had told him. It was a gentle snore that reminded him of the way a contented kitten purred after its belly was filled with warm milk.

She laughed softly, and her shoulders shook slightly. He lifted up on an elbow and stared at her. Her mouth had formed a sweet tender smile.

Kirk hadn't told him about this. The laughter came again, washing over him in its innocence. The smile eased off her face, and he supposed the dream or whatever had given her a brief moment of happiness had passed.

Sitting up, he unrolled the blanket that had served as his pillow and spread it over her. She made one hell of a night guard. If she slept through her own laughter, she'd probably sleep through someone wandering into their camp.

Stretching out on his side, he glanced toward the horizon. Dawn would soon lift away the darkness. He knew he should get up and find them something to eat, but he'd never watched a woman sleep. He supposed he should find it boring. After all, she wasn't doing anything. But even while she slept, Meg fascinated him. Slowly, she opened her eyes and smiled softly. Clay ached for all the soft smiles he'd been denied in the passing years, and he braced himself for the moment when she realized exactly at whom she was smiling. "Morning," she said quietly.

Clay's voice knotted in his throat and threatened to strangle him. She was no doubt still dreaming and thought Kirk was lying on the ground beside her. All hell was going to break loose when she did come fully awake.

Rolling to her back, she arched the small of her back. Clay's mouth went as dry as a desert.

Returning to her side, she slipped her palm beneath her cheek. "This used to be my favorite time of day, just before dawn, knowing I had a whole day to enjoy." She sighed wistfully. "Now I don't care if the sun never comes up."

Lord, he wished he were Kirk. He didn't want to see the hatred return to her eyes.

She turned onto her stomach and rested her face on her forearm. Her smile grew. "Kirk told me something about you," she said.

His breath caught She was talking to him, with dawn easing over the horizon, bathing the earth in a new

day. Good Lord, what had happened while he slept? It made him nervous to think about it. "What'd he

tell you?" he croaked.

He didn't think her smile could grow any bigger, but it did. "I'd dearly love to tell you, but I promised him I wouldn't."

"He told me you do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Start talking about something days after he's finished talking about it."

"Kirk really did tell you a lot of things about me, didn't he?"

He nodded.

"I dreamed about him last night," she said, with longing laced through her voice.

"I figured you did."

Her smile eased away.

"You laughed in your sleep," he hastened to explain, wanting to hold onto these moments before she

remembered she hated him.

"I laughed while I was asleep?"

"Not loud. Soft Like you were enjoying something."

Her face took on a hue more lovely than the dawn, and Clay realized she'd probably been dreaming

about something that was absolutely none of his damn business. He grabbed his rifle and jumped to his feet. "I'll find us something to eat."

Stalking into the woods, he thought about the yearning in her blue eyes when she mentioned the dream.

He stopped walking, wrapped his arm around a tree, and pressed his forehead against the rough bark.

He wished he could find a woman willing to dream about him.

They arrived at the Holland farm at twilight. Clay halted the wagon in front of the house as the door swung open, and the twins bounded out, Lucian sauntering behind them.

"Gawd Almighty!" one twin yelled. "You gonna make Miz Warner somethin' out of that?"

Clay climbed down from the wagon and ruffled the boy's hair. "I aim to try, but remember, Josh, it's supposed to be a secret."

"We ain't got nobody to tell," Joe said as he climbed onto the wheel and looked into the wagon.

"Geez, Miz Warner, Clay must like you a powerful lot to make you somethin' that big," Josh said as he hauled himself up on the other wheel.

Meg felt her face warm as Clay glanced at her quickly before moving the box across the seat "Brought some supplies," Clay said as he lifted the box down.

"What'd you trade?" Lucian asked. "Grandpa's watch?"

"It was mine to do with as I thought best."

"It wouldn't have been if you hadn't been a coward. If you'd gone off to fight like the other men around

here, you woulda been killed, and the watch, like the farm, woulda been mine." He hit the box. "I sure as hell wouldn't have traded it for a sack of flour."

He stomped away, hitting everything he passed until he was out of sight.

Josh hopped down from the wagon wheel. "I bet that box ain't too heavy for me and Joe to carry into the house."

"I bet it's not either," Clay said as he handed the box to the boys. "Open your mouths." He took the sarsaparilla sticks out of his pocket and stuck one in each boy's mouth. Their eyes widened as they clamped their lips around the gift, mumbling their thanks before heading for the house. "You get it from all sides, don't you?" Meg asked quietly. Clay placed his hand on the granite. "I don't hardly notice anymore."

"Why do you stay?"

"It's my home. I don't think I did anything that took away my right to live here."

Meg disagreed. Everyone in the area disagreed. If her plan worked, Clay would eventually realize that he

had indeed lost his right to live here. "When will you start working on the monument?"

"I need to get the oxen back to Austin. Then I have a few chores around here to take care of. Guess I'll start a week from Monday."

"I'll be here bright and early."

"There's not a lot to see at first. All I'll be doing is chipping away what I don't need."

"Regardless... I'll be here."

Chapter Seven.

Cloaked in early morning darkness, Meg scurried across the Holland property.

Only three days had passed since she'd last looked upon the red Texas granite, but she couldn't get it out of her mind. At home, she was listless and distracted. She'd burned the evening meal two nights in a row.

She was tempted to tell her father and Daniel about the monument, but she feared their reaction. Normally, if a father discovered his daughter had been alone with a man, he leveled his rifle at the man and ordered him to marry his daughter. If her father discovered she'd traveled alone to Austin with Clay, he'd level his rifle at Clay and shoot When Clay finished the monument, she could explain everything so they'd understand how wise her plan had been. Until that moment, however, the monument and everything associated with it had to remain a secret.

As she neared the shed, excitement raced through her veins with the lure of the forbidden. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear against the door. She couldn't hear anything move on the other side, but then, she'd expected to hear silence.

She'd planned this excursion with extreme care. She reasoned that Clay needed a day to unload the stone and another to return the oxen to Austin. Perhaps two. He would need at least two days to ride home on the mule. He wouldn't be back until this evening or tomorrow morning.

She was safe.

She pushed on the door. It creaked in protest at the early morning intrusion. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her gaze darting between the house and the barn.

Nothing stirred.

She slipped into the building.

And couldn't see a thing.

Grimacing as the hinges squeaked louder, she pulled the door open wider. Slowly, her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness still hovering in the shed. As though they were winter blankets, shadows covered everything. She could barely discern the shape of the large object in the center of the shed, but it was the only thing she cared about It seemed larger with four walls surrounding it. She wanted desperately to see in it what Clay saw underneath the surface.

She walked toward it, knocked against something hard, and yelped as pain ricocheted through her shin.

"It helps if you open the windows," a deep voice boomed behind her.