Meg squeezed her eyes to shut out his intense gaze. She didn't want to look into brown eyes that said he'd already suffered. She didn't want to know about his dreams, or his failures, or rabbits with only one ear.

"The war weakened the South," he said quietly. "Don't let it weaken you."

Opening her eyes, she tilted her chin. "I'm hardly weak. I just hadn't expected to spend the next two

years of my life in your company, but if that's the price I have to pay in order to have the monument, I'll pay it."

A corner of his mouth tilted up, and she thought she'd probably hit him if he smiled again.

"Ah, so it's being in my company for such a long time that's bothering you." He unfolded his body and

walked to the stone. "It's an awfully big piece of stone. I hope I can do it in two years." He peered at her.

"Might take three." He picked up his tools. "Maybe four."

"If you say five-"

The teasing glint left his eyes. The half smile withered away. "For you, Mrs. Warner, I'll finish it in a year."

Clay sank into the hot water. The steam rose and misted his face. He was a damned fool.

The stiffness was already settling into his neck and shoulders, and he dreaded waking in the morning.

He'd pushed himself harder than he'd intended, certainly harder than he was accustomed to. He hadn't swung a hammer with such a steady rhythm in a long time, and tomorrow he'd pay for it. He hadn't worked faster, but he'd worked longer.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the fire crackle in the hearth. A bath before a blazing fire was a luxury he hadn't indulged in since his return home. When he bathed, he did it in his room behind a locked door because too many people lived in this house.

Tonight was an exception. Taking care of Meg's horse had worn the twins out, and they'd fallen asleep early. Lucian hadn't returned from Austin. Clay had decided to pamper himself. Besides, he needed to celebrate. Meg Warner had teased him.

Lord, he'd been so embarrassed by what he'd almost said that he nearly missed the fact that she was teasing him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at her ears or her perfectly shaped curves again without turning red.

He supposed since she'd been married, she knew how a man's mind worked. He supposed since she'd been married to Kirk, she was comfortable with the way a man's mind worked.

He wished he understood how a woman's mind worked. One minute she was teasing him, and the next she was worried because she was going to spend time with him.

Lifting his foot from the water, he scratched the memento from the leg irons he'd worn as a prisoner. He kept his scars to himself, especially those that weren't visible even when he stripped down.

Slipping his foot back into the water, he rested his head against the wooden tub and watched the firelight play against the wall. What did Meg want?

She wanted more than the monument from him. Of that, he was certain. He supposed she'd tell him when she was good and ready. Until then, he'd enjoy the few moments of happiness he stole from hen calling her Meg when she was too upset to notice; teasing her until she teased back; being near enough to touch her.

The front door hinges squeaked as the latch rattled. Day sprang halfway out of the tub as the door swung open. Momentarily he froze, then dropped into the water until the undulating waves his actions created lapped at his chin. "What are you doing here?" Lucian closed the door. "I live here."

"I mean what are you doing back tonight?" He shrugged. "No money. Nothing to do in Austin. Didn't see any point in staying when I at least have a bed here." He grabbed a chair, pulled it across the room, and sat beside the tub. "Didn't realize I'd been gone so long. Is it Saturday already?"

"I started working with the stone today. Got covered in dust. Felt the need for a bath."

"You're not gonna bathe every night, are you?"

"What business is it of yours?" Lucian shrugged. "Just wondering. I ain't never heard of a man taking as many baths as you have since you got home. It's a wonder we got any water left in the well." He dipped his finger into the water. "Damn, that water's hot." Clay slapped his hand away. "I like it hot."

"That could scald a man."

"Why don't you go on to bed and leave me in peace?" Lucian stretched his long legs before him and crossed one foot over his ankle. "I'm not tired."

"Then why don't you leave so I can wash up and get out of the water?"

"I ain't stopping you from washing up. Besides, I've seen your bare ass." He flicked the water toward Clay's face. "When did you get so damn modest?"

"I didn't have any privacy while I was away. I'd like to have some now that I'm home."

Lucian scraped his boots across the floor, planted his feet firmly on either side of the chair, leaned

forward, and braced his forearms on his thighs. "You never talk about what happened while you were away."

"There's nothing to talk about"

"What'd you do while you were gone? You didn't sit on a tree stump and whittle."

"No, I didn't whittle."

"You didn't fight"

"I didn't pick up a rifle and kill men if that's what you mean."

"So what'd you do?"

Clay sighed deeply. Since his return, no one had asked what he'd done during all the years he was away.

So much had happened, and he wanted to forget most of it "They held me prisoner at a fort for awhile, doing anything the officers considered 'hard labor' to fill up the days and

nights."

Lucian studied the puncheon floor between his feet. "You think they'd have let you come home sooner if I'd written them that Ma and Pa had died?"

"Probably not."

Lucian glanced up, then dropped his gaze. "I thought about writing-"

"I don't think it would have made a difference." Slowly, he nodded as though giving himself time to contemplate his next words. He spoke cautiously in a voice ALWAYS TO REMEMBER.

that reminded Clay of a child trying desperately to avoid a well-deserved whipping. "I wasn't afraid. I

would have fought, but I had things to take care of here. I couldn't leave the twins, and I didn't have time to write-"

"You stayed where you were most needed. Nobody questions that."

Lucian bolted from the chair. That's right I'm not like you. I'm not a coward." He swung an arm through the air as though he were lost in a dark cave and couldn't find his way to the sunlight. "Hell, you don't even fight back. You could at least have hit me."

"I thought I did."

"Hell, no. You didn't lay a finger on me."

"Then why are you hurting?"

Plowing his hands through his hair, Lucian stormed toward the door. "Christ, I don't know. I'm sleeping in the bam tonight" He slammed the door behind him.

Clay groaned as the twins opened their bedroom door and peered out "What the heck's goin' on?" Josh asked.

"Lucian's home. Go on to bed."

The boys padded across the room to the bathtub. "Why the heck are you bathin'?" Josh asked. "It ain't Saturday."

"I felt dirty after working with stone all day."

"We feel dirty all the time. That ain't no reason to bathe. People bathe when they want to look nice for

somebody. You sweet on Miz Warner?"

"Did you say you were feeling dirty?" Clay asked.

The boys exchanged glances.

"Because if you are, I'll put you in this water as soon as I get out."

"Nah, we ain't feelin" dirty. Not tonight."

"You feeling sleepy? Because if you're not, I'm gonna put you in this water anyway."

Both boys opened their mouths wide and yawned.

"Get on to bed," Clay said.

The boys trudged back to their room and closed the door.

Clay grabbed the lye soap and scrubbed briskly. Leaning to the side, he reached for the towel. The front

door opened, and Clay slid back into the water.

"I came home to sleep in my bed," Lucian growled. "By God, I'm gonna sleep there."

He slammed the front door, then slammed the door to the bedroom he shared with the twins.

Clay waited until silence filled the house, the water turned cold, and the fire died in the hearth before he